#we have no gonks I’ve never seen a. gonk in my life

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt8)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Eight: The Alach Moon Dragon

“Excuse me!” You call out to the captain, sliding past your new companions quickly, hearing Tech chuckle behind you. When the captain ignores you, you call again.

“Excuse me!” You emphasize, getting ignored again as Hunter beelines to the side of the ship, when his intention to dump the small creature curling around his grasp becomes clear, you let go of ladylikeness all together.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” You shriek at him, and even the tiny thing perks it head up at your nerve. Behind you, Crosshair laughs. You straighten your posture and clasp your hands together delectly. The captain looks like you’ve shocked the anger out of his system.

“I would very much appreciate it if you were to not throw her overboard.” You state trying to make up for your language.

“I think we’re past pleasantries sweetheart.” Hunter grits out.

“You can say that again, sarge!” Wrecker gleefully calls.

“Thank you Wrecker.” Hunter says dryly. Before looking back at the mini-dragon again, and with a huff, he comes back towards you.

“I’m sorry.” you apologize for a number of things, and if you’re analyzing the interaction the way Tech is, you’d see his gaze soften for the quickest of moments.

“Give me one reason not to dump this thing overboard.” He says holding up his hand where he holds the creature by its scruff. And you see the details of his burn mark more closely, and you can’t make out what are clearly Aurebesh letters, but they look extensive and painful.

“She’s an innocent creature.” You argue, fully aware of the comparisons between the small dragon and yourself. “I’ll take her, she’ll leave the ship with me.”

“Fine.” He says eyeing your wrists when you go to take her in your hands. “The bracelet.” Hunter says with a nod towards the gold on your wrist. In the background you hear someone comment ‘oh for fucks sake Hunter.’ But you ignore them. Sliding the ornate jewelry off of your wrist, juggling with your feathered friend, you drop it into his palm.

“Consider it the fare for two passengers.” You tell him.

“Fine.” He says again, turning his back on you. “I don’t want to see that thing near my quarters.” He calls back, and Tech comes to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Is he referring to the dragon or me?” you inquire.

“I haven't the faintest clue.” Your goggled shipmate admits.

You’ve had your share of awkward meals, forced dinners and luncheons with various upper class pricks. The kind that requires scrunched nose smiles and usually involve your silence or small nods of agreement.

This dinner is decidedly a different kind of awkward, and it’s refreshing to know that the company you’re in feels even more awkward than yourself. You almost enjoy this newfound weirdness as you sit and munch on dried meat with the clones.

“Gonk really likes you, Little Aaray” Wrecker comments through bites of food. You smile genuinely at the lizard on your shoulder.

“I think she’s marvellous.” You say, never having seen anything like her.

“Perhaps she’s drawn to your likeness.” Tech says regarding you both with the curious look that never leaves his face.

“Yes, compare the lady to a spliced organism that's got patchy fur” Crosshair rolls his eyes at his younger brother, and Tech rolls his eyes at his brother's comment.

“I meant that they’re both females. And it’s got patchy feathers. Not fur.” He points out. And you huff out a contained giggle.

“Thank you for recognizing that Tech, even in my ruined attire I am indeed a female.” You shoot playfully at him. Having since put your door-stop-boot back on, you’re a little more put together but all in all, still a mess. So you abandon the food and begin to work the pins out of your hair. Gonk perks her head up at your actions with another ‘bloooorg” sounding noise. You reward her with a chin scratch and notice all the eyes on you.

“Do I look that bad?” You tease the speechless clones in front of you. Hunter huffs to himself, Tech apologizes and starts a conversation with Wrecker.

“I’ve seen better.” Crosshair teases, making you laugh.

“So have I, but you don't see me complaining.” You counter without thinking. Slapping a hand over your mouth at the words, how have you lost years of politeness in the span of just a few hours?

“I’m so sorry-” you start an apology to Crosshair as he glares at you. But Wreckers laugh cuts you off.

“Lighten up Cross’air!” He says elbowing him in the side. “She got you good!” he exclaims, and you catch a smile from Tech. You clear your throat and wonder how coruscanti men would’ve reacted to your cheek.

“Can I ask-?”

“No.” Hunter cuts you off, and you take this chance to take in how he looks. Not exactly relaxed but as close to relaxed as he gets. Laying back on the crates wrecker dragged over for chairs, one foot propped on the tallest tower of provisions. His hat covers his face and he leans back on his arms, so you’re only assuming he’s glaring when he interrupts you.

“Sorry.” you mumble picking your ‘food’ up again.

“Ignore him.” Tech says, earning him a side eye from under the hat. “Ask us what you’d like to know.”

“I just, well, I was wondering about…” You trail off and crack your knuckles again, such a bad habit you chide to yourself. Hunter raises an eyebrow as he watches you crack them. - almost impressed at the action.

“About our mutations right?” Tech finishes your sentence, and continues on before you get the chance to nod. “Well you’ve probably deduced by now that Wrecker is the muscle of our operations, whereas I've been gifted with a brilliant mind.” Crosshair scoffs again. “Bless you.” Tech responds without missing a beat. “He-” Tech points to his ashy haired brother, “has exceptional aim, blaster or otherwise, hence him catching you earlier. And Hunter, Hunter’s got enhanced senses, he can feel things before anyone or anything else.” You let out a small ‘oh’ at that. They’re all so different it’s hard to picture them being clones of anybody, much less clones of the same person.

“That’s all very impressive.” You tell him, receiving proud smiles from Wrecker and Tech.

“But what about you?” Crosshair asks, raising a brow.

“Me?” You say with a breath of surprise. “Nothing makes me special.” You brush hair away from the shoulder Gonk is resting on.

“Then why does Nython want you so bad?” You bristle at the name and the twinge of maliciousness in Crosshair's voice. You fumble and look at your feet, moving your hair around in your hands as another nervous habit.

You don’t see Hunter tilt his head so he can see you from under his hat. Nor do you see the soft gaze he regards you with.

“I don’t know.” You respond, finally looking back at Crosshair, “I simply do not know.”

A silence falls over the group that isn’t nearly as comfortable as before, and on the horizon the sun begins to set. Hunter is still watching you from under his hat, he’s still not sure what to make of you. What kind of woman throws her life away as a stowaway? And where did you get this serge of bravery? No matter how hard he tries to hate you for ending up on his ship, he can’t deny the respect you deserve or holding your own against his crew.

And maybe he enjoys how you stare at the sunset, that wondrous look of longing and small smile, like you’re properly seeing it for the first time.

Shit. sunset. They’ve all been sitting around for too long.

You jump as the captain moves, tearing your eyes away from the brilliance of orange and red in the sky. You see his long legs uncross and swing off the crates so he can stand up with a groan.

“Sit rep?” He asks the group, and unsurprisingly tech answers.

“I’ll double check our heading and direction, however, knowing the Corillian Run I suspect we can tie down the sails for the night.”

“Shall we collect our finest blankets for the Aaray over here?” Crosshair asks, he sounds a little sarcastic, but not sarcastic enough to make his comment completely a joke and not hurtful. But his question does make everyone look at you. Where are you going to sleep?

On your shoulder, Gonk doesn't like the eyes on her, and she scrunches her nose, bearing teeth at the crew. Your heart swells, you know she’s being protective of herself but you can’t help but feel like you’ve finally got someone on your side. Even if it is a tiny awkward Moon Dragon.

“There's a bed in the brig.” Hunter says, almost like he’s testing you, or trying to provoke you, or perhaps, both?

“I’m not that dull,” You tell him, “I’m not going back down there.”

“Shame.” He says plainly. You look to Tech for help, thinking that perhaps he is the most reasonable of them all, surrounding, the wind chills you, and you’re envious of the men in thick jackets.

“What about Echo-” Wrecker begins, after no one offering you a space to sleep, you think he took the moment to speak up.

“She’s not taking Echo’s space.” The captain says harshly, and you look up at him from the crate you sit on. “You can sleep on the deck for all I care.” And with that he turns sharply before stalking away to what you assume is the captain's quarters.

“Ignore him.” Tech says, eyeing his sergeant suspiciously. And you take notice of the crinkle that forms right where the brim of his goggles end and his forehead peaks through.

“I do not think ignoring him is advisable.” You chime in, enjoying the huff of approval you get from Crosshair.

“He’s not…” Tech stars, before sighing and putting his food down. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

Gonk makes a small movement when you rush to follow Tech, and you guess that whatever kind of creature she is, it is not one of many words- or rather sounds. And as the sun sets, she becomes more lively, hence the name ‘moon dragon.’ you suppose. And as tech leads you below decks to an area that you assume is their dwelling.

Four hammocks are tied in each corner, allowing for maximum space. You can tell that wreckers is the biggest one, embedded into the sturdiest looking post that has notches in it, what they’re counting you don’t know. By sense of deduction, you guess that the folded blankets and organized trunks belong to Tech, and that the disarray of bolts, cleaning rags, and a singular pillow and blanket belongs to crosshair.

That leaves the hammock furthest from the door, to the left is wreckers hammock, and to the right, Techs. You assume this one, which is empty save for a notebook, ink and quill, belongs to ‘Echo’.

“How did he die?” You ask as softly as possible. And tech, who has busied himself in a thickly bound book from his hammock looks up briefly.

“Who?” he asks, going back to the pages.

“Echo…?” you ask again. Bristling when he laughs and flips the book closed.

“He’s not dead,” Tech says, shaking his head, “although I've got no idea how. What made you think he was gone?” You haven't decided how you feel about the way Tech looks at you, like he’s analysing your mind, and every way you answer a question, or move, tells him more than you intend.

“The way the Captain reacted, the fact he’s not here with you…” you trail off looking around the room, and the way the hanging lanterns brush against the dark wood.

“Echo’s waiting for us at Alderaan, he was taken by the Techno Union during the war, and is, well, he’s different now.” he tells you as honestly as possible, while opening the crate by Echo’s spot and grabbing a blanket - mumbling about how it wasn’t properly folded.

“You said that about the captain as well.” You say with a thank you when Tech hands you the blanket.

“Just call him Hunter.” Tech exasperates, “Hunter is a complex man, not easily trusting nor tolerant of many people. He feels betrayed, we all do.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, and watch as he shrugs.

“It’s not your fault.” He tells you, before heading back out to the deck of the ship, leaving you to think about what exactly happened in those wartime days.

Hopping off your shoulder, Gonk climbs the side of the ship, her mismatched eyes and tiny feathers catching the light strangely. It makes you wonder if you’re just as strange to the clones as the Alach Moon Dragon was to yourself.

[mandoinevarro]

Red Steam Part II

If you want context and even more bullshit read Part 1 here.

Words: 4.5k

Rating: E

Warnings: Mentions of violence, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

a/n: thank god there are so many synonyms for “steam” 

It was only after he bribed the middle-aged Twi’lek clerk—who eyed the credits he set on her desk unimpressed, only to pocket them after an exaggerated sigh—and followed her up a cramped flight of stairs and along the dark, mazelike hallways of the second floor of the healing baths, that the Mandalorian found himself in front of the narrow black door that hid his bounty. Apparently.

The clerk’s molars chewed on a wooden toothpick while she fumbled with the key ring on her hip that rattled metallically with every step. She took her sweet time inspecting key by key and seemed unfazed by the waves of moans and the banging on walls that floated out of closed doors.

“Think he only brought a girl or two with him,” the Twi’lek mumbled as she took out a key from the bunch and held it close to her eyes. After a nod, she inserted it in the keyhole.

Mando scoffed. Only a girl or two. Like the kid hadn’t fucked himself into enough trouble already.

The clerk turned the doorknob, pushed it inwards and headed back to her station. Over her shoulder, she barked at the Mandalorian, “Make it quick.”

Yeah, he intended to.

That was about an hour ago.

The whole place is trashed. Mando gets up from the floor panting and clutching his bruised ribs. Something’s broken for sure. He limps towards his rival, who sits angry and defeated on a bed of splinters that confettied out of cracked staircase balusters when Mando was thrown against them and fell to the ground level. With painful movements, his heavy boot kicks the blaster from his adversary’s reach and picks it up.

It wasn’t his quarry who came after him hard when Mando barged into the little love nest. One moment the poor kid was begging for his orgasm, the next he was ripping his lungs at the sight of the bounty hunter and tugging desperately at the fluffy mock handcuffs that attached him to the bedposts.

The girl who was jacking him off, though. She didn’t even give the hunter a second’s noticed before she lunged towards him, effectively tackling and disarming him. She fought the beskar-clad man fiercely and barefoot in a flimsy pink robe, until he decided that enough was enough and scorched what remained of the balusters to a crisp. And then he pointed the flamethrower at her. The pink figure begrudgingly raised her hands in surrender and slumped on the floor after that.

But her eyes are not exactly waving white flags when Mando throws the strongest pair of shackles he owns on her lap and orders her to cuff herself. She glares up at him and wraps them around her wrists, but not before she spits, “Fuck you. Fuck. You. My father’s gonna kill him.”

Mando tongues a dent that he bit inside his cheek. This was supposed to be the easy job, damnit. He was going to find the quarry, tell him the girl’s family wanted his head, and take him back to the ship with not a scratch on the beskar. Easiest money he’d ever make. He wasn’t counting on said girl being with the bounty, much less her fighting like some trained assassin on spice. Stars, the galaxy’s getting stranger by the day.

Once the girl is done, she shakes her bound wrists in the air to get her captor’s attention. He bends down to yank the cuffs, pulling the feral young woman attached to them on her feet. The effort makes needles pierce his injured muscles.  

Maker, he’d been so sure it’d be some painless in-and-out job that he’d let you come along with him.

His grip on the cuffs falters.

He forgot. He forgot you came to the healing baths with him. Disappeared into the first floor corridors, saying you needed to “relax”. Could you still be here? Somewhere along the rows of steaming pools and massage rooms. Or maybe you hurried outside with the stampede of half-naked women he saw rush away from the healing baths.

No. No, if he had seen you run wet and covered only by the almost see-through cloth like the rest of the clients, he’d remember. He’d definitely remember.

The girl tugs insistently at the handcuffs, testing their strength.

Fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking about you right now. He shouldn’t think about you ever. But. There’s something about imagining you dripping with a tissue-thin textile plastered on your figure that makes him forget the cut in his mouth.

“We fucking love each other.” The prisoner’s squeal snaps him out of his reverie. He drags her to what remains of the stairs. He’ll take the quarry, find you, and leave for good. “We only want each other, we crave for each other.” Yeah, he’ll find you and go back to the Crest. Back to barely speaking to you. Back to silently craving for you. “I’ve never felt anything like the pleasure when he slides into my—”

“Okay, I get it,” the Mandalorian snarls. Maker, he can’t stand Core World snobs. He’ll just take the bounty and find you and go. He’ll just—

“You get it?” The girl stops dead on her tracks at the foot of the stairs. She looks him up and down in indignation. “You get it? You glorified gonk droid. What could scrap metal get about passion?”  The cuffs twist away from his grip as their master climbs a couple of charred steps. Before Mando can take her back in his custody, she turns around to face him, chin up, back straight, and towering over him. Too confidently for someone in shackles. She looks down on the visor with eyes so squinted her pupils look like horizontal lines. “What could you get about desire?”

That…that hits a nerve. Plenty, he wants to growl at her, even though she’s obviously just trying to taunt him. He knows plenty about obsessive lust that leaves room for little else. He’s known for a while that the reason he locks himself inside his quarters pulling pathetically at his stiff cock is not just an outlet for pent of stress. He’s come to accept that it is always your image that his psyche sneaks into his mind when his thumb circles the head. As guilty and disgusting as it makes him feel, he’s aware of the fact that every bead of precum belongs to you. That when he bursts into his glove he wants nothing more but to smear it all over your lovely face.

Still. There’s a little voice poking the back of his head and whispering that the girl is right. That someone who’s spent a lifetime with physical and emotional barriers separating him from all stimuli cannot possibly know genuine want. Even worse, maybe you have that idea of him. Maybe you don’t believe there’s flesh beneath the armor either.

His chest shrinks with a drawn out sigh as if he were the one defeated as he grabs the captive by the arm before she can get any further. He’ll just…just take the quarry…and find you—

Almost as a summoning, the syrupy density of your voice plops into his ears in a shape that feels like his name. The pounding against his chest quickens as he turns and ghosts a hand over his blaster. Waiting. Listening.

A high pitched whine drills a hole through one of the more secluded doors in a corner, urgent and upset.

You’re in danger.

The Mandalorian jerks the girl down from the couple of steps that she climbed, a little tougher than he intended. His neck is warm and the biting pain on his sides becomes an afterthought. One swift movement is all it takes to undo one ring of the usually complicated handcuffs. He spots a pillar and forces the prisoner’s arms to hug around it, securing the missing wristlet once her smalls hands meet at the opposite end.

“Hey!” she calls after the hunter, who is already stalking towards the cornered door. “Hey, you can’t leave me here, what—”

Fuck, he shouldn’t have let you come. He should’ve made you stay on the Crest like always. If something happens to you…

The Mandalorian draws his blaster and pushes the dark door open.

Hot, humid steam trails outside to welcome him, clouding his visor. He wipes it poorly with the back of his glove and steps inside. The heavy door falls shut behind him.

At first, all he sees is red. An angry, flaming crimson that dances around the black chamber and immediately draws strings of perspiration from his pores. Slowly, the smog thins and revels a bulky cube in the middle of the room. As well as another, smaller silhouette to its left, from where the restrained mewls are coming from.

Mando sheathes the blaster and steps closer to the figure, carefully, trying to make out what it is. Once he finds himself right between it and the table, he distinguishes the contour of a head. The mist dilutes and the desperate features of your face come to life under the hunter’s fascinated gaze. Your whole face looks like a crumpled piece of paper in an expression that falls just short of pain. Your eyes are wrenched shut and two fingers are shoved into your mouth. When a wide tongue licks them with lazy strokes, Mando feels the cloth over his crotch shrink.

Eyes wander lower, revealing a layer of sweat over your collarbone and…and…

The Mandalorian thinks the fall must have damaged his brain, because he only puts two and two together once he follows a droplet from your sternum to your heaving breasts. It hangs on to one peaked nipple before letting go and sliding down the line of your arm, down, down, down, getting fatter as it absorbs other smaller beads. It curls around your hand and finishes its journey once it falls from a finger. A finger drawing erratic circles around your clit.

If Mando thought it was hot inside the cave before…well, now he’s certain the seething thrill that rushes from his head to his toes and swells in his lower half is going to kill him. The potent punch of his heart is breaking more ribs than the girl did, and he can’t remember what exactly was hurting in his mouth when he runs his own tongue over cracked lips. His cock is draining all the blood and attention from the rest of his body, swelling bigger and bigger.

Of course he fucking knows he should leave. Walk out of the chamber, wait for you to finish, and take care of his own needs in some lonely corner back inside the Razor Crest. But, suddenly, one leg stretches and your foot sweeps over his cuisse.

Fuck, he can tell you’re close. Your thighs shake and the moans get louder and he really needs to get out. His knees start uncramping reluctantly, buying him some time to be able to at least see you come undone. Until you cry, “S-stars, Mando…!”

Did…did he hear you right?

Was that—?

Did you—?

Your fingers halt abruptly and ease out of both of your openings. Disappointment grabs Mando’s heart before panic crushes it. Shit, did you realize he’s here?

He takes a step back.

Wet eyelashes flutter a few times before your eyes open fully. They’re glossy as they look straight ahead. A finger wipes the vapor off the beskar. Your face moves along his body until your attention focuses on his visor and lingers.

The red light prevents him from knowing whether you’re blushing or not, but his cheeks sure as hell light up with shame underneath the helmet. He feels gravity pull his legs with more strength, holding him down in his place and making him face the consequences of his invasion

Still, his glove wraps around your wrist and gently pulls it away.

“I…I’m sorry,” the embarrassed hunter finally croaks out, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I heard you outside and thought…” He shakes his head and sighs. There’s no excuse for this. “I should’ve left. I’m sorry.”

All throughout his excuse of an apology you stare up at him panting. Your pupils are so wide your irises almost disappear behind them. The leftover surprise of being interrupted pleasuring yourself still hangs on your expression, but something in front of you seems to catch your eye, and your features rearrange to confusion. You scoot to the edge of the bench. Your neck cranes up, placing your face directly below his crotch.

The hot breath from your open mouth warms his clothed balls and makes him flinch.

What? Why are you—? Maker, he wishes he knew what the hell you were doing, because he doesn’t think the seams of his pants can hold the way his shaft is pressing insistently against them. Your nose ghosts over his taint and he jumps back.

A pair of hands rests on the plates over his thighs. The remaining spit on your fingers smears on the beskar. You lick your lips until they glisten, and your head tilts to the side as you study his growing erection. Realization irons the puzzled wrinkles on your forehead and a smile pulls your plump lips softly.

“Could you,” you gasp breathlessly, and the Mandalorian knows the answer is yes before you finish, “could you help me?”

Mando…Mando glitches. He’s almost convinced the girl spiced him and his subconscious is borrowing from his archive of filthy fantasies of you to produce the most obscene hallucination possible. Regardless, reality or illusion, you sit soaked and perfectly bare with your face half-wedged under his crotch. Waiting for an answer.

“I, uh. Um.” He gulps. “Uh, h-help you?”

“Uh-huh,” you purr. One hand resting on his cuisse trails up to palm the tent forming in his pants. Mando hisses. You smile. “Help me pick up where I left off.” Your other hand goes back to its place between your legs.

Staring straight into the lines of his visor, you draw languid circles around your bud.

The helmet feels incredibly heavier on his spine. Your finger pushes into your clit and you gasp.

This isn’t real. The hypnotic red vapor fogs his vision and senses with a dreamlike dimness. You look ethereal behind it, like you’ll turn to steam as soon as he reaches out. He’s going to open his eyes in the cockpit of the Crest hard and alone, like always. He’s going to climb down to the hull and see you and try his best to avoid you. He’s going to wake up from the best dream he’s ever had; from the gorgeous curves of your body open and ready for him.

But. But you’re still here. Delusion or not, you’re still dipping your fingers inside your cunt, inviting him to partake. To prove himself human underneath his layers of barriers. And who can blame him, if he indulges in the one thing he’s wanted for months. Even if he will wake up from this.

Without a second thought, Mando rips both gloves off his hands and throws them into the mist enveloping your bodies. Your sweet smile widens when he wraps his hands around your shoulders and massages the moist flesh. You answer by giving his bulge a faint squeeze. But the Mandalorian has little patience for teasing, and he’s not sure when exactly he’s going to be ripped from this dream.  

“Wait,” the modulated voice orders. “Stand up. Please.” You obey, grabbing him for support to avoid falling on the slippery floor. His palms land on your waist, spreading the sweat there. Stars, you feel wonderful.

“Do you want to, uh…” Somehow, he still can’t bring himself ask, so he pulls you closer, so that his erection presses against your belly.

Biting your lip, you look up at him and nod eagerly. Small fingers press between your bodies to unbutton his pants and explore inside. You hum when you feel how hard he already is for you and scoop his throbbing cock out of its prison. “Please.”

Mando grabs your hips and spins you until you’re between him and the table. He pushes you against its side. The fronts of your thighs hit the black surface and you hiss at the contact, but he barely hears you.

He feels buckets of perspiration pouring down his back and chest, hot and heavy wool sticks to his skin, and there’s barely any breathable air slipping below the helmet anymore. But there’s only you. There’s only you and your shifting shoulder blades and  the elegant curve of your spine and your ass, all tinged the color of blood and soaked with the liquified version of the mysterious substance floating around in the air. The pains that overwhelmed his body are long forgotten.  

The fingers of his right hand spread apart from each other and snake up your back so they can feel your silky skin under his.

You shudder.

Fuck, is this was the girl outside was talking about? Right now, tense and painfully hard and high on the sensation of your soft, sweaty skin against his calloused hands, he feels just as foolish as his quarry. Just as likely to beg for anything you’re willing to offer.

Rough fingers push wet strings of hair to the side and grab your neck. He likes how thin it is around his large palm. How the tips of his fingers almost meet when they circle you. He pushes it down.

When your tits brush the surface you flinch and pull back.

“It—it’s c-cold,” you stutter as you try to look over your shoulder at him, but the grip on your neck is steel-strong and he can’t bring himself to soften it. “It’s freezing, Mando.”

Normally, he’d let go. Normally, he’d drop his hand immediately and apologize meekly. Normally, he would’ve walked away the second he caught you pleasuring yourself and would’ve pathetically gotten himself off to your image back in the Crest, like he’s done so many times, and would’ve never brought it up again.

But here, he has you right where he’s wanted you for months. Right now, he needs to prove to himself and to you that there’s hot red blood running through his veins. That below beskar and wool, he desires just like everyone else. Even more.

Especially when it comes to you.

So he doesn’t let go.

With a stronger grip, he forces you down until your chest is flush against the icy table and keeps you still.

“Fuck,” you nearly sob.

The Mandalorian steps closer to you and flattens the backs of your legs and ass with his cuisses. You whimper at the contact like you did with the table, but the cries turn to moans when he starts rubbing his hard cock against the curve of your ass.

Every nerve in his body tenses like a stretched rubber band at the sensation. Your ass is so fucking drenched he doesn’t even need to spit on it to allow his rock-solid cock to glide against you. Your hips push back and you try to meet his movements, but his thighs just crush you closer to the side of the table.  

He won’t look down. He won’t—he can’t, or he’ll lose it right there. He’s certain he’ll cum right then and there if he so much as peeks at what his doing to you. Or worse, he’ll wake up.

He looks down.

It takes every scrap of his self-control not to spill his cum all over your back at the visual. Your glistening body is folded over the table. Your arms hang next to your legs. Your nails scratch the dark rock desperately. The turbid red steam makes you blurry, like an apparition. As surreal as the mental images he conjures of you sometimes, when the ship is empty and he chases his relief inside the hard clutch of his fist. Only now, the long, husky moans you’re letting him hear are as clear as daylight, the scent of sex and sweat radiating off both of you sticks to his nostrils, and the way your body writhes against his are making him harder and more frantic by the second.

This isn’t a dream. It’s you and he has you all to himself.

He can’t wait any longer.

Mando releases your neck and brings both hands down to your ass. He massages and kneads the plump meat there. His teeth grit together to stop a needy groan from pushing past them. Tough fingers spread your cheeks and hold them open. You turn your face to the side.

“Please,” you suddenly spit out, your back curling and flattening almost involuntarily, “oh, fucking stars, Mando, just—just put it inside, just pl—”

The heat of his cock teasing your folds cuts you off. The Mandalorian inhales what little oxygen he can get and sheathes himself inside you in one strong movement. You cry out and he groans like nobody can hear either of you.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, why are you so tight? You’re—you’re—

“So wet,” he hears himself slur. The red haze of the room spins around him. He sounds drunk.  “Why—who could be this fu-fucking tight and b-beautiful—I—” Mando manages to swallow the last few words. Now is not time for them. Instead, he pulls back. His cock eases outside almost completely, leaving only the head inside. Then he buries himself again, slowly, grinding into you and letting you feel how every vein of his shaft pulses against your slick walls. He works up a paused pace as he spreads your cheeks further apart and dips his helmet to see how he’s stretching you.

Your arms lift to your sides to clutch the opposite end of the surface. You’re making the deepest, most arousing sounds he’s ever heard. You take him with a throaty mmm or a trembling ahhh that make his chest collapse with embarrassing gasps that he’s trying so hard to suppress. But your boiling pussy clenches tighter and he can’t help choking on the heated vapor that dances under the helmet and drips on his facial hair.  

“It’s you—ngh,” you finally answer. “I think of you al—always.” His hips falter at the sound of your voice. “I g-get so wet just im—magining what you—˝ Almost as a reflex, he pushes roughly into you and you cut yourself off with a high whimper.

You can’t finish your sentence. You don’t have to. What you said is enough to scramble Mando’s brains like eggs and flick a switch inside him he didn’t know was there.

Maker, he shouldn’t go faster. He shouldn’t overwhelm you. What if he hurts you? But your confession seems to thicken the mist that’s clouding his visor and restraint. Stars, you think about him just like he thinks of you. Maybe there were nights you would both touch yourselves simultaneously to the thought of each other in your separate quarters. What would you imagine? How long has it been going on?

He doesn’t remember releasing your ass nor burying his fingers into your dripping hair. He didn’t even realize how faster and more brutal his thrusts got all of a sudden until he hears how you trade your long, vibrating moans for short mewls that sound like his cock is puncturing them out of you.

And he should stop and he should ask you what you want and he should apologize for being rough and he should be doing so many things that he just can’t fucking bring himself to do when he feels you squeezing around him like you want him to be that much of a fucking savage with you. So he picks up the pace.

Through the haze, though, he manages to glue a couple of broken words together. “Th-this o-okay? Y-you—fuck—it—it fee-l good?” He sounds like he doesn’t even know fucking Basic, but you’re apparently fluent in whatever primitive language he just spoke, because you nod fervently, your cheek still pressed to the cold rock.

Your mouth gapes like it’s trying to suck the words you need from the fog around you and drool spills from your pretty lips. You only manage to breathe out, “Harder.”

Harder he goes, tangling the fist on your hair more tensely until it pulls your neck up. His other hand shoves your thighs and digs around your folds until he finds a hard nub that he rubs up and down quickly. The feeling makes you clamp down so compactly around his swollen shaft that he has to put his back into his thrusts to be able to push in. Still, he manages to slide inside with the help of your arousal and his precum and the sweat of your bodies and whatever the fuck is vaporized in the room. Every thrust shoves your whole body forwards and makes the edge of the table dig more violently into your hips. But you’re not complaining. Your irises are rolled as back as they’ll go into your skull and your companion is not sure you can even hear yourself moaning for him anymore.

Mando is going to black out. He’s sure he’s going to pass the fuck out. He can’t breathe and you’re repeating his name like a prayer and he can tell you’re close and his cock is just begging for release. A cooler breeze brushes the edge of the helmet. He keeps opening you like it’s the last thing he’ll do.

His ears ring with light metallic clinks and you’re muttering incomprehensible gibberish and he clenches his jaw when he makes out the words “I” and “cum” and he can’t believe his fucking luck and his balls pull up to announce that he’s also almost there and—

“I thought I said,” a sudden, chastising voice cuts the dense steam like it’s butter, “to make it quick.”

You both jump at the interruption. Mando’s heart and movements halt as adrenaline shoots into his blood and he looks around the brume for the intruder.

The Twi’lek clerk stands near the door, squinting to make out what exactly is going on in the steaming room. You both stare at her stupidly—Mando still buried deep inside you—as she swats the fog like a swarm of flies she can scare away with her palm.

Finally, the cloud dissipates enough for her eyes to focus on the erotic sight before her.

She doesn’t even look surprised. She simply chews on her soggy toothpick annoyed and rolls her eyes, like this is just another day at work for her.

“We literally rent rooms for that,” she grouses exasperated while pointing a long finger to the roof  like she’s talking to two idiots, “upstairs.”  

[unluckyopossum]

I Need A Place I Can Rest- CH 2 

Viktor Vector x Fem!V

Vik wants to fix things for V more than anything. V just needs somewhere to feel safe.

This chapter romance is acquired by the two idiots who struggle to appropriately discuss feelings.

Read on AO3

A jarring electronic ding broke the silence in the cramped elevator lobby. Vik had been waiting, shuffling back and forth anxiously, for what felt like an eternity. Desperately hoping he was being led to V and not a pointless chase by his guide. His only company was the small hairless cat sitting patiently by his feet, occasionally looking up at him in a way that made Vik feel the cat knew more about his situation than even he did.

The lift doors finally creaked open and the ripper darted inside slamming the roof button as soon as it lit up, the doors closing slowly again behind him. As the elevator began it's achingly slow ascent he glanced down, surprised to see the cat again. He hadn't even noticed it come in, or move at all for that matter. Maybe the little guy was just as worried about V as he was, V always being one to give the alley cat a scratch and a snack. As he bent down to give his little helper a scratch on the head, he realized he hadn't even taken off his exo-glove in his rush. Taking a moment to finally pay attention to what he was wearing he felt he looked a little disheveled. Exo glove on, shirt loose from where v had grabbed it, sunglasses on in the dark; But V had seen him like that plenty of times, and there was no time to feel self conscious now. No time to worry about how V would feel about an old man confessing to her. An old washed up legend no one even remembered. The cat mowed again sounding almost stern. “Right, now or never, nothing to lose” he said aloud, clearly only for him .

Another ding sounded and the elevator groaned to a halt, shuddering slightly. The tightness in his chest and urgency with which he scaled the last flight of stairs to the open rooftop felt like his old boxing days. Entering the ring for a fight he wasn't prepared to win, but he hadn't backed down from any of those fights either. V was higher stakes than any of those matches had ever been, more important to him than his pride, that was for sure. Rounding the corner to Misty's special retreat he heard a familiar voice, but an unfamiliar sound coming from it.

A soft whimpering fluttered through the air, barely audible over the street noise below the building. Vik was halted in his tracks by the scene in front of him as he started to exit the stairwell. V sat in one of the red plastic porch chairs Misty had set up, staring at the roof edge in front of her, lips moving and occasionally gesturing to empty air. Red neon reflected off the tracks of moisture in lines down her cheeks. She hung her head, back hunching and shaking as the sounds of a few sobs escaping her lips. Before Vik was able to move forward her head lifted back up out of her hands and she looked back at the empty space at the edge of the railing.

" God I'm so fucking stupid Johnny, what if he hates me now, or thinks I'm dumb, and a waste of his time. Just some stupid gonk brained kid." her voice was shaky in a way he had never heard before. Even with all the injuries and pain she had shown up in at his clinic, her voice had always stayed steady. Even after the news of the relic… losing Jackie... he hadn't ever seen the merc cry.

" I know, I know, 'just grow a pair V, if not now when.'" she says in a deeper almost mocking tone.

" Well there's no way he is interested in me Johnny, that's why" an exasperated sigh escaped her, a frequent occurrence in her conversations with Silverhand.

" Well I at least wanted to be his friend for the little time I have left you ass, and I blew that too" between each sentence a pause hung that Vik could only assume was Silverhand’s response. Her voice seemed to be rising slowly as the conversation moved forward and the ripper didn't know if it was his place to interrupt them.

" Not everyone thinks like you Johnny, that only works in BDs and I highly doubt Vik would be into something like that"

Like what? … whatever the rocker was telling her he wasn't sure he wanted to know, but couldn't help but be curious.

" Look Johnny, you can tell me not to care what he thinks as much as you want but I can't help it, you know as well as I do how I feel about him and... fuck I just don't want him being disappointed in me "

Finally seeing a place to step in Vik stepped out from the stairwell overhang walking towards V, trying to convey confidence with his gait.

"Could never be disappointed in you sweetheart" he passed by the empty chair next to V, instead kneeling in front of the merc. Obscuring her view of Johnny if he had judged his location right, hoping to have her focus solely on himself. She sat lips just slightly parted, eyes wide in surprise ,and a startled sputter all she managed to respond with. Vik pushed his shades up on his head, wanting to see her without anything getting in the way.

" V your the strongest woman I have ever known, how do you think I could be disappointed in you" he smiled up at her, green eyes shining so bright she could almost see her reflection in them. His gloved hand came up to her knee giving her a gentle squeeze, one that could normally be taken as supportive or just for comfort if he had moved his hand after. But he didn't, he left it firmly in place, the skin under it felt surprisingly warm for the cool night city evening.

“Scared? now that I could be… not that it’s easy for me to say sweetheart. I don’t want to lose you V, and I didn’t want to put more weight on your shoulders by making you worry about my feelings.” his bare hand reached up to wipe the streaks of tears off her cheeks. It was hard to tell with only neon illuminating her but he thought they were a bit more flushed than they had been.

“Look V you clearly know I’m no good at this, and I’m real sorry about that. I’m going to do my best though and try not to fuck this up.

“ Vik what are you” She stuttered out trying to wrap her head around everything that was happening. Still stunned that the ripper had come after her at all after she had thrown what she considered to be a childish tantrum in the clinic.

“ First I need to apologize V. I know I was mad about Silverhand, maybe even jealous, but I didn’t need to take that out on you.”

Jealous… she caught onto that word, latched on even. She couldn’t quite grasp what Vik could possibly be jealous of Johnny for, the gonk was dead and stuck inside her head with a terrible personality. She didn’t even consider that it could be all the time Johnny got to spend with her, the quiet moments at night, even waking up and feeding the cat together.

“Not being able to fix this, well it kills me V. I just want to protect you, keep you safe and not being able to do that is harder than I ever could have thought. I thought not saying anything would be part of protecting you, making your life a little more simple when things were goin crazy. Looks like I was wrong though and I should have told you how I feel a while ago.”

A pained expression came over her face as it crumpled up with a loud sniffle from her. “Vik… I have wanted to say something for so long, but you shouldn’t… you should want to be with me.”

“V why, I know it’s not my strong suit but I want to listen. I know the two of us have had a hard time speakin about these things but now sure seems like the time” He had given her knee another squeeze and placed his free hand on her forearm resting in her lap. Partially because he just wanted to touch her, but also due to the look of cornered prey she had as the concept of having to share her feelings and be vulnerable for once. He hoped the touch would be some comfort and connect them in a way. That squeeze seemed to be the only thing needed to break down the floodgates as tears began to slowly run down her cheeks again as words started to tumble out of her mouth with barely a breath in between.

“ Vik we both know I’m basically living on borrowed time with my own body as a death bed, stuck in my own head as I lose myself, even though Johnny wants out. He’s the only one I can even talk to about all this because when I have tried to bring it up I can't make myself speak. I’m so scared of pushing you away Vik, so scared of telling you too much and you deciding you can’t be around me. Because who would want to be with someone who might be Johnny Silverhand at any moment. I’m so scared to love you Vik but it’s way too late for that, I want you so much, and it makes my heart hurt constantly because I try to keep away from you, which you know doesn’t last any time at all. Even in the worst times I have when all I can see is my own doom, I'm thinking about you Viktor Vector, and it's just not fair of me to put this on you. It’s fucked but I just want to spend the little time I have with you” She finished with another loud sniffle having to take time to catch her breath.

Vik took the pause as the perfect opportunity to stand and lean down to wrap his arms around the smaller woman. His impressive size may not have been as useful for his ripper work as it was for boxing, but her frame being completely enveloped in his arms made her immediately lose some of the tension she had in her. That he thought was more important than anything else.

“V you aren’t putting anything on me I don’t want, wish I had realized we felt the same way ages ago. I think I’m old enough to decide if it’s worth it to be together too, and for me it is V. It’s going to take way more than the relic to keep me from being into you V, but I’ve known that for a long time.”

He stepped back giving her a little space as he rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed to admit how long he had wanted her and not said a word.

“ We’re going to figure this out V so you better count on that ‘little time you have left’ being a lot longer than you think.” A familiar smirk spread on his lips “ but if you’ll have this old man I’d spend every second with you that I can”

That finally got a smile to lift her wet cheeks as she stood to meet him, throwing her arms over his shoulders and around his neck. He head buried in his chest momentarily before looking up into his eyes, caught by them again, a frequent occurrence for her.

“ Vik you do know you aren’t even that old right? I mean just look at Johnny and Rouge, you don’t even want to know what Johnny tried to get up to with her… oh that was supposed to be private apparently.” Vik let out a deep chuckle, his hands moving into place on her hips, fingertips idly playing with the edge of her pants.

“ So Vik, even if I’m right and I don’t have much time left… would you spend it with me?”

“You don't even have to ask sweetheart, you know I will, and I’ll be here to listen even on the worst days”

“ you do know Johnny is gonna be with us every step of the way until we get this sorted right? Well of course you know.... But is that okay?”

“ Well maybe he could give us a bit of private time” He said with another smirk as she blushed furiously” V, dealing with Silverhand is a very small price to pay for being with you”

“ He said it should be an added bonus.” she giggled and smiled at him, the blush still lingering on her cheeks '' Johnny promised he would figure out a way to fix me so you can keep patching my dumbass up forever” the widest smile graced his face since he had found her, the idea of dealing with V forever was much more appealing than she could know.

” Fine, I'm holding you both to that sweetheart. Though as your ripper i could recommend being a bit more careful in your next fight.” The deep rumble of his laugh shook through his chest with her head still resting gently on it.

A tug at the back of Vik’s neck pulled his head down slightly as V stretched up to reach him. Her lips brushed his so lightly it took him a moment to register the kiss. Once it fully clicked a soft groan escaped his lips and his fingers tightened holding her waist firm and he met her lips once more. This time he met her lips passionately, firmly pressing their lips together and pulling her hips towards him so their bodies were flush against each other.

A meow at their feet broke them apart to look, both panting and flushed. The cat looked impatiently up at V clearly wanting something from her, as she shuffled her feet feeling suddenly rather embarrassed for initiating the kiss as reciprocated as it was.

“ Shit Vik, I gotta feed Nibbles, and I’m still covered in blood. I should probably head home for the night… feed this one on the way out.”

She stepped back, having to look away from him now or she didn’t think she would be getting off that roof tonight. She was clearly about to make a move to leave when Vik caught her wrist.

“ dinner tomorrow” he said, still sounding almost out of breath.

“What?”

“Let me make you dinner tomorrow, like you know… an actual date”

A grin popped onto V’s face immediately, never thinking those were words she would get to hear the Viktor Vector say to her. Words she had wanted to hear so badly.

“Deal, my place after you close up” She leaned up once more giving him another quick kiss before practically skipping to the elevator, cat on her heels. She was practically unrecognizable as the woman he had watched sobbing not much earlier, her mood clearly turned completely around.

Vik sunk down into the plastic chair letting out an exhausted sigh, still stunned at everything that had just happened. He tried to wrap his head around V actually being into him and trying to calm down from how flustered V had made him with their kiss, glad she hadn’t seemed to pick up on it.

The fingers of both hands rubbing his, he had suggested making dinner for V but definitely had blurted it out before really coming up with a plan. Figuring out what to make was his first order of business as he got up to head home and begin his recipe research. Next would be what to wear, and that would require a consultation from Misty. He had almost forgotten about her, she would be overjoyed after pushing him to say something to V for months, probably even more so when he told her the rooftop retreat had been the spot where the tell finally happened. The elevator dinged to let him know it was time to head back down to the streets and he stepped in, happy to be going home for the first time in a long while. In fact, he realized he hadn’t been this happy in longer than he could remember, finally feeling optimistic about what was to come because him and V would be facing it together.

[redeemed-wren]

The world sucks, I'm tired and have a headache, it's time to watch A New Hope again.

The opening of a star wars movie never fails to make me smile

A) the stormtroopers slipping all over the place amused me, b) the stormtroopers checking the downed troopers gives me clone feels

I love how much history and world is just implied. "The princess won't get away this time." "We'll be sent to the spice mines of kessel for sure" "

Vader's voice bring me back to being 8 and watching star wars on our little box TV.

"I have traced the rebel spy to here" Ah, must have been very difficult, running directly from Scarif. The opening is very amusing after Rouge 1

Man I love Jawas

Gonk!

Ooh man the CGI dewbacks are kiiiinda jarring not gonna lie.

Sunshine child Luke! It my boy!

Luke: What's this? R2, instantly, knowing full well what he means: What's what?

I firmly believe that Luke and Leia, being twins, have some Force connection even before meeting.

"I guess you're too small to run away on me if I take this off" HA someone doesn't know R2. He instantly denies having the message as well what a troll.

"He won't. I don't think Obi-Wan exists anymore, he died about the same time as your father." hhh my heart

Obi-Wan living his best life being absolutely feral in the desert what a legend

I love how the two wise old Jedi we see in the OT are introduced by one of them making weird screaming noises to scare off tuskan raiders and the other being a feral gremlin in the middle of a swamp. Legendary.

Dang i always forget his first words are literally "Hello there"

Alec Guinness is such a good actor dang.

"I don't seem to remember ever owning a droid" R2: boi you what you know me I know you know me come on now I will fight you.

I can't get over how much emotion Alec Guinness has that fits with the story so well. Like, I know I'm probably projecting a lot onto him because I know the story, but the amount of emotion he conveys without knowing Obi-Wan's story is amazing

Luke be like "I can't go to Alderaan. I have homework"

Yularan!

Tarkin.

I love Tarkin but as a villian and as a horrible person to hate.

"Your sad devotion to that ancient religion..." said religion was destroyed not even 20 years ago.

Okay for real though I legit didn't realise there were skeletons of Owen and Bereu smoking outside the house for years. I don't know if we were told to look away at that point or if I just blocked it out of my mind but when I realised they full on showed their charred skeletons I was shooketh.

Everytime I see a stormtrooper with one of those orange shoulder things I think of Cody it'd be wild if the trooper Ben "These aren't the droids you're looking for"ed was Cody.

Cantina music is a BOP it's fantastic

Dang Luke just reaching across the bar and grabbing the bar keeper's shirt is just rude

I love all these iconic creatures whose designs haven't changed much really over the years. It's so cool how much you see them elsewhere and they're still basically the same!

R.I.P. Greedo.

Oh no CGI Jabba.

Oh but Boba's here also this makes it okay.

"Jabba, you're a wonderful human being" I love Han.

I did not realise Han was the first to say "this is where the fun begins" I love how many inside jokes the films have with each other.

Tarkin needs to stop touching people's face without permission. He did it to Ahsoka, he did it to Leia.

R.I.P. Bail Organa and Alderaan.

"In my experience, there's no such thing as luck" idk why that hurt me but it did because everything has gone wrong in Obi-Wan's life he's literally never been lucky in his life.

Mouse droid mouse droid I love mouse droids!

Han just casually leaning against Chewie is iconic

The way Luke leans in before saying "She's rich" is cracking me up.

Mouse droid! Chewie don't scare it

Yularan full on walks past while Luke, Han and Chewie are waiting for the elevator that's wild.

Which probably means he was in the Death Star when it explodes so rip him.

Han bluffing at the radio is fantastic "We're fine, we're all fine here, now, thank you... How are you?" and his face after he says it.

*blasts the radio* "boring conversation anyway." legit one of my favourite parts of the movie

"into the garbage shoot, flyboy" I love Leia

Everytime I see Leia's outfit I get mad at George 'There's no underware in space' Lucas the beginning of Jedi is going to send me into a RAGE. it's a shame cos the movies are so good otherwise, Carrie Fisher's treatment and they way they treated her costumes and her weight just makes me so angry and I'm gonna stop before I go on a big rant. But my flatmate refuses to watch star wars partly because of Lucas' treatment of Carrie Fisher and part of me doesn't blame her, even tho she's missing out on a fantastic story.

Anyway rant over let's keep going.

'donk' the fact that they added a sound effect to the dude hitting his head cracks me up. Also implies that he's a clone cos they made Jango donk his head when entering Slave 1 in AOTC and Rex donk his head in that one clones wars episode as a reference and that makes me Sad.

3PO thinking they're dying when they're celebrating not being crushed is iconic

I love how Obi-Wan has just been wandering around this whole time

Wilhelm scream!

Aaaand now I am getting Obi-Wan and Anakin feels again.

Honestly kinda looks like Obi-Wan is disassociating somewhat he has a very blank stare and I'm projecting emotions again but still this is the first time since Mustifar he's seen the person who was his brother he must have had many Emotions. Not to mention this all happened in like... a day, he's had his past thrown in his face in so many ways

Luke being more sad about Ben's death than the people who raised him. I mean like same, but I guess he's still somewhat in shock from all that's happened

I love R2's chuckle

"Whatddya think, do you think a princess and a guy like me-" Luke, instantly: no. What a savage.

Lookout guy on Yavin IV is me and my brother's favourite background character. I distinctly remember a conversation about throwing food up to him and him having an umbrella in case it rains.

"This will be a day long remembered" Funny that, it's the day the time is calculated from in the star wars universe

Ey! I wasn't sure if the Biggs reunion scene was in this version I feel like it's not in all of them? Either way I wasn't expecting it and it made me happy and also buildup for more sadness down the line

Lookout guy again! I love him

X-wings are legit one of my favourite ships

I really do enjoy the dogfight and all the chatter over the coms

Wedge my BOY I love him

You can see Vader's eyes a couple points in that dogfight

R.I.P. Biggs

And boom. I forgot how good that battle was.

Where's Wedge's promotion/medal tho?

Man. I forgot how good this movie is and that's saying something cos I've loved this movie for as long as I can remember. I haven't properly watched it for years and it's been long over due!

Now I'm very keen to watch Empire and Jedi again because it's been even longer since I watched those!

Imma go watch the deleted scenes cos I don't believe I've seen em and then go to bed.

Huh Red leader met Anakin, wonder if that's still canon and if so, when.

Man the cantina rough cut really does show how much editing and post production brings to it.

The Tosche station scene is awesome, seeing Luke's friends is cool. They're also kinda mean. It also gives more character to Biggs which is cool! I should have watched it ages ago.

"Listen to how quiet I am you can barely hear me" Luke you nerd

See the downside to that deleted scene is that now I'm even more sad about Biggs' death.

And that's all folks! Headache is gone and I'm feeling less depressed, so I think it worked! Hopefully Empire tomorrow night, if I'm on top of assignments.

[grimelords]

I’m all caught up and presenting my August playlist just in time for September to end! Disco! Italo-pop! 90s gangsta rap! 3 hours worth of music for everyone!

Good To Me - THP: The most surefire way I’ve found to track down a great song you’ve never heard before is to look up every single sample on the Duck Sauce album. It has quite literally not failed me yet. This song is great, and being so used to the sped up sample in Goody Two Shoes this song sounds like the expanded chopped and screwed version to me which is even better.

Who Do You Love - THP: The other thing about THP is they’re extremely hard to search on Spotify because it thinks you’re trying to type ‘The’ and suggests 'The Beatles’ which is helpful.

Beleriand - The Middle East: I started rereading The Lord Of The Rings this month, and even got so deep in it that I started reading the Silmarillion for the first time and I suddenly remembered the time The Middle East wrote a song about Melkor and Angband and all that. Maybe the best Lord Of The Rings song I’ve heard almost exclusively for the drum work in the intro before it really settles into its Tolkein vibe.

Dead - San Fermin: I love this song but god I wish it were louder and more out of control. The sax sounds great but every other part isn’t nearly as turned up to 11 as it should be. The problem is that everyone in this band is such a professional they don’t know how to play like the maniacs this song deserves!

Tuesday Fresh Cuts - Bree Tranter: I’ve been looking up what all the members of The Middle East have done since they broke up and the best thing I’ve found is Rohin Jones writing music for a Dulux Paint commercial after the verse in Ninth Avenue Reverie about the guy who sniffs paint every night and dreams about being dead. Anyway as far as I can tell Bree Tranter is the one that’s had the most consistent and normal output since they broke up. This song is very much an ultimate night driving type song, except the lyrics are really not great but you can ignore that for how great it sounds, especially near the end when it really gets into a meditative state.

Ted, Just Admit It - Jane’s Addiction: Continuing my Jane’s Addiction phase, I really love this song. This is such a great brooding piece of music before it finally explodes into the declaration that sex is violent. Kind of a shame that it’s a serial killer song because he’s right about everything. Sex IS violent, the tv DO got them images, etc.

Fire Back About Your New Baby’s Sex - Don Caballero: I think this is probably Don Caballero’s most popular song, and with good reason. It’s among the most straightforward of their backward-ass songs and gives you a good grounding in how to understand the total chaos that is everything else they’ve done.

Ballad Of Circling Vultures - Pageninetynine: The entire last half of this song, when it slows down, is one of the best things I’ve ever heard. It feels like the entire mix begins to close in around you as it gets darker and darker before a door slams and you wake up somewhere else entirely.

You’ve Never Been Alone - Andrea Balency: I was watching this live video of Mount Kimbie https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N6co64HYurg and they’ve got like a full band now! They’ve been slowly expanding from a duo and I suppose it makes sense because their last album really sounded like a band playing in a room rather than two guys on computers. Anyway it turns out the woman in their band is Andrea Balency and this song of hers is very beautiful and you can see exactly why they asked her to join.

The Conspiracy Of Seeds - 65daysofstatic: I was going through Circle Takes The Square’s performance credits on discogs (very cool hobby) and found out they’re credited on this 65dos song and was shocked that I didn’t know that already. It feels like they pretty much split the song down the middle and did half each, which is great!

Spanish Sahara (Deadboy remix) - Foals: This song isn’t on Australian spotify as far as I can tell, so if you’re in the UK I think you can listen to this. Otherwise it’s on youtube for everyone here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lk24ujPN4Lo This is probably one of my favourite pieces of music ever, it’s such a beautiful remix even though it’s not particularly far from the original. It just does the work of focusing the vibe down to a laser point. I love how mechanical every part of it is contrasting against the dreamy vocals and organ, until it almost feels overloaded with hats and clicks in the highest points before it focuses down again and introduces the bassline alone. Then the last section! The stabbing insistence of the synth driving the whole thing to a fever pitch.

T69 Collapse - Aphex Twin: I’ve never been huge on Aphex Twin because all his songs sound like you pressed the demo button on a keyboard and then turned the tempo way up but I really like this one, almost exclusively for the bassline the comes in in the second half after the big space-out breakdown. It’s groovy! It’s the most I’ve ever liked the evil man!

Kansas City Star - Kasey Musgraves: The Kasey Musgraves album everyone was going wild for didn’t really do much for me but this cover is so fantastic, the slight melody change she’s done to the chorus is such an improvement and really makes it soar. Also google is good because right now the 25th image result for 'kacey musgraves’ is a deviantart pic where someone’s photoshopped her to be extremely obese called Kollosal Katy. Not really related to the song but I thought it was worth mentioning.

Pyramids - Frank Ocean: A big group of friends and I went to karaoke a couple of weeks ago and the version of Pyramids they had didn’t even have the second half! If I can’t subject everyone to ten full minutes of me doing it badly then what’s the DAMN point?

Aqua - Eurythmics: I heard this song on NTS and was instantly in love with the lyrics. Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, throw me in the water, watch me drown! It’s that simple!

gonk steady one - Autechre: I went and saw Autechre when they were here a few months ago and I’m still thinking about it because it was like a multiplayer dream. They insisted on total darkness and everyone just kind of stood still or sat down for the whole show in the dark while an endless wave of sound from another dimension washed over us all. Then eventually the music stopped and the lights came on and I never actually saw Autechre the whole time I was there. I’m still working my way through their fucking 8 hour long new album but this is an early highlight. I don’t know how to explain this but it sounds good. It sounds like music by and for aliens that we can listen to and understand a small part of.

Poor Kakarookee - Venetian Snares: I was listening to this song and thinking the other day there’s a certain subset of Venetian Snares songs that sound like that bit from Parks and Rec where Adam Scott is like 'could a depressed person do THIS?’ and is holding up his deformed little stop motion figure from the deformed little stop motion movie he’s making. This is absolutely one of those songs. It’s a great song but it’s one of those songs.

Future People - Alabama Shakes: For a long time the only Alabama Shakes song I’d heard was Don’t Wanna Fight because it was just so good I figured there was no need to go further, which it turns out was extremely wrong because this whole album is completely killer. I just can’t believe her voice. The album version is great but the live version really shows it off https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JbR999N5MiALa 

Mia Mania - Giani Morandi: I rewatched all of Harvey Birdman a couple of weeks ago and finally looked up what the song is in this clip https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1xkhqce43mA because it gets stuck in my head all the time, and the only version I could find is this one with vocals which sounds even better!

Capriccio - Gianni Morandi: Then I dug deeper and started looking up the rest of this guy’s songs and totally loved it. There’s nothing better than digging around and finding what you think is some obscure artists before looking them up and finding out they’re incredibly famous and like the Italian Neil Diamond.

Parli Sempre Tu - Gianni Morandi: This is my favourite of his just for the insane pitch shifted vocal at the start, what an insane piece of sound for 1964! I’m desperate to know how they made it.

Forgotten Children - Mouse On The Keys: I suddenly remembered Mouse On The Keys the other day and thank god. They’re an instrumental band that’s two pianists and a drummer that looks like its jazz because of the instrumentation but is really more like post-hardcore in execution.

Can’t Get Right - Ghost-Note: I normally don’t go in much for this sort of drum clinic type music for musicians only but the central groove in this is just so good. It feels like two completely different songs playing at the same time, except if that sounded good. I found it because the bass genius Mono Neon played on it, watch the video and see if you can tell which one is named Mono Neon https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVw1b4gVYrU Also one of the guys seems to be playing a vibraphone that is a midi controller which I have never seen before in my life.

Shoot Myself - Venetian Snares: Venetian Snares has such a great melodic sense and it feels kind of underappreciated just because of how much his percussion is at the forefront of every critical appraisal. In songs like this where the drums are more restrained you can really feel the melody and harmony shine through, the layers of cascading synth lines piling up louder and louder before returning to the jazzy organ near the end is just such a beautiful moment.

Bad Boy - Den Harrow: This song sounds like an 11 year old wrote the lyrics and I absolutely love it. The best and most sexy lyrics: “Some dress Valentino, others wear t-shirts to show what a shapely bust they’ve got.”

Summertime - Barney Kessel: Barney Kessel the jazz guitarist that I only found out about this month did a bossa nova album when bossa nova was the biggest thing in the world and it’s so so good. He also does some very interesting playing on it that’s a lot closer to surf rock and rock n roll than anything else I’ve heard of his. This is also a good example of that thing when Stereo sound was brand new where every single instrument is panned hard left or right which is a treat in headphones.

Slice Of Heaven - Dave Dobbyn: It’s kind of a shame that this song never really gets better than the intro but when the intro is this good it’s fine. I remember this song from when I was a kid because it’s on the soundtrack to New Zealand’s first ever feature length animated film, Footrot Flats which I watched a lot.

Sailin Da South - ESG + DJ Screw: The hardest part about putting any one song from 3 N Tha Morning Part Two on a playlist is they’re not designed for that and it sounds awful and cruel to cut them off like that. So really instead of listening to this song listen to the whole album and turn purple.

Right Action - Franz Ferdinand: I think Franz Ferdinand deserve better than the sort of one hit wonder status they’ve got, because they’ve got a lot of great songs and this is one of them, and probably the danciest summary of the Noble Eightfold Path I’ve ever heard.

The Thing That Should Not Be - Metallica: I have done zero research but to me the 80s feels like the decade when HP Lovecraft and the Cthulu mythos really hit the mainstream. Dungeons and Dragons and all that. Anyway apparently Cliff Burton was a huge Lovecraft fan and they would all read his stories in the tour van which is a funny thing to imagine. Metallica have five or six Lovecraftian songs and the bulk of them were written after Cliff Burton died which is sort of touching in a way. Paying tribute to your friend by invoking the nameless horror that sleeps in R'lyeh.

Waters Of Nazareth x We Are Your Friends x Phantom - Justice: Justice’s new album is so good because it’s sort of halfway between a remix album, a live album and a Best Of. It’s essentially a studio live album, or maybe just a live recording straight from the soundboard with no crowd noise. Either way it’s great and leads to incredible three way mashups of their best songs like this one.

Mr Ice Cream Man (feat. Silkk The Shocker) - Master P: I was thinking about how you don’t really hear about Master P these days, but according to the first result when you google 'richest rappers’ he’s doing fine with a net worth of $227 million, which is more than Eminem. So good for him. Even if his music hasn’t really lasted I’m sure his many, many business dealings will leave him in good stead for the rest of his life. I’m just going to copy and paste some phrases from his wiki article here because it’s truly ridiculous: “He has since parlayed his $10,000 initial seed capital investment into a $250 million business empire spanning a wide variety of industries” “As a businessman, Miller was known for his frugality and keeping business expenses down and profit margins high” “He has since invested the millions of dollars he made from his No Limit record company into a travel agency, a Foot Locker retail outlet, real estate, stocks, film, music, and television production, toy making, a phone sex company, clothing, telecommunications, a jewellery line, auto accessories, book and magazine publishing, car rims, fast food franchises, and gas stations.” “Miller also has his own line of beverages, called "Make ‘Em Say Ughh!” energy drinks" “first rapper to establish a cable television network.”

The Party Don’t Stop - Mia X: Anyway via Master P I found Mia X, who sings the hook on Mr Ice Cream Man, and her album is actually good as fuck for an 80 minute No Limit album, mostly because it’s so packed with guests (it feels like everyone else on No Limit is on here, including guys with great names like Mo B. Dick and Kane & Abel, but also Mystikal and Salt N Pepa are here!) that you never get tired of the flow, and the production is nicely varied too.

Shut Up - Stormzy: This is like Stormzy’s biggest song and I’m dumb as fuck because I haven’t heard it until now when I was listening to Functions On The Low and found out he used it as the beat for this song. What an absolute thrill to see this perfect beat back in the limelight thanks to the man bringing grime back to the limelight!

All N’s - Mia X: I wanna talk about the beat on this Mia X song because it’s incredible front to back. (Lyrically this song is fucking great, especially the chorus) but the vocal synth bass sound is just amazing, and the hook melody is the damn 'there’s a place in France where the naked ladies dance’ melody. Every part of it’s insane.

Milk - Kings Of Leon: I got into a real groove this month and learned how to play this whole Kings Of Leon album on guitar for some reason. So now I’ve got that knowledge. But I forgot just how incredible this song is. It’s a testament to how if the music is good enough and the performance is good enough the lyrics can be absolutely anything. By the time he says “she’ll loan you her toothbrush, she’ll bartend your party” I’m already crying.​

listen here

[volcanofireflame150]

When Different Paths Cross

About the Characters; Intro; Ch34

Chapter 33 Elizabeth is taking a liking to Kai, she stopped stuttering when he's around her but when he's not around she stutters again. She has slowly getting better trying to say on what she's saying because there's me and Shadow helping her out by understanding on what she is saying. It comes to my understanding that she's been through a lot.

Shadow asked, "Can you tell us about yourself?" "Like what exactly?" she asked. I said, "For example, I love chocolate, big cats, violets, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds." "Oh," said Elizabeth, "Well, I don't know yet, I was told to never go out because of feroious beasts are out here to kill me." "That's no fun living your life in fear," said Sehun, "You are safe with us." "Yeah, we look out for each other," said Chen.

She smiled and said, "My father is very mean but he does that to make sure I don't go down the path that my mother made." "And?" I asked. Elizabeth looked at me and said, "My mother is a hunter, I got my wolf side from my father." "Never mind," I said. Shadow said, "You have gotten a lot better with your speaking, you are no longer stuttering." "Yeah, thanks to you girls, I feel confident of speaking on my own with no help," she said.

I get the feeling once the two of us get up she's gonna start again but it's a working progress, so we got up and I was right, she started to stutter again by asking, "Wh-where are you g-g-going?" "Nowhere," said Shadow, was hoping too that we cured her stuttering. I said, "We're just going over there, this is a work of progress on your stuttering." "Oh," said Elizabeth, "In that case, I think it's gone for now." "Good because you are not going into the noisy house," I said, "You are going to be staying with me in my house."

So, that's what I ended up doing, Elizabeth was very happy to be staying in my home because Kai never moved out of my home. I saw a big blush on her face and Kai looked at her, smiled sweetly to her, then said, "Welcome to the pack, Elizabeth." "Thank you," she said, snapping out of her trance. I told him, "But doesn't she need to pass the test first?" "Oh yeah that's right but she's a lost one," said Kai, "Plus we didn't test Shadow because she was automatically in for being the daughter of the Tree of Life."

"I remember what Suho said that since I was looking for a pack that welcomes lost ones, like me, he said that he'll drop the test," she said, "because I am an orphan, my mother killed my father as her last breath to save me." "How recent was this?" asked Kai. She answered, "2 days ago." "Oh my," I said, heartbroken. She looked at me and touched me in the area where my heart was and healed the pain. I felt it going away when she said, "Don't feel pain about that, she told me to go find a family that welcomes anyone that needs a pack."

"I see, you can heal hearts," said Kai, "That's amazing, Lay can heal wounds outside, while you can only heal ones who have broken hearts." "Basically yeah," she said, "I was granted this power." "Like the rest of us," I said, "Well, you too get to know each other, while I have a talk with Suho about something." "Alright," said Kai, "Go easy on him."

I went to where everyone was because I tricked Kai and Elizabeth to have a moment to themselves, Baekhyun asked, "Where are Kai and the new blood?" "You mean Elizabeth? She and Kai are talking to each other right now," I said. Baekhyun said, "Well, Elizabeth or not she's still going to be tested." I gonked him on the head and shouted, "She is not going to be tested!" "She has to in order to have a spot in this pack," Baekhyun shouted back.

"Are you jealous that she has taken a liking to Kai?" I asked. That was news for him and everyone, Baekhyun asked, "She likes him?" "Yeah," I said. Baekhyun surrendered by saying, "I ain't messing with that! Nope! Kai is too strong when it comes to love relationships." "Well she's in the same age range as him," I said to him, "So this is a perfect opportunity for him to finally know what love is all about because that's her power." "Love?" Baekhyun said, "Wow, that explains a lot when I was on the verge of crying because I was feeling pain in my heart, she touched me and healed my broken heart."

"That's what she does she heals broken hearts from any kind of pain," I said to him, "Now leave Mister Kai and Miss Elizabeth alone for the time being." "Yeah we don't want to intrude their heart-to-heart conversation," said Baekhyun. I said to him, "I left them alone so Kai can talk about who he was with and she can heal it all away." "I see on what you are doing, I like those ideas of yours," said Baekhyun. I said, "Remember I'm Chanyeol's woman. Don't worry Baekhyun, you'll find someone who will love you for you." "That will be the day," said Kyungsoo.

I swear he still scares me til this day, luckily enough for me, I went to sit next to Shadow, she's nicer than him. I think she understands me being terrified of Kyungsoo, I was avoiding him like my life depends on it, she told him, "Be nice to her, she hasn't done anything to you." "What are you talking about?" he asked. Shadow said, "She's been avoiding you because you've been giving her that look that does not scare me." "I'm scaring her?" he asked.

Apparently he didn't know, I mean he could've just asked if I was frightened by him. I was lightly tapped on the shoulder by Shadow, I looked and she leaned back, I was looking at the softest face I had ever seen I said, "I kinda see why you had been giving me those looks, I've been calling you cute and squishy." "Oh, yeah, I guess you can still call me that," said Kyungsoo, "I only give those looks on Chanyeol, he teases me to no end."

"Excuse me, I have a wolf to beat up on," I said, while getting up and went to go do that.

Kimberly's POV:

While Lindsey was doing that, we were hearing screaming coming the right direction apparently that's Chanyeol screaming because Lindsey is beating the hell out of him. I know I shouldn't be swearing but at the same time I don't care, I'm my own self, no one owns me, I'm no one's property.

"So, Shadow is it?" I hear Kyungsoo ask. I looked at him and said, "Yes, because I dislike the name Alice, I like the name Kimberly and Shadow so you can call me either one of those." "Well, Shadow it's great to have someone that has the power of Darkness," he said. I was surprised that he said that because I was told that I can't have that power, then Kyungsoo said, "If someone has told you to give up your power don't listen to them."

"Good, I chose the power of Darkness," I said, "If it wasn't for that Shadow Ball spell I casted, you guys would've been dead." "That's true," we hear Luhan say, "She's a great addition." "Just as long as Baekhyun can keep his mouth shut," I said, "No way in hell am I going to be in a relationship with him because I'm already taken by someone from another pack." "Oh really?" asked Baekhyun.

"Which by the way, I'm late for my date with Vernon from the 17 pack," I said, then left. I hope Kai and Elizabeth have a happy life together.

Kai's POV:

While that was happening over there, with myself and Elizabeth, I just noticed on how nervous she is but I spoke first by saying, "You don't have to be so nervous around me, I get it you think of me as some ass." "What? No, of course not, that's totally different," I hear her say.

"It's just that when I saw you for the first time, I thought I saw a bright light shined surrounding you," she added, "I want to get to know you before we make sure our friendship is solid like diamond." "You saw love at first sight huh?" I asked. She went silent as soon as I said that, then I said, "Don't worry I felt the same way when I saw you because my previous relationship didn't end so well." "What happened?" she asked, sounding concerned for my mental health.

I vented to her, about my relationship with Jennie, I was feeling my heart ache like I was hit by a truck. But then something happened, I looked and she was healing my broken heart by just touching my chest with the tip of her index finger. I got a closer look on her, she has very beautiful magenta eyes, it matches with her emerald green hair.

I had a hold of her hand that has close to me, I did the first move, I kissed her without thinking straight. 2 minutes went by, I moved away from her head and she asked, "How did I taste?" "Like fresh watermelon," I told her. Then we heard Xiumin say, "So, you two done?" We looked at him, we were seeing Xiumin, Chanyeol, Sehun, and Chen standing there, we looked at each other. Elizabeth giggled then said, "I didn't mind one bit, I mean, love is never wrong." "Though it's never right for some people," I said to her.

[petitrangement]

Hey, I'm not going to womansplain feminism to the readers of Esquire! That's not happening on my watch! You're sophisticated, 21st century men with a copy of the El Bulli cookbook, a timeless pair of investment brogues and a couple of Joni Mitchell albums — for when you want to sit in your leather armchair, and have a little, noble, necessary man-cry.

You don't need me lecturing you — because you're not hanging out the back of a bus shouting "CLUNGE!" at a bunch of terrified 15-year-old girls. You've got sisters, mothers, lovers — female friends and colleagues — and you've never once gone up to any of them shouting, "Blimey! You don't get many of those to the pahnd!" while honking on their breasts, in the manner of Sid James. You're down with the sisterhood. You've got eyes. You know what's going on out there. You've noted that while society's happy for a famous man to age, and become distinguished, and generally wander around looking like a fucking wizard, the women generally still seem to be 20 years younger, and standing there on the cover of magazines, all like, "Oh! My clothes… they fell off!" EVEN IF IT'S DAME JUDI DENCH.

You know the pay disparity; still 20 per cent less for women in this country, and not a single prosecution, even though it's literally illegal. You know babies come out of vaginas and it fucking stings, and that the vaginas are having a hard time anyway, what with all the waxing they get. (That's £20 a pop, my friend. Every single month. Just to feel normal. It's basically VAT on your minge. Imagine if you had to get your bum-hole stripped every 30 days — lest the mean girls at school corner you on the bus home and go, "I've heard you're like Catweazle down there. Someone who fingered you said it was like diddling a Gonk. Ugh.")

You've seen Amy Schumer's brilliant, edgy sketches on contraception and rape, and laughed along with them. You've called Donald Trump "a twat" for his sexist comments about a female news anchor being on her period. You've watched the whole Caitlyn Jenner trans thing unfold and gone, "You know what — this all seems fair enough. I am down with the trans thing."

So, no. I'm not going to womansplain feminism to you. It's the 21st century and you are, most assuredly, not a dick. You like women being equal to men — which is all that feminism means. Not all the penises being burned in a Penis Bonfire. Just women being equal to men. You are like my friend John, when he talks about dating alpha-women: "Feel intimidated by them? Christ, no. Dating and marrying powerful women is like big game hunting. I fuck tigers and panthers. Not… chihuahuas."

No. You get feminism. You don't need Tits McGee here to take you through it one more time. So, what I am going to do, instead, is tell you 12 things about women that women are usually too embarrassed to tell you themselves. Because I am a chronic over-sharer, and incapable of keeping secrets. I'm like that other Deep Throat. The chatty Watergate one. That's the Deep Throat I am.

1. No mumbling

Like you, we feel a bit embarrassed about saying the word "feminism". It's the same as when you say the word "environment". They both have that slight implication of, "I'm now going to launch into a speech that's basically about what a great person I am".

Unfortunately, in both cases, the entire future of the world does rest on people being able to say those words properly, and not mumbling "femernism", or "envibeoment".

You just have to shut yourself in a cupboard and say them over and over again — "FEMINISM! ENVIRONMENT! FEMINISM! ENVIRONMENT!" — until they feel as normal as saying "pina colada", or "Michael Fassbender". Which are both, when you think about it, much odder-sounding.

2. 'The Man'

So, when women talk about "The Man", we're not talking about you. You're just a man. You're not The Man. Similarly, when we talk about the patriarchy, that's not you, either. You're not the patriarchy. You're just… Patrick. When we're doing those "MEN!" chats, we're just identifying the general locus of the problem, ie, most of the power and influence being held by a small amount of men.

Because remember that patriarchy's bumming you as hard as it's bumming us. We're bulimic, objectified and under-promoted. You, meanwhile, are unable to talk about your feelings lest you get punched in the nuts by "a lad" telling you not to be "a bender". You are unlikely to get custody of your kids, and are three times more likely to commit suicide. Feminism's about sorting all this stuff out. Because it's about equality. Not burning the penises. I can't emphasise enough how much it's not about burning penises. No burnt penises here.

3. Periods

We're still pretty traumatised about our periods, even though we're now 40. Being a woman doesn't make "being a woman" any easier. All that womb-shit is nuts. It's like having an exploding, insane blood-bag of pain up in your business end — nothing really prepares you for when it all kicks off. One day, you're just a kid on your bike. The next, you're suddenly having to wedge a tiny Barbie mattress in your knickers, crying while you watch Bergerac, and eating Nurofen Plus like they're Tic Tacs.

Men, imagine if, some time around your 12th birthday, some manner of viscous liquid — let's say gravy — suddenly appeared in your pants, in the middle of a maths lesson. And then it turned up every month for the next 30 years. You'd be all like "NO!" and "WTF?!?!" and "SRSLY??? THIS????" That's what we're like, too. We're not wise, or in touch with nature, or down with it. We're just people with a whole load more laundry issues than you. Have you ever tried to scrub blood out of a Premier Inn sheet at 6am, using just travel shampoo and your toothbrush? It's one of the defining aspects of being a woman.

4. Abortion

Likewise, imagine accidentally getting pregnant at 16, then having to run past a barrage of anti-abortion protestors outside your local clinic, all holding up pictures of dead foetuses. We're not dealing with this in a special, noble lady-way. We're like, "THIS IS ALREADY A REALLY, REALLY SHIT DAY. I PRESUME YOUR CONCERN FOR THE WELFARE OF CHILDREN EXTENDS INTO A LIFE SPENT VOLUNTEERING IN CARE HOMES, FOSTERING AND DONATING YOUR WAGES TO THE NSPCC — AND DOESN'T SOLELY REST ON HARASSING AND ABUSING TEARFUL, POSSIBLY RAPED WOMEN WHO ARE TRYING TO GET A SAFE, LEGAL MEDICAL PROCEDURE SO THEY DON'T FUCK UP THE REST OF THEIR LIVES."

Here's another thing we're too embarrassed to say: we'd love it if a big bunch of pro-choice men turned up at these clinics, and helped escort the scared women in. That would be some top bro solidarity.

5. Talking

In the last year or so, we saw this study, from America, and it broke our hearts a bit, because it explains so much: in a mixed-gender group, when women talk 25 per cent of the time or less, it's seen as being "equally balanced". And if women talk 25–50 per cent of the time, they're seen as "dominating the conversation".

And we remembered all the times on social media, or in conversations, an angry man has said, "Women are WINNING now. Women are EVERYWHERE. It is MEN who are being silenced", and it all made sense.

6. Fear

We're scared. We don't want to mention it, because it's kind of a bummer, chat-wise, and we'd really like to talk about stuff that makes us happy, like look at our daughters — and we can't help but think, "Which one of us? And when?" We walk down the street at night with our keys clutched between our fingers, as a weapon. We move in packs — because it's safer. We talk to each other for hours on the phone — to share knowledge. But we don't want to go on about it to you, because that would be morbid. We just feel anxious. We're scared. Given the figures, we can't sometimes help but feel we're just… waiting for the bad thing to come. Because that would be a realistic thing to think, and we like to be prepared. Awfully, horribly, fearfully prepared.

7. Tired

We're tired. So, so tired. From the moment we grew our tits, we've been cat-called in the street; commented on by relatives ("Ooooh, she's big-boned"; "Well, you'll be a heart-breaker") as if we weren't standing there in front of them, hearing all this. We've seen our biggest female role-models and icons shamed in the press, over and over: computers hacked and nude pictures released; sex-tapes released. So we know even success, and money, will not protect us from the humiliation of simply being a woman. We know we must have our babies when we're young — the eggs are running out! — but we must also work for less money, as discussed above. So that makes us tired.

This is why, maybe, women can become suddenly furious — why online discussions about feminism suddenly ignite into rage. Tired, scared people are apt to lash out. Anger is just fear, brought to the boil.

8. Wanking

We masturbate as much as you do. One of the few times I have been personally offended was when Martin Amis commented on a column I wrote about female masturbation. "Christ," Amis said, "that's sort of lad's mag talk — sort of more male than male."

Obviously, I am noble enough to recognise that Amis is from an older generation — one whose women, by and large, did not feel comfortable discussing their sexuality in any great detail. But it does seem amazing that a clever, well-travelled man, whose job it is to examine the human condition, and who had a pretty steamy relationship with Germaine Greer at one point, has never realised that women can be just as driven by their desire as men.

I'm gonna be honest with you — for the first five years of my adult life, most of my decisions were made by the contents of my pants. My vagina was — by way of Audrey II in Little Shop Of Horrors — constantly shouting "Feed me!", and breaking into musical numbers when I was trying to listen to my brain instead. If I had not discovered masturbation, I would have spent the majority of my time sitting on shed roofs, like a cat on heat, yowling at the moon. If a young woman isn't to go mad, then masturbation is a needful hobby, as vital as going on long country walks, to get a bit of air in your lungs, and pursuing the revolution. And what a hobby it is! It doesn't cost anything, it doesn't make you fat, you can knock it off in five minutes flat if you think about Han Solo, or some monkeys "doing it" on an Attenborough documentary, and it means you can face the world with a kind of stoned, post-coital cheerfulness that would otherwise require Valium, or constant spa-breaks.

There's a reason why God designed our bodies so that, when we lie down in bed, our hands naturally come to rest on our genitals. It's the Lord's way of saying, "Go on, have a fiddle. Find out how you work. And then, when you go out into the world, you won't be waiting for some bloke to come along and have sex on you. You'll be in the sex, too. It'll be like this… joint endeavour? A thing you can do together? That was kind of how I planned it all along, TBH. So, my Eleventh Commandment is 'Thou Shalt Buff Your Fnuh.' That's official. Signed, God."

9. Clothes

You know when we stand in front of a full wardrobe and say, "I don't have anything to wear!"? Obviously we have things to wear. You can see all the shit from where you are standing, fully dressed, ready to leave the house. What we mean is, "I don't have anything to wear for who I need to be today." What women wear is incredibly important and not just because we live in a society with a $1.5 trillion fashion-industry, and spend most of our spare time looking at cut-price Marc Jacobs handbags on theoutnet.com.

As we are the half of the world that still doesn't get to say as much as men (see stats earlier), how we look works by way of our opening paragraph in any social setting. Think of all the different kinds of looks women can have, depending on their clothes, hair and make-up: "Slutty". "Ball-busting". "Mumsy". "Manic Pixie Dream Girl". "Gym-bunny". "Mutton". "Nerdy". "Unfuckable".

Now think of all the ways men can dress. It's basically "some trousers". Ninety per cent of what men wear is "some trousers". You're just getting up in the morning, putting on your trousers and getting on with stuff.

And we fret about all this — appearance, clothes — because it matters. If we're still getting talked-over at meetings, is it because we're not dressing powerfully enough? If we're getting sexually harassed, is it because we're wearing the wrong skirt? In 2008, a rape case was overturned because the judge decided the alleged victim must have consented to sex, because her jeans were "too tight" for the accused to remove on his own. This is what we're thinking about, when we stand in front of the wardrobe. Will this outfit define the rest of today? Will it, if I am very unlucky, affect my life? Is this going to be the subject of a court-case? Could I run for my life in these shoes? Do I have anything for who I need to be today?

10. Male feminists

We're embarrassed when other women say, "Men can't be feminists!" We don't want to get into an argument, but we just can't see the logic in it. Feminism can only work if men are feminists, too — because the only indice by which feminism will succeed is based on how many people believe in it, support it, and want it to happen. By definition, it has to be a populist movement. There's no point in only 27 per cent of people believing in equality because the maths, very obviously, show that you won't be equal if 73 per cent of people think you're not. You can't go and… hide the feminism in a special secret place, and only let certain people have access to it. Besides, as discussed above, men need feminism almost as badly as women do. So, lady-balls to "men can't be feminists". We disbelieve that. In our vaginas.

11. Carbs

Our ultimate aim, when it comes to men, is to find an amusing mate we can have sex with, then sit on the sofa with, watching re-runs of Seinfeld and eating a baked potato. Discount all that Christian Grey/abs of steel/"bad boy" shit. Our priorities are: 1) Kindness; 2) Jokes; 3) High tolerance of carbs.

12. Trainers

It actually was us that threw those horrible old trainers of yours away. That story about how a time-portal opened up, and they were stolen away by your own teenaged self? That was a lie.

Caitlin Moran's fee for this piece has been donated to Refuge, refuge.org.uk

This article was first published in 2016.

Moranifesto by Caitlin Moran is out now, published by Ebury Press, £20

[eviegracecaldwellresearch-blog]

Hey, I'm not going to womansplain feminism to the readers of Esquire! That's not happening on my watch! You're sophisticated, 21st century men with a copy of the El Bulli cookbook, a timeless pair of investment brogues and a couple of Joni Mitchell albums — for when you want to sit in your leather armchair, and have a little, noble, necessary man-cry.

You don't need me lecturing you — because you're not hanging out the back of a bus shouting "CLUNGE!" at a bunch of terrified 15-year-old girls. You've got sisters, mothers, lovers — female friends and colleagues — and you've never once gone up to any of them shouting, "Blimey! You don't get many of those to the pahnd!" while honking on their breasts, in the manner of Sid James. You're down with the sisterhood. You've got eyes. You know what's going on out there. You've noted that while society's happy for a famous man to age, and become distinguished, and generally wander around looking like a fucking wizard, the women generally still seem to be 20 years younger, and standing there on the cover of magazines, all like, "Oh! My clothes… they fell off!" EVEN IF IT'S DAME JUDI DENCH. Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

You know the pay disparity; still 20 per cent less for women in this country, and not a single prosecution, even though it's literally illegal. You know babies come out of vaginas and it fucking stings, and that the vaginas are having a hard time anyway, what with all the waxing they get. (That's £20 a pop, my friend. Every single month. Just to feel normal. It's basically VAT on your minge. Imagine if you had to get your bum-hole stripped every 30 days — lest the mean girls at school corner you on the bus home and go, "I've heard you're like Catweazle down there. Someone who fingered you said it was like diddling a Gonk. Ugh.")

You've seen Amy Schumer's brilliant, edgy sketches on contraception and rape, and laughed along with them. You've called Donald Trump "a twat" for his sexist comments about a female news anchor being on her period. You've watched the whole Caitlyn Jenner trans thing unfold and gone, "You know what — this all seems fair enough. I am down with the trans thing."

So, no. I'm not going to womansplain feminism to you. It's the 21st century and you are, most assuredly, not a dick. You like women being equal to men — which is all that feminism means. Not all the penises being burned in a Penis Bonfire. Just women being equal to men. You are like my friend John, when he talks about dating alpha-women: "Feel intimidated by them? Christ, no. Dating and marrying powerful women is like big game hunting. I fuck tigers and panthers. Not… chihuahuas."

No. You get feminism. You don't need Tits McGee here to take you through it one more time. So, what I am going to do, instead, is tell you 12 things about women that women are usually too embarrassed to tell you themselves. Because I am a chronic over-sharer, and incapable of keeping secrets. I'm like that other Deep Throat. The chatty Watergate one. That's the Deep Throat I am.

janne iivonen

1. No mumbling

Like you, we feel a bit embarrassed about saying the word "feminism". It's the same as when you say the word "environment". They both have that slight implication of, "I'm now going to launch into a speech that's basically about what a great person I am".

Unfortunately, in both cases, the entire future of the world does rest on people being able to say those words properly, and not mumbling "femernism", or "envibeoment".

You just have to shut yourself in a cupboard and say them over and over again — "FEMINISM! ENVIRONMENT! FEMINISM! ENVIRONMENT!" — until they feel as normal as saying "pina colada", or "Michael Fassbender". Which are both, when you think about it, much odder-sounding.

2. 'The Man'

So, when women talk about "The Man", we're not talking about you. You're just a man. You're not The Man. Similarly, when we talk about the patriarchy, that's not you, either. You're not the patriarchy. You're just… Patrick. When we're doing those "MEN!" chats, we're just identifying the general locus of the problem, ie, most of the power and influence being held by a small amount of men.

Because remember that patriarchy's bumming you as hard as it's bumming us. We're bulimic, objectified and under-promoted. You, meanwhile, are unable to talk about your feelings lest you get punched in the nuts by "a lad" telling you not to be "a bender". You are unlikely to get custody of your kids, and are three times more likely to commit suicide. Feminism's about sorting all this stuff out. Because it's about equality. Not burning the penises. I can't emphasise enough how much it's not about burning penises. No burnt penises here.

3. Periods

We're still pretty traumatised about our periods, even though we're now 40. Being a woman doesn't make "being a woman" any easier. All that womb-shit is nuts. It's like having an exploding, insane blood-bag of pain up in your business end — nothing really prepares you for when it all kicks off. One day, you're just a kid on your bike. The next, you're suddenly having to wedge a tiny Barbie mattress in your knickers, crying while you watch Bergerac, and eating Nurofen Plus like they're Tic Tacs.

Men, imagine if, some time around your 12th birthday, some manner of viscous liquid — let's say gravy — suddenly appeared in your pants, in the middle of a maths lesson. And then it turned up every month for the next 30 years. You'd be all like "NO!" and "WTF?!?!" and "SRSLY??? THIS????" That's what we're like, too. We're not wise, or in touch with nature, or down with it. We're just people with a whole load more laundry issues than you. Have you ever tried to scrub blood out of a Premier Inn sheet at 6am, using just travel shampoo and your toothbrush? It's one of the defining aspects of being a woman.

4. Abortion

Likewise, imagine accidentally getting pregnant at 16, then having to run past a barrage of anti-abortion protestors outside your local clinic, all holding up pictures of dead foetuses. We're not dealing with this in a special, noble lady-way. We're like, "THIS IS ALREADY A REALLY, REALLY SHIT DAY. I PRESUME YOUR CONCERN FOR THE WELFARE OF CHILDREN EXTENDS INTO A LIFE SPENT VOLUNTEERING IN CARE HOMES, FOSTERING AND DONATING YOUR WAGES TO THE NSPCC — AND DOESN'T SOLELY REST ON HARASSING AND ABUSING TEARFUL, POSSIBLY RAPED WOMEN WHO ARE TRYING TO GET A SAFE, LEGAL MEDICAL PROCEDURE SO THEY DON'T FUCK UP THE REST OF THEIR LIVES."

Here's another thing we're too embarrassed to say: we'd love it if a big bunch of pro-choice men turned up at these clinics, and helped escort the scared women in. That would be some top bro solidarity.

Janne Iivonen

5. Talking

In the last year or so, we saw this study, from America, and it broke our hearts a bit, because it explains so much: in a mixed-gender group, when women talk 25 per cent of the time or less, it's seen as being "equally balanced". And if women talk 25–50 per cent of the time, they're seen as "dominating the conversation".

And we remembered all the times on social media, or in conversations, an angry man has said, "Women are WINNING now. Women are EVERYWHERE. It is MEN who are being silenced", and it all made sense.

6. Fear

We're scared. We don't want to mention it, because it's kind of a bummer, chat-wise, and we'd really like to talk about stuff that makes us happy, like look at our daughters — and we can't help but think, "Which one of us? And when?" We walk down the street at night with our keys clutched between our fingers, as a weapon. We move in packs — because it's safer. We talk to each other for hours on the phone — to share knowledge. But we don't want to go on about it to you, because that would be morbid. We just feel anxious. We're scared. Given the figures, we can't sometimes help but feel we're just… waiting for the bad thing to come. Because that would be a realistic thing to think, and we like to be prepared. Awfully, horribly, fearfully prepared.

7. Tired

We're tired. So, so tired. From the moment we grew our tits, we've been cat-called in the street; commented on by relatives ("Ooooh, she's big-boned"; "Well, you'll be a heart-breaker") as if we weren't standing there in front of them, hearing all this. We've seen our biggest female role-models and icons shamed in the press, over and over: computers hacked and nude pictures released; sex-tapes released. So we know even success, and money, will not protect us from the humiliation of simply being a woman. We know we must have our babies when we're young — the eggs are running out! — but we must also work for less money, as discussed above. So that makes us tired.

This is why, maybe, women can become suddenly furious — why online discussions about feminism suddenly ignite into rage. Tired, scared people are apt to lash out. Anger is just fear, brought to the boil.

8. Wanking

We masturbate as much as you do. One of the few times I have been personally offended was when Martin Amis commented on a column I wrote about female masturbation. "Christ," Amis said, "that's sort of lad's mag talk — sort of more male than male."

Obviously, I am noble enough to recognise that Amis is from an older generation — one whose women, by and large, did not feel comfortable discussing their sexuality in any great detail. But it does seem amazing that a clever, well-travelled man, whose job it is to examine the human condition, and who had a pretty steamy relationship with Germaine Greer at one point, has never realised that women can be just as driven by their desire as men.

I'm gonna be honest with you — for the first five years of my adult life, most of my decisions were made by the contents of my pants. My vagina was — by way of Audrey II in Little Shop Of Horrors — constantly shouting "Feed me!", and breaking into musical numbers when I was trying to listen to my brain instead. If I had not discovered masturbation, I would have spent the majority of my time sitting on shed roofs, like a cat on heat, yowling at the moon. If a young woman isn't to go mad, then masturbation is a needful hobby, as vital as going on long country walks, to get a bit of air in your lungs, and pursuing the revolution. And what a hobby it is! It doesn't cost anything, it doesn't make you fat, you can knock it off in five minutes flat if you think about Han Solo, or some monkeys "doing it" on an Attenborough documentary, and it means you can face the world with a kind of stoned, post-coital cheerfulness that would otherwise require Valium, or constant spa-breaks.

There's a reason why God designed our bodies so that, when we lie down in bed, our hands naturally come to rest on our genitals. It's the Lord's way of saying, "Go on, have a fiddle. Find out how you work. And then, when you go out into the world, you won't be waiting for some bloke to come along and have sex on you. You'll be in the sex, too. It'll be like this… joint endeavour? A thing you can do together? That was kind of how I planned it all along, TBH. So, my Eleventh Commandment is 'Thou Shalt Buff Your Fnuh.' That's official. Signed, God."

9. Clothes

You know when we stand in front of a full wardrobe and say, "I don't have anything to wear!"? Obviously we have things to wear. You can see all the shit from where you are standing, fully dressed, ready to leave the house. What we mean is, "I don't have anything to wear for who I need to be today." What women wear is incredibly important and not just because we live in a society with a $1.5 trillion fashion-industry, and spend most of our spare time looking at cut-price Marc Jacobs handbags on theoutnet.com.

As we are the half of the world that still doesn't get to say as much as men (see stats earlier), how we look works by way of our opening paragraph in any social setting. Think of all the different kinds of looks women can have, depending on their clothes, hair and make-up: "Slutty". "Ball-busting". "Mumsy". "Manic Pixie Dream Girl". "Gym-bunny". "Mutton". "Nerdy". "Unfuckable". Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

Now think of all the ways men can dress. It's basically "some trousers". Ninety per cent of what men wear is "some trousers". You're just getting up in the morning, putting on your trousers and getting on with stuff.

And we fret about all this — appearance, clothes — because it matters. If we're still getting talked-over at meetings, is it because we're not dressing powerfully enough? If we're getting sexually harassed, is it because we're wearing the wrong skirt? In 2008, a rape case was overturned because the judge decided the alleged victim must have consented to sex, because her jeans were "too tight" for the accused to remove on his own. This is what we're thinking about, when we stand in front of the wardrobe. Will this outfit define the rest of today? Will it, if I am very unlucky, affect my life? Is this going to be the subject of a court-case? Could I run for my life in these shoes? Do I have anything for who I need to be today?

10. Male feminists

We're embarrassed when other women say, "Men can't be feminists!" We don't want to get into an argument, but we just can't see the logic in it. Feminism can only work if men are feminists, too — because the only indice by which feminism will succeed is based on how many people believe in it, support it, and want it to happen. By definition, it has to be a populist movement. There's no point in only 27 per cent of people believing in equality because the maths, very obviously, show that you won't be equal if 73 per cent of people think you're not. You can't go and… hide the feminism in a special secret place, and only let certain people have access to it. Besides, as discussed above, men need feminism almost as badly as women do. So, lady-balls to "men can't be feminists". We disbelieve that. In our vaginas.

11. Carbs

Our ultimate aim, when it comes to men, is to find an amusing mate we can have sex with, then sit on the sofa with, watching re-runs of Seinfeld and eating a baked potato. Discount all that Christian Grey/abs of steel/"bad boy" shit. Our priorities are: 1) Kindness; 2) Jokes; 3) High tolerance of carbs.

12. Trainers

It actually was us that threw those horrible old trainers of yours away. That story about how a time-portal opened up, and they were stolen away by your own teenaged self? That was a lie.

Caitlin Moran's fee for this piece has been donated to Refuge, refuge.org.uk

This article was first published in 2016.