#welcome to backwater

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter I : Apollo

Series Masterlist

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Summary: Enter: A man who is not so much a man, but an effigy, a wound of steel and armor and Creed – secrecy and masked faces, above all else. 

Enter: A girl who is not a girl, but a creature helmed in darkness and spit out unto the galaxy broken and unmoored. 

Enter: The creation of myth.

Content Warnings: Dominant Din Djarin; Unprotected sex; Creampie;Size difference; Size kink; Rough sex; Overstimulation; Spanking; Brat taming; Touched-Starved Din Djarin

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Hello, friends, and welcome to the new story! 

A few notes: We are starting prior to season one’s canon, and I am doing what I want and making it so that Din already knows about the Force and the Jedi. I make free use of canon and the timeline in whatever way I see fit to suit my own horny purposes, sorry. If things aren’t canon or don’t make sense pls don’t tell me. I am naught but a fragile flower who wilts under harsh criticism. 

Please note as well, that I do describe the FMC as having two different colored eyes although I do not specify what color they are. 

Also, I will be updating the tags as we go along so as to avoid spoiling too much too early on. 

Thank you and enjoy!

Word count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

PART I

CHAPTER I : APOLLO

Is it a god inside you, girl?

Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides

The first time you meet, he’s sitting in the corner of the shithole cantina on the shithole backwater planet you currently find yourself on: Nevarro. Sometimes you were wont to flight – in search of a nowhere place in the middle of a nowhere part of the galaxy to lose yourself. And the barren landscape of the volcanic planet, a broken star of red, the only interruption in the black field of ash, no wind, no life, no sound; it provides the perfect environment for getting lost when necessary.

And then one day, unexpectedly: him. He is a shining, metallic, mountain of a man. 

Mandalorian. 

Whenever you’d felt too suffocated, strangulated, in need of a moment, a breather, a reprieve from the reality of what you were… what you are becoming – this place is enough of nothing to be just the perfect something. When you’re not busy flitting from planet to planet, sector to sector, looking for something to fill the gnawing void within you. Before landing here, you’d been on Sorgan for a time. It’d been… nice… peaceful, or whatever approximation of peace you could partially recognize after an existence such as that which you were currently trying to run from. A temperate climate, kind people, but after a while, you’d happened upon a community one day, and they’d been so… so together, so familiar. Happy, they’d be so openly, unabashedly, uncomplicatedly happy. It was simple, and it had made a terrible lance of poisonous jealousy roil through you. Jealousy and anger and bitterness and a loneliness so painful that you’d had to flee, as far and as fast as you could from the reflection of all your envy and shame. And so you’d come here instead, to Nevarro. A more barren, emptier sort of place – better suited to your ilk. 

“I’ve never met a Mandalorian before,” you croon up at him, smoothly sliding into the booth he’s currently occupying in the furthest dark corner of the cantina, only the gleaming silver crescent of the curve of his helmet visible from the other side of the room. 

This is the first of many lies you will tell him. 

No response. Only the dark, yawning pit of his visor faced slightly away from you. 

The stark curve of his helmet gleams brightly. Beautiful. He looks strong, thickly built. His shoulders, so broad. The armor adorning his torso is beaten and worn, and yet, there’s something so… what’s the word? Lived, perhaps, about the facade of him. This is a creature who has lived – who has seen things, who has battled and survived and most assuredly killed. 

Maybe a little like you, but good. For this you know with certainty about Mandalorians – a flash of a pained scream, beskar crumbling beneath the force of you, for not even what could be considered the most endurable alloy in the galaxy could withstand something of your nature, blood, so much blood, and the sound of such defeat as you do the unforgivable– they are good and honorable and worthy – great warriors. But perhaps, on the surface, with a face of shared, painful history, of survival, maybe there are some things between the two of you which could be called similar. 

“I’ve always been curious, though… Always wanted to meet one.” You sidle closer to him. There’s something about him, the weapons, the breadth of his shoulders, the silence, which starts a chilled little shiver of fear that flashes and coalesces into something hotter and wetter deep in your belly, the closer you get to him. And the feeling of it – of apprehension, of standing in the presence of something other, something that could perhaps best, even you, it is exciting and arousing and different to everything else you’ve ever encountered.

Still no response. 

“You’re hard to come by now. Not many of you left, right?” A curdle of shame and regret hidden beneath your wry tone, “A girl’s got to get extra lucky to find something as interesting as you nowadays… something as pretty too.”

He does react to this, finally, and a little shock of victory fizzes in your belly at the fact that he’s at last deigned to give you even a semblance of his attention, for you are desperately in want of it, as he turns his helmet the fraction of an inch in your direction at the sound of you calling him pretty. So, it seems even a Mandalorian is victim to vanity. 

“Oh, so you can hear under there,” you quip, “I was beginning to worry…”

And then his voice, deep, and of potentially the lowest and smoothest baritone you’ve ever heard, comes through the modulator, “I can hear.” Clipped, and even maybe, a little cold. 

“And he speaks too!” He flexes open the fingers of the gloved hand that lays on the table. You’re annoying him. “How exciting.” You cross one knee over the other, elbow propped up on the edge of the table and chin cupped in your palm, looking up at him. He’s tall, even sitting. Your joint presses into the hard muscle of his thigh, and you feel him scoot just the tiniest bit away from you. You have the uncontrollable urge to snap your teeth at him. You must surely be at least half his size, especially with all that beskar covering him. Don’t act so scared, big, bad Mandalorian. I’m just a little girl. You don’t know what I actually am.

Helmet now turned entirely in your direction to keep an eye on you, he says, “What are you?” Or… whoops, maybe he does know. 

You ignore his question. “You know, I met a whore once – who claimed she’d fucked a Mandalorian. Is it true you just pull out the important bits and get on with it? Seems a bit cold, no? Even for a paid fuck?” He jolts a little at your vulgarity, and you flash him a wide grin, wriggle one delicate eyebrow provocatively. “No game?”

He turns his body to face you more fully now too, his thigh pressing into yours once again as he takes you on directly. Perhaps a warrior's instinct that can sense he is not in the presence of something to be trifled with. The helmet cocks slowly to the side. Silent, silent. Not one for many words this Mandalorian, although, it seems you’ve provoked him now. 

“What are you?” he says again, voice measured. 

“How do you mean?” You let your voice end on an upward lilt, and he shifts minutely, as if agitated at your uncooperativeness. 

“You’re not– I don’t–” The helmet tilts the other way as if inspecting you, and you cut him off before he can finish. 

“Oh, so many things.” You roll your hand on your wrist in a fluttering wave, tapping your fingers quickly against your thumb one by one, flexing a muscle you’ve not allowed yourself to use in a while and repressing it, all at once. You’re watching him so closely you see the small pivot of his neck to glance at your hand, and then back to your face. “Who can keep track anymore? So many strange creatures roaming the galaxy after the fall of everything. The Empire. We’re all just madly careening around as whatever the moment requires of us, aren’t we?” He’s quiet, still inspecting you, and you feel his gaze like a brand on the skin of your face. Like fire, like something that you remember from a nightmare, and that you think should be painful, but now only feels exciting. “So, what are you, Mandalorian? What does the present moment require of you?”

He goes silent again, and you watch the subtle downward tilt of his helmet as he inspects the length of you. You wish you could see if he was ogling the tight swell of your breasts beneath your dark clothes. You tilt your head side to side, smile big at him again, and you’re pretty sure you hear an agitated little huff of annoyance slip through the modulator.

And then: “I’m not interested.” He turns back to face away from you, both fists now firmly planted on the table’s surface, clenched into tight balls of clear annoyance. “Go away.”

Oh, he’s funny too. You throw your head back in a quick laugh, “Did I offer something?”

Silence.

“Dirty mind, Mandalorian.” You drag the vowels out to irk him just that extra bit more. “What? Just because I made one little mention of a whore means that, I too, must be peddling my wares?” And you knock your knee into his beskar clad thigh again. He scoots a smidge away from you, and you follow him, laughing again. Oh, you really should stop provoking him, but it’s just turning out to be too much fun. And you’d been watching him for weeks now, every time he came in here for a new bounty puck. You’d so wanted to talk to him, had snooped around to find out he’s in the Guild, and now you finally are. It was just too much for a girl who had too much time on her hands, and too many ugly thoughts she’d rather forget, roaming around in her mind, to look away from a moment of distraction such as this. 

“Stop,” and it sounds like he’s gritting his teeth. 

You snicker. “Stop what?” in a sing-songed lilt that you know must be grinding his gears. Poor, shiny Mandalorian. 

“Whatever it is you’re doing – speaking to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want something from me.”

“What could I possibly want from you?” You bat your eyelashes at him. “Who’s the one peddling their wares now, Mandalorian, hmm?” He says nothing now, and you know you’re pushing him, you can see the vibration of his restrained agitation in the lines of his thick arms, but there is something needling and annoying and obnoxious inside of you that wants his attention, that wants to incite him. And so you make a mistake that perhaps, is not a mistake at all, but a call for something more, for a reaction from him because as you slowly start to lift a single finger up towards the curve of his helmet, you say, “Tell me, what do you have to offer?” At the same time, he pivots and snaps up to grasp the thin of your wrist in a bone crushing grip as you’re about to make contact with the smooth surface of the gleaming beskar helmet. And you know you were asking for it, that you should never have even insinuated that you were going to touch a Mandalorian’s helmet, and that this is only your own doing, but as his harsh strength makes contact with you, so unexpectedly, he’s so fast, that you’re caught almost entirely unaware, you react on pure instinct. A reflex so embedded into the deepest and most poisoned recesses of your mind, that despite the fact that you know this is the last sort of reaction you should exhibit, that above all else you needed to keep this part of yourself hidden and secreted away from the rest of the galaxy, you can’t help yourself when, at the moment that his crushing strength slams your hand back down onto the table, twisting painfully so that you’re crying out in shock and hurt, you weren’t going to do anything to him, you just wanted to touch a little, you can’t help it when you let go of the reins on your power, and you feel the Force snap out of you like a band of rubber, to crack out and wrap around his arm and rip his painful grip away from you. Another inviolable tendril shoves against his chest plate to push him back. His movements, too abrupt, too unexpectedly aggressive to give you a moment to temper your reaction, to give you a chance to remind yourself that this is not one of your painful, dark memories, that you’re free, you’re free, you’re free, and suppress your reaction to not reveal yourself.

The two of you pause for one long moment, him by force, and you in shock and fear and slight nausea as you pant breathlessly. It’s been a long time since you’ve lashed out like this, since you’ve used the Force in front of another person, and the sensation of being perceived, of being seen for what you truly are is disequilibrating and terrifying and sickeningly liberating all at the same time. 

One thick arm of his is held up and pinned against the back of the booth the two of you are ensconced in, hidden from prying eyes, at least. His legs start to shift restlessly, seeking purchase or trying to kick out, and you pin him there too, lest he try and hurt you again. 

“I do not like to be handled so,” you admonish him, clicking your tongue. You can feel the seething fury rolling off him. “I wasn’t going to do anything to you. I am not going to do anything to you.” He’s got a blaster strapped into a holster at his thigh, and you’re sure his vambrace is hiding several other nasty tricks up his sleeve. You eye them both. “If I let you go, are you going to try and hurt me again?”

“No,” he growls out.

“No,” you mock back, but release him anyway, letting an impenetrable wall settle between the two of you. He immediately goes for his blaster, and you block his reach which has him furiously growling and lurching towards you, only to be met by the invisible Force impeding his attack. He spits a frustrated volley of curses in a language you can’t understand, but that you’re fairly certain is Mando’a. 

“Ah, ah, no blaster,” you tut, and he settles, going suddenly, shockingly still, watching you watch him. “You really are quite poorly mannered and surly.” There’s a part of you that is still slightly unbalanced, heart beating painfully against the cage of your ribs, but you’re trying to hide it behind a wry smile and light tone. Echoes of pain and hurt and cruel and unyielding hands molding you into a thing that was just as cruel and unyielding. You cannot tolerate being handled like that anymore, and you feel contrite that you’d provoked him into doing so. Sometimes it is still difficult for you to remember how it is you’re supposed to behave around other people. 

And then something you weren’t expecting, for he says, “You’re a Force weilder. You’re a Jedi.”

You let out a barking laugh. “What do you know of the Force?”

“Are you?” He presses.

“Yes, but no, definitely not that, no.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing. Or… whatever the opposite of a Jedi is, I suppose.”

“The opposite?” He shakes his head, “I don’t–”

“Hmm…” you cut him off, turning to make sure the two of you still haven’t been noticed. “Not anymore. I don’t use it anymore.”

“Oh, no?”

“Well… you’ve gone and ruined that now, haven’t you?”

“You started–”

“All I was trying to do,” you interrupt, “Was make nice. I’d always wanted to meet a Mandalorian,” Lie, “Haven’t you ever heard of a little flirting? And I fear, now, you’ve painted them all in a very poor light,” Lie, “Look at how rude you’ve gone and been, when all I wanted was to be friends,” Another lie, “A shame…” you heave a big sigh, “You really are very beautiful.” Truth. That fist clenches again, and you cock your head to the side, getting one last good look at him. You feel suddenly sad, you don't want to go. You’ve enjoyed this brief moment you’ve gotten to talk to him. Even if you’d gone and pissed him off and ruined it all now. 

“It was nice meeting you, shiny. Even if you were an abominable beast about it.” You give him a nod of your head, and a quick two fingered salute before you’re sliding out of the enshroudment of the booth and slipping out the back of the cantina, into the dark alleyway, leaving him behind. 

The last glimpse you catch of him out of the corner of your eye before the door shuts behind you, is the sight of him scrambling out of the booth and starting towards the door to follow after you. 

A glutton for punishment, then, so it seems. 

You flit through the dark, dirty alleys, scampering from shadow to shadow. The city streets around you, gone quiet now as the sun over Nevarro sets quickly, and you can feel him hunting after you. He’s strong, and you can almost feel the heavy weight of his life force even at a distance, almost as if the goodness and honesty of his character is a presence of its own, sentient in a way. And he’s angry, and you can feel that too, charging after you, provoked, even if he does it on entirely silent and measured feet. You can sense that ravenous curiosity and frustration at being bested and evaded pressing up against you, chasing after you. As if there were some dark red thread connecting the two of you from spine to rib bone, leading him to you, pulling him along your trail. You tiptoe the lines of the shadows silently, making your way through the winding city streets, feeling him getting closer and closer, trying to confuse him, even as he gains on you anyway. 

And then he’s there. 

You feel a massive hand, strong and sure, clamp around the back of your neck, but his touch is measured this time – he’d heeded your warning. His other hand wraps around the bend of your elbow, twisting your arm back behind you, and then he’s kicking open the nearest door, what seems to be some sort of storage alcove, the space dark and humid and mildewed, and pushing you inside. He shoves you away from him once you pass together into the darkness, and you catch yourself on the edge of what feels like some sort of table or workbench.

You laugh breathlessly. Overwhelmed by the thrill of the chase, of the feel of his hands on you, the surrounding darkness, the sound of his own panting breath through the modulator of his helmet. You hope he’s just as overwhelmed, disequilibrated, as you are now. 

“Oh, you again?” you laugh, turning to face him, bracing yourself back against the table. All you can see of him is the silver crescent of the curve of his helmet, the outline of his wide shoulders in the dim light of the moon seeping in through the cracks of space around the door. He is a steel giant.“Did you forget something? Need me to hand your ass to you again, Mandalorian?”

“You’re a fucking brat. Anyone ever tell you that before?”

You gasp mockingly, “Me? Never.”

“Why is it that everything you say sounds vaguely like a taunt? Like you’re trying to provoke me.”

And, oh, he sounds just so unbearably serious and put out by you, that you pout, forced to match his serious tone with one of your own. You force the smile to leave your voice, “Maybe because I am,” and your voice goes quieter, softer, because again, truth. There is something about him that incites provocation, you want him rattled, come undone. “Maybe I want to see what happens when a man made of metal loses control.”

“I can’t – I don’t–” His voice, even through the modulator, is its own flavor of foreplay. “I don’t know…” he says again, whispers it, his tone seeping through the helmet, entirely uncertain, or at war with himself. 

He takes one menacing step forward, made even all the more intimidating by the vast difference in your heights, the sheer breadth of him, the darkness wrapping around him so that all he’s made into are slivers of gleaming silver flame here and there. You feel the whisper of one leather covered finger skim lightly over the outside of your right forearm, another soft touch to the left side of your waist, and you shiver all over. 

“Not a virgin? Your Creed lets you fuck?”

“No.”

“No, what? Use your words.”

Silence. Stubborn, silent, tin can.

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Whores?”

A grunt. 

“Aha! Gotcha.” You start to toe your foot forward, bending your knee to make contact with him when you find his leg, tilting slightly away from the table so that you can slide your thigh between his legs. “Is that what you want me to be for you?”

“No.” Fucking monosyllabic–

“Then what do you want from me? Why did you follow me?”

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t lie.”

“I want to fuck you.” Your cunt goes soaked and tight at his words, because yes, yes yes, this is what you were leading him to. Finally, he’s caught on, and then he’s planting a strong, broad hand to the center of your chest and pushing you back into the table, and pressing the hard, unyielding length of himself against you. He’s hard and swollen beneath his pants, you can feel the thick heft of him against your belly as he presses into you, and you bring your palms up to slide against the unprotected sides of his strong waist, sending him into a full body shudder as you touch him, helmet falling forward on his neck as he hunches over you, hands planted on the table behind. You can hear his labored, panting breath huffing through the modulator as you run your hands along the planes of him. He’s huge, pure muscle beneath unrelenting beskar, and if you weren’t the creature that you are, you’d feel slightly frightened at the unbelievable strength he’s made up of. He is a thrumming effigy of restrained power beneath your hands, different to that which makes you up, and you feel the strength of him once again, humming through the Force. His light burns so bright, almost blindingly. He’s strong. 

You slide one of your hands up his chest plate, tucking your fingers into the top-most edge to bring yourself up and closer to him as he curves over you, bending you back into an arch over the table’s edge. Your other hand reaches for his wrist braced against the table, wrapping around it, so thick your fingers don’t meet, to tuck your fingertips into the space where his sleeve meets his glove, and at the feel of your bare skin on his, just there, just there, he growls, deep and savage in his chest at the same time that you let out a breathy, warbled moan. His other hand shoots up to grasp at the small of your back and press you into him, his fingers digging painfully into your skin. He’s burning hot, sweltering, and he slides his palm lower, tilting your pelvis into his as you hitch one of your knees up the outside of his thigh to his hip, and then your cunt is rocking against the thick length of his cock, and another breathless, pained groan from the both of you as you make contact there, pushing and pulling against each other. You want to taste his skin, his tongue, you want to kiss him, to feel him licking into your mouth. You pull yourself in closer by the hand tucked into his chestplate to press your face into the warm space between his helmet’s edge and the folds of his cowl. He smells so good, like leather and sweat and metal. Something earthy and musky, something that proves to you that despite the beskar, there is only a man of flesh and blood and want beneath. 

His palm slides to grip the lush of your ass, rolling you onto his length harder, pressing deeper as if he could fuck you through your clothes. 

“Are you going to let me fuck you, little brat?” he pants, ending on a stuttered groan as you hook your calf around his waist and press your foot into the small of his back to grind particularly sharply onto him, pressing your clit into the edge of his utility belt, “Please, just– just–” you gasp, head falling back on your neck. And then he’s spinning you abruptly and pressing between your shoulder blades so that you're bent entirely over the table, cheek smushed against the hard surface. That wide palm slides down the slope of your spine, squeezes your asscheek harshly so that you’re moaning out in lust or pain, you can’t tell.

“Was that a yes? Who can’t use their words now?”

“I liked it better when you weren’t talking,” you grouch, but then his fingers have somehow snuck their way up beneath your tunic and under the edge of your trousers, and he’s ripping everything down to leave you bare and unprotected from the sudden onslaught of that huge expanse of leather clad palm cracking down painfully on the soft skin of your ass so that you’re scrambling to find the opposite end of the table to pull yourself away from him. A pathetic little screech claws its way out of you, and he wraps the length of your hair around his fist to pull your head back and up, turning you into his own little bow string, head resting back on the hard pauldron over his shoulder. 

“Where do you think you’re going? I caught you, you’re mine now.”

“Fuck off–” You try, but he clamps his fingers around your jaw, squeezing the fine bones of your face to cut you off, his other hand in your hair gives a sharp tug that makes the tips of your breasts go hot and tight and your cunt clench around nothing. You can feel yourself dripping down the insides of your naked thighs. 

“Open your mouth,” he orders, shoving the thick of his fingers inside to press down on your tongue. You try and moan around him, protest or something, but you can’t help but run your tongue around the digits, tasting the smokiness of blaster residue, the tang of whatever he must use to oil his gloves. “Finally, some silence. I like you better like this,” he taunts you with an imitation of your previous words. He bends his head forward, “Get them wet,” he murmurs, voice soft and sultry through the modulator, and the moan you give him now is all desperation as you let saliva pool heavy on your tongue to coat the leather. 

When he pulls them from your mouth, tugging your head back further so that you can look up into the dark tee of his visor as he slides his spit slick gloves between your thighs to press against your throbbing clit, your whimpered little mewl has a chastising tut filtering through the helmet, “Slippery, little thing.” He starts to press slow circles to the aching bundle of nerves, sliding down on every other swirl to press gentle, teasing pressure to your clenching opening. “Did my chasing do all this? Do you like being hunted, brat?”

“Not–” you moan as he presses down hard on your clit, then back to the mouth of your cunt, giving you just the tip of his finger, “Not a brat,” you struggle to get out.

“No?” He starts to press two fingers inside at once, both of you groaning in tandem. “Maker – fucking tight–” He scissors his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist to fuck you open, making room for himself inside of you. “Don’t know if I’ll even fit in here.”

“No,” you groan, low and drawn out, and then, yes, whispered breathlessly, one of your arms reaching back to hold onto the wrist of his hand still twisted in your hair, trying to find purchase on anything to anchor yourself with. Because the stretch of just his two fingers inside of you – you can hear the slick squelch of your wetness as he starts to fuck them in and out of you slowly – is so unexpectedly obscene. You had not expected to find yourself in this position with any man, especially not one like this – had not thought you were yet ready to be touched by another person. Not so soon after– “Please – m– more. I want–”

“You think you’re ready for my cock, little one? Have I stretched this tiny cunt out enough?”

“Yes– yes. Just do it.”

“Fuck–” You listen to the wet little pop as he pulls his fingers from you, and the clink and shuffle of his belt and armor as he pulls himself out of his clothes, and then he’s shifting behind you as you brace against the edge of the table. The burning hot blunt tip of his cock skimming against the round of your ass, and you feel him spread his feet wide, bend his knees, and then his cock is there at the slick mouth of your cunt, and he’s thrusting up and into you on the downward roll of your hips, and Maker, he’s deep like this. Suddenly, twin strangled groans of pain or relief ripping from your throats in tandem as he grinds deep, deeper, for a moment. You feel the heavy kick and throb of his cock inside of you, and he is too big, too thick – he forces you to take it anyway. Stretching you in a way you’ve never been before, your eyes smart, forcing your body to make room for his inside of you, it leaves your breath to stutter out in a weak little puff of shock. 

And you moan, using the palms of your hands against the edge of the table to grind yourself back onto him while his hands clamp tightly around your hips, his fingers so long they almost meet at the center of your belly beneath your navel. 

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. That’s so good.

You can’t tell which one of you is speaking. You can't even tell if you’re still breathing. And then he starts to move. 

You knew he’d fuck hard, from the first moment you’d seen him, you knew.

He pulls his hips back, the slick wet, the grasping walls of your cunt trying to suck him back in, and then the scorching slide of him pressing back in, in, in, grinding again, those long fingers pressing down on your belly so that you feel him from the outside too. 

“Harder,” you beg, because of course you want more. You are a creature made of greed and hunger. You always have been. 

“Quit. You’ll take whatever the fuck you’re given,” but his hips slam back in, a savage growl punctuating the movement. 

He gives it to you almost brutally, without pause or thought, fucking punched out breaths and whines from you. 

“Shut up,” he spits on the end of one particularly deep, harsh thrust that’s followed by a high pitched mewl from you. “You want every piece of shit on Nevarro to find you split open on my cock like this?” Your head lolls back limply on his shoulder, the wet slap of his heavy balls against your clit overwhelming the sound of your thoughts. You can’t speak, your brain is currently being jostled within the confines of your skull by the force of his cock splitting you open. “No? Then be a good girl, and be quiet,” his voice, rough, even through the modulator is almost drowned out by the wet, obscene sound of him pounding into you. 

He brings one of his hands back up to your jaw, turning your head slightly so that your nose is almost smushed up against the chrome of his visor. He wants to look at you. The hard beskar of his chest plate rubs harshly against your back on every push upwards of his hips, and you’re sure that’ll hurt later, but right now you just can’t seem to care. You can feel the humid, warm air of your panting breath, foggy against the gleam of his helmet, and you bring one of your hands up to the wrist holding your face, holding on for dear life, sanity, you’re not sure what. Your other hand twists back into the hanging fabric of his cloak so that you can pull yourself more tightly back into him as he slows his thrusts, making them longer and more drawn out. “Yeah– like that. Settle… good girl.” Your eyes flutter shut. Too much, too much. It should hurt. You wanted it to hurt. Not gentle, you don’t want it gentle.

“Harder,” you whine, plead.

“No. How I say.” He rolls his cock into you over and over, your slick sliding down your thighs, the backs abraded by the plates of beskar over his own legs. He’s so deep, so big it hurts so good. Even if you want it harder, it still hurts so good. The hand at your face slides down to rip open the fastening of your high necked tunic, reaching inside and under your breast band to pull out the heavy aching weight of your tit and pinch your nipple, rolling it between his strong leather clad fingers – more high, desperate mewls that have him groaning deep in his chest. You’re sure if your face wasn't so close to his you’d never be able to hear them through the helmet, low and rumbly and so delicious. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs low, cupping your breast to plump it up, massaging it in his palm.

“What? You can see?” 

“Yeah– fuck yes, I can see.”

“Not fair,” you whine. It’s so dark in the little room he’d pushed you into, you’re not even going to get to take a good look at his cock before this is all over. 

“You don’t need to see. You just need to be good and take it.”

“Do you ever kiss?” you ask him suddenly. Irritated by the fact that you’ve not gotten to ogle him – or kiss him. If he even does that.

Another deep roll of his hips, a tight squeeze to the swinging globe of your breast, “No.”

“That’s a shame.”

And he responds immediately, voice subdued and even, underneath the helmet, despite the fact that you feel like he’s cleaving you in two. “Maybe next time,” he says. His palm slides down to your belly then, the other pressing down between your shoulder blades to fold you over the table, hands moving to wrap around your hips and lift you up and back onto his impaling cock so that the tips of your toes are left skimming the ground beneath, your fingers scramble and claw for purchase against the wood of the table. You can feel the wide tip of his cock punching against your womb on every thrust in and stars flash behind your eyes, mouth hanging open pathetically. 

There is nothing gentle about the way he fucks you. Like he wants to split you in two, like he wants to make sure the shape of him is branded into the center of your body so that you’d never forget this. The sticky sweet coil of your orgasm starts up low in your belly, and you feel molded in his image for one second, pushed out of yourself to stand on the sidelines and look upon the sight of your much smaller form draped over the table and being fucked into so savagely by this silver blade of a man.

And then: they’re fucking bare, they’re fucking raw, and it has been so, so long since he has felt the touch of another person, someone else’s skin on his that was not bestowed upon him in violence or with the barrier of a sheath between. It is an almost overwhelming feeling, that of your hot, soaking wet cunt pulsing around him, you’re about to come for him, he can feel it. The fluttering of your inner muscles, delicate thing that you are, your thighs shaking as you struggle to push yourself back on to him to get it harder, deeper. He is, almost, made faint with the feeling. And those eyes… you’ve got the strangest multicolored eyes. One enshrouded entirely in darkness compared to its bright counterpart – as if one had forgotten to take that last step into the light. You’re fucking beautiful and–

You snap back into yourself. No, no, no, stay out of his head. Stay out of his head. Focus. You push yourself up again so that your back is against his chest, and he bands one tremendously strong arm around you, gripping your breast tightly. You feel him bend his knees framing your thighs to change and deepen the angle, and then he’s pounding right into that tender, devastating place inside of you, and your cunt twists and floods with your orgasm, electric shocks of pleasure numbing your fingers and toes. You can do nothing more than let him do with you what he will. Your toes aren’t even touching the floor. 

He presses as deep as he can, grinds for a moment, and then he folds you over the table once again and presses down harshly on the small of your back with one heavy palm as he pulls his cock from you and finishes himself off. You listen to the wet thwack, thwack, thwack of him pulling on his cock, and then the searing hot spurt of his come is hitting your ass and the exposed seam of your fluttering cunt, a savage growl ripping through the modulator as he squeezes all of the air out of you with that unyielding hand. You’re like a pressed flower between the pages of a book – wilted and frayed, but still held in the image of that which you once were. At the last spurt from his cock he brings his hand to your ass, spreads you apart to rub his spend into the tight furl of your ass, and then further down into your throbbing, overly sensitive clit. All you can do is cry and whimper weakly, still trembling from your own orgasm. “T– too much, nooo,” you whine pathetically.

“Easy – easy, settle.”

You feel him fall to a crouch behind you, pulling you apart with both hands by the meat of your ass to look upon the sight of your blushed, fluttering hole. Messy, little cunt, you hear him whisper. He rubs his come into your trembling thighs, over your swollen clit again, inspecting every vulnerable inch and crevice of your sex, and then he’s pushing two of those thick fingers back inside of you, the passage made slick and fucked open by your mingled come. “Just one more, little one. Want to see it up close,” he murmurs. You try and wiggle away, tears of oversensitivity brimming beneath your lashes, I can’t, I can’t, you think you whisper, but he’s inescapable. He clamps one hand painfully over your asscheek, keeping you spread apart for his inspection, the other one buried deep inside of you so that his fingers are hooked against your g-spot where he presses over and over, quick and relentless, his fingers almost vibrating inside of you until your vision is going white hot and a buzzing sound rings in your ears, and you’re crying for what you think might sound like mercy or something equally despeerate. “Yes, fuck, yes. Just like that.” Your answering sob does not prompt him to abate, for he keeps his fingers pressed against that spot inside of you until you’re leaking an embarrassing amount of wetness down your thighs, until the rippling throbs of your orgasm have finally settled. You feel his head fall forward, the beskar of his helmet pressing against the space where your asscheek meets your thigh, and he holds there for a second against your burning hot skin, the scorching soothed by the cool metal.

You can’t stop shaking, you feel, suddenly, like you might cry. You were not prepared for something of this intensity, to be touched like this, and now that it’s happened you’re left reeling. You don’t even know his name. And now you’re sure he’ll go away to wherever it is that Mandalorian bounty hunters run off to, and you’ll never see him again, and you’ll have to live with the memory of this forever. And something like this… amidst all the other horror that lives within you, you’re sure that the intimacy, the fervor of this, will make it hurt all the more, even compared to all the rest. 

He uncoils behind you, rising up to his towering height. You listen to the rustling of his clothes, and then he’s smoothing a large palm over the slope of your trembling back and reaching down to pull up your trousers, tucking your breast back beneath your tunic, righting your clothes for you without commentary. When you think you’ve finally caught your breath, or can at least pretend you’ve done so, enough to push yourself up from your position over the table. Your eyes feel pinched and hot, your heart beating so hard, almost painfully, within the confines of your ribcage that it feels as though your bones are rattling beneath your skin, knocking together in the imitation of a death rattle so that he’ll surely know that you feel two paces away from falling apart entirely. 

“You’re… Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?” Voice stilted.

“No more than I wanted you to.”

He’s silent for a moment, uncomfortable. You can feel the sensation of him pulling away, getting ready to make a run for it. “That’s not–” he cuts himself off. “Do you– do you spend much time on planet?” He’s awkward, uncomfortable now with this unnecessary notion of seemingly required small talk.

“No.” Lie. You like Nevarro, you spend more time here than anywhere else. 

“What’s your name?” It shocks you that he asks, for you know he’d not give you his if you asked it of him in return, but for one infinitely painful, insanely uncharacteristic moment, you want to tell him. You want to give him your real name desperately, tell him who you are. But if you were to do that, then you might tell him what you are. And then he’d hate you, and the memory would be ruined, and you have so few good ones, that this one must be protected at all costs. 

So instead you say that which you have no real desire to say, do what you have no real desire to do, and make sure that he thinks you’re not interested, that you have no desire to ever see him again. Maybe next time. Your heart gives a surprisingly painful pinch, your eyes growing hotter by the second. “This was just a fuck, don’t get all sentimental on me now.” Your voice is so cold, so uncaring. You hate the way you can make yourself sound sometimes. You sense him snap with tense shock, and he nods once, succinctly. “Very well. Thank you… for this. I suppose.”

You lean back against the table, trying your hardest to appear as unaffected as you can. You turn your face to the side, roll your cheek over the hill of your shoulder. “It was my pleasure.”

He turns to go, his cape snapping with the sharp abruptness of his movements, and he pulls open the door of the little storage room letting a flood of moonlight sweep in to shed light on the construction of this memory you’re assembling brick by brick to preserve in your mind for as long as you possibly can. Your eyes sweep over the length of him ravenously, trying to catalog every single detail of him, the incredible breadth of his shoulders, the silver gleam of his beskar helmet, the sweep of his cape, the arsenal of weapons strapped to his body, lethal. He turns back to look at you for one moment, the yawning darkness of his chrome visor, “Don’t get killed, Mandalorian. There are so few of you left now.” And truth, truth, truth, for it would be a shame beyond imagining for a creature such as this, something so strong and beautiful and other, to perish when so few like him remain. He pauses to take you in, as well. You wish you had the courage to ask him what he sees when he looks at a thing like you. The tears are right there, and you hate them and feel weak and disgusted, but also relieved, and you could fall to your knees, in this moment, to thank the Maker that you still possess the ability, the heart, to cry, to succumb to something as trife as tears. You hope he cannot see them. The helmet cocks to the side for one second, perhaps he too is cataloging you to his memory. He nods once, and then he’s turning and gone away into the night. The door snicks shut behind him, and you’re alone once again. 

You pause for a moment, hoping that relief will come. He’s gone, you got what you wanted from him. You should be glad. But there is only the screaming thought of wait, there was still more, there was still more that I wanted from you. 

You let yourself sink slowly to the ground, hand braced against the edge of the table he just fucked you over, lest your shaking legs give out and have you planting face first into the dirt. You fold your legs beneath you, tuck your wild hair gently behind your ears, your movements measured, trying to breathe deep and slow, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Don’t cry, there’s no reason to cry. But shouldn’t we be glad we can still cry? Isn’t it a sign that not all is lost? That there is still a part of us that feels enough to shed tears? This should be a good thing. And so you let the tears fall. You fold yourself over as small as you can, one hand pressed over your hot, leaking eyes, another over your mouth to keep your sounds contained, and you sob as quietly as you possibly can. It was so good and you’re crying and you’re alive and you’re free. You are free, and you should be glad of this. Cry, cry, but cry for your own victory, for your own freedom, for the chance to cry. This is what victory feels like. This is what it is to be alive. 

And so, here is your truth: It is a difficult thing, to shed the facets of the dark side after you’ve lived with it for so long. To be a Sith is to forsake all connection, all peace. There is only passion to strength to power to victory to the Force, but it is always alone. Always against someone or something else. So, yes, it is difficult to shed the facets of the dark side that have made you the thing you’ve been for more than half your life, since the time you were stolen from your cradle, your parents slaughtered, and spirited away into the shadow of a cruel and unforgiving master. What is it to know exactly how your life will play out, to see everything, to be so aware of what you will be – and to still be lost? Part agony, part madness. The pieces of you that are secretive, that like to hide, to run, these are especially difficult to let go of, and you are so, so interminably sad, you live in it. It’s all you feel you are now, after the dark, after the fall of the Empire and the Sith, after escape, after freedom, after you’d so forcibly ripped its claws, that were so deeply sunk within you, out by sheer force of will, by sheer force of desperation, you worry that it’s taken a piece of you with it, your soul. That it had eaten a piece of you. That you don’t have one anymore. 

You don’t even know his name. And even if you’re certain he would not have given it to you, for one moment, you feel an incredible lance of regret that you did not give him yours. 

But then: a person without a soul could not cry. 

And so this must only be proof of the fact that you must still possess yours, as shriveled or weak as it’s been made, you must still have one. You must. You must. 

And you think: I am not unfamiliar with this half life – there is a wound inside of me – dark and putrid and festering. But perhaps my tears will heal me. Seal the wound closed. 

You feel lonely – worse, you feel strange. Once, you were terrible – now you are only yourself. So you cry for the passion of the moment, for the way he made you feel, for the loss of a name, for the truth of freedom.

Chapter II

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: Along the Road of Nameless Graves

Presiding over a series of forested foothills and mountainous valleys that divide two rival kingdoms, the mist-shrouded barony of Siirvyn has seen more than its share of war over the past generations. Betrayal, invasion, and massacre are all too common motifs in the barony's long history, leaving all sorts of scars on both the landscape and the people who dwell within it.

Adventure Hooks:

Rumours of a treasure draw the party to Siirvyn, apparently concealed in a vault beneath the ruined castle of a long dead baroness Taviaa. Surely it won't be too hard to locate a single ruin in a land frequently beset by war, right?

The party arn't the only one combing across the barony looking for something. A hardluck knight seeks her brother after he vanished on a foolish quest, and might be willing to help the party out of jam if they aid her in search.

Folk of the barony tell of Grimcackle, a great black winged beast that moorlands that's sometimes heard laughing over the desolate battlefields but is only ever seen by the lost and the desperate. To heed the old stories it plunders the old battlefields of it's choicest riches, hoarding the wealth of the dead over centuries of war.

Subquest 1:

The party's hunt for riches gets complicated after arriving in the region to find that there has been no less than eight baroness Taviaas over the past century(backwater fiefdoms do like tradition after all) with five castles between them. Most have been destroyed by disaster, neglect, or siege, leaving the party to trek across the land checking checking out each option (though a clever party might narrow their search by hitting the local archives and cross referencing historical accounts).

Potential ruins include:

The delapidated lair of the local owlbear

Huanted by the ghost of one of the baronesses Taviaa,

The Hideout of a gang of smugglers with far reaching ties

Thoroughly cursed by a battlefield savaging spriggan who deals in cursed weapons.

To make matters even more complicated, one of the castles has been restored by the current baron Arkolo who would likely not take kindly to a band of renegade sellswords pilfering riches from under his nose, forcing the party to avoid it entirely or risk getting thrown in the dungeon if caught.

Subquest 2:

Ser Riley of Breakbridge never expected to inherit the family title, her father favoured her elder brother Rhys far more, and when the old man died in the last war there was no question who his holdings would pass to. Then, a couple of years ago Rhys got it into his head that he needed to reclaim the family's ancestral sword which was lost in the same bloody battle that did their father in, crossing the mountains to scour old battlefields and not being seen since. After righting the mess Rhys caused by his chivalric absence, Riley has come to Siirvyn herself to drag him, or possibly his body back from his foolhardy quest. The party may run into her requesting aid from the Baron, seeking advice from the local shrine to Tyr, or drinking off another unsuccessful trek through the wilderness at the local tavern. She'd welcome their aid in her search, and would gladly pay them back by lending her blade to theirs in their search (or using her influence to spring them from the baron's dungeons, should they have been caught).

Rhys' trail snakes all across the barony (including leaving a journal in one of the ruins the party wanted to search), but terminates in the great barren battlefield that was his father's last stand. While searching these moorlands the party & Ser Riley will run into a band of armed scavengers apparently conducting their own body-hunt for one of their fallen comrades. They served on the opposite side of the war from Riley's family, and if that wasn't bad blood enough, they apparently came to blows with Rhys a little under a year ago and aim to settle the score with his sister.

Regardless of how the standoff plays out (talking the scavengers down and exchanging favours or beating the information out of them) the Next step is to find Grimcackle's nest. By now (especially if you're playing with my affliction system and the party is tired out from all their wandering across the countryside) the party will have realized that the only way to see the great raven is to be nearing the edge of death, whether through actively dying, being poisoned, or just being exhausted to the bone. This is because the great raven is infact a psychopomp, tasked with sorting out the dead from the region's innumerable wars. Once the party find the particular tor the dread raven uses as roost, they'll find him quite chatty in the way of most birds, happy to trade gossip or play show and tell with his many finds. Rhys did indeed come to challenge Grimcackle for the sword, an act of daring rudness that forced the psychopomp to drag the knight's soul to the purgatory it rightfully belonged.

Resigned by the love she bears her brother, Riley insists she must venture into the shadow to save him, leaving the party with the choice of convincing her to abandon her quest, leave her to her fruitless pursuit of honour, or risk it all alongside her for the sake of an idiot who thought he could convince an aspect of death to respect his pedigree.

Subquest 3:

After their harrowing adventure the party return to town to find that Baron Akolo has been assassinated and all of Siivyrn has been thrown into chaos and suspicion. Fingers point and depending who the blame lands on it might spell civil war or invasion for the backwoods barony once again.

Background: Both neighbouring powers wish to control who moves through the region's winding passes, and expend great effort in both war and peace to ensure the barony is favourable to them. While occupying armies and vassalage have been all too common in the past, the region's ostensibly independent ruler Baron Arkolo is a puppet in all but name for the winning side of the most recent war. Little more than a bandit leader during the conflict savaging battlefields and attacking supply lines on both sides, Arkolo saw the way the wind was blowing before anyone else and made himself indispensable to his current patrons before their inevitable victory.

Little more than a strongman at first, the newly elevated baron managed to ingratiate himself to his subjects by leveraging his outlaw status to cast himself as a hero fighting against the great powers rather than ruling on their behalf. All the while the canny old bandit was of course playing both sides, toadying to the victorious kingdom while helping to run the smuggling operation for their rivals.

Clues & Consequences:

The baron had a stormy relationship with his son and prospective heir Kalo, who came up raiding alongside his father. After the war however, the young man felt he'd had enough of violence renounced his possesisons and joined the secluded temple of Tyr as a means of making peace with his bloody past. Arkolo never approved of his son's taking the cloth, refused to name another heir and would frequently make pilgramage to the temple just to argue with him. Despite their years of contention however the had seemed to reconcile in recent months, becoming closer than ever. Kalo is not taking his father's murder well, and has decided to dust off his old bandit skills alongside his newfound connection to a wargod as a means of finding the killer. Like an angered bull, he's liable to charge at whoever draws his attention, a weakness the real culprit might use to direct him onto the party's trail.

Gareth Gosdown, the baron's advisor and castilian is an agent of their patron kingdom, sent to keep the former outlaw in line and the kingdom's garrisons well supplied. In the wake of Arkolo's death, he's less interested in finding the killer than he is reinforcing his masters' hold over the barony in case of a new invasion. Known for butting heads with the Baron's more slapdash ruling style he's the one the common folk are most likely to point to.

Taviaa (ninth of that name) was born to the Baron after he'd claimed the region and married one of the local nobles. Though still young, she has a cutthroat attitude and a mind for politics, which made it all the more frustrating when her father refused to give up on her pious half brother as heir and name her instead. She knows she's the obvious culprit, the case made all the more convincing by the fact that she's recently been paling around with emissaries from the other kingdom.

Art 1

Art 2

#trying a new format for this lemme know what you think #tyr #psychopomp #highlands #highland dungeon #mystery

[kyberblade]

Give It To Me In Basic (Din x Reader)

A/N: This is just something that the premise came to mind when I listened to a song and I couldn’t let it sit. I wrote it in practically one sitting and just saw where it went - it was basically an exercise to stretch my writing muscles after a while away, and it felt really good! It’s incredibly sappy and domestic and I hope you like it. 🥹 (Not a part of my other series, this is an entirely new Din x Reader to me. Hi. Hello.) I also wanted to try writing in “she/her” instead of “you”, but this is still definitely an entirely blank reader insert. No physical descriptions are used. No mention of Y/N.

I do not own Star Wars or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.

Summary: Din finds softness after a life of rigidity, and he’s not willing to let it go. (*Chandler Bing voice* Could I have been more vague?)

Warnings: Fluff? Like tooth rotting amounts of fluff and domesticity. Din being a sap. Grogu being the cutest thing you ever did see, and Din is once again a warning in and of himself in this one. Swearing. Mentions of typical show violence. Mando’a. Swearing. Mentions of pregnancy at the end. Some spoilers if you squint? (But if you’re here, you know how this works.) (No but like really, it follows the plot of season 2 and TBoBF, so mentions of that briefly, if you don’t want that spoiled, don’t read.) Helmetless Din. What? Who said that? 👀😬 Again: No mention of Y/N. (In fact this is written as “she/her” instead of “you”, but is an entirely blank reader insert.)

Word count: 1,206 (I know. I am as shocked as you are at how brief this is.)

Thanks to @fordo-kixed-rex for reading over this and sending me a caps locked series of texts as a response. And to @what-the-heckin-heck and @littlemisspascal for telling me it’s not too fluffy/sappy/much.

Masterlist

Xxx

There was a softness Din had come to know, grown familiar with, and let it entangle with his life like a well kept plant on someone’s warm windowsill.

It had snuck up on him when he’d least expected it. Not in the middle of a battle, or on some backwater planet, but in the quiet moments in between.

It had a heart unlike anything he’d ever seen. Something vibrant and larger than life, that welcomed him and his son with open arms and without a second glance.

The heart was worn on the sleeve of a woman, who by every standard was normal, nothing brilliant or captivating, but to Din she was everything. He couldn’t look away whenever she was nearby, her beauty both inside and out something that pulled him in with a force he didn’t understand.

Her touch sent shockwaves across his skin, the first time she shook his hand making him shudder even through his gloves. As time went on and he found himself lost in a darkened hull of the Crest, the woman at his side as they tangled further up in one another, his breath caught in his chest as her slight hand reached up to cup his cheek.

It wasn’t the touch of a lover, the sensuality of the trace of her fingers that stole from him. It was the closeness. The nearness. Something in the touch felt like home.

And he never felt at home again unless those hands were cradling him in some way, even through his armor. He’d lean into the touch, though he couldn’t feel it through his beskar, he swore he could. This was home. This is what he was trying to come back to.

Her laugh made him laugh. A foreign and buzzing feeling climbing out of his chest. Just the thought of it made him chuckle, shaking his head and telling his contact it was nothing, he was just amazed the bounty was so stupid.

Maybe it was selfish, but he didn’t want to share her with anyone. He’d found a little slice of happiness in this godforsaken galaxy, why did he have to let anyone else know about it?

When he lay on the ground, wind knocked out of him after an enemy had gotten a lucky hit, it wasn’t the sky above he saw, it was her eyes. They sparkled mischievously at him anytime she plotted her next move, often to get him to just relax. 

For years he’d seen calculating gazes, sneers, narrowed eyes of distrust and hate. He saw none of these with her. Only peace.

How ironic, he thought, getting back to his feet before causing carnage. To get back to the softness, there must first be all this chaos.

He saw it each time he came home. The light dulled just slightly in her eyes. She loved him just as much, if not more than before, but she longed to tell him while looking into his own eyes. She knew the Creed. She understood. Doesn’t mean it hurt any less. For either of them.

It was a night on the Crest, he woke with a start at the silence. He didn’t hear the child’s snores. Realization sunk in as he remembered the kid was with the Jedi. He was used to the silence as he slept, then he became used to the kids soft sounds, but they’re gone now. But slowly he eased back asleep, his eyes falling slowly shut when he realized she was there, in his arms, breathing deep and sound asleep…. His new familiar. He softly smiled as she started to snore.

Now the child was back in his care, and he was off to Mandalore to restore his honor, become a Mandalorian in the eyes of the Creed once more. His new ship had no room for anyone other than himself and Grogu, so he made arrangements to leave her on Navarro with Karga. 

After a private goodbye, where he saw the disappointment she would never voice once again painting her features, he set the ship to ascend up into the atmosphere. Once he was just above the clouds, he made a last minute decision, hailing her on her comm as he made a loop to come back around under the cloud cover.

“Look up,” was all he would say. 

But as he made a final pass by, just under the clouds without his helmet, he could see her on the ground, her smile like a beacon for miles around. From this distance the only thing she could really see clearly was his smile, but that was everything.

Her breath stuttered over the comm. “Meh'shab? Me'dinuir…. Ranov'la. Me'dinuir…. Mesh’la.” (“The fuck? To share…. Secret. To give each other…. Beautiful.”)

Din laughed. “Wanna try that again?”

She huffed. “Sorry. Ori'meshla.” (“Very beautiful.”)

Din snorted out a laugh.

She sighed, her words coming out barely above a breath. “Stars, I hope our ad has your smile.” (“Child.”)

Din paused, about to pull up on the controls. “What?”

“Wayii! Did I say that out loud?” She looked up to see Din circling lower and lower. “Don’t you dare land, Din Djarin.” The N1 was getting lower still as she spoke. “I mean it. You have planets to save. People to meet and-” The exhaust of the starfighter sent her hair every which way, her face scrunching up against the gust. “What was I thinking you would do, I don’t know?” The last words were mumbled into Din’s chest plate, his arms pulling her into him as soon as he was back on the ground. (Exclamation of surprise)

“Are you….?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his modulator popping with the lack of sound behind it.

She nodded into his beskar. “Yaihadla.”

“As much as I love you speaking Mando’a, just give it to me in Basic. My brain isn’t working properly right now-”

She tilted her head back to look up into his visor, her voice soft. “I’m pregnant, Din.” Her eyes scanned over his helmet, searching for purchase. “You’re gonna be a dad, Djarin.” Grogu squealed from the cockpit of the N1, pulling her eyes over toward the tiny green ward, and a smile up her face. “Well, again. You’ll be a dad, again.”

Din froze for a moment before reaching up and ripping his helmet off, immediately pulling her into a searing kiss. Her muffled sounds of surprise melted away after just a moment, her arms coming up around his neck to pull him closer still, and causing his lips to pull up into a smile against her own. Finally breaking the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers, both of them breathing heavily.

“Careful,” she teased, “that’s how we got into this situation in the first place.”

Din just shook his head in amusement at her, chuckling, and never removing his forehead from hers. Looking up through his lashes, he found her already doing the same to him. “Hi,” he muttered quietly.

“Hi,” she replied on a breath, making his smile pull higher still. “Osik,” she continued on a breath, going on when he cocked his head to the side, pulling back just slightly. “I really hope they get your smile.” (“Shit.”)

Xxx

Everything Tags: @lam-ila @oliviajdjarin @peonyophelia @itsavicf @jxvipike @momc95 @babygirlrex0504 @harriedandharassed @burningfieldof-clover @theclassicvinyldragon What’s This?

#din x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars reader insert #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x y/n #din x you #din x y/n #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars x y/n #din imagine #din djarin imagine #mando reader insert #the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin #mando #grogu #grogu x reader #the mandalorian reader insert #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n

[diyatravelblogger]

The Landscapes Of India

Welcome to the varied landscapes of India, my dear friends starting with the loftiest mountain range in the world called the Himalayas in the North to the grasslands of India in the South of Himalayan foothills, also spread across parts of central & western India.

We also have two big deserts in India.

A sandy, yellow desert called the Thar Desert/The Great Indian Desert in the North Western State of Rajasthan.

Then a salty desert or White Desert called the Great Rann of Kutch located in the western state of Gujarat.

The gorgeous backwaters of India are mostly found in the South Western state of India called Kerala.

Similarly the lush green tea gardens at Munnar is also located in the state of Kerala in South India.

The coastal areas with its gorgeous beaches spread in the West, East & South of India can be explored all round the year for some adventurous & fun filled activities.

Happy weekend, my dear friends & see you soon 🙌 🤗

#incredibleindia #travelblogger #travel destinations #bharat #traveller #destination #travelphotography #travel video #travels #travel blog #travelpics #travel india #travel photo #travelling #travelblog #tourist #tourism #india #outdoor #adventures

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you happen have anything that's about food, but in the way that Dungeon Meshi is about food? (defined to me as, classic(TM) adventure but with food as a central feature) Generally food-centric games would be welcome too!

Theme: Dungeon Meshi, Food Adventures.

Hello friend, I am very excited about this week's request! I have some recommendations that have been simmering in the back of my head for a while now - a few of which can be used in the game of your liking!

Bakto’s Terrifying Cuisine, by Roll 4 Tarrasque.

"The entrance to the Kitchen Arena appears only to those hungry or foolish enough to find it. Perhaps a dusty pantry in a backwater restaurant, or a forgotten refrigerator in the basement of a busy hotel. The door closes behind you—it never opens again. At the bottom of a long set of pristine stairs, Bakto awaits."

Bakto’s Terrifying Cuisine is primarily an adventure for The Vanilla Game, which is free to play, but it strikes me as pretty system-friendly. You are all responsible for creating a dish for a hungry demon, and are provided with a dungeon map as well as descriptions of what waits for you in each room. The pamphlet also comes with 10 terrifying ingredients and 6 possible treasures, as well as a d6 table of random encounters. There’s so much packed into just 2 pages!

While this is probably only good for a one-shot or a two-shot, I think it’s definitely worth it. If you end up liking this game and want more from the same creator, you can also take a look at To Catch A Hellforged Swine, a system-agnostic adventure about hunting a cursed pig.

Gourmet Street, by theunlawfulneutral.

Gourmet Street is a setting that can be plopped directly into any world or adventure and serves up an extra side of gonzo fantasy. It is populated with street vendors serving every possible food you can conceive as well as a fascinating accoutrements of culinary artifacts, edible monsters, and bizarre dishes.

Another setting rather than game, Gourmet Street is great for OSR games like Knave or The Black Hack, but also works in games such as AD&D. It’s a street vendors’ alley, rife with rival factions and dangerous foods, as well as a series of custom, culinary-related monsters to throw at your players. There’s roll tables for dishes and their effects, as well as some descriptions of major food factions, including their defining characteristics, their advantages and disadvantages, and a quick summary of their values or goals. If you want the culinary process to be stick, dangerous, unpredictable and full of slime, this is the setting for you.

Iera Entera, by Nathan Blades.

In this world, Divine Beasts roam the land. Delivered to us from otherworldly realms, they lord over the grounds they manifest on. They’re incredibly violent, are replaced in mere days after being removed, and are capable of supernatural powers.

They’re also delicious.

This game takes the idea of eating monsters and turns it up to 11. You’re not just eating dungeon creatures - no, you’re hunting down Divine Beasts. The game is split into two sections - working out how to bring the Divine Beast down, and then figuring out how to cook the damn thing. If you are playing with folks who are familiar with Dungeon Meshi, I imagine they would have a lot of fun ideas about how to cook the entrails of a great beast, but there’s also three or four suggested beast hunts in the game itself to get you started.

Cook & Hero, by Raul Fontoura.

You’re an aspiring master cook, in a face off competition amongst worthy rivals to create the perfect dish. Unfortunately, you’re supposed to make it out of scary and scaly monsters in very dangerous underground conditions.

This is another pamphlet game, similar to Bakto’s Terrifying Cuisine, but the tone is very different. In Bakto’s, players are on the clock to satisfy a dangerous enemy. In Cook & Hero, the art conveys a more lighthearted competition, even if your character decides that it’s a matter of life or death. The 2-page game comes with some simple character creation, and the resolution uses a roll-under mechanic with a d10. It feels like it takes a number of cues from Honey Heist, but it’s definitely a distinct game.

Ghastronomy, by Timepool.

You are a ghastronomer, a chef that doesn’t cook for the living— but for the dead. You have been hired to help guide a ghost to the afterlife, by collecting the lost pieces of its soul and cooking ghostly grub to make it whole again.

Alongside your co-workers, you will arrive on the scene and use your cooking credentials and what you learned from each of your ghastronomy schools to find, obtain, and cook a wayward spirit's remaining traces. With proper planning, teamwork, and a little bit of luck—  you might just piece its soul back together before it fades away forever.

Ghastronomy looks fairly easy to learn, with an interesting apron mechanic in which your apron is also a shield. You’ll also probably all have different styles of cooking, as each character will come from a different culinary school. If you like the idea of cooking for more than just survival, and you want to incorporate the paranormal into your game, this might be for you!

Lutong Banwa, by Sinta Posadas / Diwata Ng Manila.

Lutong Banwa is a cooking game, where you set out to adventure and find ingredients from Spirits and recipes from old civilizations. Embark on this anti-canon storygame adventure with its own custom system and play to find out just what sort of zany adventures you can get up to in this weird, wild world. Do whatever you want.

Lutong Banwa feels like a cozier game than some of the others on this list, and I enjoy the perspective it brings to the genre. You are playing tamale, the successors of the earth after Humans have faded to history, trying to replicate old world dishes. Your characters will use a number of different-sided dice, depending on which stats they use, and what strengths they have. Rather than character death, your characters simply have a limited number of chances to complete a task before they are forced to rest for a day or so. Altogether the game encourages creative thinking and playing outside the box. I think this is an extremely charming game and you absolutely should check it out.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #food games

[welcome-to-green-hills]

Do you think that we’ll explore the town of Green Hills, Montana in the series and Sonic 3? Like slice of life stuff or more history? I don’t think that there’s a whole lot to the town other than it being described as a “dinky backwater town.”

Hi Honey! ❤️✨

Believe it or not, the town of Green Hills is very fruitful in its foundation! It may not feel like it, but there’s definitely a rich history of when the town was established. (Whew! Now y’all get to see how big of a nerd I am. That’s either a really good thing or a bad thing). I’ll hyperlink all of my sources/claims to specific information so y’all can review it at a later date. Hopefully, this add a bit more detail than what the Sonic Wikis have for the films.

Down below are bullet points and photos of Green Hills, Montana:

Green Hills was founded in the early 1800's by a group of explorers surveying and mapping that state of Montana. The rugged explorers took nearly 30 years in making a complete map of the state and claiming the area as home. Green Hills is located in the middle of the state and known to have fascinating geological features. The town was called "Green Hills" due to the unique shades of green found in its flora. Essentially, the town was founded by chance because it took so long to survey between 1806 to 1835.

One of the town's founders, Morgan McConnell, specifically wanted to build a town in the heart of Montana because of the area's geological feature--checkered patterns. Morgan McConnell was credited for charting nearly a quarter of the state, including the town, and coined as as THE explorer of Montana. His favorite location to sit and work at was the Devil's Pinkie (the ledge that Sonic stands at in the first and second film). Unexpectedly, McConnell fell off of the Devil's Pinkie and died. According to town legend, McConnell's name echoed through the valley ranges for hours after he died. It's unknown if these are still heard in the area today.

Between 1870 and 1883, the town of Green Hills became one of the firsts settled areas along the Northern Pacific Railway. The transcontinental railroad system stretched from the State of Minnesota, the Pacific Northwest, and along the main line opening at the Great Lakes. A town plaque describes Green Hills as a "golden spike" by former USA president Ulysses S. Grant and viewed as an important hub. The town is credited as a supply depot, as well as known for bringing in large immigration populations. The railroad system is still a crucial necessity of the town today.

The first settlers of Green Hills, Montana didn't start making their migration to the area until the 1860s. The settlers were faced with hardships of the land, lack of infrastructure, and brutal winters. Families were known to mingle together in small dwellings and form small communities. Polygamous families were common until Christian morality arrived to the area in later years (Welcome-to-Green-Hills, 2021).

Main Street features the town's first general store, a feed and gardening supply store, and post office.

Green Hills, Montana takes pride in country hospitality. The warmer months have communal events such as hoedowns, harvests and festivals, fishing derbies, farmers markets, and horseback riding events. The business district features Dr. Maddie Wachowski's veterinary clinic, antique shops, a brewery (AKA, the Beer Gardens), a stationary shop, a butcher's shop, and the Mean Bean Coffee Shop (the slogan: "drink mean"). (Tails Channel, 2021).

The Green Hills Community Theater is a town gem. It was established in 1905 and has been known to put on spectacular and successful productions for over 100 years.

The Green Hills Bulletin (the local newspaper) says that they've been the hot spot for a classic car show for the past twenty years, have a "Dog of the Week" section, a local artist guild that does mosaics for the town, recently had a worker's strike on repairing the railroad system in town, and are in the middle of a movement for accessibility laws for disabled residents.

In the first movie's novel, Green Hills is known for its massive Blueberry festivals in the fall. This is an event that's welcome to all of the farmers in the state and neighboring states. Tom is known to actively take part of the festival.

In the 1900's, the town saw an influx of United States veterans occupy the area. It's seen as a "retirement community" to those not actively serving.

The town as a population of nearly 2,000 residents, as implied by the "Welcome to Green Hills" sign at the speed trap.

There's definitely more that the town has to offer in terms of history. When I have the chance, I'll give this post some more attention and add to it. Until then, enjoy some historical facts about our Dinky Backwater Town!

#sonic movie #sonic movie 2 #sonic cinematic universe #mystery anon #off topic

[ceapa-mica]

The First Date 💌 - a Thrawn headcanon

I got so many views for my NSFW alphabet, I couldn't keep myself from writing another Thrawn headcanon! 🤗

This one is SFW, there's no mention of Reader's gender.

When Thrawn tells you he would like to get to know you better and asks if you want to spend the evening with him you agree without having to think twice.

Later you find a box on your bed containing a beautiful dress. Somehow it's exactly the right size and in your favorite color. You never told Thrawn either and are not sure how he could have known.

There are two places where a date with Thrawn could take place. One being his quarters on the Chimera and the other a not very well known city on a backwater planet.

Let's start with the scenario on the Chimera.

Your dress turns some heads on your way to Thrawns quarters. It's not regulation after all and the entire 7th fleet will gossip by the time your date is over.

Thrawn wants his private life to remain private. Unfortunately for you, that means lots of secrecy. He won't share words of love and affection in public, no physical touch beyond what is considered ‘professional’ either. You keep a strictly professional relationship during working hours.

Tbh either way, your relationship will be the biggest open secret aboard.

Thrawn assumed the dress would suit you well, but when he sees you wearing it in the flesh his heart skips a beat.

He ordered the good food, none of this mess hall mush, and a large portion too! It's the best food you've eaten since you joined the Imperial Navy. Along with that a bottle of fine Alderaanian wine he kept for special occassions - the expensive one!

Thrawn is suave af, and sincerely interested in you. When he said he wanted to get to know you better he meant it.

You are the first human he ever dated. It's a new experience for him and it fascinates him how different it is from dating a Chiss. Humans are just so much more expressive with their emotions. While this could be seen as a weakness by others of his kind, he admires it. He admires you.

You tell him about your life away from duty. Your family, your hobbies, your dreams and aspirations.

When, in return, you ask him about his life he starts talking about art. His favorite artists, art of cultures he admires etc. You're a little bit disappointed he leaves questions about his family and general heritage unanswered and skillfully turns the conversation back to your interests or his interest in art and warfare.

This is your first date, what did you expect? Thrawn has a mysterious aura for a reason. For him to tell you about his home you need to establish a relationship first.

It was a pleasant evening. He insists on taking you back to your quarters.

When you arrive at your door and make sure it's just the two of you, he leans in for a sweet kiss.

His lips are softer than you imagined. He tastes like the dinner you just ate and like something that's so distinctively him.

Being so close to him, you notice for the first time that under the scent of standard issue Imperial soap™ and aftershave lies his very own musky scent. He smells different from humans, somehow crisp like a winter breeze.

That moment of closeness passed too quickly for your liking. You wish each other a good night and he leaves you alone in your quarters.

Let's say you won't be able to sleep for a while, his kiss being the only thing on your mind for the rest of the night and the days after.

Now let's look at the other option - going out with Thrawn - a date away from the Chimera.

You meet at a small shuttle at the Chimera’s hangar. You notice it's the first time you see him unaccompanied by his death troopers outside his office.

You blink in astonishment at his attire. Instead of his pristine white Imperial uniform he wears a black civilian suit without the chest candy indicating his rank.

He refuses to tell you where he wants to take you. It's a surprise, but a welcome one.

The city he visits with you is only a short hyperspace travel away. The planet is relatively unknown, but it's rich with culture.

Before you leave the shuttle he takes out a pair of green shaded sunglasses. It takes everything in you not to laugh at his appearance.

He explains that he wears it for safety reasons. Leaving the safety of his fleet puts a target on his back, and being seen in public with you puts one on your back as well.

He takes you to a picturesque part of town to a small restaurant where you sit in a dimly lit corner.

You chat about basically everything I have already named above.

The food served in the restaurant is exotic, unlike anything you've ever tried before. You and Thrawn choose anything that sounds delicious from the menu. The food is better than anything the kitchen droids on the Chimera could ever cook.

Thrawn tells you he heard of this place’s excellent cuisine last time he visited the planet incognito to attend an art exhibition.

Slow jizz music plays in the background and it feels like time has stopped completely, at this moment it's just the two of you, you've only got eyes for each other. (He took off his shades since the corner where you eat is quite secluded) Thrawn feels the same and it intrigues him.

You're a little tipsy from the wine by the time you leave the restaurant. The date night is far from over though.

He takes you to a historic building that houses an art gallery.

It's the middle of the night, but Thrawn notified the owner, who he knows due to his past visits, and they let you in. You have the entire gallery for yourself with no prying eyes.

He explains different art styles and points out details you wouldn't have noticed without him.

You eventually come across a painting by an artist you've never heard of. You love the style, the image itself and how the colors compliment each other. It speaks to you in a way you can't explain.

Of course Thrawn knows all about said painting and answers all your questions.

You wonder why he has become a Grand Admiral and not an art critic.

You tell him how much you appreciate spending time with him. For once not occupied with destroying rebel cells, you get a glimpse of the man behind the stoic facade.

Your words mean so much to him. There's a romantic tension in the air, so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Once the chance presents itself, he pulls you into a dark corner behind one of the large curtains, your faces are close, his gaze wanders from your lips to your eyes for consent.

As soon as you nod, his warm soft lips are on yours, the kiss gentle, but it quickly turns passionate as he deepens it, his tongue begging for entrance.

His hands start roaming your body. It feels like he's everywhere all at once, his unique scent surrounding you and his taste on your tongue. He's respectful though, keeping his hands away from intimate areas. It's your first date and you're still in public, remember?

During your little makeout session you lose your sense of time.

Tbh you wish this moment would never end.

Once you separate for air, he caresses your cheek. For a fleeting moment there is a softness in his scarlet eyes you've never seen before.

From that moment on he calls you 'ch’eo ch’acah' when you're alone with him. You don't know what it means at first. One day he will tell you, and it might be just the first of many Cheunh phrases you will learn from him. (it means 'my darling/beloved')

The evening went by way too fast for your liking. You both agree though that you enjoyed yourselves and want to go on another date in the future.

You return to the Chimera and he drops you off at your quarters before heading to his own.

You don't know where this blossoming relationship is going, but it definitely feels right.

Please keep in mind that Thrawn keeps your relationship secret to keep you safe from harm. Only at the point where your relationship is serious enough (like engagement) will he admit to it to others.

One more thing: A few days after your first date in the city you receive a package. It contains an exact replica of the painting you liked so much. It comes without a note, but you don't need one to know that your feelings for the Grand Admiral are in no way unrequited.

Let's visit a Thrawn relationship headcanon next time! This was only the first date.

Feel free to add to this headcanon! ❤️

#grand admiral thrawn #thrawn #thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn fanfiction #mitth'raw'nuruodo #blue man hot #star wars rebels #ahsoka series #star wars

[willtheweaver]

Spicing up the setting: the inn

Ah, the inn. Where many adventures start, and where everyone goes to relax in between quests. But we’re not here to talk about that. We’re here to find ways to push it into the limelight.

••• • —•• •— ——• •• •••— • ————————

Too good to be true- The inn was large and well built. Every window had glass panes, the furniture looked like new, all the silverware was actually made of silver, and every room had a feather bed in it. The inn also happens to be located in some poor, backwater region. Whenever you try to ask the innkeeper about this, they don’t give you a straight answer.

(Don’t) go in the basement- Strange noises have been coming from the basement. Surprise! The inn was built upon an (ancient catacomb/ goblin tunnel/ mad scientist’s lab/cultist’s temple/ robot factory)

Today’s special- An inn is famous for its stew. People can’t get enough of how it is so rich and savory. The inn also is located in a village where people have been disappearing for the past several months.

Behind closed doors- Character suspects that the local inn is the meeting place for (thieve’s guild/outlaw ring/ rebel cell/ mystery cult). But when they investigate, there is nothing suspicious looking. Character is sure there is a hidden room, as they have observed many mysterious figures enter and leave the building.

Smuggler’s run-The inn is at the center of a smuggling operation. Describe how it works, the ongoing fight between the smugglers and the authorities, and how the innkeeper tries to keep up the appearance of normalcy.

At the crossroads- They weren’t kidding when they told you that this inn connected to every dimension, and that all are welcomed. Old friends, bitter foes, and creatures that defy all logic eat, drink, and gossip, and everyone gets along.

Save the inn- A corrupt land owner is threatening to tear down the village inn. The townsfolk are having none of it, and will go to whatever lengths necessary in order to save their local watering hole (hilarity,bloodshed, uncontrolled magic,and general mayhem and chaos ensues).

A man walks into an inn- …only to find they cannot leave.

#writing #creative writing #writing resources #writing ideas #writing inspiration #writing prompts #writer #writers #writing community #writers and poets #writer on tumblr #writeblr

[pomplalamoose]

Hey girl could please we get some hc’s for rebel pilot reader and luke friends to lovers??👀🫶

Hiiiii dear anon! This is such a sweet ask and I'm so here for this scenario🫶🏻

also serious probs for coming up with something Luke related I didn't already talk about lol

• assuming you've been with the rebellion for longer than Luke, he'd catch your attention as soon as he arrives

• and to say you'd be intrigued, would want to know more about the newcomer, is a mild understatement

• luckily you aren't the only one feeling this way by far; stories are told and rumors spread all over the place

• about his person, his origin, his looks, etc., every single one of them more absurd than the last

• and while none of them are mean spirited in any way, they definitely serve for a more than welcome distraction from the ongoing terrors and tensions

• (quite possibly this is the reason one or two or maybe more among the rebels have a good time making up some crazy things to stir the pot)

• the first time you're able to catch a few shreds of information is during meal time and of course you can't help but join in on the wild discussions, speculating about the what if's and whether what you've heard is true or not

• while pretty unsure about what to believe you have to admit that yes, these are crazy times, so why should it be too preposperous to encounter someone straight out of a cliché hero story?

• naturally you can't wait to finally see and meet him for yourself, and so you're immensely surprised when Princess Leia's savior turns out to be just some dude your age

• even more so, when after some precise assessments, he seems to be the very opposite of what the stories suggest him to be

• like, you're really supposed to believe THIS GUY escaped The Death Star after encountering The Darth Vader?

• absolutely wild

• of course your disbelief is nothing personal, you know better than to judge a book by it's cover; your time fighting alongside different species did certainly teach you as much

• after all Skywalker is here, willing to fight for the same cause you pledged your life to

• you heard about his great piloting skills as well and surely, in time, he'll have enough chances to prove himself

• plus he does seem nice enough

• it's just- he's so...

• you don't know what you expected

• but certainly not this puppy eyed, long lashed, gangly-limbs-everywhere guy with shiny locks to die for and a voice just slightly too loud

• when you overhear one of his conversations for the first time you are barely able to keep from snorting out a laugh as he animatedly compares the feat of destroying the Empire's biggest weapon to shooting animals on his backwater planet

• is he being serious?

• you're not sure what to make of his boisterous claim, nor where it stems from

• naivety?

• arrogance?

• it's possible the two of you had already exchanged a few words prior to this but now you decide on putting serious effort into speaking to him more often

• you want to get to know this guy, even if it's just for finding out that you're better off ignoring him

• maybe, for what it's worth, to put him into his place and to teach him a little lesson

• though soon you are very glad you gave him the benefit of the doubt

• as it turns out Luke, as you call him now, is very easy to approach and to get along with

• his smile as well as his enthusiasm are very contagious and much to your surprise you find yourself immensely enjoying his presence

• because of his open and curious nature you quickly discover shared interests, as well as likes and dislikes and benefit greatly from each others experiences and knowledge, especially when it comes to flying

• Luke is like sunshine personified and quickly you find it hard to imagine your daily life without him as his smile and warm presence always help to brighten your mood and ease your mind

• you didn't think so before but you actually really like listening to him talk, like to sit quietly by his side while he goes off on a rant or animatedly tells a story

• soon you view him in a whole different light than before, realizing that your first assessment was indeed, not quite right

• and as the awkward and inexperienced farm boy unfolds his depths right in front of you, you grow to admire his compassionate strengths greatly

• what starts off as lighthearted and easy comradery, evolves into a heartfelt friendship, fueled not only by the circumstances but a mutual understanding as well

• you make for a great team, able to trust each other blindly in training and during real skirmishes against the Empire's forces

• always he brings out the best in you and you seek to do the same

• it keeps both of you going, plays a major role as you work on improving your respective skills together

• may it be through friendly competition, sharing tips and tricks, hyping each other up after a particular good manoeuver, bragging about achievements or just helping the other with restoring their x-wing

• it's hard to pinpoint the exact time when the switch flipped, hard to figure out how all of a sudden feelings and the longing for something more evolved

• when did you stop seeing your best friend when you looked at him?

• when did he become so desirable?

• when did your innocent love for a friend turn into more?

• neither of you can tell, not even later, after rushed confessions in the hangar and first kisses after returning from an especially gruesome fight

• you tend to think about it a lot in hindsight, seek to remember that one moment of clarity while you lie awake at night, too giddy to fall asleep

• maybe your feelings were there from the very beginning with only your circumstances preventing you from realizing

• or maybe this was just the way things were supposed to develop, the only possible outcome after everything you've been through together

• in truth though, it's not that important

• being with Luke is simple in the best way possible, always was

• you're in love and it doesn't matter whether you fell slowly or all at once

• whether you quickly recognized the feeling for what it was or needed time to do so

• maybe the Force wanted you to take it slow, to really know the other, to experience them in every way possible, before sinking into their arms

#ask #luke skywalker #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker x you #star wars #luke star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars a new hope #star wars empire strikes back #star wars return of the jedi #fanfic #star wars headcanons

[letarasstuff]

Borderline Dehydrated

(A/N): This is my second time writing for Star Wars and my first attempt to get a grip on the Mandalorian (writing wise). This is based on my headcanon that Din is borderline dehydrated at any given time. Be nice to me and this fic, I'm ready to bite unwanted haters (critic on the other hand always is welcome)

Summary: Din's older Foundling seems to care more for him than she lets on

Pairing: Din Djarin x Foundling!reader (reader is refered to with she/her pronouns)

Warnings: None (but please let me know, if there is anything)

Wordcount: .7k (she is a cute shorty)

✨Masterlist✨ _____________________________

“Here, for you”, (Y/N) puts down a dish with something akin to a stew on the co-pilot’s seat. Next to Din’s seat she places two bottles of water.

An aura of questions radiates off him, as he watches her pick up the Child from his pram. “Where are you going?” He inquires, confusion evident in his modulated voice. “I’m taking the little one to the hull and eat with him and the Frog Lady dinner. We’ll leave you alone until you come down and tell us you are done. And don’t you dare do it before you drink at least half of what I gave you.” (Y/N) fixes him with a pointed look while cradling the Child to her chest.

“Why?” The Mandalorian simply asks. “Because we went through the desert of Tatooine for several days and I haven’t seen you take a sip of anything during the whole time. I’m sure you are borderline dehydrated at all times. So just fix it and eat the krayt dragon stew and drink some water, ok?” A wee bit of worry is detectable in her voice during the explanation.

Din thanks her as she makes her way to the ladder. “No need to be grateful. I just took the meat Peli already cooked and threw a bunch of other stuff in. Just do me the favor and eat. I don’t want to drag your heavy and sorry ass through the woods or something on a strange planet, just because you collapse from dehydration. I’m doing all of this out of selfish reasons, I want you to know that.”

Both of them know that (Y/N) left her selfishness, something she adapted out of survival during her years as a stray on a backwater planet, long behind. Last, when she threw herself at a Stormtrooper, who tried to shoot Din from behind. Well, luckily the white armored soldiers are not a good shot and that (Y/N)’s brain hasn’t developed a rational sense yet.

“I know”, he replies with a smile audible in his voice, “You are purely acting out of egotistical reasons. Now go and eat, I know that you gave your most recent meal to the Child and if I remember correctly, you haven’t had anything in your belly for as long as I have.” Under his helmet, Din has a smug look on his face.

He can’t describe how much he feels for the foundlings he is caring for. It pains him already thinking about reuniting the Child with the Jedi and then finding survivors of (Y/N)’s species.

During the Empire, her planet was attacked for not surrendering to them. It was an important spot for trading, making it out to be a strategic asset. That’s something the Rebellion saw early on and used it to their advantage. When the chatter about an impending imperial attack grew louder as the Empire were unwilling to leave the innocent civilians out of the war, (Y/N)’s family sent her through a safety pod into the galaxy, hoping that some kind soul will save the child.

That’s all that Din knows about her life before he had found her. Or more like, the Child found her, as she was hiding in a clove of some building. He wandered off while the Mandalorian was negotiating with a merchant. It was like the green creature sensed her distress (which, with today’s knowledge about his powers, he probably did), cooing at the crying girl. When Din found them and realized that there is no one who is willing to take her in, he acted accordingly to his creed.

Just two hours later he regretted it, because he failed to recognize that teenagers in particular are a difficult species to handle. During their first day, he lived through more emotions with (Y/N) than he is able to count on his hands.

Luckily, everything has started falling into place, and now the clan of three is a better than ever team.

And so they continue their quest through the galaxies, looking for the Jedi and another species that probably has been erased.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x teen!reader #din djarin x female!reader #din djarin x foundling!reader #star wars fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction

[megatrxnic]

TF[RiD’15]: Steeljaw X G/N canine/wolf-bot reader

•Fandom: Transformers: Robots In Disguise [2015]

•Theme: Steeljaw x G/N Canine-bot reader

•Title: "Freedom Awaits"

•Rating: PG; [mentions of clawing and typical Steeljaw behaviors] pretty sfw

•Notes: A rewrite of an old fanfic. Comrade used for G/N comfort. Steeljaw is just being a desperate loner looking for pack mates. Might be a part two of this if there is any interest. [fic below the cut]

"Most would say that fate whispers to the wolf; you cannot withstand the storm, but this wolf whispered back....I am the storm," Rushing through soon-to-be clawed up trees with talons lashing and frantic panting, you recited the quotation within your troubled and frantic mind, having learned it somewhere in the past but unaware of the real source. You strode on hind and front paws, then on two legs after exhaustion began to kick in. You'd been on the run from the autobot, "Bee" for what seemed hours. You only knew a portion of his name because the ignorant, red painted, flamboyant bot with him was obnoxious and crude when obviously and simultaneously failing to follow orders.

You soon stopped behind an aged, large tree, panting, and yet, as You tried to muster up the fuel supplies to get up and attempted to run...to no avail. Your joints and coils trembled in your exhausted frame, which resulted in a dramatic collapse before miles and miles of more forest. Your pointed, lupine audial gave a sudden twitch and swiveled around when you picked up the slightest sound of moving debris: a twig or branch snapped beneath what sounded like a large, robotic life-form, "A possible ally?" You whispered with glistening fangs readily apparent to snap as you heaved and panted for air. Your glossa hung from your lower jaw like that of an over-exhausted canine, "Show yourself..." You spoke within raspy breaths. Your optics glowed within the dim lit low lights of the sun falling beneath the trees.

Your audials fell back and your muzzle formed into that of an almost crooked smile with fangs exposed. A fearful gesture, and yet when you were ready to ward whatever it was off with a fear-inducing growl, you were suddenly whacked across your chassis with something sharp and searing. Instead of the growling, all you could muster up was a soft whimper of sudden shocked pain and discomfort, "Who are you? Why would you do that??" You continued to pant and bare your fangs as you backed yourself further into the tree. Your assailant's optics became visible in the impending darkness provided by the clustered trees and their foliage. Claws dug holes into the Earth and rake-marks into the tree's tender hide. You became so frightened that you hadn't noticed your own tail between your trembling knees.

After several moments of taunting from the intruder amidst the shadows, it finally spoke aloud, "Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is, you know," The seductive, almost soothing tone seemed quite eerie and disturbing behind the darkened visage of the night. The sudden sound of raking against the bark of another innocent tree struck your audio receptors enough to create a small spark of static and disruption, "Dear...comrade, what are you doing so exhausted and lost in the wilderness of this...backwater planet? Have you endured the same torture? The rude welcoming committee, and worst of all...the Autobots?" The figure stepped toward the small patch of light before you and revealed himself. His appearance was familiar, but you knew not his scent.

"Who are you?" You asked as your voice cracked under anxious pressure, "I will not fall prey to another-" Your words were cut short as a clawed digit pressed itself up against your maw.

"-Trap? No need to fear dear comrade, I bear the same marking as you. We are both-I assume-two cons' trying to make a living on a new planet. A new home to call our own without being treated as...criminals... and morseo...equals," He nodded his head as you glanced down at the deep claw marks through your chestplate. You winced at the still-lingering pain, "I'm sorry about that, loner. I was merely covering your tracks. You'd have probably been caught by now and stuffed back into one of those...stasis pods, again,"

"Thanks....I guess," You crossed your servos over your chassis and glanced away from your assailant, but you glanced back without hesitation, "Who are you?" You raised an eyebrow and rose off of the ground slowly-the tree supporting your still-weakened knees, "I would like to know the name of my...savior," You faltered at that final term, but kept the same, almost blank expression as their optics met.

"My name is, SteelJaw, and no need to thank me, comrade...all I ask is that you join me..on the hunt for more comrades; brothers and sisters...just like us," He clenched a fist and thrusted it to his chassis, showing confidence with every fluid motion of his being, "Again, will you join me, co-"

"My name, call me by my name," He glanced at You, seemingly startled by your retort, with a raised brow and leaned against the tree in which he clawed into shambles, as if he awaited your reply, "It's, (Y/N; first part)" You cut yourself short momentarily, not wanting the devious wolf-mech to catch your full name. You were an extremely cautious Decepticon/Autobot as odd as it seemed, and you were so tired of the rash betrayal or being hunted down by other Decepticons or even being turned in by undercover Autobots.

"...what? You seem to have...come off a bit short?" A sly grin formed on the maw of the wolf-like muzzle sported by SteelJaw. His razor-sharp fangs were visible to you as you shifted and swallowed hard before offering a reply...

"(Y/N; last part)," With defeat in your chords, you lowered your audials and glanced over at the wolf’con, who seemed to be rather amused by your strange behavior and body language, "Don't tell anybody else about my name....or me," Your pointed a claw at least inches away from Steeljaw's chin as he chuckled with utter amusement at your newly delivered threat.

“(Y/N), my dear, why would I do that...Join me. Join my...pack as it would seem I am but one..." He seemed to be playing a rather pitiful card as You saw through his pack of lies rather confidently, "I just might accidentally alert the nearest autobot of your whereabouts...unless you stick with me to...avoid that scenario, don't you think?" The sly lupine con bore his fangs in a gnarled grin as he knew he'd won. He approached you much closer, almost muzzle to muzzle, "I take that as a...yes?"

"....Yes,"

End Part

#kdrabs[✏️] #steeljaw rid #steeljaw x reader #transformers x reader #rid15 x reader #tf x reader #steeljaw #steeljaw tf #x reader #x reader fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #transformers #tf rid 2015

[venus-haze]

I’ve Got a Crush on You (Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: You’re a performer in Hank Snow’s traveling show and become friends with Elvis when he joins the troupe. Elvis starts crushing on you, but figures he doesn’t have a chance because you’re dating your performance partner...right?

Note: This is based off of an anonymous request. The reader is feminine but never explicitly referred to as being a woman. I’m not sure if the requester wanted it to be more yandere or not, so I apologize if this isn’t what you had in mind! I hope everyone likes it regardless. I listened to the Frank Sinatra song of the same name and Elvis’ The Girl of My Best Friend almost nonstop while writing this. The reader and their partner’s act is based on Stan and Molly’s act in Nightmare Alley (the original one). Do not interact with my blog or content if you are under 18 or post ED/thinpso content.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: None.

The seemingly endless corn fields of the Midwest were finally behind you, replaced by the Gulf Coast swamps that made you desperately roll down the car window to get some relief from the humidity. Sensing your discomfort, Walt, your close friend and performing partner, handed you a folded map to fan yourself with. 

The breeze from the moving car and your makeshift fan did little to cool you off. You felt like you were sticking to the leather car seat with each passing minute. There was still at least an hour until you’d get to the motel and be able to cool down with a shower. 

“Why can’t we tour the South in the winter and just spend the summer in New England?” you lamented, wiping sweat from your brow.

Walt shrugged. “Ask the Colonel.”

A car pulled up next to yours, and you saw it was the one Elvis and his band rode in. The car kept pace with Walt’s, and you leaned out the passenger window to talk to Scotty, who was driving for this stretch of the trip.

“Where you bums headed?” Scotty shouted.

You laughed. “Same place you are! Hey, you know if the motel’s got a pool?”

“Think so,” Elvis responded from the passenger seat.

“Thank god, I’m about to melt!”

“See y’all there!” Scotty said, sending their car flying past yours and farther up the road.

You settled back in the seat, smiling at Walt. “They’re fun. I’m glad they‘re here.”

“Don’t think it’ll stay that way for more than a few months. Seems like every town we go to, more people are showin’ up for Elvis than anyone else,” Walt said.

“Can you blame them?” 

He grinned in response. You never pried when it came to Walt’s preferences. It didn’t matter to you, personally; he was your friend regardless of who he was attracted to, but you got somewhat of an inkling when the two of you had first watched Elvis’ performance at the Louisiana Hayride a few weeks before, equally entranced by the way he moved. 

The Colonel had recruited Elvis and his band, the Blue Moon Boys, to be part of the traveling show after that. Of course, Hank Snow was top-billed in each backwater town the troupe set up in for the week, but Walt was right, people were flocking to see Elvis. Even Jimmie had started to emulate Elvis more than his own father.

As the sun set on the horizon, you welcomed the cooler night air. It was still sticky, but at least now you weren’t sweating as much. You turned up the radio, kicking your feet along to the songs that played on the local station for the remainder of the drive to the motel.

Some of the performers had trailers they stayed in while on the road, setting up at whatever local fairgrounds the show would be held for varying lengths of time. You and Walt, along with some of the other performers opted to stay in motels when you could. Hank wasn’t exactly pleased that two unmarried people would be sharing a motel room, but it wasn’t like you and Walt were together, anyway. It had become an inside joke among a handful of the performers, since you and Walt were promoted as a uniquely connected psychic married couple, ‘The Otherworldly Wonder of Y/N and Walt’.

Hank was nice, if not a bit too old-fashioned for your liking, but you owed your livelihood to being part of his show. It wasn’t what you wanted to be doing for the rest of your life, but few others had the opportunity to travel the country so extensively while they were young. Most of the people who came to the shows had never been more than a few miles of where they grew up.

When Walt pulled into the motel parking lot, you saw Elvis’ car already parked out front. You noticed the swimming pool, illuminated by a few lamps that didn’t have blown out bulbs. A few people were hanging out poolside, but you couldn’t make out any faces.

“Will you get me something to drink after we check in? I wanna go in the pool,” you said, when Walt parked.

“Sure,” he said.

You dug through your bag, handing him some loose change. “Get yourself something too. If you wanna shower or something, don’t rush. I’m not dying.”

The check-in process went quickly, and the desk clerk informed you that the pool was open until midnight, giving you plenty of time to enjoy yourself. Grabbing yours and Walt’s suitcases, you rushed to the room. You pulled your bathing suit out of your bag, quickly changing into it and grabbing a towel while making a beeline for the pool. 

“Hey Y/N!” Elvis called out to you as you ran over. 

He was there with Bill and Scotty, sitting on one of the lounge chairs while they swam.

“The party’s here!” you announced, throwing your towel to the side and jumping into the pool.

Elvis watched as you swam with Bill and Scotty. The three of you decided to have a cannonball contest, with Elvis judging.

“C’mon, Y/N, he’s gonna let you win,” Bill protested.

“I can hold my own when it comes to cannonballs, thank you.”

After about fifteen minutes or so of cannonballs and subsequent arguing over whose were best, Elvis decided it was a draw. 

Not long after, you climbed out of the pool, grabbing your nearby towel and wrapping it around the bottom half of your body. Taking a seat on the lounge chair next to him, you laid back and closed your eyes for a few minutes. He let himself look at you, really look for the first time since he’d met you. Your skin seemed to glitter as the moonlight reflected off of the water droplets that clung to you. Though your eyes were closed, he could picture them perfectly, bright and playful. Did you have any idea how beautiful you were?

You turned to him, laying on your side. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.”

“What’s with you and pink Cadillacs?” 

He laughed. “I just like ‘em.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, my mama used to work at a hospital, always saw people drivin’ up in their pink Cadillacs. I’m gonna buy her one someday.”

“Your family means a lot to you,” you observed aloud.

“They’re everything.”

You smiled. “Good, hold onto that. Not a lot of people can say the same.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“It’s complicated,” you said with a shrug, “but I have Walt, and everyone else in the show. Spending all these hours on the road with the same people, you get really close—or you can’t stand each other.”

“I hope I’m in the first category.”

“You’re one of my favorite people.”

“Yeah, me too. I really—“ 

Before he could finish his thought, Walt sat with you on your lounge chair, handing you a soda. 

“My hero,” you smiled, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Elvis looked away, not out of any sense of decency, but because of how much he wanted you to be like that with him. You were right, being on the road and performing with the same people for weeks on end could either make or break bonds. In the few months he’d been part of Hank Snow’s outfit, the slight crush he had on you when you were first introduced had snowballed into him finding even the smallest excuses to spend time with you or playing you new songs before anyone else heard them. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Walt. He was a great guy and had been a lot friendlier to Elvis and the band when they first joined the group than most of the other people were. From what he could tell, you and Walt were happy together and rarely argued, if you did it was never over anything big. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder—what if?

He went to sleep that night wondering if he should take a chance and make a move. At the same time, he didn’t want to ruin your friendship and have you out of his life forever. Not to mention, the unnecessary tension it’d cause, especially if you went and told Walt. He could hold his own in a fight if he had to, but he didn’t want any of that on the road. He couldn’t believe he was losing sleep over a crush.

He regretted not sleeping better, though, because the following morning was a lot of last minute set up before the carnival opened in the afternoon. Everyone pitched in, which made things easier, and you sat with him while eating lunch next to the ferris wheel. Your act went on earlier than he did, so he didn’t see you again for the rest of the afternoon.

Your and Walt’s act was a sort of ‘mind-reading’ trick, wherein people would write questions or statements on cards, and Walt would read them out to you for answers. The trick relied on how Walt pronounced or emphasized certain words, signaling the answer for you. It was always a hit, and you didn’t feel too bad about all of the people who would come to the show seeking ‘enlightenment’. The more people who believed it, the more money you made.

“Will this man’s father recover from the illness he’s currently afflicted with?” Walt asked, reading from the card.

You put your index fingers to your temples, gazing into the distance until your vision went out of focus. Dramatically, you gasped, pulling your hands away from your face. The crowd looked at you with bated breath for your response. “Your father will recover, but it’ll be a tough road. You’ll need patience.”

The crowd murmured among themselves, and the man in question nodded, contemplating your answer. You and Walt continued this routine for the next hour or so, ‘answering’ as many of the questions as you could in the time given. Sometimes, in bigger cities, you and Walt would put on your show two or three times a night. This small town, however, would only get to experience ‘The Otherworldly Wonder of Y/N and Walt’ once.

Toward the end of the show, you noticed Elvis standing in the back of the crowd. You gasped loudly, as if suddenly assaulted by a vision. “You, young man in the back,” you said, pointing to Elvis.

The corners of his lips upturned. “Yes?”

“You’re looking to purchase a new car, not for yourself, though, no,” you said. 

He shook his head.

“For your mother! A pink Cadillac?”

“Well, you must be the real deal,” Elvis grinned, playing along.

The crowd erupted in chattering and applause, and you sent a wink his way. He knew he was blushing and hoped you couldn’t notice as much from the other side of the tent.

“Hey! What are the winning lottery numbers!” a man shouted from the crowd.

You laughed. “Now, if I knew those, I wouldn’t be up here.”

“Thank you all for your time,” Walt announced, signaling the end of the show.

“Have a wonderful rest of your evening!” you said to the crowd.

The two of you bowed before disappearing behind the curtain. You and Walt hugged, celebrating another successful show. You’d been at it long enough to work through any hiccups in the performance without anyone seeing through the facade. 

“Nice thinking with Elvis,” Walt said as the two of you changed out of your stage clothes and into casual wear.

“I’m lucky he was sweet enough to play along,” you said. “I gotta find a sink to wash this gunk off my face.”

The intense eyeshadow and long false eyelashes had become a staple of your performance attire, drawing attention to your ‘vision’ even for people farther back in the audience. It was always a pain to apply, though, and even more of a pain to remove without looking like a raccoon for a few hours. You put your stage clothes back in the costume trunk after you changed.

When you walked down from behind the stage, you noticed Elvis leaning against a post, waiting for you. “Say, what are those winning lottery numbers, anyway?” 

“Well, since we’re alone,” you said, lowering your voice.

You hadn’t noticed the suggestive tone you’d taken on, but Elvis did, feeling his mouth become dry as you gave him what he could only describe as a ‘come hither’ stare through your dramatic eye makeup. Before he could say or do anything, Walt walked out, throwing an arm around you.

“Thanks for bein’ a good sport back there,” Walt said kindly.

Elvis nodded. “Yeah, ‘course. Y’all always put on a good show.”

“The way people go crazy over you? We’re okay,” you said.

“When are you playin’ tonight, anyway?” Walt asked.

“Should be ‘round nine.”

“We’ll be there to cheer you on.”

“If anyone throws you panties in my size, let me know,” you joked.

Walt groaned. “Y/N, Elvis doesn’t wanna hear that.”

You held your hands up in defense. “C’mon, I was just kidding! See ya later, Elvis.”

“See ya,” Elvis said, as if he could think properly after mention of your panties.

Before he knew it, Scotty was calling for him to join the rest of the band to practice before their show. He could faintly hear Hank Snow’s set while they made sure their instruments were tuned and had the setlist in order. The uproar of cheers and applause was the cue to go on stage, becoming near deafening as he approached the microphone. He scanned the crowd for you. When he caught your gaze, you waved excitedly at him. 

He snuck glances at you throughout the show, smiling as he watched you and Walt dance together. The slightest guilt snuck up on him, who was he to ruin what you already had? Then he saw it, the hungry look in your eyes that almost everyone else in the audience had while watching him perform, except it was you. Seeing the confirmation that you were at least attracted to him gave him the confidence he needed to decide that for better or worse, he’d tell you how he felt. 

The show was only in the Alabama town for the day, as they were headed for a week-long stint in some mid-size city in Florida that Elvis had never heard of. While everyone was checking out of the motel, Elvis approached you, helping you with your suitcase.

“Y/N, you wanna ride with me this time?” he asked. “If it’s okay with Walt.”

“Sure, I don’t see why not. I’ll let him know that Bill and Scotty will be riding with him,” you said. 

Elvis waited by his car, fidgeting with the keys while he waited for you to return. It’d be at least eight hours to the next town you’d be performing in, eight hours alone with you. Running back over to him with a smile, you gave him a thumbs up. With that, he put your suitcase in the backseat of his car, and you made yourself comfortable in the passenger seat.

“If the radio signal sucks, you’ll sing, right?” you asked.

He smiled. “If you want me to.”

“Nah, I’ll let you have a break.”

The drive seemed to fly by, the two of you talking nonstop for hours about anything and everything. You admired his profile as he drove, the sun giving his skin a golden glow and shining off of his freshly dyed hair. When he’d revealed to you that he dyed it with shoe polish, not long after you first met, you nearly fell over. You’d never heard of anyone doing that before, but it worked really well for him.

Spending time with him was always fun. He was charming to no end, constantly complimenting you and offering to help you with things, especially when Walt wasn’t around. You knew he could easily have his choice of just about anyone in his general vicinity who breathed, so you figured he wouldn’t be interested in you, but appreciated the friendship that you had.

“I’m starvin’,” Elvis said as the sun began to set low over the Florida marshes. “Darlin’, would you look at that travel guide in the glove box and see if there’s anywhere to eat comin’ up?”

You grabbed the travel guide, following with your finger where you were on the route. “There’s a place called Betty’s Diner about five miles from here. We should see a Texaco station and then it’ll be about a mile past that.”

“Anything you want, it’s my treat.”

“Thanks, Elvis,” you smiled.

Just as you’d read in the travel guide, you could see the glowing neon sign for the diner just about a mile past the gas station. Your stomach began growling as soon as you smelled the greasy diner food.

“I’m sorry for your wallet because I’m ordering one of everything,” you said when he pulled into the gravel parking lot.

“Hell, I’m fixin’ to do the same,” he agreed.

The two of you walked into the diner, a somewhat run-down but charming little place that you knew would hit the spot. The waitress led you and Elvis to a booth, handing you menus and leaving you to order. You stared at the menu, trying to decide what you were going to order. Everything looked so good, and you were becoming worried you were going to make Elvis broke with what all you were going to order.

You were still contemplating what you were going to get when the waitress came back to ask what you wanted to drink.

“What do you recommend to eat?” you asked her. “I can’t decide.”

“Cheeseburger with the works and fried egg on top. Goes really good with a side of hashbrowns,” she said.

“I’ll have that.”

Elvis nodded. “Me too.”

The waitress left with your drink and meal orders, and you started digging through your bag.

“I told you I’m payin’,” Elvis scolded.

“I know. I’m gonna go check the jukebox,” you said, holding up the nickel you found.

He watched as you scooted out of the booth and over to the jukebox in the corner. You flipped through the song selection, grinning ear to ear when you found exactly what you were looking for. Dropping the coin into the slot, you made your selection. A few seconds later, ‘Baby Let’s Play House’ began playing throughout the diner, and when you looked back at him, he shook his head, trying to bite back a smile.

“You ever heard of this guy?” you joked as you slid back into your seat.

“You’re somethin’ else, ya know that?”

“I’ve been told,” you smiled.

He was about to speak when the waitress set the food down in front of you. Her recommendation was spot on, and you and Elvis ate in near silence, not realizing how hungry the hours on the road had made you. Being with you made him feel at home, he wanted every drive, every meal, to be with you. When you smiled at him, big and beautiful, he couldn’t hold in his feelings any longer.

“I gotta be honest with you, Y/N,” Elvis said, holding your hand from across the table, “I like you a lot, and I know you’re with Walt, but I could treat you so good if you’d let me.”

“Elvis,” you began.

He felt a lump form in his throat. This was it, you were letting him down gently. He almost wished you’d call him a jerk, throw your soda in his face, and storm out of the diner.

“Walt and I aren’t together.”

“But your act—“

“Is just that, an act,” you said. “The Colonel says the show sells better if Walt and I are promoted as a couple.”

“So you’re single?”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Well, there is this guy.”

“Oh?”

“Dark hair, dreamy eyes, lips to die for,” you said. “He’s got this voice that drives me absolutely wild.”

He grinned. “Sounds like a keeper.”

“Yeah, too bad Hank is married,” you sighed wistfully.

“What?” Elvis nearly shouted.

“Elvis, I’m kidding.”

He cleared his throat, nodding. “I knew that.”

“But do you really think I have a chance?”

“Y/N–”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” you laughed. “I like you a lot too, and I think you should kiss me right now.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to step in on Hank’s territory.”

You let out a cackle at this, drawing the attention of some of the other people in the diner. 

Giggling, you attempted to give Elvis a bashful smile. “Please?”

“I don’t think I could ever say no to you,” he said, getting up from his side of the table to sit next to you.

He took a moment to study your face, how your eyes sparkled even under the bright diner lighting, your kind smile that seemed like it was reserved especially for him, and your lips that were begging to be kissed. To his surprise, you closed the gap between the two of you, pressing your lips to his and pulling him closer to you. He steadied himself by placing a hand on your hip, deepening the kiss. He swore fireworks were going off in his brain while kissing you, he’d never felt a connection like that with anyone else before. Far too soon for his liking, you pulled away, leaving his lips chasing yours.

“Too bad we’re in public,” you said.

He looked wildly around the diner for the waitress and waved her over. “Can we get the check now?”

#elvis x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis #elvis 2022 #austin!elvis

[bimboficationblues]

One Piece in Review, Part 2: Into the Grand Line (Ch. 42-100)

Welcome back to my One Piece reread review. In this part, we'll be covering the rest of the East Blue saga: Baratie [ch. 42-68], Arlong Park [ch. 69-95], and Loguetown [ch. 96-100]. Previous parts can be found here: Part 1 [1-41].

A number of major shifts happen in this segment of the story and it's for this reason that I think it's one of my favorite parts. At the conclusion of Syrup Village, our protagonists graduated from unnamed, utilitarian ships to their own caravel, the Going Merry, which allows them to be intentional about where they're heading. They also adopt a symbol, the skull and crossbones topped with Luffy's signature straw hat, which foretells how they'll eventually be dubbed the Straw Hat Pirates.

The creation of a flag and the addition of a ship with personality means that they now genuinely have something like a group identity, which is going to be tested quickly. And the increased size of the ship corresponds to the scope of the conflicts and world they're going to be involved in from here on out. As such, I think this segment of the story is a marked improvement along the dimensions of conflict, characterization, and scope. The main thrust of this story segment is getting the crew ready to enter the next phase of their journey - the Grand Line.

Villains/Conflicts:

Starting with the Baratie arc, the pattern established in the first three arcs - go to a new locale, confront a local villain while pursuing specific goals, recruit a new member - starts getting shaken up in unique ways or shifts away from that formula. For instance, after adding the ship's cook Sanji, the group's membership will not increase for about 80 chapters. In general, recruitment will become a lot more sparse throughout the remainder of the series, solidifying a central cast for the time being.

Also in Baratie we find a slightly more complex struggle at work. The main villain, Don Krieg, is in the unfortunate position of being sandwiched between two of the stronger early villains of One Piece, Captain Kuro and Arlong. He's something of a redundant character, repeating both Morgan and Kuro's respective traits of "belief in rank as strength" and "utilizing deception and underhanded tactics to advance his goals." He does have some good foil aspects, inverting Zoro's willingness to recognize a loss as such and Sanji's fundamental gratitude for what others have done for him. But what Krieg really does is give us 1) a rival in pursuit of the One Piece, and 2) an insight into the terrors of the Grand Line, explaining that he lost nearly his entire massive crew and fifty ships within one week there. It's a good way of setting the stakes in anticipation of finally making the voyage into this now repeatedly-teased part of the world.

In the prelude to the typical showdown between Luffy and Krieg, the figure of Dracule Mihawk comes in to basically disrupt the whole formula and tell everyone that these little backwater spats in the East Blue are not going to last, and we're not even *close* to the ceiling of how far things can escalate. Mihawk, while an antagonist, also isn't quite a villain: he basically shows up to fuck with the Krieg pirates like Bugs Bunny tormenting the opera singer, and only gets into a conflict with the Straw Hats when Zoro does something extremely, extremely dumb prideful. This is also kind of an upset, since it sees Zoro making a stab (ha) at his dream at a surprisingly early point. But the gulf between where the crew is at now, and where they need to end up, ends up being demonstrably enormous.

Though Krieg is a middling villain, the combined threat of him and Mihawk gives the Baratie arc its central thesis: willpower as its own kind of might. Luffy's battle against Krieg demonstrates how far willpower can take you, while Zoro's fight with Mihawk demonstrates that it's not sufficient without the force to substantively back it up. It also contrasts Zoro quite directly with Krieg, in that the latter persistently refuses to recognize when he's lost, while the former accepts defeat and (when given the opportunity to do so) learns from it, a lesson that will be necessary for taking the Grand Line seriously.

The titular antagonist of the next arc, Arlong, on the other hand, is an all-time great One Piece villain both for his place in the story now, and the long-term implications of his character as the story unfolds. The central conflicts of Arlong Park are about money, trust, and race. That last is probably the least substantively interesting right now, but becomes really fascinating later on. Arlong presents himself and his crew as "the master race," but in reality they come from a population that is socially subjected. But at this juncture of the story, we have a straightforward story about tributary exploitation. The sheer brutality of how Arlong treats the local humans he's extorting is unrivaled by anything prior to this, leaving lasting physical and psychological scars on the people. Since Arlong and his crew are explicitly presented as being products of the Grand Line, it really adds to the menace of that place.

Structurally, Arlong Park is also one of the most interesting of the early One Piece arcs, essentially split into two halves. The first is figuring out what's going on with Nami, why she's acting hostile to the others and why she's seemingly allied herself with Arlong, and reuniting the crew after a separation. This segment finds the group wheeling and dealing and clawing their way out of trouble, narrowly evading destruction by Arlong, as Nami in turn tries to push them away protectively while still preserving her plan and goals. After Nami's backstory is revealed, the story shifts into a more intense, battle-packed segment, with each Straw Hat confronting their own opponent for the first time, except for Nami, who stands alongside her community in support. They all work as a unit to overcome their opponents, learning more about how they interact and rely on each other. It has some of the genuinely most exciting and emotionally impactful storytelling in shonen manga that I've ever read.

The final arc of the East Blue saga, Loguetown, is one of many transitional arcs in the series (along with later arcs like Jaya, Long Ring Long Land, Amazon Lily, Zou, and the two "Post-" epilogue arcs). While these transitional arcs usually have their own conflicts, they are largely playing setup for upcoming ones. Loguetown is no exception, but it's the briefest of the bunch. A few key points:

Luffy gets his first bounty, 30 million beri. This is a big deal - while a lot of One Piece fans treat bounties like they represent power levels, they actually represent a social relationship between a pirate (or just an enemy of the government in general) and the World Government. With Luffy's bounty exceeding all of those he defeated so far in the East Blue, it illustrates that he's considered a substantive, if not huge, threat, and a sociopolitical indicator that he is ready for the Grand Line.

We get to see the place where the Pirate King died, but not only that, where he inaugurated a new historical epoch. This ties in heavily to another constant theme of One Piece, the idea of an inherited will: Luffy is nearly executed, and behaves in the exact same way that Gold Roger did when he was about to be executed. Visiting this place right before entering the next part of the sea suggests that Luffy is kind of picking up the spirit of Roger and starting his own legend from here on out.

We get the introduction of Captain Smoker, who is the first Marine in the series that isn't either a total bastard or a total incompetent, but remains an antagonistic force to the Straw Hats. This is used to plant the seed of different ideologies and conflict within the Marines as an institution. Smoker will be in pursuit of the Straw Hats throughout the next saga.

We get essentially the first taste of the Grand Line and what it's like: lots of Devil Fruit powers, new and strange technology, strong marine and pirate presence, major challenges, and the hint of deeper intrigue with the arrival of Dragon, who rescues Luffy from Smoker.

It's also in this series of arcs that I think we actually start to see Luffy and the crew meaningfully get challenged in terms of strength and ability. In previous situations, it was only contrivance or mistakes that got Luffy and the crew into trouble. But Krieg, while a blowhard, is definitely still a threat, whose unpredictability presents a serious challenge to Luffy (as does the environment in which they fight, as this is the first time we really get to see Luffy at risk from the tradeoff of the Devil Fruit). Arlong and his fishmen are the biggest threat that the whole crew has confronted so far, shown to be capable of upending entire villages. As fishmen, and former subordinates of a famous Grand Line pirate, they're also specifically denoted as products of the Grand Line, so confronting and successfully defeating them is an illustration of the fact that the Straw Hats are, at last, ready to enter that segment of the sea. And of course, Smoker and Mihawk outclass all of them easily for now, reminders that there is a long way to go.

Characterization:

Because of the increasing intensity and danger of the conflicts here, we get a lot more opportunities in this segment to see the Straw Hats develop and grow. In the first three arcs that I covered in the last post, the Straw Hats are visibly forming connections with each other; for instance, you can see it in the relaxed poses that Luffy and Usopp have around each other or the way the whole group drinks together. But it's only after the events of Baratie and especially Arlong Park that they begin to cohere as a group, rather than a bunch of individuals with their own self-interested goals that point in approximately the same direction. (I say "begin" because this is, as ever, a long game.)

Small or quiet character moments that were scattered throughout the previous three arcs start paying off, most notably for Nami in Arlong Park, but also for Luffy, Zoro, and Usopp. So, let's take them one by one (minus Zoro - I think I've exhausted what I have to say about him for the moment in the section on Mihawk above).

Usopp: Usopp doesn't get a lot to do in Baratie, mostly cowering on the sidelines with some minor character work, but in Arlong Park he basically has a miniature character arc which, in turn, sets up his long-term character arc. At its start, he's on some of his worst behavior, ditching Zoro potentially to die; while he has his heroic moments trying to protect Nojiko and Genzo from the Arlong crew's wrath, he repeatedly demonstrates having a somewhat blinkered view of the world, ranging from both the small (snide remarks about tattoos) to the big (his quickness to write Nami off and tendency to act rashly). It reveals a character that is struggling to understand his place in the world and the crew. At his lowest moment, when he's faked a death so that the Fishman Pirate he's fighting will leave him alone, he starts comparing himself to his crewmates, and their determination and willingness to put themselves on the line for each other.

At its conclusion, we finally get to see him stand on his own two feet (literally, since Zoro had to carry him during Syrup Village) in order to defeat a powerful opponent. We also really get to see him as a fighter, which is essentially a kind of guerilla-style, improvisational, hit-and-run approach, making him stand out within the crew's battle dynamics.

Luffy: I think Luffy sometimes gets regarded as a static or at least simplistic character, especially since what his Damage is doesn't get fully exposed until right before the timeskip. But what Luffy is going through in the first half of the series is the process of learning what it is to be a captain, and how to apply his philosophy of life to the process of leadership. This is illustrated by how he is contrasted against the various captains of other crews throughout the East Blue.

At the core of Luffy's character is an ideal of freedom. When Luffy inspires other people through his convictions and dedication to his dream of becoming Pirate King, there's certainly a typical shonen "power of friendship" vibe to it, fitting for the Romantic idealism (centered around willpower and emotions) that governs the logic of One Piece. But I think it's worth noting that Luffy usually removes obstacles in people's paths towards realizing the things they care about, rather than trying to impose his beliefs and choices onto them, or directly "liberate" them. One of the first things he did on his journey is liberate Coby, an enslaved child - not by first defeating his master, but by inspiring him to overcome the mental barriers that were preventing him from pursuing his goals. Free your mind and your ass will follow.

It's a recurrent element that Luffy basically does not give a shit about his friends' personal histories, and those histories are almost always presented through extended memory sequences (basically the character's internal thoughts) rather than literal explanations to other characters. Even in the rare instance where that isn't the case, like when Nojiko explains her sister Nami's personal history to Sanji, Usopp, and an unconscious Zoro, Luffy deliberately opts out. That's in part because, although *readers* need that information to give context and pathos to the characters, Luffy really doesn't. Luffy wants his friends to be able to live as they desire and that means moving forward, not back; the past, at a certain point, becomes another obstacle to pursuing one's dreams.

All four of the other main characters get inspired by the way Luffy acts and comports himself towards them in some way during this section of the story.

He disallows interference in Zoro's duel with Mihawk, but puts himself on the line after Zoro loses, demonstrating that he doesn't *just* care about his own dream but also Zoro's. This is where Zoro's loyalty to Luffy really cements, in his proclamation that he will never lose again and that Luffy is going to be the Pirate King.

He inspires Sanji to pursue his dreams by showing what it looks like to live life without regrets and to consistently put yourself on the line for your convictions, something Sanji is already familiar with but hesitant to fully embrace - and shows that sometimes causes seem more impossible than they actually are.

When Nami is at her lowest, darkest point, Luffy remains steadfast, even as she screams at him and tries to drive him away - and when, in a moment of peak vulnerability, she asks for his help and puts her trust in him out of desperation, he recognizes the pain she's been through and how hard it is for her to do so. In turn he gives her his hat to show that the relationship of trust is mutual: they can depend on each other, it is not weakness or a guaranteed loss of security.

But also, Luffy is learning from them, in a way. He's learning how to be their leader.

Nami: It's only in Arlong Park that we start to understand exactly what kind of strain Nami is under, but there have been hints leading up to it. I mean, look at this face:

Those are the eyes of a tired woman.

Nami's whole life has been governed by money. As a child she didn't have enough of it, it was simultaneously a source of strain on her relationship with her sister and mother and an aspiration to make her dream of mapping the world possible. Then, upon the arrival of Arlong, money is the thing that tears their family apart: Bellemere doesn't have enough to pay tribute for herself and her daughters, so she makes a calculated maternal sacrifice to preserve their well-being. This was an unqualifiedly kind thing to do, but the tragic irony is that in doing so, Nami was opened up to abuse and enslavement by Arlong, who makes use of her natural talents at map-making and sets her a "task": if she can gather 100 million beri for him, she can free herself and her village.

Nami learns a variety of lessons from this course of events. Her money-lust is one - because money, in her mind, offers a guarantee of safety and security, that the things you really value won't be taken away from you. But the others are: relying on people you love will only get them killed, and if you just persist, if you just maintain the will to keep going and survive, eventually you will be free. The combination of these lessons lead her to repeatedly reject the Straw Hats from helping her or letting them into her burden. Nami believes in her own, constant self-sacrifice. While the substantive conflict of Arlong Park is about defeating the evil pirate lording over innocent villagers, the thematic and structural conflict is for Nami to learn that she doesn't have to hold onto these beliefs.

There are some complaints that circulate about how Nami doesn't take an active role in the final fight. Given Oda's inconsistent habit of sidelining female characters from the action (and it is inconsistent), I understand the concern. But I actually really like this choice in this case. Because Nami has been fighting. For eight years she has scraped her way towards freedom, getting shot and risking imprisonment or death and serving someone who could and would crush her sister's skull on a whim if he wanted to. She banked everything on a plan that gave her a semblance of control, that wouldn't require her to ask for help because doing so would just get people she cares about killed. And when it turns out that the plan can be disrupted by corruption and half-truths, she breaks. Her footing has been pulled out from underneath her, so now she has to take a leap of faith, and put her trust in others.

At the end of it all, she has a scar from where Arlong's tattoo was on her. Arlong influenced her deeply, for good and ill, and it's impossible to let go of that history entirely. But in the process she forges a new tattoo: a pinwheel and a tangerine, symbols of her mother and her community leader/father figure, a representation of how she's forging a new path for herself.

Sanji: Then there's the new introduction, the crew's cook. Sanji is a character that inspires a lot of mixed feelings in people. We will definitely get to the problems he presents down the line, but at this point in the story, I think Sanji is actually my second-favorite character in the crew after Nami. Like the rest of the crew, he has some notable vices, namely a tendency towards womanizing and "lovesickness" (which will get boiled down for jokes into 'perversion' as the series goes on, frustratingly) and a uniquely hot head even compared to Luffy and Nami. At the same time he's capable of tremendous compassion, effortlessly witty and suave (at least when he's not distracted), and demonstrates great tactical intelligence, like when he deduces the fish-man Kuroobi's weakness in the middle of a literally high-pressure scenario.

But as with many of the core cast's virtues and vices, they are rooted in personal histories. Sanji owes his life to his father figure Zeff, despite a contentious relationship. This theme of gratitude is central to Baratie: Sanji feeds a starving subordinate of Krieg's, and then Krieg himself, even despite knowing that it's a bad idea. Because Sanji knows intimately what it's like to be hungry. The subordinate, Gin, is tremendously grateful, while Krieg behaves like a total ingrate, making him a foil to both character. While Sanji's gratitude to Zeff is a defining feature of his character that we slowly get to see unpacked throughout the arc, his gratitude is shown to not be taking on a healthy expression, keeping him stuck in a small pond when he could be out there pursuing the All Blue (a mythical ocean with fish from all over the world). Gratitude doesn't mean dying for somebody, but living for them.

We also get a sense of the unfortunate gendered emotional repression that Sanji's experienced, and though I'm not totally sure the author would agree with my assessment, it's clear that Sanji's relationship with Zeff is based on passive-aggression, each trying to get the other to cooperate with what they *think* the other wants without being forthright. Zeff is deliberately trying to strain their relationship so that Sanji will pursue his dreams. Sanji feels such a mix of survivor's guilt and loyalty to Zeff, along with fear that his dream is itself foolish or doomed to failure, that he doesn't dare pursue his goals, and as such gets incensed by Zeff's backhanded attempts to push him out of the nest, taking it as a dismissal of his skills. At this juncture of the story, this is easy to read as a little like "real men don't cry or talk," but what's notable is that in the end of the Baratie arc, Sanji pushes past all that crap, just for a moment, in a genuine moment of emotional honesty. But this central emotional issue is still something that will stick with him, and comes up post-timeskip during the Whole Cake Island arc.

Part of the reason I'm spending a lot of time talking about Sanji is that Baratie, and then Arlong Park, are the first arcs where the whole shape of the conflict really centers around a dilemma that one of the main characters is facing; Zoro and Nami's introductory arcs are a little sparse and utilitarian, and Usopp's emotional conflict at Syrup Village was similar but less actively tied into the ongoing conflict. Sanji has lofty aspirations, but he's selfless and loaded with a lot of complicated emotions that hold him back from pursuing them. So seeing Zoro and Luffy put themselves on the line both for his home, AND for their own selfish aspirations, is a big deal.

So, that's the Straw Hats' arcs, for the most part. What I think is core is that each of them is in the process of recognizing things about themselves and learning to be part of a team, how they fit into a "crew."

Additionally, it's in these three arcs that we start seeing increased characterization for secondary and tertiary characters as well as secondary antagonists. There's not a lot to hold onto when you look back at a lot of the minor allies and enemies of previous arcs. Compare them to how much ongoing attention and characterization Patty, Gin, Zeff, Nojiko, Genzo, Hatchan, and Bellemere get, as well as how actively present in the action they are. This goes a long way towards making the world feel more alive and also gives the conflicts more weight: we care what happens to the Baratie or to Arlong Park, much more than unnamed villagers. Oda's character writing is definitely improving.

Unfortunately it's in this expanded focus that we see what is, in my view, a key weakness of One Piece: sometimes it outgrows characters in a way that leaves the story feeling a little uneven or bloated. Tashigi is the worst example of this, in my view, as she and Smoker get a huge amount of attention in Loguetown and Alabasta, only to sort of peter out as the Straw Hats grow past the need for Marines hunting them down. That might not remain the case forever - I suspect and hope that Smoker and Tashigi get a good role to play in the final saga - but it's hard to say.

Setting and Scope:

As I mentioned, the introduction of a ship marks a profound change in the way that One Piece works. By giving the crew a means of travel that is sturdier and more reliable than the impromptu vessels they've been relying on so far, they now have something like a "home" as well as a means to make more deliberate decisions about their next destinations.

The world starts to take on a greater shape in some major ways, and most of them are directed towards sparking further intrigue about the Grand Line and establishing it as a credibly wondrous but dangerous place. For example, the existence of non-human species such as fishmen is introduced during Arlong Park, a story element that will have huge ramifications down the line. As another example, we get some more information about Devil Fruits and how they work, most notably by introducing the concept of different Devil Fruit "types." These are later elaborated on as Zoan (animal transformations), Logia (elemental bodies), and Paramecia (kind of a grab bag). We also get Krieg's observation that the Grand Line is practically lousy with Devil Fruit users, which bears out once the Straw Hats encounter Smoker, a now empowered and redesigned Alvida, and Buggy all in the same spot just outside of the Grand Line.

We also learn, by way of Mihawk, about the "Seven Warlords of the Sea" (who going forward I will alternately refer to as the Seven Warlords or the Shichibukai). Again, this shows how outclassed the Straw Hats are by the grander scope of their world, but what it also does is lay down the groundwork for one of the series' central conflicts, and I'd argue its most important: the corrupt and authoritarian World Government.

There's also, notably, a mention of "Three Powers" that control the Grand Line, and what the third one is will go unexplained until almost three hundred chapters later! I noted in the previous post that Oda, unlike someone like Akira Toriyama or Hirohiko Araki, doesn't write by the seat of his pants as much. This was maybe being charitable: instead what I'd say is that Oda rarely cheats. When Oda is backfilling or retroactively adding something, it rarely feels out of place, he usually leaves his mysteries and vague worldbuilding details open to enough interpretation that future explanations maintain their plausibility. This has a dual effect: it adds more fantastical details to the world, fitting as the crew gets closer to the super-fantastical Grand Line, but it also drives home how underprepared the crew is for some of the dangers they're going to encounter.

Another, smaller way that the world starts expanding in scope is the introduction of the "cover stories," many of which anime fans will miss out on. These are used not just to add fun details but to meaningfully flesh out later plot points. We get one story which documents the aftermath of Buggy's defeat which sets up his and Alvida's presence in Loguetown, and another about Coby's early days in the Marines that foreshadows important characters and points towards major growth for him.

The locations also take a step up from the somewhat dull environs of Shells Town and Syrup Village (I'm kind of an Orange Town defender now). The Baratie, for instance, is a delightfully charming setting that is fun to experience both when it's working as normal and when it turns into a combat zone. Arlong Park has a distinct geography and unique setting details like paddy fields, pools, and a Sea King that really make it feel dynamic and lived-in in a way that Syrup Village simply doesn't. Also, I believe it's the first time that Oda starts doing little maps as the characters plan out their next moves, which really helps ground the action and give an idea of how the setting works.

So, overall, this is actually one of my favorite segments of the early story. I think it clears away some of the growing pains of the early chapters, and shows that other aspects weren't in fact growing pains at all. It also introduces just an absolute mountain of motifs, characterization points, and setting details. This second half of East Blue is an excellent demonstration of the two things that Oda frequently excels at: an epic adventure full of fantastical things and places, and slow-burn character development for an ensemble cast. Additionally, the Romantic themes have started to lock into place: the ability to reshape the world through strength of will and commitment to one's convictions. Finally, I think Oda's artwork is steadily improving, though his extremities still need work.

I really like the take that these first 100 chapters form a sort of "prologue" for the series as a whole, since Chapter 100 is called "The Legend Begins," has a very explicit thesis statement, and ends with the crew reaffirming their individual dreams as a collective ritual before they enter the Grand Line.

In terms of the evaluation of each section: Baratie is a solid arc with a couple of things I could nitpick, but it's really carried by how different it feels from what's come before and the strength of Sanji's character arc within it. Arlong Park is one of the most emotionally moving in the whole series, and unquestionably has the best action of the East Blue. Finally, Loguetown is a thrilling cap-off to the first "part" as the series transitions into the next phase of the story: the Baroque Works Conspiracy.

Whew. This was a doozy to write, and to some extent it's possible I would have been better served dividing these arcs up to focus on them each in more detail...but here we are!

#op reread

[frogchiro]

PLS THAT NEEDY PIERRO i live for soft pierro i live for the "i miss my wife" silently grumbled in some backwater city in snezhnaya where the tsaritsa sent him to do her bidding i live for him bringing her small gifts like a crow i live for them celebrating their 500+ anniversaries (or less, however you imagine it, just... hehe pierro and his khaenri'an wife) all by themselves and the pale white of both snow and moonlight outside their windows, i simply adore this makes me so happy u inspired me so much. might fuck around and write some as well. hehe <3

- 🍑 anon

A person of culture I see, a fellow pierro enjoyer is always welcome on this blog 🥂

also don't tell me that pierro isn't the 'strong silent but i miss my wife' type ;; he may be the perfect warrior and perfect leader who leads the harbingers with an iron fist and a heart of stone but all that facade falls the second he crosses the threshold of your quarters at the palace or your home and he becomes the ultimate simp for his wifey💕

just like you said, imagine that he's sitting by his desk filling out mountains of paperwork in a tent in some hole in the wall city or field in snezhnaya, the weather cold and wet and just plain shit and the only thing that brings him comfort and let's him keep his sanity are thoughts of you, how you're propably staying in bed under a bundle of warm furs as you patiently wait for him and pierro can only sniff and grumble under his breath 'miss my wife, have to spoil her when i get back'; he likes to think about himself as a patient and resilent man but it all means nothing when it comes to you💔

regardless of which au you read this, wheter it be my handmaiden wifey au or the khaen'riah couple au (which is so darn cute?? like for what😭) or really any other universe, be sure that deep down pierro is very much in love with you, you're the last good thing he has in his life

ALSO YES PLEASE WRITE IT IF YOU CAN AND WANT TO I'M SO HAPPY I INSPIRED YOU😭 please tag me if you're comfortable💕

#also i think i have my first emoji anon?😭 #if you don't feel comfortable pls just let me know<3 #🍑anon #kin speaks #thirst #interactions #genshin impact x reader #fatui x reader #genshin impact fatui #pierro x reader

[hopefulcanary]

I'm seeing a lot more "McCoy is racist [against Vulcans]" crossing my dash which... is sure an opinion.

A shit one, for sure.

Especially when Disco & SNW have leaned pretty hard into that "humans are lesser because ew emotional cooties" nugget (hm, what's a word for that), without the softness they've shown in previous iterations. When a Vulcan Fleet admiral shows zero empathy for a literal refugee, and y'know, actually seems to delight in targeting Una for being an Illyrian.

Especially when Amanda Grayson herself acknowledges to her own son how hard it's been for her as a human, living in Vulcan society. When Michael dealt with her own shit as an adoptee. When Spock is shown to bridle against this society who's fucked him up for being different.

When the argument hinges on treating Spock like he's a fragile baby boy somehow at the mercy of this supposed racist af human doctor, when the reality is he's a senior officer who sure spends some time being obviously hostile to a subordinate, sometimes without cause, but always with that rank behind him while he implies or outright states how unskilled he believes the CMO of the fucking fleet flagship is. In front of other officers too, just for some fun undermining action? Yep!

I love Spock, I think he's fucking amazing and I love how much depth we're getting, but ffs denying that in TOS he has both the power in this dynamic, and that he's from a planet of equal power to Earth's in the Federation (sorry fans who also think Vulcan is some backwater world that Earth somehow subjugates) which is shown to have really mercilessly racist opinions of humans all the way up to the highest echelons, is just...

Denial.

Like do y'all realize how much The Galileo Seven in a post-SNW context makes Spock actually look pretty dang cruel and monstrous?

McCoy is obviously a complex character with an attitude, who has no qualms in clapping back to authority himself and obviously has an issue with Spock, solo. He's also a man shown to be pretty damn respectful of Vulcans as a whole, and in cases where he isn't, it's because he thinks the cultural aspect he's critiquing is harmful and shitty.

Which I wish the parts of fandom taking an issue with that a big sarcastic Welcome to Dr McCoy, because that's a huge part of his characterization. He does that to everyone. He's the goddamn emotional heart of the Triumvirate, and he reacts emotionally to horrible shit. He and Spock are stellar foils for that.

This got away from me and I could add so much more (who did Spock ask to be there for his nuptials? who did he entrust with his Katra?) lmfao but just, in closing...

Vulcan cultural norms ought to be critiqued if they're relying on acting like weirdo supremacists because they don't grossly emote like nasty humans.

For fuck's sake. 🙄

#no I'm not tagging it #will probably delete later but I'm so mad like #at the end of the day the entire fandom are still humans #and y'all realize that neurodivergent ppl with all our sloppy emotions wouldn't be welcome in vulcan society #I'd probably enjoy the structure but my introverted adhd ass would suffer so fucking hard #keep that in mind #like. Christ Vulcans couldn't even deal with a dyslexic child? yikes

[g-witchsulettaneedsahug]

Hello and welcome back to Simping For Prospera! We will once again be ⭐️controversial⭐️. In this post, we shall ask the following question:

Why would Prospera winning be so bad?

Taking a step back, its fascinating to see what kind of world the authors have written for this series. In what seems to be an almost post-capitalist hellscape, mega corporations have all the power over both its employees as well normal people in a way means it has powers thats only appropriate for an institution thats democratically elected by the normal people.

The Benerit Group has tremendous power, control and resources in space and opress the people of earth, using both economic and physical violence to crush those who oppose it. At its beck and call is the organisation Cathedra and it subdivision Dominicus, a para-military organisation. Once again, a corporation has the power and military might we, in this and age, normally only give to governments.

At its core, all organisations involved in the Benerit Group are military ones. Vying for subsidies and funding from governmental bodies and wealthy investors alike, using weapons programs to keep it all turning. Peil, Grassely, Jeturk, they all produce mobile suits and are the primary members of the group, which exists out of many corporations.

At the same time the Space Assembly League seems to have some sort of authority over the members, allowing them to freely investigate. Likely this is because they are an actual political organisation, perhaps actual representatives of both earth and space and not the corporations. Yet this faction and/or organisation, which may or may not be the only non-corporate controlled form of government there is in space and thus the only other faction with any "legitimate" power, work together with terrorists such as the Dawn of Fold in order to take down the Benerit Group which shows how much power the group really has.

All of this goes to show how spectacularly corrupt the whole society and every active participant inside of it is. Money is basically only invested if its in the interest of the powerful and whats in their interest is to primarily invest in the means and technology to utterly crush those who may threaten their power. Weapons, resources, property, means of travel, they all utterly dominate it. In other words, buisness men and women are at the top of it all. People who only care about and for money.

Then where are all the others? The artists, researchers, teachers, etc? Right under the tumb of the upper class of course. The rich are the ones who decide who gets funding, why they get funding, how they get funding and how much funding they receive. Medicine is beholden to the ones who can provide the funding for it.

The Vanadís Institute, where research was done on the GUND-format by Cardo Nabo and her staff, is one such faction that had to align themselves with more militaristic organisations in order to receive funding for their research. Instead of being able to focus purely on the improvement and freeing of humanity through the use of technology to make themselves more durable against the hardships of space, the institute had to work together with Ochs-Earth and bend to the whims of the military to even more powerful mobile suits then there already were, Gundams.

Instead of being a way to save lives and advance humanity, the GUND-format was seen as a way for Earthians to gain power and to get on even footing with the Spacians by developing weaponry that could fight rival or even surpass Spacian tech. Such is the world, violence almost always prevails.

And Spacian rule has not been kind, not to Earthians or lower class Spacians. Mercury is so inhospitable, raising a family there is considered borderline insanity (see, Cradle Planet and read between the lines). The risks are simply too great. In the show we can see that Mercury is basically considered some backwater, irrelevant place in the middle of nowhere, far away from the Earth sphere. The Space equivilant of the middle of nowhere, of a falling apart mining town almost.

Its not nearly as severe as what the Benerit Group does upon Earthians and Earthian aligned people however. Look no further then the massive amounts of indiscriminate murder committed against the researchers of Vanadís for daring to create mobile suits which might threaten Spacian rule or the violence which they turn upon the Earthians in order to keep them surpressed when they protest the injustices done upon them by the Spacian leeches, sucking the earth dry of its resources and siphoning its wealth. The violence caused by greed is truly incredible.

And then we have Prospera. Prospera, who is Elnora Samaya. Prospera, who was mentored and likely cared for by Cardo Nabo, lead researcher of Vanadís and ardent believer in the GUND-format. Prospera, who truly believes in the ideals of the Vanadís Insitute and what it wished to accomplish with GUND technology. Prospera, who lived on Folkenvanger which housed the institute, who was married to a manager of the project. Prospera, who was a tester and pilot herself. Prospera, who had her whole *life* inside of the institute: family, friends, collegues.

She felt safe there, she felt comfortable. She was amongst like-minded people, with people she trusted, trusted enough to raise her precious daughter there. To have a family.

And then they were all killed.

(almost) the whole institute was wiped out, from researchers to managers to technicians and other employees, including their families. In the grand scheme of things, its just an other event where many innocent lives are lost to the hands of Spacian and specifically corporate oppression and control.

That being said, looking at it from Elnora's perspective this is absolutely a beyond traumatic event. Her whole world was turned upside down. She lost her collegues, her friends, her mentor, her husband and later on her precious daughter. All the while those who ruined her life sit high upon their fancy chairs, enjoying their wealth and with not a real worry in the world, playing god in their meeting rooms.

No justice would come to them for their actions, oh no. There is no law which would hold them accountable for their indiscrimimate murder, they ARE the law. They are the judges, the juries and the executioners.

Isn't that just crazy to think about? The insanity and the hubris of the most powerful Spacian faction? Evil is often described as something "profoundly wicked and immoral". I'd say that the actions of the Benerit Group, the Mobile Suit Council, Cathedra, Dominicus and even the Space Assembly League are quite wicked and immoral.

Then tell me, do you blame Elnora for wishing to take them down? To bring down the Benerit Group? To not work with the Space Assembly? Should her actions not be seen as admirable, in a way? Her desire for revenge against the injustices done upon her and her drive to take down those who are her enemies?

Is it wrong to cheer for the opressed instead of the oppressor?

Sure, one may argue that Prospera's actions are too violent, as she basically sacrificed the inhabitants of Quinnharbor, but what is one town/city in the face of the many atrocities perpetuated by the Space Aseembly League and Benerit Group? What is one town compared to the safety and happiness of her lovely daughter within the Data Storm, as well as close to 2 decades of planning and preparing?

As for Suletta yes, she might be a "repli-child" who, was simply a "key" and yes Eri might be her main focus, that does not mean she did not treat Suletta well. In the first season, prologue as well as Cradle Planet we can see how gentle Elnora is. She is sweet and smiles and is patient with her daughters. She listens to their worries and and indulges in their chatter. Suletta obviously loves her and feels safe with her. This shows that even if Elnora didn't think of her as her daughter, she still treated her well. She treated her gently and she made her feel loved. Eri is her first priority yes, but that does not mean that she doesn't care for Suletta. Prospera is thus not personally an evil person who revels in the pain of those who cannot fight back, such as a young child. She even agrees with Eri that Suletta should be happy, even if its not with them.

But what does Prospera, Elnora, want? What is her goal with Quiet Zero and would it be that much worse then the Benerit Group? The Quiet Zero project seems to be a collaboration between her, Delling and whichever organisation is helping her. Besides wanting to expand the range for Eri so she can live more freely, what else is the project for? They for sure likely cannot care less about Eri, thats not their daughter and for all they care its just an extremely advanced AI with the imprint of a dead child.

Quiet Zero, most likely, is an attempt to forcefully put an end to most of the fighting. Since basically everything uses permet, entire stations and other Spacian infrastructure and even some Earthian ones use Permet, they'll all be vulnerable to being taken over by the Quiet Zero data storm and thus Eri. This power would allow Prospera and Eri to forcefully take over all the organisations who oppose them and to get their revenge against those who ruined their lives. They and everyone else on their side who aid them are likely so disillusiomed with the system and the consatnt tragedies caused by corruption and greed, they are entirely willing to take over everything themselves. They are likely planning to take over the Earth Sphere and the rest of Spacian territory by force and to have them at their mercy, easily dismanteling them, especially as they'll be unable to resist.

There are no good good guys in gundam, there are only desperate people clawing for power and control.

Suletta and the Earth House aren't the "good guys" or "heroes", they're normal school kids going to a military academy under the control of major corporations who just wanna do their best and survive and are at the mercy of corporate giants and their spawn. The Benerit Group aren't heroes/good guys, and neither is the Space Assembly League, Ochs-Earth, Dawn of Fold, they're all evil as fuck imo. There are no good guys, there are only victims and perpetrators.

So tell me, what exactly are we rooting for in this show? Why should Suletta "talk" or "reason" with her mother? Why do we not want Prospera to succeed? I can understand Suletta reaching out to her mother and sister in order to understand where they are coming from and why they had left her, why they never told her of their plans even. To have open communications. But I don't understans for the life of me why Suletta or Earth House should give a single singular shit about Prospera upheaving all of Spacian society. Miorine and Guel perhaps do, but they are benign to the Earthians and likely wouldn't mind in the long run/could be reasoned with. It depends.

So, with all of this said: why shouldn't Prospera win?

(Anyway I have a whole lotta fears and specukation about the SAL and Suletta, as well absolute red flags for her and I am fucking manifesting annother season at this point for more Suletta and Eri development)

#g witch #gundam: the witch from mercury #suletta mercury #gundam witch from mercury #g witch spoilers #lady prospera #prospera mercury #world building #gundam