#resplendent-ragamuffin

[koshercosplay]

I would like to offer a Purim costume to the kosher cosplay community:

Ace Attorney Phoenix Wright

Because what is v'nahafochu (the bad degree being reversed) but a Turnabout?

I don't go here and have to google something

...okay yeah this is funny

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #asks #purim #costume #kosher cosplay #resplendent-ragamuffin

[evilwickedme]

Re the Israel situation: how are you doing, mentally and physically? Are you (relatively) safe?

So like here's thing.

Physically I am safe. I have yet to end up in a place without a safe room during an alarm - I also managed to be in a place that wasn't under attack during the first 24h bc I was at my parents' place; my actual apt and workplace were, however, major targets, and I've already experienced one alarm and several large booms today.

Luckily as of right now all my friends and family are alive. My brother hasn't been called into reserves yet, but I do know several people who have been, or who are in active duty and are suddenly being called into combat. Frankly, I'm terrified for all of us. I'm fully aware that there is every chance I'm going to end this thing going to funerals, multiples.

I am in the unfortunate position of literally being unable to avoid the news, as I work in a news org subtitling the live segments, which right now is... all the segments. I've already cried today at work as a young girl described her grandmother being murdered and the terrorist who killed her filming her dead body, using her own phone, and putting it on her private Facebook.

It doesn't feel real. I pulled a shift yesterday that was nearly 12 hours long, and then I got up to a siren, and then I had to head to work. I see the numbers rise - 700 Israelis dead, 400 in gaza; 2500 injured Israelis, 2300 gazans. I was closely following the story of the peace music festival down south that was purposefully targeted and the way those people were systematically slaughtered, and then I went online and saw people celebrating over 260 bodies of innocents. Some of them were tourists, bedouins, Arab citizens of Israel. Plenty are themselves activists who've been protesting for 10 months against the current government. But it's dead Jews, so I suppose that's okay.

Those 260 bodies are a so far kinda deal, by the way. They stopped counting.

It's so frustrating to see the kind of rhetoric spread online, the misinfo, the one sided claims. The frankly complete misunderstanding of what is happening here even among leftist Jews, let alone the insane amount of antisemitism and islamophobia and racism in the discourse in general.

Mentally? Mentally I am not okay. I'm losing friendships. I'm blocking dozens of people a day. I am very quickly finding out that there is nowhere safe for me to be, except right here where I am. The people around me who share my plight and are trying to survive and help others as much as they can. Mentally I've been in a hard place for a very long time, but I thought I was getting better, and I don't know what's going to happen now.

I'm alive, tho. And I'm safe.

Here's a meme my dad laughed at.

#gail speaks #ask #resplendent-ragamuffin #still about 12 hours for y'all to ask me political questions before the moratorium comes back into place

[icyxmischief]

I can't remember if I've recommended it to you before, but have you listened to Sassafrass's album Sundown: Whispers of Ragnarok? Because if you haven't you really should. It's on youtube, I think.

I haven't but I definitely will over winter break. Is it a podcast, music...?

#resplendent-ragamuffin #ooc #for later

[nach-yomish]

Welcome to Nach Yomi!

This is a blog devoted to the project of studying and discussing the later books of the Tanakh: the Prophets (Nevi'im) and the Writings (Ketuvim). We will be reading one chapter (perek) a day, except for on Yom Tov and Shabbat.

Anyone is allowed to participate by reading the text from Sefaria or their copy of the Tanakh and listening to the lecture (shiur) linked in each post.

I am Jewish and will be leading this discussion using Jewish methods of text study, but non-Jews are welcome here.

This is a sideblog of @unbidden-yidden, and so post replies will come from there.

Please add your thoughts in reblogs to help keep the discussion in one place.

I'd love to participate but am feeling in over my head due to all the Hebrew and background Jewish context. What should I do?

Totally understandable! I would suggest doing some background reading to get up to speed. I am also happy to answer questions to the best of my ability if you're still feeling lost after reviewing these resources.

Resources for Jewish Background Context and Judaism:

What is the Tanakh?

Why not just study Torah/the full Tanakh?

Jews study a portion of the Torah each week and traditionally chant it aloud at Shabbat morning services. This is called the weekly Torah portion or Parsha.

Therefore, most religiously involved Jews are already familiar with the Torah, but often less familiar with the later books of the Tanakh.

Some portions of the Nach also get read weekly as part of the Torah reading. This is called the Haftarah. However, these are just excerpts and do not cover the full Tanakh.

That sounds interesting! Where can I find a schedule for the parsha and haftarah? Hebcal, Chabad, Sefaria and other major Jewish websites list them up to date and for the future.

Isn't the Tanakh the same as the Christian Old Testament? Not exactly. There are many similarities and overlap, but the translations are different (different histories and theological motivations) and the books are ordered differently in the Old Testament in order to better set up the Jesus narrative.

This involves a lot of history that I wasn't taught. Not to worry! There's an app for that.

I'm struggling to follow the Hebrish (English with lots of Hebrew words and phrases) used by the podcast instructors. Here is a resource for looking up some of these. If you're still lost, please feel free to ask, although there's a chance I don't know either. Edit: @resplendent-ragamuffin has graciously been detailing them on each post and honestly, I've learned a lot from reading them, too!

Okay that's great, but why do some of these words seem to exchange the "T" sound for an "S" sound? That's a quirk of Ashkenazi Hebrew pronunciation; one explanation here.

I have some other question about Judaism that you didn't address here. Understandable! There's a lot to learn if you are from (for example) a Christian background and don't know much about Judaism, Jewish history, or Jewish culture. Jew FAQ is an excellent website for newcomers, as well as Essential Judaism by George Robinson (my favorite introductory book to recommend to people.)

[unbidden-yidden]

During a conversation with my partner, we ended up discussing the meaning of the word "redemption," and how it gets used it Xtianity vs. how it gets used in Judaism vs. how it is used in a secular literary sense. In Xtianity, redemption is very specifically about Jesus as The Redeemer for humanity. In Judaism it is less specific but typically refers to either mitzvot around e.g., acting as a redeemer for a family member who has been murdered or sold into slavery, or about G-d redeeming the Jewish people from slavery in Mitzrayim. In either case, though, the basic concept is of being rescued or saved by someone else.

However, the usage my partner was familiar with is the secular one, in which a character typically saves themselves (redemption arc) or how people colloquially say that they need to "redeem themselves" after e.g., losing a game.

What I find interesting is that I would expect the secular, colloquial or linguistic version to reflect a Xtian understanding of the word. However, I don't think it really does, and now I'm curious about the etymology of how this secular meaning came about. Does anyone happen to know? @resplendent-ragamuffin ?

[knight-of-skyloft]

I posted 3,113 times in 2022

That's 1,165 more posts than 2021!

95 posts created (3%)

3,018 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@chaoticrushu

@resplendent-ragamuffin

@tuulikki

@aridotdash

@stardustravens

I tagged 2,363 of my posts in 2022

Only 24% of my posts had no tags

#stormlight archive - 858 posts

#stormlight archive spoilers - 379 posts

#tolkien - 230 posts

#rhythm of war spoilers - 185 posts

#tlt - 162 posts

#silm - 159 posts

#judaism - 147 posts

#achievement hunter - 117 posts

#oathbringer spoilers - 107 posts

#loz - 102 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#my personal opinion is: met glys before gavilar died. swore first ideal sometime during wok. began having visions in the beginning of wor.

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

You know why I'm really excited and terrified about the Thaidakar reveal?

Rhythm of War emphasized and re-emphasized that a prolonged existence as a cognitive shadow is not, like... good for you. The Fused lose a bit of themselves every time they're reborn, becoming caricatures rather than complex and nuanced people.

It's been hundreds of years. Thaidakar isn't Kelsier, not exactly. Not anymore.

177 notes - Posted February 4, 2022

#4

Reminder that Kaladin is younger than every single member of Bridge Four except Renarin, Rlain, and Dabbid

301 notes - Posted July 13, 2022

#3

Stormlight Characters as Stuff The Babies At My Job Have Done

Rock: Walks around the room each morning ceremoniously handing each one of the toddlers one of their veggie straws

Dalinar: Favorite book is called "Teeth Are Not For Biting"; bites the other kids constantly

Skar and Drehy: Stand up in their cribs and yell wordlessly back and forth at at each other every day during nap time

Elhokar: Walked up to me, held their arms up and screamed, then started crying when I picked them up

Lopen: Took their shirt off during nap time apropos of nothing, causing all the other toddlers to follow suit

Jasnah: Walked up to her mom who was breastfeeding her little sister, pointed at the baby's crib with a stern expression, and said "night night."

Mom: "Your sister's eating, it isn't nap time--"

Toddler: "NIGHT NIGHT."

Sebarial: Watched two of the toddlers have a slap fight with rapt attention while chewing on the strap of her highchair like it was popcorn

Taravangian: While getting over a cold, held a board book triumphantly over her head and let out the raspiest old-man-sounding "heh heh"

Adolin: One day his mom dropped him off and said "he's got a cold and doesn't understand what's happening, as far as he's concerned it's the apocalypse"

376 notes - Posted May 16, 2022

#2

The combination of

1) 13-year-old Renarin telling Dalinar how Evi always spoke highly of him,

2) Jasnah remembering Renarin "weeping for a father who didn't seem to be able to feel love" as a child, and

3) Renarin thinking in RoW that "it was a shame his mother had never seen [Dalinar] grow to be the man she said he was"

causes me physical pain.

501 notes - Posted May 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I want Renarin to swear an Ideal on-page in book 5. I want him to admit to himself how angry he is about his mother's death. I want him to get in a screaming fight with Dalinar. I want him to kiss his crab bf. I want him to go full unsettling prophet mode and creep out everyone around him. I want him to kill seven more thunderclasts. I want him to learn more about Listener culture through Rlain. I want Adolin to convince him to wear fashion frames. I want him to pursue his interest in fabrial mechanics. I want him to have a wine snob moment. I want him to help Rlain keep an eye on the humans I want it to be safe for Glys to live outside his chest I want him to say the words "there's nothing wrong with me" aloud I want

800 notes - Posted June 14, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#year in review #stormlight archive spoilers #rhythm of war spoilers

[conduitandconjurer]

I posted 3,402 times in 2022

561 posts created (16%)

2,841 posts reblogged (84%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@merrilark

@i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky

@stcndupeight

@positiveautistic

@resplendent-ragamuffin

I tagged 2,259 of my posts in 2022

Only 34% of my posts had no tags

#ooc - 562 posts

#s3 spoilers - 247 posts

#ic - 156 posts

#sexy trash (self) - 149 posts

#show me my silver lining (self) - 129 posts

#klaus hargreeves - 87 posts

#meta - 81 posts

#face (robert sheehan) - 80 posts

#dumb puppy (nathan) - 75 posts

#sobriety is(nt) overrated (recovery tag) - 64 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#he's so desperate to get everyone on board with the character that he still doesn't like but whom he (mistakenly) believes has faith in him

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Okay but I’m going to cry at Klaus’s inherent selflessness.  For years the character has been accused of being the most selfish of the siblings, and I have never grasped where that comes from, aside a societal bigotry against addicts, an ableist victim-blaming mentality, but how can you watch the scene where he is dying, again, in excruciating pain, but using his ability to conjure to help Luther say goodbye to a woman they both just met like a week ago--and STILL call him fundamentally selfish?   He uses these bewildering abilities that have traumatized him all his life, to give comfort to his loved ones. 

I know Klaus is disastrously flawed (aren’t we all) but.  Please do not tell me Klaus is anything but ride-or-die for his family, and one of the most astoundingly accepting, compassionate people in the world. I think what’s so beautiful and compelling about it is that it can also be deemed a flaw--to be so forgiving and trusting that you would even let your primary abuser back into your life, thinking he could be “better now.” Being inevitably betrayed by Reginald again, in the most painfully resonant way, and STILL! STILL! Virtually MOMENTS later, having the capacity to show kindness to your brother so he doesn’t have to feel the pain you felt, of never having closure to say goodbye to the person you adore, and only having dog tags to remember him by. 

I love you. There is no courage quite like compassion.  You are braver than anyone knows. 

211 notes - Posted July 9, 2022

#4

I’m trying to figure out how to articulate how gutted and desolate I feel about the wedding reception scene, where Klaus goes to every single sibling shy of Allison and tries to convince them to figure out a way to save the world with Reginald.

I’m trying to understand why it makes me nauseous and weepy that he asks Five, and Five is for once the one who has given up and is seeking solace in substance abuse, and Klaus lets him with the first expression of annoyed disappointment I’ve ever seen on his face toward a sibling. 

I’m trying to process how I feel that Lila treated him like an agent of malice and threatened to torture him if he spoke to Diego.

I’m trying to not actually outright sob that he called Luther “baby” and “Lulu” and begged him as desperately as during the days when he was stealing money and valuables for another fix, to consider his new addiction--a fictitious, delusional idea of a real bond with their father, in order to “find his purpose”--and Luther is so desperate to not spend the end of their lives in any form of discomfort (understandable and actually, an interesting mirror) that he bellows at Klaus so loudly, that Klaus ends up curled into a ball, ears covered, audibly whimpering.  It was an exact replica of the times in S1 (in the rave) and S2 (being shot at by Commission agents) when he was covering his ears and freezing from a PTSD flashback.  The way when Luther apologizes and hugs him, he just hangs there in his arms and immediately placates with “sure, that sounds nice,” the way he is just USED to being dismissed out of hand by loved ones, even when they have not even a day of existence in all the universe left....

I’m trying to explain to myself and anyone reading this why this makes me sadder and sicker than the actual “bus-ball” scene in which he repeatedly killed himself to find that sense of purpose, of human value. 

How desperate do you have to still be, to be valued by somebody else, anybody else, that you’ll be complicit with your cardinal abuser, and help him to recruit your siblings in perpetuating that abuse? 

I’m the first person to say Klaus has grown in leaps and bounds this season. And yes, I know that his suicide in the White Buffalo Room marks that he has broken free of Reginald and really is beginning to grasp that he has value irrespective of all Reginald pretended to offer. But it’s still AGONIZING. 

And it makes me sad. It makes me sad that he still has this IMMUTABLE capacity to LOVE.  That he goes to Sparrow Ben and softens him and comforts him, gets him to “open up his kimono.”  That he, ONLY he, pays any attention to Allison, and escorts her onto the dance floor, WITHOUT snubbing Viktor:

That he treats Sloane with unreserved happiness, with compassion, and officiates the wedding.  Like look at his face in the bg when she comes off the elevator: 

See the full post

256 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

#3

If he didn’t believe this about every single person whom he loves, he’d be so much better off...but then he wouldn’t be Klaus <3 

283 notes - Posted August 7, 2022

#2

I know a thousand other people have articulated it better than I have, and I miss the days when people listened to my character meta (on other blogs) but it will never get old to me how Klaus cheerleads and emotionally supports others--sometimes deservedly, and sometimes not-- with the blind adoration of the biggest idiot,  yet you can tell it’s 100% pure and with 120% conviction: 

See the full post

299 notes - Posted June 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Klaus Hargreeves’s REAL superpower isn’t straddling both sides of the Veil or resuscitating and regenerating bodily damage or astral projection or levitation or even conjuring and exorcising ghosts....

It’s being able to get along with ANYONE and EVERYONE, lol.  It’s making people who hate everyone find him tolerable. It’s his irrepressible affability. Ingratiating is too strong and negatively-connoted a word, but it’s in that ballpark.  Got a new dangerous foe? Just send in Klaus, the funky queer Human Hug, to charm them into feeling relaxed, heard, and valued. 

“Why am I smiling and when did I start smiling?” they think, baffled. Because Klaus, that’s why. The “King of Death” is better than anyone else at making others feel ALIVE. 

961 notes - Posted August 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[aridotdash]

I posted 25,834 times in 2022

That's 7,297 more posts than 2021!

71 posts created (0%)

25,763 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@resplendent-ragamuffin

@frostedpuffs

@broosepayne

@everythingfox

@skyhon

I tagged 1,728 of my posts in 2022

#ml spoilers - 236 posts

#stormlight archive - 216 posts

#stormlight archive spoilers - 185 posts

#rhythm of war spoilers - 98 posts

#prev tags - 81 posts

#oathbringer spoilers - 70 posts

#ml s5 spoilers - 35 posts

#tlt - 33 posts

#cr spoilers - 31 posts

#unreality - 30 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#inspired by the guy next to us on an international flight who spent the entire flight coughing without covering his mouth or wearing a mask

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

What's with detective shows and having a roller derby episode? Elementary, Psych, and even Murdoch (which is set in 1900 Canada)

65 notes - Posted May 24, 2022

#4

Hey tumblr ad algorithm? It's Erev Pesach and I super duper promise you that I'm not interested in a Christian prayer app.

89 notes - Posted April 15, 2022

#3

175 notes - Posted February 12, 2022

#2

brandon sanderson: i wonder if it's possible to make people angry with happiness?

311 notes - Posted March 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

30-year-old me at my 25th seder in a row as the youngest:

448 notes - Posted April 18, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #the scholomance spoilers #scholomance spoilers #the last graduate spoilers

[resplendent-ragamuffin]

Bitten the bullet and changed my name: formerly anglophileslytherin, now resplendent-ragamuffin.

#jkr can still fight me though #my ramblings

[beskarberry]

Devil’s Advocate

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 5

(The Mandalorian x f!reader)

“That your girl over there?” Mando followed their gaze wordlessly, reluctant to make friends right now while he was busy waiting for you to call him back to your side. “Thought so.” The stranger took a long drag on an inhalant, blowing vibrant pink clouds into the smoky room. “Sorry for your loss, Elios always gets what he wants.” Mando turned again to the stranger, fixing them with his black hole glare, but they only shrugged; watching the drinking game unfold between you and the devil himself.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 11.2k whoops

Content warnings: VICES: gambling/smoking/drinking (reader drinks) Introduction of chapter-specific OC characters. Lots of angst to fluff, sexy times of course.

A/N: This might be more self indulgent than the first chapters but not because of the smut. I kinda go off about fancy clothes so long descriptions of costumes are a big chunk of this chapter.

<-Previous Next->

You hated everything about Canto Bight.

Everything about the city was so... artificial. The stadium flood lights, the glowing neon signs, even the ocean herself had been excavated from the planet’s stubborn sandstone surface instead of eroded naturally by the march of time. To you it was like looking at Corellia’s gold painted twin, a monument to the hubris of all sentient life.

 Even the patrons of the gilded city were fake; their clothes, their makeup, their personalities. Every aspect of them was perfectly curated to deceive and lie, whatever fanciful display would work best to cheat their way to the jackpot. You almost wished you could look past the falseness of it, experience the visual fanfare of light and color that reflected on every surface. You wanted the music and the art and the decor that had been so carefully picked and placed to mean something to you, to sparkle in your heart just as it sparkled in the eyes of the teeming masses. But, all for naught, the gleaming metropolis stung your eyes; and you turned away from it to admire the quaint little space that actually mattered to you.

 You shared the tight quarters of the cockpit with the two strange boys that had recently whisked you away to the stars. Mando was seated in the pilot's chair with his tiny green son perched in his lap, trying to get him to eat his dinner without making so much of a mess. You had already eaten, and you were turning the last hunter’s puck over in your hand, reluctant to get this chase started and take away from the familial scene beside you. It would have to happen sooner or later, and you gave the puck a squeeze to fire up the projector. A ghostly blue fog glowed up into the space above your palm, and the face that looked back at you was surprisingly fair; if not for his crimson skin and long black horns you wouldn’t have known he was Devaronian by his elegant features alone.

 Elios Blackwater was a dapper debonair, his high cheekbones angled sharply under devious eyes towards a sly, sharp toothed grin. The puck notes didn’t specify what he was wanted for, though from the looks of his charming smile and shifting eyes it could easily be anything from a gamblers quarrel to breaking hearts, with a higher reward for being returned alive rather than dead. He would most likely be in a heavily inhabited area, probably as close to Canto Bight’s aurelian heart as possible. You didn’t know why Mando had taken a bounty puck for such a densely populated world, and you would have loved to know what his plan was to get to the city’s casino center before you had arrived in his life. A pair of ragamuffin bounty hunters and their floating baby bucket would stick out like sore thumbs in this gilded mecca of gamblers. If you were going to get to your quarry without being arrested, you were going to have to blend in.

 “We’re going to have to do something about...this.” You said, waving your hand in front of your partner’s ferocious attire, though truthfully you weren’t dressed any more appropriately for the mission at hand. “They’ll see us coming a mile away.”

 He glanced down at himself with a tilt of his helmet, ignoring the mess his son was making of his meal. “What do you have in mind?”

 You weren’t entirely sure yet. From where the Crest was parked you could see the glittering city’s reflection sparkling on the water far ahead of you down the beach, a sight most would find alluring, but to you it was just harsh glare. Nearby where you had landed were other space craft parked up and down the gravelly, machine-carved beach; the pleasure cruisers of wealthy betters made your little scrapheap look even worse than it already did. You watched out the cockpit’s transperisteel window, noting the movement of patrons and their attending droids loading skiffs with piles of luggage, and got yourself a mighty fine idea.

"I think so, but you're probably not going to like it. Stay here." You rose from your seat and kissed the baby on the head, earning yourself a soft, mush-mouthed chirp before you slid down the ladder and let yourself out of the old rust bucket and into the salty sea air of the Cantonican night. Gravel crunched under your boots, and you took a moment to turn and glance back at the Crest, catching the faintest flicker of scope glare where Mando was nervously watching you from the flight deck. Ahead of you a large cruiser was being unloaded by droids, the owners having long since made their way to the casinos, and you made yourself known to the robotic servants with your most charming damsel-in-distress voice.

"Hello! Excuse me! My luggage is too heavy to carry, can you help me? It's just over here on my ship..." The droid nearest you made a stiff bowing motion and tottered after you with the loaded hoverskiff floating along behind. You guided the droid up the open ramp and into the bowels of the ship to where your difficult luggage lay. It never stood a chance, bits of wire and duraplast flew across the cabin like confetti from the blaster shot to its head. Mando lowered his gun back to his holster, freeing his hands to help you haul the skiff into the narrow cabin space, then quickly close the ramp behind you.

The sled took up most of the walking space in the ship, so you got up on top of it and began looting through the stolen designer bags, pulling resplendent finery out into the hazy light. The first tote was full of piles of silk sewn for something with more arms than the two of you put together, so most of those items were tossed to the floor. The second bag was just capes, each a unique and lovely pattern, but nothing more. You demolished the remaining bags, making piles on the floor for ‘maybes’ and ‘definitely-nots’ until you found what you were looking for: a humanoid woman’s clothes.

Most of the unknown lady’s elegant garments would be just slightly too big on you, but you were able to settle on a soft, garnet colored evening gown that would go just above your knees, with extra length in the back. It had a sloping neckline that plunged at your cleavage, and around the bell of the skirt were silver rhinestones that caught the light of the cabin like dewdrops, the weight of them giving the dress a wistful sway. You wouldn't be able to carry much in such a revealing article, but a blaster and a knife alone had gotten you out of more trouble than you would care to admit.

You were fishing through the feminine things for something to do about your hair when you caught Mando in the corner of your eye. He was leaning against the hull wall, just watching you as you made a fat mess of the Razor's interior. You smiled down at him from your floating perch and held up the fanciful garment that you had picked out for him to see. "You like it?"

"It doesn't suit you, mesh’la." He said with a lazy tilt of his helmet. You had begun to mentally keep track of all the Mando’a he used around you, and you were starting to notice his frequent use of affectionates. You spun slightly so he could get a good look at how the fabric moved in the light, but the hunter gear you currently had on took away from the loveliness of the expensive clothes. You guessed he preferred your killer garb anyway over the flimsy, delicate fabric. Or nothing at all.

"Well, it’ll have to do, and if you don't start picking something out for yourself I’m going to dress you up like a dandy.”

He sighed, long and tired before turning his attention to the silken pile on the floor. You went back to the luggage, finding some knee high boots that were close enough to your size, but had a heel height that was going to make your ankles cry. You picked out some tasteless accessories: some bracelets, and big, jewel-encrusted hair pins to wear as well. The glitzier that you were, the less you would be noticed in this bass-ackward town. When you had made your frivolous selections you hopped off the skiff to help Mando with his costume. He was worse at finding something to wear than you were, having only picked out some of his own black leather gloves and two pairs of pants that were not made for human legs. Mandalorian armor did not come off as far as your metal man was concerned, and you were going to have to find a way to hide his bulk. You convinced him to lose his cloak, chest belts, and the bandoliers on his hips and boots, anything to lighten the load. Loose silks and stiff fiber combos would be your best friend, and you cobbled together what you could for your beskar-burdened buddy.

After what seemed like an eternity you had him dressed to the nines, or at least the eights. You had covered his chest plate in a black silk shirt and stiff black vest. The shirt had wide bottomed sleeves and neat, tight cuffs that hid his vambraces well, but you still made him wear a cinched-waist blazer plus a long, black and silver cape that almost reached the floor. You found a dark red pocket square that matched your dress and tucked it into the pocket of his vest, a subtle, but unmistakable announcement to the world that he was there with you. It was a ridiculous amount of fabric on top of an already massive mountain of metal, but the look was very in-style for Canto Bight. All together he actually passed for something besides a murder machine, and you gave yourself a mental pat on the back for a job well done. Mando held still for you while you fussed with his outfit with only the occasional huff. As much as he didn't like the idea of walking so boldly through the gilded city, he did enjoy your brazen touch each time you added another article of clothing.

“And now for the finishing touch.” There was nothing you could do about his helmet, so you were just going to have to make it look as nice as you could. You hadn’t changed into your chosen disguise yet, so you strode through the messy cabin with ease until you reached the lock box next to the cot. Inside you found the krayt’s teeth that you had gifted him and pulled them out into the light, waving them at him as you stretched over the heaps of fabric on the ground. He raised his hands in protest.

“What if I lose them?”

“You can wear these or you can wear whatever the hell this is.” You held up an enormous chain of jewels that looked like it belonged in the treasure case at an arcade instead of around somebody's neck. “Besides, I know you won't lose them, you like them too much.” He tilted his helmet at you with disdain, and you realized that was precisely the reason he didn’t want to wear them, such lovely gifts should be kept safe and secure. But he let you press the precious trinkets into the recess of his helmet where his human cheeks would be anyway. The frozen pools of moonlight tied everything about his sin-city look into a perfect, glittery bow. You had grown to admire the look of him in his cultural armor, the ferocity of it, the utility and strength of the beskar that shined no matter how much damage it took; and you were a bit sad to see it hidden. The look of the man standing before you had a wildly different feel, though it was not one you were opposed to.

“You look nice, Din.” The sound of his own name coming from your lips made his heart swell, and he reached out for your hand on instinct to pull your knuckles to his brow in the sweet gesture of his people that you both now used. His movements caused the finery he was masquerading in to catch the cabin’s hazy light, and you got excited to put on your own costume and join him in looking like a fool. When he let your hand fall, you bounded over to your pile, throwing the hunting clothes off of yourself as you went. When you were standing there in nothing but your Tattooinian muck boots you cast a sly glance over your shoulder. As expected, the single black eye of your Mandalorian was locked on your almost-naked form, and you realized that in the time you had been together he had never seen you fully naked; just the parts of you he needed to get to in the moment. “How’s this? You like this better?”

When he didn’t answer right away you looked down at yourself and saw what he was staring at. You had forgotten about the marks of conquest he had put there when he had been driven to a sexual frenzy by the last quarry’s poison, still dotting your thighs with dark purple splotches. Not once had you been upset with him for his actions, you were just thankful you both made it through the ordeal alive, but he still looked at the damning marks with shame. He had been forced to break his protector’s oath against his will, inflicting injury to your precious body with his own two hands. You waited until his visor made its way back up to meet your eyes, and you reached out for him to give you his hand. He sheepishly obeyed, and you brought his hand to your lips, kissing at the all-black leather slowly until you heard him sigh through his modulator. You would forgive him a hundred times if you had to, and then a hundred more if it meant he could forgive himself. You pulled his hands to your waist and leaned up against him, enjoying the feel of new clothes on your skin and letting your hands run up his silken arms. “Well you can have this,” You nodded down at your bare everything with a mischievous grin, “As soon as we catch this fucko.” 

This was the last bounty you would need before you made the trip back to Nevarro, but you were still on the fence about how completing your mission made you feel. On one hand you would be free of the Guild’s relentless hunters, but on the other your partnership with the strange metal man and his adorable beanbag of a son would come to a close. You turned back to your outfit and began cinching a pair of thigh holsters to your legs, hiding your wincing face as the leather closed around your bruises; a blaster on one leg and a knife on the other. You pulled on the dress and fixed up your hair as best you could, then stepped out of your good boots and into the slutty knee-highs. There was only one loose end to take care of.

 “Where’s baby?” You glanced around the messy cabin, looking for your foundling. In the corner under a pile of capes there was movement, and you cleared the flashy finery away to reveal your bestest little friend. Big, glittering orbs looked up at you from the pile of fabric, and a tiny toothy grin shined from his cute baby face. “Heya booger, you ready to go?” You scooped him up in your arms for a hug before picking a big shiny scarf up to wrap him up with, then placed him carefully down in one of the gaudy designer bags. “If anyone asks, he is a pet.” The child didn’t seem to care, he was just happy to be included, waving his little pudgy baby hands up at you to hold. You squeezed his tiny paw, then turned to Mando, “You ready to go, Lord Beskar?”

He glanced down at himself, tilting his palms up and shrugging. “I guess so, I feel ridiculous.”

“Good enough!” You made for the exit ramp with a big stride, and almost broke your damn ankle on the first step, falling gracelessly into the arms of your partner. He caught you with ease, and your cheeks went red with his strong, gentle hands on you again for the hundredth time. You got to your feet, but you would be leaning heavily on him for most of the night until the boots were broken in. With you hanging off of his arm the two of you looked like a proper couple, just heading out for a night on the town instead of two bloodthirsty bounty hunters on the prowl. You might let yourself pretend though, just for the night.

You took a transport speeder from the beach to the city’s entrance, then made your way through the gilded streets, following the red blink of the bounty fob towards your quarry. You had to stop multiple times, the fucking boots making your feet hurt like you knew they would. Mando stood patiently with you each time, and more than once offered to just carry you. His visor would glide from side to side, always on the alert for anyone that might be following you, or worse, hunting you down. The tracking fob led you to the most obvious choice of casino: the tallest, brightest, shiniest temple of vice smack dab in the city’s center. 

The front entryway was dominated by a roaring, gushing fountain, shooting geysers in a perfectly timed pattern high into the Cantonican night sky. The fountain was lit up with bright, multicolored spotlights so that every stream of water and drop of spray glittered back in defiance of the stars that had inspired them. Inside, the casino floor was packed with patrons, ranging in size and species in an infinite array of wealth and power. Chandeliers hung high above you from the soaring cathedral ceilings, sending sparkling lights racing around the endless room like shooting stars. Every surface was bright and gleaming, dozens of pillars and statues illuminated by blinding limelight. Even the floor was magnificent, black and white marble with huge inlaid stars, guiding gamblers through the limitless space towards their wildest desires. Again you wished you could appreciate the extravagance of it all, though the way the lights streamed like mercury over the beskar of your pretend date made something else sparkle behind your eyes. 

 The smell of inhalants and alcohol burned in your nose, and you took a moment to make sure your purse puppy’s face was covered with something so he wouldn’t have to endure it as much as you were. The sound of gamblers and music and roaring competition was louder than the screams of the hyperspace engine aboard the Crest, the cacophony of it all making you anxious. You were thankful that you weren’t hunting this bounty alone, and you still held on to Mando tightly, letting him lead you over the cosmic marble floor through the streaming masses. The people paid you no mind, moving out of the way without casting a second glance. Your costumes were working exactly as you had intended, and you applauded yourself for how well you had deceived the City of Lies.

You had guessed that if your bounty would be anywhere, it would be at the center of attention, and you were right. Elios Blackwater sat at the atrium bar, surrounded by beautiful and interesting people. The glint of gold jewelry caught the radiant casino lights every time he moved, drawing the eyes of all those around him. He was telling some kind of wild story that had his little crowd hooked on every word, though you could tell from a distance he was all bullshit. Immediately you knew this was a man that was used to having everything he desired, never being denied a single whim in all his days. A plan began to simmer in your skull, and you knew right away your partner was not going to like it. If you were going to get the quarry alone, you were going to have to persuade him to leave the company of his fans, and you only knew one sure-fire method for a man of Blackwater’s tastes. You let yourself off of your escorts’ arm to turn and face him, pulling his hands to your hips and letting your own rest on his shoulders so that to any outsiders you two would be just another pair of passionate dancers making their way through the counterfeit cosmos. 

“Mando, do you trust me?” His hidden eyes were still glancing around the room, scanning for any lurking threats.

“Of course.” His words went right over your head, his ears too full of the sounds of potential danger to really hear you. You huffed and ran your hands to his bedazzled helmet, pulling it down to meet your eyes. 

“Pay attention, bucket boy. I need to hear you say it and know that you mean it. Do you trust me?”  He cocked his head, confused that you would have to ask twice. 

“Yes, ner cyar’ika, I trust you.”

“Good.” You let your hands fall back to his armored shoulders, pressing yourself up against him tighter. Your fingers fidgeted in the heavy material of his cloak, he was going to hate this. “Because I need to do something. Alone.” 

That got his attention fast. 

“No, it’s too dangerous here. I want you where I can protect you. What if there’s hunters?”

“I know, I need you to cover me, but from a distance. I think I can convince Elios to walk right into the carbonite freezer, but I can’t do it with you looming over me.” You wrapped your hands around the back of his helmet, pulling him down so that his forehead met with yours. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t think it would work.” He sighed between your hands, the steam of his breath slipping out from under the helmet’s edge. There was nothing he would rather not do than be away from you, but he did trust you, and he nodded against your embrace.

“I’ll call for you as soon as I’m ready, ok? Just keep your eyes on me, and don’t cause a scene. No matter what.” You couldn’t kiss him like you wanted to, but you still pressed your lips to the side of his beskar before letting go, pulling yourself away from his tender grasp. His hands still floated in the space where you had been as you turned away from him and made your way to the bar, the heavy purse bumping against your weaponized thighs with every flint and tinder step of your sky high heels. As you got closer to the bounty you could hear the shreds of his conversation starting to make their way over the noise of the casino.

“...And I said ‘Darlin’ if you didn’t want to take it home with you, ya shouldn’t have put it in your mouth!” The way he was telling his story gave you the impression that it wasn’t one you wanted to hear, and you started to regret your foolhardy plan. Gold rings and precious jewels sparkled all the way from his fingers to the caps on his horns, making it impossible for most to look away, a fact made apparent by his captivated audience. The beautiful boozers laughed and cheered at his every word, though from his stupidass sounding story you wondered how much of the affection was alcohol induced. You pulled a seat up at the bar a few stools away from the crowd and ordered yourself a shot of spotchka and a couple packs of cookies. You slipped the snacks into your bag for Din’s foundling, you would be needing him for your plan to work as well; and the promise of treats would keep his bright-eyed attention on you. 

The taste of spotchka was vile, but you had started your journey though the galaxy on the gigantic starcruisers that were built on your homeworld of Corellia, and you had gotten to know the taste of the sailor-favorite drink at a tender age. You sipped at your brew, listening casually to the Devaronian’s conversation, but never turned your eyes to him. Every once in a while another bar patron would swagger up beside you to offer you another shot. You turned down anything you didn’t order yourself, but you started telling them fabricated stories about your life among the stars, most of which were wild tales of fancy from old holovids you had seen. You wished you could turn around and find your favorite rust bucket, wherever he may be hiding among the festivities, and give him something to reassure him. A nod or a wave, anything to let him know you weren’t just making him jealous on purpose. 

Soon you were throwing back brightly glowing shots of brew, and a handful of interested patrons had gathered around you to hear about how you had jerry-rigged a star cruiser to run on spotchka when you were a space pirate smuggling kyber crystals for the resistance, among other things. When you had your head tilted back you cast a glance towards the bounty, and saw what you had been waiting for. His hooded eyes were watching you intently, he didn’t like that someone was getting any of the attention pie that he believed was his alone, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he had to do something about it. Soon enough the dapper devil rose from his entourage, running a painted claw through his long dark hair before making his way to you, sauntering with every step.

Hook.

“Well hello there, darlin’, name’s Elios. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing chugging spotchka when you could be drinkin’ something as fine as you are?” The debonair’s words were long and slow, making sure that every drawn syllable would be heard. “Bartender! Get this lovely lady a real drink, if ya please.” You weren’t sure what counted as a ‘real drink’, but the dark liquid that was slid over to you stank even worse than spotchka with the strength of its proof. Elios couldn’t stand that someone else might be having more fun than he was, and he was determined to put you out of commission. He wanted to do it in such a way that you would be thanking him for it, preferably while on your knees. “What’s yer name, baby cakes?”

From the other side of the busy casino you could feel the void of a visor making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Mando was standing on the far side of the slot machines where the light was just a little less glaring, so motionless he might have been part of the decorations. He wasn’t sure what your plan was, or how you would talk the quarry into being captured without gaining the suspicion of the wandering security enforcers. He bristled whenever a bar patron started trying to make nice with you, and only got progressively more frustrated when more and more started hanging around you. When he saw the bounty slink his way over to you he wanted to dash across the marble floor and break his fucking neck just for being in your airspace. ‘Don’t make a scene, no matter what’ is what you had told him, and you had asked him to trust you. So he did as he was asked. Watching, waiting.

“Hmm, I don’t think you could handle it.” Oh, Elios didn’t like that one bit, nobody told Mr. Blackwater ‘no’ without consequences. He swirled a glass of the same dark liquid around in one perfectly manicured hand, his polished claws clicking on the side of the glass. You continued to ignore him, but you started on the new drink in front of you. Yucky, at least spotchka was familiar. He took your acceptance of the drink as an invitation to join you at the bar. 

“You’re awful sly, baby cakes, tell me yer name so I can make you forget it later.” His pointed teeth flashed out from his crooked smile, and you could smell the stench of expensive cologne and aftershave. You rolled your eyes big and wide so he could see just how unimpressed you were, but your nose was burning from how bad he smelled. This was a bad idea, but only because of how well it was going to work. Fresher soap, where are you?

“I’ll tell you what, if you can out-drink me, I’ll tell you my name.” His wicked smile split his face, showing off rows of brilliant white fangs. Party-boy could probably hold a few good shots, but you were raised by sailors, and you were gonna drink his ass under the table. 

“You’re on, sweet cheeks. Bartender! Another round!” Another set of shot glasses plinked to the counter, and vanished just as fast. Elios was eyeing you up and down, seeing if you were all bark and no bite. If he could just get you drunk enough…

Far from where you were drinking the Mandalorian you had asked to trust in you was furious, trying not to thumb the handle of his blaster that poked out from the side of his hip under his cloak. It would be so easy, he could hit the target from here and it would be over, you would be back by his side and not being drooled over by that fucking pathetic excuse for a man. 

“He has that effect on people.”

Mando’s helmet snapped on the sounds’ source, so lost in vicious thoughts that he didn’t hear the stranger come to lean against the wall by him. They were tall and thin, translucent green skin and a mop of hair-like cilia growing from their head to their flowy chiffon clothes. They looked exhausted. “That your girl over there?” Mando followed their gaze wordlessly, reluctant to make friends right now while he was busy waiting for you to call him back to your side. “Thought so.” The stranger took a long drag on an inhalant, blowing vibrant pink clouds into the smoky room. “Sorry for your loss, Elios always gets what he wants.” Mando turned again to the stranger, fixing them with his black hole glare, but they only shrugged; watching the drinking game unfold between you and the devil himself. 

“Another!” You hollered, but the glasses were already in front of you, then gone again. The Devaronian hissed back the sting of the high-dollar liquor, shaking his long mane that had started to come undone. You pretended to reel from the liquor's effects, leaning back just a tad too far on your seat. “Again!” The third round of shots came and went, and Elios nearly fell off his stool. Right where I want you. You waved at the bartender for the fourth and final shot that would probably put the devil right on his ass, but that’s not where you were headed with this show of tenacity. You had to get him alone before you made your capture, or the security enforcers that littered the casino floor would descend on you like vultures. 

You waited til he had thrown his drink back before you tilted yours, purposely spilling a few drops down your front so the booze would trickle down between your breasts. Elios nearly choked, and you knew you had his full, undivided attention. Din, I’m so sorry.

“Woo! I don’t think I can do any more, Mister Blackwater, you win.” you feigned, holding the back of your hand up to your forehead, trying to convince him that the room was spinning for both of you and not just him. His sultry laugh made your skin crawl.

“Please, call me Elios.”

Line.

“Well, Elios, you still wanna know my name? You’re gonna have to work for it.” You placed a hand on his leg, running your fingers up his thigh and around the edge of his waist, pulling at his pockets seductively to drive the point home. Does he have SCALES? What the fuck ew ew ew. He took the hint like a drunk takes to spotchka, flashing you a slurred smile. 

“Well… sugar lips, we can take this... elsewhere.” 

“Sure thing, Elios, lemme just have my attendant take my Poochie up to my room.” You held the heavy purse up so he could see the big black eyes hiding in its depths. 

“What the fuck is that thing?”

“He’s a pet, obviously.”

“What kind’a fuckin’ pet?”

“Purebred.” Your quick answer seemed good enough for Mr. Drinky, and he nodded like that made perfect sense. You raised your fist to the air and snapped your fingers.

The human fortress was at your side in a heartbeat, towering above the two of you. You stuffed the purse in his hands before he could ask where to point his gun. “Here, take Poochums up to my room, mama’s not coming home tonight, if y’know what I mean. Get him washed and fed, and don’t forget to scrub his feet!” 

“Yes Ma’am.” The bag was lifted carefully from your fake-drunk hands, and you tried to flash him your best ‘Please-don’t-be-mad-at-me-I-hate-this-too’ face at your partner, but you guessed the look was lost on his visor. The scene did not escape Elios’s eyes like you had hoped it would. 

“Now what in the Mmmmaker’s Mammaries is that big ass fuckin’ thing? That some kinda droid? It’s damn fancy.” Shit balls of hell.

“Uh.. Yes! This is the finest in personal assistant droid technology! See, look.” You grabbed Mando’s empty arm and pulled back sharply on the fabric, revealing the delicate button panel of his vambrace. “Only the best money could buy...” 

“I gotta get me one of those...” Elios stared bewildered as your personal petsitting droid turned and left. “Well, honey tits, you wanna take this upstairs?” Ugh.

“Oh suurrre… Oh Mr. Blackwater I’m ~soooo~ drunk ahaha…” You were barely buzzed, and you worried that your life among the stars had given your liver bigger balls than a bounty hunter. You wobbled on your stool, for phase two of your plan to work you would have to delay Elios as long as possible. You watched as the man whose heart you had stolen faded away from you, the fancy purse hooped over his shoulder and knocking up against his leg, cape billowing behind him as he went. Alright, Baby Beans, it’s up to you now!

Din was seething under his helmet, pissed as shit that this was what your elaborate ‘plan’ entailed. He was trying not to storm through the casino as he left to take your ‘Poochums’ up to your room, whatever the hell that fucking meant. How could he be so fucking stupid? This was exactly the same ruse you had tried to pull on him from day one. Seduction was your real talent, luring your lovers to their untimely demise. How many times had you pulled this stunt? Was this your master plan all along? Ouch. Play with his heart until you were free of your Guild warrant? Ow. You were just using him to get to Nevarro, then you would fuck off to the stars and leave him behind. After everything you had been through, he was just another notch on your bedp- 

“OUCH!” 

Din looked down to his side where the pain he was trying to ignore was coming from, and saw a fat green paw sticking out of the ugly expensive purse, digging vicious talons into the side of his leg. His foundling was trying to burrow through his thigh, and his claws might actually have drawn blood. “What, womp rat? What do you want?” There was something in the baby’s other hand, something golden and flashy. Din reached into the bag and pulled the embossed card from his son’s grasp. What’s this? There was a set of numbers etched in gold filigree in the top of the card, their shimmer blasting away the destructive void he had been spiraling into.

Key card! PENTHOUSE key card! You had tricked the bounty into getting close enough to you that you could pick his pocket without him noticing. You were luring Elios right into a trap, and your Mandalorian was the snare. Din felt a mix of emotion ranging from relief to shame, how could he even think for one second that you might be deceiving him? You had asked him to trust you, and he couldn’t even contain his jealousy long enough to make it through one hunt. He felt like such an ass, you were putting your skills to good use, at great risk to your own safety, just like he had asked you to from the beginning. This wasn’t just his hunt anymore, it was a joint effort between the two of you, and it was his turn to run the next leg of the relay. The heavy, silver-laced cloak was tossed to the side as he raced to the elevator, fluttering away behind him as he flew to beat you there.

Meanwhile, you were trying to keep the bounty from falling flat on his face, and the only way to do that was to hold him up yourself. His hands were all over you, the nick of sharp, neat claws catching on the fabric of your evening dress and scratching along your skin. I’m gonna break those fingers, motherfucker. He was slurring his words, making disgusting promises of what he was gonna do to you when you reached his private penthouse. You were just out of range of his boozehole, the lippy thing trying to steal a taste of you. Wobbly steps slowed you both down to almost a crawl, which was exactly what you were trying to do, anything to give Mando time to find the hotel room first. You passed a discarded cloak on the floor, the familiar silver inlay catching the light, and you worried that you might have pushed your partner too far. What if he left? What if he didn’t see the keycard and I’m heading up alone? Please be there, Din. Please don’t leave me with this fucking creep. You both reached the elevator, and Elios fumbled to find his wallet, thankfully having a spare key that he didn’t know he needed. The doors opened, and you realized you would be stuck in your own personal hell for the entire trip up to the top floor suite. Fucking super. 

Elios was getting impatient during the ride up, and it took every fiber of your being to keep from retching as his well-moisturized hands ran up and down your spine. The elevator door opened directly into the penthouse, and his perfectly manicured claws dug into your ass to usher you into the room. The top floor suite was dark, save for the lights of Canto Bight shining in through the cathedral windows. You took a mental note of the speeder parked out on the balcony, you would be needing it later. The Devaronian was at your ear, breathing hot, boozy steam around your neck until he was facing you. He went to bite at your mouth, but you stopped him with a finger to his lips.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you." You whispered in your most convincing lust-laden voice. The devil chuckled and ran his slimy, forked tongue around the halting digit. Barf.

"Oh yeah, baby cakes? Why’s that?"

You batted your eyelashes and bit your lip into a wry smile before meeting his half-lidded eyes. "Because... you're going to make Daddy very angry."

His lips turned upwards in an aroused sneer, flashing his dazzling, daggerlike teeth, "How could getting a taste of that fiery little mouth’a yours make me angry, darlin’?"

Sinker.

"I'm not talking about you, I'm talking about him."

Elios didn't even have a chance to turn around to see where your eyes were looking before a black and silver fist broke his nose and sent his perfect teeth soaring across the room, throwing him down to the marble floor. Seeing his busted prettyboy face bleeding at your feet made you feel so relieved that a vicious shiver made its way from your head to your toes, and you let your body shake the devil’s touch off of you like a big wet bantha.

"Fuck! Oh fucking hell, Mando, you have -no idea- how hard it was to keep that up, he’s so gross! I’m gonna chuck his ass in carbonite so fucking hard his horns’ll break off!" Your partner was still squared up, just waiting for the interloper to try and get up and fight. He wanted the bounty to get up, flail, scream, any excuse to hit him again. But Blackwater was out cold, staining the white marble floor with his blood.

"You looked like you were handling it."

The deadpan tone of his voice told you that wasn't exactly a compliment, remembering the jealousy that had seethed out of him on Tatooine after that Trandoshan had tried to capture you. You had two choices: you could either try to defend yourself and your unconventional bounty catching method, or you could turn that jealousy in your favor. He didn’t remember much from his toxic encounter with the Ardennian, but you knew that every filthy, possessive thing he had said to you that night was still somewhere in that chrome dome of his; and you became determined to bring them to the light. You crossed one arm over your chest, raising the other to tap a finger against the corner of your lips.

"Oh? You didn't like that, did you? Didn't like that he had his hands on me? Touching things that don’t belong to him?" He didn't answer, but the creaking of leather from his fists tightening told you what you already knew. "Tell me, Mando."

"N-no." His visor remained fixed on the unconscious body still bleeding on the floor. Not good enough.

"No what?"

"No. I didn't like that." His voice was low and raspy, but only because he was trying to keep the boiling rage in his chest from blowing his fucking helmet off.

"Tell me what you didn't like." You stepped over the quarry to your man, running your fingers from his balled fists over his silk and steel arms until you were at his shoulders. You could feel the slightest shudder under all his layers at your touch.

"I didn't like him touching you. Nobody should put their hands on you, cyar'ika" His fists lowered to his sides but his visor was still on the floor. You let your hands wander up his neck to the bejeweled recesses of his helmet and turned him to meet your eyes.

"Why not?"

"B-because..."

"I want to hear you say it."

"Because you are mine." He growled through his helmet so hard that you swore you saw it vibrate, sending a delicious tingle though your spine. Atta boy.

“Again.”

“You are mine!” Even behind the beskar you could hear the clench of his teeth biting back deeper desires. His hands went to your waist, pulling you tightly to his chest. The fire coming off of him was scalding, you had pushed your luck too far with this one, and you could feel the volcano inside his ribcage boiling over. He was furious. His heavy armored head pushed against your brow, and you let your thumbs wrap around the bottom of his helmet to find the thinnest sliver of skin where the metal met the man.

“That’s right, I’m all yours.” When you had said that line to him the first time, you had been plotting your escape from his clutches, but as the reassuring words left your lips you knew there was nobody else in the galaxy you would have running their hands up your sides; and you mentally crossed ‘seduction’ off of your list of hunting skills for good. His oath of me'dinuir had swore him to your side alone, and now you knew without a shred of doubt that you wanted it to go both ways; whether you were Mandalorian or not.

You kissed at the bottom of his visor, so close to getting to feel the true, living flesh of him, and yet so far. You had to have him, you had to purge the demon’s touch from your body with the purifying fire of your protector’s rage. A choked, needy groan made its way out of the modulator, and you felt the heat of his breath on your skin. How desperately you wanted to taste it, fill your mouth with the flavor of him to replace the vile spotchka. You pushed up on his jaw, giving you just a tiny glance at his scruffy chin, and you forced your kisses into the tight, unyielding space of the beskar prison. It wasn’t enough for you, but it was a start, and you could feel his body starting to unwind at your touch. “Kiss me. Please, Mando.”

“Cyar'ika, it's not safe here.” He hated the sound of his own words, the denial of them crushing his very soul. You glanced around the dark penthouse and saw you were alone save for the crumpled devil on the floor and the designer purse that had been stashed in the corner of the room, its occupant still working on the bags of cookies. No eyes on us.

“I won’t look, just... lift your helmet a tiny bit, tin man, I need you, I need to kiss you.” You guessed you were safe enough from prying eyes, but you wouldn’t spill his name to the night just in case there were any sneaky listeners. You squeezed your own eyes shut and nipped at the armors edge again, and just ever-so-slightly began to push up on the unforgiving metal with your thumbs. You were just waiting for his hands to shoot up, to grab your wrists and halt your actions, but they were locked to your sides. Inch by inch you gradually lifted the armor, he would have all the time in the world to stop you, but when you felt the heat of his lips crash against yours you almost let your knees buckle out from under you. His strong arms were tight on your back, pulling you into him so he could kiss you harder.

So much better than spotchka. He was delicious, his taste, his feel, his scent, everything about him was intoxicating. So much more so than the despicable brew you had been throwing back all night, and a thousand times better than anything Elios could have offered. Blech. You realized then why the bounty had smelled so bad to you, though his perfume was expensive and his clothes freshly pressed, he was wrong for you. The wrongness was so overwhelming that it had nearly made you lose your drink, and you didn’t realize how wrong something could be until you tried to compare it to what was right. Din was right, he smelled of leather and beskar and the sweat of a man that had nearly combusted when someone else was at your side. And fresher soap! Thank the Maker.

A soft leather hand went to your head, pulling you into him so he could taste you better. His tongue ran over your lips, darting into you to find yours so they could dance together. You bit him playfully, and the way his breath hitched in his throat sent the fire of your core shooting all the way to your fingertips; and you knew right then that not even kissing his forbidden face would be enough for you. You pulled yourself from his lips, the snap of teeth following your retreat, reluctant to let you leave from the heat of the moment. Carefully, you let the beskar slide back down to cover him, and the anguished whine he let out into the night air almost broke your heart.

“I know, I know, I’m so mean to you, aren’t I?” With him covered you glanced around the room until you saw the private bar. With your thumbs hooked in the pockets of his borrowed vest you guided the two of you towards it until the granite countertop knocked against your ass. You used his shoulders for leverage, hopping up onto the cold surface and wrapping your knees round his waist, happy to find exactly what you were expecting to throbbing between your legs. He pushed himself against you, the feel of his stolen silks on your holstered thighs giving you goosebumps. His heavy metal head fell against your shoulder, and you wrapped your arms around him to hold him close while he ground up against your heat. He couldn’t contain himself around you, though you wouldn’t want him to if he could. You rocked your hips in time with his needy thrusts, and the growls in your ear almost made you think he would come undone with his pants still on. Can’t have that now, can we? "Mando, please fuck me, I can't wait anymore."

You heard thunder rumble out of his chest, sending electricity from where he was pressed to your shoulder straight down to where he was pulsing against your core. He was going to bring you the stars, alright, but not the ones in the night sky. He pulled back so he could look into your eyes from behind his visor, bringing a hand up to caress your pleading face.

"No, I don't want to fuck you." Your eyes shot wide, shocked that he wouldn't want you when he was rutting so hard into you that you could almost feel the dampness of precum through his layers. He saw your face and shook his head. "Elios wanted to fuck you, all of those creeps at the bar wanted to fuck you.” His helmet shook, trying to loosen the words he wanted to say. “No... I- I want to be better than them, I want to give you something else, s-something more.” He was struggling, his inexperience making it difficult to say what was on his mind. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be like them, he wanted to be worthy of you in ways they never could.

“Then make love to me instead.”

 “Yes!” The words leaving your lips were like music to his ears, so much more lovely than any song. “I want to do that! I want to make love to you, cyar’ika, if you’ll have me?”

You laughed, nodding your head to hide your bright red cheeks. How he managed to be so ferocious and so sweet on the same day was a mystery you didn’t want to solve. He quickly glanced around the room one more time just to be sure you were alone, the light of the gilded city sending streaks of color over the charms you had pressed to his cheeks. Satisfied that you were the only ones awake in the room, he leaned away from you to rip the constricting blazer off of himself so hard the fabric around his chest and shoulders started to tear. Beskar plates twinkled in the limelight, sending stars flying around the room while he worked his pants open. The sight of him springing into view made your heart flutter, among other things. Long and strong, a pearl of precum glimmering in the dark of the penthouse. His hands went to your legs, the leather of his palms snagging on the straps still belted to your thighs as he pushed the elegant fabric of your dress up to your waist. 

“You’re soaked.” You wished you could see what he saw through his visor, the sound of hitched breath telling you he could see you blooming for him clear as day, drinking you in with his hidden eyes. He hooked a thumb in the wet fabric of your panties to pull them out of the way, using his other hand to grip his cock and run the tip over your entrance, bumping against your clit while he lubed himself with your slick. You had to lean back until you were laying on the cold granite countertop, tilting your hips to the edge of the bar so he could see all of you on display. He pressed himself up and in, filling you slowly so he could indulge in every inch that disappeared inside. Your stretched walls clenched around him, making him shiver with each coiled squeeze. The Mandalorian you were giving yourself to pulled himself out of you carefully before thrusting back into you again, fighting every animalistic urge to just plow you into the bar. He was going to make good on his word, he wasn’t going to just fuck you.

But maybe he should have.

“Bing!” 

The penthouse elevator door chimed, and both of you pointed blasters on the figure that walked out from the pink haze of the lift into the dark of the room. “Elios? I know you’re up here, I’m just going to get- Oh. There you are.” The stranger spotted the crumpled, unconscious body on the floor, crossing the room until they stood over him. “About time someone split that beautiful lip of yours, Lee-lo.” The stranger that Mando had run into on the casino floor turned their tired eyes to the pair of you, noticing your obvious state of passion. “Oh please, don’t stop on my account, that’s not the worst thing I’ve walked into up here.” They squinted in the dark, then gasped softly, “Wait, it’s you! Oh good! I saw you when you were dancing and was just heartbroken when Lee-lo came between you.” The tall stranger did a little dance. “Fucking Elios.” They kicked at the Devaronian on the floor, “All he lives for is breaking hearts. I’m glad you two made up.”

The wisp of a stranger bent down to the motionless figure on the floor, yanking one of the gold rings from his horns. They said something too low for you to hear, then got up and left in another cloud of pink smoke, the elevator door closing behind them.

You both lowered your blasters, trying to wrap your collective heads around what had just happened. Mando was still buried to the hilt inside you, and you could feel him pulsing with need; but he had been right from the beginning. You weren’t safe here.

“That’s probably not the only spare key. We should go.” You whispered, trying to get your blaster back to its holster under your dress. He groaned, he was getting sick of being torn away from you. He pulled himself almost all the way out, thrust in one more time for good luck, and released himself with a pop! He pulled you to your feet, helping you down from the bar and onto the Maker-forsaken boots you still had on. Fuck these. You ripped the boots off, chucking them somewhere into the dark and crossed the room barefoot to where the oversized purse held the foundling. You were happy to see him all tuckered out in a pile of cookie wrappers, probably not the healthiest thing for him, but it worked. Behind you, your armored companion was hauling the quarry over his shoulder none too gently, ‘accidentally’ knocking his bloody head against the wall as he turned back to you. You both made for the balcony door to the speeder you had noticed earlier, tossing the bounty in the back seat like a bag of garbage. 

The ride back to the Crest was thick with anticipation, you weren't finished with each other just yet. Mando pulled the speeder right up to the ramp so you wouldn’t have to walk across sharp gravel, chucking the bounty in after you so hard he slid through the messy cabin and smashed into the wall. You slung the damned devil into the carbonite chamber, punching the freeze button with gusto. The ramp closed behind your armored companion, barely giving you a chance to get up onto the hoverskiff that still dominated the cabin floor before the lights went off. You yanked the dress over your head, listening for the sound of more fabric hitting the floor, then the clanking of beskar being tossed carelessly aside. Belts and snaps and zippers went flying, and you had to try not to laugh at the absurd amount of clothes he had to take off. The skiff tilted with new weight, and the body of a Mandalorian was on top of you, warm lips hunting for yours.

He’s naked! Every piece of armor and shred of clothing was gone, and the feel of bare skin against your body was electrifying. His mouth crashed against yours, fervent kisses desperate to taste you again. You let your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him into you to kiss back. He was hungry for you, biting at your mouth and tongue like a man starved. Plush lips made their way from your mouth down your neck, nipping at your throat and sucking the tender skin until you had bruises to match the ones on your thighs. His hands wandered down your body, rubbing at your breast and teasing your nipples until you were gasping for more. The devious digits moved on until his hand was between your legs, pushing at your folds and finding your clit to spin circles on. He was becoming an expert at finding what made you squirm and whine from his touch, rolling callused fingertips into you until you were making a delicious mess on the pile of stolen silk. 

But he wasn’t done there. The fuzzy kisses went from your breast down your belly to where his fingers were working into you. He pulled his hands from your soaked cunt and replaced them with his face, pushing his tongue up against the tiny ball of nerves that had so much power over you. Short, quick circles between long, languid licks had you arching your back and pulling his hair, demanding more. Lost in the heat of your thighs he was happy to give you everything, pushing the smooth muscle of his mouth into your slit and upwards against your clit until you were seeing stars again. 

Your hands couldn’t stop exploring him, from his thick head of curls to the strength of his shoulders. The muscles kept going, tight coils on his back and the warm, rigid wall of his chest. The trail of fuzz on his belly went up farther than you were expecting it to, and the fine hairs tickled your fingers on almost every inch of his skin. Your hands trailed over the numerous, vicious scars that marred his flesh like a road map of every near-death experience he had lived through. Gashes on his arms and burns on his sides had healed over into smooth, textureless skin, the marks of a seasoned hunter that nobody but their barer had ever seen.

Having drank his fill, he pulled his face from the apex of your thighs, pushing your knees apart and quickly sheathing himself in you with a ragged groan. Mando’a praises poured from his lips, some you were familiar but many you weren’t, though all of them made your heart flutter. Strong hands wrapped around your knees to keep you in place on the wobbly sled while he pounded into you, the feeling of bare skin on the backs of your legs making you wish you could see him in the light. But the darkness was the greatest keeper of secrets, hiding your love making from the condemnation of his creed. 

Make love. Though the phrase was just another on the long list of euphemisms used for sex, the pair of words weighed heavy with meaning in their new context. You wanted to explore the concept the way your hands explored his body, but the fire of your core was thrumming with heat, demanding your undivided attention. Din fell forward to your chest, the sweat of his efforts sticking to your breasts. Wandering kisses sent fire over your skin as he made his way over your peaks, sucking hard on their tender buds. Beskar-strong hips rocked against yours until you saw fireworks again, bearing down so hard on him with your orgasm that he sank his teeth into the crook of your shoulder. Bites made their way from where he had surely drawn blood on your flesh up your neck til they turned to kisses again. His brow pushed against your forehead, though your lips were right there he still defaulted to the only show of affection his armored inheritance allowed. Hot gasps of air puffed over your skin from the heat of his breath, and you knew he was close. You locked your legs around him, forcing him to pump every last drop of himself into you, painting your walls with his seed until it was spilling down your ass onto the piles of clothes.

The strength of his arms gave up, and he let himself fall against you, his face pushed against your cheek. You could feel his bristles brushing over your skin as his breath heaved, soft but scratchy. His hands wrapped under you and up your back, hugging you to his bare chest so hard the air was squeezed from your lungs. Fuzzy-lipped kisses dotted your cheeks and face, taking extra time to kiss your lips, each one a promise of more to come. You dragged your nails over his back, making him groan and shake at the touch. Never had anyone to scratch that itch, have you, tinman? Tight muscles loosened under your careful touch, making him sink harder onto you until you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. 

You wanted to stay there forever, but as the sweat on your bodies cooled it became sticky and made pulling yourselves apart a chore. Both of you reluctantly made your way off of the skiff, clinging to the walls of the cabin while he hunted for his helmet in the dark. Lights came on gradually once his bucket was back in place so you could find your own clothes, and when you had both gotten yourselves put back together you piled everything you had stolen onto the hoverskiff and pushed it back down the ramp of the Crest. The Mandalorian was back in his beskar, and he cocked his vambrace back and shot a wall of fire onto the little sled, incinerating all evidence of your thievery and passion. The bonfire burned brightly on the gravelly beach of the Cantonican ocean, sending flaming ash into the light of the new dawn. 

You decided to keep the red pocket square that you had tucked in on his costume, though you weren't sure what you would need it for again. Sentimental. You went to the supply crates where your backpack and droid mask were kept so you could squirrel the thing away, when you caught the familiar glowing blue of spotchka at the bottom of the larder. The horrible color made you fucking nauseous after today, but even more distressing was that you realized it was just sitting there unsecured when there was an impish child onboard that could easily get into the bottled brew and make himself sick, or worse.

“Din, we need to put this somewhere safer.”  You held the liquid lantern up for him to see what you were talking about. “What if our foundling gets into it? He might get really sick or-”

“Our?”

Shit. “Sorry, your foundling. Your foundling might get-” Din crossed the small space of the cabin until he was standing close to you, the child in question tucked against his chest. The baby’s big, nebulous eyes glittered up at you, and you couldn’t help reaching out to rub his sail-like ears. He chirped happily at your touch, and as much as you wanted to keep your eyes on him, his father was towering over you, making you squirm under his tilted glare. 

“Say that again.”

“Your foundling.”

“No. The other word.”

“Our?” 

“All of it.”

“Our foundling?”  His helmet cocked to the other side, doing his big metal bird impression. The arm that wasn’t holding the child pulled you up against his chest, squeezed right against the baby in question. The familiar galaxy-erasing hug made you realize how many times you had thought of the child as your own, he was your little buddy, your missing baby when he had been stolen away, your secret weapon that you had hidden in your purse. But he wasn’t your child, he was Din’s, so for him to also be considered as yours…

“Ours.” Above you the word was spoken like it was new, as strange on his tongue as Mando’a was to you. “Our foundling. I like that.”

You couldn’t turn your head up to look at the man who had you wrapped against himself so tightly, but you could smile at the green little child that was flashing you his adorable toothy grin. You little fart, you thought with a laugh, you’re gonna make me go all soft. Almost as though the creature could hear your thoughts he squealed in delight, patting your cheeks with his fat baby paws. You let your arms circle around the boys that had made your life a roller coaster of emotion blasting through the endless sea of stars. It might be a hell of a ride, but you weren't ready to get off any time soon. The memory of the sands of Tatooine where you had been trying to forget the dangers of the universe was starting to fade away, replaced by the moment you were losing yourself in. You were happy to see it go, though your past self would be shocked at how comfortable you had gotten with a magic alien baby and a man with no face.

“Yeah… I like it too.” You hummed into the beskar, feeling Din’s arms tighten even more. You were glad he couldn’t see your face, because the lovely smile had vanished. This is all going to end soon. You buried your face in the tiny space between the foundling and his father’s armor, trying to ignore where the coaster’s rails ended. Only one stop left.

Nevarro, here we come.

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#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #bargaining with beskar

[oneironauto233-blog]

American Prayer Two

Fragile egg-shell mind on dawn’s highway bleeding the segue between times traversed only in momentary dreams or in enduring excursions We drag our droll and quaint 60s baggage like the luggage of a safari made of concrete girding a cavernous expanse of unheralded ground With our ears oriented to the floor, we leap out of body never to deplore….never to ignore….never to miss the blue bus of our drafted imaginations, so carefully culled from brash elitism I trounce the intervening time between being friendless and an ironic end, and an irenic comrade becoming the dearest amazed but always aplomb friend We simper in our glorious traversal, and though bedraggled through an ornamented cavern we linger just long enough to be celebrated Then a blues riff emanates from a vapid bar, and finally someone heralds my exhumed memory still rusty with the pavement of encased concrete on an empty or full tomb So I wander in my mind to that roughshod Paris glassy tincture a romanticized gild of proper sensibility crafted in the tongues of lizards emulating the tongues of serpentine Anglicans As the power of love transcends the love of power, both are afforded serendipitously upon the stately occasion of a fitful revolt where heads literally rolled and deaths still unfurl from the slippage of a violent malevolent eternity, crafting a new creative way to expedite the smite of preventable scourge So Jim, I see your picaresque side and your wide-eyed love for a listless ship anointed of a crystal blip just detectable long enough on RADAR to become the statistic to crack the slim WHIP No wigs are needed at this formality, no figs grow from trees forty-five years buried and almost a full month unsung Pitiable cretins of an invented insanity, they scoff at my ravenous and portentous heart for its excess and for aligning with an upstart verging on only a specious insanity Why in all humanity could a month be mustered with every defense of history and yet for it to be so widely flouted as a risible exercise in futility The irony that the artistic glamor of a past vogue becoming a revival that is often toked only to one song but never to the memorial of great cavernous and commodious imaginations, staggers with dismay where otherwise the mayday would be a disaster but still a great day Then I look at a triggered-fingered omen of a death so ominous yet so brazenly confronted as the ambassadors of time provide plaudits to a fearless martyrdom Why such a sad spate, why such a stringent but malevolent fate a malediction on a family whose crest is not crestfallen like rolling waves but ornamented with gravity impounding its own weight A fugacious tomb, an eternal flame, a swan song announcing an independent authority on a prescient demise mashed and deprived A single shot rippling through the broadened space between clasped eternity and a histrionic disgrace as a psychological confederate pays lip service to a reiterative applause A cousin hardly American in a defected record of incendiary plumes of a hoarse hatred of waxen discs and flying discs alike,  climbs out of a bonfire mounted purely out of vindictive spite Then upon a great white buffalo a wrapped package of Californian love before California ever alighted like something beyond an avaricious dove, saw a rocky park and a hearth of illuminated darkness the singular spark Captain Morgan knows the jackknife applause of a botched deal morphing into a disbelieved spiel. A shibboleth of enormous mystical weight crashing down from an ethereal abode and heaven heavily saddened cannot hardly appeal Then a loving spoonful of crystal blue persuasion led me to Ethel’s regimented keepsake and for once in my life nobility and I became a grateful waif. But temerity laughed, splintered spacecraft, and the wooden paws of a bearish applause led to resurgent clarity Blinking stars shattered by knighted and raw applause punctured the liberated might of a sentient hortatory savior grasped by the internecine wrench of a waxen time An indie track slides by unnoticed in an aleatory time, and the threadbare whine of centuries of lament becomes a dastardly barn set ablaze with the fury of ancients and the scurry of faineant patents Perfidy slides in recess, and in gentle forbearance the winged angel lingers like a halo on conifer and spring above a remedial ring I dial frisky celerity tingling the dangling claws of a raven’s screed and in plunder of all history’s pilfer secrets I eagerly weave a tapestry Indiana Jones himself would be proud to watch Not the riotous ruin of a mystery tour of verdure crippled by genocide but overcome by the revived life of raised rain razing the moments of indelible pain But the culmination of a proffered time taken at its word for its every careened bird, for its every brazen gird. The manger of proctored stars calls us home tonight and home forever. Life in quaked timorous stumbles suddenly no longer so fitfully absurd. The quixotic plundered of pirates and emperors in direct emulation of some crooned pastiche of whittled integrity, surges above any encased blurb and any vain testament to a pyramid rigid in destiny and ragged in desultory and sturdy sincerity Multiplying the ineffable by the division of arable divorced from edible is too creative to be eaten as pabulum when sparks curdle flickered moonlight crimson and that become golden only to the last laugh of ennobled ragamuffins Frankly the desert of melliferous gorillas abetting the lark of a heavily vetted camarilla engaged in the sinecure of a rigged wall on a main street to block the tall from the lame bleat. Stocks grazed, costs engaged on a littoral beach at the end of a Bossy promenade This prayer is a cutthroat collapse of a merry spare, a ribbed condom waiting to plunge into the antithesis of female despair, but sincere in its restraint that vixens courted in love aren’t courted in litigation of a wagered dare Ambulances chase Deloreans through the desolate moon-stricken skies of a time agape with fleets of phantasmagoria on a Cliffside too wise to ever mince words or excise cries Skulking the red-teared caverns of entombed films and lampooned tinctures on a passion vetted only for certain and utter deracinated disguise, I wallop with winged men in a single soul armed to the teeth with inveterate tithes to eternal internments of poached and endangered gazettes As growth older in wizened skin bets on epithets rather than epitaphs for rinsed peace and triumphant clefts we leap above in orbit of only the bellowing nether of blown tolls and untold souls aggregating the esoteric grasp of Alexandrian tomes The denumeration of certainty is a carousel of wonder, a splurge of time ripped asunder with majesties of paparazzi scuttled impacts a throttled iniquity of regalia’s indicted blunder frenchified but still clean with inestimable sheens With twenty-five dollars, a dime an assist and a nickeled reiteration of currency already so personable it is divine and sublime in crazed desist I watch the embroiled natives clash in denatured violence with the warriors of a crossed repast hearkening to an old land much of ire but too much of grandstand to ultimately last Itching for a holy field husk of peerless ties listed as rumpus and beer, a two-packed smoked by bludgeoned blokes careless in irascible sputters of a muffled doom, a Vegan becomes the author of too many sacrosanct homilies becoming defiled witchcraft brooms dead on arrival too many lionized tombs In plaudits and the scause of an amplified “what if?” of an olfactory nightmare of petrified fog of effluvium bogged in Wade and in heat it is always clogged, sinewy libations of toasted preemptive revenge become a powerballed hog A castle in the sky founded on Franklin but scourged of wineskins brimming with a distilled time, a swift repartee becomes the whispered ladder of saints blather becoming not rather other than a Dan Rather spatter A door breeched by a broached inconvenience of amphigory beyond common reach, I clamber excess and whisk the lingered love into destiny beyond any word other than a beseeched preach of nothing tired but everything inspired of noble love with abundance often to teach Fireworks of turned tides of fallow tithes to aliens beyond any conceivable bribe the bushwhacker writhes but survives staying alive without even a hint of garbled jive a 27th floor glass elevator is quite a resplendent ride Wellsprings knowing radical rolled tides of errant dice also themselves guilty of confessional tithes to the monolith of avarice at the nooked cranny of an evaporated time we whine as the police sting the album rained with songs too lugubrious to sing but in their elegy every lonely heart has a propinquity phone of souled resonance ring Iterative mastery of a mathematics of love, loss decay and the dross of a dental Occidental floss, the sweep of screened queues become questions of inestimable importance to foreign dues on a horse with no name but so consumed with fumes A fright occultist thriller prowls in a waylaying daylight, masquerading an innocent confection for a rescued triage of a dawn stabbed with knives in our last dying days of trembled plight He resurrects only the wraiths of detest, squinted at by the putrefaction of summoned cardiac arrest and littered with bullets that somehow can penetrate even impregnable bullet proof vests the wrapped carcass of the mummified husk of ready despair offers itself a ghoulish and raspy prayer Synchronized in a low roaring swathe of rollercoasters too immersive to ride, the terpsichorean obscurantism of deliberately shattered fragments becoming blurbs dismissed with hijacked deride the carnival of a summer sun becomes the ocean of limitless love becoming endless fun We forget the drawl of the droll old tales that haunt like specters in the closet and beneath the bedridden valetudinarian of an effrontery of shackled fright, we sprawl the innumerable caverns of prophetic insight afforded by the pantheon of history enter stage left, depart stage right And with their insight I write and write, I grasp the tusk of democracy and wage an insurrection against the doubt of plodding limitations in otherwise immaculate sight Sex and tyrannosaurus rex, of litigable offenses leading to pardonable arrests, the gated entryway of a poetic splurge leads to the demiurge of a demotic enlightenment and suddenly the frank becomes the frazzled retirement and that haunting hounding bunny transmogrified by a shattered eye averts the car crash that careens ponderous engines out of limitless twilight blue skies. Diamond lightning in pristine skies escorts the telegraphic totems of riddled modems from 1967 to 2016 and suddenly all venerable personages converge on a teeming scene of a union unified by a universal dream. To become everything and yet nothing and out of light and darkness to become a beatific beam

[koshercosplay]

Seriously though where can we get the dreidel cat earrings?

here you go!

#these earrings are very popular #and I'm not surprised because they ARE incredible #ratings #chanukah #hanukkah #asks #resplendent-ragamuffin #i know you found them already but figured I'd post the answer to your ask as well

[evilwickedme]

Talk to me for yours about your Jewish!Crowley hcs please

Ok listen. LISTEN. We're all fully aware that Good Omens is a parody on Christianity (or at least, Christian beliefs). This is literally text, there's no analysis needed. And the book is great! Really, it is, I rated it five stars the one and only time I read it, and that's pretty rare from me honestly. Especially since the book didn't really make that much of an impression on me. Like, quality book for sure. Put it on my shelf and never really thought about it again.

But the tv show... My guys, the TV SHOW. I loved it. I love it, present tense. I've befriended people who are still in my life years later because we love this show. I was going to lecture about this show (I don't talk about this lecture bc it was never finished; I ended up cancelling it due to my mental health worsening). And there's a beautiful, gorgeous line uttered by Crowley that when I heard it aloud went in and did not fucking leave:

All I ever did was ask questions.

(I tried to find a gif or screenshot of this quote and failed miserably I'm sorry)

And the thing is, right, if you've been around a Jew for more than half a millisecond you know that Jews LOVE asking questions. It's baked into us. Religious learning is comprised of reading a thing and then asking questions, until you understand it enough to agree or disagree - queue debate. The thing you're reading? Half the time it's a document of the Sages arguing over questions themselves. It's great! And yeah this little sentence was just like. Crowley... Ask question?? Crowley..... Not accepted by christians for evil nature??? Crowley......... Jewish????????

And listen listen listen!!! I'm not going to get into the role of demons in Jewish mythology (although while looking for said screenshot I did find this post which covers a couple of bases). But you know what I bet that this version of a demon would make the BEST Jew. Crowley craves company that understands him, and in canon the only one who he sees himself in is Azira. But what about a people with extremely long memory? A memory 3.5 thousand years long, for example? What about a community where questions like his are not only accepted, but encouraged?

I like to imagine that Crowley isn't particular about what kind of synagogue he's at. He's been around for so long, he's just here to maybe hear a new Dvar Tora and get some singing in. Over the years, however, especially after he settles in with Azira in their cottage, he ends up a regular at one conservative synagogue. It suits him - enough tradition to be familiar, enough change to not feel stifling. And he's a bit strange, he doesn't always show up and he certainly doesn't always stay through the whole service, but any time they're missing someone for a minyan he shows up, without fail. He gets invited over for shabbos and he brings Azira, who's delighted every time, and eventually they host a small party at their for a Friday night too (Crowley supervises the kashering of their kitchen and makes sure the menu stays kosher for their guests, but otherwise lets Azira go crazy in the kitchen).

I had more to say but I was writing this on the bus and now I'm at work and it's all gone but yeah Jewish!Crowley >>>>

#jew tag #jumblr #crowley #good omens #gail speaks #ask #resplendent-ragamuffin

[versatilepoetry]

True And Immortal Lover.

You entered my disastrously impoverished veins; which were staggering on the brink of lame extinction; like the poignantly priceless and ultimate bloodstream; of my solitary existence, You entered my gruesomely empty palms; which were quavering towards the realms of horrendous oblivion; like the invincibly unflinching and ultimate destiny; of my bedraggled existence, You entered my haplessly diminishing eyes; which were painstakingly wailing towards the midnight of irrevocable blackness; like the victoriously undefeated and ultimate vision; of my floundering existence, You entered my devastatingly collapsing shoulders; which were prejudiced by the castrated onslaught of the manipulative society; like the compassionately unshakable and ultimate fortitude; of my deteriorating existence, You entered my pathetically distorted fingers; which were maimed by brutal plagiarism all around; like the triumphantly insuperable and ultimate artistry; of my invisible existence, You entered my ghoulishly parched throat; which was dismally stuttering like a hoarsely dying frog; like the unconquerably blissful and ultimate voice; of my dwindling existence, You entered my deliriously estranged brain; which was ruthlessly imprisoned by nothing else but a corpse of livid meaninglessness; like the beautifully silken and ultimate fantasy; of my preposterous existence, You entered my inexplicably thwarted ears; which were fecklessly bombarded by solely the sounds of hopelessness; like the infallibly symbiotic and ultimate sounds; of my truncated existence, You entered my drearily beleaguered feet; which were aimlessly squandering towards the mortuaries of asphyxiating hell; like the unassailably philanthropic and ultimate mission; of my evaporating existence, You entered my penuriously trembling chest; which was barbarously orphaned by every speck of this commercially treacherous planet; like the inimitably bountiful and ultimate savior; of my incarcerated existence, You entered my lackadaisically amorphous lips; which were divested of the tiniest affinity since decades immemorial; like the miraculously ameliorating and ultimate smile; of my waywardly existence, You entered my severely lambasted cheeks; which were bludgeoned left; right and unsparing center by the infinite kicks of mundane society; like the wondrously enamoring and ultimate blush; of my victimized existence, You entered my agonizingly holocaustic soul; which was cancerously enslaved by the non-existent spirit of the rampaging devil; like the ubiquitously bounteous and ultimate divinity; of my disappearing existence, You entered my inexplicably emaciated skin; which was horrendously frozen to the last bone of the ludicrous spine; like the magically proliferating and ultimate virility; of my condensed existence, You entered my lugubriously flailing chin; which was wantonly leaning infront of the coffins of utterly penalizing despondency; like the unshakably brilliant and ultimate hope; of my indecipherable existence, You entered my nervously fluttering shadow; which was the most glaring exemplification of failure on this fathomless Universe; like the brilliantly unfettered and ultimate Sun; of my ragamuffin existence, You entered my uncannily slavering tongue; which was being rapaciously coerced to slaver for all that is sinful on this parasitic globe; like the undauntedly celestial and ultimate conviction; of my minuscule existence, You entered my maniacally gasping nostril; which inhaled nothing else but unbearably despicable corruption on this cold-blooded earth; like the perennially blossoming and ultimate freshness; of my gaunt existence, You entered my traumatically directionless heart; which had become wholesomely oblivious to the palpitation of unceasing desire; like the resplendently Omnipotent and ultimate friendship; of my thinning existence, And after entering each conceivable pore and cranny of my existence; made me yours and only yours forever; true and Immortal Lover.

[evilwickedme]

The +1 is one of Bruce's love interests asking his kids for permission

So this ask is referring to my tags on this post by @darsky17 where various slash pairings for the batkids try to bribe Bruce into giving them their blessing to marry his kids and I said this would be a cute 5+1 if I could think of a plus one and I love this so much !!!

Anyway I wrote it

before we get married, I need to get permission from Batman

also on ao3 here

1

Bruce has never seen Wally West this nervous – or at the very least, he’s never known him to sit in his nervousness for this long. It’s been a solid minute of sitting in absolute silence in his office in Wayne Manor, and he can’t help but wonder why he’s been called into this meeting by the Flash.

“Wally,” he gruffs, hoping it’ll prompt the kid to say something. Well, kid – neither he nor Dick were really kids anymore, were they, approaching thirty as they were. They were settling down, and Bruce was feeling more and more his age nowadays.

Wally releases a nervous laugh. “Bruce.”

Bruce sighs. “If you’re not going to tell me why you’ve asked me here, I do have business to attend to.”

“No, wait!” Wally says, blushing. “Oh, I don’t know how to say this.”

Bruce was very careful not to let his frustration show. He was aware that he could be… intimidating, when he wasn’t in control of his expressions.

Wally grabs a pen and random piece of paper from his desk as quick as – well – the Flash, and scribbles something on the back of it, before handing it back to Bruce.

Can I marry your son? is scribbled in nigh-illegible handwriting on the back of it.

Bruce breathes a sigh of relief. Is this what this all was about? “Is that all?”

Wally nods once.

“Of course, Wally,” Bruce says, to Wally’s visible relief. “I honestly am a little surprised you even asked. The two of you have known each other for over a decade, and I’ve trusted you with my life in the field.”

“Yeah, but now you’re trusting me with your son,” Wally says.

“And now I’m trusting you with my son,” Bruce agrees. “For the rest of your lives, hopefully.”

2

Bruce comes home to absolute chaos. It’s a full house for Thanksgiving tonight, but he didn’t expect most of the guests to arrive until much later – and he’s still a little surprised whenever these particular guests arrive at all, although it’s always a pleasant one.

“Jason,” Bruce sighs, “why is Damian threatening Lian with his katana?”

Lian Harper, a very bright seven year old who also happened to be Jason’s partner’s daughter, was currently holding onto Titus for dear life as Jason and Roy Harper – said partner of Jason’s – worked together to keep Damian from slicing her to pieces.

“Miss Lian made a comment regarding keeping Titus to herself,” Alfred provides. “Master Damian took it badly.”

“He’s cute!” Lian yells.

“He’s not yours!” Damian yells back, struggling to get past Jason’s bulk.

“Damian!” Bruce snaps. “Lian isn’t taking Titus, and even if she was, it will never be appropriate for you to threaten a seven year old with your katana!”

“Yeah, you tell ‘im,” Jason says.

“Why are you here, Jason?” Bruce says wearily, instead of dealing with Jason’s unnecessary tone. Damian, luckily, finally backs off and is guided away by Alfred, who Bruce sends a quick grateful look towards. “Not that I don’t want to see you, we just weren’t expecting anyone until three at the earliest.”

“Actually, it was because of me,” says a sheepish Roy. “I didn’t expect it to get so dramatic, 

but I needed to have a quick word with you before everybody else arrives.”

Jason just shrugs when Bruce looks at him. “If it were up to me, this conversation wouldn’t be happening, just go talk to him.”

“Uh,” Bruce says. Then he suggests, “Shall we go downstairs?”

“This is an upstairs conversation,” Jason says confidently. “Come on, I’ll go get Lian something to eat in the kitchen, you can talk in the lounge or something.”

Lounge it was.

The two of them sat down facing each other, and Roy immediately started speaking. “I want to marry Jason.”

Bruce blinks.

“We’ve talked about it, and it’s what’s best. I’ve been a stabilizing influence in his life, and Lian is attached to him now. He wants to adopt her. And we’ve been living together for two years now, it just seems like the next logical step. And he’d never admit it, but he loves when shit’s traditional and whatnot, so before I can buy the ring and actually propose I’m asking you for his hand. But if you say no we’re never showing up to Thanksgiving ever again.”

Bruce has managed to blink twice more before Roy finishes his speech.

He’s experiencing the most bizarre sense of de ja vu. It was somehow both more complicated and a lot simpler with Wally and Dick than it is with Roy and Jason.

“Say something,” Roy says, a smidgen of nervousness creeping into his voice.

“You love him?”

Because the thing is, Bruce knew there was a physical aspect to Jason and Roy’s partnership, and he’d suspected there was more to it, that there were feelings involved as well. But they’d never acted like a couple. So he just… has to be sure.

Roy visibly relaxes. “Is that all?”

Bruce nods.

“Yeah, Bruce,” he says. “I love him. I’ve been loving him. I’ll keep on loving him, too. As long as he’ll have me. Wouldn’t marry him otherwise.”

“Then yes,” Bruce says.

Roy nods once, then gets up, wiping his hands on the front of pants as if from sweat. He couldn’t have possibly been actually worried about Bruce’s answer, had he?

“I’m going to go find my daughter and future husband, then,” he says.

3

It’s a quiet night in the middle of the week when Spoiler unexpectedly joins Batman on a roof during patrol.

He’s surveilling the warehouse below for any suspicious activity.

There has, so far, not been any suspicious activity.

Steph makes some small talk, which passes half an hour just fine. He asks her about her classes, and if she’s getting enough sleep. She assures him she doesn’t have any Thursday morning classes, which wasn’t what he’d been asking, but also wasn’t not what he’d been asking.

After a while, though, the night goes quiet. Bruce is pretty sure Steph joined him specifically to say whatever it is that she’s getting ready to say right now, so he doesn’t interrupt. That, and he’s never been particularly chatty.

“I know I’m not your daughter,” Steph says.

Bruce recoils. “That – ”

“No, wait, that came out wrong,” Steph says quickly. “I don’t mean that – ugh. Okay. Let’s start over, can we start over?”

Bruce waits, knowing she’ll take that for the permission to continue that it is.

“I’m in love with your daughter,” she says. “I have been for a while. And I’m not saying it’s coming up any time soon, but I guess what I was wondering is… how you would feel if I was part of your family. For real, I mean.”

“Spoiler,” Bruce says.

“I’m not asking you to be my dad,” Steph continues as if uninterrupted.

“Spoiler, I,” Bruce says, and this time waits for Steph to make sure she’s done. Once convinced, he continues, “I know I’ve been… less than perfect, with you especially. But I hope it’s never been in doubt that I. I want the best for my children. And that blood or not, I. I love you, like one of my children. And I would be eternally grateful to have you as a member of my family.”

Steph says nothing, just looks at the warehouse Bruce has been neglecting. Bruce waits for her to respond, but eventually looks back at the warehouse as well. Nothing new.

She pounces on him, hugging him from the side as tight as she can. “Thank you,” she says wetly, then, before he can make a decision on what to do with his arms, she darts away. “I’ll see you around, Batman. Also, I’m pretty sure the operation in this warehouse cleared out last week, Oracle said something about it last time I talked to her.”

Batman doesn’t swear, but he comes close to it right then.

4&5

Spending a weekend at the Kent farm sounded a lot more pleasant in theory than it ended up being. There was no room, for one, so Jon and Damian and Kon and Tim had both doubled up, while Bruce ended up on the couch, having had to fight the Kents for the privilege of not replacing them in their own beds.

“You wouldn’t have anywhere to sleep if I did,” Bruce points out. “It’s fine.”

And it would’ve been. If it weren’t for the fact that farm sleeping schedules were entirely antithetical to his own. Batman was the Night Incarnate, and Bruce often ended up in bed at four, five, or even six am.

Jonathan and Martha Kent were up at sunrise, and Clark joined them to help, and Bruce could not sleep through the racket the two of them were pulling in the kitchen while also having the audacity to stage whisper, as if that was any quieter than speaking.

So he was understandably cranky when a scant two hours later, at the abominably early hour of seven am, he was awoken by the two Kent boys’ fight.

“I’ll be the first!”

“No, I’ll be the first, you’re literally twelve!”

“Age is only a number!”

“Where the hell did you even hear that?”

“What is going on?”

Oh good, Lois has joined whatever this is. Bruce gives up any semblance of sleep.

“Oh, um.”

“Jon and I were just…”

“They were,” a yawn punctuates Tim’s introduction to the conversation. Bruce gets off the couch. “They were fighting over which one of them would get to marry a Wayne.”

“Tt. Ridiculous. It’s clearly Jon.”

“I’m not fighting with you over this. I’m going back to bed. Don’t fight with your twelve year old brother about stupid shit, Kon.”

“But Tim,” Kon whines.

Bruce arrives at the scene of the crime – the hallway at the top of the stairs. The conversation immediately stops dead.

“You can both marry my sons, assuming they are an appropriate age and not already married to someone else, in this hypothetical future marriage proposal,” Bruce says. “But only if, and I do mean only if, I get some damn sleep between now and then.”

Jon and Kon both look properly chastened. Tim, who was also arguing for sleep, looks vindicated, while Damian chooses, as was to be expected, to hide his embarrassment, and Lois has never been scared of Bruce in her life, which is one of the main reasons he likes her.

“Come on, cranky pants, you can use Clark’s bed now that we’re all awake,” she tells him.

Her practical, hands on approach to solving problem was another reason, of course.

+1

There were so many kids in this house nowadays. But only six of them were, legally, Bruce’s. So Selina approaches those six first.

“Dick, Jason,” she says, “Tim, Duke, Cass, Damian. Thank you so much for coming.”

“Selina,” Jason says, sounding amused. “Thanks for the role call. Are we here for a specific reason, or?”

“Hmm, well,” Selina says. Then she shows her hand – literally.

Tim whistles. “That one’s much nicer than the last one. Assuming you didn’t steal it?”

“That’s fair,” she says. “No, I didn’t steal it. He asked, again. And I said yes, again.”

“This is going to be a disaster,” Jason says gleefully.

Dick hits his arm. “Don’t be like that, Jay,” he says, “you’ve been living in married bliss for like, four years. Maybe something rubbed off on him.”

“Tt. As if Father has anything to learn from Todd,” Damian says snootily. Selina resists the urge to scratch him between the ears like a slightly hissy cat.

“Well, maybe not nothing,” Selina says. “He made quite a convincing case that we could make it work this time. And I want to.”

“You do?” Duke asks, suspicious. Also fair.

“I promise,” Selina swears. “Is that okay by all of you?”

“Cass?” Tim asks.

“Truth,” Cass says simply.

Tim shrugs. “Good enough for me.”

Dick smiles at her.

Damian tuts, but it’s almost friendly.

Duke nods.

Jason shrugs. “If he wants to try again, we’re not going to stop him.”

Selina smiles. She knows that this really is – acceptance.

“Thank you,” she says. “I can’t wait to be a part of this family.”

#birdflash #jayroy #timkon #stephcass #damijon #batcat #dc fic #dc #this my fic #ask #resplendent-ragamuffin #batfamily #this took me an hour please don't expect it to be good #gail speaks

[evilwickedme]

Did you read this week's Wayne Family Adventures ("Mask Off")? I immediately was like "I've gotta see what Daniel thinks of this."

Sjdkfkf yeah. Yet another uncommon wfa w

I don't understand why DC is SO BAD at writing Jason. I haven't read most of Gotham War but everything I have seen has been garbage. But then some random fanon based webtoon is actually a pretty good representative of Jason's character. It's still done in a fanon way? But like. This is leagues better than the flashback episode in season 1 and I'm just a little mad

#wfa #dc #gail speaks #resplendent-ragamuffin #ask