#now i need to find another weird skill to utilize

[asteraceaye]

God I love having specialized skills

Always gets me into interesting places

[greenleaf4stuff]

Of Convenience 7.2

(all previous parts of "Of Convenience")

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage AU, 7th snippet, part 2. Celebrimbor finds a project to occupy himself with and makes another friend. He also happens to forget the time in the process. It leads to an unexpectedly intimate moment between the two husbands.

I originally planned to make this a short chapter of Brimby at the forges and Adar’s reaction to that, but then I had a sudden cute idea and well, the chapter grew to the point I needed to split it up (again). Oops? Like always, thank you guys so much for the likes, reblogs and comments, I love you wonderful people. <3 Still blown away by the support – and by the fact I have written this much. What an AU, what an experience! Now, enjoy!

Gurlak hadn’t lied when she told Celebrimbor that her forge wouldn’t be comparable to his elven one, the smith realized in dismay. His smithy had been expertly assembled to suit his needs, constructed by the most gifted builders and with only the finest materials. All this to hopefully bring about something that could, one day, enable him to create wonders which would rival those of his grandfather.

Gurlak’s forge was, in comparison, an oddly-shaped amalgamation of whatever the uruk had been able to get their hands on, with little leeway to consider quality or utility. From the bellows to the tuyere, the forge itself and even the fuels and raw materials used, it was clear that the uruk were reshaping, reusing and improvising much of what they had, and with limited resources in less-than-ideal conditions as well.

And honestly, the elf couldn’t fault them for any of it – as he understood it, the uruk had little natural resources of their own in what was now called Mordor. The area might be rich in charcoal after the eruption of the Orodruin, perhaps, but not much else remained of the fertile former Southlands.

He guessed that this might be how he ended up sidetracked so quickly; he’d started out working on some simple iron nails – which, to his credit, he did finish and which actually served to convince Gurlak that he might indeed not be lying about his smithing skills –, but after that, things had quickly taken a turn to him focusing on other things.

"I think the airflow could be improved upon," he told Gurlak as they stood next to each other, inspecting the tuyere. "Might be because your bellows are made from a patchwork of materials, or because the charcoal you are burning is not of good quality, but the temperature fluctuation makes it harder than neccessary to work with the metal."

She grunted. "Well, we take what we can get. S’not like we can trade for better parts, and the last trees we burned, we had felled during heavy rainfall," a shrug. "Sometimes we even burn wood from furniture and such. It’s what it is."

Celebrimbor felt his face pinch at her words, then turned towards her. His tone was careful. "Would you mind if I...tried to tinker with this?" he pointed at the forge itself, but mostly the aforementioned bellows and the tuyere. "Maybe I’ll be able to mitigate some of the problems."

She glanced at him much the same way as did her, but by now, her gaze was one of curiosity – and, dare he say it, perhaps even respect?

He felt weirdly accomplished to think that it might be.

"Don’t burn yourself – wouldn’t want Adar to have my hide for getting his favorite elf damaged," she replied, and then took obvious delight when Celebrimbor got ready to argue her choice of words, "Looks like you know what you’re doing. I’ll leave you to it. As I said, just don’t get yourself hurt."

"Thank you, Miss-," Celebrimbor tried, but she scowled him into silence.

"None of that ‘mistress’ stuff. Makes me feel weird. The only one here who has a title is Adar – we are all equal, otherwise."

The elf nodded. "Understood. In that case, Celebrimbor is fine for me too," he replied. He turned back to the forge before him, and got ready to work.

"While you’re at it-," Gurlak spoke up again, and her tone made him pause. It sounded far too mischievous for his liking. "Out of curiosity. How is married life with the Lord Father?"

This time, Celebrimbor could not avoid a groan in response to her words. Her resulting laughter seemed loud enough to shake the walls of the shed.

Time, as it so often did when he was in the middle of his work, ended up slipping away from Celebrimbor. He was somewhat aware of it when Glûg, visibly bored out of his mind, came up to him and insisted they’d have to return to the tent now or they’d risk going against Adar’s wishes.

But with how much good progress he was making at improving the forge, it was just too easy to fall back into old habits – he waved the other off and said, "I just have to finish this one thing first, Glûg. You can go and tell him I’ll come back to the tent later, if you’d like. That way he won’t have to worry. You know where I am anyways, and it’s not as if I’m alone, or unarmed for that matter."

He pointed at the variety of weapons in the smithy – a topic that he’d already begun to discuss with Gurlak. While the smith was awed by the ingenuity the uruk possessed when combining swords, axes and various tools to make new weaponry for the soldiers, there were things that could be improved upon in that as well, and she’d been quite content to go over materials and their advantages with him.

There was just so much Celebrimbor could do – from working on the forge itself to helping Gurlak with various projects, the smith was truly giddy about his craft for the first time in what felt like weeks, and he was loathe to stop now that he was allowed to partake in it.

Glûg had tried to argue about the elf not even knowing the way back – to which Gurlak had snarked that she knew the way just fine and could go drop the elf off later – and then finally thrown up his arms with a frustrated, "Fine, then!" and left in a huff.

The smith had no idea how much time had passed since then, only that when all too familiar steps walked up to him, the hour wasn’t exactly midday anymore.

"Glûg tells me you asked him to leave you here," Adar’s smooth voice called out from a little distance away. Celebrimbor couldn’t help but think the uruk was deliberately announcing himself. Which was a good thing, because even so, he startled out of his work and then turned around in confusion to face his husband.

It was still astonishing to see how the other uruk visibly deferred to their leader when he walked among them; some inclined their heads or even bowed in respect, multiple took a step back as he walked up to the smithy, and even Gurlak seemed to stand straighter as she watched him approach.

"Adar," Celebrimbor said, and then realised he’d completely forgotten the uruk and his request for them to meet for supper. He felt himself blanch in shame at the realization. "Oh no, I am so sorry- I missed our meal, did I not?"

The uruk was tilting his head at Celebrimbor, gaze questioning, as he took in the other uruk and the forge, before his sight settled back on the elf. "You did. I was...worried." He seemed to almost be surprised at his own words.

"I- I appreciate that," the smith replied, and definitely was surprised at his own words. Or how sincerely he meant them.

Another look about the smithy from Adar. "What happened? Did someone rope you into a conversation you couldn’t escape from?" His words were mild, questioning instead of accusing. But it was clear Adar was confused by the circumstances of why Celebrimbor had chosen not to come back to the tent.

Celebrimbor was quick to reply, "No, no, your smith has been most kind in answering my questions, in fact – it was I who got far too involved in my work here and forgot about the time. It...happens, sometimes, when I am in the middle of work. My apprentices always-, well it doesn’t matter now. I should have gone with Glûg instead of making you worry. I apologize. It won’t happen again."

It was a bad habit of his, Celebrimbor knew that. Even more so now, when their circumstances were not exactly peaceful, despite the rather successful negotiations so far. He shook his head at himself.

Adar stepped closer towards him. "At least you sent my lieutenant to tell me. Though knowing you were without a guard did not exactly put my mind at ease," the uruk said pointedly. Celebrimbor rubbed the back of his neck and looked ruefully at Adar from beneath his eyelashes.

To his surprise, his husband dropped the issue. "So you’ve discovered our forges, hm? What do you think – grandson of Feanor? Not much like your great forges in Eregion, I’d presume?"

"Yeah, Gurlak suspected much the same thing," Celebrimbor couldn’t help but remark, glancing sideways at the uruk smith who seemed undecided between trying to inch away from her leader and the elf to leave them to their business, and remaining rooted to the spot to watch how things would unfold.

"I think your people did well with what means they have, but there are still plenty of ways to better the conditions that haven’t been made use of yet. Gurlak has actually been kind enough to let try my hand at some things."

A moment of silence, and then Adar hummed. "You are aware that this would give the uruk an advantage, if the greatest living elven smith helped them with their craft?" Celebrimbor could hear Gurlak suck in a breath at that. He guessed he ought to speak to her again, once he had made sure to reassure his husband.

"I mean- Eregion is technically your city just as much as mine due to our marriage, so technically, your army is mine as well," Celebrimbor started, but made sure that his tone was humorous. "Mirth aside, I know you care about your children. And we are hoping for this to be a long-lasting alliance so yes, of course I’d want for them to have a chance to improve their craft. It’s going to benefit everyone, isn’t it?"

Which was, he supposed, what it came down to – trying to right some of his wrongs and make things better, to give them a fighting chance against the evil that had taken hold of Eregion. He wasn’t a fighter, he couldn’t hope to kill Sauron on his own, but he could help the people who did.

The smith had seen Adar look at him with a vaguely mystified expression more than once now, but it still sent a thrill through him whenever it happened. He supposed it made sense; the uruk as a whole hadn’t gotten a lot of aid from the other races over the centuries, so perhaps this was just a natural reaction to finally getting it. Which was a rather depressing thought, all things considered.

Celebrimbor would do his best to change that.

Finally, Adar nodded and cleared his throat as he looked around the forge once more – it almost seemed as if he was uncomfortable, though the elf hoped he was just reading the other’s reaction incorrectly, before his eyes settled back on Celebrimbor.

The uruk jutted his chin out at the smith. "You have something on your face, by the way."

"Oh, I do?" Confused, Celebrimbor reached up and rubbed his fingers over his cheek, only to remove them and realise that his hands were still covered in soot and he’d likely smeared more of it onto his face now. "I- oh bother, that isn’t-"

"Here," Adar said and suddenly, he was standing directly in front of Celebrimbor, close enough that the elf could marvel at the length of his eyelashes. "Let me-"

They’d gotten more comfortable touching one another without asking for permission each time; handing each other dishes during meals, hands next to each other pointing at something on a map. And so Adar didn’t ask and Celebrimbor didn’t move when the uruk reached up, and tried to draw the edge of his sleeve over the elf’s cheek to wipe off the black smudges.

His gaze was wholly fixed on the spot, but Celebrimbor felt his breath still in his lungs and couldn’t look away from the uruk’s face. The way he looked as he performed his task in concentration was arresting. Celebrimbor had never noticed the blue-green color of his eyes before, and found himself searching his mind for gemstones that would fit their shade.

After a moment, Adar pursed his lips, and then held the back of Celebrimbor’s head with his gauntleted hand as he released his sleeve and began to smooth his thumb over the smith’s cheek instead.

Both the feel of the gauntlet in his hair and the touch of Adar’s thumb on his face made the smith fight to not suck in a breath lest Adar would stop what he was doing, and instead continued to hold very, very still as let his eyes drink in the other’s face.

Even with the scars, the pale skin, Celebrimbor could admit Adar was quite beaut-

Wait.

This time, Celebrimbor did suck in a breath.

Adar’s eyes snapped up to the smith’s, and then widened slightly as they stared at each other.

But they did not move. Both remained, motionless, staring into one another's eyes.

Celebrimbor felt warm all over, the way he’d done when Adar had asked after his wellbeing, when he’d saved him from Damrod, when they’d been wed and k-

‘Aquamarine,‘ the smith thought, faintly. ‘His eyes look like aquamarine.‘

His attention couldn’t seem to settle between Adar’s thumb on his cheek and the way he was watching him.

There was an embarrassed coughing sound from the side, and Celebrimbor looked over to see Glûg stand close to the shed, stepping from foot to foot while visibly, tensely uncomfortable.

Slowly, Adar stepped back from Celebrimbor and removed his hand – though not without one last swipe of his thumb. "There, I think it’s gone now," he said. His voice came out rougher than the elf had expected. It almost made him shiver.

And then Adar had turned to Glûg, taking the warmth of his touch with him, and Celebrimbor felt himself deflate where he stood. "What is it, Glûg?"

"Galadriel has returned to the camp, Lord Father. Says she has brought word from the king – looks like he wants to come in for talks himself next time."

Celebrimbor felt his eyes snap open wide in surprise at Glûg’s words, just as Adar said, "These are indeed unexpected, if welcome news."

He turned to Celebrimbor, and beckoned him over. "We should go and greet her, see what else she has to report. Will you come along, too?"

Celebrimbor quickly looked at Gurlak, who made a shooing gesture. Her face was going through some weird motions that made it look as if she was doing her damnest to fight down a wide grin. The smith turned back to Adar and nodded with a smile. "Of course. Maybe we can still have a meal together, after?"

There was the faintest quirk of a smile on Adar’s lips. "If it would please you."

‘Yes,‘ Celebrimbor thought as he walked to his husband’s side and the two began to walk back to their tent together, Glûg in tow. ‘I think it would please me very much indeed.‘

[fluffy-lee-boa]

Squealing Santa 2k23

Of Buddies and Bros (a barbieverse tickle fic)

Fandom: Barbie (2023)

Characters: Ken and Allan

A/N: Hello @sweettallahassee! It is I, your secret santa >:3 I was so excited to get this assignment- The world could definitely use some more Barbie t fics. Especially ones with Allan. I really hope you like it! I saw the words “cheer-up tickles” and was possessed to write way more than I anticipated haha. Happy Holidays!

This was super fun, and I can’t wait to participate again, since this was my first time and now I think I’ve really got a handle on things. Thank you so much to @squealing-santa !!!

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

It had been a good amount of time since Stereotypical Barbie had left Barbie Land altogether, with Allan having become Ken’s closest confidant and friend from there on out. It was a pretty surprising change, and one that took some getting used to, as Allan had been used to being number 3 in a world of couples. But now? Well, it was practically his job to stick by Stereotypical Ken, and help him along his journey in self-discovery. Help him find some sort of identity outside of “Beach” and Barbie.

Unfortunately, Ken was very much still attached to both Beach and Barbie, to the point that it was a real hindrance on any progress being made in that department.

Allan knew it must have been hard for the guy, so he wasn’t annoyed or frustrated. More concerned, really. I mean, even with all the changes that had come to Barbie Land, every Ken still had their Barbie. Every Ken… except for his Ken.

His Ken? Ok, that was a weird thought. Better to just ignore it and move on. Narrations could be tricky sometimes, and he of all people knew that.

But either way! He was here to help. Be a buddy, whatever that meant.

It had been another perfect, beautifully sunny day, one in which Allan had been trying and failing to get Ken out of bed. Ken had begun staying in Stereotypical Barbie’s old place, as it was vacant, and already had quite a lot of Mojo Dojo Casa House decor, including the “manly” fur coat that Ken had draped over himself as a makeshift blanket as he grumbled about being woken up.

“Ken, come on.” Allan sighed, tugging at the end of the coat lightly but firmly, “We already told Pilot Barbie we’d be ready for your skydiving lesson at noon, we can’t miss that, or it’ll throw off our whole schedule. Remember? We even had a quick stop at the beach to try surfing again…!”

Allan had been meticulously planning their days filled to the brim with activities that might lead to Ken finding his true passion. Usually Ken was pretty gung-ho about the whole thing, but today seemed to be an off day. It was probably because yesterday he’d tried acting, and instead of impressing Director Barbie with his stunning talent, he’d ended up really crying for about an hour and they weren’t able to get any good footage out of it.

So here they were, at a stalemate in Barbie’s old bedroom.

Allan considered his option, his mind cycling through possibilities. He could simply rip the fur off of him to force him up, but that sounded harsh, and Ken needed a gentle touch right now.

Wait a minute.

Gentle… touch.

That gave him an idea!

So after a second more of contemplating if the possibility of revenge was worth it, Allan made his first move. He was just lucky enough that Ken’s leg happened to be sticking out from the bed, giving him the perfect opportunity to put his plan into motion. He pushed aside any hesitation and lurched forward, putting the other’s foot in what was essentially a headlock and sitting at the end of the bed.

“Wha- HEY-!” Ken was instantly sitting up, the coat having fallen away to reveal a particularly pink set of pajamas that would have matched with Barbie perfectly had she still been around.

“Sorry, but you wouldn’t get out of bed, so…” Allan shrugged, trying to suppress a smile as he utilized a persuasive skill Barbie Land had only picked up on when they last interacted with the real world- Tickling.

It wasn’t entirely new to them, of course, but the concept of a tickle *fight* was something so novel that it had been on Allan’s mind ever since Barbie had left, and this was as good an excuse as any to start one.

“AH- AhAhAllan! You can’t-!”

“Can’t what, help my buddy cheer up?” Allan teased as he scribbled away at the little divots in between his toes, though before he could say anything further, there was a flurry of movement that was too fast for him to catch in the moment.

When Allan next opened his eyes, he found that Ken was now firmly rested on top of him, holding both his arms above his head in one hand. Curse his stereotypically large and admirable muscles- there was no escaping such a grasp.

“No… I was gonna say you can’t expect me not to fight back,” Ken replied after he’d caught his breath with a more confident smirk this time, his free hand hovering over Allan’s unfortunately unbuttoned beach top menacingly.

“Whoa! Ken, heyyy, we can talk this out!” Allan babbled the moment he realized the predicament he was in, sinking into the softness of the bed below them with a nervous, borderline awkward laugh, “I was just- trying to get you up! And you’re up now! We can go!”

“Mmm. I don’t think that’s gonna work for me,” Ken’s hand was getting dangerously close to his ribs, which made Allan start squirming without him having even touched him yet.

“In fact… You were right, buddy. This is cheering me up already,” Ken added smugly, before his gently clawed his hands back and forth over his lower ribs like he was trying to feel every gap and ridge in his rib cage.

Allan immediately burst into frantic giggles that resembled a bird of paradise making alarm calls- they were by no means graceful or dignified, but there was no arguing it, they were adorable. There was even an interspersing of snorts and yelps that kept things fresh whenever Ken wandered a little lower down to vibrate his fingertips across his barely-visible abs. Speaking of which…

“WAIT NONONONO-!”

Ken’s eyebrows raised when Allan’s protests spiked, and he realized he must be getting close to a goldmine. He kept that same goofy smile, the one he always had when he was proud of himself for figuring something out. If Allan could focus on it, he’d probably melt, but he was too busy being reduced to breathless laughter as he begged for what seemed to be his life.

But what spot exactly might be causing such a reaction?

Well, as Ken was already quite pleased with his deduction skills, he was sure he’d figured it out. So he let his hand drift farther down, lightly tracing a line with the spider-like movement of his fingers to his upper belly. Aaaand Bingo.

“KEHEN!” Allan barked, attempting to fold in on himself like a beach chair.

Ken knew this spot must be the absolute worst for him, so he was careful not to take things too far. He kept his tickles light, and almost teasing, using his perfectly manicured nails to swirls little hearts and star shapes around his belly button, “Yeah, bro?”

Allan simply shook his head, eyes squeezed shut as he dug his heels into the bed as if to dispel some of the nerves. His open-mouthed laughter hadn’t let up much despite the change of pace, and his cheeks were now a bright shade of red. So Ken, being the kind and generous person he was, decided he’d had enough.

He slowed his movement to a stop, letting go of Allan’s wrists so he could prop himself up on his elbows above him with an affectionate smile. He rested his chin on the other’s chest, which made Allan tense up with the lightest of giggles at the way his stubble scratched at his topmost ribs.

“Feeheel any behehetter?” Allan managed to ask, looking down at him with a softer smile.

Ken thought about it for a moment before he hummed, his voice smooth and deep despite the strenuous battle, “Yeah. Definitely.”

Ken moved to stand up, hands on his hips as he looked out over Barbieland from their vantage point at the end of the block. To his surprise, Allan’s giddy laughter had caught the attention of quite a few neighbors, who gave him looks that came across as almost… relieved. Truth be told, everyone had been worried for Ken for some time now, but seeing, or more hearing, him be so carefree and mischievous, it was nice to see he hadn’t changed much.

Allan had to take a few more minutes to fully recover, though eventually he sat up with a deep breath, rolling his shoulders with a smile, “Gee. Remind me not to mess with you again.”

“Or- I dunno- maybe more often…?” Ken replied, his voice bordering on shy for once, “I wasn’t lying. It really did cheer me up, broski.”

And with that, Allan knew that he didn’t have anything to worry about after all. Ken was gonna be alright, even without Barbie, and even if the journey was longer than they anticipated. They would walk down that road together, wherever it was gonna take them. That’s what buddies are for.

[cooliofango]

The fellow rising MCD writers….

Share opinions/help(?) with these ideas (for a possible series) if you would be so kind! I’m open to doing multiple/all— but I’m stuck in a bad writers block rut and need help out of it! 😭

Tagging the only moot when it comes to MCD that I have so farrrr: @kokomifan24

Ps: I plan to write all of these with female writer first as it is/will be easier for me to write when starting out! And if the series is likes enough/it is requested, I’ll remake it with male pronouns/gender neutral pronounds

Idea one: Garroth x Reader

Reader is an elf folk like Zoey. Turned up at the house of an Okhasis general as a baby and was taken in. When a young child, was introduced to the royal family. It’s found out that she has incredible elemental magiks, being most prominent with fire— but she has no control of it. Rather than punish her, the king finds the best magiks users to help her gain control of these abilities and start her training as a knight to utilize these abilities in combat/for protection of the kingdom. While at her time with the castle, grows close with the siblings. This leads her to be one of the three guards chosen to be the personal guards for the three sons— she becomes Garroth’s personal guard. They bond and form a strong friendship (and hidden romantic feelings) over the course of many long years. The closeness was why, when Garroth attempted to run away from home and his duties, she let him go when she caught him. From then on, she was set as another personal guard to the high priest until they find Garroth and bring him back. Catching up with the actual MCD story’s timeline— she is there when Zane goes there to preform the wedding ceremony.

Idea two: Laurence x Reader

Reader is a thief that goes along with the “steal from the rich, give to the poor” motto, except the poor is a band of refugees/wrongly criminalized escapees of major cities and villages (aka Ohkasis, Scaleswind, etc.) and though she doesn’t like being called a “lord” of the not-small-not-large “village” (refugee camp), she has became the major caretaker for it and its people. She’s admired and respected amongst the people, finding her to be brave in doing something so risky. Laurence and Reader first “meet” when she steals from the group as they camp for the night during a long travel to wherever. They officially meet, however, when reader gets a bit too cocky when seeing a rather expensive (and unknowingly powerful) relic on Aphmau that she wants to take and sell for a hefty price. Laurence is who captures her and they hold her prisoner as they travel, now with her in tow.

Idea three: Travis x Reader

Slight adaptation to the Aphmau series lore regarding Irene and her being the connection between the series with the whole soul splitting thing— it will be instead confined to the MCD story with other people having the other two pieces of her soul

Reader was born rather unnatural. Not in the sense that she looked weird or was actually born in a weird way— but because she was a rather close to emotionless being from day one. Growing up, this made her someone people disliked/found creepy. She didn’t show sadness when a relative passed away. She didn’t shows pain whenever she would get bitten by a wild animal or fell down and scraped her knee. She didn’t show fear whenever she was approached by a rabid wolf (her father had shot and killed it with a bow an arrow to prevent her from harm). Despite how hard it was for them to endure the backlash and judgement, her parents loved her dearly and treated her without hatred. Her father taught her to wield a bow, and her mother (an alchemist) taught her how to make potions as she grew older. The stoic being eventually moved away, utilizing these skills as she traveled alone for years, being paid to do tasks for the people as she passed through (although reluctantly thanks to her demeanor). However, she eventually settled down and made a home for herself in the middle of nowhere amongst an evergreen forest. She first meets Travis (and maybe the others) when they come across her fighting off bandits on her own, who tried to rob her of her potions.

[nehswritesstuffs]

Ask game! 💋💥💞💫

Ooooh, yay! Thank you~

This got kind of long, so my answers are under the cut!

💋when you leave comments on a fic, do you want to hear back from the writer?

Yes! It's rare for me to not want to hear back, but I know and understand that sometimes you got nothing else to say, since I've been on that end too.

💥find your least kudos'd fic - say something wonderful about it.

That would be TTOU Big Finish Snippet: Workplace Security [AO3] with its all of THREE KUDOS! *paper confetti* I really enjoyed writing something for The Thick of UNIT that was Jamie, Sam, and Bismuth. One of the great things about both Doctor Who and The Thick of It is the side characters and what they can bring to the story. While Doctor Who is able to access all of time and space with its side characters and give us more Human voices to lean upon for anywhere from an episode to a whole series/season, the side characters in The Thick of It give us a sense of just how many cogs are in the system and how big and far-reaching everything is, especially what the ministers and aides are cocking up. It's a reminder of all the banal shit in a government or other large organization and how much of said shit happens and yet you have to carry on best you can. Here we're able to explore all of those concepts in a short audio script fic that has no shortage of Bismuth attempting to figure things out, Sam being a sort of grounding force, and Jamie being... well... Jamie. my next-least at five is the beginnings of a rewrite of an old One Piece fic i haven't touched in years and i really need to get back on that bc i haven't touched the rewrite in more than a few months lol i'm too many dozens of thousands of words into the conceptualization to just drop it at this point

💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

I'm going to answer this in regards to fan fiction only, since it has factors that don't impact published original fiction and vice versa. A tough one, but I would have to honestly say it's a weird combination of factors that can vary if certain criteria are met. Sometimes I begin to go through a fic where something's not up to snuff and I'll go "I'll entertain this for now" and it's lead to some surprising things. Part of this I think comes from cutting my fandom teeth with varying anime as a teen back in the 2000s. One of the things that I think makes sense when you think about it but we're easily able to take for granted is that one can utilize fandom as experimentation and practicing and figuring shit out. For some people, that's learning how to write a story. Others might know how to make words do things (wording is hard!), but they need practice at worldbuilding and storycraft. Some are trying to figure out how to stay consistent with a character, while on the opposite end of that, there's shit so silly that it can't help but be funny. If there's the right balance, then there are definitely things I can look over, but too many infractions clashing with one another and whoops Nehs out. There's also people who use fandom to practice foreign language skills in general. We see it often with weebs learning Japanese, but it also goes with people writing in English-as-a-Second-Language too. I've seen some really questionably-crafted stories that were rife with spelling and technical errors, but the soul of the story is there, if that makes any sense. They KNOW the characters, they KNOW what they want to tell, they KNOW how to get everything across in every possible way, and probably write really well in their native language, but in English...? They're working on it. And that's great! Part of me wants to branch out into that sort of thing one day, but the problem is that the communities whose languages I'm trying to learn are already very bilingual in English. But yeah... because all of those things were so weird and fluid and just desperately wanted in Anglophone weeb spaces FFN that it made sense to take what we could and encourage others when it came to writing about our anime blorbos. I dunno about everyone else's experience, but I rarely was in the middle of flame wars, so most of my fandom experience tended to be pretty cool. Also, having ESL family helps. It's no joke that it's hard translating everything in your head before you say it--some stuff gets lost in translation... literally!

💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

In lieu of a mini book report like was common in my teen years (lol), I really enjoy the ones that take something(s) that the reader liked about the story/chapter and picks it all apart. It could just be that they really liked a line or exchange of dialogue, or mentioning how events are going and how that messes with the story, or using context clues to try to parse out what's coming next. Knowing what clicks and whirs and gets into people's brain is so interesting to me and I love getting that information because then that's stuff for me to figure out as well about my writing and how it interacts with folks. Bonus points when someone does it on a by-chapter basis and/or on older stuff! I do also appreciate when someone legitimately corrects me, lol, 'cause Lord knows I'm not perfect.

Anyone else interested in having me answer some questions as I avoid writing actual fic? See what other prompts there are here.

[mitchelldailygames]

Heroes of Song Devlog Part 7: Moves

The heroes are cute.

Kindness matters.

The world is weird.

Sometimes you don’t fight. Sometimes you do.

Health is hearts.

I honestly don’t know how we got this far without talking about moves.

I took the ideas of feats, abilities, and traits found in other games and just lumped them all in a category called moves. The type of folk you choose comes with a move attached, there are a couple of moves attached to each calling, and each weapon (plus the shield) comes with a move attached. Even runes, rituals, and songs are just another flavor of moves, and I hope to use formatting in a way that makes that mechanical connection clear.

So, what do moves do?

Certainly, some moves are about doing cool things in a fight: shields can be used to perform a shield parry, the Guardian can take an attack meant for an ally, and a sword can be swung in a wide arc that hits multiple targets. Each type of weapon comes with its own unique move attached, which will make an axe clearly do something different than a dagger.

Remember, “Sometimes you don’t fight.” I wanted these non-fighting aspects to be mechanically emphasized through moves too. One way I plan on doing this is writing some moves to be flexible enough to have utility in and out of combat. Take the Guardian calling’s move of taking an attack meant for another. Here it is in its current state:

(Text from the picture) Under Your Wing (1 Effort): Become the target of an attack (physical, emotional, social, etc.) meant for a nearby ally.

"Under Your Wing" hopefully makes it clear that this could include emotional attacks or attacks on reputation; Guardian has the means of jumping on to protect friends from all sorts of things.

A note on formatting, the Effort (or Effort symbol) after the name of the move is the cost of using the move.

Another type of move is a skill move. As of right now, rather than having a list of single-word skills on character sheets, I have a "skill" (Sk) class of moves. These describe situations in which characters shine, often not needing to roll and being inspired if they do. For example, the Scout has the move Wilderness Survival (Sk). I could of course have "Wilderness Survival" just show up on a skill list, and it would probably often function the same way, but by making it a move I both prevent the power creep of getting a bunch of skills through advancement or the opposite issue where players feel like they should have access to certain skills for their archetype that are locked to them. I can also very clearly described how the skill move is used. In this case, Wilderness Survival makes you skilled at finding direction and taking care of yourself and others when off of well-established roads and trails. It's not a catch-all for tracking, identifying plants, and not falling off cliffs, but if the goal is taking care of yourself and others, it can apply to these kinds of scenarios. It also won't step on the toes of a "Botany" or "Knowledge Nature" skill move should those find their way into the game.

What I haven't quite cracked yet (but hope to) is a way to put agency in the hands of Hero Players to seek out secrets and explore the hidden corners of the world, which is a very significant part of the Legend of Zelda and Tunic inspirations. I think some kind of "Find a Secret" move is the right way to go here. This might be a specific exploration/discovery move for each Calling (such as Scamps finding hidden doors in dungeons and Scouts finding hidden caves in the "overworld"). I can see this getting bogged down, though, especially as the Calling list expands beyond the initial six. I think a better solution is going to be a move that is universal to all players, but on some kind of limiter.

I'm thinking about having two dice sitting on the table, each starting at 6. These could represent the "Discover a Secret" difficulty. As heroes search for secrets but don't find any, they can shift the dice down to smaller faces, reducing the difficulty of finding a secret. I might say each hero must attempt to discover a secret before someone can try again. I might have Hero Players elect one of their heroes to check for secrets each time they enter a new dungeon room or mini-region. Maybe the Songkeeper rolls for the total number of discoverable secrets in a location in the first place. Skills could totally apply to the searching process, granting inspiration in specific scenarios.

I obviously don't have it worked out yet, but I think there are the bones of something there. I also don't think this precludes including secrets and optional puzzles in the dungeon design and Songkeeper prep, but I didn't want all of the burden of this pretty essential gameplay aspect to fall entirely on the Songkeepers. I want this idea to be represented in the mechanics.

That's all for this post. I'm hoping to make a test version of the game available sometime soon so I can start getting some early feedback (and to facilitate my personal sessions). I don't know if the next post will be about that, but I think there is a good chance it will be.

The world is weird; kindness matters.

--Daily

[torushawty]

thank u emmie for posting this, hi so ! first v sorry for the never ending annoying discourse, i’m like not on here anymore but this is needed to add my side of the story especially since i play a part, i had to take my blog of seven months @/kazushawty down for some petty accusations i didn’t start. as well as since i’ve dealt w the same sub post issue/bullying not that long ago this month + similar drama kind of by this creator.

i was mentioned here by another fellow writer (won’t mention to protect their peace) so, i’m gonna speak up because i know i previously said, i have a life and i don’t care about this high school type drama, but what i’m not gonna do is stay quiet and keep my mouth closed while i was being mocked and talked about from the side lines for no reason when i didn’t even do anything

that being said, i have every right to defend myself and i’d like to also speak for any other fellow deactivated writers who lost their hobby or passion of writing just to this unnecessary childish discourse

also this isn’t a post to by any means be hateful i’m just simply sharing my experience

i remember around sometime the beginning of this october right before the discourse started i got two anons on the same day that involved this writer, and me being confused, i answered it because i figured people were being genuine. one was like “is this saetoru’s second account? /gen” and then another was like “i hope this doesn’t come off as weird but you remind me so much of saetoru you guys have the same humor” and i guess they figured i sent those to myself? because it was mentioned (i obviously didn’t, it’s even weird i got not one but two anons that revolved that blog on the same day hm) i honestly didn’t think much of it really, so i answered both and went along with my day.

but then come to find out a day or two the drama started, someone shows me this screenshot from said writer’s main and it revolves around this ask which was revealed of being my @

while i appreciate it a lot, i can see how it would have caused things between writers— however for the anon, there’s no need to pin writers against each other and consider one’s skill better than the other, but i feel like this entire situation was a simple misunderstanding (?) i think it was unintentional but reacted in the wrong way, also i got randomly accused of sending this ask, which again i did not. i’ll say this right now, if you have something you wanna talk about just dm. the only “proof” it was apparently me doing everything was all because of the backwards apostrophe and i do that in my writing sometimes only because (1) …. not everyone has an american keyboard, and also, (2) it could be anyone sending that anon. literally. anyone. so blaming it on one person without solid proof anyway is nuts

my thing is, i was literally never contacted in private to deal with this, only to find out i get blocked not even hours later and talked about after i find out this even happened. i completely understand blocking someone, i am not mad in the slightest about being blocked, you’re utilizing the button, that’s in your right. but to hard block and proceed to bash them behind closed doors is entirely childish in every shape or form.

some might say “no one asked you to deactivate” i left on my own choice and accord, mainly being this discourse shit is not worth it. reason why i’m not on here at all after everything happened. all this for some anime porn about pixels. this is tumblr dot com, this app doesn’t pay my bills or any of my necessities and i know when to not take things serious and this entire thing has been so so so so drawn out. literally i write for fictional characters for fun then out of nowhere i get accused of things with no proof only to then get talked about as if i won’t see it, as if i won’t respond. don’t get me wrong, i hate any types of drama, i don’t care for it but if my name is getting dragged out i’m gonna say something because i have every right to defend myself. if you’re gonna talk about me, at least message me so we can have an adult conversation? 😭 all this ‘hard block and sub post all types of bullshit about this person’ is really.. this is so unneeded. no confrontation happened at all and it’s just so

strange how all this evidence is now all deleted, but i wanna talk about this too, because firstly i didn’t befriend anyone. if anyone knows me, i don’t ask people to be mutuals anymore due to my own comfort reasons. and about my anons on my main being off days before, i never said i got those anons sent from her, i’ve been getting hate silently way before this discourse even happened, i only then decided to speak about it on oct. 9 on my call out post + plus this thing coming out of nowhere on top of the constant racism and hate was just really again, not needed in the slightest.

and again, idk why i kept getting accused of sending anons to this blog when NO PROOF IS BEING SHOWN. how are you gonna accuse someone then not show evidence of what’s being spoken of, let alone confront the person directly. at that point you’re just going off your own word. it makes no sense. like i said, if i have an issue, i’m gonna be an adult and say what i need to say to your face instead of just blocking to only then continue to bring a person’s name up while they clearly can’t speak for themselves

instead of accusing someone, maybe i don’t know, get proof first. because at that point you’re just spreading erroneous false claims. i have no types of time to be living in anyone’s inbox, let alone anonymously. it’s the way this could have easily been prevented and cleared up if i was contacted about the matter, but i literally never was. i got hard blocked for an issue i only found out about many hours later, then i start getting mocked and blamed for doing all types of untrue things—

i’m not gonna immediately assume they’re talking about me in this post like they immediately assumed i was dogpiling them wtv anons but i recall this post that’s now deleted was perhaps sneak dissing me judging from the shawty in my url, also this was right after i deactivated. if i can remember in the asks that was answered about me, i thought you said you didn’t know i existed, so you miss my posts on the dash now? weird

if this ain’t about me, my bad. it is kinda odd.. this is deleted now but just something to think about

this is ridiculous, and really immature. if you have a problem with me you wanna talk about, just spare the energy and @ me or dm. bc all this lame sub posting shit towards people and not confronting them in private is so kiddy, we’re supposed to be adults and stuff like this is happening. what is this, high school? the constant mocking, bashing, and belittling other writers is just really . . i cant depict a word for it, but it’s really concerning.

this is supposed to be a fun place, not a toxic competitive place— this is an app, to write, create or do whatever. and why yes it is sad i was one of the many writers leaving due to this, at the end of the day it’s not the end of the world because i don’t take it serious like most do. tumblr is a hobby, and i won’t get worked up over it. i can always start over again

without tumblr, you’re literally.. just an average person behind a screen lol. no one is a celebrity on here regardless if you’re a big known blog or not. we all do the same thing at the end of the day, and that’s to write about fictional made up characters. i agree, i feel like people weaponize their high following count to do or say whatever they want and not get held accountable.

sadly after reading everyone else’s shared experiences, i’m sure even this won’t do anything. this will pass and then more writers are gonna get ran off. it’s truly not fun to spend time on a platform where such discourse is never ending, but it’s important to know your worth, there’s no shame in deactivating. there aren’t any hard feelings because again, i don’t take this entire thing serious, i wish all parties nothing but the best regardless. logging out and later deleting this acc like i said to move on but that’s all i had to say. it is quite sad to abandon your passion or hobby because of dumb drama, but what’s really important is to protect your peace.

saetoru is talking abt you on her private blog (@/clorindes) yuckkkkk

CW BULLYING, LITERALLY IMMATURE HIGH SCHOOL DRAMA, SUB POSTING.

hi nonnie, thank you for letting me know! since i’m leaving this blog & this platform for the foreseeable future i figured i might aswell get a few things off of my chest before i go. i apologise in advance for the vibes this post will probably bring, the discourse & the posts that will ofcourse follow, but i honestly i am not the first person to be targeted by this creator and i’m sure i won’t be the last considering the amount of creators that have been bullied off of this app by them.

first off i’ve had multiple blogs that would be considered bigger blogs such as @/hvnlydmn, @/atsymu + now this blog which is the biggest of all 3. i think there’s a sort of unspoken responsibility that comes with being a bigger blog which i know is no fun but it’s also because it can be super harmful on a site like this, when people weaponise their following.

on that note i’ll start this post by saying that i’ve known tee for probably around 3/4 years, maybe? we were mutuals on hvnlydmn & atsymu and we continued to talk on discord even when i was off of tumblr. i will honestly admit to this day i have never had a negative interaction with tee to my face and she was genuinely supportive of me during any discourse i was involved in. i am not some angel, i’ve had my fair share of crap on this app (of my own doing) but this post is not meant to come across like “oh she doesn’t like me so i’m calling her out” no. im sorry if this doesn’t line up with my brand and my ‘victim complex’ but i’m not gonna lie down and let someone on a power trip on a hobby app drag me through the mud.

first off i had began to get some off vibes from tee when i had started writing on garoujo, notably when i’d just hit my first milestone which was probably around 1k. during this i had decided to move my instagram theme from my main blog to my writing blog.

i’d noticed tee subposting (on main and on her personal blog which i followed at the time) about someone basically using the same theme as her, which after then clicking onto her blog i realised was an instagram theme. i didn’t think much of it, again me & tee were friends and she hadn’t came to me directly so ignored it. i was still a new blog and trying to solidly an aesthetic (before the beige lol) so i changed my theme / masterlists / layouts a lot.

a few more sub posts later i decided to message tee about it because with every thing i’d change / post on my blog, there always seemed to be another post. so i messaged her and got this response in: (i’ve blurred out my irl name btw) open up pics for convo!

so i let it slide, kept posting & that was that. probably a few days / a week later, tee had soft blocked me which then eventually led to me being hard blocked. i was upset ofcourse because i genuinely considered tee a good friend but i’ve always been a big advocate in controlling your space.

this was when, one of our mutuals in common (the first of many may i add) approached me on discord to say that just like now, i was being ripped to shreds on tee’s personal blog:

again i was notably upset about this because i was being accused of not only copying her theme but also her writing & masterlists, we did have a lot of mutuals in common so it was also upsetting knowing they would all be seeing these posts aswell. i allowed myself one sub post about “creating a narrative” because i was particularly frustrated but tee then also subposted about this, even though she had me blocked?

i would also like to say regarding our mutuals in common that this was not the first or last mutual to approach me regarding tee. i’ve had multiple people tell me that “they’re only mutuals with her because it would be more damaging not to be” “it’s easier to be on her side”. also i am not saying this is okay but i’ve had multiple of her current mutuals send me not only her posts, but screenshots of her private, personal instagram & also tell me about how all of them and their friends had a running joke / theory that tee made up her boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) for attention.

regarding the accusations from tee i’d like to first comment on the instagram themes, again i had done an instagram theme on my main blog but it seemed to only be an issue when it was on my writing blog that was gaining traction. if the timing was off and it seemed like i copied her, i genuinely have nothing to say except it’s not the case— it’s instagram (which tee already admits she doesn’t own above) also the hanma writing? i’m still not 100% sure which drabbles she was referring to but i can only assume that 1. is when i posted a drabble about hanma fucking you outside of his subordinates house — this was a almost completely word by word rewrite of a suna drabble i done on my old blog @/atsymu i literally just changed the concept to fit tokyo revengers themes. i can post screenshots of this suna drabble also from my google docs dated February when i deactivated. the other one may have been some basic concept about him fucking you against the window.

she also mentions in the very first recent screenshot at the beginning of this post that i have apparently stolen concepts of fics / posts from her mutuals. what i want to say regarding this is, do you believe that i would have made it this far on stolen work? i don’t know any of the mutuals she’s referring to apart from 1 which i’ll get into. but every single accusation i’ve ever received has always come from someone associated or in contact with tee, she has always been at the root of it all but i have yet to receive a single anon or ask about me copying or taking inspiration from anyone’s work.

i know there was apparently a blog and an ex mutual of mine, who i had a lot of respect & time for who was under the impression i’d stolen their concept for this gojo fic. the whole premise of this fic is honestly not uncommon considering how many times people losing control of their techniques / powers / quirks during orgasm has been done in fanfiction. this concept was completely my own, i had originally posted shitposts about him losing control of his technique & also him putting you into a mating press / breeding before i’d decided to smoosh them together into a fic. we all read from the same workbook, we all have the same material to work off of — two people in a fanbase of THOUSANDS having a similar idea is not unheard of.

now onto the masterlist banners. the screenshot on the far left are the comparison photos that tee made herself— i’m sure you’ll be able to see them in better quality when she makes her own post about it; because obviously that’s going to come. first off i will say, i will admit i took inspiration from her official art masterlist banners — i thought hers looked good and i needed a masterlist so i used official art. fair game there although i only kept them for a few days before i changed again.

but onto the grey masterlist banners, i can honestly say i did not even know tee had this masterlist, also the only comparison i myself see is the colour. the only reason i chose grey was because i had started to use a grey / white overlay on my manga panels for my layout (as you can see far right), and as you know— i’ve always kept my colour scheme pretty consistent. on that note, regarding the actual layout of the masterlists— i’ve added screenshots from atsymu (that i could find due to it being deactivated) that shows the layout of my old masterlists, which was what i took inspiration from for my current. although the title font for each heading like headcanons is different, i had used the sort of old style, basic font that everyone uses before i had deactivated so it would match my fic headers i just don’t have photos obviously.

anyway on the back of this there was then discourse over me apparently copying tee’s kinktober masterlist, which again was not the case. but again due to tee’s following i had received multiple death threats into my asks the morning after i posted mine. as far as i was aware, the only similarities were the fact we both used gifs in our headers & the layout listing thirsts, hcs & fics (which is very common during kinktober but i admitted below i could see that similarity). unfortunately during all of this discourse was when ffflowers, my hate blog also came into the mix which then lead to tee reaching out to me in dm’s from her old blog.

the interaction between me & tee was pretty good, again she was nothing but nice to me directly despite the way she obviously spoke about me in private above. but as you can see below, tee herself told me that basically most of the similarities all made above were brushed off as basic. we spoke about the ig themes & i apologised, saying i could understand where she was coming from and that was that. i unblocked her & she unblocked me so i could reblog her post, it’s been that way since.

it is not my place to comment on other people’s experiences on this app but i would need more than 2 hands to list the amount of people that i’m sure have had similar if not worse experiences with tee. i know i have had multiple mutuals who have been bullied off of this platform & had their safe space ripped from them for little things such as: liking a character that this group selfship with, tee and her friends not liking their characterisation. they’ve even went as far as to go through other larger creators notes to check for minors so they can make excuses as to why they’re thriving.

i also know of a blog who was ‘blacklisted’ from tee & her mutuals as they self shipped with arataki itto at the time, one of tee’s friends also did, so they blacklisted this creator and had all of their mutuals block them for this which then in turn drove this creator off the app. there has been other notably bitchy things that i’ve heard but i have no receipts for therefore i don’t see any relevance in starting rumours.

i would also like to say i know plagiarism is a horrible thing, we have all been through it— myself included but it’s got to the point where being accused of copying tee has become a canon event. notably, bigger platforms have been ruined and driven off of this app for little things such as mdni dividers, similar colours schemes etc. and it’s the reason i’m also leaving.

i will say i have met some amazing people through my discourse with tee, notably people who have been in similar situations and i also apologise to any mutuals who we still have in common who are now sort of stuck inbetween. no hard feelings. although to tee: id be careful of the people you trust because it seems the loyalties they have to you are not as sincere as you may believe. you can also go to her personal & read the other things she was saying about me like how she was always so ? at how many people seemed to like me.

so that’s all i have to say, i’m sure dash will get a few responses from this but i’ll be logging out & turning off asks because honestly? couldnt care less. the only thing i’d change about my experience on this app would be i wish i’d blocked tee sooner.

i’d say have a nice day, but instead, have the day you deserve.

— emmie :)

[miriaflowers]

therapy sessions

11/6/23

I decided that journaling what I talk through with my therapist would be an incredibly helpful self reference guide to look back upon. note - this is about 4 months into therapy, first two with a therapist I didn't connect well with and two with my current therapist who is awesome.

today was my first session since getting back home from my Japan and Korea trip. it feels weird being home because it feels less like home than I did when I was traveling around in Asia. that's part of my essence, I love the freedom of travel and the genuine connections you can make along the journey. to keep some of that travel magic we talked about being a tourist in my own city as I admittedly have not explored much of.

she also sent me a daily planner PDF that I definitely should utilize and print out. routine is important for me, at least a loose one with a few things a week to look forward to. I could never do a rigid packed schedule but I'm finding comfort in the middle, having some foundational plans to work around.

we talked about creating a commitment of sorts to the climbing gym and yoga. at least a consistent day and time, we'll shoot for 3 times a week for now. the goal is to join the climbing gym tomorrow. it'll be worth it! consistency helps with my mental and emotional health and building a familiar community around those shared interests will create a fulfilling day to day life.

also talked about being more intentional about my food intake as when I'm home I usually just procrastinate eating and end up eating whatever junk is around. that will not fulfill and sustain my body, there's definitely been a difference in how I feel when eating back here vs my trip. I felt pretty nourished out there and it was so affordable for me. just as a factor of being in a different country my lifestyle was a lot more healthy. walking around a lot and being spoiled with culture, connection, and cheap delicious satisfying food. the three C's perhaps?

for now, since I am going to be here for a good while I imagine, I must focus on getting the career skills necessary to have the kind of life I want. flexibility and freedom are priceless to me. and that kind of lifestyle requires knowledge and skills in technology these days, which I fortunately love and use. I need to take advantage of that luck and learn. I wasn't built for this game but I have to play it the best I can. with enough help and perseverance I believe I can do it. I already got the luck part in some regards, it's up to me to utilize it.

inaction will be the death of me. I need a balance between the rest I need and the connection I need. because the truth is I need massive amounts of both and it's easy for me to fall into the void one way or another.

I'm lucky to have this chance and be alive. to get to travel and experience the things I have. music, culture, food, drugs, love. maybe not the exact love I've been desiring but still so much pure love over these years. enough love for me to make it to this point, you know?

I should continue doing these journals. it's been very helpful to explore what we've been talking about and get even more value out of my therapy.

trying to remember what all we talked about but I'm pretty sure that sums it up. continue to foster connections, tend to your body with both the activity and rest that it needs, nourish your body with good food, nourish your mind with new knowledge and skills (at this moment try to prioritize things in technology), nourish your soul with love, connections, and experiencing new things. I'm learning that this is the person that lies underneath the years of trauma and mental illness. I have hope that I'll like, and eventually love, this person.

[hopefulcanary]

Do you have any drawing tips for semi-beginners hoping to improve drawing people? 🙏

Draw at least once a day, even if you don't feel like it. Artistic skill is 5% raw talent and 95% stubborn af bull-headed "fuck you I'm mad that I can't draw a 3/4 head so I am gonna draw it a hundred times until I get it right"

Do drawing warmups– straight lines from the shoulder, spirals and circles and cubes, things that get your muscles, well, warmed up. Even if this is all you can draw that day, you're still gaining fine motor control.

Copy from old school masters. I literally, 100% do mean "sit your butt down and freehand a copy of whatever famous painting/sculpture/piece you're gaga for". Critically analyze how these artists drew the human form. Why do you enjoy these artists' works? What would you like to learn from them? I'm not a great colorist, so I enjoy studying how other artists utilize light and color.

Listen to Jack Kirby's advice:

Use references. All the time. Every damn day. Download stock photos that look cool and try drawing them. Take photos of yourself, your friends and fam and draw them. Feel weird because smug little assholes cry that "that's cheating", or folks make fancy jpgs of how you have to change a certain percent of the pose/hair/face/the way the shirt is flowing on your friend's body because exact life-drawing studies are "copying" now??? References are how artists work successfully and grow as artists. So you know, fuck them.

"Stock photo [person] [action]" is a life saver for finding poses to practice on

Use grids if you need to. Our predecessors did. Hell, they used crazy things like the camera obscura to make the perspective of their paintings correct. Programs like Procreate literally have grid guides to help.

Just completely stuck on a body part and frustrated that you can't get it to look right? Trace it. You have my permission. Trace it to get the form right, then try free-handing it again. You'll probably nail it. MAGIC. This is not "cheating".

(Don't trace stuff and pass it off as yours/use it for final pieces* unless your style is literally rotoscoping, a perfectly valid art form. Like, know your work and take pride in it.)

Related to that, don't feel married to a particular "style". Learn the basic foundations, then Experiment. Do those "draw my character in [X] style" memes. Flexibility will help you be kinder to yourself. Push your limits.

Redraw old work, so you can see how much you've improved.

Everything about a person can be broken down into basic shapes. Don't feel like you have to draw all the body contours perfectly the first time, and don't feel married to your first drafts. Revise, revise, revise.

Be kind to yourself. Seriously. Allow yourself to be patient with yourself. Adults in particular are so hard on themselves when it comes to drawing, when we don't need to be.

*On the topic of tracing:

Want to know where you CAN trace all the live long day? Your own work. "What?" Yes. Good god, yes. Light boxes exist in meat space for a reason! Layers in digital programs exist for a reason! So you doodled two different pics of Bucky Barnes and you love his face on one but hate it on another? C&P that sucker over or draw off that. Make a new layer above the mess. Finesse the Winter Soldier into complying cuz he's an obedient boy. It's your vision, go HAM.

On the subject of "Originality":

Andrew Loomis' Figure Drawing For All It's Worth is a solid read that goes into the specifics of how to draw people, going into anatomy and breaking down bodies and faces into shapes and lines. Part of my improvement came when I stopped stressing out about the whole image (at least at first) and took things section by section.

It might seem a little dense and intimidating at first, but it's so much better than a lot of the "how to draw" stuff on the market today.

This is also dense af but I hope it helps!

[stuhde]

Please give advice on moving out or on getting jobs.

hey! i hope you're doing well anon. apologies for never seeing this ask? i guess with the new tumblr beta i'm seeing some asks on mobile and more on desktop? super weird, but happy to give you my two cents!

moving out

so for moving out, i don't have much to say because i'm kind of limbo on whether or not i want to pay rent for a year and a half before grad school. i'm kind of leaning towards staying at home with my family because grad/law school is MAD money, and for now, i think it's fiscially responsible that i stay home

WITH THAT, moving out is a big financial commiment, and a lot of people have different reasons for moving out. is it for a new job? are you unproductive where you are now? do you need to get out of an abusive situation? do you have the money and means to do so? these are all important questions to ask yourself before making the decision to live alone/with friends/with other people

if you're thinking of moving out LATER in the year, i would say look at places NOW and get a good estimate of the prices you'll have to pay for living. factor in utilities, do you want an in-wash unit? how safe is the area? is it transportation friendly or do you need a car? you have to factor all these in when determining a price range that you're looking for. once you have that down, start saving a little bit so you can comfortable pay rent and access utilities and such when you move

another thing to consider is, do you want roommates? are you okay living in a sublease? (cheaper, but you don't have rights). you should start looking for people you might want to live with soon as well. this will also dramatically reduce how much you're paying in rent and utilities

getting jobs

hoo boy, this is a BIG question that might need its own post one day. i also don't know how great of a resource i am bc i'm still trying to pivot in a full-time job from my current internship (i DID get my first big girl job offer, but i declined it like a FOOL). i do have a few suggestions for your search though:

step 1: identify employers - who are some the people/companies you're thinking of working for? follow their social media (especially LinkedIn), so you're in the loop when they're recuriting cycle begins

step 2: NETWORK, NETWORK, NETWORK - i know networking is the 8th deadly sin, but it is SO important. you MUST connected with recruitors and attend virtual hiring events because when you apply to a job with that organization, they will likely put in a good word for you! i also HIGHLY recommend that if you ever find a job you're interesting in applying to, PLEASE message and connect with someone on LinkedIn because they can give you advice on your application materials AND send in a private note for you (if they like you) once you've submitted an application

step 3: the search - use the broader job searching websites (Handshake; Google Jobs; Indeed; LinkedIn) and make sure that you’re filtering those searches to find things that you’re most interested, in such as level and location. if you're looking for entry-level jobs, most have the term "associate" in them. also make sure you’re getting email alerts and notifications for those job searches, maybe even set those alters to daily because the timing of job drops matters (week to 2 weeks)

step 4: the application - unpopular opinion, but just have ONE general resume with your skills and experince, i don't find it helpful to create a tailored one for every job you apply to. what needs to be new and tailored each time is the COVER LETTER. the cl is one of THE most important parts of your application. make sure it doesn't photocopy everything from your resume - this is really your opportunity to showcase why you're passionate about the organization, why you want to work here (use personal expereinces!), what your skills and experiences can CONTRIBUTE to the work of the organization (actually read into what they do and LINK to how you can add upon that work with your experience).

step 5: timing matters - get in the habit to applying immediately, put the application within 24 hours or into a week, nothing longer than this

this is SUPER long, but also so brief lol. i hope you find this helpful! best of luck with everything anon - you got this!

[chitose-gen-continuity]

Eva turned her back on the enemy before her. As a half-demon Shinigami-Hanyou, she could home in on sources of evil aura that her husband was blind to. "...Shura..." She knew it was her, unfortunately what she could sense was just as known to whatever she now engaged in combat with. "It seems you know whom that is....the source of our beckoning." "What?!?" She turns back towards this unknown demonic entity, his knowing of what was going on vexed her. Wrath consuming her, she rushed at him with speed and force, gripping him by the neck and crushing him into the building in front of her. "Ok...spill it! What's my daughter have to do with this!! And what do you mean she's the source?!?" Once the dust debris cleared from the impact, the demon casually flicked Eva's forehead, causing her to fly backwards. "Daughter? What a refreshing coincidence. Once I claim you, I'll be sure to add your scion to my collection as well. It's rare to find demons that can erode the boundary of realms, you see." Eva promptly returned to her feet, she took a breath and calmed herself, taking in his words, piecing together his capabilities through sheer deductive skill. She took stance, trying to calculate a method of attack that didn't rely on her demon energy... Shura observes as the new woman unleashes the thread of electricity to subdue incoming Yokai. However, that was only effective of the demons approaching from that angle. Shu did her best to help with her one free hand by controlling the air behind the raven-haired woman to create sharp, razor wind air palm blasts to repel the yokai, refraining from utilizing that accursed book unless once again backed into a corner. Given a moment's reprieve by the combination of razor wind and electric threads, the younger girl asks, "Who are you? Did you also come here because..." She stops suddenly. She was afraid, and ashamed, to say it was her fault the dimension portal was spawning unknown species of Yokai. Chireru was no longer in a position to hold back his powers. He disengaged his protective spirit barrier and went on the offensive. As a master swordsman, combined with his Kusanagi, a holy blade that can harm spirits, demons and deities, and his own spirit energy imbued attacks, cut through the swarms of yokai attacking him with speed and precision. He kept this pace for quite a while, but the Yokai kept coming. Thankfully, he had reinforcements in the form of an old friend. Lucia Sorel, a woman in her 20's, heir to the local business empire Sorel Industries...whom dons the alter ego of the vigilant Vagabond, came onto the scene without her suit, but armed with senbon with plasma arcs built into the tip. She took out scores of Yokai in seconds with her anti-demon knives, until she came in to watch Chireru's back. Chireru sighed. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be helping the evac with the other Super Soldiers?" Their banter wasn't new, when they first met, Lucia was often a damsel, needing rescue from the local gangs of Yokai that actually lived in the dark elements of the city. "You're welcome, Chu! Besides, Evac's going well...better than well! Most of the other Super's got more than have the citizens, and even a few demons who haven't turned on us are helping too! That being said...we got help, weird help." After another slain Yokai Chireru turned with a raised brow. "Yeah...whomever it was moves like a blur. Even with heightened senses on my part, her movements were hard to track. But, with she stood still, she had a sword like you and long blue hair." Chireru paused for a moment...if someone was slaying demons, maybe he could find her and ask her to rally the remaining fighters to work together and subdue the rouge demon elements. "Can you take me to her last known location?" "Are you crazy?!? You can't be sure that the enemy of our enemy is a friend, or just another enemy!!" Chireru couldn't help but chuckle. "Only one way to find out, right?"

Shura Breaks the Multiverse - Rp Starter

Shura Amakuni, age fourteen…daughter of Chireru Amakuni and Eva Shinto, utilizes her aerokinetic powers to hop the roof tops of the city of New Kyushu, spying her parents activities. On one rooftop, she saw her mother Eva, playing the mindful sheriff to keep the peace between humans and demons. With a set of roof tops hopped over and passed by, she watches her father buying spare parts to tinker with gadgets. Yawning and stretching…she makes her way home. Shura made it home long before her parents, and snuck into the basement of the their home. She rushes over to the bookshelf to ogle over a set of books brought here by her father from his birth home, until she came upon the one book that enthralled her…Necronomicon Ex Mortis. This ancient tome has passed through the hands of many scholars (many of them which met grime fates), until the last descendants of the Amakuni kept it for safe keeping over a hundred years. She opens the blood-inked opens of the worn grimoire, her study into Sumerian language payed off, able to read the grim passages and incantations the book had to offer. She flipped through each page until she came upon the one page that always captivated her imagination…a passage that allows for the communion of worlds.

She rips the page out, bits her thumb to allow blood to red upon the lone page and read the inscription as it read. Shura chanted the incantation for a straight fifteen minutes…and, much to her frustration, the only thing that happened was that the page burns up. Groaning as she sat for minutes on end with no real results, she impatiently calls it a night and goes to sleep…

                                                           …

Shura awoken to screams outside, getting herself out of bed to attempt to see what the source was, but the moment she stepped outside, both of her parents stood and watched…above everyone there was a crack in the sky. Citizens were accustomed to the supernatural plaguing their streets at this point, but even an event like this was enough to cause panic and outroar. Chireru grits his teeth. “What…what the hell could have caused this? This is abnormal, even by this city’s standards. We have to do something!” Eva simply runs ahead, the arrogance built upon her feats of regeneration prompted her to action…Shura felt nothing but guilt, Somehow, someway, she knew this was her fault, for attempting a ritual within a cursed artifact.

[bogkeep]

pretty much every time someone asks “how do you get good at art” the answer is going to be “practice”. on one hand, i get that a lot of people feel dissappointed by this, because Practice sounds like a chore, but on the other hand - isn’t it such a beautiful thing that Anyone Can Get Good At Art? what else would you want the answer to be? “you just have to be born good”? “you must purchase these very expensive art making tools and go into debt to attend prolific art school”? “you must sacrifice all of your livestock with a silver knife under a worm moon”? there isn’t any easier answer, and i’m pretty sure most of us are vaguely aware of that. art is a skill and skills need practice, no matter where you start out. i KNOW not everyone starts out in the same place. not everyone has the same time, the same space, the same health, or the same resources to Create. art is going to come more intuitively to some than to others. but it’s like - the story we’re told about famous western artists is so often about their ~*Innate Genius*~ and that’s just not true. who ends up as the Greats of Art History has little to do with innate ability and much to do with resources available to them. who had funds, supportive families, connections? who were allowed to apprentice or attend schools? and then - what counted as art, art classifications, which types of art were Great art? what art got seen? what art survived history? who wrote the history? who reads the history? y’know. society stuff!! and if we even look away from the past and onto Today: pretty much anyone can be an Online Artist - all the internet is your gallery. but even so there seems to be some kind of weird misconception that follower count equals skill equals earning lots of money as an artist. that’s... Also Not True. this whole tangle is multiple very big and nuanced topics i’m not gonna go into too deep for now, but - building a follower count and internet presence is its own skill. networking is its own skill. having a large following might not even give you any particular advantage, depending on what you want to achieve - you’ll have a bigger platform for sure, but it’s still a learned skill to utilize it. not every artist with a steady art job has a large follower count, nor does everyone want to have that. you don’t need thousands of followers to do commissions. and most notably: of course it’s easier to find cool artists with large following counts than small ones. of course that’s gonna warp our perception of it. basically... there’s many different skills. but the very cool and neat thing about skills is that they can be practiced! yes, yes, i know it sounds boring, but it doesn’t have to be. i get that the first impression you get of the concept of Practicing Art is to sit down and sketch from life or whatever. you can do that if you want! but when it comes down to it, the MOST fundamental thing about practice is just Do A Thing Multiple Times. honestly, the way i got ~*Good At Art*~ i largely attribute to doodling in my notebooks every single day at school. just drew cool birds and pretty girls over and over and over again. if you draw enough anime eyes you’ll get really good at anime eyes. draw fanart for your favourite thing. it doesn’t have to be more sophisticated than that!  you don’t even have to post it or share it. it can be just for you. just... find an enjoyable way to make art where you’re at. put on a podcast or an hour long video essay, get some cheap paper and random pens and just doodle and see where you go. if you wanna do a thing you gotta do it! don’t be afraid of being bad at things!! every bad thing you make is a step to making another thing. have fun i love you

[pandoraimperatrix]

caught between goodbye and I love you

DickKory | Pining | Eventual smut | Two shots | Post season 3 AU

Chapter 1: My heart is a sad affair

Nobody could say he didn't have been trying. Well, they could but it wouldn't be true.

Even though Bruce had made sure Dick knew how to attract the female attention, nobody told him what to do when it didn’t work as planned. Or how to stanch the wound.

Hell, Bruce made sure he could seduce anyone that could be seduced. "It is a very useful skill to have in your utility belt, Chum" he said then. But it didn't mean Dick didn’t pray for the sweet release of death back then when he was being forced to have seduction lessons under Alfred's or worse, Selina's tutelage.

He should have payed more attention to when they broke up, not that he’d have learnt something useful. They always got back together. He and Kory on other hand…

Well, been taught how to seduce someone for ulterior motives didn’t mean he knew what to do when his goal was not mission oriented. Usually in a mission, after the seduction part was over, even if he had to date the person for more than one night, he had a script and a clear goal. But what if there was no mission? What if he had hopes instead of goals? What to do without no script to follow? No set of rules to guide him?

And he was especially bad when he genuinely cared, never being able to judge if he was trying too hard or too little, usually finding himself overcome with anxiety which resulted into pushing the object of his affections away in the long run. That happened to Dawn, to Babs, hell, despite being a completely different kind of relationship it almost happened with Rachel and Gar too. Thank goodness his children were way more forgiving.

Since Dawn was gone for good and he and Babs had broke up again after deluding themselves for a whole five minutes that their childhood trauma bonded romance could have a last hurrah. He was back to reality. The depressing reality that he, to his absolute despair, cared for Kory, so much, too much, more than he had thought that he ever could for anyone.

Read on AO3

Despite all his overthinking tendencies, all his overplanning, all his precautions, he really didn’t see that coming. Of course, he was aware he was attracted to her from day one, it was nothing alarming back then, at least in the beginning. It hurt when she told him she needed to find out who she was before it got too serious, but he understood, and it was fine. They had time. And time they had, after their reunion, raising a household together, his physical attraction to her remained, and new set of feelings started breeding from their partnership. Something way more aggravating than the constant desire to fuck her brains off every time she entered the room, something deeper.

It took a while, because he was known for being stubborn as fuck, but he knew that a good detective can’t cherry pick evidences, and eventually, he admitted to himself that he wanted to be with her forever. Which not only was a scary thought by itself, considering how much time he spent running from everything serious and true, but it made his insides twist in fear.

Because nothing that good could last. When the love of you life quite literally fell from heaven, heaven can take her back whenever. And the thought of losing her at any moment pushed his anxieties to the roof. Her behaviour haven’t been exactly helping. Despite of not having anything substantial of proof, Dick could feel something was wrong with her, something that she wouldn't talk about no matter how many times he tried to approach her.

Maybe it was his fault, maybe he put himself in a position in which she felt responsible for his wellbeing but not trustworthy to be relied upon after the mess he had made with Slade and with Jason.

Besides, what claim did he have to demand any clarification from her? They weren't together.

But it still hurt. That feeling of uselessness, of having nothing to offer when she gave so much just being by his side.

They lived in the same house and were currently raising super powered teenagers together, everybody outside their tight circle assumed they were a couple, married even, hell, her sister thought they were together. And Kory hardly flinched when they dined out and the waiter called her “Mrs Grayson”, she joked about it, that also hurt, because it wasn’t true. Yes they used to have sex, and yes he was trying to make his grimaces of pain to look like smiles on regular basis to hide how much he wanted her, but they are not together.

But it wasn't by Dick's choice.

It was Kory's.

And the rejection hurt, especially when he didn’t expect it.

From all his many faults, Dick wasn't that kind of guy, it wasn’t as if he didn’t think that her rejection was impossible or insulting due to some high opinion of himself. But it just didn’t make sense. He wasn't deluding himself, although he sometimes had no choice but doubt, wanting to believe and respect her choice, but when it had such dissonance with her actions…

Because, as much as he sometimes wanted to take the easy way out that his internal self-hatred provided – that he was crazy, pathetic and there was no way in heaven or hell such woman would have feelings for him – Dick had also been trained in reading body language and micro expressions.

Everything about how Kory interacted with him felt like an invitation. Unless he had been suffering from a very serious case of psychosis (again), he couldn’t have been imagining the longing in her gaze. Sometimes, even when he thought she wasn’t in the room, he could feel her eyes in him. And it wasn’t just the hot looks he was used to get from people that only thought he was attractive – even though Kory would give him plenty of those too, his skin had been reaping the benefits of all his ice cold showers. But, sometimes, especially when he was giving attention to their children, or just doing something mundane like reading or meditating, he could feel her watching. A gentle smile on her face, eyes like pools of warmth and endearment. Nobody ever looked at him like that, with such unadulterated fondness.

Or the way she found excuses to touch him. He always loved the feeling of falling, doing unnecessary stunts so he could only feel that special kind of rush. With Kory around to catch him whenever he needed, he had been doing that even more often so he could feel her strong arms around him, and she never denied him.

When they fought enemies, or trained, she always found a way to make skin contact, throwing him at their mark to give him an extra boost, instead of shouting for him to clear away from danger, she’d physically pull him away in very unnecessary and unfortunately fast hugs.

She’d lean on his shoulder for no reason at all, even after her powers returned and she told everyone she was not feeling tired all the time anymore. In the mornings, while they washed the dishes together – since Gar banned them both from cooking – she’d bump him with her hip to make him move out of her way, and her hands always lingered when handing him an utensil.

Kory was always pressing away invisible wrinkles on his clothing, and picking things from his hair, so much he could hear muffled giggles from the children every time she did that.

And how could he have been imagining the way her face lit every time he entered the room, or when someone mentioned his name? He couldn't have made anything like that up. Didn't have the self-esteem necessary, or the self-hatred necessary to imagine such torture.

Dick did wonder, though, if living with a woman that looked like what poets sang about, that had the personality correspondent of the most golden of summer’s day, and flirted with him mercilessly, but yet dismissed every attempt he made to turn their relationship into something romantic was just karma. In the past, he had abused his own good looks and knowledge. Hearts had been broken because of his folly, and now the universe was punishing him or something.

Yeah, right, as if the universe cared that much.

But then, when his bitterness and confusion were not settled at all, and he was getting ready for another night of delicious horrible dreams about the woman that did not want him, something weird happened.

Kory Anders, knocking on his door, with a bottle of tequila, just a few days after he finally asked her out and she destroyed his heart and made a mess of his head by saying no. Not only no, she said she didn’t like him like that. That she loved him as a friend, and didn’t want to make things more complicated.

What a bunch of garbage.

For a fraction of second he wondered what she'd do if he closed the door on her face. But he'd never be able to do that, so, wordlessly, he gave away the space she needed to enter his room.

“Can I help you?” he said when she just stood there, looking everywhere but him, as if his room were a great novelty.

Kory bit her lip and he wanted to die. He didn’t want to believe she did those things out of malice, but sometimes one cannot help but being angry over such carelessness.

“Kory?” he asked in that bitchy impatient way of his.

“I lied,” she finally said in a puff of breath.

“What you mean?” His heart was racing, it couldn’t be. Was he asleep? Most of his dreams began with some sort of flashback of their first night. Terrible, terrible dreams that always ended too soon.

She looked away, searching for something, his heart shrank when swayed her body aside, thinking she was about to leave, but Kory placed the bottle and the cups on his dresser and turned back to him, the look she gave him making his throat feel raw. In two powerful strides she was all over him, firm elegant palms cradling his head as she tilted his face to the angle she wanted for their kiss. It was like if time went back.

He pulled her closer carefully, afraid she’d disappear in the smoke of his lust filled memory if he went too hard or too fast, but even when she remained solid, warm under his touch, her teeth pulling his bottom lip mercilessly, then spreading licks and soothing kisses, her perfume making him dizzy, he let her lead. It was easier, which considering his tendency for always taking the most tortuous path, added a layer of pleasure in a luxury hardly ever taken.

--------------------------------------

Notes:

I started writing this before season 3, because I wanted to write a fic in which Dick was pining, and also I wanted it to be steamy and smutty. But since the smut part is taking forever to finish and the pining part became bigger than what I planned, you get a two shot.

---

Preview:

“Please don’t this. I don’t want to pretend. I’m so tired of lying to you and I’ll have to pretend to the rest of my life. This might be the last night I will ever have to be myself, to be with you. I need this to be real.”

Kory took one of the hands off his hair, bending her arm backwards so she could rub him trough his trousers. Dick let out a moan and she used the opportunity to make a wet path of kisses across his cheekbones, until she reached his ear. She whispered something in her native language and licked his earlobe.

What else could he do? She wanted real. He’d give her real.

Dick pulled her up as his lips claimed hers again, her powerful legs crossed around his hips. He held her up like that for a while, just enjoying the feel of her body pressed flush against his. His hands giving her support by moulding her round butt with his palms.

Dick he walked backwards until his chins hit the bed and he fell sitting with Kory on his lap. She stopped her ministrations to pull her hair from her face and look down at him.

“Hey,” she said, her eyelashes were still wet, but her tears had stopped falling, she looked so… No wonder she belonged to the heavens, no being in the planet could be so perfect.

[michaels-blackhat]

thoughts on evil Forrest 😈

We are going to start out by apologizing. This is very very late. I’m sure when you sent this ask, you meant it to be in the same joking tone that I approach all of my other propaganda posts. Sadly, this is actually going to be a deep dive into a few Evil Forrest related things, including the moment I feel they changed directions, the perfect wasted build-up, and the implications of the change/how it then negatively impacted the story. As I’m sure you already know, by being on my blog at all, I don’t think the story was good to begin with, so we are going to focus on the weird hoops they made themselves jump through to make that story still work. Additionally, I am only going to mention once, right now, how much of a waste it was to not have Forrest ‘fall for his mark’ and complete one of my absolute favorite tropes. Honestly, I think “because I want it” is a completely valid reason to like Evil Forrest. But, the question was “Thoughts on Evil Forrest” and these thoughts have been developing for over a year and a half. So, I apologize in advance.

The majority of this is under a cut, with highlights in the abstract. If no one wants to read this, I understand completely. Go ahead, skip it.

Note: it pains me greatly to not actually have full sources for this essay. Just know that in my heart I am using proper APA citations, I just absolutely do not feel like digging through tweets to find sources to properly cite.

Abstract:

Previous research indicates that Roswell New Mexico has a history of repeating excuses to explain mid-season changes to plots. This essay explores how those excuses are not only loads of crap, but how they hinder the show’s ability to tell a coherent story, misuse the multiple-plot structure to enhance the themes being explored, and lead to decisions that mean the show continuously goes over budget. This also means that characters are not used to their full potential and has led to what some fans consider to be “out of character” behaviors. While these behaviors are not universally agreed on, evidence can be shown that these behaviors directly contradict emotionally important character arc/plot points in the show.

The author of this paper acknowledges that the show took some strides to mend this problem. However, once again no consensus could be found on whether Forrest was a low-level member of Deep Sky and thus just allowed to fuck off on a bus, or his job was recruitment because he did a piss poor job of making Alex not join.

The concept of Evil Forrest has been with the fandom as early as New York Comic Con (NYCC) in 2019, when it was revealed that Alex had a new “blue-haired love interest”. Speculation abounded within the fandom, with some people, including the author, going “yeah, he’s evil” while others rejoiced in the concept of Alex having a loving partner. Speculation increased as fans discussed Tyler Blackburn’s seeming disinterest in his new love interest, prompting some once again to scream “EVIL” at the top of their lungs to anyone who would listen. Very little was revealed, beyond the fact that the new character would show up somewhere around episode 3 of the second season.

Episode 2.04 aired with some commenting on how he barely interacted with Alex- prompting more evil speculation- and others excited to see the characters interact more. The character appears again in 2.06, where he invites Alex to dubious spoken word poetry (which Alex attends); 2.08, where they have a paintball date and go to The Wild Pony; 2.10, where the two are seen writing together briefly at the beginning of the episode; and 2.13, where Alex performs his song at open mic night, tells Forrest his relationship with the person in the song was long over, and they kiss. Forrest was not revealed to be evil during season 2.

Amidst the season airing, Word of God via Twitter post announced that yes, Forrest had originally been planned as a villain, though not the main villain, but it was changed as filming progressed.

The Word of God Twitter post revealed that Forrest had originally been planned as a villain, but they decided that they could not make their “blue-haired gay man” a villain. This mirrors a similar situation and excuse used the previous season, where the character of Jenna Cameron was originally planned to work with Jesse Manes against the aliens, before it was changed because they just “loved Riley [the actress] too much”. Both of these examples occurred while already filming and reflect on a larger problem with the show. Though not the topic of this essay, it is important to note that both characters are white, both in the show and by virtue of being played by white actors. The fact that they couldn’t be villains for one reason or another is not a courtesy extended to the male villains who are all the most visibly brown, and thus ‘other’, members of the cast.

This also highlights the fact that, via Twitter, it has been revealed two other times that occurrences that were reported in season 1 also occurred in season 2. During the airing of episode 1.02, it was revealed that the single best build-up of tension in the show- when Alex walks to the Airstream not saying a word to Michael after a dramatic declaration- happened because one actor was sick at the time and they had to go back and film the kisses later. At the point of airing for episode 2.08, it was revealed that one of the actors were sick and unable to film a kissing scene. Allegedly, this caused the writers to retool the entire scene and deviate from the plan to make that subplot about Coming Out. The execution of this subplot will be explored later in this essay.

The last occurrence revealed via Twitter also revealed larger issues within the show: lack of planning and poor budgeting. During the airing of season 1, Tyler Blackburn was needed for an extra episode beyond his contracted 10. A full explanation was never given, but speculation about poor planning and to fill in because Heather Hemmens had to miss one of her 10 episodes due to scheduling conflicts for another project. During the airing of season 2, yet another tweet came out saying they made a mistake and Tyler would once again be in an additional episode. No explanations beyond “a mistake” were given, though once again speculation occurred. It is the opinion of the author that this was due to changing plot points over halfway through writing, while episodes were already in production. It has been speculated by some that these changes occurred during the writing of 2.08, which was being finished/pre-production was occurring roughly around the time of NYCC 2019.

Previous Literature:

A brief look at different theories of plots and subplots

Many people have written on the subject of plotting, for novels and screen alike. The author is more familiar with film writing than tv, but a lot of the concepts carry over. Largely, the B- and C- (and D- and E-… etc) plots should reinforce the theme of the A-plot. This can be through the use of a negative example, where the antithesis of the theme is explored to reinforce the theme presented by the A plot, or through other examples of the theme, generally on a small scale.

A movie example of this would be Hidden Figures (2016), where the A-plot explores how race and gender impact the main character (Katherine Johnson) in her new job. The B-plots explore the other characters navigating the same concepts in different settings and ways- learning a new skill as to not become obsolete and breaking boundaries there (Dorothy Vaugn) and being the first black woman to complete a specific degree program and the fight it took to get there (Mary Jackson). A TV example that utilizes this concept of plot and theme is the 911 shows. Each of the rescues in a given episode will directly relate to the overall theme of the episode and the overall plot for the focus character. This example is extremely blunt. It does not use any tools to hide the connection, to the point you can often guess the outcome for that A-plot fairly quickly.

This is not the only way to explore themes within visual media. Moonlight (2016) looks at three timestamps in the life of Chiron. Each timestamp has a plot even if they feel more like individual scenes or moments rather than plots as some are more used to in films. Each time stamp deals with rejection, isolation, connection, and acceptance in different ways. So while there is no clear A-, B-, or C-Plot, each time stamp works as their own A-Plot to explore the themes in a variety of ways, particularly by starting out in a place of rejection and moving to acceptance or a place of connection to isolation.

Please note that there are many ways to write multiple plots, there are just two examples.

While there are flaws within season 1 of RNM, overall the themes stayed consistent throughout the season, mainly the theme of alienation. The theme threads through the Alien’s isolation/alienation from humanity which is particularly seen through Michael’s unwillingness to participate and Isobel’s over participation. There is Rosa’s isolation from others, how her friendship with “Isobel” ended up compounding her existing alienation from her support system due to her mental illness and coping mechanisms. We see how Max and Liz couldn’t make connections. This theme presented itself over and over in season 1. While this essay is not an exploration of the breakdown of themes in season 2, it should be noted that there were some threads that followed throughout the season. The theme of mothers/motherhood was woven throughout season 2, with some elements more effective than others. Please contact the author for additional thoughts on Helena Ortecho and revenge plots.

One of the largest problems within season 2 was the sheer number of plots jammed into the season. These plot threads often ended up hindering the effectiveness of the themes and made the coherence of the season suffer. Additionally, a lot of them were convoluted and difficult to follow.

Thesis:

Essentially, season 2 was a mess. To look at it holistically is almost an exercise in futility. Either you grow angry about the dropped plots and premises, you hand wave them off, or you fill them in for yourself. Instead, this essay proposes to look at individual elements to explain why Forrest should have stayed evil.

We first meet Forrest in 2.04 when he is introduced on the Long Family Farm, which we later learn was the location where our past alien protagonists had their final standoff. He’s introduced. He’s largely just there. The audience learns he has more of a history with Michael. In 2.06, we meet him again with his dog Buffy (note: poor Buffy has not been seen again and we miss a chunky queen). There’s mild flirting, Alex is invited to an open mic night, which he attends. For the purpose of this essay, the author’s thoughts on the poetry will not be expressed. Readers can take a guess.

It is after this point that the author speculates the Decision was made. This choice to make Forrest not evil- paired with the aforementioned ‘can’t kiss, someone’s sick’- impacted the plot. We have Alex have a scene with his father- which the author believes could have been pushed to a different episode- and then have Alex go on a date and then not kiss Forrest at the end of the night. Here, the audience sees Forrest hit Alex in the leg, allegedly not knowing he had lost his leg despite ‘looking him up’, which parallels the shot to the leg that happens to Charlie. Besides wasting this ABSOLUTELY TEXTBOOK SET UP WTF, it also takes Alex away from the main plot and then forces a new plot for him. Up to this point, Alex’s plot was discovering more about the crash and his family’s involvement. Turning Alex’s date from a setup for evil Forrest to a Coming Out story adds yet another plot thread to a packed season. It is also the author’s thought that this is where the convoluted kidnapping plot comes in. With Forrest already in 2.10 for a moment, a plot where Alex is evil has Forrest attack him for Deep Sky rather than Jesse abduct him for a piece of alien glass Alex was going to give him anyway and then for Flint to abduct Alex from Jesse. It’s messy. In a bad way. Evil Forrest would have been a cleaner set up: no taking back a piece of alien glass Alex gave to Michael in a touching moment. No double abduction. Instead, there is only Forrest, who Alex trusts, breaking that trust to take him as leverage over Michael.

Implications:

Now, Alex has two plots (Tripp & Coming Out). The Coming Out plot is largely ineffective, as they are only relevant to scenes with Forrest and have the undercurrent of there only being a certain acceptable way to be out. This could have been used for Alex to discover his comfort levels, mirroring Isobel’s self discovery, but there was not enough screen time for that. Additionally, Isobel’s coming out story was about her allowing herself the freedom to explore. Alex’s story was about the freedom to… act like this dude wanted him to. Alex’s internalized homophobia played out often in the series but it was also informed by the violence he experienced at Jesse’s hands and the literal hate crime he and his high school boyfriend experienced. With that in mind, the “kissing to piss off bigots” line comes off poorly. This is a character who experienced what a pissed off bigot could do- reluctance to kiss in public is not the same as not being out. There is more to be said on this topic, but as it is not actually the focus of the essay, it will be put on hold. To surmise: Alex’s coming out is attempted to be framed as being himself, but it is actually the conformity to someone else’s ideals. It does not work as an antithetical to Isobel’s story, as the framing indicates that the conformity/right was to be out contradicts Isobel’s theme.

Further Research:

MAKE FORREST EVIL YOU COWARDS

Author Acknowledgements:

The author of this paper acknowledges that the show took some strides to mend this problem. However, once again no consensus could be found on whether Forrest was a low-level member of Deep Sky and thus just allowed to fuck off on a bus, or his job was recruitement because he did a piss poor job of making Alex not join.

[bunnygotchi]

🖊

thank you sm for the ask!!! putting this under a read more bc oh my god i rambled so much. also tw for mentions of stalking and murder (my bad)

my favorite oc who i can't stop talking about rn is named adam. he is a transmasc mortician with agoraphobia! he is about 26 years old, 5'5", skinny (like 110 lbs), with light brown skin, curly short black hair, and brown eyes. if you're wondering why i'm being so detailed it's because i wrote a story about him for a screenwriting class and i have a 7 page character bio on him that goes into little details that i now want to utilize and share lol. adam is super introverted! part of this is due to social anxiety, tying into his agoraphobia, but another is just a lack of interest in socializing. he never had the desire to make friends, or to form relationships. i would say he's somewhat self centered, but in a weird way. he doesn't think he's like the greatest man ever, he just thinks that he's skilled and smart (which is true) and that he only really needs himself. he became a mortician not for the desire to help others grieve, but just because he found that he was certain he could pick up the craft easily. and he did! he's good at it. he's detail oriented and meticulous. but he's selfish enough to not care about helping families grieve, despite his profession adam keeps to himself and is incredibly awkward to talk to. he's overly blunt and doesn't emote very much, and he just generally has very little social skills, so attempting to even just do small talk with him is a whole thing lol. he also doesn't really care about nice things. he gets good money in his profession, but actively chooses to stay in a small, cheap apartment that's decorated very modestly. he likes to save money and essentially never spend it. sometimes he likes to paint, but it's mainly underwhelming abstracts. i know these are a lot of little details. i love him very much. now i'll talk about more in depth stuff lol. adam was created after my partner and i finished watching hannibal, and were interested in making ocs for serial killers. so in the typical canon, adam becomes a serial killer. that might seem cliche given the everything about him but well. his partner did it first, he's more just an aid to it all if anything. my partner and i don't actually go into the serial killer direction with him much anymore. he's just kind of weird LOL his partner. oh boy. his partner is my partner's oc, named avery. for a short version, avery (they/them) is a well known, well liked, and wealthy lawyer. they're known for never losing a case and seeking justice. this is not true though! they're a crook, and often take cases for murders they committed, then pin it on others successfully lolz. they are also an adrenaline junkie, and after they couldn't get that rush from sky diving or cliff jumping or whatever, they just decided murder was the place to go. very awesome. bringing them up bc they're a big part of adam's character - i promise i'll be done soon. avery is absolutely obsessed with adam. when the two met, they started stalking him, finding out every single little thing they could about him, while still just appearing very calm and smooth during their next few meetings. when this gets revealed, adam is like. flattered. ok freak. (also no i don't think this is a good thing to be irl this is purely for the cool fictious vibes). adam had a whole crisis meeting them bc he doesn't know what love is, and hardly knows how to make relationships of any kind happen in the first place, so it was like a whole mess. but in a codependant, dysfunctional, sexy way. they are in love and insane adam is only emotional with avery, as later in the relationship especially he can't help but emote heavily and get easily embarrassed at everything, since such intense emotions are a lot for him! still, avery becomes his whole life and in some instances, my partner and i have said sometimes that he quits his job and essentially just becomes a house husband for avery which is awesome bc he isn't good at cooking or cleaning. ok i'm done now. sorry for being autistic i love this guy and his partner so much

[mandalorewhore]

Common Ground

Part 2 of Hunter  (formerly Hunter and Prey)

gif by @themandaloriandaily​

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (fem recieving), Cock Warming, Descriptions of violence/blood , Edging (maybe?), Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Blindfolded Sex Words: 11.7k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando land on Nevarro to meet with Karga

A/N: im sorry to niceguy!Karga in season 2

This would be less awkward if you knew how to talk to the man. 

The awkwardness is probably one-sided though you doubt he’s brooding over what the two of you did last night in this cockpit. You’re not a blushing virgin afraid to talk about sex, but it would be nice if you actually knew  something you both had in common, since you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. The extent of your conversations have been about sex, mechanics, and killing people. That’s pretty fitting for the two of you, you suppose. He is… Officially? your bounty hunting partner now.

However, he’s very comfortable in silence, so much so that it seems to be a central part of his character, much like the armor strapped to his body. Is being reserved a part of the Mandalorian creed too, or does he just prefer it? Does he want to talk about how you sucked his dick mere hours after abandoning your jobs as mercenaries? What is he thinking about right now? You could probably ask him all this, you know. Your internal argument is boiling over like a forgotten pot as you ruminate in the passenger seat of the Crest’s cockpit.

    You woke up in his arms a few hours ago, curled up in the pilot seat together, your face feeling a bit grimey due to  not scrubbing it clean after he gave you that facial. Feeling cozy in the quiet moments that follow waking, you snuggled in closer to his warmth, still only separated by the thin layer of his undershirt. You started when his palm squeezed your shoulder, his way of letting you know he was already awake. 

There’s an unspoken feeling about the way he fell asleep in your presence. You may work together now, but you’re still virtual strangers and Mando is a professional. You doubt he’ll pass out in front of you again. 

Slumped in your seat, you mull over every second that passed between the two of you. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting there like a lump of metal. Unaffected. Impassive. If you didn’t have first-hand proof of the deliciously warm skin he hides, you would’ve passed him off  as a droid. 

Actually when you think about it… when it comes to conversation topics, maybe metal is the place to start. As in, the ship that is now your impromptu home for the foreseeable future. You’ve gleaned that the Crest is like home to the Mandalorian and, come to think of it, he seemingly opted to sleep on his little cot down in the ship’s hull instead of taking up a bunk back on the space station. If he were anyone else, the gesture would’ve been ostentatious. It gave the impression that he was ready to leave at any moment. 

But no one wants to confront a Mandalorian.

Bringing up the Crest is probably a safe option and you’re knowledgeable about ships. You can hold your ground when it comes to the technicalities of mechanics. Plus, you can be charming when you want to be; on merc jobs you weren’t put into the femme fatal role for no reason.  Although you’ve casually lured men to their death, you’re more nervous to chat with Mando. But you’re determined to try. Try to be appealing...

    “I’m curious… Once I have some credits saved up, would you be interested in adding mods to the Razor Crest? I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’m floating some ideas around.” You bite your lip automatically out of apprehension, but hoping it comes across as playful. You’re not out of line or anything; it's been hours since you last exchanged any words so it's not like you’ve been chatting his ear off. Still, you worry that you sound extra loud to someone who’s spent so long in stillness. 

“That may be useful. What were you thinking?” Mando’s response comes only a second later, and even though he faces the cockpit’s transparisteel windows as he speaks, you’re giddy at his swiftness to respond. 

    “Well, I would love to touch her up a little. There are some issues with the hyper-drive and coms that could be fixed pretty easy. As for modifying, I saw that you installed a mobile carbonite-freezing chamber for bounties?” He nods to affirm your guess. “I could move that ‘round to utilize the space for storage and better suit two people living here. Either install a bed that can swing down or-”

    “Separate beds are unnecessary. We can sleep in shifts or share the bunk.”

    “O-oh. Sound’s good.” You gulp, feeling a little warm. The implication makes you sweat even if he shot down your idea. “Well, upgrading the deflector shields would be a good idea. Protect her better, plus efficient heat dispersal during atmospheric flight would let us jump into hyperspace faster. If we need to run or just want to fuck off somewhere.”

    “Hm. That is a good idea. She’s fast but there's always room for improvement.” He accentuates his response by patting the console lightly, and something about the way his hand lingers gently on the surface reminds you of a parent touseling their child’s hair. A smile stretches across your face, finally relaxing a little after being so tense all morning. For someone that you thought was so serious, he sometimes reveals a sentimental side to his personality. It makes you want to ask him more, to know more about him and how he thinks, but you’re so nervous about asking him anything even slightly personal, anything that has to do with his preferences or opinions. Your short exchange about his ship went pretty smoothly you think, maybe you can ask him more, you’ll just stay on the topic of starships. That should be fine. 

    “Do you have a dream ship?” You blurt, sounding a little less casual than you were trying for. Oops. 

    He takes longer to respond this time, seemingly thinking the question over. “No. Maybe when I was younger. I have the Crest now, there isn’t a need to plan for another ship.” 

    There's that seriousness again, the way he responds to you makes you think that he has never had to answer hypothetical questions before. It makes perfect sense, the average person doesn’t go around asking tall, intimidating Mandolorians about their hobbies. What a Gonk Droid. I’m jealous he can get away with talking like that. Still, you do want to continue this conversation if only to hear his voice. “Nothin’ about planning Mando, just a little make-believe. Personally, I like an A-Wing, the RZ-1 variant is classic even if the 2 is flashier. X-Wings are neat too, minus the pigs flying them.” 

    A weird huff passes through his voice filter and he finally turns to face you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden eye-visor contact, so it’s a second later when you process what that noise was, and the realization makes you positively giddy. “Oh shit, did I make a Mandolorian laugh? Am I on Spice?” 

    “That’s funny- pigs don’t deserve the nice Starfighters.” He laughs again, clearer this time while warmth feelings bloom within you at his reaction. It’s so unbelievable to you that he’s here laughing at something you said. You never once heard a reaction like that from him before now. “Those fast ships are impressive and great for combat, but I need a bigger space… a YV-929 would suit my needs.”

    “Of course it would, there’s like 1000 guns on that blocky thing. Plus the Empire banned it and you like to break rules.” The ship he named is virtually the same build as the Razor Crest, just with more guns, which is amusing to you. 

Creature of habit, you think, finding yourself leaning subtly closer to his body with every exchange. You don’t think you’re imagining him doing the same.

    “16. Could add more though.” He murmurs and something in his voice makes you think that he isn’t being entirely humorous. 

Maker, he is probably mapping out all the baster mods he could stick on that bulky freighter. You’re still amused by his very literal sense of things. You settle back in your seat to observe the hyperspace light streaking across the cockpit, a comfortable silence falling over the cockpit.

As you sit there and ruminate, the topic of weapons brings forth a vague memory in your mind. 

Someone once told you that Mandalorians aren’t considered great fighters due only to reputation and rumor. Most people are aware that armor and weaponry is part of the Mandalorian culture, but fewer are aware that such items have religious significance, going much deeper than a learned skill. Mandalorians are revered as great warriors not just because of their physical training, but because fighting and waging battle is a form of prayer. 

Despite finding rumors about Mandalorians to be generally exaggerated, you feel this one may be true.

 You’re curious but afraid to ask him to elaborate. The fact that neither of you exchanged more than a few words when you worked together is proof of his preferred privacy. Even though you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind giving you some sort of explanation about his culture, you decide to avoid any personal questions. 

Plus you really don’t want to come across as asking about his helmet.

    You break the silence shyly, trying to smoothly bring up a different topic. “Down in the hull… I haven’t explored much of your ship, I don’t want to come across as snooping. But I’m wondering, what sort of manpower have you got stored here?” 

“I installed an armory. Do you want to see it?” 

Fuck yes you want to check it out, his personal collection must be a wet dream.

“Yes, I’d love to!” You reply excitedly. The weapons Mando carried were always fascinating. You especially admired that rifle he slung across his back. You’ve never seen it in action but you heard it evaporated its targets. The two spokes at the end made you wonder how it shot. There has to be different settings on the gun, it would be impractical to evaporate all your targets especially if you need to bring back bounties, dead or alive. The bullets he slung across his chest must be paired with the rifle based on their size and shape when you compare them to the rifle chamber. What sort of charge do they contain to completely disintegrate its victims?

You’re tapping your fingers on your bottom lip, calculating how the rifle might function when his leg brushes past you. Glancing up in surprise, you realize he’s already headed to the cockpit ladder, twisting his upper body as he turns his helmet to look back at you.

“Come on.” You’re unable to read his face but something in his body language makes you think he’s amused by you. Flushing red, you scramble upright from the leather seat to follow him down to his armory. He slides first down the ladder, not bothering to use the rungs. Being unfamiliar with the area you opt to carefully descend one portion at a time, unaware of the view you’re giving Mando. By the time you reach the bottom, he’s diverted his gaze. 

Tall body moving to a panel on the wall, he punches in a four-digit code, prompting a smooth metal cabinet on the opposite wall to slide open with a hiss. You shake your head at this. The man has a tiny metal cot but he installed a hydraulic system for his weapons cabinet. But when you look closer at the exhibit your jaw falls open.

Oh my… Now that’s sexy.

The two side doors hang open to reveal a space in the middle filled with large blasters. His mid-sized guns are stacked horizontally above each other while the longer rifles lay vertically to the right of the center display. The doors contain smaller handguns of varying design and purpose. Each weapon is unique, there is not a single inch of wasted space given to any blaster if it doesn’t have distinct properties. Eyes locked on the arsenal, you scoot forward and make grabby hands at the cabinet. 

“Oo, they’re beautiful! Can I- May I see?” You are immediately drawn to a cylindrical pistol mounted at the very top of the stack, the gun’s sight a smooth metal and grip warm brown. Despite its deadly properties, it is a fucking gun, something about it looks soft to the touch. You’re finding more and more that you enjoy the juxtaposition of lethality and softness. 

Even though you’ve made no specification on which gun you want to hold, Mando reaches out and selects the very gun you’re attracted to and hands it to you. I should stare less, it's like he can read my mind. Despite resolving to do so the thought is fuzzy, unimportant when you’re so excited about handling one of the prettiest pistols you’ve ever seen. Mando watches you from a few feet away. 

“Good choice. I usually conceal-carry that blaster since it’s small on me, looks like the perfect size for you though.” Mando’s compliment has you grinning up at him, feeling giddy and full of light, but you’re quickly drawn back to look at the gun. Turning the weapon over in your hands you admire the polished metal, the texture making a satisfying noise as you run your fingers on its silky surface. The weight is perfectly balanced as you aim it at the wall, lining up the sight with a seam in the metal paneling. 

“You can carry it from now on.” 

What? It’s a good thing you know your trigger safety otherwise you would’ve pulled the trigger in shock, probably ricocheting the blast into your head. The giddy energy drains from you, replaced by apprehension and confusion. Why is he giving me so much shit? 

Of course you’re thankful. You’re incredibly thankful to be on the Razor Crest at all; however you can’t help feeling as if you owe Mando on a level where you’re incapable of repaying him. He didn’t have to take you with him when he dropped Ran’s crew, he didn’t have to indulge your sexual fantasies, he didn’t have to comfort you, didn’t have to partner with you, and he doesn’t need to give you this blaster. It is certainly a collectible, a rarity. A Mandalorian wouldn’t have it on hand if it were some run of the mill E-11 handed out to every Stormtrooper in the Empire. 

But what can you even say to him? It would be incredibly awkward if you refused him right now. Your mind races.

Best focus on the easy stuff. As long as he doesn’t drop me off on some wasteland I’ll be fine. That blaster is too pretty to decline so with your willfulness broken by aesthetic pleasure, you holster the gun on your hip, opposite the blaster you already carry. 

“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.” You try to inject as much gratefulness into your voice as possible, even though you still feel odd about taking it.

“Yes, you will. Get ready and come back to the cockpit, we’ll be on Nevarro in a hour.”

------------------------------------------

 You’re used to men like Greef Karga but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop being annoying.

The way he speaks like he’s owed something from you just because you’re listening, the way it’s clear that every decision he makes is in self-interest, the way he eyes the women around him, yourself included. He isn’t outright dismissive like some men; such as the guard placed behind him only having eyes for your partner; but you can tell he either doesn’t take you seriously or he is more concerned about how he can sexualize you. 

He definitely isn’t treating Mando as a joke. Annoying.

          But, it’s not all bad. You got a kick out of how a hush came over the dusty cantina when the Mandalorian entered. He had been walking behind you which, with a little imagination, gave the effect that they were all reacting to your presence instead. Even though in reality, no one had ever reacted to you that way unless they were leering. You like how they fear him. It's a turn-on. 

You wish they would fear you like that.

          Someone says your name, startling you out of your thoughts. You realize that everyone at the table is looking at you expectantly but you didn’t hear the question at all. Kriff, you need to show yourself up more. Mando’s reputation is practically handing you the job but you still need to sell your skills to get anything decent out of Karga. He’s so stingy with the quarry's, even with Mando despite how he kissed the Mandalorian’s ass when greeting him. You figure that Mando didn’t take on bounties often, which put his skills in high demand.

          “Uhh, sorry. A bit distracted. Can you repeat the question, please?” You reply, accentuating the please with a bat of your lashes while looking Karga full in the face. If he’s going to objectify you, you may as well play into it. Smiling, he leans forward and pushes a glass of Spotchka into your hands, lingering a little longer than necessary when your fingers meet.

          “I asked if you wanted a drink. Take it, I can see you need one.” He winks at you while you stare indignantly, wondering what he means by that. It’s not like you’re sweating bullets in here. You’ve been here countless times on countless planets. Seedy cantinas with seedier people. Hopefully, he’s just flirting and doesn’t think you’re nervous. Maybe the flirting is backfiring.

You grip the glass and wet your mouth with the drink, enjoying the burn for a moment. Mando tilts his helmet at the way you accept Karga’s drink, seemingly looking sideways at you. Narrowing your eyes at him, you drink again and turn back to Karga.

          “Thank you, the Spotchka here is lovely.” It’s average, but flattery can’t hurt. Karga laughs robustly at this.

          “It’s no Alderaan wine, but it’ll do.” He drains his glass then pours himself another, filling it to the brim before turning to your partner. “So, Mando! Word travels fast around here. I take it you’re a full-time guild member now! I’m not surprised, always took you for the loner type. In fact, I already updated your status to full-time before you landed.” Karga waits for a response from Mando but the man sits silently at your side. Unbothered, Karga continues, “But, I am surprised you stayed that long with Ran in the first place. Must be the pretty ladies he keeps around.”

          The comment makes you cringe but you still smile brightly back at him since what he is inferring is clear. Can he just register you already?

          “Not alone. She’s with me.” Mando’s reply is short and flat, with no reaction to how you’re attempting to work Karga’s attention, nor at the revelation that Mando’s departure from mercenary work has apparently spread across the sector. 

          Karga’s smile twists into a smirk as he glances between you and Mando, looking at both of you as if he wants to fit your bodies together like a puzzle. “Well, well, well Mando. Didn’t think you were the type. Is she a bed warmer?”

          Your grip tightens on the glass. What the fuck is he implying? You’re rising in your seat, about to let loose on Karga when a gloved hand settles on your shoulder and pulls you down. Excuse me? Do I have to go off on everyone here? Why the fu-

          “She’s my hunting partner, my equal. Don’t insult us again.” Oh okay, you don’t know why he stopped you and he still doesn’t sound all that offended, but at least he’s defending you. 

Not wanting to be spoken for, you add on, “I’m prepared with my information so that you can register me in the Bounty Hunters Guild. Pull up your holo, I’m done with the small talk.” Your back is rod-straight in the cantina booth, trying to look down at the Guild leader even if he’s seated higher than you. “Also, your Spotchka is shit.”

          Karga’s is unphased at your reactions, even rolling his eyes. He replies bluntly, “If you’re going to join my guild then you need to prove to me that I’m not wasting my pucks on you. Don’t rely on the Mandalorian’s reputation. If you aren't out of some brothel then you were a mercenary, were you not?”

At first, the audacity of Karga has you fuming, ready to stand again despite whatever Mando wants. However, as you’re looking out of the corner of your eye at the crowd you realize that the bodies filling the cantina are no longer milling around quite as naturally. It's subtle, to an untrained ear and eye not much has changed. The chatter around you remains at a consistent volume and no one is blatantly staring. But your senses are sharp enough to tell that everyone in this room is On Greef Karga’s side. If a fight broke out you’d likely lose, even with Mando being worth ten men and the shiny new blaster strapped to your hip. 

Also, your prospects with the guild would be fucked if you fought everyone right now, which is the whole reason you’re here. You have to play nice and it infuriates you… But you still need the job. 

Taking a deep breath to quiet your anger you look to your left away from Karga, only to be startled by Mando’s visor locked directly on you. Sharing a look, one that you can only guess the meaning behind, you find the patience to calm down. You turn back to Karga, locking eyes steadily.

“Sorry for insulting your drinks, that was petty of me. But I am not sorry about how you implied that Mando would keep some poor sex slave around, nor am I sorry for reacting that way. I’d like to start over… If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept yours.” You can’t help letting some stubbornness slip into your words. If he’s supposed to be your boss then you aren’t going to keep up a pretense of respect after that. Not without an apology. 

You’ve never given much thought to how you look to other people, how you affect the crowd when you enter a room. It’s not that you don’t think you’re pretty. Being assigned roles by Ran that allowed you to dress up and distract targets was a direct affirmation of how you looked, even if they were creeps. But when you walked into this place, the only heads that turned were for the Mandalorian. You've never had the experience of being scary to other people. You’re always having to prove yourself and show everyone that you’re someone who can handle what’s handed to them, an equal to every other hard character in the galaxy’s Outer Rim... it’s tiresome. 

Karga is looking at you again, a little differently this time. 

    “I respect you for being blunt. Do accept my apology.” He sounds sincere enough so you nod, lips drawn tight. Heavy metal suddenly settles on your knee, Mando’s vambrace is laying across the soft flesh on your upper thigh. He squeezes, oh stars. Now you’re feeling flushed for other reasons than anger. 

    “Do I get an apology?” Mando asks Karga quietly, voice frustratingly mild just like the other two times he’s spoken up in this booth. The other man grins at Mando, more jolly than he should be considering who he insulted. 

    “My apologies, Mando! Do stay with the guild, your skills are irreplaceable! I’m afraid my jokes can go too far.`` His response is light and humorous but no one is fooled by the tone. A Mandalorian is far too valuable to lose. 

    After a few seconds pass between the two men you clear your throat, annoyed by everyone dancing around each other while you’re still not signed up to hunt bounties. It’s your only purpose here but whatever. Karga directs his smile at you, pulling his holo from behind him out of his guard’s hand.

    “I haven’t forgotten about you, sweetheart. Now, I’m going to put your basic details in… Do you happen to be registered elsewhere, such as under an Identichip?” You shake your head; you always worked behind a moniker. “Great! That makes this easy for me. Simply provide a name, real or not, and I’ll set up a chain code so quarries are tied to your data.” 

    You provide your name while Karga fiddles around on the device. It’s unclear if it is really that complicated to work the thing or if he is just stalling. This feels a little too easy so far. Didn’t he make a huge fuss about proving yourself? You decide to ask outright, wanting to bring it up instead of waiting around for him to finish.

    “I thought I needed to prove myself to you. Aren’t you worried about wasting pucks?” You were trying to tease but the bite in your voice can’t be helped. You worry you might’ve gone too far when Karga looks up at you with open annoyance.

    “Do you want to go out back and shoot a few bottles down? Seems childish to me.” He huffs out a short breath and returns to his holo. “I know that you worked with Ran’s crew on mercenary missions which grants you some cred. You can tell me what your specialties were on such jobs and it might convince me to give you the mid-level pucks instead of entry.”

    This is unfair, everyone knows it, he’s the one who told you to prove yourself and now he’s making you feel stupid for reminding him. He’s the one who was so concerned about wasting his precious pucks. But now that you’re here… you might actually be able to talk Karga into giving you a better quarry. Taking a deep breath, you start to list your qualifications.

    “On mercenary jobs, I usually took a stealth role due to my stature. For certain missions, I would dress to infiltrate a group, sometimes carrying hidden weapons but mostly I would conceal poison in my jewelry, skin powder, or anything similar. I’m a great shot and am knowledgeable about starships. When I first started I had to work my way up the ranks, the lowest being mechanics. Within a year I managed to go from handywoman to assassin... There’s more if you want to hear, although I can’t directly prove anything.” You wish you could actually show all these skills to him instead of just telling him. Karga is right, shooting down dusty bottles like some sort of carnival game would be pretty useless, but at least it would feel more substantial than this. 

You’re about to open your mouth and tell Karga more when you’re interrupted by Mando, and he finally sounds emotive, no longer inscrutable in tone. “This is all true. I haven’t worked closely with her on every job but I noticed her when I did. Her stealth was critical to our success during hits. She often worked on my starship. The Crest always came out in better shape once she looked at it.” You’re not sure what emotion is in his voice but whatever it is, it reminds you that his hand is still resting on your knee under the table.

Trying not to smile too widely, you bring your hand down on top of the one on your leg, giving it a pat of thanks. Karga’s eyes follow your movement but thankfully he stays silent, leaning back with a pensive look.

“Alright, this is all very interesting. Tell you what, and don’t take this as an insult, you can either have two entry-level pucks or one mid-tier. It all adds up to the same amount of credits, however, the mid-tier quarries will boost your rank… Mid also comes with a time constraint.” 

There’s always a catch with this man you think, a little displeased, but at the same time, you understand that he can’t maintain his business if all pucks were given away in good faith. Mid-tier seems like the best deal, and you aren’t just here for the money. Presumably, this will be your job for a while so you may as well aim ambitiously. 

“What are the last known coordinates of the mid-tier bounties?” You ask him, trying to sound like you’ve not already decided to take it. 

“One for Corellia and one for Mimban. Neighboring planets.” You grimace, recognizing the names. How lovely, you get to choose between two shitholes. Karga is correct, the planets are right next to each other, so at least you don’t have to worry about fuel. Corellia is more dangerous but the planet is explored thoroughly when compared to Mimban and you’ve already been to Corellia once.

“I’ll take the Corellian bounty, thank you.” Karga slides the puck across the table with an unpleasant scrape before drawing out three more, stacking them in front of the Mandalorian one by one.

“Two are bail jumpers but the credits for each are decent. I also threw in one S level criminal, let's see how you do with that one now that you’re dedicated to my wonderful guild.” Karga grins at Mando so widely that it is almost a grimace. Well, he didn’t have to beg for the good pucks. Yeesh… Mando’s arm lifts from your knee and he gathers the pucks wordlessly.

Mando moves to leave, rising quickly from the booth and leaving you scrambling behind him, slipping your puck in the pocket on your pants.  He’s at the door by the time you remember to say goodbye to Karga. Not wanting to be rude even if you don’t really like him, you turn and wave. “Um, bye! Take care.” 

He waves back. “You as well, girl.” 

A powerful hand grips your forearm and pulls you none too gently to the doors and out into the acrid, volcanic air.

----------------   

    It would be nice if the man who called you his equal an hour ago would tell you his plans. Instead, he had placed a small bag of credits in your palm and told you to go get some food and wait. You couldn’t find it in yourself to snap at him since you were starving, the last time you ate was probably several days ago, before Cantonica. Your hunger might explain the snippiness you’ve felt all day, actually.

    Having finished your meal of dubious-looking soup, you get up to explore a bit before heading back to the ship. The settlement is small and you think it may be the only town on the planet or at least the only one in the area. The land around you is flat enough to see for miles. It’s impressive that Mando disappeared considering the lack of terrain to hide behind. He must be in the city somewhere. 

    As you wander through the busy main strip, peering at different vendors and booths, you start to feel dejected. Mando defended you, spoke up for you, and even backed up your claims so that you’d look better in front of Karga. Then he just… disappeared. Somewhere. No communication. That's fine.

    It’s a little worrisome, the speed at which you’ve become attached to the man. You’ve been together for less than three days, and you already feel weird being alone. You know that you’re being unfair to yourself right now, it's not abnormal to feel lost on a foreign planet plus you literally just lost everything you’ve worked for as a mercenary. But in the end...

    Being here, alone and penniless, reminds you of home, the one you had as a child. It’s something you try to forget about. 

    Swallowing the memories away into that off-limits area within yourself, you decide to leave the bustling road and wander down a dingy alley. Probably not the smartest move but you do have two blasters on your hip. The sounds of the crowd fade in the background as you wander farther and farther down the twisting path. 

    It’s almost funny how quickly things go south. 

Mere minutes later, you find yourself backed up into a wall with two Rodians aiming their blasters at you, your huddled form reflected in their massive, black eyes. One of them jabs your arm with his gun saying something in that grating, echoey voice that most Rodians speak with. You get that they’re both aiming deadly weapons at you but you’re honestly just irritated. 

    “I don’t have credits on me fellas, you can search me but you won't find shit.” They must understand Basic because one of them pins you to the wall while the other pats your body down, searching for anything valuable. Pulling the empty credit pouch from your belt and throwing it to the ground, he twists you to face the wall, grabbing at one of your blasters. The rare one that Mando just gave you. You start to panic now, the positioning of your bodies making you nervous as you realize how vulnerable you are, fearful that they aren’t just looking for something to steal. Kicking backward at the Rodian pinning your arms, you start to struggle against them, trying hard to wiggle free and pull your other blaster.

    You must’ve connected with a kneecap because you hear a sickening crunch at the same time the Rodian howls, falling to the ground. His companion makes a furious sound then lashes out at your face, fingertips just barely connecting with your cheek as you duck slightly too late. Your face stings and feels wet, his gloves seem to have sharp points on the ends. You pray that they aren’t spiked with poison. 

    The injured member is still preoccupied with his hyperextended knee, granting you just enough time to pull the other blaster from your hip before he joins his partner and turns on you. You throw yourself to the ground, aiming at the same time and squeezing the trigger right before you hit the earth. The shot connects with the Rodian who swung at you and he falls to the ground, shriek cut short. Twisting to your side so you can attempt an evasive roll, you attempt to line the sight up with the chest of your living assailant but your shoulder connects with debris on the ground, jerking it out of your smooth movement. 

The blast misses by a few inches. 

The pain from whatever you landed on shoots to your fingertips, numbing them. Noticing your distraction, he hurls his body at you thankfully unable to jump accurately due to the injury you gave him. Despite that, he lands on your legs and starts to drag you toward him, abandoning his blaster in his rage while dirt billows around your struggling bodies.

    You’re terrified, fear making you clumsy as you handle your blaster. You don’t want to die being strangled by some alien in this dirty alley but the numbness in your fingers has you moving slower than usual, hand heavy as you try to aim again. Sucking in a deep breath you scream, hoping that someone on the busy strip will hear you. But no one is coming for you and there is no time to wait. Panicked, you fire in the direction of the Rodian, not taking care to calculate possible ricochet points in the area. A shot connects, his heavy body falling on your hips, dead.

    Fingers still numb, you hurtle upwards and try to wipe the dust out of your eyes to look at the bodies. The first Rodian you shot is a few feet away, slumped against the wall you were pinned to, blaster marks littering the brick surface from your panicked shots. Disgusted, you shove the dead body off of your legs and stand up.

 As you analyze the second alien you realize something doesn’t add up here. 

Somehow the blaster shot that killed him seems to be on the back of his head. How is that possible? Did I manage to reflect it off something and hit him from behind? You’re approaching the body to look for other possible causes of death when a large shadow leaps from the rooftop, landing heavily in a cloud of dust. You curse and aim your blaster at his head, pulling the trigger before you realize who it is.

He’s lucky his helmet is pure Beskar.

“Mando! What the fuck, I could’ve killed you!” Stomach feeling like it’s full of rocks, you march up to the man and slam a fist into his chest plate, hard. Looking up into his visor you feel a flash of misguided anger, lifting your fist to pound on his armor again. “Where the fuck were you anyway?!”

A large hand flashes up to catch your wrist before it can connect with his chest. He looks at you darkly. “Do you always hit people to thank them?” he asks, while his other hand reholsters the silver blaster back onto your hip.

“What do you mean, you-” The pieces connect in your mind, the impossible blaster shot in the back of the head of the Rodian and Mando’s positioning on the roof. 

He saved your ass. Again. 

You already realize your anger is misdirected, he didn’t do anything to warrant it. But the adrenaline and fear paired with your entire experience on Nevarro have wound you up to the point of lashing out. You shouldn’t be mad at him, and you should definitely apologize for almost killing him. Also, you should be thanking him for saving you even though you probably would’ve survived the mugging anyway. That criminal was unarmed at the end there. 

But you don’t care. You weirdly want to argue with him, to try and break that cool attitude he’s been maintaining nearly all day.

“I could’ve gotten him easily. If I didn’t hurt my arm he would’ve been dead before you arrived, also you didn’t answer my fucking question. I thought I was your equal, Mando.” You mock his earlier phrasing from the cantina, hoping he’ll snap and say something back. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he does something so strange that all the turbulent emotions you’ve been harboring fly out of your body in one instant.

Bringing up one glove to cover your eyes, he holds the hand you punched him with at the bottom edge of his helmet, pushing it up with your clasped fingers. There is a quiet hiss and you can feel the weight of metal digging into your knuckles as the Beskar lifts. Your fingers meet with soft lips, coarse facial hair brushing your skin as he presses a kiss on the blossoming bruises there. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you suddenly can’t remember what you were yelling about. 

It’s odd. You’ve seen the most intimate parts of him but only now, having felt his lips, do you truly recognize how rawly human he is. 

Too soon- he draws away, the helmet settles back on his head. You step back blinking as the light hits your eyes, cradling your hand to your chest like it's been hurt. Which you guess it has. You can’t really feel it. 

Unable to meet his gaze you stare at his boots, “You’re weird and I don’t understand you.” Your words sound embarrassingly breathless.

    He chuckles quietly. “Good.” And after a beat of silence- “Do I get an apology?” 

Annoyed at how he mirrored you throwing his words back at him, you look up glaring, but you’re unable to put any actual heat into your halfhearted expression. You’re still thinking about how soft his lips felt plus, you actually feel bad for lashing out at him.

“Yes, um, I’m sorry Mando, I was only mad because I was scared. I actually could’ve killed you, and those guys almost killed me- or worse.” You shrug, eyes round as you look at the violent scene in the alley. “Plus Karga is an asshole and you disappeared, telling me to wait around like a kid. I was in a bad mood.”

“Yeah.” He offers shortly. Is he gonna say more or- “Karga is an asshole.”

“...Is that all you’re going to address.”

“You’re a good shot. You could’ve killed these muggers without me, I just didn’t want you hurt.” He smoothes away a strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear before gripping your chin, twisting your head to look at the scratches the Rodian left. “Pretty girl.”

Flushing red again while frozen in his grip, you stand there with him as he examines your face. His gaze is piercing, and you don’t know what he’s staring at. It doesn’t take this long to examine a face. You think he’s just looking at you.

“Let’s get back to the ship, that scratch needs some Bacta gel.” He drops his arm abruptly causing you to sway at the loss of an anchor. Hand flashing out to grip his bicep, you regain your balance before starting to pull him along, heading to the street. 

----------------   

The walk back to the Crest is short.

 You don’t know your way around this city but shipyards are easy enough to find. You recognize the signs pointing it out after your time spent as a mechanic, streets gradually widening to form into a flat strip of land for the vessels, heavy machinery appearing here and there. As you walk, you oddly find yourself getting dizzy, steps starting to drag as you realize you may have injured yourself in the struggle. You can’t recall if you hit your head or if anyone hurt you aside from the gash on your cheek, which has begun to throb. Did you knock your head on the alley wall? 

The Mandalorian grunts behind you when you trip, quickly overtaking your pace to throw your arm over his elbow, then walking at your side and subtly holding you steady. The Razor Crest rises into view over the horizon, so you speed up, relieved. You want to sit down so badly that you even try to jog but Mando holds you back. His helmet ducks down next to your ear.

“Don’t overexert yourself. I want to make sure that scratch isn’t poisoned.” He murmurs, voice overwhelmingly low. Your stomach twists with desire and surprise at the tone of it, he sounds like he’s flirting with you. 

“Does danger turn you on or something?” You blurt, wondering if there is a pattern to the man's desires. He did let you suck him off right after yesterday's conflict and now he seems to be coming onto you after an attempted mugging. Is this a Mandalorian thing? Weirdo. He doesn’t answer you, but the ship is right there so you break away and march up to the lowering ramp. 

You pause in the middle of the hull noticing some changes. The small cot seems to be upgraded, a patterned blanket is folded at the end and there is even a pillow. That sorry excuse of a fresher is more orderly too, shower hose hung from the ceiling like an actual, well, shower. There’s a sliding metal door for privacy installed on the entrance now too. The previously barren hull has a touch of coziness now, not enough to get in the way of efficiency, but everything is just a little more livable. It is unlikely that he did this just because you live with him now but the gesture is still thoughtful.

“Is this what you were doing?” You ask excitedly, walking across the room to sit on the end of the cot. 

“Not the entire time.” He answers vaguely, fiddling with his vambrace to close the ramp and flick the lights on. You just sigh in response, laying back against the bed, the thin mattress has a soft squish that cradles your sore body. Eyes sliding shut you take in the lovely sensation for a few moments. A shadow covers the light behind your eyelids. You open them to peek at the end of the bed, already feeling a blush hot on your cheeks.

Mando is standing there, towering over you with his legs just brushing your dangling lower half. He leans over your frame, arm reaching over you like he’s going to prop himself on top of your body. Your heart pounds as he comes close enough to settle his hand next to your head, helmet hovering right above your forehead. The visor tilts down to look at you frozen underneath him, heat pooling in your lower belly. An almost inaudible hum comes through the voice filter sounding like the beginning of a word as if he were about to say something but decided against it. 

You find your voice, asking him in a trembling whisper. ‘Wha-what? Did you say something?”

He makes that low noise again, replying, “Those scratches need Bacta,” before he gently shoves his hand under your shoulder and pulls, sitting you upright at the end of the cot. 

Your eyes are round, lips pursed in confusion. Honestly, you forgot all about that. 

“O-Oh yeah…” You manage to stutter out as Mando backs up from the opening, making his way to the storage shelves to rummage around. He comes back to the cot with a tin box, undoing the clasps to fish out a tube of gel and gauze. The imagery of medical equipment reminds you of the throbbing on your cheek, which is now accompanied by a throbbing in your cunt. Very conflicting feelings.

“There’s no discoloration or swelling, you’re likely not poisoned.” He starts wiping at your jaw with a wet fabric that smells of chemicals, cleaning off the rust-colored blood that dried there. “How are you feeling?”

“Ummm, fine pretty much.” His gentle motions make it hard to think, the swiping over your skin is so gentle that you’re zoning out. That is until he reaches the actual wound, which stings harshly from whatever liquid is saturating the fabric. You flinch, “Ouch! Well, it hurts now.”

“That means it's working.” Mando picks up the gel and dabs it on your cheek which helps to soothe the sting. “You say you feel fine yet you were stumbling around a minute ago. Are you sure you’re alright?” 

His question is sweet but you don’t like how he points out your loss of balance. It both concerns you and is slightly embarrassing. Are you alright? You aren't sure, the stumbling could’ve been from a number of things, exhaustion, blood loss, or any other affliction. You feel worried now, grabbing at Mando’s free arm and locking eyes with the visor.

“I-I’m not sure… I’m kinda freaked out, is it possible that a toxin could have a delayed-release? What if I kneel over while we’re in hyperspace?” You finish the sentence a little high-pitched, unable to hide the worry in your voice. The Mandalorian circles your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand to rest on top of your leg and placing his palm over it. His thumb rubs soothingly over your knuckles. 

“I don’t think you’re in any danger. I’ll take a blood sample for testing then we can stay on Nevarro for an hour, just in case.” You make a sad noise when he removes his hand from yours, but he’s already sifting through the box of medical supplies, probably to find something to test your blood with. Pulling out a tube he turns to you and holds your hand again, which makes you smile until you realize the tube contains a needlepoint to prick your finger with. Oh yuck, you hate needles. A life spent surrounded by danger and that tiny jab still makes you nervous. Breaking out into a cold sweat, you look away as Mando jabs your pointer finger; he must’ve noticed your reaction because his thumb starts up that soothing pattern again. 

“You’re a trained mercenary who is scared of needles?” His tone isn’t mocking, he seems to be trying to distract you. You just stick your tongue out at him instead of verbally responding, worried that your voice will shake. For some reason, Mando freezes at this, one arm halfway to the metal box, the tube of your blood in hand. It is so odd of him that you instantly take note of the reaction, wondering what you did. After a second he starts jerkily moving again, laying a small strip of paper down and dripping your blood on it. He pointedly keeps his gaze on the paper, refusing to face you even when you poke at him. 

‘What? I can’t stick my tongue out at you?” You prod him again trying to provoke a response. You gasp when his hand flashes up and stops your finger in its path, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist just like when you punched him in the alley.

“Not,” he punctuates the word by dragging your hand down his waist, “When it reminds me of my cock down your throat.”

Your clit throbs again, slickness starting to gather between your legs. “Ummm… sorry?” You reply dumbly, throat going dry when he presses your palm into his growing bulge with a groan. 

His helmet glances at the strip of paper again. “Results are normal. We should still stay on the planet for an hour, just in case… How will we fill the time?”

You don’t know how to respond. Any former thoughts you had in your mind have flown away, leaving you blank. Staring at Mando, your mind races to form a decent response, but you must’ve hesitated for too long because he rolls his hips into your hand, fully hard now. 

Whining, you lean toward him reaching out your free hand to wrap around his neck, but he moves away from your touch leaving you flushed on the cot. His helmet looks you up and down, contemplating something.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks for the second time, voice an octave lower than before. He picks up the roll of gauze, unused at this point, and holds it halfway lifted in the air in front of you. You aren’t sure what he is going to use it for, you assumed to dress the wound but from the way he is holding it, he must have other ideas. He would’ve already patched you up if this were just about the fabric’s typical function.

“I’m feeling fine. The gel is working.” It’s the truth. You can’t feel your cheek throbbing anymore. The Bacta in your bloodstream has a calming effect as well, soothing your anxiety from before. You feel good even, clear-minded and thrumming with energy. You can’t imagine what he is planning but you know you want him so badly it hurts. Your heart quickens.

“Mando…” You breathe, the way you say his name is both a question and a prompt. He answers by unrolling a strip of gauze and holding it out in front of your face. The breathing through his modulator is audible now, pants heavy with desire. 

“I cant- I can’t go slowly, if I fuck you right now. I want to try something else.” You nod fervently, completely ready for whatever he is thinking of doing to you however, you’re admittedly confused when he starts wrapping the gauze around your head and over your eyes. Mando unrolls several layers of gauze, a decently thick strip obstructing your vision to the point where little light penetrates the fabric. His voice startles you when you hear it right by your ear, asking, “Is this okay?”

You’re still wordless, nodding in response again. Mando hums and parts your legs with his hips, pulling you to his body and grinding against you. You mewl into the empty space in front of you and fling your arms out to find him, suddenly needing to feel as much of him as you can reach. 

Hands connecting with his shoulders, you pull him down hard as if you were going to kiss him. The helmet bumps you in the face instead. 

“Oops..” You murmur, embarrassed. Admittedly, you forgot all about the armor barrier between your bodies. Mando huffs softly and bumps you again, gently as to not hurt you with the heavy metal. 

“Wanna guess my idea? “ He asks, sliding down your body, his fingers trailing over every inch of you, touching you as if to replace him kissing down your body. He reaches your hips and pauses there. You can’t see anything but you’re guessing he is staring at you, the thin leggings don’t leave much to the imagination. A finger presses onto your clothed slit, running up and down the length of your pussy to gather the wetness there. You can feel yourself soaking through your clothing, Mando’s fingertip is gliding wetly along your folds as if you were unclothed. You arch into his touch, needing more from him; the overwhelming sensation has you falling back onto the cot, laying there with your legs parted and the Mandalorian still between your legs.

The world feels like it’s spinning for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost being the desire you feel for the man crouched before you. Other, more complex thoughts on the situation swirl in your mind, paralyzing you with their intensity. You honestly didn’t think he would want you sexually again, especially not so soon. It just didn’t make sense for your idea of the Mandalorian, the image you carry of him as a person, all based on your time together even if much of that time was spent living separate lives. He flirted and inferred to sex a few times today, plus there was that kiss he lay on your bruised knuckles earlier. He defended you, backed up your claims, and spoke of respecting you and your skills. He’s done so much for you today, but you’re still blindsided as you sit here before him, unseeing in more ways than one. Most of all... you can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Seconds after you physically attacked him and he offers you a kiss. It was the absolute last outcome you expected from your efforts to taunt him, you wonder if he’s even allowed to do that considering his vow to never show his face. You knew he was actively sexual just from your awful experiences on the mercenary station, although you never gave much thought to that drive. It didn’t need much thought, in your opinion. He is a man after all. Face bared or hidden away from the galaxy he still has needs, even if he is devoted to a religion that you can barely fathom the depths of. Your wants and needs seem minuscule next to the enigma of the Mandalorian. 

This all seems unimportant when his fingers hook in the waistband of your leggings and pull. You whimper and lift your hips, trying desperately to speed up the process and bare yourself to him. The blasters you carry are still attached to your waist but you don’t try to remove them. Sex and guns pair together perfectly for the man.

Cool air hits your pussy at the same moment he moans low in his throat. “Fuck, look at you. Beautiful.” 

That reminds you, “Can’t look, can I? N-not like this…” You still weren’t sure about the gauze blindfold he secured over your eyes, your only idea so far is that he must be into this sort of thing. Not that you’re complaining. The temporary loss of sight has heightened every other sense you have, especially touch and sound. You’re certain you’ll remember every word of this encounter for the rest of your life. He’s complimented you several times over the past few days. Pretty. Beautiful. You’ll never forget that. 

“Still haven’t guessed?” The Mandalorian rumbles at your thigh, pulling your pants off your ankles and spreading your legs as wide as the cot doorway will allow. A short growl rips from his throat, his touch leaving your thighs much to your dismay as he fumbles with something. There is a heavy thud that you can't make sense of, he had to have set something large on the ground to make that noise but you don’t know what- oh. Oh, stars I can feel his breath. 

He took his helmet off. For you. The pieces are falling in place quickly but you can’t react to it- you can’t even breathe, every implication of his gesture setting your world ablaze. Your heart is pounding, arms stretched out from the tension you hold in your limbs, you need an anchor, anything-

There's a hot puff of air on your clit and gloveless fingers digging into your thighs. He must’ve removed those too.

It’s like you’ve been sucked into a stasis chamber, the buzz of your cerebral cortex halting all efforts to process what’s happening, enveloped in a place so quiet that you feel fucking crazy. The anticipation is killing you, you’re going to die here and that’s alright, that’s fine, you’d love to die here, in fact- wait where is he? His face is somewhere near your aching center, you know this because you can feel each breath he exhales ghosting over your pussy, the muscles in your hips want to squirm and seek him out but you can’t. Not with all this atmospheric pressure gathering, the weighted air pressing harder and harder down on you and you know you’re about to break. But you’re terrified you’ll disrupt the spell that keeps you both frozen here, still and aching with pleasure. You’re gathering the courage to make the first move when Mando finally breaks the silence.

“From now on,” you interrupt him with a gasp at how different he sounds without the voice filter, the tone is so much fuller and warm, but he then continues unperturbed, “This is fucking mine.”

Your yelp echos off the walls when his hot, skillful tongue liiicks up your slit, flicking at the very top of its path off of your clit. 

Fuck this feels so good, this feels so good, how does it feel like this, so fucking amazing? He barely even talks, how is he so dexterous with his tongue? Tortured noises fall out of your throat as Mando licks through your folds, trying to taste everything his mouth can possibly reach. He rolls his tongue repeatedly over your clit making you tense up and shake from the overwhelming sensation. There's a sound in the hull, you can barely discern the source of it at first but you suddenly realize it coming from your own mouth, a filthy mantra falling from your tongue.

Mando-Mando-Mando-Don’t stop- Please dont-Mando

He stops.

“Hey! What-” Your hands fly down and flounder around finding soft locks of hair and immediately latching on for dear life. Impatiently tugging at his scalp, you try to scoot down and find his talented tongue, your clit feeling cold and achy without his touch. But he’s so strong, a solid pillar of immovable stone and you can’t budge him at all, his only reaction being a deep growl when you yank a little too hard on his head. You must’ve pissed him off because one hand is suddenly on your heat, cupping your pussy with his palm but leaving a gap between your bodies, torturing you with the lack of friction. You whine pathetically at this game. 

“Mando-fuck- why… pleeeaaase.” His touch leaves you entirely and you’re more desperate than ever, writhing to the point where you almost slide off the thin mattress onto the floor. Your inner thighs connect with broad hips again, this time without the barrier of your leggings between you. When your cunt presses into his crotch you realize you can feel more than the cloth of his dark pants, he must’ve pulled his cock out because you can feel his skin, the skin of his cock brushing over you plus just a patch of it from where the hem of his pants is pulled under his balls. A ragged sound tears from both of you when his thick length parts your lips, grinding against your clit.

“I-I thought you weren’t, I mean you said-” 

“I’m not g-going to fuck you-” he gasps out, voice breaking despite the clear determination in his response, “not yet. I want you to use me and make yourself-fuck- cum. Fuck yourself on me.”

You’re speechless, there are absolutely no words in any of the Galaxy’s countless languages, known or unknown, that can succinctly express just how fucking turned on his suggestion makes you. Is this his way of giving back to you after you made him cum the night before? You don’t know, fuck- you don’t care either. Fuck whatever complex you had about owing him, you deserve this and you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your fucking life. 

His broad body is propped over yours, cock grinding into you over and over again as he rolls his hips and groans out, “Well? You want it like this, pretty girl? Or do you-” 

You interrupt him by reaching between your legs and finding his cock, pushing it down your lips to your aching hole. He sucks in a sharp breath and everything is frozen in that quiet place again, just for a split second, before you press his length into your body, sinking down to the hilt. 

A broken sound comes out of you, your throat so tight that your vocal cords can’t rub together to produce anything louder than a squeak. However, the Mandalorian is not without his words, a string of curses tumbling from him in that gorgeous, rough voice. Fuck, holy fuck, you wish you could hear him speak like that for the rest of time, his real voice without the modulator hits you straight in the gut. He called you beautiful yet he doesn’t realize the power of his beauty has completely destroyed you. You’ll do anything for him, for that voice. When he claimed your pussy as his you realized that there was never a point in time where it didn’t belong to him. The Mandalorian moves mountains with his claims. 

He is like a mountain himself, completely stilling his body the second you let him inside you. You clench down on his thick length and drag yourself off of him, leaving only the swollen head inside your hole. You’re burning up, a sweat breaking out over your entire body as you try to take his cock. He’s so thick inside you, stars you can't control your fluttering lower muscles that pulse from the strain. The saliva and slickness helped him slide inside initially but now you’re clenched around him painfully tight as you try and adjust to his size. He lays so still for you, still muttering curses at the feeling of you, yet patient as you work yourself on his cock. But at some point, you can’t help letting out a little wail when you fuck yourself on him, the debilitating mix of pain and pleasure is fucking overwhelming and he can tell you’re struggling.

Mando settles lower on your body, elbows next to your head and armored torso brushing against your upper half, the ridges on his cuirass catching your nipples through your shirt. The movement slightly ruts his hips, an inch of his cock entering you accidentally. You swear and freeze at the sensation, face screwing up-it’s so good but you hurt just slightly. His mouth must be close to your face because you can feel his breath on your skin when he starts whispering filthy encouragement. 

“You’re doing so fucking good for me, taking my cock- fuck you’re so tight, how are you so tight- Maker that has to hurt, you can do it baby, keep-keep trying.” The elbow to your right lifts off the thin mattress, his hand caressing down your body, over your breasts, down your side, gentle trails from his fingertips ghosting over your skin and sending tingles all over. This helps to relax your muscles a little, you feel the walls of your cunt loosen just enough to relieve the uncomfortable ache. Wetness gathers around his cock from his encouragement, as you slide with more ease along him grinding yourself up and down on his solid cock.

It is fucking indescribable, a nearly out of body experience fucking yourself on him, every time you bottom out the thick head presses into a spot that sends flashes of white behind your eyelids. You can't even moan right now, the only noises you manage are shuddering gasps and whines as you feel yourself rise higher and higher. The peak is right there, you can feel it, you’re right fucking there-

“M-Mando, I’m gonna-gonna-fuck, I’m going-I-” You’re frantic, unable to string together the words 

The hand exploring your body diverts its path, reaching between your legs to rub strong circles around your clit.

He’s saying something to you but you can’t understand him, a rush of blood in your ears drowns out all other senses, the only thing you can feel is your blinding climax and the thick cock in your body. You’re clamped down tight on him as the sensation rips through you, building you up and destroying you over and over again. You can’t comprehend how he has the control to just hold himself there, you feel like you’re being wrung dry with how tightly you clench around him with each pulse of your orgasm. Eventually, the white noise fades from your ears and sensation returns to the rest of you, limbs tingling as you stretch the taut muscles.

Mando is trembling above you, arms shaking from the effort of propping himself up for so long. A soft noise leaves you and you wrap your arms around him, trying to soothe the tightness in his muscles like he did for you but the armor gets in your way. He makes a low noise in his throat when you skim over his side, finally allowing himself to rest when he lays on top of you, one arm still holding his full weight back so as to not crush you. You reach an arm under his shirt trying to feel more of his skin, but the padding and metal still attached to his body prevent you from moving more than a few inches.

This time, you’re first to break the silence, “What did-what were you saying?” you ask, not wanting to miss anything he says to you in his real, unfiltered voice. He doesn’t say or do anything at first, his hesitation lasting long enough that you resign yourself to never knowing. But then he lifts his head from where it lays next to yours and you feel the sharp tip of his nose brush your good cheek, over the bridge of your nose to the other side, then press closer into you as his lips meet yours. 

His kiss is so gentle that you forget he’s still hard inside you. All you can think about is the heat of his mouth crushing against yours, pressure held back enough so that he doesn’t dig into your injured cheek but filled with a promise of the energy he holds in his powerful body. You fucking hate those Rodians more than ever because you would give anything for him to kiss you with his full strength right now, holding back nothing. 

But soon -too soon, he draws back from your mouth and pulls his cock out of you. You blush at the obscene noise your wetness makes as he curses and wrenches the last inch away from your pussy, leaving you empty.

‘Come back to me…” You whisper desperately, reaching out for him.

“Fuck I can’t- I don’t want to hurt you.” Mando spits out, sounding wrecked, “I want to so fucking bad but I-”

You try pleading with him, wanting him to feel just as much blinding pleasure as you did from the way your bodies fit so perfectly together. “You won’t hurt me I swear, I can take it-you said I could.” 

He groans in a tortured, painful way, hesitating for a moment and you think you might’ve just convinced him to come back and fuck you- but the hand that eventually touches you isn’t anywhere near your pussy. He’s wrapping the gauze from your eyes, pulling it from your head to press into your cheek. You blink as your eyes adjust to the yellow light of the Crests hull, the usually dull fluorescents are piercing. Still, your vision is not quite blurry enough to hide the gleam of the polished Beskar sitting back on Mandos’s head. You swallow your disappointment at losing the pure tone of his voice to that damn modulator. 

“I can't,” he says softly, “you’re bleeding again. It was too rough.” 

You can’t argue with him. You feel a bit weak and dizzy which is not just from your powerful orgasm. Sleeping in the cockpit didn’t grant you the most restful night; you’re exhausted, slipping away even as he speaks. 

“I’m sleepy...” You mumble, your speech very simple when you’re this exhausted. Mando makes a low noise, indiscernible in tone now that it is passing through the voice filter. You hate that thing for stealing away the depth of his voice even as it fades with your consciousness. 

“Sleep now… I’ll pilot the ship while you rest. Sleep…”

And so you do.

------------------------------------------

     It’s many hours later. The ship hurtles through hyperspace as you stand and examine your cheek in the tiny mirror of the fresher, basked in yellow light. The wound isn't very deep but it’s long, stretching from the high point of your cheekbone halfway down to your jaw. You grimace at the sight. That will definitely leave a scar...

    The Mandalorian is moving quickly behind you in the ship's hull, arranging the carbonite freezing slabs in a way that you can’t make sense of but don’t really care about. You’re too preoccupied with your reflection to consider it. Mando takes note of this. 

    “Warrior marks.” He tells you, walking across the length of the ship to lean against the doorway of the small fresher. “Wear them proudly, burc’ya.”

Wear them proudly. 

And so you do.