#wish we got to know more about Cumulous. I get that’s kinda the down side of bringing in a new oc when you already have such limited time-

[archersartcorner]

Forgot how much I liked this guy… and wanted to play around with the lasso fill on ibis again, don’t use it a whole lot but it’s a lotta fun to get these kinda lines! Wish procreate had a similar option lol

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

[jq37]

The Royal Report– A Crown of Candy Ep 11 In the Mountains of Sweetness

Requiem 

The Rocks family is on the run but they’re also in mourning. As they sail up the Cola River, they stop to do repairs to the ship and pay their respects to Jet at a bright pink hill under a tree--her final resting place.

The remaining kids are in opposite worlds emotionally speaking--Liam is fully sobbing (which we find out later is largely him still being messed up over Preston) while Ruby is hollow and bitter. Amethar (after almost murdering a Jellybean farmer with poor timing who wanders onto the scene) eulogizes about how much Jet taught all of them (including that “to defeat monsters you must become one” which mmm don’t love where his head is at; also, Brennan says he seems to almost have this new sobriety which I think, mechanically, is him having taken a level of Battlemaster Fighter). 

Cara, also a wreck as you’d expect, wonders if Jet died thinking she didn’t love her and wishes Jet would have just listened to her--something that Ruby takes as blaming Jet for her own death, causing her to stalk off. Cara is too in her grief to really react but Theo goes after her. As he does, Cumulous notices that, for a split second, Ruby’s shadow seemed to be out of sync with her actions. But only for a second. 

When Theo catches up to her, Ruby gets really upset and says that she blames her parents, Lazuli, and herself for Jet’s death. Theo says that Jet wouldn’t have blamed her and that she died in battle, like she wanted. Even still, Ruby doesn’t know how she’s going to go on without her. Theo says that he takes comfort in Lazuli’s research and the thought that Jet might not be truly gone. She could be around and protecting them right now. “She was always protecting us,” Ruby says before mind-hopping into Yak and flying above the ship so she doesn’t have to deal with her emotions for the moment.

Once she’s gone, Theo breaks down for a second and then summons Sprinkle...to dismiss him. He tells Sprinkle he’s done a great job but he needs to go back where he came from and have Jet send a new familiar as a sign. Sprinkle tearfully leaves and, almost immediately (which is not how the spell traditionally works btw) a Black Licorice viper shows up which Theo names Princess and which bites him for no reason. Feels right.

Back at the grave-site, Cara starts to walk away but Amethar catches her and leads her back to the ship. They run into Theo and when she sees him with his new familiar, she goes off on him: Oh Jet is watching over us? Who was watching over her? And don’t think I don’t know about your crush on Lazuli. I have one daughter left. You think you can do a better job at protecting her? That kind of thing. She goes to board the ship but Amethar stays behind saying he’ll be with her in a minute, something that made *me* feel like I was about to get chewed out by Amethar’s wife.

Liam remembers that Cal--the traitor--saved Jack and Brie and decides to (as he is wont to do) ask about it in the clumsiest way possible. Jack says that they didn’t meet up with Cal on purpose or anything--they just happened to stumble across him and, now that he thinks about it, it was weirdly easy the way Cal got them through enemy lines and stuff. He seems pretty on the level so Liam does his Ranger thing to check for danger while they’re docked.

Back with Theo and Amethar, Theo says he’s fine so Amethar catches up with Cara and says that she can’t turn on Theo like that. They don’t have a lot of allies left. On a dirty 20 Persuasion check, we are spared the marital spat of a lifetime and instead she just presses herself against him and he brings her into a hug.

Sweet Life on Deck*

*I knew I’d get to use it eventually!

The next day, as they set sail, Cara apologizes to Theo for taking her grief out on him and he’s very gracious about it--also assuring her that he doesn’t hate her for winning Lazuli’s affections as she suggested nor does he have a crush on her--he just strongly believes in her ideals.

Cumulous finds Ruby to have a chat with her about his favorite topic (well second fave after magical items)--death. Ruby says that, with Jet dead, all she cares about is revenge and that she’s dead inside. Cumulous, who clearly doesn’t have Inspiring Speech on his character sheet (or, if he does, learned from Kristen), rambles about death for a bit before saying that though they’ll all die eventually, she doesn’t have to die yet and gives Ruby his necklace from Lazuli. She pockets it and walks away.   

Liam, with his Ranger senses, knows they’re being followed but also knows that they have the jump on them so they shouldn’t have a problem staying ahead. Jack and Amethar have a heart to heart wherein Jack blames himself for spilling the beans about Ghee and Amethar says it’s not his fault. They reaffirm that they’re in it together for the long haul. 

In the night, Liam has an intense dream involving familiar snarling, heat, smoke, chocolate, and cinnamon. Ruby wakes up in the middle of the night with Lazuli’s necklace glowing a little bit. The glow fades and then she notices, like Cumulous did, that her shadow is a little off--but it quickly corrects itself. All messed up, she goes onto the deck and finds that she can suddenly see perfectly in the dark. And, on a Nat 20 Perception check, she sees that the eye of the Lazuli necklace is a little creased, like it has smile lines. It glows brightly and casts her shadow on the wall--except it’s not the shadow she should have. It looks like her except the hair--the hair is in a long braid. Ruby presses her forehead against the forehead of the shadow and finds that it’s warm. And, as she does so, she fully breaks down for the first time since Jet’s death and the shadow does so alongside her. (Mechanically speaking, Ruby took a level of Shadow Sorcerer).

In the morning they dock, having gotten as far up the river as the ship can take them. It’s a long trip to the mountains and Muffinfield--Cal’s territory--is in their path. They have the option to go through the town fully, take the more off the beaten path route, or a little of both but either way it’s gonna take at least a full week (and up to three if they fully avoid the town). They decide to take the hybrid route which takes them into Muffinfield to begin with. It’s a rich province and very Bulbian. Tons of Imperial guards, tons of churches, and, in fact, they see a church putting on one of those puppet show/morality plays. Amethar makes the, mmm, unwise decision to check it out and sees that it’s a play about the Rocks family, depicting him as a horny lout, Cara as an airheaded bimbo, and the twins as feral bastards. Ruby sets the puppets on fire and Amethar hustles her away before she can do something more rash.

After that, they get to the woods--staying for a night with a lady so old and out of touch that she doesn’t even know that Amethar’s dad isn’t king anymore. Theo thanks Liam for saving Jet’s body and they bond over how much rage they have over, like, everything that's happened.

The Gang Gets Scooped

When they get back on the road (with some not so hot stealth checks), they see a little gingerbread guy in a Peter Pan cap who’s trying to pull his friend out from under a rock. Theo, knight to his core, rushes to help but Liam, who’s on the warpath, decides to shoot him. An insane course of action but he’s not wrong because a net captures both Theo and the gingerbread man and this turns out to be an ambush. The “friend” was a doll and the Gingerbread man (Swifty is his name) pulls a lollipop shiv on Theo because of course. When Theo says he’s not pro-Bulb, Swifty calls for Gooey--the chief marauder who is this buff warrior woman with half her face melted (like melted chocolate) like she was badly burned. She and this chocolate viking dude (Jon Bon) discuss whether they should take the group to the queen, which they decide to do, shackling everyone (though Liam and Ruby successfully conceal their thieves' tools in their hands for a later escape). At the mention of the queen, the assembled marauders start chanting “Long live the queen”--harkening back to the mountain gratifi from two episodes ago. They take them to their secret hideout in the mountains while Swifty runs ahead to let them know they’re coming. 

All their captors are Candian but they’re all deformed in some way and/or have old Sucrosi tattoos and Sweetening Path stuff, ears of Ceresians/Vegetanians on necklaces (EARS BRENNAN?), and defiled Bulbian relics. They’re from all over but they seem like they’ve been living this life for years.

The hideout is kinda built into the cliff side and it has this big rock outside like the standing stones the SPF has (menhir is the technical term).  It’s also covered in a layer of snow and very cold. Magical light is glowing as they pass through the entrance. Cumulous can feel very powerful magic at work. There’s a ton of ceremony and fanfare and chanting in advance of the queen’s arrival--these people seem to really love their queen, and so do we because out comes Queen Saccharina Frostwhip aka, Emily’s new character (aka Rina because I’m not typing that every time)! 

She is this extremely cool (in both senses of the word) ice-cream sorcerer with a magic staff (Winterscoop) and two swords and is majorly serving sweet but frosty-cool energy. Liam and Ruby spring everyone from their chains and Rina aggressively sweetly says that she would have freed them soon enough. She calls herself the legal ruler of Candia and when Cara questions that she says that she has another last name: Ghee. Amethar, is like, “Oh shit,” but she says that she’s not here to force a relationship on him, she just thinks they can all be useful to each other, especially since she’s the legal heir as the child of his legal marriage and someone not in open rebellion with the Concord. Theo is like, “That all checks out.” He asks Amethar if this is actually his kid and he sees in Rina Ghee’s eyes and his own swagger. Yeah, that’s his kid. In turn, she recognizes Cumulous as a monk of the Order of the Spinning Star. She, like half the party it feels--is a huge Lazuli stan, can feel her magic on him, and believes in her mission. She says she’s seen Lazuli in her dreams when she was little and Cumulous in her sees someone who can, in a lot of ways, take up Lazuli’s mantle and start rebuilding Candian magic rather than just doing triage like the monks have been. He bows to her. Ruby is not having any of this though and says that Rina isn’t her sister or her queen.

Theo asks Princess if they should trust her--she’s saying all the right things but he’s wary--and gets a bite which tells him nothing.

Ice Feast

Rina, upon being told special guests were coming, had a feast prepared which is described as Robin Hood-y. Amethar is like, “This is cool but the Bulbian church is literally trying to kill us so maybe we focus on that?” Rina says that that works for her. All Amethar has to do is recognize her as his daughter and heir and everything will be square--if the church wants to go after them at that point, they’ll have to break their own rules. Ruby, who’s still being obstinate says that it won’t work because she’s clearly a heretic with an allegiance to the Sweetening Path but Rina says and Jack confirms that as long as you kiss the ring in public, no one really cares what you do on your home turf. 

Ruby accuses her of not knowing what she’s talking about because she’s been hidden away her whole life and Rina shoots back (still smiling) that she’s actually been traveling the world, building her followers from scratch which she had to do because she came from nothing. Amethar (who’s in the, I would have to imagine, pretty novel position of watching his daughters fight) breaks it up. Cara--who fully hates that not only is this happening, it’s also their best shot--takes Ruby with her to have their meal somewhere else and Ruby, who has found someone to hate more than her mom, willingly goes. 

Rina has a sidebar with Amethar where she apologizes for popping up randomly and upsetting his entire family. She always wanted to meet them and she’s sorry that these are the circumstances. Amethar says that it’s not her fault--they’ve just been through a hell of a lot lately and they’re kind of emotionally spent but she’s actually a huge asset to them politically right now and he’s sure that once things are calm, things will be different on the relationship front. 

Ruby can’t believe Cara is taking all of this lying down and Cara (who is full John Mulaney, “This might as well happen,”) says she can’t remember the last time she had a handle on her life which is news to Ruby who thought she *was* the handle. Cara hits her with the unfortunate truth that no one--least of all kings and queens--knows what they’re doing or can really control it. All she can control is what she’s doing next which is having a bath. Ruby decides to, instead, cast Invisibility and look around for anything suspicious. 

After seeing a bunch of stolen loot, weapons, and Candian artifacts it seems like Rina’s trying to preserve, she eventually finds Rina in her quarters. On a 25 Perception to Ruby’s 24 Stealth, Rina clocks her and whispers, “I’m not here to take your family, little sister. I look forward to the day that we are friends.” Ruby, channeling Adaine in a big way, flips invisible double middle fingers. 

Cumulous is in another room, just fanboy happy-crying over all of Rina’s magic stuff in some of the funniest scenes Zac has ever done which is saying a lot. I cannot overstate how funny Zac crying over an imaginary ring pop is.  

Theo also finds Rina and asks about her visions of Lazuli. She says it happened when she was very young and her powers were just manifesting. She was in a place where magic wasn’t supported and the connection was all but beaten out of her. But she can also sense Lazuli’s presence in Theo. Ruby, still invisible, pipes up that she sees Lazuli too so she’s not special and Rina shoots back that she can also see Ruby while invisible, which is pretty special. This dissolves into a little sibling spat which Rina says she enjoys because she’s never had a sister to fight with before. The comment sets off Ruby again who says she already had a sister and she’s dead and she can’t replace her. She runs off.

Theo and Rina speak a little more and she reveals that she doesn’t really care about the throne. She just cares about bringing back magic and destroying the church (which means she’ll fit right in with the rest of the fam--not really wanting the throne and plotting against the church. The family business). 

After the feast, Gooey brings out the war maps (moving the Jawbreaker flag away from Castle Manylicks and deeper into the mountain and putting an ice cream cone flag deep into the mountains) and a bunch of magic tomes which Rina starts reading. Ruby notices that a lot of the tomes are written in Lazuli’s hand, she had a way to tap into the SPF’s runes, and that she wrote some kind of warning about the SPF--Lazuli did not trust or revere the SPF. Liam sees a book with the same ice cream symbol as the flag on the map and it’s a book of lost beast lore--including an ancient spirit described on pages scented like cinnamon and seemingly bound in some way (and also amongst a lot of SPF talk): Dracoria Azucar (or, Sugar Dragon). 

Anyway, Rina says that the SPF has done a lot to suppress Lazuli’s research (she’s not sure if she thinks it’s too dangerous or if she’s hoarding it or what) including taking all of her coolest relics and findings and hiding them in a frozen temple--the Ice Cream Temple. She wants to loot that temple. (Note: She also mentions that Kerradin visited her orphanage when she was little which...Bad). She’s sent raid parties who haven’t come back but they weren’t super powerful--she has a lot of angry, rescued orphans in her service. The gang more or less agrees to her plan--even Ruby reluctantly, but Ruby hears the SPF on the wind, “Things that are wrong may yet be made right. There is more than one true magician in Candia, Princess and I await your coming and will be delighted for your wish to come true.” 

A Change of Plans  

In the morning, they decide Cara will stay with Jack and the marauders while they (and some of Jack’s men) go on their mission. When Jack offhandedly says that Ghee was lovely, Rina says they had very different experiences with her. Ominous!  

Theo asks what’s going on with the Jawbreaker situation and she says that they’re in kind of a pissing contest--he won’t recognize her claim to the throne. Gooey pulls Rina aside and informs her (for the first time it seems) that Jawbreaker has left the Castle because people in the area were being tortured by Ceresian soldiers (wasn’t specified but I’m guessing Imperials) to draw him out and now he’s pinned down in the mountains. Rina (along w/ Gooey and Swifty) consider that if they help Jawbreaker, he’ll be more likely to acknowledge her claim to the throne. But, if they don’t and they let him die, Liam will be heir and he’s already on Team Rina. In the end, she decides to tell the group and they are keen on rescuing Jawbreaker--even though Liam is concerned because he knows his dad will never give up the throne. 

Everyone seems pretty gung ho about this except for Ruby who is like, “Hello we’re super outnumbered.” Cara has a solution to that however. She’s been up all night reading Lazuli’s books and she thinks she can bamf them past enemy lines if they can get to the nearby Spinning Star monastery. She can get them back too but because there’s not a teleportation circle where they’re going, she has to basically do the magical equivalent of holding her breath or remembering a really long series of numbers while they get in and get out. They won’t have much time.

They go to the monastery (where Rina’s anti-monarchical sentiments wins her another new fan in another monk named Snicker-Snack because sure) and Cumulous kills a chicken for that sweet temp HP. Cara says, “Lazuli, please help me get this right,” before performing her magic and sending them all to a dark, locked, musty building. They can hear Ceresian soldiers shouting outside--and that’s where we end our episode! 

Note: You can find the art for the new characters this episode on the D20 tumblr here! Once again, Samir is coming for some of y’all specifically with some of these designs.

Things I’m Concerned About

I’m gonna separate my thoughts on Rina across these two sections because my thoughts are hard in separate directions. I *love* Rina but I have to be honest with myself and say that if she was an NPC, I fully wouldn’t trust her. She comes in at the exact right time saying all the right things and coming with a major plot solution. She says she doesn’t care about the throne and she only wants to destroy the church (something that would make sense considering the backstory hints the dropped) and we haven’t had PvP before but like...if there was a season to do it...listen, I want her to just be this cool orphan who sincerely wants justice and a relationship with her dad and sister if that’s on the table but I’m just keeping my eye on her. (Also, when Gooey pulled her aside to have that troop movement convo I feared it was going to go in a much more suspicious direction.)

There’s a part that I kinda glossed over where Brennan says Manta Ray Jack looked at Rina “bashfully” and Rina took it as, “He’s gonna ask me out,” and rebuffed his advances. I feel like that’s not what that was about. That doesn’t mean it’s anything actively bad--maybe him remembering her mom?--but idk, I don’t like feeling like I’m missing something.

Oh, and speaking of her mom? Rina saying he had a different experience of her mom than she did combined with Rina saying her connection to Lazuli was “all but beaten out of her” plus the out of game knowledge that something related to child neglect happens in a few eps that’s so bad that Brennan hurt himself...It paints a Bad picture.

Once again, I am Concerned about everything going on with the SPF. What did she mean there’s more than one magician? Was she referring to Ruby? Does she want Ruby to PvP Rina? She better not. 

Little concerned about Annabelle’s side mission to find Ghee. I was before but now I am even more. 

Five A Few More Things

I want to believe that Jet is both partially inhabiting Princess and doing the Shadow Sorc thing with Ruby. The Pontifex works hard but Jet Rocks works harder. 

OK, let’s talk about what I call The Inherent Tragedy of Saccharina Frostwhip (*such* a good name, btw). If Ruby and Jet had met Rina *together* (either during peace times or having rolled a high enough Insight check to clock her as an ally during the present events) they would have loved her completely immediately. She’s got Cool Big Sister written all over her: cool design, martial prowess and magic, anti-monarchy and anti-Bulbian Church BUT willing to take the throne in their stead. They would have LOVED her. BUT, Rina wasn’t an NPC. She was Emily’s backup character. Which means that, because of the way our world bisects the world of Candia, there is never a world where Jet is alive while Rina comes into play. That’s tragic, man. That’s the worst. And when I say that’s the worst, I mean the best. This makes for such delicious story. You guys know I’m a full sucker for sister stuff. Which we were already getting but this is *complicated* sister stuff which we all know is better. Like, if this is where we’re starting emotionally, do you know good it’s gonna hit if Ruby eventually comes around on her? Siobhan and Emily are catering to me specifically this season.

Also, that reveal? Within like five minutes, my theory that “the Queen” in question was Amethar’s first kid was confirmed, my circa episode 3 prediction that a twin would die and come back as Amethar’s first kid was confirmed, AND my prediction from last episode that the SPF was telling a technical truth about Ruby finding her sister was confirmed. (Literal) sweet vindication! Can I do lotto numbers? No. But plot points for a Candy/GoT mashup? I’m your gal. 

Lol at someone mentioning Ghee as Amethar’s wife with Cara standing right there and Amethar fully WWE bodyslaming that dude with tag-teams for the entire family.

People are saying it seems like Rina is a Storm Sorcerer which would be cool seeing as Amethar is a Storm Herald Barbarian. Family parallels even without really knowing each other.  

Cara--who better survive this or I will Riot--needs like a 6 month spa trip after this is over. What she is dealing with right now is untenable and she is handling it much better than I would be honestly. (But also her, “lol, my life is in shambles,” to Liam’s inappropriate question that didn’t even really register to her at that point was another comedy highlight of the ep. Icon, even in mourning.) 

Lazuli might as well be a PC for how important she is to this campaign. 

Ooooh, Sugar Dragon for Liam? Brennan has outdone himself. (Unless Liam is gonna have to fight the Sugar Dragon which I am also super down for. As I was just discussing, there are never enough dragons in D&D for a game that’s half named after them).

Shout out to this post for making me short circuit for a full second. Ow. 

It’s a little funny that Brennan laid the groundwork for Emily’s background character in the middle of the episode he knew was gonna end with him trying to kill them. Like, OK, your future is secure, now time to destroy your present!

[softboyscully]

Well, That Was Close

Dean groaned, the pain in his back heightened by the rust on the nail.

“God, fuck, this--shit. Shit. Sam--”

The taller man looked at Dean with panicked eyes. “Dean? Dean, what’s wrong? Dean--” he rushed to his brother’s side, his hands hovering uncertainly over Dean’s body. “Dean? Dean--”

“Dean?” a gravely voice said.

Everything went silent.

“C...Cas?”

“Hello, Dean. I... I heard your longing. I suppose the Empty was too tired of me to make another deal. Revenge is not exactly the most prominent thing on it’s mind, currently,” Cas explained shyly, stepping into his line of sight. Castiel was staring at the ground, playing with his hands while he awaited Dean’s response.

Dean couldn’t say a word, his breath stolen by his angel in all his human glory.

“I completely understand if you’d wish not to see me again, but I’d like to heal you, one last t--”

“You fucking dumbass. Of course I want to see you again. Get over here so I can hug you, idiot.”

Cas’ head snapped up, a grin displayed on his face. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean mused it was probably the most he’d ever seen Cas smile. 

Sam helped Dean off of the wall and over to his--what, partner? Boyfriend? Shit, he didn’t know--squeezing him tighter with every wince of pain and exclamation of hurt.

Cas held him gently, raising a hand to his open wound, grace running out of Cas and into Dean.

The blonde-ish man relaxed, taking a deep breath and looking Cas over. “You’re... really back, huh?”

Cas smiled. “I suppose.”

“God, Cas, that’s... God.”

“Jack, actually.”

“Right, yeah, I... fuck. Goddamn it.”

Cas’ eyebrows creased, taking a step away from Dean in order to look him in the eyes. “Dean? Are you alright?” He inquired, his hands on both of Dean’s shoulders.

“Fine. Fine. Angel, we almost lost you. We almost... Fuck. God, Jack, whatever, I was... I was trying, trying to be the guy you thought I was. You think. You think I am. I didn’t drink as much as normal, I tried to be happy, I tried to live, I tried... for you. And I--I did it, man. Sunshine. I did it, sunshine. But... fuck, it hurt so much. I almost... I almost...” He sobbed, tucking his head into Cas’ shoulder. “I almost couldn’t... fuck, sweetheart. I couldn’t.”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas sighed, relaxing into the embrace. “Beloved, I would never leave you like that. How could I?”

Dean’s body racked with sobs, holding Castiel tightly against himself. Sure, he had his angel back, but... it felt like years, he’d lived without him, respecting Cas’ sacrifice enough to not try and bring him back.

Respecting, he spat at himself. What kind of fucked-up bullshit is respecting. God, no wonder Cas hates--

He stopped himself.

No, Cas didn’t hate him.

Cas loved him.

Holy fucking shit.

His repressed ass had held off processing that fucking detail for a later date, he guessed. Holy fucking shit. Cas loved him!

Dean pushed his lover back, gazing at him with undisguised joy.

“Dean?” Cas said, wrapping his arms around himself protectively.

Apparently, his angel was just as dumb as he was.

Dean surged forward, framing Cas’ face with his hands, their lips coming together with an almost electrical force.

It was everything he’d ever wanted, Dean realized; even when he hadn’t known it, twelve years ago, when he hadn’t understood the depth of his feelings for this wonderful man, this “wavelength of celestial energy” that turned out to be more human than any human Dean had ever known. It was both soaring and the exciting falling sensation you get in your stomach when you’re going down a rollercoaster. It was a storm of energy and the calm he’d always needed, sparks flying and a warm candle shining light over a homemade pie. It was love and passion, years of wanting and praying cumulated into one tiny touch of lips.

But it wasn’t just that, was it? It was everything at once; I love you, I need you, it’s always been you, and I love you too. 

Maybe I love you too was the most important thing.

When they finally pulled away, they were alone and breathing hard.

“Dean?” Cas said weakly, trying to catch his breath.

Dean grinned at him, knowing they’d have the time for big speech later. “We met in a barn, y’know. It was kinda like this one, but... more empty.” He winced. “Maybe not how I wanted to say that.”

Castiel was still staring at him, two fingers reaching up to touch his lips. “Dean?”

“What? Did I do something wrong? God, Cas, I thought--God, please don’t tell me I got it wrong--”

“No,” Cas breathed out, a slow smile spreading across his face. “No, no you did nothing wrong. I just... I wasn’t aware you... felt the same.”

“God, you sound like a middle schooler,” Dean chuckled lightly. “Was that... good?”

“The kiss?”

“Way to make it sound weird,” Dean laughed, trying to hide how self-conscious he was.

He should’ve known better.

“The kiss?” Castiel said, raising an eyebrow and taking a slow step towards Dean. “You wouldn’t happen to mean the thing I’ve been waiting for for the past twelve years? The kiss I’ve thought about for weeks on end, wondering exactly what it would feel like? The kiss that was the best thing to happen to me in my billions of years of being a thing? That kiss?”

He embraced Dean again. It was a warm feeling, like being wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets with hot chocolate and a few holiday movies.

“Yes, I guess that kiss was alright.”

Dean swatted his ass, secretly grinning into Cas’ shoulder.

“Oh, well that’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. For me, it was perfect.”

~

heres my coda <3

[pass-the-bechdel]

The Good Place full series review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

96% (forty-eight of fifty).

What is the average percentage of female characters with names and lines for the full series?

49%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Forty-four.

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 50% female?

Twenty-eight.

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Zero.

Positive Content Status:

Good - you might even say, strong - in the sense that it’s all there, pretty much all of the big representation bells are ringing, particularly the ones for women and racial diversity. That said, the show is generally content to sit pretty and not push the envelope on inclusivity, so if you’re looking for inspiration in-text instead of just in casting, you might be disappointed. At any rate, it’s a solid feel-good time, and not likely to make you mad (average rating of 3.01).

Which season had the best representation statistics overall?

The numbers stay pretty consistent across the whole series, but if I had to call a winner, it’s season four, which has the highest percentage of female characters and the only above-average positive content rating (though that was awarded somewhat cumulatively, and so doesn’t feel particularly well-earned by that season above the others). 

Which season had the worst representation statistics overall?

It’s such a close call, but season three must be the loser here by virtue of the lowest ratio of female to male characters; it also had one of the series’ two Bechdel fails. Like I said, it’s...a really close call.

Overall Series Quality:

There’s so much about it that is fresh and original and interesting, I wish I could love it more. After a magnificent debut season, the show suffers immensely for a lack of pacing and the absence of coherently-planned plot, and at times the stagnating characterisation and pointless filler caked into the cracks in the storytelling can be frustrating and/or tedious. I’m only as disappointed as I am because the potential for greatness was so strong. That said, even at it’s worst The Good Place is still entertaining, and most of it is better than that. It’s irreverent, it’s fun, it’s surprising, and sometimes it’s even as poignant as it is remarkable. I have my gripes, in droves, but that doesn’t mean this show is not worthy.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

Imagine. Imagine a version of this show where the first season is basically the same, and the second season is...somewhat similar to how it is, but with more focus and direction, less time-wasting; a second season where figuring out that some fundamental change to their circumstances is necessary comes early, and instead of faffing about with ethical lessons in the fake neighbourhood again while Michael pretends he can get everyone to the Good Place, we get down to business with going on the run and into the Bad Place to find the judge and petition for help. Imagine this show, but the third season has none of that return to Earth crap, and instead, is the neighbourhood experiment from season four, properly fleshed out. And then season four is all about going to the Good Place and solving the problems there, addressing issues with the concept of utopia and the ineffectual bureaucracy of obsessive niceness (used for comedic effect in the actual show, but c’mon, there’s a whole untapped reservoir about morality there). Each season could have (gasp!) a properly-planned and plotted arc, dealing with a different school of ethical considerations, and I dunno, maybe the characterisation could have trajectory too, and the characters could vitally shape the storytelling, and maybe not get their personalities and experiences erased and rebooted over and over again, nullifying large swathes of the narrative which came before? Ideally, they could be reset zero (0) times, or at least have all their reboot experiences dumped back into them in the first few episodes of season two, so that they could proceed from there as whole people. Rebooting everyone’s personalities is not actually necessary to the plot in any way, and is, actually, incredibly detrimental to storytelling and especially, character development. Imagine this show, but just chilling out and actually telling a coherent story? 

I am all the more annoyed by how things turned out on this show because I know that the four seasons were planned for, rather than being the result of cancellation; the idea that the creators sat down and ‘plotted’ (using that term loosely) to make this mess drives me a little wild. The (attempted) avoidance of the dreaded ‘stagnation’ seems obvious, and it leads to major narrative shortcuts and jumps and instances where the show spends an episode or two on what should have been a half-season’s development, minimum, and yet at other times all momentum grinds to a halt for a bizarre bottle-type episode where the characters just talk about a concept for a while or work on some unimportant romantic subplot. The various ethical concepts that the show heavily incorporated as its bread and butter in the first season start to stick out like sore thumbs in season two, seemingly wedged into one episode or another for no real reason other than just to be there, and the fact that the show lets go of the idea of moral choices in the life mattering at all in the end leaves the backbone of the show in a very strange shape. I said in the season four review that I didn’t expect the show to come up with some One True Answer about how people should live their lives, but that I was baffled by the fact that the show side-stepped that altogether; what I expected them to conclude was something in the line of ‘we recognise that life is complicated, not all situations are created equal, and it can be hard to know how to proceed ethically or even to access ethical options within one’s circumstances. Still, it is important to do your best, not only for yourself but for your community, because the more good you put into the world, the more there will be to go around and come back to you. What matters most is that you are doing your best with what you’ve got’. The fact that the show distracted itself with fixing how the afterlife rewards people within the afterlife means that it suggests no incentive to perform moral actions in life, and frankly...who gives a fuck? The real world is the place we’re all living in, and there’s no point starting a conversation about morality in real life if the conclusion is just ‘guess we’ll straighten out all the fascists and bigots and the other pieces of shit after they die, so don’t worry, everyone gets to Heaven eventually!’

Anyway, if that seems like just a reiteration of what I said in the season four review, well. I’m still baffled by it. The other thing I was going to talk about in the season four review but held for the full series instead was that one big thing that I have railed about all the time since season one, and that’s PACING. For all ye wannabe-writers out there, please understand how important pacing is. Even vital plot or character beats can seem like meaningless filler in a poorly-paced story, because your audience’s mind is hardwired to try and follow narrative cues that are being incomprehensibly muddled. Standard structure can be played with, but if you toss it out in favour of ‘stuff just happens, ok? Except when it doesn’t’, you just end up with a soup of disconnected story ideas, and nothing threading it together. Character interactions and especially developments can help to create the through-line you need to keep the story functioning despite itself, but as variously noted with The Good Place...initial characterisation? Strong, excellent. Development? Not so much, not least because they kept getting deleted and rebooted. Also, time skips kept happening, and that’s a great way to fuck over your narrative coherence even more: remove the recognisable constant we call time! It’ll be fine! As with all things, it is perfectly possible to play around with this stuff, but you have to know what you’re doing and be doing it for a good reason, and that’s not what they had going on here. This was narrative soup, and when you have a soup, the pieces all kinda meld together and lose any individual purpose, meaning, or power they may have had. The result in this case was not bad, but it really could have been so much better, and literally all it needed for that was some attention being paid to the story structure via pacing.

So. The good news is, I think I have pretty well exhausted all of my complaints by now, and that leaves us with the good stuff, of which there was no paltry amount. The show was not a hit by accident (even if I do feel that it’s success had a lot to do with people sticking around after the spectacular first season, and not because it stayed strong throughout), and even if there was a lot of soup going on, what comprised that soup was all really fun and unique, and this made for a wonderful piece of light-hearted television that could be as hilarious as it was insightful. It still had a lot of great takes on things, the commentary was strong (even if it pulled all its punches towards the end), and whether the storytelling was ebbing or flowing, it was always delightful. The show also managed to pull a miraculous finale out of its hat, and that’s a rare thing in television; however the story wobbled over the course, the ending provided enough satisfaction to forgive just about any sins, especially if you don’t happen to have been watching with a deliberately critical eye. Do I wish that Eleanor got to hook up with a chick on-screen some time instead of just making a lot of bi remarks? Yes. Do I consider the show to have queerbaited instead of providing genuine rep? No. Is the underselling of the queer content my most significant representation complaint? Yes, it is, and that's good news considering the world we live in and the dearth of quality representation that the industry has brought us to expect. 

There's an important distinction to be made there, regarding the tokenistic representation that is very common these days in tv trying for brownie points and good publicity, exactly that kind of 'political' inclusivity that conservatives are always bitching about. It should not be surprising that I support that tokenism over the alternative of having no representation at all, but it can still be quite disheartening to feel like your identity or the identities that you value are being referenced as nothing more than an opportunity for some shitty producer to perform wokeness for attention, praise, and the almighty dollar. I bring this up because - even though The Good Place never really worked up much of a boost to its content rating - one thing I felt that it did really, really right was providing representation without it feeling tokenistic at all. Eleanor's bisexuality wasn't as prominent as I might have preferred, and as noted through the course of the show, there were times I feared it was more bait than real rep, but reflecting on it at the end, the way it was included feels organic, it never gets in the way in order to ensure the audience notices and is dutifully impressed. The number of women around and the multicoloured casting plays out even better; I never once felt cynical about the gender balance I was seeing, and I've said it before but I'll say it again: the fact that the show was packed with names from across the world gives me so much life. I'm still a little salty about Chidi's Senegalese origins getting the shaft (and we won't talk about 'Australia'), but the nonchalant diversity of naming goes such a long way to embracing the idea that this is a world for everyone (and an afterlife for everyone, too). And where anything else might fall apart or lose its way, that is an affirming thing. If you want feel-good tv, it’s here. This is the Good Place.

[merinnan]

DMBJ Explore with the Note Ep 5

Okay, now that my workshop is finished, time for DMBJ Explore with the Note ep 5! Otherwise I will spend the entire afternoon just fucking around in WoW instead (one day I will show you screenshots of my Iron Triangle-as-WoW-toons).

We start ep 5 with the usual counts 

Season 2 Xiaoge Rescue Count: 2 for Wu Xie, 2 for protagonists, 3 for everyone 

Season 2 Wu Xie Swoon Count: 0 

Season 2 Evil Hair Count: 3

Cumulative Xiaoge Rescue Count: 12 for Wu Xie, 17 for protagonists, 18 for everyone 

Cumulative Wu Xie Swoon Count: 6

- It's been a few eps since we had updates to the rescue or swoon counts, so here's hoping for Ep 5 

- Ah, yes, the baby archaeologists just discovered the heavenly palace 

- At least this girl is marginally less annoying than she was in the novel 

- ...okay, I take it back

- Sweetie, it's a fucking tomb, why are you upset that there's a corpse in there? 

- Those are some impressive fingernails 

- lol, and they were all so distracted by the girl that no-one noticed 'Xiao Zhang' going all Zhang Qiling to get up there to check out what freaked her out

- I am disappoint that they didn't keep the present time crew in form-fitting wetsuits for the whole underwater tomb investigation like they did with the flashback crew 

- OMG the look on Wenjin's face, I love it 

- I think she's starting to realise that he knows what he's doing

-Very good questions, Wenjin 

- Oh, so that wasn't just better set lighting, the tomb was actually fully lit somehow? The better question in this case is not 'why is it suddenly so dark' but 'how the fuck was this underwater tomb so well lit?'

- THEN you can follow it up with 'why has the mysterious lighting suddenly gone out?' 

- WHY would you bring such a group of easily scared kids on an archaeological expedition to EXPLORE THROUGH TOMBS? 

- That seems like a bad idea even if you didn't think anything weird would go on

- ISTG, Sanxing, Wenjin, and Xiaoge are the only level-headed ones of the bunch 

- A mural. They were in hysterics over a mural. 

- I mean, yeah, there's a lot of high mountains, so not surprising you can't tell which one it is

- I was gonna say she's super judgey for an archaeologist but...nah, yeah, that tracks for academia, speaking from experience XD

 - This episode has been taunting me with potential rescues that never quite get there, so it better actually pay off with one of them this episode

- Oooh, bitty shadow 

- Wonder if it's the baby corpse from the jar earlier 

- ...oh, right, Sanshu's still running around in some weird trance

- Awww, the lights go out in the heavenly palace room, and the entire set lighting goes from lovely and well-lit so you can actually see what's on screen, to super dark and shadowy, even outside that room

- Sorry, sanmei, I know I said I’d stop talking about lighting, but...I live in eternal hope of good lighting. The flashbacks here were actually GOOD up until now. So I am sad they've gone back to bad lighting. 

- I'm embarrassed to say that it's taken me the entirety of Guardian, Granting You A Dreamlike Life, DMBJ 1, and now partway through ep 2 of DMBJ 2 before I've realised that I can pause Viki playbacks by hitting my space bar.

- OMFG, how many rooms are there in this tomb with a set of porcelain vases arranged in a particular order?

- Smart, Wenjin, conserving flashlight batteries like that. 

- I know that this Wenjin must be older than the Wenjin in the Chongqi flashbacks, but why couldn't we have had this Wenjin in those flashbacks as well?

- Chongqi Wenjin is ok, but this one's more level-headed and competent. And much better at de-escalating semi-hysterical girls. 

- Then again, I suppose if Chongqi Wenjin had this Wenjin's skills, they wouldn't have been able to have had that dumb ~DRAAMAA~ with the love triangle

- Tunnel floor is suddenly wet again instead of dry. Wish they'd make up their mind 

 - Evil Hair Count: 4 

- This time creeping on random guy at the back of the party 

- Who is mildly disturbed that he's suddenly got water down the back of his neck. Don't blame him

- Judging by the way Xiaoge just clapped a hand over his mouth and nose, I'm guessing that they all just got gassed. 

- And it must be a REALLY FAST acting gas if they all collapsed like 5 seconds after Xiaoge covered his nose and mouth, and he seems to be fine

- Oh, no, spoke to soon, down he goes 

- Okay, Sanshu. A) That's creepy, and b) why aren't you also affected? 

- ...something that takes down Xiaoge for long enough that he wakes up in a hospital bed concerns me 

- I do not blame him one bit for looking so perturbed

- OMG, that GRRM roast, that's fantastic 

- I hope Xiaoge is just leaving out all of the unnecessary family stuff that he doesn't think Wu Xie and Pangzi need to do, otherwise he just implied that the Zhangs have just, like, misplaced him for 20 or so years and not looked for him?

- Wu Xie is always so desperate to believe the best of Sanshu, it's really cute 

- Ah, I see we're back to the requisite pingxie staring for the episode. Excellent

- Here's the clearest sign yet that S2 does not follow on from S1 at all, as it completely ignores changes that S1 made to the plot and instead is referencing novel events that did not happen in the drama. 

- I would have been SO FUCKING CONFUSED if I hadn't read the first novel

- lol, Xiaoge. Giving a tiny almost-smile and clapping someone on the shoulder after dropping a bombshell like that on them is NOT how you're supposed to talk to your crush

- And it looks like we're now back to Wu Xie's nightmares from the first ep 

- ...is that last one supposed to be Xiaoge? It's hard to tell with the angle and (yes, sorry, sanmei) the lighting 

- Way to ruin the moment, Pangzi 

- ...omg Pangzi 

- I'm kinda cringing now

-  Hahah, the look on Wu Xie's face. Like, same 

- Those are good points, Pangzi, but wouldn't you still have the problem of being underwater without oxygen tanks? That tomb is pretty far down and mostly buried in the sea bed, after all 

- ...Wu Xie that maths made no sense at all

- Rude. Pangzi has said useful things before now! 

- LOL at all the "don't touch anything" "i mean it" "also" "DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING" 

- Because we all know that Pangzi is gonna touch stuff and try to steal at least one thing 

- Oh, there you are, A-Ning 

- How did you get in there?

- This is an unnecessarily long sequence of Xiaoge running his fingers over the door and Pangzi messing with his hair, set to super annoying BGM. Was it really necessary to have a full 1 minute 40 seconds of that? 

- That should have been done in, like, 30 seconds tops.

- I do like how excited this Wu Xie is to see the cool architectural stuff like the moving doors in here 

- After that first hallway, they all seem so unconcerned about traps 

- Tombs are usually, quiet, Wu Xie. Hence the saying 'quiet as the tomb'

- Xiaoge's tiny smiles at Wu Xie and Pangzi's banter are just adorable

- OMG THEIR FACES

- But guys, you really should have looked for traps first 

- Before the walls started trying to squish you like pancakes 

- "Start climbing", says Xiaoge, as he just fucking leaps up the sides of the walls

- Good thing these walls are conveniently not smooth and straight, with regular hand and footholds 

- Xiaoge Rescue Count: 3 for protagonists

- Not quite the dramatic rescue I was hoping for, but I'll take it since it's been so long 

- The closed walls has now made them a cute little tunnel to crawl through

- Oh, wait, annoying girl was from one of the Nine Gate families? 

- Which one? I'll have to look her up later, I've completely forgotten her name.

- Xie Lianhuan is talking Sanshu into taking him along on the original expedition. Honestly, dude, you dying is all your fault, you weren't even supposed to be there

- Oh, Qiu Dekao was involved in the 20 year ago bullshit as well. Why am I not surprised? 

- And with the tomb from S1, too, also 20 years ago

- Wait, if Wenjin was the leader the whole time, how come she kept deferring to Sanshu? 

- Dramatic bgm! Dramatic reused footage! 

- Oh yeah, the looks on their faces, I know exactly who just popped into mind for Pangzi and Wu Xie at that 

- Because who else could have done it?

- ...okay, except Sanshu, point 

- Oh noooooo, more fucking underwater diving scenes 

- This show is instilling in me a visceral loathing of underwater diving scenes. They're awful

- Like, seriously, after 5 eps they've already shown enough underwater goddamn diving scenes to fill up a full half of an episode 

- An entire quarter of one episode was made up of them 

- Oh my GOD that bgm. That was...something

- Okay, Xie Lianhuan was supposed to have dug this passage? Seriously? 

- He was only missing for a day before they found his body, how the fuck was he supposed to dig a loooooong passage, high enough for a fully grown adult to walk crouched, in less than a day?

- Ah, and that's ep 5. 

 Count updates: 

 Season 2 Xiaoge Rescue Count: 2 for Wu Xie, 3 for protagonists, 4 for everyone 

Season 2 Wu Xie Swoon Count: 0 

Season 2 Evil Hair Count: 4

Cumulative Xiaoge Rescue Count: 12 for Wu Xie, 18 for protagonists, 19 for everyone 

Cumulative Wu Xie Swoon Count: 6 

Season 2 is decidedly lacking in swoons so far. It better up its game.

[botanyshitposts]

I wanna get into botany but textbooks and shit are hard to reead fuck I just see walls of words how do I read that shit

ok this actually isn’t the first ask ive gotten about this recently!! textbooks are a severely underrated class of book, but also take a lot of practice and finesse to read at first. 

something that i’ve discovered about textbooks- and this is one of those things that i wish someone had told me and i ended up finding out on my own- is that there are two types of textbooks: 1. the books that you have to buy for class to teach you the basics, or 2. compilations of current stuff on a specific topic

a thing ive noticed about being an undergrad/learning the basics is that ur essentially catching up with the rest of the world, and that’s how all the textbooks u gotta spend like $314231 on at the beginning of the year on are written. so the type one books are structured on teaching you things, which means that each chapter is structured in a cumulative lesson that you have to read all the way through, sometimes slugging through pages upon pages of just…..shit, because you need to know whats on page 9 to be able to understand whats on page 32. these books suck ass. theyre essential and very painful but once you get through them you can get to the cool type of textbook, type 2. 

type 2 textbooks are a weird thing academia does where they get a shitton of scientists together and have everybody write down the new shit they learned, and then they put it in a big overview book. these are kinda few and far between, but are super cool because due to it being just a giant compilation of individual results put together into one giant stack, if you arent interested in what ur reading you can literally just skip it and go to the next cool passage. nobody gives a shit and nothings building on anything else so if you dont understand one, you might understand another better, and u can skip around in the chapters as you please, which makes it SO much easier to read. the best example of this i own is Carnivorous Plants: Physiology, Ecology, and Evolution, which is the newest non-school textbook i own (published last february) and by far one of my faves even though i just got it (side note- some people have told me that they think its super interesting but are hesitant at the price tag and i would like to clarify that i saw this, it cost me Quite A Few Hours At Work, and because im going into the field, dont own any plants at all right now aside from one (1) fern, and had my birthday very recently i am giving myself CONSIDERABLE leeway on my book budget lmao). 

on a similar note: books like this are more expensive because the newer a text is, the more expensive it is because of the demand for new shit. a book 5 years out of date will cost about $20, and a book 10 years out of date will cost $8, and antique books usually cost around $2 lmao. on the flip side, the type 1 botany textbook required for my formal class this semester was bought used for me by my mom for by birthday a few years ago in high school, and cost about $90; books being used by any university for a class immediately jump in price, and books with new editions just released will cost SIGNIFICANTLY less than their counterparts. your best bet in some of these cases is a university library, but i digress lol 

as for botany textbooks for class and how to read them- again, start at the beginning of the chapter and slug through, because you gotta build up a knowledge base. if you’re taking a formal class, then lecture will most likely cover what chapters are assigned, so usually with my undergrad ones i listen intently and take notes in class, then supplement with my textbook by reading the parts that i’m confused on. when i need to read a type 1 textbook, i implement the method i used in high school to pass my AP courses: right when class gets out and i’m still in the ‘We Are Focusing Right Now Yes’ mindset, i sit myself down and dont get up until the chapter is read. this is sometimes more effective than other times. In terms of understanding the material, i find it helps if you look for how the concept you’re learning about is applied irl in studies and stuff, because if gives u a handle on it and brings to light what you do and don’t understand. on a more basic study habit level, if you’re like me and have ADHD but aren’t medicated, if i know i have to Focus ™ i take a caffeine pill or drink coffee in the morning and then try not to eat a ton of sugar until after i’m done studying, because it makes me feel frazzled. really, a lot of ‘learning the basics’ textbook reading is sitting down and slogging through it. 

in type 2 books, i usually flag the pages that i find interesting with little sticky note flags, because it gives my brain a background task of ‘hhhhh find place to put colorful item yes’. 

if you’re experiencing executive dysfunction with the intimidation of reading Big Important Thing: this sounds stupid, but think of it as a long online article. like when you open ur book for ur chapter be like ‘yeah just gonna read this wikipedia page now’. like i’ve learned that when applying an online layout, my brain is like ‘ah yes short and good and will remain focused now’, but when working in a book format- even in an online textbook- my brain immediately goes offline because ‘No!!! Big Stressful Chunk Of Text Gives Me Anxiety. Do Not Like’. i do this while encouraging myself to read regular books, too (*opens horror novel* ‘wow this is a pretty long creepypasta huh’).