Guided by the stars, connected by the force (Ongoing Series) - Din Djarin x OFC
illustration by @kenobiwanx
Wolkeās thoughts: I'm keeping most of my ramblings from the masterlist for now. The TLDR: This was a daydream, turned into a fic, into a roleplay, and now back into a fic that I'm publishing. It'll take a while.
Pairing: Din Djarin x original female character
POV: 3rd person, past tense ā For now it'll be written mostly from Maia's perspective, I might sprinkle in some 'omnscient observer' paragraphs here and there.
Synopsis: [Story begins right at The Mandalorian: Chapter 8] Din is on the lookout for a Jedi to take the little green troublemaker off of his hands. The lightsaber-wielding, slightly larger troublemaker he stumbles into on Nevarro might not be the Jedi he was looking for, but he is definitely the Mandalorian the pretty brunette has been searching. Will she finally find out what is so special about this man in silver armor?Ā
Tags: 18+ content, MDNI! Age gap (11 to 12 years, OC is 28/29) soulmates trope, force sensitive main character, fluff, romance, hurt/comfort, ... (more will be added as story goes on)
2 year celebration ā I met Mr. Mandalorian himself!
Fanarts:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
I still can't believe that doodles of Maia exist already. Feels unreal.
Additional notes:
As this is the first tumblr-specific project formatting might be off. I will try to make it as pleasing to the eye as I can
Headers and dividers might be edited as an after-thoughtĀ
@zaddymandalorian will probably beta all or most of these chapters
Content warnings will be listed for each chapter ā the whole work is considered 18+! Some chapters will be SFW but you will need to read all to understand whatās going on
I will try to keep the language for smut somewhat fitting with the emotions surrounding the act. When the two are feral, I will be explicit
Somewhat slow burn? There's slower on Tumblr for sure
Oh, and for the sake of it being mentioned somewhere: Not an English native; I have been exposed to it for just about two decades by now thoughĀ
While I might not be artistically gifted enough to draw fan arts, you have the permission to do so ā please tag me if you do!
I do cosplay ā you might get a glimpse or two of what Maia looks like in my mindĀ
Of course: Feedback is appreciated. Even if it's just a string of emoji
Dividers made by @saradika-graphics unless otherwise specified
My fics are not to be used in genAI and not to be uploaded to any other platform. If you find my stuff anywhere thats not my tumblr or my pillowfort, it's stolen.
Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)Ā
Summary: Jeff Buckley and sex with a dash of a man having feelings.
Warnings: alex's pov, smut, unprotected p in v, cum play, striptease, oral (f! receiving), fingering, shower, whiskey, i literally know nothing about this man so just go with it, cello and music references
Words: 3,100
A/N: Entry #483 into Mallory adding Jeff Buckley's music into her fics. Listen to "Lover, You Should've Come Over," "Everybody Here Wants You," and "Forget Her."
Previous
Masterlist
ā-
Five miles today. The sweat is stinging as it drips into Alexās eyes, his gray shirt soaked through with perspiration and effort. Heās ran farther today than he set out to, pushed himself up hills and steps, headphones blasting in his ears because the film score deadline looms, only three weeks left to compose forty minutes he's barely touchedā¦ but thatās not whatās constantly on his mind.
Itās you.
The memory of you across the room, barefoot in that silky, short robe of yours. How you left without saying goodbye, leaving him with just your name in the sex-heavy air.
He slows to a walk a block from the bungalows, tugging out his earbuds. Itās a scorcher, and the Pacific is doing nothing to cut the thick summer air. He feels disgusting, sweat drying on his skin, prickling under the sun. He needs a shower, some food he can muster out of his close-to-empty fridge, to lose himself in the stack of blank paper where music notes should be.
He slows as he approaches his place, because he hears something familiar. Your window is open, music drifting out of it that makes him halt on the sidewalk, right in front of your path. Jeff Buckleyās wailing āLover, You Shouldāve Come Over.ā The ache radiating out of the speakers matches the ache that Alex feels whenever he thinks of youā¦ that same damn feeling he just spent five miles trying to sweat out of his body.
He knows your name, heās memorized it, grunted it aloud when he used his hand to get himself off in the shower this morning. Now you're playing this song, loud enough that he still hears it as he unlocks his door.
Keys are thrown on the console table, shoes are kicked off, and he peels off his damp shirt. He rests his haggard body against the shared wall, collects himself, and listens to the song fade out before it repeats, and he hears the longing all over again. Alex Serian knows something about longing, because it seems to be the only thing heās been doing lately. He thinks about you with that dumb kid you brought home with you, in that showy vintage band tee and tattoos across his arms. Heās probably thinking about you too, thinking about how your eyes flutter open and shut when youāre close, the sweet sound of the gasp you let out before you shatter. Fuck.
He pushes himself off the wall, strips out of the rest of his sweat-soaked clothes, and heads to his black-tiled bathroom. He hisses when he steps under the cold shower head, before he lets the frigid water soothe his heat. He soaps himself, humming the melody of the song. Itāll be easy.
He changes into his customary practice clothes - only a pair of boxers - less clothing means less distractions. He pushes the blank sheet music out of the way when he sits at his computer and finds the song online.
Within an hour, he can play it. He figures out the arrangement easilyā¦ heās too good at being able to master longing and regret. The song plays through a few times as he uses his quietest bow.
Then, he waits.
The clock ticks a quarter past eleven, and he settles into his chair, facing your wall. He plays the cello, filling his home with yearning as he wills it to spill through the drywall and doesnāt stop until thereās a knock at his door.
Of course, it worked.
He gets up, checks himself in the mirror, making sure he looks perfectly casual in his sweatpants and black muscle tank before answering the door. He actually wins the fight to hide his smile as the door opens. Youāre standing there, in a teensy black dress, tiny straps across your shoulders. At your side, you have a vinyl record. You hold it up, Jeff Buckleyās photo across the cover.
"Figured we could listen and compare," you offer.
He steps back, opening the door for you to enter. "Come in."
He loves how you donāt hesitate, you just hand him the record and head to the couch.
āWant something to drink? Water, tea, whisāā
āWhiskey,ā you say from the couch.
He pours two fingers of whiskey in a tumbler. Youāre lounging back on the couch, one arm outstretched, legs crossed. Jesus, he likes looking at you in here. Your smooth curves on display against the smooth leather of his designer couch, the quiet confidence you exude in a dress that barely qualifies as clothing.
He turns to his stereo setup, complete with a vintage turntable and speakers that cost more than his first car. The needle drops, speakers crackling before the tight notes of the harmonium begin.
He sits next to you, close enough that his thigh presses against yours and hands you the tumbler. You take a drink, and he canāt look away from you, he doesnāt care if heās staring. Your lips form around the glass, and he follows the swallow down your throat, thinking about how youād look swallowing his cum. Heās trying to play it cool. Tries to treat it like itās just another collaborative listen, peer to peer and all that. Just connoisseurs of fine heartbreak and timbre.
Buckley sings about being too young to know better, and you turn to him, hooking your leg over his to settle across his lap. His exhalation is totally involuntary, body instantly tightening as you straddle him. You lean forward, tip the tumbler in his direction, whiskey sloshing forward as it goes to his lips. He sees the glint in your eyes as he wraps his mouth around the glass and you tilt it just enough to let him drink. He swallows, staring into your eyes as the whiskey stings his throat. You take one last drink from the tumbler, and deposit it on the side table, then post your hands on his shoulders. He stares up at you, almost in awe, like youāre the physical manifestation of a beautiful song. He knows you can see it, how the wanting is probably written all over his face. His big, brown eyes have always gotten him in trouble.
You begin to move, atop him, hips rolling against him, keeping time with the pulse of the music. You tilt closer, lips against his ear. āI love this song,ā you growl.
He goes to grab your hips, but you catch his hands and send them back to the couch with a knowing smirk. He doesnāt fight you. He gets the message. Your hands are the ones to roam across your body, up your hips, over your ribs, up your throat. Youāre showing off, back arching, lip caught between your teeth as you writhe atop him. Can you feel how hard heās growing beneath you? Can you tell how much he aches to have you under him?
He thinks you can.
You grip his hair, yank it a little, and tilt his head up, letting your neck press against his lips. He licks and sucks, breathing in the floral and citrus scent of your skin. You let out a small moan, your nails dragging across his scalp, and his groan matches yours.
The song ends. Thereās just the crackling whirr of the spinning record. Then, a bass line beats a sultry rhythm.
You pull away and look at him like youāve engineered the whole thing. Maybe you did. You pull your hands down your chest, over your hips, and stand all full of grace and intent. āYouāve performed for me,ā you say. āLet me perform for you.ā
Twenty nine pearls in your kiss
Alex sits back on the couch, lets his knees spread, and watches, full attention as you begin to sway in between his legs. You're moving like you know exactly what youāre doing, and heās mesmerized, absolutely caught up, as your hips roll slowly to the music.
Your flame in me
Alex is strung tight, and his eyes begin to water from not blinking, especially when you turn, bend, and reach for the ground. He leans forward, leather crinkling as he moves on instinct, just to get a closer look as the hem of your little black dress rides higher and higher. He swallows a thick movement of need at the curve of your ass bordered by silky black. You reach and sway, dress riding all the way up, giving him a full look at your ass swaying, and he wonders how your skin tastes, how itād feel to run his tongue along your smooth legs, across the curves of your ass.
Heās fucking hypnotized by you, his neighbor, dancing for him in his living room. All he can do is stare at the space between your thighs, mesmerized by the slick heat thatās glistening and gleaming between your legs. He wants to taste you. Wants to put his hands on you, wants your sweat and your cunt in his mouth, wants to see if you taste as sweet as you smell tonight. Heās played at Carnegie, the Musikverein, the fucking Philharmonie in Berlin, and heās never been more focused than now: all of his energy straining into the few feet between your body and his lap.
Such a thing of wonder in this crowd
Your hips roll, hands ghosting up your thighs, skating over your smooth, bare skin. Heās aching, cock twitching in his tented sweatpants and when you face him, he sucks in a breath. Youāre so fucking gorgeous. Your eyes are lust dark and hooded, lips parted, silky dress bunched around your thighs, and he can see just the hint of what heās about to lose his mind over.
I know everybody here wants you
You climb onto the coffee tableāsome walnut piece from Herman Miller he splurged on to impress that actressālike you were made for a stage, so close now that Alex could touch you if he wanted to. He wants to, so fucking bad, but instead, he fists his hands atop his sweatpanted thighs, lets the burning heat pool in his belly, mouth hanging open as you arch your back and glide your hands over your body while the record spins on.
I know everybody here thinks he needs you
You anoint him with the most beautiful view as you roll the thin silk of your dress up your body, tugging it up and over your head. A shiverāa goddamn shiver in the middle of the summerāspasms through him, chest to groin, at the sight of you. You toss your dress at him, and he actually manages to catch it, bringing the warm silk to his nose and inhaling the scent of you.
Youāre the hottest goddamn thing heās ever seen, seducing him with every hypnotic bump of your hips. He thinks he can almost see the heat haloing off your skin as you move, keeping with the pulse of the music, body bare and beautiful.
And Iāll rise like an ember in your name
Youāre performing, but even as you keep your eyes on his, Alex knows youāre only dancing for yourself, like some sort of temptress that just happens to live across the yard from him. You grind your hips into the air, hands cupping your tits, your nipples are so tight and sweet looking, inviting his tongue. You tug them both, twisting in time with the song, and the low moan you make, as you stare him down, makes him want to throw all of his self-restraint away. All he can think about is that small taste of you last time, how badly he wants to devour your cunt, make you scream his name.
Iāll be waitinā right here just to show you
You donāt bother to warn himāyou just step directly from the table onto the couch, both feet bracketing his thighs as the cushion dips. You roll your hips, slick and pretty cunt at his eye level, and the soft heat of you being so close almost undoes him right there. You cord your fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots to tilt his head all the way back. His eyes meet yours, and he swallows. The way youāre looking at him, like heās all youāve been thinking about, is so fucking hot, it makes him almost dizzy.
Your hands flow down the lines of his face, settling on the edges of his jaw, and you guide him right where he wants to be, pressing his face right into your wet cunt. He breathes you in, opens his mouth, tongue tasting the first strip of you.
āFuck,ā you gasp, grinding slow against his mouth. So wet. So in control. So fucking perfect. His nose presses against your swollen, soaked skin and he licks, circles, and dashes his tongue against your clit. Youāve got both hands gripping his hair, making little shuddering sounds, and he wants to make you cum like thisāwants to play you to the very end.
Your legs begin to wobble, and he anchors you with his hands, sliding them up your thighs, thumbs digging in to your flesh to hold you still and open. He can hear you panting over the flick of the record, over the greedy sounds heās making as he finally gets to taste you proper. He finds your rhythm, playing along to it, swirling his tongue, pressing it inside, bowing long and slow, then short and urgent. He feels the seismic shiver of you vibrating against his hands and tongue. Youāre pulsing, reaching the crescendo of your orgasm, and he drinks you down, hands stretched across the globes of your ass, pushing you further and further against him. Youāre moaning so sweet, so loud, so perfect, he wishes he could hit repeat on each breath that escapes you.
You have to steady yourself with both hands on his skull, hands grasping his hair. He licks you softer now, a gentle cleaning, giving himself one last taste as your hips roll one last time. He leans back, breathless, face wet, and looks up at you. Thereās a thing called musicianās pride after an amazing performance, a natural high when the final ovation is taken, and he feels that right now. You look absolutely fucked.
Your body melts, knees giving out, and you slump down into his lap, chest to his chest. He throws his shirt off, needing to feel your skin sear his as you shudder with the aftershocks. Every part of Alex is thrumming, pulse loud in his ears, cock aching in its cage of designer knit. He holds youānot for long enoughāuntil you pull away and smile, all feline and sexy and cool. Your knees pin his thighs, the heat of your cunt is so fucking close from the straining line of his cock. He wonders if youāll notice the damp spread at the front of his sweats.
The songās changed, long ago, and he only just notices it, heās been so lost in you. Alex Serian prides himself on how finely tuned his body is, how he takes care of it like an instrument, but once you touch him, he feels like a student again, all inelegant and full of pleading tension. Your hand threads down his body, and when you palm his cock, he whimpers a delightedly shocked sound, and if he wasnāt so fucking horny and needy for you, heād be ashamed. You hmph a soft smug sound in response and squeeze his cotton-shrouded cock.
You rise a little, and he tries to keep his composure no matter how much he feels like heās shaking, as you grip the waistband of his sweats and tug. He lifts his hips obligingly, letting his hard cock escape the cotton. You lean back and look down, eyes on how hard his dick is jutting between you, leaking and desperate for attention. You drag one nail up the underside of him, and all he wants is for you to wrap your hand around it and play him.
You do, your thumb circling the head and you fist him. Alex jerks forward at the wristy rhythm, moaning and groaning, an unknowable relief of feeling your touch again. Itās been too many days of thinking about you, of trying to forget you, of knowing thereās just a thin wall between you and his growing want for you. He brags about self-control, but with you, he feels it depleting each time youāre near him.
Heās leaking all over your hand, and heās not sure if itās sweat or precum. You seem to not mind the sticky mess heās making at all. No, in fact, you welcome it. You glide the head of his cock against your cunt, swirling it against your eager entrance before you let the heat of you envelop his cock. You both gasp at the same time as you seat yourself all the way down, and you rock, adjusting to the size of him and the way he impales you.
You look like a fucking goddess atop him, and he groans, hands fisting against your hips, burying his face against your breast because he canāt look at you any longer, canāt cope with how much he wants you. Alex doesnāt know what the fuck this is, how it can feel so good with someone he barely knows. The most you two share is a wall and this hedonistic pleasure, and heās so fucking lost in it. Youāre so sure of yourself, never shy, not with the way youāre gripping his shoulders, working your hips, grinding your cunt along his cock.
Heās fucked, and youāre too busy fucking yourself on him, using his body like an instrument, to notice any of his inner desperation. You ride him, tempo wavering, like youāre testing the ranges of what either of you can stand. He hears it all. The beat of his heart, the rush of his own breath, the musicās still playing on the record player, Jeff Buckley singing to āForget Her.ā How could he? How could he ever move on from you? From this. From this need.
He wants you closer, wants to fuck you harder and make you remember that nobody else but Alex Serian can make you feel this way. He lifts you, arms around you tight, and half stands so he can lay you down on the cold wood of the coffee table. Your back arches in surprise, and he presses forward, still inside you, and fucks into you slow, letting himself leave the velvet warmth of you before shrouding himself back in your heat with long strokes. He searches for the cadence that makes you curl your fingers into his shoulders. Thereās something almost holy in the way you look up at him, heavy-eyed, lips open, sweat making your skin glow in the late summer heat.
He reaches under your head, palm cradling the back of your head, anchoring himself and grounding you down. He can now fuck you with a new, desperate force the slap of his body against yours is louder than the music that spills out of his speakers. His forehead meets yours, slick skin against skin, bridge of his nose dragging a line along your cheekbone, and he loses himself.
Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his skin, and he grunts. His back is slick with sweat, and the pads of your feet are sticky against his skin. You squeeze him tight, harder, and he pistons into you, over and over, but you still want and moan for more, demanding, tilting your body up to meet him.
The coffee table squeaks beneath you, and he tries to keep his eyes open, stop them from rolling back in pleasure at the squeeze and pulse of your cunt. He wants to watch every flicker of your lashes, the slack of your jaw when his cock spears you deep. He wants to imprint on you, to have only his name and the memory of his cock stretching you echo through your memory. He grunts your name over and over, hissing, almost stuttering on lust, as he worships you and curses your pussy for being so perfect for him.
Heās so fucking close, gone is his button-up composure. His teeth grit as he presses into you and tries to stop the spread of ecstasy, but itās too fucking late. He pulls out on reflex, barely makes it to the curve of your belly before he cums across your skin. His whole body burns with each sputter and shot of thick, white pearlescence that pulses out of him. He strokes himself, watching the mess pool beneath your navel.
He can barely think for himself, but he knows the performance isnāt over. You still need your finale. Alex slides to the floor, knees against the hand-knotted area rug, and drags you to the edge of the table. He wants to admire you like this, his hands wrapped around your thighs spreading them open, your heat and scent on full display for all of his senses, his own cum smeared across your skin. Heās wild, almost reckless as he gazes down at you, one hand running down your body. Youāre writhing, hips undulating, trembling, and he canāt wait any longer. He buries his face in you, mouth wide open, tonguing you deep, lapping up every drop of desire youāre leaking for him.
Youāre a symphony of noises, needy and high meeting melting and low. Itās almost musical, and Alex learns the notes of what makes you gasp and scream. He gives you two of his fingers, curling and dragging as he tongues your clit. Then, he gives you three, leaning back just enough so he can watch your body try to swallow his hand.
Your hands run along your body, smearing the mess heās made on your skin, rubbing his drying cum across your body, pulling it up to your tits and smearing it all over your curves. He can feel you getting close, your pussy clamping his fingers, your breaths quickening. He doesnāt let you have it. Not yet. He goes slow, gently licking you with a soft reverence, lets you fall back down, then gets you right back to needy again, working you up, making you scream his name.
Youāre wound so tight, and heās tuning you to the right tension, building your pleasure with his lips and fingers. He lets you shatter for him, and you cum so hard your whole body shakes as you spill, pulse, and grind into his face. Your moan is a long, almost layered glissando that makes Alex think heās found the answer to the weeks of uninspired scoring. Itās the best sound heās heard. Nothing in Buckleyās catalog, not Bach, not even the ovation from the crowd at his last āRite of Spring.ā
Heās grinning when he peels away from you, and wipes his chin with his wrist. Youāre a mess on the table, catching your breath, pleasure drunk across mahogany. He runs his hand along your body, hoping you wonāt kick him off for touching you like this, gently, softly, as you gather yourself.
Fuck. He doesnāt want the night to end.
He stands, bends and scoops you up, arms around your back and under your knees, and youāre either too cum drunk, or you just donāt care as he lifts you from the table and carries you down the hallway to his bathroom. He sets you down on the countertop, the mirror against the black tile reflecting your overwhelmed body, you look ruinedā¦ but happy and satiated as he starts the shower.
You stand, still wobbling back and forth as he helps you in the shower, stepping in behind. The steam swallows your bodies, and you lean back against his chest, his hands and the water wash away the sweat and cum and music and sex of the night. You let him, humming low, eyes watching his reflection in the glass. When heās done, he turns off the water and wraps you in his towel.
He doesnāt bother asking you to stay. He just walks you to his bedroom and peels back the sheets. Itās not lost on him how your apartment is just past the wall. That you could, if you wanted, grab your dress and walk across the thin patch of grass and be back in your space. But you donāt. Instead, you climb under the sheets, and he joins you. He thinks about the last time he let anyone sleep here, itās been literal years, and here he is with his fucking neighbor.
Heās tentative when he brings his arm around your waist, and he almost wants to be angry at how well you fit against him when you settle. You fall asleep quickly, and he stays awake, listening to your soft breathing.
He watches you sleep, body curled and peaceful against the white of his sheets. He holds you for a long time, chest to your back. Heās not used to this. Not since it was enough to be good at things only for himself.
You hum a quiet mmm in your sleep, and he instantly recognizes it, the same timbre, same vibration as the drawn-out moan from earlier. He lies there listening and remembering until the pieces of melody begin to assemble. You exhale, shift, and he hears it again. Itās not a song yet, just a collection of notes.
He detangles from your sleepy warmth, sits up, grabs the legal pad and pencil that he always keeps in the bedside drawer. He sits, hunched, back to the headboard, one leg crossed across his knee, supporting the legal pad. He writes the hum, and then a harmony from it. Then a contour of your moan, and how it would sound on the cello, longer and drawn out. He writes your name at the top. The director and no one at the studio needs to know the piece is about you. Heāll just call it āIntermezzoā or āMotive (Theme in G)ā or whatever simple title theyāll accept.
He works for an hour, then sets the pencil down, re-reads what heās got. It might be the best sequence heās written in years. He glances from the yellow paper of the pad to you, how tangled up in his sheets you are. Even now, the smallest sound from you alters his pulse, making him want to pin you back under him.
When the melody feels just right along his annotations and sides of notes, he sets the pad on his table and lies back. The bed welcomes his body, and he scoots closer to you, propping his thigh against yours. Thereās nowhere left for his arm but to drop it over your belly, and he blames the too-late-hour on the tenderness overcoming him. He drifts off, letting the presence of you help him fall asleep.
That damn loud bird shrieks right outside his window, and he wrenches up in a confused bobble. Heās on his stomach, lines across his cheek from the pillow. He turns over, expecting you, but all that remains is the valley left by your body. He sits up, gets out of the bed, not even grabbing his robe and strides into his living room stark naked. Your dress is gone, and the recordās been taken out of the player.
Heās not sure what he expectedā¦ certainly not that youād make him breakfast or stick around to wake him. Hell, he prefers whomever he brings home to leave easily and quietly. And yet, your disappearance seems to bruise him.
He goes back to his room, picks up the legal pad, and reads over the notes. Thanks to you, heās finally figured it out. Heās never been more inspired in his life.
you get a comment on tumblr. it's a bot trying to scam you. you get a DM. it's a bot trying to scam you. you get a message on instagram. its a bot trying to scam you. you're an author and you get an email telling you how much they loved your book and want to showcase it at their bookclub. it's a bot trying to scam you (and it uses bad AI to pretend it knows your story). you get a comment on ao3 saying how much they love your fic - and they made you fanart!! it's a bot trying to scam you. you get a hate comment on ao3 which insults your writing or calls you a monster for writing something "problematic". it's a bot. but at least that one isn't trying to scam you.
there's just something really cruel and insidious about this wave of scams going after creatives. You get an email and think someone genuinely loved what you made but - no. It's another scam. It's someone trying to trick you into sending them money. On AO3, it might literally just be a bot someone made specifically to be a hateful little shit.
putting the stuff you've made out there for everyone to see is hard and scary and we're all just bumping around looking for a bit of appreciation and love and connection and these bastards are using that to try to rob us. I hate it.
I've been resource gathering for YEARS so now I am going to share my dragons hoard
Floorplanner. Design and furnish a house for you to use for having a consistent background in your comic or anything! Free, you need an account, easy to use, and you can save multiple houses.
Comparing Heights. Input the heights of characters to see what the different is between them. Great for keeping consistency. Free.
Magma. Draw online with friends in real time. Great for practice or hanging out. Free, paid plan available, account preferred.
Smithsonian Open Access. Loads of free images. Free.
SketchDaily. Lots of pose references, massive library, is set on a timer so you can practice quick figure drawing. Free.
SculptGL. A sculpting tool which I am yet to master, but you should be able to make whatever 3d object you like with it. free.
Pexels. Free stock images. And the search engine is actually pretty good at pulling up what you want.
Figurosity. Great pose references, diverse body types, lots of "how to draw" videos directly on the site, the models are 3d and you can rotate the angle, but you can't make custom poses or edit body proportions. Free, account option, paid plans available.
Line of Action. More drawing references, this one also has a focus on expressions, hands/feet, animals, landscapes. Free.
Animal Photo. You pose a 3d skull model and select an animal species, and they give you a bunch of photo references for that animal at that angle. Super handy. Free.
Height Weight Chart. You ever see an OC listed as having a certain weight but then they look Wildly different than the number suggests? Well here's a site to avoid that! It shows real people at different weights and heights to give you a better idea of what these abstract numbers all look like. Free to use.
@whocaresstillthelouvre and i were screaming discussing how alex serian, as he's into the arts, is secretly a pretty good artist. he draws from time and to time and he will randomly pull out something like this between the mess of his music sheets:
like, you both play in the same orchestra and while you're practicing he'd be so bored so he'd draw you instead of playing his cello like he's supposed to šŖ¦
and EVEN WORSE he'd also do it after rocking your shit, muttering a 'stay right there' because taking a picture doesn't do it, he has to draw you
Chapter 15 ā Guided by the stars, connected by the force
Masterlist
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Chapter summary: After the not so successful visit to Ossus, Din and Arana return to what they know in hopes it could drown out the ache in Dinās chest. Little did they know accepting this strange contract would lead them somewhere pivotal for their future journey together.
Warnings: tame chapter besides one use of a taser, theme of last chapter is briefly mentioned (infertility), deliberate cliffhanger to introduce a new character
Words: 6.7k
A/N: I acknowledge that I borrowed a quote from George R. R. Martinās Game of Thrones in this and also the last chapter.
The flight was quiet. Din didnāt say much because he was upset, so Arana assumed. Or he was in thought, as they both had been even before the encounter with the two Jedi and no Grogu. His reaction back with Tano had been clear enough in showing he had expected to be allowed to see Grogu at least for a moment, to give him the small gift himself. Maybe all of this was Aranaās fault, she had taken him there, only to have his heart broken once more. It seemed breaking hearts was her forte, as she had done so with him ā¦ and herself. Maybe she shouldāve been more adamant that just because she had turned her back on the New Order so quickly meant that Grogu would or could do the same.
While the pain from what she had to confess to earlier in the day, back on Tatooine, subsided, it still lingered, the āohā a dull ache in her heart, a searing pain in the back of her mind, fueling the self-doubts. But her low self esteem wasnāt what was concerning her now ā Din hadnāt known and avoiding him had likely made him feel responsible for something that was neither his fault ā nor hers.
Rather what was on her mind ever since they had left the little moon was what both Luke and Ahsoka had told her. Her and Dinās bond was special, she had been told so before, but what did it mean? Why could Din hear her if he wasnāt force-sensitive as well, or had he been all of his life and never knew? What else could they do if they were actually a dyad?
Ahsokaās words felt like a warning, as if she knew the path this would lead the couple down. Love is where responsibility dies. A path they had trod on before ā her killing so carelessly to save Grogu, and Din daring to take the helmet off for just a kiss, risking everything for just a feel of her lips. Given she now saw where this break of rules lead to, it made this kiss feel even more special.
As much as Arana felt like being glued to Din for the time being, despite the hurt she caused, she knew there were opportunities to behave like teenagers, and there were the ones where they had to tone it all down. Glavis was a dangerous place, especially now that she had insulted the guild master. They had to keep themselves somewhat lowkey, as much as that would work, given Din was dressed in reflective metal and she ā¦ wasnāt. The bounty hunter and his sidekick. Nothing more, nothing less.
Walking past the little shop Arana had spent the time waiting for Din the last time, she felt an impulse to joke about missing her friends, but she bit her tongue. She wondered how wrong her act could have gone, had Din not returned broken but rather ready to say farewell again. Awakening his jealousy had not been her plan, she had looked for a way to get a free meal, and to kill time before he came back ā hoping he would. She wondered what had gone through his head when he saw her at a bar, seemingly drunk and having a good old time after fighting with him and threatening to leave. To be fair, Arana knew she wouldnāt appreciate seeing Din with two women the same way she had been situated ā without the prior conflict.
Ā»We should get a comlink before we go back to the guild.Ā« Without looking towards her, Din decided to take a detour, breaking the silence between them. It was for the best if they took care of that first. Ā»Youāre right,Ā« she replied. Ā»Wouldnāt want to get lost on hereā¦ or anywhere, for that matter.Ā«Ā
No one had to say it ā they both knew Din would be worried sick if she got lostā¦ again. The memories of his frantic, nervous self were still so fresh in her mind, another point on the seemingly never ending list of things to feel guilty for. Even if it had been sort of endearing how worried he had been about her with his big, brown eyes. What she wanted to avoid at all cost this time around while hunting was everything that transpired last time ā Din getting hurt again, her subsequently having to go after the job on her own, getting hurt herself and both of them fighting in the end because they were frustrated. Sometimes her impulsive side really hurt the people close to her and she hated it. The sabers clinked together when she adjusted her belt, reminding her that she still wasnāt too well-equipped for actual bounty hunting. Ā»I might have to get a blaster, too.Ā«Ā Ā»You might,Ā« he confirmed. His voice was colder compared to how heād speak with her in private, just like when she first met him. That was Mando. Although it made sense for him to be on guard here, the sudden shift was something Arana had to get adjusted to.
Side by side, they walked towards one of the streets with different tech vendors. Shops offering droids, droid repair, all kinds of entertainment tech, and the ones that likely had what they needed ā the shops that scrapped everything. Din didnāt look for a good bargain this time around. They needed something quick, and he was willing to spend a little more if it meant that Arana could be tracked. While he was set on his plan and entered the first shop, Arana felt a small pit in her stomach, but not because of the little side track they were on. It was their main reason to be on Glavis that worried her. How would the guild master react to her? Would they both be kicked out? Would it end in a fight?
While Arana was letting her anxiety run free, Din looked at different devices, all of which would either clip onto her belt, or were supposed to be stored in pouchesā¦ of which she had none at this moment.
With curious steps she approached Din, looking at the small boxes, not really convinced that anything over here was suitable for her current getup. Considering this was still their first option, she let him know of her thoughts. Ā»All of these are so clunky. A bracelet would be more practical,Ā« she said, taking one of the smaller devices into her hand, which was still as big as her palm and quite heavy. Ā»Or a little speaker I can put in my ear.Ā« The small device made a soft clank when Arana put it down, looking over to the helmet. Ultimately, this was his choice, as Din was still the one with all of their money. Ā»I like the bracelet idea,Ā« he agreed, voice turning a little softer. Few words were exchanged between the vendor and Din to inquire about other options, her gaze wandering over all of the little gadgets and droid parts that were sold here. Unfortunately, they wouldnāt be able to find a bracelet here, but were pointed towards another store.
Walking side by side with her partner, her eyes wandered over the helmet. Was a bracelet more practical in her case, or was it, in a somewhat abstract way of thinking, more jewelry he could get her? Ā»How far does the signal of a comm usually go?Ā« she asked him once outside, the helmet turning towards her for just a moment before focusing on the street before them again. The signal had to reach far enough so she couldnāt get lost, right? Ā»It depends. Both on how much you spend and where you are. Iād rather spend more when it means I can find you. Over here, signals interfere with one another, a few hundred meters. Worst case on Coruscant. Out in the open like on Tatooine, it could reach for kilometers.Ā« So she wouldnāt get lost. That soothed her worries already.
Ā»Can you track me?Ā«
Ā»Your position?Ā«
Her hair fell into her face when she nodded. Ā»When youāre close enough but canāt find me,Ā« she added. Din shook his head. Ā»Not by default, but I donāt think itās necessary. Itās just for emergencies.Ā« Not getting separated was the main goal ā to avoid anything else that would happen in their frustrationā¦ again. The memories were all still so fresh and it still hurt. Arana wondered if Din also thought about the fight, given they were talking about preventing part of what happened at their last little hunting gig. If he did, it wasnāt obvious.
More tech greeted them at another shop, a smaller one, which at the same time seemed to stock a lot more ā it was chaotic, but just ordered enough that the owner would probably know where everything was. Din let her in first, following her like a shadow. It did feel nice to be protected by this big, broad hunk of metal. To strangers it made Arana seem more imposing as well. Like she was someone important ā even if she only mattered to Din, in reality. And Grogu.
Ā»What can I do for you?Ā« the shopkeeper asked, a tall, slender Duros, his golden eyes fixed on her, then moving towards the Mandalorian. Din took a step forward. Ā»Weāre looking for a communicator wristband.Ā« The keeper squinted, looking at Arana again, who wasnāt sure what to make of it. At first she wondered why, but then she realized his focus was her wrist, to see what size band they were looking for.
The curtain the shopkeeper disappeared behind made a swooshing noise, while the brunette had a look around the shop. There was all kinds of tech, new and really old looking, possibly from pre-Imperial times. It smelled rusty, musty and of oil in here. Not as musty as the cargo hold of a ship, though. For that aroma it lacked the mold. Looking around, she found a small handheld device that somewhat resembled a grenade, but didnāt have a pin to pull. There was mesh on the top, she assumed a different kind of communicator. No one would have a grenade flying around, right? She looked further, finding a small canister.
Ā»Whatās that?Ā«
The helmet turned to her and heavy steps followed, settling in right beside her, looking where she pointed. Ā» Bacta.Ā« Ā»Iāve never seen it in such a bottle.Ā« He took it in his hand, showing it to her from closer up. Ā»Itās high capacity and higher pressure to save space.Ā« She saw a metal clip on the canister and pointed towards it. Ā»It attaches to utility beltsā¦Ā« That was practical. Given their luck they could need a bacta spray like that. On the other hand they didnāt really need one, considering Arana herself was a walking bacta tank. Ā»It does. May be pre-Imperial Mandalorian gear. Or from troops.Ā« Carefully he set the canister back, and did so just it time.
Ā»Letās see,Ā« the shopkeeper announced his return, his focus on the devices he carried rather than the two people in his shop who had just been touching his stock. He placed the devices on the counter before him, waiting for Arana to come towards him. There was an assortment of wristbands, most of them looking quite tactical. But what was she expecting? āPrettyā tech was probably out of their price range anyway. If something like a pretty comm bracelet even existed.
She held them to her wrist, finding most of them to look fairly big on her arm, assuming these had probably been made for men ā or for people with armor on. One, a very basic one, seemed to fit quite nicely without putting weird pressure on her joint nor being too loose. It had a speaker, presumably a microphone somewhere, a few buttons on the side and a very small screen. That was it. The wristband fit snugly around her arm, even if it would need some getting used to, as the device was quite thick and a little heavy.
Ā»What do you think?Ā« she held her arm in front of Dinās face, rotating it so he could inspect the device.
He held her so gently, taking the communicator off to check every screw and edge on this thing. There was a tiny speck of rust, but nothing that seemed too concerning.
More questions about the battery, the signal amp, stuff she had no real idea about followed ā Din made sure the gear was working as intended. It reminded her all too much of the discussion Din had had with Peli about the modifications for the N-1. Tech talk she didn't understand, but was glad that Din knew enough to make sure she was getting something that would last. Lastly, he paid for the one she just had on her arm and he turned to her. With one hand palm up, he asked for her arm so he could attach the comm again. Her hand fit into his so nicely. Ā»That was easier than I thought,Ā« she confessed, watching him skillfully thread the wristband and close it, even with gloves on. Ā»Some things are allowed to be easy. Youāre not the first person to need a wrist-com.Ā« How right he was, some things were okay to be easy. Like falling for him more every time he showed that he cared for her.
They way to the club felt familiar, reminding Arana of the last time they had come here. And yet, it felt different. Gone was the excitement and the curiosity, but embarrassment had taken its place. Ultimately her barging into the conversation had resulted in the right information, but the cost for it was still unclear.
When they reached the elevator and ascended, she really felt her nerves, clenching her jaw and balling her hands to fists, the band of the wrist-comm digging into her tensing arm. There was a possibility that theyād get attacked when they entered the bar because of what had transpired last time. Ā»Iāll try to not make a fool of myself this time around,Ā« she said with a nervous chuckle. Din sighed softly. Ā»I donāt want to boss you around, but we have to be careful, cyarāika.Ā« She would be careful, for the sake of their peace, and for the sake of Dinās reputation.
Ā»Long time no see, Mandalorian. I assumed you had already left,Ā« the Ishi Tib greeted them, a somewhat jovial tone in her voice. Had she gotten over Aranaās behavior already? The same smoky and aromatic scent crept up into Aranaās nose ā partly enticing, partly unpleasant. Ā»You mentioned another job last time,Ā« Din addressed her, taking over while Arana tried to make herself less present. Could she turn invisible, she would. Technically she couldāve stayed out of it completely, stayed by the ship, but she didnāt want to leave her partnerās side. Ā»I did, are you interested now?Ā« Her gaze wandered towards the brunette, who wanted to vanish this instant, as she dreaded what would likely follow. Ā»And what about you? Lost your tongue?Ā« Dinās shoulders tensed, his helmet rotating towards Arana a little. Was he scared she would make it worse? Ā»I apologize for my impertinence at our last meeting. Thereās a lot I still have to learn.Ā« She had no other choice but to answer as she had been directly addressedā¦somewhat. Her voice was firm and a little lower than usual, trying hard to not sound nervous. After a scoff, the Ishi Tib slid over a tracker fob towards Din.
Ā»Iām missing a small delivery of some very expensive wine and spices. Itās unusual for my supplier to be late. You should find them on Naboo. Find my delivery and I will forgive you. I donāt care about the supplier, kill them if you feel like it.Ā«
The fob turned on, and unbeknownst to them, notified their target over on Naboo.
Arana took the fob into her hand and glanced over to Din. She had no reason to question the nature of their task, believing this to be a kind of punishment for what she had done the last time. All things considered, it was a mild punishment for what couldāve happened instead. Karga had tried to kill Din after he had returned to Nevarro to save his child.
Was Grogu doing well with Luke? Did the little one also miss his father as much as Din was missing him? She glanced over, wondering what was going on in that pretty head of his, but wouldnāt ask nor find out the way only she could.
Once back in the elevator, Din broke the silence after yet another sigh, the tension leaving him simultaneously to the air escaping his lungs. Ā»Youāll like it on Naboo.Ā« She had been so deep in thought, she hadnāt even registered that they had walked out. Had they even said bye? His posture was more relaxed, his body leaned in just a little and therefore also in her. She took a step closer, almost touching his side with her shoulder. Ā»You think so?Ā« she asked, interested in what made him think she would enjoy it. Was it everything that Glavis wasnāt? A planet that wasnāt bone dry, for a change?
Handing the tracker over, she leaned against the wall next to him, not sure he would appreciate any displays of affection ā something they should maybe talk about when the time was right. He stored the fob, stashing it in his pouch for now, explaining his thought to her. Ā»Itās lively ā forests, fields, lakes, oceans. The people on Naboo are moreā¦Ā« A short pause followed, Ā»peaceful. Itās unlikely that anyone will bother us.Ā« That alone sounded like a dream. They could breathe some actual fresh air, look at flowers, or ā if the season was right, they could collect fallen leaves. Ā»Sounds nice,Ā« she replied with a nod. Ā»Having some nature for a change, I mean. Maybe weāll have some time to have a look around. I doubt weāll just stumble over the stuff.Ā« The stuff that the guild master ordered a bounty hunter and his sidekick to find for her. If it happened to be the same wine she and Din had had on Tatooine, Arana would understand why the master wanted it.
The elevator had reached ground level and they exited, the green eyes still looking at her companion while they walked. Ā»Is Naboo warm?Ā« Ā»Somewhat. Itās not as hot as Tatooine, but not uncomfortably cold, either. You can walk around without the cloak there.Ā« Now she really wanted to take some time off of their contract to spend quality time with him. Ā»You know, Iām really jealous of the armor. You donāt have to worry about the climate all too much.Ā«
There was a chuckle, but it was subtle enough that it didnāt register with her right away. Ā»It comes with disadvantages. Itās heavy.Ā« Arana shrugged, a grin forming on her lips. Ā»With all the muscles you hide under that armor it canāt bother you that much. To be fair, the helmet is heavy.Ā« Shaking his head to give her a gentle reminder that they were still out in the open and that she really needed to be careful what she was saying. Assuming he was blushing a little under the helmet, she let it be.
Ā»Do you think we can take one or two detours on the lookout for this delivery?Ā« With what Din had told her, it sounded like she would really enjoy taking a walk along a lake or maybe even sit down with him to do what couples would normally do. Ā»Iām not sure. Weāre on dubious terms with the guild.Ā«Ā Ā»Mhā¦Ā« she was about to accept defeat to be reasonable, had he not added Ā»but she didnāt tell us where to look on Naboo. The planet isnāt small. Weāll start in Theed and see where it goes.Ā«
Arana wondered where their search would take them. Would someone hide away in a remote, desolate location, or rather hide in plain sight, where it was crowded and chaotic? She knew what she would have done ā She had lived in the shadows for a while. And yet there was this wish deep within her heart to go to the lakes Din had spoken about. See something else for a change, something greener than an endless ocean of rock or sand or steel.
Din had more to say. Ā»Back at the club. You did good.Ā« The praise made her feel all warm and fuzzy, her hand touching the pendant hiding underneath her clothes. She knew it would have been wiser to stay silent the first time around, but knowing she was doing what Din would have done given the current situation felt soothing. Ā»I struggle with keeping my composure. Being stand-offish had been my coping mechanism to deal some of the stuff the Imps did to me. It didnāt matter what I said or did, how I reacted, their treatment was the same. So I decided to let the frustration out.Ā«
There was a soft nod coming from him. Ā»I know.Ā«Ā And how well he knew, he had seen her lose her temper more than enough. Ā»Thatās why I told you you did good.Ā«Ā
Ā»Thank you. Maybe I am slowly turning into a Jedi.Ā«
Ā»Or a Mandalorian. We have thick skin. Most of the time.Ā«Ā
Ā»If you say so.Ā«
They reached her ship, patiently waiting for them to return and to take them to the next stop in their adventure. Finally, Din properly turned toward her, standing between her and the ship. Had she not known who was underneath the armor, she wouldāve been intimidated by his presence ā had she not known how much of a softie Din was deep down. Ā»Do you want me to fly?Ā« Arana nodded. Ā»Sounds like youāve been to Naboo. I think itās for the best if you fly.Ā« She needed some time to herself. It wasnāt something bad, she just marinated in what he had said ā about her turning into a Mandalorian.
Was all of this a peek into their future? Flying through the galaxy to hunt bounties? Sleeping in dodgy motels every now and then, hoping no one would get hurt while on the job?
They climbed into the ship, her thoughts still wandering around what her life could look like a few months from now. There was a possibility that Din would change with her around him. He had already changed, willingly showing his face to her in exchange for a little intimacy and a swarm of kisses. Maybe Din would become more domestic, maybe they would get a small apartment. Would they work normal jobs, the armor and sabers collecting dust somewhere in the back of their closet? No, that was absurd. She had no relevant skills, so Din would have to carry the financial burden all by himself.
What if he didnāt care, though?
Arana would like a future where they werenāt Mando and half-Jedi-half-Mando any more. They could just be them ā Din and Arana. Meshāla and her diākut. How could she not dream about a quiet life with him, sleeping well into the day, cuddling into the softest mattress without a care in the world.
Where would they even live? Neither Tatooine nor Nevarro really felt like the places to lead a quiet life. And Glavis was for certain not a place she would want to live either. Perhaps Naboo could be a candidate for her daydreams, a small little cottage by the water. Why not?
Not sure how long it had been, they were out of orbit already, Arana broke the silence with a question. Ā»How many suns does Naboo have?Ā« It was such an innocent question, but it would help her imagination about this cottage in the middle of nowhere. Ā»Just one. Thereās so many places Iād show you if thereās time for it.Ā« His efforts really warmed her heart.
Ā»Din?Ā«
Ā»Yes?Ā«
Ā»Do you remember that I told you you donāt have to undo the bad others did?Ā«
Ā»I do.Ā«
There was a soft sigh, and then a smile. Ā»Iām starting to enjoy our quiet little adventures just so you can show me something beautiful. I donāt think I could love you more than I already do, but Iām willing to find out if I can.Ā«
Ā»Itās not about making up for something. I enjoy spending time with you. If thereās time Iād visit the palace in Theed with you.Ā«
Ā»Iād love to see it.Ā«
Where else would she see a palace? Then again, she remembered Gideon talking about the other Mandalorian, the ginger who had helped Din save Grogu. Ā»Mandalore used to have a palace too, right? So whoever has the saber would also live there?Ā« There were things she didnāt understand. The question was if Din did. Ā»Mandalore had a Duchess during the Clone Wars. Bo-Katanās sister Satine. Bo-Katan is the one who told you about your mother.Ā« Now it all made sense, in a way. Ā»So thatās why Gideon called her the heiressā¦Ā«Ā And there was something about the saber, the one Din now owned. Ā»Should I call you āyour highnessā now? Duke is a weird title.Ā« Ā»Mandāalor. Thatās what Mandalorians would call their leader. I donāt think they would follow an apostate.Ā«
Ā»Well then, my dear Mandāalor,Ā« Ā»Are you trying to tease me, cyarāika?Ā« The uptick in his voice told her he was smirking. Ā»Why not? If I hadnāt teased you, you wouldnāt have kissed me back on Tatooine.Ā« A grin appeared on her own lips, thinking back to their first kiss and how innocent it had felt, how awkward they had been about it.
Ā»Maybe I would have regardless.Ā« Ā»We may never know ā¦ but Iām glad you did.Ā«
His voice got lower, in thought, maybe also a little moved by the topic. Ā»I never knew there were different kinds of Mandalorians, the ones that took off their helmets, I mean. We werenāt taught that on Concordia. Everyone who took their helmets off wasnāt a Mandalorian by our standards.Ā« It mustāve been quite the shock for him, to see that his strict way of living wasnāt the only way to be a Mando.
Ā»So you wouldāve considered my parents the wrong kind of Mando too? And you did with Bo-Katan?Ā« Ā»Yes, when I saw her and her companions take their helmets off, it was confusing. They had no shame in doing so.Ā«
Ā»Wellā¦ your groupās views are a little extreme,Ā« Arana replied, avoiding to sound harsh as she occasionally did on accident. Ā»But maybe the conflict doesnāt have to stay like this. Call me unrealistically optimistic; I doubt anyone besides you would accept that Iām somewhat of a Mandalorian myself and not an outsider ā but maybe one day all Mandos can find a common ground to coexist.Ā« The doubts of being accepted after all this time sat deep within her. Maybe a remnant of shame her former self would feel for losing her heritage.
Ā»Youāre not somewhat of a Mandalorian, you are one. It wasnāt your fault you were taken away. Youāre not alone, Iām an outsider as well now that Iāve taken the helmet off. Maybe things will be different in the future. Maybe not. I can live like this.Ā« Dinās voice was soft, warm, and as much as they were separated currently, it was like Arana could feel him softly hug her.
A deep sigh eased the tension in her chest, fogging up the transparisteel before her face momentarily. As much as Arana didnāt want Din to choose her over his creed, could she go back to not being allowed to see his face? Sheād miss the sight of his beautiful dark brown eyes and the sensation of his lips against her skin ā the red mark was still on her neck and she wore it like a badge of honor. At least they knew of a workaround so they could still kiss ā given they were just the two of them. For anything in public, theyād resort to Keldabe kisses ā¦ or keeping their hands to themselves, public displays of affection were something Din didnāt seem to enjoy too much.
When they left hyperspace some time later, a large green-blue marbled planet appeared before them. Aranaās eyes were all over the surface, trying to make out the details they were still way too far away for. She couldnāt even see any cities from their current distance. Ā»You really werenāt kidding when you said Naboo had more nature to offer.Ā«Ā Ā»Did you think Iād lie to you?Ā« Ā»Noā¦ but ā¦ I couldnāt have imagined it to be so green.Ā«
Ā»Just wait until weāre down there, cyarāika.Ā«Ā
The landing was smooth and once more Arana was impressed with how good of a pilot Din was. The ARC touched down at a smaller bay on the spaceport and the brunette tried her best to not look around too much, to not dull the first impression this planet would leave in her memories. As tempting as it was, seeing the scenery around them without a barrier would be better. Din got out first and when she jumped, her knees gave in upon impact with the ground, leading her to fall into her partner ā who luckily reacted quickly enough to catch her in his strong arms. Her cheek hitting the beskar still hurt. Ā»Careful, cyarāika,Ā« he reminded her, voice soft, but concern mixed into it when he asked Ā»are you okay?Ā« Using him to stable herself on her feet, Arana tried to figure out what had just happened. Ā»Sorry, my knees gave in. Maybe I need to get something to eat before we go hunting.Ā« While her knees were okay now, she felt a little woozy and to be fair, it had been some time since she had food. Despite Lukeās best efforts to get her to have an appropriate amount of meals every day, now that she was taking care of herself again, she sometimes just forgot. Her hunger signals had practically vanished after everything sheād been through and with the higher muscle mass, she suddenly needed more to sustain herself.
When she was on her feet and not holding onto him any more, Din practically scanned her through the visor, one glove still on her arm. Her cheek felt sore, was maybe even a little red, but the impact had been soft enough it wouldnāt leave a mark for long. Ā»Weāre getting food. Itās unlikely weāll find the package right here.Ā«Ā Only then did he completely remove himself to take out the fob and handing it over to her. It was off for now, as the occasional beep would just distract them from their current endeavor.
An elevator lead them up to the city, as the spaceport sat on a plateau significantly further down compared to Theed. While this wouldnāt be their first transparent elevator ride, this one looked so different. With basically the same materials as far as she could see, transparisteel and metal, this one had been crafted with more care for how it would integrate into the landscape. Narrower bars of metal, still sturdy enough to keep the cabin safe, but worked in a more artistic way, a soft golden tint rather than silvery grey. Much warmer than the beskar on Din, who stood in stark contrast.
The cliff that separated Theed from its port was covered in greenery, plants crawling up the stone walls to reach the warm touch of sunlight. The elevator rose next to a waterfall, the wind breaking the stream of water into droplets small enough to cast a rainbow where sunlight reached. Arana was practically glued to the transparisteel, looking on in silent awe. It was quiet in the elevator, other people were also in the cabin, making it obvious that both her and Din visually stood out from the others here. Everyone was dressed in vibrant colors and expensive looking fabrics, embroidered and adorned with beads. For some odd reason the yellow dress wouldāve fit here perfectly.
Up on top of the cliff, the same light stone from down at the port greeted them, but the whole atmosphere changed. The access to the port opened right into the city, and what a sight to behold Theed was. The buildings were made from the same stone, the plethora of green foliage breaking up the sea of beige before her eyes. The roofs on top were in a vibrant turquoise, almost seeming unnatural despite the organic marbling within. There were statues here and there and every so often youād see a building decorated with dark red banners. It was so much to take in, Aranaās eyes didnāt even know where to look. Ā»I feel like weāre walking through an artwork.Ā« Din was beside her, his glove resting on the small of her back for just a moment. He nodded, but his helmet also tilted sideways to remind her they had something to do. He clipped the fob to her belt, his fingers brushing over the fabric of her tunic so gently. Ā»The market is this way.Ā«Ā
Even if Arana felt like protesting, especially now that she saw how beautifully the sun reflected off the edges on his helmet, her stomach reminded her for once that she was actually hungry ā just like Din had urged her body to agree with him. Staying and staring in wonder was tempting, but she could let her eyes wander on the way to the market. Ā»It has to be breathtaking by night,Ā« she mused on while walking ahead, her head turning constantly to switch which side of the way to look, always checking that Din stayed close, as well. Ā»It is,Ā« Din responded, causing her to turn, walking backwards for a little. Ā»Does it beat Tatooine sunsets?Ā«Ā Her lips were curled into a soft smirk. It was beautiful over here, and peaceful despite being so lively ā much livelier than the desert had been. It felt like a place she could stay at for longer, maybe even settle down some day in the future?
Just as she wondered what may be going on in this helmet of his, she bumped into someone while turning around and just like that, the tracker fob started beeping.
Coming to a halt, she unclipped the fob and held it in her hand, listening to the rhythmic but very uncomfortable noise. It wasnāt clear how far away they still were, but it was likely the delivery was somewhere within Theed. Ā»Dank farrik,Ā« Din huffed, hands rising to his hips, one knee bent ā the Mando stance. Ā»Wasnāt expecting this. Iāll check the area, get yourself something to eat. Is your comm on?Ā« With one outstretched hand he waited for Arana to offer the wrist with the communicator on, making sure they would be able to talk. Ā»I hope the signal is strong enough, I donāt want to lose youā¦ again,Ā« she spoke her thoughts aloud, her brows furrowing when the visor turned to face her. Ā»Iāll stay close, I promise.Ā« His hand, still holding her wrist, moved to touch her more gently, his thumb caressing over her arm. It was the assurance she needed, her eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. He let go and gave her a few credits for her meal. Knowing sheād ask about his hunger, he added, Ā»Iāll have something later.Ā«
All the worries and paranoia had left as soon as she had set a foot on the ground here and taken a breath of fresh air. Naboo blinded her with its beauty, despite only having seen Theed so far. And the peaceful people. Tatooine was a dark and dangerous place and she had maneuvered herself just fine there ā it was only natural to feel safe.
Her first stop was a merchant selling sandwiches with different meats and vegetables. Arana had a look at the different options, ranging from vegetarian to dripping in animal fat, from somewhat sweet to so spicy it needed a warning label. She chose something that seemed fairly balanced in the protein to vegetable ratio, but got herself a tiny bit of a hotter sauce as an extra. The exchange with the merchant was nothing big, to be fair, but it felt so friendly and despite not being used to this degree of friendliness, she adapted to it in an instant, smiling back and even offering a warm smile when the merchant wished her a nice day. Din was listening in, she knew of it, but no comment came from him. She was grateful his jealousy wasnāt to the extent of him getting agitated when she merely interacted with another man. Maybe he felt more at ease after they had confessed their love.
With the sandwich in her hands, she took a stroll around the market, looking at other booths that had been set up here. Of course she had to get a look at the dresses that were sold in one of them. Ā»If I had the money I would wear nothing but dresses. Too bad theyāre impractical.Ā« Dinās voice came from her bracelet, conveniently close to her head as it was attached to the hand holding her food. Ā»Iād like that.Ā« The silky tone in his voice made her insides melt, a soft blush appearing on her cheeks. The comlink wasnāt loud by any means, but it still had a speaker and people could eavesdrop. Ā»Well, unless you want me to play bait, I wonāt be able to go to work in dresses, huh?Ā«
There was no response, rather it was the fob beeping becoming quicker that grabbed her attention. She unclipped the little box from her belt and held it closer to her bracelet. Ā»I think Iām getting closer, right? I see a shop selling spirits, they might have wine.Ā« She ate the last bite of her sandwich and walked towards the window of the shop. Ā»Iām coming over,Ā« Din let her know. The fob still beeped, but it felt like it had become slower again. Searching for the wine alone was a bad idea regardless, so she looked over to the direction where she and Din had split up earlier. The market was becoming fuller and suddenly, it felt a little too much. She ultimately evaded to a side alley where there were less people. The comm on her wrist gave her some security, but within a second it felt like like Glavis all over again. Suddenly alone in a possibly dangerous situation.
Ā»Where are you?Ā« Din asked via the comm. She could tell he was walking quicker than usual. Ā»In an adjacent alley next to the jewelry shop, it was a little too crowded.Ā« Arana bit her lip. Had she made a mistake by leaving the market for something more quiet?
Ā»It is. Donāt move, okay? Whatās the tracker saying?Ā« She took the fob again, the beeping again more frequent like it had been before. Ā»Might be on the right track.Ā«
Beep. Beep. Beep beep. Beep beep beep.
Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
Ā»Wait.Ā« Arana stood on the spot, not moving, but the beeping was clearly becoming faster. The wine ā¦ was moving? Her heart picked up the pace and she swallowed. This was really bad for her, as it meant the sudden uneasiness had perhaps not been the crowd, but rather impending danger. Ā»Din, I think somethingās wrong, someone āĀ«
It may have sounded like the signal cutting out on Dinās end, Arana found herself tensing and falling over ā tased once more. Heavy steps approached her. They sounded similar to Dinās, but not quite matched his walking pattern. A different Mandalorian?
Her heart sank. Someone knelt down to her eye level, a worn, dark blue helmet faced her. There was no way to see a face, but the grin was audible in the voice that now spoke to her. Ā»Gotācha, Sweetheart.Ā«
Without fail, every time a woman is talking about how she does not want to have children and never wants to be pregnant and how medical professionals, romantic interests and family members keep trying to bulldoze her decision and keep expecting her to change her mind because motherhood is something that is expected of all women and it is abhorrent to think a woman could not desire it, a random mother spawns in the comments to be like āWell, actually, you never know! I didnāt want children and then I got pregnant and I realized I love being a mama and I have five little babies now! Could happen to you! š„°ā
Sister, keep that to yourself or make your own goddamn post, you are ignoring that womanās central concern and belittling her, you donāt even think youāre doing it. Formerly childfree women who ended up having children and loving it are like detransitioners in the sense that there is nothing inherently wrong with changing your mind about having children or realizing you were mistaken about your gender identity but immediately weaponizing your indecision to tell people that the barriers to healthcare and the violations of their bodily autonomy and the way society ignores that personās wishes is actually okay because you were wrong. Some people do know themselves.
What do you mean āchatā is now referring to ChatGPT and not twitch chat? What? What? What the fuck? No?
When I address chat I am speaking to a presumed Greek chorus of real human people shitposting on their lunch break, not a machine that devours lakes to covert electricity into slop.
āhow to recognize AI in fanficā ā hey so this is another not-gentle reminder that AI stole from us. itās using OUR words and OUR sentences and OUR styles.
writing ālongā paragraphs is not a sign of AI ā itās a common narrative choice many writers make both in fanfiction and in traditionally published novels, and AI stole it from us.
using an em dash is not a sign of AI. itās a stylistic sentence choice thatās been an option in place of commas and semicolons for a very long time, and AI stole it from us.
long sentence structures are not a sign of AI, but are yet another stylistic choice writers often make to create a cadence and tone that mimics the flow of poetry, and AI stole it from us.
āYA narrative breaksā? i donāt even know what the fuck this means, but i can guarantee that AI stole it from us.
italics are once again a stylistic choice that many writers love to use to create emphasis, and itās a more stylistically acceptable and traditional form of emphasis than bold or underline text. oh, and just to be extra clear: AI STOLE IT FROM US.
stop creating fandom witch hunts over AI when you know fuck all about what it means to sit and write a story, and to spend hours fiddling with sentence structure and dialogue to get the exact right tone. writers will stop writing out of fear that their work āsounds like AIā ā IT DOESNT! AI STOLE FROM US! AI SOUNDS LIKE US! ā and after a while, all that will be available on AO3 is shitty AI-generated fanfiction.
because yeah, people are going to continue to use AI to write fanfiction whether you ācall them outā or not. but making a laughable thread on X that uses asinine criteria is not going to fix that problem. it will just push the real writers out because people will accuse them of using AI when they havenāt, and they will (rightfully) stop writing for spaces that attack them.
booty shorts that say, āTHIS IS A SYSTEM. THE REASON THAT THIS WORKS IS BECAUSE EVERY COMPONENT OF THE ORGANIZATION AND ITS RESOURCES WORK TOGETHERā on the ass
Help, Iām trying to get my system to works but Iām dummy thicc and the clap of my organization and its resources keeps violating human rights laws.
