#there were so many *cough* EASTER EGGS

[myownwholewildworld]

THE WAY TO A GREAT WIDE SOMEWHERE

↪ a the mandalorian x beauty & the beast crossover

main masterlist | read on ao3 | easter eggs pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story. a/n: HAHAHA *manic laugh* HI! this has been a long time coming now. first and foremost, i'll start by saying that this whole brainrot was inspired by this beautiful moodboard by the very talented @almostfoxglove, please go see it because it's the main reason i wrote this fic. i have gone crazy trying to link both worlds so i hope some of you see/understand the easter eggs. feel free to come screech at me if you like it because i have been screaming into the abyss for weeks now. love you all, take care! <3 x warnings/tags (beware spoilers): 18+, mdni. set after the events of S2. grogu is BRIEFLY mentioned. if you're a SW purist, this ain't your fic, my friend. the stockholm syndrome is stockholming. beast!din. a fair bit of smut (you know all the usual warnings). sensory deprivation. kinda dom!din. monster fucking (this is a BATB crossover after all, sorry). death of a secondary character. reader is a blank slate. alternating pov. no use of y/n. italics means it's spoken in mando'a OR it's the beast's pov 👀 THIS IS THE WAY. w/c: ~24.3k. (HAHA SORRY) divider by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end 💖

11 ABY

“Take it with you. Don’t let anyone hav―” your father choked on his last words, a chesty cough wreaking havoc in his damp, bloody lungs. “It’ll take you to where you need to go. Find it. And destroy it,” he muttered as his grey eyes, crowned by bushy, white brows, bore into yours.

In your hands you held the device that had been passed down every generation in your family. It had been commissioned by Tarre Vizsla himself over a thousand years ago when he created the Darksaber ― a Pillio star compass to find not a physical location but his most valuable possession. For almost a millennium, your family had been the guardians of it.

And for as many centuries, your Jedi ancestors had been looking for the Darksaber after they had stolen the star compass from Vizsla. That Jedi blood was far too diluted now, just a remnant of what your family once was since none of you seemed to be Force sensitive. But the mission remained despite the passing of time, not so much the reason behind it.

Since your birth, this was all you knew: the thrill of the chase. Never settling down anywhere, never creating bonds with anyone outside of your tribe. You all were wanderers ― nomads who made home of no world. You knew no other life. It was what it was.

The Jedi star compass fit perfectly on the palm of your hand ― it was circular and slightly bigger than a locket. This one though was different, special even, because it was made of beskar, a metal alloy from Mandalore.

Your fingers caressed the lid, tracing the astromeridian lines with the tips, feeling each groove. Undoing the aurodium clasp, you opened the compass to find a plasma-encased supraluminite lodestone, perfectly centred. The plasma in this specific one, however, was not of a shimmering blue, but a deep, stagnant black. Its magnetism was so strong it buzzed, emitting a low vibrating noise.

You tapped the stone with your thumb, and the vibration pierced through your flesh and bone, travelling up your forearm and dissipating into your body before it reached your chest. You quickly removed your thumb, taken aback by the intensity of it all, eyes slightly widened.

“But father, you heard them. It’s already been destroyed. It’s over,” you whispered, tears trespassing the waterline of your tired eyes.

“They lie. Never trust one of them. Those power-thirsty ra―,” he coughed, pressing the wound that stained his clothing to stop the bleeding. You covered his hand with one of yours, the other still holding the compass. “I know we were close, we had to be. Promise me you’ll keep looking.”

“I promise, father,” you hushed, repressing the sob that threatened to tear your throat.

You laced your hand with his, unbothered by the blood, as you watched his eyes become dull, opaque and dead. His lungs exhaled the last breath while the grip of his hand on yours loosened.

You remained there for a few minutes, pain and grief gnawing at you, knelt by his deathbed, tinkering with the Pillio star compass. With your mother taken from you at childbirth and now your father perishing to an enemy, you had no blood relatives left. You were alone, stripped from the comfort of family.

You still had your tribe, but your connection to them was circumstantial. You grew up in their midst, but always felt like an outsider, a misfit who people felt forced to interact with because you were “the daughter of.”

It didn’t matter anyway.

You might not have known why your family kept on looking for the Darksaber, but now you knew why you had to search for it. It was your father’s last wish and that was enough reason for you.

“We must go,” Ashton’s voice reached your ears, but not your brain.

When you didn’t respond, he slowly approached you, kneeling by your side.

“Hey, I know this is hard, but we are really running out of time,” his firm arm wrapped around your waist to help you stand up.

Your knees trembled like a newborn qartuum but managed to stay upright on the soles of your feet. Taking a deep breath, you nodded.

“We need to leave Nevarro. It’s just a matter of time until our covert is discovered. They’ll come looking for him,” your head tilted in your father’s direction, voice flat and emotionless now. Stretching your back, you put distance between you and Ashton. “You find somewhere safe in the Outer Rim to lay low for a while. I need to see this done once and for all.”

“This what, exactly? You heard the same thing I did. Gideon crushed it. It’s over. We can finally live our own lives, find a home, settle down,” he muttered, a gloved hand looking for yours yet not finding it. He sounded so hopeful.

“I know what we heard. But my father… he thinks― thought it may be a ruse. I have to try, Ash. I can’t just leave this life behind, as if everything I’ve done has meant absolutely nothing,” you replied between gritted teeth, frustrated.

“Don’t waste any more years of your life on a wild goose chase, please. Let’s go back to the others. We can―” his hand finally found yours, lacing your fingers.

You looked down at your intertwined hands. It just felt odd, out of place even. Ashton was nothing more than a brother in arms to you.

You shook your head no, pulling your hand from his, breaking the contact, and looked at him directly in the eyes.

“No, Ash. There’s no “we” here. You do what you must, and so will I, simple as,” you rejected the unspoken offer, seeing the hurt consuming his blue eyes.

“What makes you think you can do this alone? Thousands of people have tried for centuries,” he quickly tried a different tactic, but his reproach unfazed you. “Let me come with you at least.”

“No. Our people need you to lead them into this new lifestyle, Ashton,” you refused, not even giving his proposal a second thought. “And you just made it clear, this is not the life you want, but it’s the one I do. Now go.”

Ashton pressed his lips together in frustration, gobsmacked by your bluntness. He’ll be fine, he’ll recover, you thought to yourself when you saw the pain of your rejection finally dawning on him.

“Have it your way then,” and with that, he left.

The compass weighed heavy on your hand and in your heart. But you couldn’t afford distractions nor being delayed by people. Not this time.

19 ABY

Weeks turned into months. And months into years. Eight, to be exact.

The passage of time was unfaltering, but so was your determination. Despite the many dead ends, the several disappointments and the near misses, you never stopped looking for the Darksaber.

There were days, however, that it all felt like an impossible task, that you truly believed that Moff Gideon had destroyed it. You couldn’t accept it though, not when you had spent eight more years hunting it down. It still had to exist. Right?

It was hard keeping the spirits up with no company to hear you vent your frustration. You had started talking out loud to yourself, your voice bouncing off the metal walls of your spacecraft.

Some days you regretted rejecting Ashton’s offer. The man had been nothing but kind to you, loyal too. You had your suspicions about his true intentions, but you never really saw him as anything more than a friend. You hoped that after all this time, he would have found someone who reciprocated him. Ash was a good man and deserved better than what you could have offered him. What you both wanted were two completely different things, incompatible ― he wanted a quiet life, you had preferred an adventurous one.

Given the same option today, however, you were not so sure of what you would have chosen.

Toying with the star compass, you looked through the windshield of the cockpit. Jumping through hyperspace at the speed of light always put you at ease ― the flashing of light as you passed through it left a rainbow of blue hues. The static noise was so calming, you relaxed into your seat.

Your attention returned to the device on your hand. Opening it again, you eagerly watched the metal semicircle twinkle, reflecting off the colours from the Hydian Way. It had not moved for a while, so you had set the course in the direction it pointed towards.

Unsure of the way it was taking you to, you had learnt to just let it take you where it pleased. Like a bantha following its herd on the vast, arid lands of Tatooine, your life for the past eight years had been reduced to following the hands of the star compass, and nothing else. And now, like every single time before, you would wind up in the middle of the great wide somewhere. Or nowhere.

Even if your eyes hadn’t been lazily transfixed on the lodestone, you could not have missed the louder buzzing it was emitting. You rapidly sat up on your seat, your thumb hovering over the stone while your heart jolted up to your throat. As the humming increased, the black plasma inside swirled and radiated a white, shimmering glow.

Only once had you seen it do something like that before, right before finding out that the Darksaber was supposedly destroyed by Gideon. You thought yourself so close to your objective in a stroke of sheer luck, you all had rushed towards the direction it marked and found absolutely nothing.

With blood drumming in your eardrums and heartrate spiking, you faced the panel of your starfighter and touched a few buttons in a trained dance of movements. Then you pulled a lever, and a sudden jerking motion stopped the spaceship on its tracks, easing out of hyperspace.

Back flattened against the back of your padded seat, you squinted your eyes to see where you were. It took you a good moment to recognise the worlds in front of you. But that couldn’t be, made no sense at all. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at the scope in front of you.

No, you were not mistaken. That was Mandalore and one of its moons, Concordia. The compass was vibrating so loud now, you had to close the lid to contain it. Did a double take on the scope, then back out to space.

You knew the story of what had happened here fifteen years ago ― Mandalore had become uninhabitable after the Night of the Thousand Tears. The Empire had made sure of it by brute force and unfair use of fusion bombs and rays, which reportedly left the surface of the planet crystallised and its atmosphere poisoned. No one who had ventured had ever returned, or so the legend went.

The compass hummed louder, still pressed between your hands, as if compelling you to decide, and to do it now. It couldn’t be that the Darksaber had found its way back to its homeworld. It completely defied common sense, the laws of space itself.

Concordia, on the other hand, was more promising, you thought. The best choice out of the worst possible options. Safest too. Probably.

Setting course towards the moon, the spacecraft slowly trudged forward. A loud sputtering sound coming from the thrusters almost made you jump, quickly followed by the incessant beeping sound of an alarm.

“Thrusters stabilizers compromised. Negative power couplers overheating,” the robotic, monotonous voice advised you.

Then your astromech droid, a yellow trimmed R3-D3 unit, started screeching so loud through your headset, you had to remove them.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, taking complete manual control of the helm.

If the couplers didn’t cool down, you only had minutes until these completely overheated, causing an explosion.

Weighing your options, you let go of an expletive. Mandalore was closer, but you feared that the moment you entered its atmosphere, your starfighter, and you inside it, would combust to death. Concordia was further, which meant the possibility of exploding before reaching it was very high.

You were fucked either way. Both were evils, none the lesser.

“Alor (boss), something has entered the atmosphere,” Nau’ul, his protocol droid, announced in perfect Mando’a, with a metal finger pointing out the window.

Din’s brows knitted together, not that anyone could see with his helmet on. His attention drifted to the direction Nau’ul was indicating. The wrinkles between his eyes pronounced as his head tilted.

A small spaceship had breached the atmosphere of Mand’alor, appearing through the greyish clouds with a burning tail following it as it rapidly plummeted towards the surface, leaving a smoky halo behind.

With muscles tensed, Din got up from the chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to catch a better glimpse of the type of aircraft that dared to break his peace.

It couldn’t be the New Republic, and he hoped to hell it wasn’t an Imperial ship either. Everyone thought Mand’alor was a thing of the past, a barren planet harbouring no life.

He had thought so too before finding himself adrift in space, injured within inches of his own death. Crippled as he was, his Razor Crest survived the bumpy ride and even bumpier landing, all thanks to the droids aboard. The same droids that had managed to nurse him back to health. Or, close to, anyway.

Through the visor of his damaged helmet, Din eagerly saw the spaceship disappear between the dense foliage and slab stones, nearby the Mines. He waited and hoped to see a column of dense smoke towering above the vegetation, but that vision never materialised. There had been no crash, at least not a major one. Which meant that, whoever was commandeering the ship, had probably survived.

“Fuck. Where’s Mrs. Kri’gee?” he turned around to face Nau’ul.

The protocol droid lifted his arms above his head, running towards the door, panicking.

“Mrs. Kri’gee! Mrs. Kri’gee! Where are you? You’re urgently needed! Report immediately!” the high pitch tone of his robotic voice almost pierced his eardrum.

Din stuck a gloved fingertip in his ear canal and wiggled it to ease the pressure building up in there. Nau’ul was too dramatic and too loud for being a mere droid.

He had not even turned the corner into the main hallway of his decrepit abode, that Mrs. Kri’gee appeared in front of them. Nau’ul got the jumpscare of his life, one of his hands landing on the metal breast piece where a heart should be had he been truly human.

“Mrs. Kri’gee reporting, jatne vod (sir),” replied the IG-series assassin droid, one of her hands flying to her temple to salute him. “How can I be of service?”

“We seem to have visitors. Follow me, gedet’ye (please),” and with no further ado, Din walked almost blindly through the maze of corridors, then down the lift, until the cold breeze greeted him.

The temperature outside was almost freezing, especially in winter. This winter was chillier than usual too, so Din and his droids only came out when it was strictly necessary. Even after all this time, it still surprised him how glacial it was out there. With not even a tiny patch of skin uncovered, Din could still feel the biting cold clinging onto his beskar armour, seeping in through the smallest nook it could find. It could clutch around the bones easily, freezing you in place in a matter of minutes.

Not that he could tell the difference anyway, considering how fucking cold he felt under his skin. How icy it was inside of him, a never-ending snowstorm waging war on his numb heart.

Perhaps he shouldn’t hurry ― if he slowed down enough, and with a bit of luck, the unwanted guests might perish to the unforgiving cold of wintery Mand’alor.

With Mrs. Kri’gee on his heels, Din moved through the terrain as if he was one with it. After many years, he knew the topography as if it was the palm of his hand. Where he could step and where he couldn’t. What paths to avoid at specific times, and which ones were safe to hike, always mindful of the creatures who had withstood the Great Purge.

He might not have many things, but free time was definitely one of them, which allowed him to explore this world he had called home for the last eight years. There weren’t many pastimes in Mand’alor when he was the only human inhabiting it. Maybe that was why he had renamed the droids with more human-like names, to feel less lonely ― only if he could truly feel something.

The emptiness within him had only grown with every passing year on the planet. The curse that ran through his veins had slowly overtaken him, leaving an ever-growing void in his chest. Din could not remember the last time he felt anything ― joy, contempt, happiness, anger, hope, despair. Nothing.

He was an empty carcass, a non-sentient monster merely existing. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was, not because of an emotional response but because of pure boredom. But then his eyes would fall on the source of his misfortune, a brutal reminder of how he came to be where he stood, and the lingering questions would vanish. This was the way, his way.

And if that wasn’t enough, he also had to deal with the other side of the coin.

Din trudged along the faded path, now overridden by vegetation, to the Mines. His magnetised boots helped him find his footing more than once, sharp and loose rocks making it difficult to remain vertical. Mrs. Kri’gee, on the other hand, had no issues whatsoever.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached their destination near the Mines, close to a cliff. The lush bushes and thick trees blocked the sight at first, but Din found the perfect spot to stalk the unwelcomed visitors. Down on his knees and through a gap between the leaves, he made out the shape of a T-65B X-wing starfighter ― a pretty old one, at least twenty years old. It could have well served during the Galactic Civil War.

The starfighter could only carry the pilot and an astromech droid, which meant he only had to deal with one sentient being. Could have been worse, Din thought. The prospect of being found didn’t sit well with him though, unsure of why this person had found themselves stranded in Mand’alor, out of all the fucking planets in the Outer Rim.

The Mandalorian tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the person on the other side of the ship ― they were sat on a flat rock with their back towards him, knees propped up, elbows placed on them and crouched forwards. Din stuck his head out just enough to look over their shoulder, good eye squinting ― there was an astromech droid lying in front of them. By the looks of it, it had been fried to death, still sparkling and smoking a little.

Mrs. Kri’gee laid low behind him, still but ready to accept a command. Din waved a couple of signs to the IG-series assassin droid, and it moved silently, gracefully as a loth-cat, to reposition itself northwards, facing the target.

The Mandalorian kept his fist closed, indicating Mrs. Kri’gee to wait, when he saw the person standing up, removing their helmet and taking in a deep, exaggerated breath. It was the side profile of a woman in a bright orange spacesuit, human as far as he could tell. Din’s eyebrows furrowed under the visor, confused as to what could possibly have guided her to this inhospitable planet.

Perhaps he had been alone for too long, only the droids keeping him company for almost a decade, but the sight of you unsettled him. Had he been able to feel something, he was sure an uncomfortable weight would have grounded his stomach.

Kaysh cuyi mesh’la (she is beautiful), he thought ― a simple, objective observation a man could make with only half a vision.

Your hair shined even when the sky was gloomy; your big, bright eyes sparked with frustration; your plump lips fell into a flat line before smacking them with disapproval at your wasted andromech droid. Your fingers curled into your hips while one of your feet tapped the crystallised ground underneath nervously.

“Well, I’m not dead yet, so I guess the air is breathable,” you talked to yourself out loud, sounding almost disappointed. “Stinks like a swamp though, ugh.”

That was a good observation from your part. Stupid, but good. What was your plan if it wasn’t? Suffocating to death? Bit reckless if you asked him. And yes, the sulfuric smell coming off a bog nearby was not great, but there were worse places in Mand’alor to find yourself in. He knew damn well.

He eyed you for a little longer, Mrs. Kri’gee lying in wait. He didn’t need to kill you yet, first he needed to find out why you were here and if you were part of a larger group ― if there was a remote possibility of someone looking for you, he had to know.

Din signalled to Mrs. Kri’gee to come out of hiding but to not attack yet. And so she did promptly. The droid walked out in front of you, startling you so bad you almost fell backwards.

“Identify yourself,” his droid asked you.

You snorted, hand slowly moving backwards towards the blaster pistol in your holster.

“You identify yourself, you little piece of― metal,” you bit your tongue back.

“Nicknamed Mrs. Kri’gee by my Alor. IG-11 assassin droid. Serial Number 730X21G. Manufactured by Holowan Mechanicals in 1 ABY. First assigned to―”

“Alright, alright. Whatever,” you scoffed, fingers curling around the grip of your gun. “What is a droid like you doing here anyway?”

While you were distracted chatting to Mrs. Kri’gee, Din had come out of his hiding place, heavy boulder on hand. Stealthy as a predator, he raised his arm above your head and smashed the rock against your skull with no hesitation at all.

You plummeted to the ground instantly, rendered unconscious in a split second. Towering above you, Din walked around your body and crouched down in front of you. His gloved fingers moved a few strands of silky hair out of the way, following the tiny stream of blood dripping down your temple. The wound wasn’t too bad ― he was sure you’d survive the blow.

“Pick her up,” he commanded the droid, who willingly complied.

In a matter of seconds, Mrs. Kri’gee was carrying you over the shoulder, as if you were a light sack full of gloomroots.

What a banging headache. You were barely able to string two thoughts together.

Eyelids heavy, you did your best to open your eyes. It took you a couple of attempts, but you finally got there. Vision still burry, your pupils widened to adapt to the darkness surrounding you.

The room you were in was all rough, square edges. It reminded you od the inside of a spacecraft with all those panels on the walls. Here though, the cables were hanging out of the electrical panels, snapped and peeled. The scarce futuristic, metal furniture dotted around was broken and upside down everywhere ― the whole space was derelict, abandoned.

It has to be, because this is Mandalore, you suddenly remembered where you were before you lost consciousness. And how did you faint, anyway? How did you get here? Was it the freaking droid?

With a pitiful groan, you tried to reach the back of your head, where the pain was radiating from. To your dismay, your hand didn’t budge one inch. Confused, you looked down and around you, only to find a sturdy syntherope tethering you to the chair you were sitting on.

“What the varp!” You exclaimed, fighting the fetters to no avail.

You rubbed your hands together in the hopes to loosen the grip and slide one hand out, but whoever bound you, had tightened the rope really well. Did that stop you though? No, not one bit. You tried and tried and tried until the skin on your wrists was raw.

You were in the middle of attempting to break free when the creaking noise of the door made you still in place, half hoping to see the assassin droid.

Instead, a Mandalorian walked into the room, and you immediately ceased your endeavours. With a droid you could deal, but with a sentient being… and even worse, a Mandalorian out of all the fucking possibilities.

By the shape of his armour and predatory gait, you could tell he was a man, around five feet twelve. He wore a black body stocking covered by different metal pieces ― vambraces, shoulder pauldrons, breastplate, thigh and shin guards, and kneepads were all made of unaltered beskar. The shiny patina indicated that the alloy had been polished but not painted, as most Mandalorians would have them.

But what struck you as odd was his helmet. Manufactured with the same polished beskar, a black visor protecting his eyesight, you noticed the big crack that ran diagonally from the bottom left, all the way to his right temple. The transparisteel of the visor had also been damaged. It all had been welded back together, albeit by a novice hand.

You stiffened your back as he approached without exchanging one word. Your gaze followed his every movement, wary of the man in front of you. Your tribe instilled on all its members a gut-churning hatred for Mandalorians, although such strong feeling never really deepened within you.

Always mouthing your curiosity, your constant questions as a child were never well received by your tutors. Even your father had a hard time convincing you to hate someone irrationally. It just wasn’t in your nature to hate for the sake of it.

However, the Mandalorian in front of you… well, that was a slightly different story. The bastard had kidnapped you and had the guts to stop in front of you, arms folded, and head tilted. As if you just happened to be there, disturbing his peace.

“Release me now,” you demanded, narrowing your eyes as you leaned forward on your chair. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

A stony silence ensued, leaving you wondering if he was mute.

“Why are you here?” His voice was distorted by the speech scrambler integrated in his helmet.

Repressing a taunting jeer, you stared him right in his eyes ― where you assumed they were, anyway. When he didn’t respond, your eyebrows scowled.

“Are you, like, for real, man?” You couldn’t hide your incredulity. “It’s obvious I don’t want to be here. I didn’t mean to land on this forsaken planet. For all I knew I was about to die, I thought it was uninhabitable! I actually meant to go to Condordia―”

“Why would you go to Concordia? You’re not Mandalorian. Obviously,” he interrupted you, his hand waving up and down in front of you almost scornfully, pointing out your plain clothing.

“I― Well, that’s none of your business, actually. Look― Sorry, what’s your name? I didn’t catch it before you kidnapped me,” you asked with a pinch of rancour tarnishing your voice.

“I haven’t kidnapped you,” he quickly replied defensively. “Just Mando.”

“Okay, Just Mando. Look, you let me go and we both can pretend none of this ever happened. I go on my merry way and you― well, you stay here, doing whatever it is you do,” coming to think of it, you also had questions. You cocked your head, “What are you doing here anyway? When did Mandalore’s atmosphere become breathable again? I thought the planet was completely ruined after the Great Purge.”

“For considering yourself a hostage, you sure ask too many questions. And it’s none of your business, actually,” he snapped back throwing your own words at you with a snarky edge to his voice. “You and the whole universe think Mand’alor is unliveable, and it will remain like that for as long as I live, at least,” his tone turned sombre. “You ain’t going anywhere, I’m afraid.”

His last words shocked you. What did he mean you were not going anywhere? Of course you were. You couldn’t stay here; you had a mission to complete. And Just Mando didn’t seem to be the best company either, the man was so dispassionate you were sure he had a pole up his ass.

“Wait, wait, hold on one varping second. Let’s not rush into making stupid decisions, shall we? I get it, you want to be left alone for all eternity, don’t want anyone to disturb you. I won’t tell a soul you’re here, I give you my word,” you stumbled over your words, panicking at the perspective of not leaving this planet. “Please, I can’t― There are people looking for me,” you lied.

You had not been in touch with your tribe for weeks now. And by tribe, you meant Ash. He was the only one you had been communicating with over the last eight years. Life had been hectic, and you were never the best at keeping in touch.

“Then I’ll kill them if they come looking,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly.

“Wow, okay. Calm down. No need to threaten my people,” you tried to diffuse the situation, although Just Mando seemed pretty calm.

“And just so you know, I’ve just come back from where you landed. I’ve destroyed your engine and the navigation console, so you ain’t going nowhere,” he unfolded his arms, lacing his gloved fingers on his back, quite the measured gesture.

You glanced up at him incredulous, mouth agape while your lungs emptied. You were stranded here, forever, with him. The magnitude of his words had still not dawned on you, when a faster thought made its way through to the surface.

The star compass. Had he found it? Had he destroyed it too? Not that it would be useful here, but it was the last memento you had of your late father. Not that you could ask, anyway.

“Why… why would you do that?” Your trembling voice almost gave way to desperation as you leaned back against the chair.

You blinked fast to tame your feelings, all bravado leaving your body soft and boneless. For once you were speechless, your eyes searching for his under the damaged visor. But you only saw your reflection on the transparisteel, his pose not budging at all.

“Please, Mando. Tell me you’re lying. Tell me my X-wing was not the only way out of this forlorn planet?” You begged, a dense knot forming in your throat, collapsing your airway.

“It is. It was,” he corrected himself. “I can’t let you leave. I don’t trust you nor your word. This way, I make sure you have no other option than staying here for as long as you live. Death is the only way out of here.”

You deflated on the chair, looking at him in disbelief, almost unable to breathe. Although his voice was warped by the modulator, there was no emotion in it. He spoke as if talking about the damn weather, not like he had just clipped your wings forever ― literally.

“I― What… Why are you behaving like a fucking monster? Don’t you have feelings?” There was no edge to your question, you were past subtleties now.

He shrugged again, unbothered.

“‘Cause I am. And I don’t,” was his cryptic answer before turning on his heels and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The door slammed behind him a bit too forcefully for his liking ― a reminder that he would need to ask Ca’nara to grease the hinges. Din then put the latch down to ensure the door could not be opened from the inside.

Without another thought in his mind, he turned around and almost crashed into Nau’ul.

“Master?” asked the protocol droid, dubious, one finger lifted in the air to draw his attention.

“What?” he replied, exasperated. Din just wanted a moment alone ― that conversation had burnt the last energy he had reserved for socialising. If it wasn’t because he could harbour no feelings, one could say he was socially drained already.

“Since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to offer her a more comfortable room…” Nau’ul suggested.

The damn droid was more human than he was. Din had not even thought about moving you a different place within his derelict fortress. He had made the once royal prison his home, suspended off the ceiling of Sundari’s bio-dome, or what remained of it. A suitable place for a worthy character like him.

Din just stared at him, weighing his words. Did he have to care about the needs of his captive? She’s not my captive, just a… lifelong visitor, he quickly corrected himself.

“Then again, maybe not,” Nau’ul quickly retracted, dropping his hand to one side, mistaking his silence.

Fuck, I should have thought that, not the droid, he almost reprimanded himself. After so many years in his self-imposed exile, Din had really lost all touch with his humanity. Solitude, along with the curse that plagued his veins, were to blame.

With a grunt, he turned on his heels, unbolted the door and walked right back in, coming to a halt behind you with just a few strides.

“What are you doing?” you asked in a small voice, sniffling.

You had been crying and were now trying to hide it, show him you were unbreakable. He should have felt like a dick but didn’t. Couldn’t, really.

He knelt behind you and removed his vibro-knife from one of his pockets. The blade hummed, vibrating, when it got activated and Din cut you loose, restoring the blood flow to your hands.

“I’ll show you to your room,” was his only explanation to your question.

“My room? But I thought…” the doubt in your words slightly angered him. A fleeting feeling.

Anger? That’s new, he thought, eyebrows momentarily furrowing under the helmet.

“You wanna― you wanna stay here?” he muttered, teeth almost gritting.

“No,” you hushed, wide eyes looking up at him when he walked around the chair to face you.

Unsettling.

“Then follow me.”

Turning on his heels, Din made his way to the door, hoping you would follow. And you did, possibly because you had nowhere else to go.

The royal prison was a cross-shaped structure with several floors. Most of it was completely abandoned, except for the last two levels where he had accommodated himself in this senseless life he lived. The height gave him vantage point, with a good view of the surrounding buildings and further afield.

If it was for him, he would live between wreckage and filth, but his droids had made it their purpose to make the prison somewhat liveable. Not that he cared.

Din looked over his shoulder for one second to see you rub your wrists, eyes focused on the floor. Red lines were imprinted on your skin and for a brief second, he wondered if he had secured the syntherope a bit too tight.

Oh well.

He walked you all the way through a maze of corridors until you reached an elevator which was already waiting to take you up. Din stepped in and then to a side ― it wasn’t too big, but there was enough room for the both of you without having to invade each other’s personal space. You reluctantly followed.

The minutes dragged; the silence heavy although he did not find it unbearable. By the way you fidgeted with your fingers, he knew you did. Despite your discomfort, Mando did not open his mouth ― better getting used to it now, he didn’t want you to think he was the talkative type.

Then a ding announced your arrival to the top floor, and you almost let go of a relieved sigh. Din glanced at you sideways but didn’t catch much of your expression ― you were on his righthand side, and his right eye was completely blind.

The floor was well illuminated, clean and free of debris. It was well looked after, pristine almost. The corridors were empty, giving the whole place a very diaphanous appearance. As you walked by his side, he pointed out a few rooms you might want to make use of.

Arriving at an intersection, Din took the east corridor, ignoring the opposite one deliberately.

“What’s on that corridor?” you asked curiously.

You were too damn perceptive. Too perceptive for your own good.

“The west wing is forbidden,” he grunted abruptly, a growl even, stopping in his tracks to face you. “Forbidden,” he repeated slowly so the words, and the threat in his modulated voice, would sink in.

His reaction took you aback, but he could see you subduing your fear. You would not let him see it ― how scared you really were. You might not want to show it, but he could sense it.

The thought of you sniffing around the west corridor should make him panic, but his reaction was a mechanical one ― once upon a time, he would have cared excessively, worryingly even, if you discovered what he was hiding. Now, however, it wasn’t that he didn’t care but couldn’t.

The reason behind it, the reason why his emotions had become sterile and why a beast lurked beneath his skin, was stashed away in the west wing.

And it was his life mission to prevent anyone from finding it.

When Just Mando opened the door to your new cell, you were pleasantly surprised to discover it was an actual bedroom. The walls were still polished stainless steel slabs, so it wasn’t the coziest place ever, but it had a double bed with fresh linen, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a chest and one single chair. Everything was immaculate white, not one speck of dust in sight. There was another door that you assumed would lead to an ensuite bathroom.

You entered the small room and walked towards the bed. Opened the drawers of the furniture not really hoping for anything, so your eyebrows furrowed when you discovered they were packed full with clothes. Weird, but good.

With a little jump you sat down on the bed, testing its springs and overall comfortability. It was strikingly soft and smooth like a cloud, beckoning you to lie flat on your back and drift away to your dreams. You were not expecting that ― seeing how the rest of this floor was decorated (it wasn’t), you thought there would be one single spartan bed which would be hard as ironstone.

You were even amazed to see a floor-to-ceiling window. An actual, big, massive window that faced the outside world. And there were no metal bars covering it. Incredible, really, that he would trust you with one. Not that you were planning to escape, considering how desolate the planet was ― where could you go? Nowhere.

Looking up, you saw Just Mando leaning against the doorframe, arms folded while his biceps flexed against the fabric of his body stocking. He had been watching you the whole time you were inspecting the room.

Suddenly you felt the weight of his eyes on you and that made you feel skittish. You couldn’t see them, but you knew his sight would be intense, drilling and thrilling. What did he look like under that helmet? Would his expression be as impassible as his tone? Did he really not care at all or was that a façade he could afford because you couldn’t dissect his face?

“So… can I come out of my room? Or are you going to lock it too?” you asked tentatively, hands laced on your lap, challenging him with the soft curve of your raised eyebrow.

“It’ll stay locked until I know you can be trusted with freedom,” he straightened his back, hand on the doorknob.

“You call this freedom? Wow, okay,” you paused, letting that spoken thought sink in. “Is it because I asked about that corridor?”

Just Mando stilled under the doorframe, head cocked. Unknowingly, you bit your bottom lip, your teeth massaging the plump pillow underneath.

He didn’t answer.

You had had enough years of silence, the quietness of your cockpit being your only companion. Only broken by the fleeting moments when you met civilisation, you had unintentionally craved that connection. You just hadn’t realised it until you were faced with the possibility of being accompanied by someone for the rest of your life.

Even if that someone was… well, him. Guessed you would have to make do.

“You’ve already condemned me to live here with you, Just Mando, for-fucking-ever. You’ve destroyed my ship, so it’s not like I can go anywhere, can I?” you pleaded with him. “This whole planet is already my personal jail, don’t make it even smaller or I’ll go crazy.”

In your begging, you had gotten up and cut the distance between you. The tips of your shoes bumped into his weathered, leathered boots. He didn’t move, not even one inch ― completely unbothered by your proximity. Your face was so close to his helmet, the steam of your breath almost fogged up the transparisteel of the visor.

And, for a second, he seemed to consider your petition. Or so you had liked to think. You measured each other up, no one giving in or up.

“Until you can be trusted,” Just Mando remarked. The Mandalorian was the first to finally retreat, taking a step back into the hallway. “It’s up to you how long that takes.”

Flabbergasted, you looked at him in disbelief.

And then he shut the door. The click of the lock quickly followed.

Hours had gone by until you heard the door unbolt.

A different droid, an astromech one, greeted you.

“Beep boop, beep!” it happily chirped.

Luckily you knew enough Binary to unsderstand that it said, “dinner is served”.

“I don’t get it. I’ve already had dinner. Don’t need to be here,” Din complained, arms crossed at chest level, manspreading on a chair in the dining room.

“Try to be understanding, sir. The girl has lost her freedom,” Mrs. Kri’gee almost reprimanded him.

“Least you could do is keep her some company, Alor,” Nau’ul chipped in.

Din scoffed, irritated. And such irritation surprised him. He shouldn’t feel anything but a void in his entrails.

Nau’ul picked up on his unusual display of feelings as quick as he did.

“Master… Have you thought that perhaps this girl could help you break the spell?” the protocol droid ventured, almost stammering towards the end when Din snapped his head back to look at him.

If looks could kill, Nau’ul would have dropped dead.

“Fucking nonsense. You heard the witch, the spell she cast,” Din muttered, jaw so clenched it almost hurt him. “Stop looking for solutions and just accept it. After eight years, you should have already giving up your futile hopes.”

“Someone has to keep the spirits up around here. Depressing enough as it is,” the droid retorted.

“If you allow me, Master, Elsbeth’s exact words were, ‘until you find your maker once more’, and that is up to interpretation,” Mrs. Kri’gee added.

Din remembered very well the cursed that Morgan had spitted in his face before he took possession of the Darksaber and sunk it in the witch’s belly.

I condemn you, Din Djarin, to an eternity of loss, Of emptiness, apathy and thorns. At full moons you will be at your worst, With nobody to keep you warm. You shall walk this Galaxy alone, Until you meet your Maker once more.

They still resonated inside his head, clear as the pale ale in the jug in front of him.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow. You’ve been ignoring it for years, but I fear that if you do nothing about it, well…” Nau’ul voiced his worries, hands twisting ― a very human-like gesticulation.

Mando had spaced out, not listening to one word. He only snapped out of his trance when the door creaked, announcing Ca’nara’s and your arrival.

The bags under your eyes were screaming for some rest, which apparently had been evading you. He had given you enough hours alone to get some sleep and freshen up, so why hadn’t you? If you looked so miserable, that was entirely down to you, not him. Of that much he was sure.

Din straightened his back, sitting up properly, while Nau’ul rushed off his feet to serve you the food the droid had prepared. With a flourish of his hand, he presented you with his creation.

“It’s tiingilar, a Mandalorian stew of meat, vegetables and spices. It’s hot, very hot, be careful,” the protocol droid warned you.

From across the table, Din could have sworn he saw your eyes watering, then you blinked a few times, grabbing the spoon.

“Oh my stars, how many spices have you put in here?”

“Oh, you don’t like spicy food?”

“Well, I do, but it smells so spicy, I’m about to cry, phew!” you swept along your waterlines with your index fingers, making a point.

“Alor prefers it this way. I can prepare something else…”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll eat it. Thank you…?” You dragged your words, looking for a name.

“Nau’ul,” he replied. “Anything you need, please ask.”

And then all three droids disappeared from sight, leaving you both alone in the dining room.

You glanced up from your plate, eyeing him above your spoon while you blew on it to cool it down.

“Are you not eating, Just Mando?” you raised an eyebrow, inquiring.

If Nau’ul was still in the room, Din would have snarled at him. Instead, he folded arms again and shook his head no.

“I’ve already eaten,” he explained dully.

He couldn’t―wouldn’t―remove his helmet in your presence, or anyone’s. Not even his droids had seen his face in all the years they had been together. Din had been raised to follow the Mandalorian Creed and even though he was no longer part of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, he still believed. It was intrinsic to him, to who he was. Or had been. The only thing that kept him true to himself.

���Because you can’t remove your helmet in front of me. Right?”

Din tilted his head in surprise. He did not expect you to know that. Were you acquainted with the Mandalorian culture? And if so, why? You were not one, he could tell. But what were you? Your accent was a mixture of different ones, so he could not pinpoint where you originated from.

“This is the Way,” he found himself saying. It had been a long time since those words last escaped his mouth. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, from here and there, everywhere and nowhere…” Then you took the first spoonful of the stew and started coughing almost instantly. “Fuck, this is spicy,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, as your hand lunged forward to eagerly down the drink.

Din almost smiled at your severe reaction. The corners of his lips began to curl up but quickly dissipated, his own body fighting against such act of rebellion.

“So you’re a nomad?” He asked with certain curiosity in his voice, while he leaned forward to pass you the jug full of ale to top up your drink.

“Yes. I don’t have a homeworld. I don’t even know where I was born, we moved around so much my father didn’t even remember,” you went on almost absentmindedly, pouring the beer in your glass. “What about you, Just Mando?”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘Just Mando’? It’s just Mando,” as soon as he said it out loud, he understood the joke. He pressed his lips together, slightly amused. “I see,” he mumbled.

You laughed as if it was the best joke ever. The warmth in your laughter was vivid, hearty, compelling. Like a melody it filled the air ― suddenly the room was not as bare as before. As cold either.

“So? Were you born here in Mandalore, Mando?” the smirk coiling your lips told him you were teasing him.

Din debated whether to open up or not. Whether to tell you the truth or a lie. But Nau’ul was right, if you were to spend the rest of your lives together, lying was not a good start.

“I was born in Aq Vetina, but was raised in Concordia,” was his succinct answer.

Your eyes unsuccessfully searched for his under the visor. Din could tell you wanted to press him, get more information out of him, but that was as much as he was willing to share today.

“Eat up. It’s going to get cold,” he urged you, wanting to leave so he could be alone.

“So bossy,” you whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes to the back of your head, before attacking the tiingilar.

Nine weeks later

You turned to the next page of the book on your lap, your mind completely captivated by the story of the pages in front of you. Books were scarce in this day and age, but Mando had managed to salvage a few after years of rummaging through the rubble. This one in particular was a storybook for children ― a story about a Mandalorian fighting the Mythosaur down in the Mines.

You were immersed in it, curled up in your bed with a thick duvet and a few pillows around you. Your room was not bare anymore ― you had decorated with a few trinkets you had found in your day trips to the outside world, with Mando as your guide. The fear of the first week had slowly eased, giving way to a new sense of comfort.

Forgotten was your thirst for freedom. With the passage of time, you learnt that Mando was not joking when he first said death was the only way out. And since you didn’t want to die, you slowly had embraced this new way of life. You had made friends with the three droids and had really tried to form sort of friendship with Mando.

The Mandalorian was a tough nut to crack. He was not keen on showing emotion, so much so you even wondered if he was capable of feeling anything. You had noticed that, many a times, he relied on Nau’ul to show him how he should act or react. A droid teaching a human how to be human ― unfathomable. Perhaps all these years alone in Mandalore had taken its toll on him.

And so you liked to think that you were somewhat helping him reconnect with that side of him you thought long gone. By ‘helped’, maybe you meant ‘forced’, but Mando had thrown you in this situation, so now he had to put up with you.

The door to your room opened suddenly, startling you so bad you almost threw the book at Mando.

“One of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack. Don’t you know how to knock?” You screeched, hugging the storybook to your chest and burying yourself under the duvet ― you were only wearing a shirt and your underwear.

“Are you not ready yet?” you had grown used to the exasperation in his voice.

“Ready for what? It’s only half seven in the morning, Mando!”

“You wanted to visit the Living Waters in the Mines and see for yourself if it really is a Mythosaur’s lair, remember? Since you don’t believe a damn word of what I say,” he scowled, still under the doorframe.

“Oh, shit! You’re right!”

How could you have forgotten? You had been insisting for over two weeks now, and only yesterday did he capitulate. You were no Mandalorian, so shouldn’t be in such a sacred place, but you managed to convince him that it would do literally no harm to anyone if you visited.

In your excitement, you jumped out of bed, forgetting you were half naked, and looked for some clothes to put on.

“I’ll… I’ll be waiting in the parlour,” he muttered and disappeared into the hallway.

Ten minutes later, you were outside, on your way to the Civic Center. As you approached this new-to-you, unprobed area, the destruction around you made your stomach churn. The Great Purge and then years of neglect painted a gruesome picture in front of you. Inside was even worse, although you couldn’t see much considering how dark it was.

You followed Mando diligently ― he had been here before, so you trusted his instinct. You stepped where he did and remained silent while you descended into the ground.

After a few more minutes, a humid, warm cave appeared in sight. There were massive pillars holding the crumbling ceiling, and piles of debris everywhere. Stairs led a path to the Living Waters below.

“This is beautiful,” you mumbled in awe, looking around you.

The place was eerie and silent as a tomb. Seeing it with your own eyes, now you could understand why people would believe in the existence of a mythological creature.

There was a plaque on a stone nearby and you got closer to read it. However, the writing was in Mando’a, so you cocked your head to look at Mando.

“What does it say?”

He walked towards you and stopped right behind you. His proximity sent a warning shiver down your spine. You ignored your body’s reaction, focusing on the words you didn’t understand.

“These Mines date back to the Age of the First Mand’Alor. According to ancient folklore, the Mines were once a Mythosaur lair. Mandalore the Great is said to have tamed the mythical beast. It is from these legends that the skull signet was adopted and became the symbol of our planet,” he relayed, his voice ricocheting between the bare walls.

“And you are sure you’ve seen it? Mandalore the Great lived, what, hundreds of years ago? In all that time, you’re telling me, you’ve been the only man to witness the rise of the beast?” One perfect eyebrow raised into your forehead, a smirk curling up your lips, as you taunted him.

Although you couldn’t see, you liked to imagine the frustration distorting his features. Lately you had wondered who the man under the helmet was, but you knew you would never find out. Mando took the Creed very seriously, too seriously.

“I did,” he replied concisely. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

“And what were you doing in the water anyway? It does not look very inviting.”

“I had to redeem myself,” you could tell he hadn’t mean to tell you that, because he nervously adjusted his posture.

“Why?”

You were like a loth-wolf with a bone ― you wouldn’t let it go that easily.

“I had broken the Creed and had to atone for it,” his voice lowered, uncomfortable with the topic.

“How did you break it?”

“Will you ever stop asking so many damn questions?” he growled, evading your probing.

You lifted your hands up in the air in a peaceful gesture, but not without a subtle grin on your mouth. You loved driving him crazy, it was one of the little fun you could have in this place.

“Alright, alright.”

You bent down to grab some flat stones off the ground and practiced your stone skipping skills. That was until Mando’s big hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you mid-throw.

“Stop that, you’re going to awaken the beast,” he snarled, pushing you close to his chest a bit too forcefully.

“Oh, come on. Gimme a break, Mando. There’s no Mythosaur, you must have imagined it.”

“There is and I didn’t,” his grip loosened, and you took the opportunity to throw another stone. “Fucking quit that attitude now,” he warned you, grabbing you by both of your wrists, your hands flush against the beskar breastplate.

Your pelvis was sweetly pressed against his, your thighs touching his. Even with the beskar pieces, you could feel all his edges, his― Shit. His manhood resting just above where slick heat was gathering in your core.

You laughed to release your own tension ― your head snapping back, exposing your neck to his eyes.

“Oh, wow. You’re serious,” you managed to say between laughs, ignoring how close you were to him. Ignoring how wet your pussy was.

“Of course I am. You don’t unders―”

The sound of water abruptly moving forced both of you to look in the direction of the pond. Something enormous had risen, taking up the whole airspace, and water cascaded down its sides.

You froze in place, your mind rushing to come to terms with what you were seeing, as you looked at the gigantic figure towering above you. The water kept falling, so you couldn’t really make the shape of the monster underneath. But in that moment, you knew Mando had not imagined jack shit. The Mythosaur was real. Very real.

Mando pushed you back and put himself between you and the imminent danger. Above his shoulder, you saw horns sticking out and a big pair of eyes staring you down. Its skin was covered in scales and small horns, giving it a very reptilian appearance. The Mythosaur was massive beyond comprehension, and you could not, for the life of you, visualise it being tamed or, worse, ridden.

Time stilled and so did the beast. Its eyes were transfixed on you ― no, on Mando. As if they were measuring each other up, as if they were communicating somehow. Since that was impossible, it was obvious you were imagining things.

Before any of you could react, your heart pounding manically and your breath hitching, the beast went back down below the water level, and a massive wave dashed towards you. Within a matter of seconds, the Mythosaur was gone, and you and Mando were soaked to the bones.

Mando reacted before you did, turning around and forcing you to walk back.

“Let’s go, now! Move!”

In the safety of your bed, after a hot, steamy shower, you let your mind drift back to the moment in time where Mando had held you close to his chest earlier that day. How your body had unwillingly behaved to his closeness, how you ached for him to reach below your hips, right between your thighs…

With a soft moan, you gave in to the desire that had been pooling low in your belly for a while now. Your fingers dipped under your underwear, finding that sweet bundle of nerves in your wet slit. Your index tapped at your clit a few times until you stroked it ― electricity shooting up your spine.

That felt so good, you did it again and again and again, while your brain came up with different scenarios where Mando was giving you hell. With half-lidded eyes and lips parted, you smothered the beating nub with your thumb, two other fingers finding the entrance to your pussy and submerging in your wet heat.

You picked up a relentless pace, imagining they were Mando’s thick fingers, as the first orgasm in a long while started to build up inside you. Your own hand made you whimper, teeth sinking in your bottom lip so hard you almost drew blood. Your back arched involuntarily, stroking your pulsing clit more harshly now, your fingers reaching further in.

The squealing noise of the door opening alarmed you, your orgasm evaporating into thin air. You just about managed to remove your tantalising hand from your panties and throw the duvet above you. Panicking, you looked at the door.

Mando was under the frame, so still you thought he was a statue. You had tried to conceal what you were doing, but the rigidity of his posture told you he had seen enough.

Your cheeks reddened, your face on fire at the realisation of being caught masturbating. By none other than the protagonist of your wet dreams.

“Mando! I told you to fucking KNOCK!” You screamed at him from under the quilt. “You can’t just walk in like that!”

When you didn’t hear the door close ―because you were not expecting an apology from him―, you peeked above the duvet.

The Mandalorian had not moved one inch, and you really feared he had become immobile forever. But the tent on his groin showing through his body stocking told you otherwise.

And then he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. It was the first time he had trespassed the doorframe, you noticed. Butterflies filled your stomach and your lungs as he approached the bed you were lying on, your widened eyes looking for his unsuccessfully ― always unsuccessfully.

Mando didn’t say one word as he removed his gloves, coming to a halt by your side with his shins pressing against the bedframe. When they dropped to the floor, your eyes drifted right up at him, searching for clues, anything that could be crossing his mind.

His naked fingers were the first time you saw his skin, a bit of him. He was real, and he was right in front of you, caressing your cheek. You found yourself closing your eyes and leaning on the palm of his hand ― a tender gesture amidst your unresolved sexual desire.

Mando tilted his head, and you understood. An unspoken petition that you willingly granted. Driven by your lust, you scooted over to the other side of the bed, making room for him, dragging the duvet with you.

“Nuh-uh,” he clicked his tongue as he knelt on the mattress after having kicked his boots.

He yanked the duvet off you, exposing you to him with just your shirt and underwear.

You leaned back against the mountain of pillows and looked at him doe-eyed ― then your sight followed his right hand as it landed on your pubic bone. You pressed your lips into a fine line, swallowing a moan at his touch. His fingertips traced your wet slit over your panties.

“What were you doing, hm?” he husked, his long finger dragging against the garment.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unable to look for the words.

“Were you touching yourself?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded.

“Were you close?” a sliver of care transpired through his modulated voice.

“Yes,” you cooed.

“Sorry, mesh’la (beautiful). Let me help you with that,” he offered at the same time his fingers dunked under the waistband of your panties.

You melted into the mattress, audibly moaning, when he stroked you. Your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure his fingers were expertly working on you, sliding through your slit a few times, from your thudding clit to your dripping hole ― your clit hitching between his fingers every time he traced them back up.

He worked your flesh with his bare digits, and after a few minutes, his index and middle fingers went back down to your hot entrance. He tempted you with the tips but didn’t go in ― you were tiptoeing on the precipice of your pleasure.

You whimpered, annoyed.

“Please, Mando―”

“Din. Call me Din, mesh’la,” he hummed, the tip of his finger circling your entrance.

“Please, Din,” you blurted out, eyes flying open and transfixed on his visor, begging.

You let go of a pitiful groan when Din―you liked how his name rolled off your tongue―finally gave you what you wanted, what you needed. Two of his thick fingers dove in your seeping pussy, slightly parting your walls in preparation―hopefully, if you were lucky―for his dick.

First slow, then a devilish rhythm his fingers imparted on you. The orgasm quickly built up again, Din’s dexterity beckoning you to climb to the hilltop. And you did, you let yourself feel all the pleasure he was giving you until it was too much, your clit raw and overstimulated by his precise thumb. You reached the top of the mountain and jumped into the abyss underneath. The wave of your climax washed over your, drowning you ― your cunt spasming around his fingers while your knees pressed together.

When you opened your eyes again, all tearful due to immensity of your frenzy, you were relieved to find that Din had released his throbbing erection through the zipper in his body stocking―you didn’t have the patience right now to unclasp all the armour pieces, you needed him now.

The sight of his engorged dick made your mouth water. The girth and the length of it should have made you flinch, but instead it made your pussy wet itself a bit more. It had the perfect size to fill your insides to the brim. Din’s hand moved up and down on his shaft, slowly pumping himself although he was already hard.

You lifted your hand towards his manhood, and he removed his to let you touch him ― for a second you were fascinated by the soft swaying of his cock. Then you wrapped your fingers around it and Mando grumbled, sitting on his heels, manspread for you as a tasty offering. He was a sight to see ― knelt and sat on his heels on the mattress, fully clothed, helmet on, armour hugging his body, and his erection peeking out through the zipper, leaky and throbbing just for you.

Giving him a few pumps, you looked up at him with a smirk. And before he could complain or stop you, you came closer to him and gave the plump head a lick, then sealed your lips around his leaking glans.

The groan that bubbled up his throat spurred you on to bob your head down, taking half of his pulsing length in your mouth.

Din’s hand tugged at your hair abruptly, pulling you off his twitching dick.

You glanced up at him confused.

“I can’t―I don’t think I can take a blowjob without blowing my load, mesh’la. I need to fuck you now,” he was honest with you.

It was understandable. He had been stuck here for at least eight years, which meant that he had not laid with a woman for at least as long. You would have lost your mind too if someone hadn’t touched you in that time.

“Come on then, fuck me, Din,” you mumbled, laying back down on the pile of pillows so your upper body was propped up.

You spread your legs, making room for him. Din swiftly shifted, dragging himself into position.

It was a fucking sight; one you had been dying to see. And he was finally there, all cozy in between your thighs. He parted your legs, resting the back of your knees on his shoulders. He pushed your panties to a side, leaving you completely exposed.

You couldn’t see, but you knew his eyes were focused on the prize―your damp, puffy folds, clit twitching and hole begging.

“Been wanting some pussy for a while now,” he confessed in a grumble, head tilted back when the tip of his veiny cock slipped up and down your damp furrow.

“Here I am, take what you need.”

How altruistic of you.

His mushroom, precum-covered head caught on your slick entrance and Din bucked his hips a little, only the tip smoothly going in. Your heartrate spiked, your walls imploring for the full length of him to clench on. And then, Din thrusted in harshly, pushing his cock in down to the hilt in one smooth jolt. You both howled in unison at the intrusion ― his a deep, guttural moan, yours a high-pitched one.

Mando held onto your knees on his shoulders as he started with the slow sway of his hips impacting on the back of your thighs, building the perfect pace. His dick dragged along the right spot inside you as he jackhammered you into the pillows, another orgasm gathering in your core. Din’s rhythm became frantic, frenzied, to the point where he had to let go of your knees and lean forward, his hands holding onto the rattling headboard.

Mando fucked you hard, drilling you like a man starved. You could feel him stuffing you full, his hard dick disappearing between your swollen, greedy pussy lips. Reaching up, you held onto his arms above you, fingers wrapping around his elbows. Your body rocked up and down on the bed below him with the force of his unrestrained charges.

Your cunt couldn’t take it anymore ― it contracted around his girth, announcing your second climax, which quickly overtook your senses. With stars in your vision, you wailed his name, now fisting the bedsheets as you came, a never-ending wave making your twitch under him uncontrollably.

“Fuck, I… Fuck,” he growled, his hips bucking and stuttering erratically at the sight of your fucked-out expression.

He was close, you knew by the way his dick constantly pulsed inside you ― he just needed a bit of prodding. That was your signal to clench your walls around him, squeezing him as hard and snug as you could, clamping on his thudding cock, never wanting to let him go.

That was his undoing ― you felt Din’s warm, thick spend painting your inner walls, his steely cock convulsing with the last waves of his release.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Din between your legs, his dick still buried inside you as it softened. The inside of his visor was fogged up and you doubted he could see much.

“I didn’t mean to come inside, I was gonna pull out―”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. He didn’t need to worry about that.

His helmet tilted, but whatever question lingered in his mind, he didn’t ask.

His thumb lightly pressed your relaxed clit with gratitude, massaging it softly, before he pulled out and your pussy released his shaft. That gentle stroke ignited your nerve endings, slowly coming back to life. His thumb then went down, gathering the cum your pussy was releasing, and shoved it back inside you.

You bit your bottom lip to stop a needy moan.

“Wanna go again?” you asked, grinning. Offering.

Din laughed. He fucking laughed. You had never heard him laugh before.

“Sure do, but I need a minute, mesh’la.”

Every night for the next two weeks Din found himself stranded in the corridor leading to your room, like a lost, thirsty man looking for water in the harsh desert of Tatooine.

The internal struggle was always the same ― he shouldn’t seek you because, after all, you were his prisoner. You were stuck here with him because he had forced you to, giving you no other choice. Sure, he had not imposed his presence on you―quite the opposite, in fact―but it still seemed wrong to take advantage of you like that.

But then he would see you come out of your room, almost as if you knew he was marooned there, and would approach him with caution. Willingly you would take his hand and lead him to your nest, erasing any doubts he could have about your eagerness. You were as keen as he was ― fucking had become an entertaining pastime. And a calming balm for the beast within.

It was the same dance every night, without failure. And tonight had been no different, except for the hushed “I want you so badly, Din” that had dropped from your parted lips as you rode the last wave of your orgasm, a blissful expression softening your features.

As he stood outside of your door, back towards it, Din wondered what you had truly meant. Was it just a benign slip of tongue or was there something else behind it? He hoped for the first, because he couldn’t afford the second.

Feeling something―anything―was out of the question. Even if he wanted to, didn’t matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t. Elsbeth had cursed him to an eternity of apathy, and it had worked ― over the curse of the last eight years, Din’s feelings had dimmed, diminished and then disappeared, while his inner monster became more powerful, feeding off his emotions like a leech sucking blood out of its host. Mando had tried to feel to keep the beast at bay ― would even make the droids try to anger him in silly competitions, but the dull sense in his chest just grew bigger and bigger, like a tumour rotting his entrails.

Din couldn’t remember what happiness felt like ― he had a barren wasteland for a heart. So cold were his insides, he even thought all his organs were covered in beskar. That was what brought him back to your room every night ― your warmth, how it would seep through the cracks of his skin, warming up a part of him that he thought dead.

Tonight, he had allowed himself to really feel your body against his ― helmet still on of course, you both had been stripped naked for the first time, your skin rubbing his, heating him up. Whether he would admit it or not, he craved you. Yearned for your warmth.

With a shake of his head, his feet finally unglued from your doorstep and sauntered towards the west wing. A single light at the end of the corridor twinkled, snuffing out the moment he stepped below it.

He swung the door open to a room he had not visited in a very long while. Din preferred to pay no mind to the source of his emotional detachment, but Nau’ul’s words had been nagging him for weeks now, an annoying reminder scratching the back of his brain.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow.”

He had to see for himself.

The room should have been dark if it wasn’t for the light the Darksaber’s blade emitted. Din trudged towards the display stand in the middle of the empty space, where the Darksaber rested under a glass case. Two metal, U-shaped pins held the Darksaber upright.

An electrifying, white glow encased the black blade, but it was certainly fainter than what he remembered. Significantly fainter. It had taken him a few years to understand that the Darksaber was the vessel of his curse ― as his feelings dwindled and the beast grew fonder of control, so did the light of the Darksaber. He was not sure though about which one caused the other to wither away.

As he stared at it, Din pondered what would happen the day the light from the Darksaber would flicker away. Morgan had died before he could fully understand the idiosyncrasies of his malediction. At first, the frustration of the unknown had only driven him mad, especially when the full moons would bloom on the night sky, leaving him at the mercy of his curse.

The first time he had transformed, bathed by the white light of Concordia, Din thought he was dying. The burning sensation, the bones breaking and fusing back together, the stretch of his skin, the blood becoming cold in his veins and his mind spiralling out of control… He hadn’t died, but he sure wished he did. Only at dawn was he able to gain back control, so exhausted he just laid on the dirt near the Civic Center for an entire day before finding his way back to the royal prison.

Only with the insight of time did he decide it did not matter. The end was the end, and if that was the way, then he would greet it.

Din sighed, his eyes dry under the helmet. Looking around and knowing himself on his own, he carefully removed his helmet, wincing in agony, and placed it on top of the glass case. He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose in an attempt to clear his mind, one hand resting on the glass.

Eyes shut for a long minute, he ended up fluttering them open. His reflection greeted him ― a terrible, gruesome sight, a face he almost didn’t recognise anymore. The scar that ran from the left of his chin diagonally to his right temple had distorted his features ― his chin slightly dented, the left corner of his mouth raggedy, the flesh on his upper left cheek mildly sunken around the scar, his crooked nose even more angular and his split eyebrow giving him a permanent frown. And then his right eye, completely blinded with a white discolouration covering his iris and pupil.

He could still feel the blade of the Darksaber melting his beskar helmet as Morgan pressed it against him. It hadn’t completely cut through the Mandalorian alloy, but the fire filtering through had burnt his skin, leaving an everlasting imprint on his face.

Din remembered the heat, the panic building up and the sizzling sound of his skin as it thawed like ice under the sun. The smell of burnt skill still haunted him sometimes when the helmet became too overwhelming.

The damaged tissue was thick but extremely sensitive ― every time he pulled the helmet off his head, the fabric inside would drag against the scar tissue, making him flinch in pain.

Shaking his head to release his mind from such memories, Din stared at the Darksaber for longer than intended, lost in his train of thought. For the first time in ages, he wanted to know if the curse could ever be broken.

Until you meet your Maker once more.

That had a pretty definite sentence to it. Death was the only way out.

“I didn’t see you last night,” you mumbled, repressing the need to add an ‘again’ to the end of your sentence.

You had noticed that there were certain nights when Mando would vanish, wouldn’t visit you at all. You wouldn’t see him in the morning either and if you asked any of the droids, they were as evasive as their master.

You still didn’t know why and every time you prodded him about it, his answer was…

“Had stuff to take care of.”

You sighed, pressing your lips into a thin line. The idea of slapping him had its appeal.

“Are we still going?” you quickly changed subject, not wanting to be disappointed with him today. “I’ve not really asked you for anything in the three months I’ve been here.”

You watched his gloved fingers drum on the metallic surface, helmet tipped to one side as he considered your words. You wanted to believe that in the time you both had spent together, Din’s undaunted façade had softened a bit. His replies had become less snappy, his posture slightly more relaxed, and his hands way more caring as they canvassed your skin every night.

An invisible force had been towing you towards him, his gravitational pull irresistible. Din Djarin was a challenge to you, a puzzle you had started putting together. He strived so hard to remain indifferent, it was now an exciting game to make him feel. The only downfall? You were falling for him. Perhaps him being the only man to walk this planet had something to do with it, you had no other options. Also, you knew that fucking the brains out of each other every night would eventually lead you here.

Considering that you had a lifetime to spend on this world, letting yourself feel for Mando was something you could afford. And even if he didn’t want to show it, you were positively sure he was not as apathetic towards you as he let on.

“Alright. I don’t see the harm,” he accepted.

You mumbled a “yes!” with a smile crooking your lips as you pushed the chair back to stand up.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

You rushed out of the room to run to yours and change. The winter was receding, but the cold was still bitter and nippy, so you decided to put on appropriate gear. A few minutes later, you darted towards the lift, where Din was already waiting.

Couldn’t help yourself, you had to smile at him, the softness of your grin reaching your eyes.

Din cleared his throat, face facing forwards to avoid your orbs meeting his.

The way down in the elevator was soundless, but you had grown used to his silence treatment. The short journey to the crashing site was as tranquil as the trip down the lift. Mando was truly a man of few words.

When you caught a glimpse of your T-65B X-wing starfighter, you overtook Din and ran towards it in excitement.

“Careful there! The ground is slippery, you’re gonna―”

Before Mando could finish his warning, you recreated what his next words were going to be: you slipped on an icesheet. Waving your arms so you wouldn’t lose your footing, you ended up falling face first. You managed to partially stop the fall with your hands. The rocks underneath slashed your winter trousers, cutting your left shin.

By the time Din had gotten to your side, you had already stood up.

“You okay?” he asked with worry in his voice.

You nodded, smirking at the preoccupation he was showing.

“Yeah,” you lied. If he knew you had hurt yourself, you would be turning around and returning home empty-handed.

“Be more careful, will you? The ship ain’t going nowhere,” he snarled once he knew you were fine.

You rolled your eyes at him before strolling to the aircraft. Your old X-wing had seen better days ― the glass of the cockpit was smashed; vegetation had grown over the body. Moss covered most of it, painting it green instead of white. When you peeked inside the cabin, you realised it was flooded, all electrics wet. It was truly done for ― if you ever had any hope of leaving this planet, it would not be aboard your X-wing.

Din stood watch as you foraged for the item you were here for. After a few minutes, you located the star compass under the seat in the cockpit, drenched. Looking over your shoulder to see where Mando was, you opened the compass and water leaked everywhere. The black lodestone was static, unmoving ― maybe it just needed to dry off. Despite how damaged it was, you hoped it would still work. You were not planning on using it, obviously, but it was a reminder of your old life, one that now seemed very far away.

You couldn’t say you missed your previous life. The constant travelling had taken a toll on you in the last few years, having almost lost sight of searching for the Darksaber. Now that your feet were back down on the ground, gravity keeping you centred, this new life was not so bad after all.

“You found it?”

“Yeah!”

You quickly clasped the lid back down and jumped out of the cockpit. Perhaps you had lied to Din about what you were really looking for, but something in you told you not to tell the truth. So, when he asked you that morning why you wanted to go back to the shipwreck, you simply lied, telling him you were looking for your family’s locket ― a relic that had been passed down for generations.

The object was small enough to pass for one. You waved it at him quickly, not really showing it to him, before you shoved it in one of the pockets in your vest. Luckily Din didn’t ask for it, otherwise he would have realised it was made of beskar.

“Let’s go back then.”

“You’re bleeding,” Din’s fingers grabbed you by the elbow, yanking you back before you crossed the door to your room.

You looked down, having forgotten about the wound on your leg. You shrugged, downplaying it.

“It’s nothing, I’ll just take care of it now.”

“Like hell you are,” he growled with clenched teeth while dragging you inside.

He only let go of your elbow when you were by your unmade bed. Din stopped right in front of you, hands on hips. He nodded to you, commanding you to remove your trousers so he could see.

Your eyes rolled in frustration and clicked your tongue.

“It’s fine, Din. Don’t worry about it,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“I’ll decide if I have to worry or not.”

And, without prompt, he pulled down your trousers in a swift movement, leaving your legs bare. You huffed but let him help you out of them and remove your boots. Mando signalled you to sit on your bed and so you did. Din knelt in front of you, grabbing your hurt leg by the ankle until your heel was resting on his bent knee.

He inspected the wound for a minute after having removed his gloves. His fingertips burnt your skin where they ghosted over it.

“It’s not too deep, just a scratch.”

“I told you it was nothing. You have some unresolved trust issues, Din,” you joked, slightly leaning back with the heels of your hands flat on the mattress.

You couldn’t see but knew his eyes squinted under the visor.

“I’ll go get something to clean it. Wait here.”

Mando walked out and you took the chance to remove the uncomfortable coat. A minute later, he had returned with a clean rag and a small container with lukewarm water. He knelt in front of you again, grabbing your leg, and dutifully cleaned the wound.

You couldn’t help but sigh at the feathery touch of his fingers on the back of your knee. His proximity was enough to lighten your need for him. Also, being only in your underwear and a shirt while he was knelt between your legs did not help at all. Your imagination was already running wild ― and so your legs parted slightly, almost involuntarily.

Din’s attention shifted from the wound to your core. He tried to hide he was being distracted, but the helmet kept tilting to one side so he could have a better look at where your thighs met.

You chewed on your bottom lip, slick warmth pooling in between your legs.

“Din,” you hushed his name, your hand searching his so he would stop cleaning the wound.

The Mandalorian didn’t need much prodding after that. He towered above you rising to his feet, his hips at your eye level. You knew he was hard already, so couldn’t ignore the call of the siren.

With rigid steps, he walked towards the chest and placed the container dow. He scrunched the rag so the water dripped back into it. Soon enough, he was in front of you again, clean rag on hand.

“Do you trust me, mesh’la?” his modulated voice was low and husky.

You nodded vehemently.

“I want to try something different this time,” he murmured, the rag twisting in his hands. “But you gotta promise me you’ll behave for me.”

“I will,” you promised, breath hitching in anticipation.

“I’m going to blindfold you and remove my helmet. But I have only two ground rules: you can’t take it off and you can’t touch my face. At all. No excuses. Are we clear?”

A rush of lustful excitement ploughed through your veins. You found yourself nodding again, your neck hurting.

“Use your words, cyar’ika (beloved).”

“Yes. Crystal clear, Din,” you mumbled, widened, almost adoring eyes staring at him. You hadn’t missed the endearment term, although he seemed to not have noticed.

“Good,” he curled one finger at you.

You sat back up, hands laced on your lap patiently waiting as Din blindfolded you with the damp rag. He secured it with a very tight knot on the back and made sure three times that it would not go anywhere.

“If you break your promise, I’ll have to kill you,” the threat was very real, not even a hint of joke in it.

Your mouth went dry and your clit irremediably pulsed ― your pussy was already wet and warm for him. You shouldn’t get off on a death threat, but apparently Din could reduce you to a slick mess just like that.

“I-I won’t remove it. You have my word. Please.”

“Be a good girl for me and lay down on your back,” he commanded you and you happily obliged.

Your heartrate spiked as you heard Din discarding the beskar pieces over his body stocking. Maybe you were too eager, but he was taking too damn long. Then a hissing sound told you his helmet was gone.

This was fucking torture. You wanted to see him, to see the face of the man who made you wet with just a few words. It was cruel of him to impose something like this on you, such a prohibition. However, you understood what his Creed entailed and respected it.

Hated yourself right now for respecting it, but you did.

Din placed his hands on the back of your knees and lifted your legs up, the soles of your feet resting on either side of his naked hips. The warm palms of his hands caressed your ankles, massaging them briefly, before travelling up your calves and inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Unceremoniously, his fingers curled around the hem of your panties and pulled them down your legs; you couldn’t see but were sure he had thrown them away.

The Mandalorian exhaled audibly the moment his hands landed on your knees and pulled your legs apart. You squirmed, knowing he was devouring you with his eyes.

“Din, please, just―” you whimpered, moany and needy, anticipating.

“Shush. Don’t be so impatient, mesh’la,” he chastised you while stepping back.

That was the first time you listened to his real, manly voice. It was deep and raspy, surly yet sweet.

Your feet, no longer supported on his hips, dropped to the ground.

“Go on your fours,” he talked you through the position he wanted you in as you obeyed. “Now lean down, rest that pretty face of yours on the mattress for me.”

With your perky ass up in the air, you felt very exposed with your inner thighs pressed together and framing your swollen pussy like a pretty picture just for him.

One of his fingers traced your wet slit and you had to stop yourself from wiggling your hips until his finger was partially inside you.

“Look at her, all drippy and puffy for me. She knows what’s coming, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s so fucking wet,” he hummed, shuffling behind you.

You couldn’t see him, but you were damn sure he was on his knees at the feet of the bed.

Din placed his hands on your ass cheeks and parted them, the skin in your sticky furrow stretching while his thumbs caressed your labia. Your cunt was on full display, and you could feel the cold air of the room against your damp, sensitive skin.

“At last, I can claim her as mine,” Din whispered, his hot breath fanning on your pussy now, sending shivers up your spine.

You moaned, finally understanding what was coming.

He didn’t keep you waiting. Din’s tongue lapped your whole pussy in one go and your entire body trembled at the wet touch, his beard prickling your skin. Covering your mouth, you swallowed a pitiful whimper while your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Mando’s broad hands squeezed your ass, grounding you, as he leaned forward again to drink from the fountain of your pleasure.

His tongue dipped in your creamy slit and stroked it slowly, deliberately loitering around your clit, but never really paying it much attention. He kissed your swollen lips, making out with them as if they were your mouth, the tip of nose intimately caressing your perineum. With the help of his fingers, he splayed open your quivering cunt, your hole accessible to the apex of his mischievous tongue.

Din licked you for minutes on end, ignoring your pulsing clit on purpose. The tension inside you coiled almost uncomfortably, so intense it would snap at any given moment. His devilish persuasion was relentless, more so when he would introduce his tongue in your very core.

You bucked your hips against his mouth, grinding. Desperate.

“Din, please, please, here,” you begged, slipping one of your hands down your belly and in between your legs.

You parted your slippery pussy lips, your clit hitching between them, showing him exactly where you wanted his goddamn tongue.

“Here, please,” you insisted, teary-eyed, at the edge of your patience.

“So impatient, mesh’la,” he chuckled behind you, still on your fours for him.

Finally, his lips latched onto your clit, and you whined out loud, pure elation running through your veins at the sweet suckling of his mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive nub, and you saw stars behind your eyes, head slightly tilted backwards as you mewled until your throat felt raw.

Din sucked on your clit harshly at the same time two of his thick fingers found their way to your oozing hole. You screamed a resounding “fuck” at the perfect intrusion. The combination of his tongue and his digits were more than what your nervous system could take. Lick, pump, lick, pump ― the perfect rhythm making your toes curl, your pussy clench and your clit set ablaze.

The whole pussy-eating-from-the-back situation was too much ― his fingers ever so tantalising, you surrendered. Rubbing your cunt against his mouth, you moaned his name as the best orgasm of your life almost rendered you unconscious. You came on his mouth while Din just sipped from you, drinking all your discharge as if it was the last drops he would ever taste.

You could only hear your heart beating in your eardrums, all your senses overwhelmed. You were so out, you had almost forgotten the rag blindfolding you.

“You’re gonna come again for me, mesh’la,” only then did you realised his fingers were still inside you.

You panted, gathering your thoughts.

“I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, entranced.

“Oh, you can and you will,” he groaned, accepting the challenge.

And with that, his wicked lips pressed against your cunt, and he started all over again. As it turned out, he was fucking right. His tongue and his fingers were working you so well, there was no way you could resist. However, this time, there weren’t two fingers stuffed in your whole, but four. Your walls were so outstretched it should have been painful, but it wasn’t ― he had made sure to get you ready, pliant under his dutiful care.

“I wonder if you could take him. Bet you could,” Din whispered in a moment of respite.

“Huh?”

All thoughts dispersed when the second climax spread across your entire body, leaving you exhausted; a pitiful, sweaty mess on the bedsheets.

“Turn around and lay down. I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” the crudeness of his words should have made you frown but instead you smiled, completely blissed out.

Din made good on his promise. On your back and with your legs parted, you heard him moving around until he was between your thighs. Then he leaned forward, his hands on either side of your shoulders to keep his weight off you, and his hard shaft dove inside your cunt with no resistance. When he bottomed out, he snapped his hips back and then forth, until he was rutting into you like a man on death row.

Your hands held onto his back, your nails digging in his skin. You wanted to move them up and sink them in his hair so badly, your palms were itchy with longing. He had said you couldn’t touch his face; he hadn’t said anything about his hair. Hoping he wouldn’t notice your intentions, your hands drifted up his back, arriving at the nape of his neck.

So close to burying your hands in his hair, so fucking close…

“Don’t,” he growled at you, the snapping of his hips against yours unforgiving. “The fucking audacity. I. said. don’t. fucking. touch,” he punctuated every word with deep, sharp thrusts.

You winced and gasped at the depth of his dives, your mouth shaping a perfect O, back arched off the mattress below you. Every stab of his dick kissed your cervix, and you just couldn’t stop moaning uncontrollably. The mild pain quickly blossomed into ecstasy; your skin electrified with pleasure.

Suddenly you felt his mouth ghosting over yours; his unfiltered, gruffy grunts were music to your ears. You reached up, wanting to steal a kiss from him to taste his lips for the first time, but he slithered back.

“You don’t respect boundaries, do you?” Din rumbled.

His voice should have had a tinge of anger, but instead it sounded… amused?

“You have had a taste of me, it’s only fair I get something in return, Din,” you bargained breathlessly, but got no reply. “Please?”

Imploring for a measly kiss from your captor while he kept on fucking you. That had to be a new low in your book.

You couldn’t see him as he jackhammered you into the mattress, but knew he was debating. Whatever inner debate he had, the side you were banking on won.

“You keep your hands on my back at all times. Yes?” One of his hands moved to your neck, his dextrous fingers wrapping around your throat. “Or I’ll―”

“Kill me. I know. Elek, Alor (yes, Master),” you whispered in Mando’a, breath hitching.

His mouth came crashing down on yours, teeth colliding in a very messy kiss. His tongue sought yours with fervour and sucked it into his mouth. He tasted like you.

You couldn’t help but moan in midst of the sloppy kiss, your heart finally content at his small yet meaningful surrender. The grip of his hand around your neck softened but didn’t dissolve, adding another layer of excitement to his unabating thrusts.

“Gar serim, cyar’ika (that’s it, beloved). You’re so good, so fucking good for me. Warm, tight pussy always ready for me when I need her. She never disappoints,” he maundered, your brain spiralling with his praise.

Praising your cunt, not actually you, but you would take anything he would give you.

A few minutes later, the breathy groans of your making out along with the squelching sounds of your lust filled the air, quickly followed by the loud moans announcing your climaxes. Your cunt clamped on Din’s dick―a promise you’d never let him go―and he blew his load inside you. The tackiness of his cum filled your insides as his cock pulsed one last time and his lips pecked yours.

Din dropped to your side, panting with exhaustion, and you just laid there pondering all the decisions that had taken you there.

You’d never let him go.

When the fuck did that happen?

“How long does winter last here?”

“A good part of the year, around six months,” he replied dryly.

He was aware of the fact that you had been trying to get words out of him for the past week. Make conversation, talk about his story, his past, his interests. See if there was any common ground between you. But Din couldn’t bring himself up to actually share personal details.

And every time you tried, and he would dodge your attempts, he would see the disappointment painted across your face. And every time, something unknown would uncomfortably stir within him. He suspected you had started to harbour feelings for him ― and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t reciprocate you. Didn’t want to break your heart.

It was his fault, really, for seeking you out every night. You were so giving and him so greedy, he just mindlessly took what you offered without giving you anything in return except for a few orgasms and a good time.

“What did you do last winter? Bet it was boring being home with just the droids…”

Din knew very well what answer you were expecting: It was. Your presence has been a great improvement. You make my days―and nights―more bearable.

But instead, he shrugged.

“Dunno. Kept myself busy with stuff,” he muttered frugally.

He kept on walking before you, making the way back home after a quick stroll around to breathe some cold, fresh air.

The Mandalorian did not expect to be attacked by a snowball, which hit the back of his helmet. He quickly turned around.

“What the hell are you―?”

Before he could finish his question, you hit him again with another snowball, dead centre on his visor.

“You are such a prick, Din Djarin,” you snapped between gritted teeth, patting another snowball between your gloved hands. “Would it actually kill you to be a bit more open, hm?”

This time he saw the attack coming and was able to duck, avoiding the next snowball.

“Are you mad?”

“Yes, I’m mad, you fucking idiot!” you yelled at him, trudging forwards with another snowball on hand. “I’m mad for you, but either you’re fucking blind or you’re a cold-hearted jerk.”

Little did you know he was actually blind in one eye, but it didn’t seem to be the time to point it out.

The sudden love confession caught him off guard. You were not supposed to say that. You were not supposed to feel that way, not for him.

Din remained calm as you cut the distance and tried to smash the fourth snowball on his covered face. His fingers gripped your wrist before you were able to do so.

“You’re just confused, mesh’la. All the sex is blindsiding you, but you really don’t feel anything for me,” he reasoned.

You looked at him as if he had slapped you and took a step back.

“Of course, because you, the freaking Tin Man with a dead heart, know better than myself how I feel. Un-fucking-believable, honestly. Go fuck yourself, Din,” you scoffed, pushed him to one side and walked past him.

Din saw you disappear through the sliding door, while he stood there in disbelief.

What the fuck had just happened?

You kind of expected Din not to show up at your door tonight, but his absence in your bed stung either way. Sure, you had told him to go fuck himself, but now with a new―horny―perspective, you would prefer if he fucked you instead.

Infuriated with him, yourself and the situation, you sat back up on your empty bed. You reached for the drawer in your nightstand and opened it, grabbing the star compass inside. Fidgeting with the aurodium clasp, you wondered why the fuck Din didn’t open up. After three months and a half with him, you had thought you had been able to break through his armour ― the figurative one, not the real one.

Every time you tried to talk about your relationship with him, Din would shut you out or wouldn’t even engage in the conversation at all. He was more stubborn than a falumpaset, and that was saying something. Despite his indifference, you believed that, deep down in that cold, dead heart of his, he cared for you. Maybe he didn’t love you, but at least cared for you.

You didn’t even know if you loved him, anyway. Infatuated was, most probably, more accurate, you’d like to think. Most days you pushed that thought to the remotest corner of your mind, not wanting to consider it. Because, after all, you were his prisoner ― you might forget it some days, but the reality was that Din Djarin was your captor. So maybe it wasn’t love ― perhaps it was just a survival mechanism. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Amid your pondering, you almost didn’t realise that the hands of the compass had moved, and the lodestone was humming, the plasma inside slowly swirling around. Your heart jolted in your ribcage, almost dropping to your stomach, when you finally paid it attention.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping out of bed.

You had hoped it would work once it fully dried, but you were not expecting it to be actually functioning. It seemed to sense the Force emitted by the Darksaber, but that couldn’t be possible. If the Darksaber was here, in Mandalore, Din would know―would have told you. Right?

No, he wouldn’t have.

With that thought in mind, you put on some more decent clothes and cracked open your door. Carefully, you peeked in the corridor to confirm the coast was clear. It was close to midnight, so you hoped everyone―Din and the droids―would have gone to rest.

Tiptoeing through the hallway, you followed the path the star compass was pointing to, only to find yourself in the west wing after a few minutes. You knew you shouldn’t be here, but the compass hummed louder, vibrating on the palm of your hand, as you turned another corner. Looking up from your family’s relic, you saw a door at the end of the hallway.

“BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BOOP! BIP! PIP!” Din’s astromech robot, an old R2-D2 unit, screeched at you loudly, skidding and coming to a halt in front of you. It even had a red light flashing at you.

You almost threw your heart up there and then, the little robot giving you the biggest scare of your life.

“CA’NARA!” you told him off as your heartrate slowed down. “Fucking hell, you almost killed me, little devil.”

“BEEP! PIPIPIPI!” the droid beeped at you, going around you in circles.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, sorry!” you whispered, “I-I’m a sleepwalker!”

Ca’nara seemed to calm down, only for Nau’ul to appear in scene.

Great, fucking great.

“Ca’nara, what’s going on?” the protocol droid turned the corner, almost bumping into you. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

“I- Uhm, I was just telling Ca’nara that I’m a sleepwalker. He literally just woke me up. I didn’t mean― you know I cause no trouble, Nau’ul,” you pleaded with the affable droid.

“Of course, of course,” he took a couple of stiff steps back. “What’s that on your hand?”

Fuck. You looked down, coming up empty with a lie.

“I don’t know. I literally just woke up, I don’t know where I got it from,” you stammered a bit, but the droid didn’t pick up on it.

“I’ll take it. Alor will know what it is and where it belongs,” Nau’ul extended his hand towards you.

If you didn’t give it up, it would arouse suspicion. So, unwillingly, you passed it on to him.

“Where’s he?” the question slipped your tongue before you could refrain.

“Alor is… indisposed, miss. He needs to rest,” he replied cryptically as you both walked back to the main corridor where your bedroom was.

“Indisposed? Is he sick? Is he okay?” you instantly worried.

“He’ll be better in the morning, fret not,” he paused in front of your room, and you opened the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nau’ul,” you mumbled before closing the door behind you.

What a varping disaster. Nau’ul had confiscated your star compass, which meant that Din would eventually see it. If it came to it, you were not sure what you would do. And you still didn’t know what was in that room, why the compass had gone crazy as you approached it. But you had a pretty good idea. Chances were, the Darksaber was on the other side of that door at the end of the west corridor.

Sighing, you sauntered towards the big window in your room. Two perfectly aligned full moons dominated the night sky, their white, sparkly glow bouncing off the walls. It was a beautiful sight.

Something in the path below caught your attention. A metallic reflection. Your eyes drifted down just in time to see Din running towards the Civic Center, as if a thousand ghosts were on his heels.

You frowned, confused. Where was he going at this witchy hour? Wasn’t he sick?

A scary thought formed in your head. Were you under attack? Had Ash come looking for you after several weeks without returning his messages?

Heart pounding with worry, you darted to the door and then the lift. Whatever threat was coming, you would face it with him. With such resolution in mind, you followed his trail.

Your concern for him skyrocketed when you arrived at the Civic Center and saw nothing but pieces of his armour scattered around. You snatched the shin and thigh armour off the steps to the main door, only to look up and find more bits spread around the entryway.

This made no sense at all. Why would Din dispose of his armour? Something was wrong, very wrong, but you were not under attack.

You gathered all the armour pieces in your arms while calling his name but heard nothing except the whistling of wind passing through cracks and crannies.

Suddenly, you felt the need to look down the stairs to the Living Waters. A hunch rooting in your core, wrapping around your heart. Then a faint, painful growl came from underneath and all your senses flared alive.

What was Din doing down there? In the Mythosaur’s lair?

Panic hiked up your throat as you hiked down the stairs, the animalistic snarl louder now as you drew nearer. At the bottom of the steps, eyes fixed on your shoes, you dared to glance up.

His armour fell from your arms on to the ground, clattering. You were not prepared to see what you found.

Din was half curled up on the floor, naked and dragging himself towards the water. Only he was way bigger ― almost seven feet tall, his body much more muscular with chiselled, blueish veins across the whole of him, hands big as paws with his nails digging the dirt underneath.

You took a step forward, catching a better glimpse of him. Then you truly saw ― his skin had a viridescent tint to it and had started to scale. Rugged lumps raised from the skin on his back, tiny bones protruding through. No, not bones ― small horns, like those of a reptile.

Not like a reptile. Like a Mythosaur. Only smaller than the beast you saw a few weeks ago.

With a guttural bellow, he removed his helmet, throwing it to on side as he crawled towards the rippling water. His head was crowned by thick, short, greyish curls ― exactly what you had imagined.

“Din?” you whispered, taking a precautious step towards him, one hand extended in front of you to appease him.

His head snapped around at the sound of your voice.

You gasped at the sight of him. What first struck you was the scar across his face, one that would perfectly line up with the mended crack on his helmet. It ran diagonally through his rugged features, distorting them and hugging that crooked nose. His teeth seemed slightly pointier too. The next thing you noticed were his blown, bloodshot eyes with pupils as big as his sclerae.

Not eyes, one eye ― the right one was completely discoloured, covered in a white sheen.

He still looked like Din, but… not really.

The vision in front of you should have scared you. Even more so when Din stared at you, and you saw nothing in his expression ― he didn’t recognise you. Whoever, or whatever, this was, he wasn’t the man that had kept you company for the last few months.

Logic dictated you should run in the opposite direction. Instead, you propelled forwards towards him, knees skidding on the dirt and landing by his side.

The warm touch of an alien hand grounded him for an ephemeral instant. The bitter cold crawled under his scaled skin, rejecting the heat like a limping animal avoiding the helping hand of a human.

He snarled, creeping back and away from you, as if your mere proximity was a threat to him.

Because it was.

“Din, I’m here, let me help you,” you besought, dragging your knees towards him again.

He didn’t know who Din was. Where he was or had gone. Did he ever exist? The Beast didn’t know―didn’t care. So he growled again, but his futile attempt didn’t keep you at bay. Guessed you had a death wish, only that could explain your blatant refusal to his rejection.

Both your hands fell upon him, like warm blood spilling and enlivening his senses. For once the cold running wild through his veins minimised, giving way to a hot flush that was foreign to him. The sudden warmth surprised him ― but what shocked him the most was how soothing it was, how easy was for him to crave your touch. A primal need.

The Beast had forgotten what warmth was, having been cursed to a lifetime of coldness for as long as he could remember. Crazed by this newfound feeling, he slowly sat back up on the ground, eyeing you like a predator watching his prey.

Your hand reached up to him to cradle his cheek and the Beast closed his eyes, that warm feeling running down his neck, wrapping around his dead yet beating heart.

“You’re so cold,” you mumbled as you cut the distance some more, your chest nudging his side.

Another heatwave flashed through him ― your warmth beckoning, your body too inviting. He wanted to dive in, to let your warmth surround him, make him surrender. He craved it so bad, so fiercely, the Beast bowed down to sink his forked tongue in your mouth ― unannounced, unrequited.

You moaned at the intrusion, your hands lacing on the nape of his neck, and that only spurred him on. He gave in to your warmth and gave up his restraints. Growling, he plundered your mouth as he forced you down onto the ground.

Towering above you, his tongue slipped out of your mouth to graze your neck, and you shivered under him. Biting your chin, he returned to your lips to kiss you, to suck out your warmth to replenish himself. Like a leech he drank from you while his rough, broad hands roamed your body.

“Din,” you mewled.

He didn’t like this Din whose name you were moaning. So he kissed you, not wanting to hear it again and tugged at your clothing. Impatient, he almost tore your garments apart and only relaxed a little when you were completely naked beneath him.

Pressing his bare body against yours, he revelled, soaking in your heat. But there was a part of you that was hotter, and he could sense it ― like a tracking fob, he pursued the warm feeling as he slithered down your frame.

The heat pulsing from between your thighs called him home, hypnotising. You pressed your knees together and he snarled, his sight darting to your glassy, dreamy eyes, silently distraught at your denial.

He leaned down over you to graze one of your nipples, smothering it raw to show you what he could do to you down in your balmy core. His demonstration worked, because the next time he coaxed your legs apart, you showed no resistance.

So down he went on you, fingers splaying out your puffy folds to display the focal point of his desire. Like a thirsty animal his bifid tongue darted out and swept the length of your damp slit in one slow, sweet sweep. He howled into your pussy, besotted, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he devoured your seeping cunt. Warmth poured from your clit, and he latched onto it rather harshly, finally finding the beacon that reeled him in.

“Fuck, that― Mhmm,” whatever you were going to say died in your lips as a moan hitched in your throat and your body trembled.

A rush of liquid fire met his tongue, and he accepted your offering as your thighs quivered around him ― the strength of your release eased slowly, but his tongue didn’t.

His fingers found the warm cave he needed to nestle in. But before he could do that, before his brain got fucked out into oblivion, he had to prepare you to take him. He massaged your leaking entrance one digit at a time until you were sweetly stretched around four of his fingers.

You whimpered with the first pump and slowly you eased into it, into the feeling of being full to the brim. He licked and flicked your throbbing clit, the hot nub driving him wild. Your inner walls tightened, announcing another climax, and he pulled it out of you with his fist still immersed in your pussy.

Once you came down from your high, the Beast unburied from between your thighs and loomed over you. Your half-lidded eyes and fucked-out expression only made him harder, hotter. He hungered for the moment your bodies would connect; the moment he would finally feel only warmth running through his veins. The moment the cold was forgotten, albeit only fleetingly.

The tip of his cock nudged at your pliant entrance, and he trailed the head up and down your dewy furrow a few times. Your eyes blew open the moment he poked at your hole, parting your flesh, and you looked down at his dick kissing the mouth to your cave.

“Din, I don’t think― Oh, holy FUCK,” you mumbled something uncoherent afterwards, head tilted back and your teeth sinking in your bottom lip as your pleading metamorphosed into moaning.

His whole frame blanketed yours as he supported his weight off you by placing his forearms to either side of your head.

Slowly, inch by inch, he buried himself in you, suffocating heat radiating from where you two met. He growled, an animalistic bellow bubbling up his throat as he felt your walls swallowing him, sheathing his throbbing cock. And when he was fully embedded in you, buried almost down to the hilt, you whined as he remained still ― your walls adjusting around him. He was maddened by the warmth of you.

Only when he felt you relax around him, did he start pumping in and out of you. His mind went blank as his sight transfixed on yours and your foreheads touched, another bridge between you. The Beast rutted into you, first paced, then madly, as he stared into your soul. Your body rocked up and down underneath him, your back arched so your nipples caressed the bare skin of his chest.

The movement of water behind him made him look over his shoulder. The Great Mythosaur had resurfaced, only the top of his head and his eyes were above the water table. Watching, ever present and lurking. Eager. Wanting.

He growled at him, a warning to back the fuck down ― he wasn’t sharing you; you were all for himself and himself only. His exclusive prey, no one else’s. With a low rumble, the Great Mythosaur disappeared under the water, and he refocused on you.

Tension built up at the base of his spine, his cock pulsating so hard it was difficult to ignore it any longer. And then your pussy clenched around him as you orgasmed once more, and that inevitably milked him dry ― both of you moaning in unison as ropes of thick, white cum painted your inner walls, leaving a lasting imprint in your core.

The Beast panted above you ― all coldness deserted from his body, destituted by your unique warmth.

He sat back up, his engorged cock leaving your entrails. Through the daze in your eyes, you looked at him with a satisfied grin. As you sat up straight, you lifted one hand towards him, softly placing it on the center of his chest.

“Come back to me, Din,” you begged, and all hell broke loose within him.

The pain, the shearing pain, blinded all his senses as his bones snapped and rearranged again. His jaw clenched to stop the agonising screams hiking up his throat. Din hunkered down as his body adjusted back to normal size.

As grievous as it was, it was over very quickly. Too quickly. He had not fully transformed into the Beast, which meant easing out of it was not as traumatic.

What was traumatic was the sudden landslide of overwhelming feelings taking form inside him. Almost a decade of apathy meant years’ worth of emotions repressed ― emotions that would emerge to the surface if given the opportunity. And whatever you unleashed within him, flooded his brain and his heart.

A myriad of sentiments rushed through him ― joy, anger, hope, disappointment, serenity, desperation. All at once, a cacophony bursting his eardrums. So loud were his emotions, all boiling together inside him, his thoughts were drowned. He couldn’t think ― panic was setting in.

Din panted as his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, lungs vacating all oxygen in sharp exhales. His ears rang and his heart threatened to climb up his throat and run. Eyes closed shut, he grasped for control.

“Din, I’m here,” your hands slid on his back, grabbing him by the shoulders.

A soothing balm taking many of his worries away. Your palms smoothing out his skin felt like an anchor. One he desperately tried to hold onto.

Through the fog of his anxiety, he saw you knelt by his side, hugging him close. Naked as he was, a sweaty patina clinging to your skin. Although Din had not been in possession of his own body, he had been relegated to the background and had been witness to everything that happened. Forced to watch him take you.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I can’t control him, I just―,” he wheezed as he sat back up.

Your soft eyes sparkled, a faint smile curling up your lips. Your fingers snaked through his hair, combing it back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Din,” you hugged him tighter, reassuring, kissing one of his shoulders.

“Are you hurt? Did I― did he…?”

“I’m completely fine. A bit… sensitive and raw. But in a good way,” you added with a faint chuckle.

The comforting caress of your hand rubbing his back and your lips brushing the skin on his shoulder made him believe you.

Even though the look in your eyes had not changed, he could see the questions dancing in your pupils. Questions you were holding back, but that would eventually spurt out.

Your free hand reached for his left cheek, and he almost flinched at the proximity. Your thumb had come too close to the scar, sending a shot of pain down his neck. But he didn’t lean back away from you. Instead, Din stilled under your touch.

“I knew you’d be gorgeous underneath that helmet,” you whispered, your mouth close to his.

Din grunted, taking your compliment as an offense. Why were you mocking him? He knew how he looked ― he didn’t need you making fun of him for it.

And why was he upset? He shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Your tiny fingers wrapped around his wrist when he reached for the helmet nearby. You yanked his forearm until his eyes met yours.

“I wasn’t joking. I mean it, Din. Truly,” you husked, hand again on his cheek and thumb too close for comfort.

He couldn’t see a sliver of jest in your features. You were deadpan serious. And that scared him.

Din looked away, coming to terms with the flaring emotions. Emotions. Even the unspoken word tasted weird on his tongue.

You moved away from him to quickly gather your clothes and put them on. Then returned to his side with his armour and clothing.

“Let’s go back home, Din. You look knackered,” you mumbled, kneeling by his side again.

Din didn’t reject your aid when you helped him get dressed again. Taking the helmet between your hands, he bowed down his head so you could put it on for him.

His body ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt ― all the restructuring his bones had to endure always took a physical toll on him. So much so, he needed your help to stand up ― his legs felt like those of a newborn humbaba.

But today… today it also took an emotional toll on him.

He really was exhausted.

You probably needed time to process what had happened tonight, a whirlwind of questions and doubts battered around in your mind. But you didn’t want to leave Din alone, not when he looked so fatigued, a moment away from breaking.

Walking down the silent corridor beside him, arm draped around his waist, you went past your room. You had never been to his and hoped tonight would be the night where he would let you spend it by his side.

Hand heavy on the handle, you pushed it down and the door swung open. You didn’t know what to expect and, somehow, the bareness of his room did not surprise you at all. The metalwork on the walls had been painted black and the furniture was sparse. A massive bed with black bedsheets dominated the room.

Despite the monochromatic theme, it felt cozy, inviting even. Dragging him towards the bed, you gently pushed him down on to the mattress and knelt in front of him to remove his boots.

“I can do it,” his words slurred.

“I know. But let me do it, please,” you muttered, throwing the shoes to one side.

Din hummed in agreement, so slowly you unfastened all the beskar pieces again. Removed the vest underneath and unzipped his body stocking down the side, helping him out of it.

There was something extremely intimate about undressing him. Not with a deprived end in mind, but a caring one.

I could do this forever. Only if you’d let me, the intrusive thought didn’t startle you. Because it was true.

Last, you placed your hands to either side of his helmet to pull it up. By pure instinct, his hands darted up to yours to stop you from uncovering his face.

“It’s okay, Din,” you reassured him softly.

Din crooned again, arms falling to his sides, surrendering, and you took it off, leaving it on the nightstand.

You could truly get used to this; you’d never tire of looking at him. His rugged features, although distorted by the nasty scar, were pleasant. His soft, brown and white eyes, the aquiline nose, the moustache blending in with the beard, the strong jaw. You only saw beauty, no beast.

Mando let himself fall backwards and you stood there by the side of the bed, unsure of what to do with yourself.

He decided for you.

“Stay, please,” he purred, half asleep by the time his head touched the pillow underneath.

He didn’t need to say more. Removing your clothes, you joined him under the bedlinen with a smirk.

The first lights of the morning filtered through the big window in Din’s bedroom. You had been awake for an hour now, but he had been so peacefully sleeping, you didn’t want to disturb him.

A tangled mess of limbs you were, your legs intertwined with his while your right cheek rested on his bare chest. Your left forearm was splayed across his abdomen, the tips of your fingers mindlessly caressing his ribs.

Pressing a kiss to his left pec, he stirred under you, slowly coming out of his slumber. You hugged him tighter, an easy smile surfacing.

“Good morning,” you husked when he looked down at you with just his left eye open, lips slightly curled downwards.

His addled expression made you snicker as you kissed his jawline.

“Morning,” he hushed back once his brain registered your words.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Everything hurts, but I’m okay.”

The arm of his under you moved, bringing you closer to him in a half embrace.

“I know you have questions,” he said a few moments later.

“Understatement of the year,” you joked, lifting your head slightly up to rest your chin on his chest. “Is now a good time?”

“Might as well,” his reply was accompanied by a smirk.

“You didn’t transform fully last night, did you?”

Din shook his head. “No, just halfway. I think your presence stopped it from happening.”

Did that mean that you could soothe the beast? That you could help Din in a way that really mattered? The mere possibility filled your belly with butterflies.

“And, well, the most obvious one… How?” you emphasized the last word.

“A witch cursed me before I killed her,” you looked at him quizzically, eyebrows raised, and he sighed. “A man by the name of Moff Gideon had someone I held dear under his grasp. A kid I was fond of,” he paused to gather his thoughts while your breath hitched at the name of Moff Gideon. “I fought Gideon to free him. I won, but he had backup I did not see coming. A witch named Morgan Elsbeth. She came to his rescue and I ended up killing her. Her last breath cursed me to an existence of apathy and becoming a beast. Guess it worked,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “That was eight years ago and ever since then, my ability to feel has been dying out while the beast has only gotten stronger.”

Your head spun with so much information, you almost felt dizzy. Did Din fight Moff Gideon? Was it his halo you chased eight years ago?

“Is that how you got the crack on your helmet and the scar?” you ventured, heart pounding.

“Mhm,” was his only reply. “How I lost my right eye too.”

The helmet was made of beskar, one of the strongest alloys in the Galaxy. Only a weapon strong enough would be able to melt it. But you couldn’t push him for more details, or it would be suspicious.

And did it really matter? Did you care that much about the Darksaber? Yes, you had spent your whole life looking for it; yes, you had promised your dying father you would finish the mission. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

“What was the kid’s name? What happened to him?”

“Grogu. He is Force sensitive, he went to the Jedi for training,” he pursed his lips, and your fingers smoothed out the crow’s feet around his right eye.

“You miss him,” you hummed, your fingertips tracing imaginary lines on his skin.

“I didn’t think I did. Till now,” he confessed, stirring under you. “I don’t know, it’s weird. Since last night I have started to… feel again. And it’s overwhelming.”

Your heart did a little jump against your ribcage. If he could feel now, did he feel for you?

You were too scared to ask, so didn’t.

“Maybe the curse is fading?”

“Maybe,” he said back, sounding unconvinced. “You hungry?”

You nodded.

“I’ll go get something. Bet Nau’ul has prepared a feast. Whether it’s edible or not, I don’t know.”

You chuckled at the joke and moved off him so Din could get up. In silence, you watched him dress, his back muscles rippling with every movement.

Yes, you could get used to this.

Fuck the Darksaber. Fuck everything. You just wanted to live your life. With him. Here, in Mandalore. Only if he’d let you.

It was selfish of you to think this way, but Din’s curse had become your blessing.

Every night since you discovered his secret, you’d go to his room and spend the hours of darkness with him. He would reluctantly take the helmet off, but each time you would reassure him he couldn’t scare you away, that what he thought he looked like didn’t matter in the slightest. And you meant every single word. In your eyes, he was perfect just the way he was.

There was still the issue of his Creed forbidding him, but you wondered if it was more habit than anything else.

And every full moon, you would follow him down to the Mythosaur lair to let him take you, excitement running through your veins every single time. You knew you shouldn’t enjoy it but allowing him to fuck you in beast form was exhilarating. Even with practice you had still not been able to take him fully ― his cock too big to bear. It was worse when you attempted a blowjob on him ― your jaw almost dislocated. But you were more than happy to try, obviously.

And of course, it helped him regulate, which was the most important point of all. He had told you he didn’t feel as cold either. Even if his body was hot to the touch, Din had explained how his organs, his blood, felt like icicles. Ever since the beast had had a taste of your warmth―Din’s words, not yours―it seemed like his feelings were slowly crawling back.

That had been interesting too. After so many years spent numb, Din had had a bit of trouble dealing with his emotions. Sometimes they were extreme, out of proportion even, but he was learning how to manage them. Although most days felt like one step forward and three back, especially when it was a touchy subject such as love.

You had tried, but Din was still of the idea that he couldn’t truly feel ― that this was just a glitch, a shortcut, but not the real thing. And because of his stupid theory, he didn’t want to hear you say anything about The Matter. You had seen how much he had improved, how much better he could deal with everything, and yet he wouldn’t listen to you in that respect.

You rolled your eyes, still thinking about it, as you trekked through the mud. It was a crispy morning, but the cold had started to recede. Poor Ca’nara had a faulty retractable third leg ― the inside mechanism was getting jammed regularly. You had decided to be proactive and walk to the landing site of your X-wing, in the hopes that some parts of your astromech droid were salvageable. An extremely long shot, yes, but you had to try at least.

In full armour, Din sauntered towards the dining room, where the three droids seemed to be conferring about something.

None of them heard him coming, and Nau’ul startled dramatically when he saw him.

“Oh! Alor! What― Uh, do you want something to eat?” he asked, looking at Mrs. Kri’gee and Ca’nara nervously.

Din frowned, suspicious of their jumpy, evasive behaviour.

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbled as his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny Nau’ul was holding, trying to conceal it. “What’s that?”

“Ah, this? Well. You see, I― It’s― Nothing really. I don’t really know what―” his stammering was riling Din up.

He was a damn droid, not a fucking human. How could Nau’ul get edgier than himself? Unbelievable.

“Give,” he extended his hand towards the droid, palm up, and curled his fingers with impatience.

The three droids shared weird looks, but Nau’ul finally handed him the object.

Din turned around the metal item and as soon as he did, he recognised the beskar. Brows knitting, he inspected the grooves and quickly identified them as astromeridian lines. This was not a simple object; it was a Jedi star compass. Confused as to how this came to be in the possession of Nau’ul, Din unclasped the compass and lifted the lid.

His breathing hitched and his heart skipped a beat. This was not any star compass; this was the star compass. One that all Mandalorians believed to be a myth. But the black plasma in the lodestone didn’t lie. In his hand he was holding the very same star compass that Tarre Vizsla had commissioned to keep track of the Darksaber in case it ever got stolen.

“Where did you get this?” he snapped, fingers clutching the device tight.

“I― Well, it’s complicated. I thought―”

“It’s hers, isn’t it?” he interrupted.

The memory of that day trip to your ship came back to him. A locket, you had said. Bullshit.

Nau’ul nodded.

“How long have you had this?”

“Weeks, Alor. I did recognise it from the lore I knew about House Vizsla, but we didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. She’s doing you good, Master, you’ve improved―”

“Unnecessarily? Are you for fucking real, Nau’ul?” Din replied angrily, teeth gritting.

Without expecting an answer, he turned around and stormed out of the room.

You were kneeling on the ground, elbow’s deep in the core of your old R3-D3 unit, trying to reach a hidden screw, when you heard heavy steps approaching.

“Good you’re here, I can’t get to this screw. I’ve been at it for five minutes now. Can you try?” you asked Din, who stopped inches away from your back.

When he didn’t say a word, you turned around and glanced up at him.

He radiated tension through every pore, his posture stiff and shoulders squared. Eyebrows furrowed, you got up, cleaning the palm of your hands on your trousers.

“What’s the matter, Din?”

“This. Why did you have this?” his voice transpired how mad he felt as he handed you an object you quickly recognised.

The star compass that Nau’ul had confiscated from you weeks ago. You had assumed the droid didn’t know what it was and hadn’t bothered to show it to Din.

Your eyes shot up to where you knew his were.

“I can explain,” you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his forearm.

“You better start talking now,” even if he hadn’t backed away from you, he felt so distant.

Your mind raced and your heart galloped inside your chest. You could lie your way out of this situation, but you didn’t want to. You loved him, and nothing else mattered. He would understand. Eventually.

“Din, listen to me, please. I’m not gonna lie to you: it is exactly what it looks like. My family, my tribe― we are trackers. Have been tracking the Darksaber for generations. I was raised to hate your people, but the message never really sunk in for me. Our purpose was to find the Darksaber and destroy it,” you explained while he remained deadly silent. “That was why I was travelling through the Mandalore system. I was tracking the Darksaber. I was going to Concordia, but I ran into technical problems with my X-wing and had to divert here. I think― I thought it was there.”

Until that night you sneaked out to the west wing. You had been caught before you could confirm your suspicions but were pretty sure that was what Din was hiding in the west wing. The reason he wouldn’t let you be anywhere nearby.

“But now you know it’s not in Concordia,” he finished for you.

You nodded.

“But I don’t care for it anymore, Din. Once I figured you likely had it, I made a choice. I chose you,” you whispered, closing in on him until your bodies met. “You have to believe me.”

He didn’t talk at all. Silence strung between you, dense and worrying, like a rope wrapping around your neck, forcing the oxygen out of your lungs. You didn’t want to panic, knowing that Din probably only needed time to think, to digest and ruminate.

Minutes went by and your grip on his forearm loosened. You were ready to take a step back, give him some space to process, when Din finally spoke in his modulated voice.

“I believe you,” a wave of relief washed over you, “and I choose you too.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and then climbed up your oesophagus. It was beating so hard, so fast, you were seconds away from passing out.

He chose you.

Before you could throw your arms around his neck with pure elation, Din took a step back and one hand reached towards the back of his belt. Confused, you followed the movement of his hand, a deep wrinkle burrowing between your brows.

Din presented you a black hilt, waved it a little, and then the black and white blade appeared, humming very loudly, although dimmer than what you expected. Your eyes widened at the sight of the Darksaber ― the item your whole family had been searching for, right there, in front of you, an inch away from your fingers.

Lifting your right hand, you reached for it.

Suddenly, a firing sound broke the silence and, inexplicably, Din leaned forward towards you, the Darksaber dropping from his hand.

You held him by the elbows, not understanding what was happening, as his hands grasped for you. Then a second firing noise uprooted a painful groan from him while he almost dragged you to the floor.

“Din? Din!” you whispered, on your knees with him in your arms, as your hands roamed his body.

You felt the warm blood before you could see it and panic settled in fast. He was profusely bleeding from two gunshots on his back, right below the beskar piece that covered his six.

“No, no. Wait. What―” you sobbed as Din groaned, his consciousness drifting away.

You were losing him fast, and you didn’t even know how.

“Are you okay? Is he dead?”

A male voice came from behind a tree near the cliff. A voice you had not heard in a long while, but quickly recognised.

Ashton.

Blaster still pointing at Din, Ash had frozen several meters away from you. What was he doing here? How did he get here unnoticed? Why? Fucking why?

But none of those questions left your mouth, gutted as you were, holding onto Din, worried he would slip away from you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, overwhelmed as you were.

Din stirred in your arms, and you saw the panic reflected in Ash’s eyes as he cocked the blaster in Din’s direction again. There was no time to think, to beg, to ask him to leave. To tell him you loved the man he was intent on killing.

So you did the only thing you could do. Your fingers found Din’s blaster in his holster, lifted it up, pointed to Ash, and shot.

The light beam flashed before it hit dead center between Ash’s eyes. He stumbled back and fell into the abyss behind him. And just like that, you had killed the only friend you had known.

You should have doubted your actions, but you didn’t. It all happened too quickly, and you had bigger worries than having killed one of the few people you cared about. Like losing the love of your life.

Dropping the blaster, you rushed to remove Din’s helmet.

“Din, please, just hold on. Please, stay with me. Please, don’t leave,” you screamed and cried, hands trembling and pressing on the wounds on his back.

His eyes fluttered open, only a tiny slit ― his gloved hand reached up, cradling your cheek.

“Cyar’ika,” he could barely talk. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you). Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No, no. NO. You ain’t saying goodbye. No,” your words slurred as your sobs intensified, your heart breaking into a myriad of tiny pieces.

You removed the glove of his hand to kiss the palm, your tears streaming between his fingers. Yours wrapped around his wrist, holding him there.

As you cried your eyes out, you noticed the Darksaber humming louder, almost deafening, and its light shining brighter. Its vibration called you, hearing your name inside your head. A Force deep within you awakening, beckoning you to touch it. A need as basic as breathing.

Through teary eyes, blinking fast, you gave in ― you grabbed it.

An electrifying sensation ran through you, all your muscles coiling at once. Your mind spiralled out of control, for a moment losing track of time and space. The Force was so intense, so primitive, you thought you would be obliterated by its magnitude.

When you could finally open your eyes, the blade had dimmed considerably and then it completely snuffed out. Your cries had not stopped though, so loud you almost missed Din’s voice.

“Mesh’la,” he rasped, trying to straighten his back, “you― you’re Force sensitive. You’ve used the Force of the Darksaber to heal me.”

Your wet eyes darted to him and then his wounds. Or where the wounds had been but no longer existed. Mouthing a gulp of air, you instantly dropped the Darksaber to hug him tight, crying louder than before.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. We’re okay,” he hushed, comforting you.

“I love you, Din,” you mumbled in the crook of his neck, relief running through you loosening your taut muscles. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me again or I’ll kill you myself.”

Din chuckled, one hand smoothing out your hair.

“Noted, cyar’ika.”

Cradling his handsome face, you pressed a kiss to his lips. Salty yet sweet. You kissed him again, looking for the solace of his tongue.

The wind carried some words you barely made out.

“Maker met.”

Four full moons had come and gone, and the beast was no more.

Din’s curse was broken. For good. Forever.

You couldn’t have asked for anything else. Anyone else. You loved him and he loved you back ― he had shown you many times. Right as he was showing you now.

Your lips brushed his tummy right above his belly button, leaving a trail of kisses as you found your way back to his mouth. Din was laying on his back, his rough hands caressing the back of your thighs as you kissed his scar and then his right eye, lips soft as a cloud.

He didn’t flinch anymore whenever you touched the sensitive skin or his blind eye. Instead, he sighed, as if your caress was soothing, calming. As if you could take away the pain he felt sometimes.

You sat back up on top of him, straddling his hips as his mushroom head hitched in your entrance, his hands compelling you to impale yourself. But you didn’t ― not yet.

Instead, you leaned over a bit, taking the helmet off the nightstand. It was heavy. Curious to know what it felt like, you put it on. The padding inside was soft, your face snug. It was slightly claustrophobic, but also comforting. Weird.

“It suits you, cyar’ika. You should consider taking up the Creed,” he mumbled, eyes full of desire, of yearning. Of love.

You chuckled and stirred your hips above him, the tip of his cock going in ever so smoothly.

“For you, I just might, Din.”

@baronessvonglitter @bishtrouille @natalieispunk @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove

[lunerna21]

***I'm going to apologize now this is probably a long post but I just need to vent about this masterpiece of an event!***

I can full heartedly say Glorious Masquerade is giving me life again 😌

JUST EVERYONE BEING SUPER FUNNY AND NICE TO THE MC BUT I CANNOT STOP GUSHING ABOUT EVERYTHING INVOLVING THIS EVENT!!

FIRST OF ALL, I LOVE HOW MUCH OF A SWEETHEART DEUCE IS TO US!

DEUCE SPADE IS SOMEONE EVERYONE NEEDS IN THEIR LIFE HE IS JUST ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE AND I LOVE LOVE LOVEEE HIM

*cough* *cough* Unlike ANOTHER person who is a cheeky asshole who should learn from Deuce (I’m kidding I love you too Ace you stupid bastard)

The Grim and Malleus banter back and forth is fucking hysterical from us freaking out about not knowing who Malleus was previously to messing around ITS SO GODDAMN PERFECT

AND MALLEUS BEING SO INTERESTED IN SPENDING TIME WITH US LIKE ALCHENFIENDJ I LOVE YOU MALLEUS!!

(And Grim being protective of us 🥹❤️)

And Idia trying to convince Grim to sit in his lap 😂👏🏻

SEBEK ASKING AZUL TO SIT IN HIS LAP SO HE CAN BE CLOSE TO WAKA SAMA!? CRYING AT HOW SERIOUS SEBEK WAS!

I’d like to imagine we were sandwiched between Rollo and Malleus MY GOD THE TENSION BETWEEN THEM WOULD IGNITE THE WHOLE TOWN

Also, was anyone else crying and cringing deep DEEP inside when they keep saying so many good things about “The Righteous Judge��!?!

LIKE I WAS SEETHING AT THE FACT THAT EVERYONE COMPLIMENTED HIM AND KEPT GIVING HIM PRAISE

LIKE NO GRIM YOU ARE MORE GALLANT THAN THAT CREEPY OLD MAN PLEASE DON'T SAY THAT

IF ONLY THEY KNOW WHAT THAT MAN HAD DONE I HATE HOW OFTEN THEY COMPLIMENT HIM I JUST WANNA LAUNCH MYSELF THROUGH THE GAME AND DESTROY THAT DAMN STATUE

......But at least they're giving tons of lore, easter eggs and praise for both Esmeralda and Quasimodo (BECAUSE YOU KNOW THEY ACTUALLY DESERVE IT)

But Rollo just trying to convince us that there shouldn't be magic or mages....

…..Rollo honey noooooo that’s not how I see it

I mean yes, we’ve been through so much goddamn shit with the overblotters (CROWLEY AND ALSO ADEUCE ALONG WITH GRIM, I LOVE YOU GUYS BUT LIKE WTF) but to the point of subjugating people to potentially lose their magic permanently?!

Something they’ve probably worked hard for? Nah, that’s not okay

I would love to learn more about magic anything beats the curriculum in schools here in the US

THEN SEEING HOW MALLEUS ALMOST PASSED OUT FROM THE FIRELOTUSES!? THAT HAD ME REELING LIKE MALLEUS DRACONIA HIMSELF!? LEAVE THAT MAN ALONE!!

YASSSSS SILVER AND SEBEK! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING!! MALLEUS HAS THE BEST GUARDS

BUT ONE FUCKING PART HAD ME ON MY KNEES READY TO FIGHT ROLLO!!

CARD SOLDIER!? CARD SOLDIERRRRR!?!

MY BOI IS BECOMING A MAN

MY BOI IS BECOMING A MAN

MY BOI IS BECOMING A MAN AND I CAN'T STOP BEING HAPPY FOR HIM EVEN THOUGH HE'S IN THE MIDST OF DANGER

…But anyway I’m getting psyched to see the last two parts cause this event is FULFILLING MY HAPPINESS ITS TOO MUCH

And Malleus Draconia….My sweetheart…❤️❤️❤️

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH HE IS JUST TOO MUCH I LOVE THIS MAN!!! ❤️❤️❤️

I cannot wait for the next part of the event, IM DYING TO SEE JAMIL AND RUGGIE BOND OVER USING OTHERS TO KEEP THEMSELVES SAFE!!

Now let me go daydream scenarios with all these lovable people while I wait for the next part, AND FINALLY WATCH THE FIRST PART OF STAGE IN PLAYFUL LAND! (ACE TRAPPOLA I NEED TO SEE YOUR SPOTLIGHT)

Enjoy the rest of your day, everyone~~~!!!❤️

[monstersandmagicians]

Anyways, cheered when I checked my inbox this morning. Been waiting months for this announcement.

So, thoughts:

-Avallon Hotel and Spa: obvious Arthurian connection here. Healing springs. Will be fascinated to see the level of significance here - I think Maggie typically names with easter eggs in mind whereas I try to dig as deep as possible when analysing these choices, so we'll see.

-WONDER: so, Stiefvater said that she is trying to writing Wonder as opposed to Horror. The synopses, especially the QBD one, are written as if for a gothic-ish sort of novel, the sort that leaves you feeling claustrophobic. Considering the effect Sinner had on me, I do trust Stiefvater to achieve what she is setting out to do.

-Synopsis: again, the sort of synopsis I would read, think has the good bones for a story, but know it will make me depressed so I'd skip. Again, I have faith.

-"class conflict, an ensemble cast, about four different kinds of love": from the email. Book's set in the Appalachian mountains in the 1942, so the class stuff will be good. Willing to bet on some good sibling content, even though we only have two named characters. Obviously, this will be an adult novel, but I feel its going to sit comfortably next to The Scorpio Races in my head.

-Cars: nothing has mentioned cars, even the bits that have talked about it being a Stiefvater novel. Still, I expect cars, in loving details.

-June Hudson: Okay, so June Hennessy was my first thought on seeing the name, then the fact the book is coming out in June. Hudson? All I've got is the Hudson River folks. From the synopsis I don't think I can make an assumption about which way Stiefvater's taking her character, but I'm assuming she's a Responsible, Practical one. Is described as enigmatic

-Tucker Minnick, FBI Agent: Love the name, again, look forward to finding out where the components were plucked from. Despite working for the FBI, the main synopsis* suggests he hails from the Appalachian. Class conflict bound up in one man?

-Cover: so, a cover had been included. It's white and purple with a house on. Generic and I don't see people pitching a fit over it, but it includes a "sticker" saying "Cover to Be Revealed". That makes sense, we're ages out from the release. Still, feels like the publisher creating problems for Stiefvater there. Looking forward to the real cover and I hope it feels more Stiefvater-y, even if others aren't fond of it.

-The Listeners: while I'm stomping on hornets' nests, the title. Simplistic, but evocative. Would love to know what is listening to who and how many ways this title can be applied.

-Betrayal: the QBD synopsis uses the word betrayal. Could mean anything, tbh.

-The Nazi Thing: has the potential to be really interesting and insightful, if Stiefvater hands it well. Considering her experiences with fandom, I imagine she has proceeded with more caution than others (*cough*Chibnal*cough).

-Length and Date: According to QBD, the paperback is 416 pages (a very satisfying number). Penguin has the hardback at 384. This suggests longer than MI, shorter than CDTH. Penguin has release date at June 3rd, while QBD (Australian Bookstore) has the 10th. The email just says June, so I would say, expect early June.

-Bears: I would rather approach a bear than the TRC fandom, tbh.

*(QBD synopsis differs from the one Stiefvater released; doesn't include Minnick at all)

[kerubimcrepin]

Liveblog 8: Episode 5, AKA the one where we discuss Kerubim's dead family again

Since I made pointing out the food they eat A Thing we do here, let's start out with that for this episode.

First of all, their household is so fish-centric. An octopus? A lobster?? A different lobster and a fish?? Plus, multiple bags, one under the lobster, and one under the giant veggie on top of Joris's other veggies. Probably some grain, I guess. Simone is also carrying some greens in a bag.

Basically... Man, they love fish and veggies, I guess?

Yet again, we see Kerubim's low self esteem and need for validation in action.

Yes, he thinks he's amazing. Yes, he uses magic to force people to laugh at his jokes. And yes, it makes him very happy and proud.

Don't worry about it. :)

I find it kind of interesting that Joris is resistant to the magic, but the simplest explanation is that his soul is intermixed with a dragon. I won't think too much about this.

Joris should have a salary for the way Kerubim's reputation hinges on him not talking about the shit that goes on in their house.

Like the deadly swords and cursed items everywhere. Or having mold and rotting meat at every corner for his whole life.

Considering that bamboo milk is alcoholic, I am fascinated by the in-universe implications of this line.

I wish boil-able, alcoholic oat milk was real.

The best way to get Kerubim to do something stupid is to make fun of him. Again, his low, low self-esteem making an appearance.

Genuinely, instead of being at the bar, he should have been in therapy.

Very small note, but we can see an amputee among the many patrons who listen to Kerubim's scary drunken rambling. I wish more cartoons included this sort of thing.

Though, this might be a bit of a brick-joke, considering what we learn about YeCh'Ti and his arm collection.

COUGH COUGH COUGH. ANALYSIS EVENT LEVEL 10 ALARM WEE WOO WEE WOO.

Firstly, god. The sheer insanity of going from his child self's grief and pain over losing both of his parents, all of his sisters and brothers, to making jokes about this, jokes about having no family and being lonely.

Is it really funny to you, Keke? Or are you just pretending again?

Second of all... I could talk for hours about how much I love/despise this man, but fuck, the sheer level of cruelty in this line knows no bounds.

Are you really The Last Crepin in your family, Keke?

Or are you just being cruel and facetious again?

Cruel, and towards the only other person in the whole world who would understand what you went through, because he also went through it?

(This is, yet again, your signal to go read The Wheel of Destiny #8: Kerub Crepin and Dessous De Dofus)

No wonder Atcham wants to turn him into a coat. I would fucking hate him too.

Though, with Atcham kind of using his hate for him as a coping mechanism for not having control in his life, and canonically not thinking that Kerubim really... mistreated him, when they were young, it's far more complex than that.

Especially with the way Kerubim's own conflicted feelings on their relationship are portrayed in-canon.

I'm so normal about them. Haha.

...Aaaanyway, onto the rest of the ep, while trying to pretend this doesn't make me feel all sorts of emotions:

This moment is a continuity error, because Ogrest hasn't started his quest for Dofus yet. Also, he may not even be alive yet. Yes, Kerubim and Joris are that old.

It's too cute of an easter egg for me to mind, though.

God. Joris needs better loved ones. His standards are so low he's looking at Kerubim like 🥺

Something-something Kerubim would genuinely kill himself if it meant people thought he was funny and cool.

I don't think he learned anything from this, actually.

I think we have to kill this guy with hammers.

[shinakazami1]

Nobody is gonna read this prob but I today wrote some The Beginner's Guide snippets to kinda try to see if I like this style for a fanfic I plan

Short one here, more under the cut:

In a way, he knew what he was doing. Deep down, not even he could hide that his intentions were not just a pure concern and worry. But, just like the Coda he made in his mind, he himself had nobody to look for help for.

Maybe that's why, in the room full of people he knew and kept saying he loved and cared for, he couldn't bring himself to say a single word. Because the moment the eyes looked at him again, he knew he had to keep the act going.

'But there is no act. It's just me.'

It's just me and my depressed friend's games.

And I'll get him out.

Because nobody else will do that for him.

---

Davey stared at the wall and listened to the clock ticking. It seemed the mechanism was not a typical one - there seemed to be a small delay, making the rhytm uneven. Pam, pampam, pam... it did match his breathing pattern. In, hold for a second, out and quickly in again. Or maybe, he matched the mechanism.

It was hard to tell what inspired what at this point. Everything blended into one shape, no matter what creator of either intended.

Everything had a purpose in a way that maybe nobody even desired.

But that would be sad, wouldn't it be? For your work to grow up from the idea into a grotesque fleshened out monster of what it was supposed to be?

Was it what it was to be a creator? A loving embrace of a child you'd never be able to look at, that will never grow up to an image of itself that it was never supposed to really reach.

He didn't notice that he stopped breathing until he coughed out.

It was four pm. He still had three hours left.

And it felt like waiting for the guillotine to fall. For the choir to stop singing, for the last scene, when the director would say, cut.

Was he cut out for all this? He didn't know and he didn't dare to question it. He knew that from some spirals, he couldn't get out.

So how did Coda do it? How did he just, leave his creations, to die, to never be appreciated and seen? To be able to tell others of what it was supposed to be?

Why couldn't he consider the feelings of his creation?

Why couldn't he appreciate the code?

And why did he invite Davey over, for the first time?

---

20092311_230320.mp4

"I still don't get it. It's supposed to be a self expression but why would you self insert in a way that's supposed to be accessible, supposed to be PLAYED if you don't give it to others? Video games show a story in many ways. Sound, sight and most importantly - interactibility. So what's the point of a language when you keep it to yourself? We would not go far enough if-"

Hearing some knocking on the door make him pause the recording. He hated that - he typically picked an hour when others were away just so he could have a moment of peace to write everything down with his voice.

Davey sighed and turned around, asking his brother to come on in.

Whatever was the topic of the conversation was probably not important, as Davey didn't mention it in the recording at all.

The last time he mentioned anything beside game making was around a year before.

The game jam wasn't a start - it was only an aftereffect.

Just as what was going to come next.

---

"(...) It's Friday already. And I still have 23 more games to check. He had to hide an easter egg somewhere, right? It's not just a hundred of copies of the same room. He always shows some nuiance in routine, in the whole madness.

It's... 2:33 now. I have to wake up in 4 hours.

But I won't be able to fall asleep until I find the key.

The puzzle IS here. It's in here, somewhere, and I am probably not seeing it correctly.

Ok. Just, maybe five more games. And I'll try to look through the code.

Davey, out."

20091301_052330.mp4

"It's me again. I don't know what I am missing. Probably some coffee. Just two games left, it's probably in there.

I'll take my laptop with me to work. They shouldn't mind, I did stuff like this before, I'll just pretend it's work related.

I'll crack the code until midnight. And I'll show him I've done my job correctly.

Now, I have to pack and hope the vending machine works.

Davey, out."

---

"Consumption is for consumers, not for the actual food enjoyers. But the enjoyers only are up their own theories of what the flavours really represent."

"But we're talking about game develo-"

"Which one are you? Do you enjoy food?"

Davey was not prepared to be put on a spot. Coda rarely asked him anything, or even said hi back - so, such forward question was not typical.

He wasn't dumb - he knew it was all a metaphor. And he wanted to just start his point showing that it isn't a perfect one. Now, he only had one true option to choose from because there would be no resets.

Or so he thought.

He heard a sigh and looked up at Coda as the man already turned his back.

"It was an illusions of a choice."

One that Davey once again couldn't make.

---

[irisxstardust]

We'll All Be Here Forever » teaser

synopsis: You know a lot of things. You know that the grass is green, there are 5 thousand feet in a mile, and limes are gross. There's only one question you can't answer. What is your purpose? You had time, you've always had time to think about it, but now you're in your last year of high school and this is it. Will it be all you've ever hoped for? Or will we all be here forever, just like everyone else?

May 27th, 2020

127.2 square miles, of which less than half is ocean, is the total size of your town. You'd memorized every twist and turn on the remaining 72.5 square miles of land at the fresh age of fourteen, after moving into an old creaky house with your mom, retaining the hills and valleys in your mind like it was the back of your hand. There were a total of 837 people living in town and you knew all of them, almost as well as you knew the land; although, there were a few people you knew the complete ins and outs like it was a second nature.

It only got worse when you first saw her, barefoot, in beige overalls, hair tied low, a pearly white shell necklace tied behind her neck with black cord. She was fishing alone, but the rod wasn't like the ones your dad kept tucked away in the back of the garage--not like it even mattered, you hadn't even heard from him since the divorce. Unlike those sparse fishing trips with your dad, every time she cast out the long line she would put the end of the pole into her armpit and pull the line back to her.

You didn't really want to say anything to her at first, but at the nod of her head when she finally looked over and noticed you, you'd decided to walk over. Susie, your long time best friend and family dog, followed suit. One too many times you had to step off the rocks and into the wet sand to finally reach her on the other end of the beach, but when you did reach her, she greeted you and Susie with a large grin.

"Pretty warm day for a sweater," she commented, eyes grazing your sweater before meeting your eyes again.

"What kind of fishing pole is that?" You asked, eyes trained on the long pole.

She shook her head and tsked, "it's not a fishing pole; it's a fly rod. You use it for fly fishing."

"Oh," you shrugged, "cool."

There was a long, awkward pause between the two of you before the girl whipped her rod forward and casted again.

"So you're the new girl? From the midwest?" She asked, eyes now watching the long line trailing from her rod.

You nodded, as if she could even see it, before you said, "yeah... Michigan." Her head bobbed up and down but she didn't speak, didn't look at you.

You stood there for a few minutes, hesitation leading to awkward silence before you turned to leave.

"Do you like seashells?" She asked, head bowing as she reached into the ankle deep water and pulled out a shell, cupped like a dish and white as stone, and handed it to you. Susie's head reached up towards your hand, still holding the shell, before she turned her head down and stuck her nose right into a patch of seagrass; you and beach girl laughed.

You didn't learn until much later that the seashell was called Noah's Keyhole Limpet and that this was her way of truce, offering up a little shell she'd noticed in the water, as if it was made just for you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . •' . * .

A/N: posting the teaser anyway to prep for the full official prologue and the first part soon😚 so excited to get this out of Google Docs and onto my blog, the whole thing has been rotting my brain tbh.

this is also my friendly reminder that, to me, everything has meaning and i love to put easter eggs into my writing. this first one was easy if you knew who the lyric "we'll all be here forever" belongs to (cough cough* noah kahan). i love noah kahan, so of course i had to add my own little tribute to him in the form of a little shell commonly found in maine💞

[intuitive-revelations]

Doctor Who Thoughts! (Ep 1 and 2)

Since the spoiler situation is so risky this year, I'll keep my usual episode notes below a read more for now. Took these non-chronologically while watching and rewatching (becuase even though I'm ridiculously busy rn with thesis and work stuff, of course I'm doing that), so it's less of a reaction and more of a moment-to-moment breakdown.

Ep 1: Space Babies

"I was adopted and the planet that took me in... they were kinda posh. They'd use titles like the Doctor, or the Bishop, or the Rani, or the conquistador. Say Doctor for a thousand years and it becomes my name." So we're right in with the recap. Good. Also still leaning on the Timeless Child thing, which I have mixed feelings about. I love it not being ignored... but I would still rather it not become THE origin for the Doctor. At least not without acknowledging some of the ambiguity on how exactly the Timeless Child is linked to the Doctor. (Personal favourite explanation: they're just the Other. They're not a previous 'incarnation' of the Doctor, but a previous 'REincarnation', something which we know existed on Gallifrey even prior to regeneration, and opens up its own questions about Gallifrey.)

A little odd emphasis on the titles, given it's such a renegade thing. Makes me think of entry-level fans who assume all Time Lords use such titles.

Love the Rani name drop though, of course. A bit odd to get one now, considering there was JUST almost one in The Giggle. Russell what are you up to...?

"You're the Doctor, but you're… the police?" "Police box, no! No, no, no, no, that's a disguise." "Oh." Ruby takes a deep breath realising she didn't just join a cop.

You CAN'T just spring This is Gallifrey on me like that Murray Gold. Not this early.

"I am the last of the Time Lords"... ugh again. Thanks Chibbs.

Also still a bit interesting that all Time Lords are assumed to be gone, given there's nothing as catostrophic as the Time War that caused it, just the Master raging out. There's still plenty of room for surviving renegades and such. (cough!Rassiloncough!) Pretty sure the Division agents in Flux were Time Lords too, though who knows if they're from the 'present' era. More on this in Ep 2.

"And I am so, so glad to be alive." Wow, you can tell 14 went through his break. Quite a turn around from 12 hesitating to regenerate and 13's hidden struggles.

The Doctor healing the butterfly... on one hand, it's not unprecedented with stuff like 10 and the TARDIS crystal, 11 healing River's hand or 12 and Davros, but compared to those cases it's a little odd seeing it done so easily for something with no tech or inate regenerative ability.

I find it interesting that Lizard!Ruby looks almost Silurian, but clearly isn't given her hair and antennae.

The TARDIS trip gags of this and 'mavity' are a fun stylistic switch for the show, but I do hope we don't get too many of them.

"Is that a matter transporter like in Star Trek?" "We've got to visit them one day." Assimilation^2 canon?! /s (but seriously, love stuff acknowledging the 'everything is canon' nature of the DW uni-/multiverse).

So much emphasis on the coincidence with Ruby. RTD loves that trope doesn't he?

"Baby farms boost the population. Sometimes a world goes sterile or... I don't know, goes mad and bans kissing." Or in the case of Gallifrey... maybe both, depending on how you follow Platt or Parkin's lore for the looms.

Don't think I didn't spot that Mavity easter egg on the overlay.

The phone call is a nice moment... even if entirely RTD ripping himself off.

So... the space babies! It's charming, it's campy, it's fun... it doesn't really work... I'm still glad for it, because what is Doctor Who if not being exceedingly ambitious with a dumb idea (if anything I'm glad that even with Disney money, DW's production value shines through!), but the babies expressions always match so poorly to the dialogue that it's pretty distracting. I hope kids will like it though.

I kinda wish these were just child actors, instead of cgi, babies, and voice acting. It would have made a lot more sense in the story, and probably been cuter tbh. (Side note: didn't Disney ask RTD to propose a more ambitious first episode? I wonder if that had some part in this.)

"I made this for you. It's a little flower." Some of Eric's expressions with the dialogue do make me crack up a bit though.

Also glad to see more "[blank] in space" formula episodes, since that was one thing the RTD era always really shined with.

The waiting for Mummy and Daddy thing is very charming too. As is the Doctor and Ruby taking time to give them all hugs.

The multi-pronged satellite design weirdly evokes the Division's timeship design. Definitely just a funny coincidence though. It's cool seeing less 'one-way-up' station designs though.

"Did we grow up wrong?" 😥 (Also with looms on mind, this weirdly feels like a reverse 'childe' situation.)

"Oh 'Nanomatrix electroform'." With the revelation that 'Nan-E' is a person, I like to think this is the Doctor just bullshitting his way through.

The snow and the memory changing is... interesting. More later.

"Oh, I thought my birth was crazy!" Let's not get into it Snail.

The shutting down of the baby station, yet it being illegal to actually stop birthing them even though the station has a limited lifespan feels VERY topical to me, in a weird way. It evokes the post-Roe abortion bans in America, and how pro-life people only care about the fetus, regardless of viability or post-birth care.

"That's the fate of every refugee in the universe. You physically have to turn up on someone else's shore." Again politics, quite explicitly with the use of 'shore' rather than orbit or a similar term that makes sense in an interplanetary context.

"Children will return to the upper levels, or have no /expletive/ dinner. Let Nan-E say fuck!

I love all the actual info in the screen art. If I was an active wiki editor I'd love to take the time to break down all the system info.

At first I thought the bogeyman would be a more 'fantasy' creature a la the Goblins, between it's storybook nature and scaring the Doctor, so it being an artificial creature designed to be scary down to its sounds was a cool twist. Also being made out of bogies?

The fact the story also firmly decides that it's worth saving too? That it's "one of the children"? Muah! 👌 No notes.

The way the airlock works with the 'oxygen field' is a little counter-intuitive and confusing, but I'll allow it. I take it as a safeguard force field gradually powering down, hence the slow depressurisation.

"A great pile of sh-" Let the Doctor say shit"

I buy the methane working to get them to Mondo Caroon a bit less. Hopefully planetary orbit is close enough for refugee status.

Again, Eric's face cracks me up.

TARDIS key! I like this tradition.

A bit cruel to not take Ruby to Ruby Road after bringing up the mystery during the episode, even if it makes sense. Clearly also a bit of a callback to Father's Day.

The emphasis on Ruby's adoptive mum vs bio mum is good.

This arc with Ruby feels weirdly like RTD giving his own take on a Series 6/7 story arc, even down to the ambiguous TARDIS bioscan like with Amy.

When the Doctor mentioned Time Lords and titles again, I was bracing myself to see something related in the scan, so didn't even realise it was snowing until the wide shot. But it said her species was human, so nevermind...

"My name was..." Such a tease! I doubt he's actually giving his birthname, even though it's not unprecedented for the Doctor to tell people. Probably either just explaining the title or something.

Ep 2: The Devils Chord

Maestro emerging from anything playing music is so Wordlord-core.

"Henry get away from him." "Them." Woo!

I could have sworn 'Timothy Drake' would be a real person (at first I assumed he was somehow linked to the Beatles), but a quick google doesn't seem to find anything? All I found was a modern-day composer, who seems to have done an album based on Voyager data. Weird choice to go with just a random person sharing the name of a DC character.

Henry Arbinger is neat. If he's actually a seperate character, I guess he's technically the Toymaker's grandson? He does seem to pre-exist Maesto's imprisonment.

Maestro is so good throughout the whole episode.

The fourth wall breaking with the theme! Transition into the main theme could have been smoother though. I kinda wish they just kept a full piano version all the way through, like Capaldi's guitar.

Speaking of the theme, it somehow appearing in universe on the jukebox?! Really funnily lines up with a later joke in retrospect.

"My mum she had a girlfriend: Claire." Between this, the "heartbroken lesbian song" later and Maestro, this episode really starts to showcase the queerness of this era.

Ruby's first plaid dress is so Clara-ish. As for 15… while I don't mind the Doctor being a bit more casual, seeing him wandering the TARDIS in jeans and trainers is kinda meh. The period costumes are great though. Always happy to see those.

Speaking of 15 and Ruby. They continue to be a delight.

Not gonna lie, as someone who's never really listened to the Beatles but knows their songs only vaguely, it took me a moment to realise there was something wrong with their 'dog' song.

Wasn't expecting the Cilla Black cameo!

Very weird doing a historical with living people. Particularly Paul McCartney, given he has a fairly prominent role, along with John Lennon.

Probably a bunch of easter eggs I'm missing because I don't know the Beatles. I only just discovered while writing that the "Mr Epstein" the Doctor mentioned was their manager.

Weird that we've had two mentions of the First Doctor and Susan in 1963 in two episodes. With it being Feb 11th here… cue more fan debate about when exactly they arrived in London, especially if you account for the "bad smog" in December 1962 line.

"You've got children?" "I did have. I will have." Now he could just be referring to the First Doctor's future, but I can't help but imagine this as a Miranda Dawkins reference! In fairness, he does say that "Time Lords get a bit complicated" which doesn't really match that interpretation. Could also connect it to the future!Other + Other'sGranddaughter!Susan interpretation of things I suppose.

"Where is she?" "I don't know. The Time Lords were murdered. The genocide rolled across time and space, like a great big cellular explosion. Maybe it killed her too." Uhhhhhhhhhh, WTF does that mean? It doesn't sound like the Master's actions, unless he went on a killing spree beyond Gallifrey? My best guess is it's referring to the Time War (in general, rather than just its ending - which tbf does at least match our current knowledge about Susan's fate). If it does refer to it, it kinda seems to ignore both the Moffat and Chibnall arcs with Gallifrey, both its return and its destruction again, by referring to the Time Lords as being 'murdered' in that genocide. Sounds more like The Ancestor Cell than anything tbh. The wiki connects it to the Death particle, but I doubt that.

Maestro giving the Giggle, already connected to music, and the Doctor immediately grabbing Ruby's hand and running running?!

The Doctor removing the sound with the sonic sure is... another sonic power. I've never been one to complain about the sonic use, but between this, plugging in the sonic last episode and the holograms and force field in the anniversary specials, this is getting a bit much. I'll allow it in this case though, as I assume it's working through the TARDIS translation circuit.

The sound design is great this episode.

Also again, the fourth wall breaks rule.

"That thing must be part of the pantheon" Wait... it's obviously linked to the Toymaker but... the pantheon as in the Pantheon of Discord? Like the Trickster's part of?

"One trick once: that's all you get with gods."

June 2024. Woah, so it's been a big time skip! 6 months from Ruby's perspective, and she has been travelling at least some of that time. The Doctor might know what's up with Ruby by this point?

Kinda crazy how much emphasis we've gotten ever since Flux on time's malleability, with the time tracks shifting so easily. Really supports my idea that the Ravagers' attempt to undo the Anchoring of the Thread has had an ongoing effect.

The ash turning to confetti when Maestro appears!

"Lord Temporal" ooh, how Obverse Books of you Maestro!

"Child of the Toymaker" Huh. That works surprisingly well with the version of the Toymaker's origin that has a sister (Hecuba from "The Queen of Time"). Interesting, considering The Giggle seemed to lean more in the Crystal Guardian direction.

"The Music of the Spheres" I know it's an actual term, but you can't say that without me thinking of the Prom minisode.

"You might be bright, and hot, and... *dun du-dun* timey-wimey." Heck yeah. Only contention is it could have been slightly more perfect if Maestro played the four-beat baseline, since 'heartbeat of a Time Lord' and all that. I guess that's kinda synonymous with the Master though, which might have been misleading.

Though they do then play four beats when attacking the TARDIS (also awesome), so I guess they could have gone with it in the first place.

"The only thing I can do is take us back to 1963!" Fast return switch time?

Him kissing the TARDIS better!

Weird emphasis on the TARDIS groan once they exit. Seemed disconnected from Maestro, but didn't come back again.

"I thought that was non-digetic" Perfect! So should we take this to mean that the Doctor can hear the show's soundtrack?!

The music while Ruby is dragged away. At first I thought it was "The Sun's Gone Wibbly", but listening closely it sounds closer to the music from the climax of Waters of Mars, itself very similar.

"Playing lovesick songs for heartbroken lesbians." I mentioned the queerness of the episode already, but can I also point out I think this is the first time we've actually used LGBT terminology in the show? We've certainly used the descriptors before and plenty of people have explicitly had partners of the same gender etc., but for example, Bill never called herself a lesbian, nor did Clara ever identify as bi. Only exception is 'gay', and even then it's mostly only been jokes (eg. the thin fat gay Anglican marines, Rose calling Nine gay as an insult etc.).

"How can a song have so much power, and power like him? The Oldest One. The night of her birth, he can't have been there. What for?!" Oooh, so the One Who Waits is connected to Ruby. Interesting... also another connection to the Guardians and/or 'pantheon'. Is the One Who Waits one of either of those? If a Guardian, then the only candidate is the Red Guardian (who was technically there that night being the Doctor), but that would be ridiculous to be the answer. If connected to the latter, then... the Trickster? Or more likely someone completely new, of course.

Ngl, at first a little part of me thought the 'reverse devil's chord' would end up being part of the theme song.

The Beatles were surprisingly underused through the episode, but them finding the chord is a decent use of them, even if it could be seen from miles away.

The wink launching into a song and dance number, less so! I was wondering when the musical scenes from the trailer were coming...

Shout out also to the Murray Gold cameo on the piano, somehow playing himself according to the credits, despite this being in the 60s.

I'm not familar with them so not 100%, but I think the two dancing with the Doctor and Ruby here are cameos from Strictly Come Dancing too? Specifically Shirley Ballas and Johannes Radebe.

Speaking of "the twist in the end" pretty cool that "Harbinger" survives. It's unlikely, but I'd love to see Maestro return, maybe for a full-on musical episode?

The piano dancing was cute. Very 'Big'!

Overall thoughts in a few words?

Space Babies was kind of meh, even if I appreciate the campiness of it and the ending is pretty good. Pretty standard decent, if not great, episode.

The Devil's Chord however might actually be one of my favourites? Maybe even my favourite RTD episode, though I'd have to think through them all. And that's without being a Beatles fan and probably missing all sorts of flourishes.

Looking forward very much to next episode too, with Moffat back! I saw the episode was about the Doctor stepping on a landmine, but I thought that was a joke before the Next Time teaser. 😅 Apparently it's Ncuti's favourite episode of the season, which is a good sign!

[avaantares]

They say to write what you know...

Here's a little Easter Egg for my readers! (And also for history nerds! Or people who just like personal stories!)

There's a bit in CotFA about Nero creating makeshift building blocks for their foster kids by cutting up scrap lumber and letting the kids draw fences and brick patterns on them with crayons, because he can barely afford food for them and doesn't have money for toys.

The characters may be fictional, but the blocks are real. When I wrote the story, I was drawing on my own childhood memories, but recently I found a few of the blocks in a box (pictured above) and thought I'd share their history.

First, you must understand that my family's generations are EXTREMELY spaced out, due to multiple generations having children very late in life. My own great-grandfather was alive while Abraham Lincoln was in office -- and 159 years later, his youngest daughter, my grandfather's sister, is still with us. (In fact, I saw her at a family birthday party just a few days ago.)

For me, the American Civil War (1861-65) was just three generations ago. My aunt grew up during the Great Depression (1929-39). This is relatively recent history, from a personal memory standpoint.

What this means is that my grandparents, born in the first decade of the 20th century, were married shortly after graduating high school in the mid-1920s. They were a young couple with a toddler (my aunt) when the Depression hit. Though my grandfather was fortunate enough to keep his job, money was still extremely short, and sometimes they ran out of food or other essentials before he got paid. That experience instilled in them a deep-rooted thriftiness, bordering on dogma, that has been passed down to my generation (nearly a century later, I am STILL comparing cans of beans at the grocery and buying the one that costs three cents less, even though at this point in my life I can afford the national brand).

For the rest of his life, my grandfather did not spend a single cent that he didn't absolutely have to, and he saved and reused things religiously. When a shirt wore out, he saved the buttons (I still have his button tin) and then repurposed the fabric as patches or cleaning rags. He recycled wood from packing crates into things like storage boxes and tool trays, some of which I'm still using in my house today. (See the end of this post for a gallery of some of his work!)

Much later in life, my grandparents had my mother. Born in the 1950s when Westerns dominated the American consciousness, she grew up playing with toy horses and wagons and farm sets, and was (*cough* still is) generally the OG horse-crazy girl. She did have some commercial toys, but her father also provided her with blocks made from scrap wood to use as farm fences and jumps for the horses, because why spend money on expensive toys when there's perfectly good wood in the garage?

Fast forward a few more decades: My sister and I inherited my mother's old farm toys and added many of our own. We were used to having assorted old, reused and recycled things around, because that was just the family culture -- you don't throw things away if they can be repaired or reused, and you don't spend money on something if you can find a way to fill its function without spending money. (Today's consumers could learn a lot from my grandfather, I think.)

So, using several decades' worth of toy fences and fence substitutes, my sister and I built massive horse farms and show jumping rings on the living room floor for our toy horses to inhabit. We were very precise with our building, and different kinds of fencing (wooden blocks vs. molded plastic fences from a farm set vs. Lincoln Logs, for example) meant different things -- for example, the gates had to be a different kind of fencing than the fence proper so you knew which part could open to let the horse walk through. Children are extremely serious about such things. It never occurred to five-year-old me that you could make a play farm out of just one kind of fencing. Why else would we have all these different materials to build with?

The blocks pictured above were almost certainly used as toy horse fencing. The piece with the fence pattern drawn on it is actually decorated on both sides, one in a more controlled hand than the other. I think my sister (four years older than me) must have drawn a fence on one side, and I attempted to do the same on the other, but from the looks of things I hadn't quite earned my Fine Arts degree yet.

Gallery

My grandfather had a very white-collar day job, but he was also a skilled craftsman and artist -- and he labeled everything, often humorously. Here are a few of the items sitting around my house that he made.

A wooden lap desk with hinged lid for storage and a silly label (surname obscured):

A drafting board, complete with homemade triangle and T-square, both of which have their own storage slots on the back! I have used this as a drawing board, and honestly this T-square is better than some of the commercial ones I have. (The wood surface has aged poorly because it was stored in suboptimal conditions for a long time, which is unfortunate, as I love the size and convenience of this thing. I can still use it if I put a stiff plastic sheet under the paper, though.)

A silverware divider tray (which, oddly enough, is the ONLY one that fits my narrow kitchen drawers! I tried at least three "small" commercial models with no luck, and was thrilled when this one turned up in family storage)

A labeled (like everything) tool tray from his garage shelves, which I'm now using in my kitchen

A neat old food shipping crate that he dismantled and turned into a large storage box, which now holds my records

[tarisilmarwen]

Rebels Rewatch: “Droids In Distress”

Wacky droid hijinks and nostalgia abound, let’s get into it.

Now, this is an episode that for a different show would have been used as the pilot.  It’s got all the earmarks of a weekly serial testing out its tone and character dynamics, while acting with confidence like those are already established.

Note that this isn’t a bad thing.  It reminds me most of Teen Titans’s early Season One, there’s a certain kind of charm and innocence and an earnest attempt at convincing you, “Don’t worry, this will be a FUN show! :D”

Frankly starting off lighter eases you better into the world and characters so when things do get more serious and dramatic later you’re more invested because you’ve had more time to get endeared to the characters.

See also, Star Trek: Lower Decks, which had the audacity to end its Season Two on a cliffhanger, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE MY SILLY COMFORT SHOW, YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE STAKES!

Anyway we open rather appropriately In Media Res with the notes of the TIE Fighter Attack track from A New Hope, which auditorily puts us right into that OT headspace. :)

Once again the tight writing very quickly establishes the situation: The Ghost is on the run from the Empire, in need of cash flow and supplies, they have to occasionally run weapons for someone shady, Ezra is Force Sensitive, and--perhaps most importantly for the later story arc--Kanan has been avoiding training him.

Boy I miss concise exposition like this.  So much story is already set up in some densely-worded dialogue.  (Not just Kanan’s reluctance to teach Ezra but also Zeb’s misgivings with working for Vizago given the uncertain nature of the weapons he deals in.)

Also don’t think I missed Ezra being most concerned with the fact that they are running out of food.

RIGHT SO I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW GIDDY I WAS THE FIRST TIME I WATCHED THIS BECAUSE ICKLE MINI TARI LOVED THE STAR TOURS RIDE AT DISNEYWORLD.  Seriously it was one of my top favorites.  Never rode the updated version (haven’t been back to DW in years) but the classic version was iconic for me.

And this is a cameo/Easter Egg that actually works in context because you don’t need to know anything about this droid pilot, he works organically in the story as he is without any background knowledge required.

Unlike many of the other cameos we could name in certain other Star Wars shows *COUGH*.

Threepio and Artoo on the flipside... Okay, I’m not quite sure how to articulate that it still works better than in aforementioned other shows but it does.  Again Imma chalk it up to, they just fit more organically into the plot and around these characters and also advance the bigger plot by introducing a thread that suggests the crew is going to be connected to the larger Rebellion, which pays off this Season Finale... instead of being a sideshow diversion disconnected from the main characters that may or may not make another appearance down the line sometime.  Maybe.

Side note of appreciation for Chopper gleefully taking right to his role of Public Nuisance Annoying Everyone (But Especially Ezra).  I don’t think there was much acting involved for either of them lol.

XD

Still love how bouncy and dynamic the character animation was these early episodes.

Has that fun kid-friendly feel that lures you into a false sense of security lol.

Our first hint at Sabine’s backstory, cleverly hidden as part of her cover story.

I kinda like that Garel is close enough to Lothal that a very small shuttle is able to just ferry people back and forth in like twenty minutes.

Lol Zeb whapping Sabine because she’s laying it on too much.

One of the nice things about having low-stakes plots in the beginning is it allows room for lovely little breathing scenes like this one with Ezra leaping across the rooftops.  It’s not plot necessary, we could have easily just cut to him arriving at the other hanger, but it’s just... pleasant.

There’s some nice mood music (a very slowed down mellow Main Titles theme), some very mild action, and we feel a satisfied little thrill along with Ezra seeing just what he’s capable of already just knowing that he’s Force Sensitive.  This is the first time he’s consciously tapped into the Force and it’s just a little bit exciting.

Just look at his face gkjhgkjh I’m so proud of him and all he did was some parkour.

Subtle animation detail appreciation: Zeb visibly shudders backing away from the crates.

I love Threepio throwing some indignant shade Sabine’s way with his “[...] if she is an amateur.” line.

We know Zeb is the muscle  of the group, that’s already established, but it’s still obvious in the voice acting and Zeb’s intense tossing of the Stormtroopers that he’s more agitated than normal.

Threepio being oblivious and fussy as per usual.

Please enjoy the Fridge Horror of knowing that the Empire was planning to mass-produce T7 ion disruptors and probably not for their starship-crippling properties. :)

Ezra immediately backing off the hostility once he knows why Zeb’s upset. <333  He’s such an empath I love him.

See this is why I don’t understand people who hate Ezra.  Was he a little bratty this episode?  Sure, but also see how he lets that drop out of compassion once he understands the situation.

Also Ahsoka came onto the stage waaaaaaaaay brattier and a smug know-it-all to boot, just admit y’all hate the kid-appeal characters and refuse to let them be stupid and dumb in order to have some character growth.

Hera’s frustration when she hears that Kanan hasn’t been training Ezra. <333

Lol and love how there’s an immediate follow-up in the next scene.  I want to see the beginning of that conversation.

Pryce gets name-dropped here for the first time.  Predictably Threepio is making a muck of things.  See, this is why no one tells you anything or trusts you with the mission Threepio.

Ezra has clearly dealt with underworld figures like Vizago before lol.

I do wonder if all of this is just a massive Batman Gambit by Artoo, because he seems to be completely unfazed by anything that’s happening.

The AT-DPs get quite a bit of focus in this series and I think their ubiquitous presence in the first season preps us mentally for the heavy upgrade that is the AT-ATs.

Love this shot tracking Hera as she shoots at the AT-DP, very frenetic with the blocking and the camera movements.

The duel between Kallus and Zeb is honestly better than some of the lightsaber fights don’t @ me you know it’s true.

This music cue when they launch the disruptors is a unique one, particular to only this moment I think, but I like it.

Aaaaaaand the first of many times Kallus gets yeeted with the Force.  Lol.

See Sequel Trilogy, this is the general powerset of someone who only just learned they were Force Sensitive and hasn’t had any training. /salt

Kanan seems very surprised and amazed by what Ezra can already do without any formal guidance.  This’ll play into his insecurities later, his whole thing about how Ezra’s powers are growing faster than he can teach.

I think it’s safe to assume Ezra had a lot of latent natural talent that he’d been unconsciously using this whole time that just needed a tiny push to begin manifesting in earnest.

Again, though, Sequel Trilogy, all we unlock is basic shit like Force Sense, Force Jump, and Force Push.

Not surprising Kanan went to fetch Zeb, he’s about the only one even close to Zeb’s height lol.

Kanan looks so proud of Ezra, aww.

More lovely work with the subtle expressions; Kanan’s smile fades and his eyes drop a bit.  Like he realizes, “Oh boy, now I gotta face all my inadequacies and problems.”  Love it.  Love that it’s episode two and we’ve already established so many of the upcoming character arcs.

Hi Bail!

Luke’s theme closing us out once again, apropos given where we are and who we’re with.

For our first “official” non-pilot episode, this is a solid entry.  As I said, establishes a whole bunch about the characters and their relationship dynamics and upcoming arcs and plot points.  It’s also very fun, sets the general early tone of “Adventure and excitement but not too much... yet.” and the animation continues to impress in small ways, mostly the dynamic shot choices, camera angles and movements and the subtlety of emotion displayed on faces.

Coming back to this one always just leaves me with a warm feeling like, “Aahhh yes, back when everything was innocent.”  It definitely plays up the nostalgic feeling of the OT, which was always one of Rebels’ strengths as a show.

Next time, one of the many “filler” episodes that come back in an important and unexpected way in the finale.  You’d think, given the number of Avatar: The Last Airbender alums on the project, fandom would know better than to discount the seemingly light-hearted low-stakes disconnected episodes. XD

[a-study-in-dante]

Tag Game To Better Know You! Send this to people you’d like to know better!

Thank you @lithugraph for the tag, it sounds fun!

What book are you currently reading?

Hu, make it plural. I've been struggling to find time and motivation to read, so I've been blocked at page 75 of Babel by RF Kuang for over a month. Did it stop me from buying and starting Ondaatje's The English Patient yesterday? Not at all.

What’s your favorite movie you saw in theaters this year?

I think the only movie I saw in theater this year was... Top Gun: Maverick. It was pretty good but mostly for the Easter eggs of the first movie (I'm weirdly obsessed with it for some reasons).

What do you usually wear?

Jeans, usually in darker shades of blue, and whatever top is appropriate for the season (or not). With Vans sneakers and a trenchcoat.

How tall are you?

168 cm. Or 5'6'' as I recently found out!

What’s your Star Sign? Do you share a birthday with a celebrity or a historical event? 

I'm an Aquarius. I know that my birthday is the end date of the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-1 (the weird thing you learn when writing Hetalia fanfics). It apparently also is Tommy Ramone's, Oprah Winfrey's and Adam Lambert's birthdays!

Do you go by your name or a nick-name?

Most of my friends call me by a nickname, to the point where it actually feels weird/deadly serious when they use my full name. My family also has a nickname for me, that I used to like but doesn't fit me anymore (because I grew up and when they use it it feels like they still see me as a child). Otherwise, I go by my full name.

Did you grow up to become what you wanted to be when you were a child?

Uh I don't even know.

Are you in a relationship? If not, who is your crush if you have one?

Not in a relationship, and too many dormant crushes to count or pick one.

What’s something you’re good at vs. something you’re bad at?

Not that good at picking a thing I'm good at and one thing I'm bad at, apparently

Dogs or cats?

cats!

If you draw/write, or create in any way, what’s your favorite picture/favorite line/favorite etc. from something you created this year?

Ah. From Patria I guess? (A Spamano - Hetalia fanfic I picked up recently but has been on and off updated since 2018 on ff.net)

"Revenir à la réalité ne veut pas dire qu’il faut abandonner tout moment de rêve. Je ne serais pas dans la Revolución si je ne croyais pas qu’il y a sa place." (Coming back to reality doesn't mean we need to give up on every piece of dream. I wouldn't have joined the Revolución if I didn't believe dream belonged in it.)

It's cheesy af I know and that tells you a lot about my writing year T-T

What’s something you would like to create content for?

If only I could finally bring myself to write those Bagginshield (The Hobbit- movies) and Stucky (MCU) fanfics T-T

What’s something you’re currently obsessed with? 

Since I assume my PhD doesn't count (I'm not that obsessed with it anyway) I guess you could say BBC Merlin (ten years too late I know but ah)

What’s something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year?

men *coughs* It's been a pretty good year actually! I've traveled more than ever before, although being on my own is great, it may not be the most fun way to travel (it definitely has its perks though and I loved it) but summer i.g. july and august did not disappoint in being their usual disappointing selves. Not much happening, mostly working, not doing exciting things as much as I'd have wanted to, etc.

What’s a hidden talent of yours?

Drinking lots of coffee with no physical effects whatsoever.

Are you religious?     

No. I was raised as a Christian (baptized and attended catholic school, though for very practical reason - more accessible from my home and better level of education) but by the time I was old enough to have my opinion on it religion was no longer part of my education. I know it's still deeply rooted in the cultures I'm evolving in though, and the history I 'claim' as my own. I admire churches as I do works of art. And I appreciate the religious diversity of the world, and freedom of religion is a value dear to my heart.

What’s something you wish to have at this moment?

A cute lumberjack shirt I saw a few weeks ago but didn't buy because it was expensive huhu and a reading routine!

Tagging (if you're keen!) @linguadesk

@frenchiepal

@marie-curie

@learnelle

@oeuryale-study

No pressure!

[stantheskeleman]

School for Good and Evil - Book 1 Fanfiction

Chapter 3 - The Great Mistake

Chapter 3

The Great Mistake

Agatha and Malachi had woken under red and yellow lilies that appeared to be having an animated conversation. Agatha was sure she was the subject, for the lilies gestured brusquely at her with their leaves and buds. But then the matter seemed settled and the flowers hunched like fussing grandmothers and wrapped their stems around the duo's wrists. With a tug, they yanked the two to their feet and Agatha gazed out at a field of girls, blooming gloriously around a shimmering lake.

Neither could believe what they were seeing. The girls grew right from the earth. First heads poked through soft dirt, then necks, then chests, then up and up until they stretched their arms into fluffy blue sky and planted delicate slippers upon the ground. But it wasn’t the sight of sprouting girls that unnerved Agatha most. It was that these girls looked nothing like her.

Their faces, some fair, some dark, were flawless and glowed with health. They had shiny waterfalls of hair, ironed and curled like dolls’, and they wore downy dresses of peach, yellow, and white, like a fresh batch of Easter eggs. Some fell on the shorter side, others were willowy and tall, but all flaunted tiny waists, slim legs, and slight shoulders. As the field flourished with new students, a team of three glitter-winged fairies awaited each one. Chiming and chinkling, they dusted the girls of dirt, poured them cups of honeybush tea, and tended to their trunks, which had sprung from the ground with their owners.

Where exactly these girls had come from, Malachi wasn’t sure. But he certainly felt off, he had never been near so many. Or any other than his friend, sister or mother. And besides, he knew how… uncomfortable it would make Agatha. So when he turned to her, to see if he could comfort her, he was most confused by what he saw.

“What the—”

She was trying to shake the jingling thing off her hand, but it flew and bit her neck, then her bottom. Other fairies tried to subdue the rogue as she yowled, but it bit them too and attacked Agatha again. Incensed, she tried to catch the fairy, but it moved lightning quick, so she hopped around uselessly while it bit her over and over until the fairy mistakenly flew into her mouth and she swallowed it. Agatha sighed in relief and looked up.

Sixty beautiful girls gaped at her. The cat in a nightingale’s nest.

Agatha felt a pinch in her throat and coughed out the fairy. To her surprise, it was a boy.

In the distance, sweet bells rang out from the spectacular pink and blue glass castle across the lake. The teams of fairies all grabbed their girls by the shoulders, hoisted them into the air, and flew them across the lake towards the towers. Agatha saw her chance to escape, but before she could make a run for it, she felt herself lifted into the air by two girl fairies. As she flew away, she glanced back at the third, the fairy boy that had bitten her, who stayed firmly on the ground. He crossed his arms and shook his head, as if to say in no uncertain terms there’d been a terrible mistake.

When the fairies brought the group of girls and one boy down in front of the glass castle, they let go of their shoulders and let them proceed freely. But Agatha’s two fairies held on and dragged her forward like a prisoner. As Malachi ran after her, yelling at the fairies to stop, Agatha looked back across the lake. Where’s Sophie?

Mirrored words arched over golden gates ahead:

THE SCHOOL FOR GOOD ENLIGHTENMENT AND ENCHANTMENT

Agatha caught her reflection in the letters and turned away. She hated mirrors and avoided them at all costs. (Pigs and dogs don’t sit around looking at themselves, she thought.) Moving forward, Agatha glanced up at the frosted castle doors, emblazoned with two white swans. But as the doors opened and fairies herded the girls into a tight, mirrored corridor, the line came to a halt and a group of girls circled her like sharks.

They stared at her for a moment, as if expecting her to whip off her mask and reveal a princess underneath. Agatha tried to meet their stares, but instead met her own face reflected in the mirrors a thousand times and instantly glued her eyes to the marble floor. A few fairies buzzed to get the mass moving, but most just perched on the girls’ shoulders and watched. Finally, one of the girls stepped forward, with waist-length gold hair, succulent lips, and topaz eyes. She was so beautiful she didn’t look real.

Hello, I’m Beatrix,” she said sweetly. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“That’s because I never said it,” said Agatha, eyes pinned to the ground.

“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” Beatrix said, even sweeter now.

Agatha felt a word swim into her mind—a word she needed, but was still too foggy to see.

“Um, I uh—”

Malachi had finally caught up to her, he pushed his way to the front of the group, but was stunned still by what the first girl had said.

“Perhaps you just swan into the wrong school,” smiled Beatrix

The word lit up in Agatha’s head. Diversion.

Agatha looked up into Beatrix’s dazzling eyes. “This is the School for Good, isn’t it? The legendary school for beautiful and worthy girls destined to be princesses?”

“Oh,” said Beatrix, lips pursed. “So you’re not lost?”

“Or confused?” said another with Arabian skin and jet-black hair.

“Or blind?” said a third with deep ruby curls.

“In that case, I’m sure you have your Flowerground Pass,” Beatrix said.

Malachi blinked. “Her what?”

“Your ticket into the Flowerground,” said Beatrix. “You know, the way we all got here. Only officially accepted students have tickets into the Flowerground.”

None of them had even looked at him when he spoke, evidently much too focused on the girl in front of them. ‘Just like at home,’ he thought, ‘I’ll be ignored here as well won’t I?’

All the girls held up large golden tickets, flaunting their names in regal calligraphy, stamped with the School Master’s black-and-white swan seal.

“Ohhh, that Flowerground Pass,” Agatha scoffed. She dug her hands in her pockets. “Come close and I’ll show you.”

The girls gathered suspiciously. Meanwhile Agatha’s hands fumbled for a diversion—matches . . . coins . . . dried leaves . .

“Um, closer.”

Murmuring girls huddled in. “It shouldn’t be this small,” Beatrix huffed.

“Shrunk in the wash,” said Agatha, scraping through more matches, melted chocolate, a headless bird (Reaper hid them in her clothes). “It’s in here somewhere—”

“Perhaps you lost it,” said Beatrix.

Mothballs . . . peanut shells . . . another dead bird . . .

“Or misplaced it,” said Beatrix.

The bird? The match? Light the bird with the match?

“Or lied about having one at all.”

“Oh, I feel it now—”

But all Agatha felt was a nervous rash across her neck—

“You know what happens to intruders, don’t you,” Beatrix said.

“Here it is—” Do something!

Girls crowded her ominously.

Do something now!

She did the first thing she thought of and delivered a swift, loud fart.

An effective diversion creates both chaos and panic. Agatha delivered on both counts. Vile fumes ripped through the tight corridor as squealing girls stampeded for cover and fairies swooned at first smell, leaving her a clear path to the door. Only Beatrix stood in her way, too shocked to move. Agatha took a step towards her and leaned in like a wolf.

“Boo.”

Beatrix feld for her life.

As the duo sprinted for the door, she looked back with pride as girls collided into walls and trampled each other to escape. Fixed on rescuing Sophie, she tugged her brother through the frosted doors, ran for the lake, but just as they got to it, the waters rose up in a giant wave and with a tidal crash, slammed them both back through the doors, through screeching girls, until they had landed on his stomach in a puddle.

She staggered to her feet and froze.

“Welcome, new Prince and Princess,” said a floating, seven-foot nymph. It moved aside to reveal a foyer so magnificent Malachi lost his breath. “Welcome to the School for Good.”

Agatha knew she was in the wrong place because even the faculty gave her confused looks. Together they lined the four spiral staircases of the cavernous glass foyer, two of them pink, two blue, showering confetti upon the new students. The female professors wore different-colored versions of the same slim, high-necked dress, with a glittering silver swan crest over the heart. Each had added a personal touch to the dress, whether inlaid crystals, beaded flowers, or even a tulle bow. The male professors, meanwhile, all wore bright slim suits in a rainbow of hues, paired with matching vests, narrow ties, and colorful kerchiefs tucked into pockets embroidered with the same silver swan.

Malachi noticed immediately they were all more attractive than any adults he had ever seen. Even the older faculty was elegant to the point of intimidation. Malachi had always tried to convince himself and Agatha, beauty was pointless because it was temporary. Here was proof it lasted forever.

The teachers tried to disguise their nudges and whispers upon seeing the dripping-wet, misplaced students, but they both were used to catching these things. Then they both noticed one who wasn’t like the rest. Haloed against a stained glass window with a shamrock green suit, silver hair, and shiny hazel eyes, he beamed down at them as if they completely belonged. Agatha reddened. Anyone who thought she belonged here was a loon. Turning away, she took comfort in the glowering girls around her, who clearly hadn’t forgiven her for the incident in the hall.

“Where are the boys?” Agatha heard one ask another, as the girls filed in in front of three enormous, floating nymphs with neon hair and lips, who handed out their schedules, books, and robes.

As Malachi followed the line behind his sister, he found himself wondering the same thing, why weren’t there any other boys. And why, as curious as the girls all seem to be about, have they not noticed he was one of them? Sophie had always told him that he was, “too pretty to be a boy.” but he thought she was just being nice.

He moved to look at the beautiful murals around the room, the first wall had an enormous pink E, with angels and sylphs drawn fluttering around the edges, the next several had the next letters V-E-R in alternating pink and blue. And the four staircases stationed parallel throughout the room, in blue and pink as well, seemingly had their own names. HONOR with etchings of knights and kings, Valor with hunters and archers. PURITY and CHARITY had delicate sculpted maidens, princesses and animals etched around their balusters.

And in the center of the room, a crystal large pillar blanketed with portraits stood. Gold portraits of students who became princes and queens, silver with sidekicks, housewives, and fairy godmothers. Bronze framed students, who became footmen and servants. Agatha couldn’t see her blending in with any of these people, with their beautiful faces, kind smiles and soulful eyes. But Malachi? He saw her face in every one, even if she could not.

Agatha waited with bated breath, until she finally reached a pink-haired nymph. “There’s been a mix-up!” she panted, dripping water and sweat. “It’s my friend Sophie who’s supposed to be here.”

The nymph smiled.

“We tried to stop her from coming,” Malachi started.

Agatha continued, voice quickening with hope, “but I confused the bird and now I’m here and she’s in the other tower but she’s pretty and likes pink and I’m . . . well, look at me. I know you need students but Sophie’s my best friend and if she stays then I have to stay and we can’t stay, so please help me find her so we can go home.”

The nymph handed them both a piece of parchment.

Agatha of Woods Beyond

Good, 1st Year

Purity Tower 51

Session Faculty

1: Beautification                 Prof. Emma Anemone

2: Princess Etiquette                 Pollux

3: Animal Communication     Princess Uma

4: History of Heroism                 Prof. August Sader

5: Lunch

6: Good Deeds               Prof. Clarissa Dovey

7: Surviving Fairy Tales   Yuba the Gnome

(Forest Group #3)

Malachi of Avalon

Good, 1st Year

Honor Tower, Room 16

Session Faculty

1: Chivalry and Grooming     Prof. Aleksander Lukas

2: Princess Etiquette                 Pollux

3: Animal Communication     Princess Uma

4: History of Heroism                 Prof. August Sader

5: Lunch

6: Good Deeds               Prof. Clarissa Dovey

7: Surviving Fairy Tales   Yuba the Gnome

(Forest Group #3)

Agatha stared at it, stupefied. “But—”

“Avalon? Why is mine different than yours?”

A green-haired nymph thrust them both a basket of books:

The Privilege of Beauty

The Recipe Book for Good Looks

Animal Speech 1: Barks, Neighs, and Chirps

Stunned, Agatha looked at future princesses around her, tightening their pink dresses. She looked at books that told her beauty was a privilege, that she could win a chiseled prince, that she could talk to birds. She looked at a schedule meant for someone beautiful, graceful, and kind. Then she looked up at a handsome teacher, still smiling at her, as if expecting the greatest things from Agatha of Gavaldon.

Agatha did the only thing she knew how to do when faced with expectations.

“Agatha, wait!”

But she was long gone. Up the blue Honor staircase, through sea-green halls, she ran, fairies jangling furiously behind. Hurtling through halls, scrambling up stairs, she had no time to take in what she was seeing—floors made of jade, classrooms made of candy, a library made of gold—until she reached the last staircase and surged through a frosted glass door onto the tower roof. In front of her, the sun lit up a breathtaking open-air topiary of sculptured hedges. Before Agatha could even see what the sculptures were of, fairies smashed through the door, shooting sticky golden webs from their mouths to catch her. She dove to elude them, crawling like a bug through the colossal hedges. Finding her feet, she sprinted and leapt onto the tallest sculpture of a muscular prince raising a sword high above a pond. She scaled the leafy sword to its prickling tip, kicking away swarming fairies. But soon there were too many and just as they spat their glittering nets, Agatha lost her grip and crashed into the water.

When she opened her eyes, she was completely dry.

The pond must have been a portal, because she was outside now in a crystal blue archway. Agatha looked up and froze. She was at the end of a narrow stone bridge that stretched through thick fog into the rotted tower across the lake. A bridge between the two schools.

Tears stung her eyes. Sophie! She could save Sophie!

“Agatha!”

Agatha squinted and saw Sophie running out of the fog. “Sophie!”

Arms outstretched, the two girls dashed across the bridge, crying each other’s name—

They slammed into an invisible barrier and ricocheted to the ground.

Dazed by pain, Agatha watched in horror as wolves dragged Sophie by the hair back to Evil.

“You don’t understand,” Sophie screamed, watching fairies snare Agatha. “It’s all a mistake!”

“There are no mistakes,” a wolf growled.

They could speak after all.

Comments are encouraged!

Dividers By:https://www.tumblr.com/cafekitsune

[kalolasfantasyworld]

Finally Chapter 3 baby...

I say this with love but I do think the most unrealistic part of the chapter was Julius not getting distracted by the opportunity to ask Helena about her magic or to see a demonstration! KASjhfaiusrt! I just think Julius being a magic nerd is cute. Who knows, maybe you'd already got it written in the future that he'll poke his nose in later on to get a peek of Helena's healing magic in action?

Ah... Helena is so cautious and thorough with her plans. She wants to be on the same level as those around her. That way her every move isn't praised just because she'd royalty. And keeping her foreigner status (specifically being from Diamond) hush hush means that no one will immediately show her distrust. Because it'd be hard to learn and grow in an environment where you're not exactly welcome (cough, Noelle parallel, cough cough cough). My my, I wonder what that was about.

‘Hopefully the meals will get much more cheerful once I have people to share them with.’

Oh boy sweetheart, do you have something else coming for you...

The chef's signature dish is roast duck? (looks at Nozel) You wouldn't happen to know what that is, would you?/j

Okay so the paper mask thing... Helena is literally/physically hiding who she is. Then we have Nozel who has an emotional mask of an aloof, has it all together captain. When deep down he is a grieving son and a struggling brother. Dang girl, the parallels and contrasts are still so real!

Oh so that's why she wanted to know where the servant quarters were! An escape route in case the Silvas drive her mad later on!/j Gosh, now I worry that if Helena pulls this multiple times, it might start something. Like "I keep seeing this new lady walking in the servant quarters sometimes but I don't remember her being hired or seeing her work. Actually, I can't be sure if I've seen her face." The maids and butlers are suddenly freaking out about a ghost being in their wing of the castle and Helena is going to be like "oh I didn't see this as a possible outcome!" KJAHSfiuahsirya! I kid I kid! But hey, if the Bulls can think their base is haunted, House Silva deserves a ghost too./lh

Those butlers she passed. I think they do have a little bit of a point. Clover's society is so messed up that of course the lower class people will caste doubt on a "nice" noble. Also, I have to wonder how Diamond's hierarchy is. Like, we know Morris had influence over the king before Mars swooped in... And we know that they're corrupt enough to train kids who look to be 11-12 at most and then experiment on them... Is the ruling family taking kids (likely orphans) from lower classes to be used? Hooo... Maybe I'm thinking too much for still being so early...

ENTER BLACK BULLS! I cannot believe the Black Bulls got to Helena before Nozel. JDhfaiusrht!

so maybe friendship would be hereditary in their case

(laughs in "knows the canon counterparts and knows that Lola won't be so easy on Helena")

Well, chapter four and Silva family, here I come!

Hah don’t worry I have already written a scene in a future chapter (not posted yet) where Julius is very much Julius and fangirls about her magic. So this won’t be omitted. Paper Magic is too… hmm broken, for him to not get interested. 

She is very cautious and she has her reasons to be. I love how you’re catching Noelle parallels, because there will be quite a few. So be on a lookout. 

Helena is very hopeful ^^ and that signature dish, Nozel fans obviously get it. (The assorted questions brigade is my guidebook, so there will be quite a few easter eggs like this)

I’M SO HAPPY YOU’RE SEEING THE PARALLELS, there will be so many more. Helena was created to explore the Silvas. She’s the main character but it’s a story about their family. So yes masks are symbolic, but also very much needed for the plot to work.

In these first few chapters I wanted to show a bit of her approach to the servants. Although when I’m coming back to it, it feels a bit off and I would have written it so much better now. Yes they do have a point and also remember that Helena is half Clover so her mother has Cloverian views on hierarchy. However since people with more mana are more powerful and in all the other of the suit kingdoms hierarchy seems to be based on that, I assumed it’s like this in Diamond as well. As for the other Diamond related topics, they will be answered much later. 

Hah she met Finral and Vanessa earlier. It was a long buildup to finally meet the main characters aka Nozel, Nebra and Solid.

Yeah… you know it just won’t be easy. 

Thank you so much for reading <3 The story will slowly pick up the pace from now on. 

[stxrmnight]

All the way to the Woods and Amber

Was Nemi positively worried about the pixies' innocent cruelty? Yes? Did she punt a Fuath into the sun as soon as it tried to drag her underwater? Also yes. It was mentioned as a positive reason the Fuath wanted to keep her in fact. Did the frogs find her attractive?!

Why are the Nu Mou so fucking funny

YOU... YOU ARE PRECIOUS

This storyline was interesting... many pieces are needed for a place's stability to endure

WHAT DID HE MEAN BY THIS I SOBBED

Booo esta horrible tu pun

Time for actual spoilers

This made her wish there was more time to reconcile with Y'sthola. She was surprised by her changes and less than pleased with the pragmatism she spoke to young Minfilia about, but she never said it out of selfishness but a grown sense of responsibility. Did the Night's Blessed and their ways give her a sense of warm living she did not find in fractured Eorzea and beyond the scholar priorities of Sharlayan?

Yet when she revived, Nemi felt a gut feeling to keep her distance. Sneaking on the conversation with Urianger told her the truth she could see was uncomfortable. But it surely isn't something the Exarch knew for sure would happen. All that could be deduced about slaying Lightwardens was theory limited to what Eulmore would share od the previous Oracles of Light. If the growing aether hunger and sickness was the price to pay to prevent triggering a calamity on the Source fostered by Black Rose, so be it.

I DIDN'T THINK THAT WAS A COMPLIMENT FUCK YOU

Short lived glam but very good

This with the dog feels even more like relief at finding a lost daughter...

Nemi and... Minfilia stirred. The bigger woman got on her elbows and contemplated Minfilia with awe, covering her mouth. Minfilia scrambled coughing some sand out of her mouth. "Wh-what even..."

Nemi whispered teary eyed. "Y-you, your hair... And your eyes, they are a soft pale blue, not shining."

Minfilia gasped, grabbing her hanging lock of hair. "Is this, what it could have been all along..?"

Nemi smiled and picked her in a hug, spinning her around and laughing. "It's you! It's always been you!" The girl in her arms yelped and punched her shoulders, shaking her head but laughing as well. "Put me down, put me down!!"

I'm sad I missed the petting Shoebill easter egg

"Hey we're climbing up the mount. You coming?"

"Isn't it kind of early to say this kind of goodbye? By your own admission, you haven't even dated anyone yet."

"Says the Hero with many accolades but not a maiden to her name? You should free up your heart too."

"Heh, easier said than done for both of us... If it were possible, I would like to introduce you to a friend of mine. I think he would very much like to meet you."

This is a certified wlw mlm solidarity moment :')

[singswan-springswan]

the funny thing about Frozen II is that Jelsa makes even more sense now

[unproduciblesmackdown]

fury road. when furiosa has one evening of downtime for the first time in two days and also two decades and goes blankie mode

[stormblessed95]

Hi Storm!! This has been on my mind so I thought I would send in an ask. Idk if you are a swiftie, but I am. Taylor has a new album coming out next month (crossing my fingers that PJM1 doesn’t drop the same weekend because I want Jimin to have his own moment) but onto my point…

There was a major uproar from fans after the speculated that this album would have even more queer undertones and a possible “coming out” from her with Midnights. And there was even a Rolling Stone article talking about her rumored queerness which brought a huge twitter controversy and a shit ton of homophobia. I hate that people are assuming that she will come out with this album release or pressuring her too, I really hated even more that people were so homophobic adamant that Taylor is straight. The homophobia and heteronormativity extends beyond the BTS fandom into other huge fandoms too. It really made me mad and sad. And I’m sure Taylor is aware of both sides of her fandom.

Idk what my real point to this is other than this is a huge patriarchal society problem clearly. The way some swifties dismiss any possibility of her being apart of the LGBTQIA+ community is giving the same energy that the members of BTS receives when someone speculates that *cough Jikook* could be in a romantic relationship and it’s disgusting. This is why pressuring anyone, especially those in the spotlight, to come out is never okay.

Hi! So I do really enjoy lots of Taylor's Music. But I am generally not involved in the fandom nor do I keep track of what goes on with her. I just enjoy the music when it drops. I do have friends who are Swifties though and you best believe my bestie will be getting a call asking why they didn't share their fandom drama with me this time. Lol

Honestly though, I did go look this all up and read through some threads and see reactions to things etc and wow. Yeah, there is a lot of uncomfy discourse happening. I don't know Taylor enough or about everything to honestly give my own opinions over it all though. I don't feel informed enough. Sorry!

I will say that the Bi colors show up alot around Taylor though that I've seen. Her lyrics has raised my own eyebrows here and there on occasion but can also be easily brushed off at times too. So again, I don't know enough. I know she writes all her own stuff though I'm pretty sure and is huge on Easter eggs and clues and hints etc. And there are so many queer coded hints that I've seen and I wouldn't even consider myself part of her fandom. But again, who knows. This music video DOES exist though lol

And yeah, hardcore ally all day. I love it. But the gay song during pride month and she did it with Bi colored hair? 🤷🏻‍♀️😂

I don't know anything about her upcoming album release though honestly. But no one can force someone out and no one can assume someone's sexuality. So the people insisting she has to be straight aren't in the right. She has the right to her own privacy though as well. She doesn't HAVE to say anything to anyone about anything either. I do think there is a difference between assuming she might be coming out vs pressuring her to come out too. Talking about the queer undertones in her music and gay fans being excited about it, relating to it and wondering if this means she might say something diffinitive about it now. Isn't the same as insisting she say something about it or come out. I'm sure there are people doing both because fandoms can suck sometimes, but don't downplay every queer fan for hoping for a more queer album or maybe a coming out as them insisting she do so either.

But again, I don't know enough so Idk how much I can really say! All I know is that she seems happy in her relationship, my hardcore swiftie bestie tells me she is and that she has been throwing herself into these latest albums. So I just hope she stays happy and enjoys her life to the fullest and if nothing else, I hope she is a good ally.

Sorry fandom drama and homophobia is everywhere anon. That's nothing new 🥺