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morganwrites-starwars · 1 year

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Time is a social construct pt. 20

Mandalorian Time Travel AU

Summary: Din is trying his best, ok? But between trying to find a teacher for his magic kid and learning there were other Mandalorians who follow a different creed, Din is very confused and lost. So when he ends up on a plant that his HUD says is Manda’yaim and encounters two teens on the run from a group of dar’mandas called Death Watch, Din figures he may as well help them. He never meant to adopt them. Or become Mand’alor.

A/N: Italicized text is spoken in Mando'a.

Masterlist

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Din wasn’t one for politics- he lacked the patience for annoying people and had more of a ‘shot first, talk later’ policy. So Din was justifiably confused when, the day after Fett woke up, one of the advisors approached him in between meetings with Jango, Satine, and her new council. She was one of the younger advisors, probably about Jangos’ age, and she had a brave face on when walking up to Din.

“Hi?” Din said, more question in the word than he meant to have.

“Hello,” the girl greeted cheerfully. “My name is Ashon, and I was hoping you would be willing to help me.”

Din was fairly certain Ashon was a New Mandalorian; there was not a hint of armor on the girl. So she probably wasn’t going to try to hire him for a job. “Uh, sure.”

“Great!” Ashon held her hand out, giving Din a datastick. Tentatively, Din took it. “I was hoping you’d look over my suggestions on integrating the True and New Mandalorians in our education systems. I would appreciate your feedback on how you think we should work with the more traditionalist groups!” Din was nodding along even though his confusion hadn’t gone away. “You can take your time; I shouldn’t need it before the end of the week.”

Ashon was gone before Din could question her on why she thought Din would know anything about what should be taught in schools.

Someone cleared their throat at the end of the hall, and Din snapped his head over to see Jinn standing serenely. The man had a slight smirk on his face. “Making a move into politics, Mando?”

“No?” Din looked down at the datastick in his hand before putting it in his belt, resolving to look at it later. “No. Just helping.”

Jinn hummed. “You do have a way with younger individuals. The Duchess and her sister do look up to you.”

Din shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t do anything special.”

“A natural talent, then,” Jinn concluded. “However, I would like to discuss something with you.”

“Ok?”

Jinn folded his hands in his incredibly impracticable cloak. “It won’t take much of your time.” Jinn swept an arm towards one of the empty meeting rooms.

Din followed the man in, sitting across from Jinn at the table. Din awkwardly fiddled with his hands before resting them on his thighs. Jinn was still smiling, but he looked more serious.

“Obi-wan speaks highly of you, and I cannot express my gratitude enough to you for being with him and the Duchess when I could not be. You had no incentive to help them as you did and continue to do.”

“They were alone, being attacked, and couldn’t fully defend themselves. Any good Mandalorian would’ve helped,” Din countered. The way Jinn was speaking made Din sound like some selfless hero. Din was just a Mandalorian bounty hunter that was trying to get his magic kid a teacher and had ended up way out of his depth.

“The galaxy could use more people with that line of thinking,” Jinn said with a tone of finality. This wasn’t what the Jedi had wanted to talk to Din about. So Din hummed, waiting for Jinn to continue. “Regardless, as you probably already know, there is something else I wish to speak to you about.”

Din wished he had Grogu or another one of the kids here with him. Any excuse to get out of this conversation.

Jinn cleared his throat, resting his hands on the table before him. “What do you know of the Jedi code?”

Din tipped his head to the side as he remembered some of the things he’d been told. “You use the Force, and you help people. Uh, Obi-wan mentioned something about emotions with his meditation.”

Jinn smiled, so Din figured he’d hit upon some point the man was looking for. “Ah yes, negative emotions like fear and hate negatively impact anyone, but a Force user is susceptible. Such emotions- and attachments- can lead to the-“

“Dark side?” Din guessed, remembering his conversation with Ahsoka Tano. Din would admit he didn’t fully understand the whole thing; how could the fact that Grogu saw him as a father lead to terrible things? Sure, the kid had choked a few people when he thought Din was in danger, but wasn’t that all the more reason to teach Grogu not to do that? Jinn looked moderately surprised that Din knew what he was talking about. “Before we got here, I had found one of the last Jedi. She wouldn’t teach Grogu because, apparently, he was attached to me.” Din shrugged. “She said she knew someone whose anger had led to the dark side, and it wasn’t good.”

“And yet you still searched for a teacher?” Jinn asked, a slight frown on his face.

“I want Grogu to know how to protect himself,” Din explained. “Both physically and from your dark side.”

“Yet you no longer are searching for someone to teach him to be a Jedi?”

“From my understanding,” Din said dryly, “That’s not possible since I adopted him officially. Am I wrong?”

Din didn’t know why Jinn looked so confused, but he was content to let the man puzzle out whatever he was thinking. Din didn’t need to justify his parenting- for someone who never intended to become a buir, much less one to a magic kid; Din thought he was doing pretty good.

Eventually, Jinn nodded. “Yes, that is right.” Jinn shook his head lightly. “I am afraid I got off topic, apologizes. I did want to discuss attachments with you. But not in concerns to Grogu.” Din had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going. But he stayed quiet and motioned for Jinn to continue. “It had come to my intention that recently you, however unintentionally, have become something of a father figure to the Kryze sisters.” Din nodded in agreement, helmet hiding his bashfulness. “And perhaps, even for my Padawan.”

Yeah, ok. Din was getting some type of shovel talk from Jinn. Great. Just what he wanted with his day. Still, Din nodded again.

Jinn tried for a kind smile. “I am glad Obi-wan has found himself comfortable with you. It is something he has…struggled with in the past. And yet…”

“You’re worried he’s going to get attached to me?” Din asked, tired of Jinn talking around his point. Jinn winced slightly, so Din decided to go in for the kill. “Because I’ve been teaching him Mando’a and Mandalorian culture. Because he tells me more than he tells you?”

Din wasn’t stupid. He was, by nature and profession, very observant. He had seen Jinn trying to hide scowls when Obi-wan had gone to Din for advice. Seen the way Jinn hesitated to leave Obi-wan alone with Din and how the man had been coming up with more and more tasks to keep Obi-wan occupied.

“You must understand, I am only worried for my Padawan,” Jinn said, sounding a little strained. “He has struggled with anger and attachment. I only want what is best for him.”

“Have you told Obi-wan that?” Din asked, annoyance seeping into his voice. “Instead of trying to scare me off, potentially upsetting Obi-wan in the process, have you tried talking to Obi-wan about your concerns?” Jinn gapped, mouth moving, but no words came out. Din nodded with finality. “Great. Let me know how that goes. Now, I have a meeting to get to.”

With that, Din got up and left the room, leaving Jinn behind. Din allowed himself a moment in the hallway to clear his thoughts before heading to the meeting room. Din wasn’t the first one back. Jango was in his seat, and Silas (who had been the man’s shadow) was nowhere to be seen. Din quietly took his seat. Thankfully, it wasn’t at the main table but instead off to the side of Satine’s seat. She’d refused to let Din stand the entire meeting.

Din and Jango didn't speak for a few minutes. Jango looked content to stare up at the ceiling with a thoughtful look on his face. So Din was a little shocked when the man spoke. “ My buir was preparing me to take his place as ruler . But he was killed far before I was ready .” Jango turned to look at Din. “ And yet people insist on pulling me into politics I don’t understand.”

“I know the feeling,” Din said, thinking of the datastick in his pocket.

Jango sighed, looking away from Din. Quietly, he said, “I don’t hate Kr- Satine. I actually think she’s doing a good job, all things considered. I thought she was a radical New Mandalorian. That’s why I was rude. But she keeps asking me about the Resol’nare and its interpretations.”

“When I met her, she was more radical,” Din said after a moment. “Her Coruscant education opened her up to these beliefs, but she was willing to learn and change.”

Jango let out of soft breath. “Guess I should try that too, huh?”

“It could help. I hear politics is about compromise.” Well, that was one of the kinder things about politics he’s heard. “Have you tried talking to Satine about it?” That seemed to be a theme for today. What is it with these people not talking to each other? Even Din, who isn’t known for his love of talking, could see that as the easy solution.

“Tell that to Almec,” Jango muttered in basic. Din could understand the sentiment. The man, while loyal to Satine, got on his nerves.

“You’re outnumbered,” Din said instead of his more unpleasant thoughts. “You and Silas are putting up a good fight, and Satine is a good mediator. But you need more people on your side. Maybe even more traditionalists. That way, you know everyone is heard.”

Jango grimaced. “Can’t you be the traditionalist's voice? Bringing them in here will result in more yelling.”

“I’m from the future,” Din helpfully reminded him. “Current affairs and concerns aren't something I know.”

Jango sighed and agreed. “I’ll ask Silas-“

The door to the room opened, and Silas and Satine entered. “Ask Silas what?”

“If any of the older families would be interested in sending a representative.”

Silas nodded. “I can think of a few. Wren, for starters.”

Satine smiled. “That’s a good idea, Jango. Let me know who agrees, and I can arrange a place for them to stay if needed.”

The conversation faded as more people re-entered the room. Satine had taken her seat but leaned over to whisper to Din. “Any reason I saw Master Jinn exiting a meeting room, looking shell-shocked?”

Din shook his head and tried for an exasperated tone. “Jetii and their communication issues.”

Satine smirked. “Too true. Just like you and your adoption issues. Which is-”

“Something we should probably talk about. Yeah.” Din nodded. Satine smiled again, softer this time. Someone called for her attention, and Din let himself lean back slightly in his chair.

The Kryze sisters had just lost their buir, and Din had no idea how they’d feel about Din accidentally taking that position. Bo-Katan had been silent at first meal, glancing at Din when she thought he wasn’t looking. Satine hadn’t made much mention of it since Din had admitted to her that ‘ade’ to him encompassed more than Bo-Katan. Din remembered after his parents died, he hadn’t called his buir ‘buir’ for months. There had never been a push for it, but Din had struggled with that trauma. On the flip side, Din knew kids entering the covert that took to their new buir like fire, even after losing their parents. Case by case situation if Din had to guess. Maybe he’d look it up. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared. Din’s to-do list was growing rapidly.

Talk to Obi-wan about the slave thing (and the Jinn thing too)

Read Ashon’s proposals

Look up how to parent traumatized kids

Stop the genocide of the Mandalorians and Jetii.

And preferably the Clone Wars too

Easy enough. But he had to get through this meeting first, starting off strong with Almec trying to make a case for why architecture was a better purpose for beskar. Funnily enough, it was not a popular suggestion, even among some New Mandalorians.

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Masterlist

#the mandalorian #din darjin #grogu #baby yoda #obi wan kenobi #satine kryze #jango fett #qui-gon jinn #time travel #TIME IS A SOCIAL CONSTRUCT #star wars

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doxxienecropsy · 2 years

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Gender Absurdism

What follows is purely my own interpretation of my own experience. By no means is this an ideology I would feel the need to push on others, but it is a way of thinking that I've found particularly useful in how to internalize and project my own sense of self.

Whenever it comes up with a stranger, my gender expression is quantified as nonbinary, genderqueer, or gender nonconforming. As clunky as the words seem to me in describing myself, they do still have a modicum of being understood by even the less tolerant aspects of the communities I walk in. Whenever I talk about my gender with someone who I care to help understand me, or when I decide it's time to talk over the more esoteric aspects of gender with someone (hi, dear reader, that's you), I use a different set of terms. I am a gender absurdist. I am a gender of one.

I developed this concept at the end of a long line of thinking that began when I started to unravel the concept of the gender binary. What followed wasn't a radical thought, but it's something that resonated. Binary concepts are entirely artificial; they're artificial in relation to gender but equally so to almost any aspect of the material world.

The world, the universe, the uncaring and vastly complex expanse of physics that cannot care, is too complicated for binaries in the vast majority of cases. I'm not educated enough, I'm sure, to say anything with absolute certainty, but that kind of absolutism would just be another point of enforcing a binary. Do you see what I'm getting at?

The complexities are overwhelming. It's true that we are but wee little meat-sacks that have been blessed with the curse of sentience. Our level of cognition allows us to be able to grapple with some of the complexities, but conversely we also need boundaries. Where we decide these boundaries are often where it's asserted that there's a binary in existence.

Let's take gender for example. If we take a very conservative view, it's broken into a binary of masculine and feminine. Masculinity denotes boy and manhood, and femininity denotes girl and womanhood. But what features contribute to masculinity or femininity? Are they biological? What about the complexities written into our code that create biologically functional intersex people that are hidden these days from general awareness? Are the defining aspects social, cultural, or behavioral? That's a deep pit to start digging, trying to assign a masculine or feminine denotation to every facet of humanity. What happens when someone commonly accepted as a man is compelled by circumstance to be the primary caretaker to children? Does that make him a traitor to masculinity? I maintain that it all strikes me as absurd! It's just as complicated as any other part of our existence.

I look at myself as a weird and wild amalgamation of characteristics, both behaviorally and physically, that is probably unique to my own circumstances of birth and environment. I'm just as complex and special as the person standing next to me, the person subtly denying me service at a restaurant, and the person reading this (which if you still are, bravo. You deserve a kiss blown in your direction.). If we're all a gender of one, then there's no rationale capable of defining our inner experience and outward expression of gender beyond that of the absurd.

Predictably, there's a lot of dissent over just what the definition of absurdism is. More dissent than, I think, exists in a lot of other ideologies, or manifestos on how to view and interact with the world. The most widely accepted commonality is that the world is absurd (duh), lacks meaning, and is not fully definable by reason.

Our post-enlightenment society is kinda all about reason and rationality, which puts us in a bit of a predicament trying to justify our existence as beings outside the simplified binary of masculine and feminine. To that I have very little advice beyond what's worked for me so far: be as loud about it as you can safely be. Be the most joyful, kind, and complex version of yourself as you can imagine.

I mean ffs, I take pills that have taken my existing biology and added tits I grew myself. I'm a traditional small business owner, but I also make weird artsy porn. I have it in me to be assertive, haul wood out of the forest, and dig a drainage ditch, but I'll spend the rest of the day mending workpants by the fireside. What role do I have in society? I am absurd; I am a gender of one.

#gender #philosophy #absurd #nonbinary

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astrovagrant · 2 years

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its kind of hard for me to codify myrrha's Extremely Bad Ritual for tes bc it's much better suited to my fantasy-ish worldbuild at this point but like. imagine a 16 year old very well educated but very sheltered girl is desperate to avoid a 'marriage' (read: basically just being sold off for political favors at that point) to a stranger who she's met twice and a future she never planned on - and now she's poring over her asshole mage father's extremely restricted books, she finds something she thinks can help her, she goes as far in her research as she feasibly can - but she cannot share this with anyone, cannot ask anyone's opinion or guidance. she wants to, she really does, but she is sooooo paranoid that even her friends (who are all her father's indentured servants, again bc he's an asshole) will rat her out because that's how the world works.

ok i'm actually putting a cut in a post for hte first time in years bc i realized this got longer than intended. anyway ummm body horror ig

the ritual is a meditation on pain, and how pain can empower the caster with greater willpower blah blah blah, your only admission fee is a lot of your own blood, turning your body into a ritualized canvas, and swearing fealty to [entity] (in this case i do think molag is the best fit, because this ritual was absolutely a trap, all things considered) - it's meant to take place over months. she doesn't have that much time; she does it in one fucking night and nearly exsanguinates herself. it Works... obliquely. it does indeed cause something to happen, she does talk to the entity, she does communicate her wishes and a deal is struck - she is too young to have a real grasp on what she's doing, here, but she has a chip on one shoulder and desperation on the other.

her blood payment was rich with suffering and would serve nicely, but power wasn't really the problem here - the suitor was. wouldn't it be better if he was out of the picture? what if [entity] took care of him for you? she agrees, half-unconsciously, because she assumes this entity would take care of it for her without any further action on her part. i tells her more payment would be required later, when she was in a better state, and next thing she knows she is waking up from her bed like the whole thing was just a bad dream. there's no blood, no wounds in her skin, nothing that would indicate the hours-long ritual that nearly killed her the night before.

she's dressed up and made presentable for the wedding, half delirious with joy that her problem is solved - any moment now, someone will come and tell the terrible news that he's dropped dead - and then half-stricken with terror that the entity's end of the deal is not being upheld as the hours tick down towards the ceremony. the music swells, the doors open, the bastard is standing there waiting for her, and all her fear and desperation and anger and hatred broils to the surface and whatever glamour was cast to hide her actions is broken - blood is seeping through the white wedding dress from every now-visible wound she put in herself, every carved ancient letter (in tes, daedric obvs) in the sacred geometric invocations. something vile and black takes over, heaving up and out from her ribcage, spreading along her limbs with the trails of blood and leaving her changed - she rips him apart with hands that no longer look like her own, rips the priest apart, rips any and all wedding guests apart, rips the servants apart, til her wounds are more filled with their blood than her own.

those who managed to flee are screaming bloody murder outside, and the dawning horror that's washing over her combined with the amount of blood she's now lost means that the haze breaks, she is back in her own body rather than the grotesque, elongated facsimile of it she was in just a moment ago, and she flees, trailing blood into the darkness.

it takes her months to successfully leave the country, and she has to kill at least a few more people before she gets her shit together enough to learn how to avoid people altogether. she's exhausted and weak and terrified, and the ritual wounds she carved into herself just keep bleeding - she has to cauterize them with magic to get them to stop, making their already ugly appearance more exaggerated and permanent. her magic runs out so quickly, now, and she has no idea why - it's like it's all running right out of her, and she can only have and use as much as she can catch in her cupped hands, where before there was a whole lake, undisturbed. she can't sleep - she goes days without it, and passes out for a terrible few hours at a time only to see spindly spectres standing over her when she wakes in fits of sleep paralysis.

eventually, she makes her way to a neighboring country, and lays extremely, extremely low. every inch of her life she claws back is 95% done without her magic, because it's next to useless in those first few years after the ritual. her nightly rest continues to be fucking terrible, and she often remembers fleeting moments after sleep that seem like she's a tourist in someone else's dreams, but she'd rather remember nothing than have the vivid and extremely gruesome nightmares she sometimes has - almost all of which are centered around the wedding night, and what she did. but to her knowledge, she's never become That Thing again, and she's never killed anyone else due to it, so that becomes a weary sort of consolation prize.

then myrrha lives the next decade or so of her life by continuing to pursue knowledge and slowly building up a reputation as an appraiser and restorer of artifacts - for legitimate or illegitimate reasons, she doesn't care as long as she's paid. after about five years or so she starts venturing out on archaeological trips for clients, as well, and eventually does additional ones for her own benefit/interest. her magic is still relatively weak, and seems worse at certain times than others, but she's found no real reason or pattern to it. she learns to store extra magic/energy in mineral specimens and occasionally other objects for her to use later, and that expands her options a bit as far as her magic use goes. it's not foolproof and it's not always convenient, but it's better to have that option instead of completely running out.

she DOES want to solve her problem - she wants to 'fix' herself, rid herself of the deal she's made, but all of her subsequent attempts to contact the being that she made the original deal with have resulted in failure, up to the point that she's almost at the point of giving up by the time her father finds her and yoinks her back to her home country/morrowind.

anyway. dumb bitch but also she's valid. can turn into a super scary monster but has thus far avoided whatever cocktail of triggers that made it happen in the first place, and does Suffer from it, generally, but not in ways she fully understands. she covers her ritual scars as much as she can because she doesn't care to answer questions or be scrutinized, and also because looking at them in Full raises some bitter combination of regret and self-hatred in the back of her throat that takes days to dissipate.

#i'm refitting some tesh stuff here bc i don't really ever plan to pull tesh out of star wars #and this is already very close to how myrrha's wedding went anyway. just added some spice for more consequences later in her life #but whereas tesh is brimming with power myrrha is mysteriously emptied of it #makes u think

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dhampyre · 2 years

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I got an annoying message from some annoying Nigerian guy telling me that my rant about racism made me seem poor or something idiotic like that. I laughed because I'm by no means poor, nor have I ever been. Both my parents are college educated professionals. My dad is a nuclear pharmacist and my mom is an urban planner who makes a six figure salary. I'm a physician in training. Ain't nobody poor. I'm upper middle class and lucky to have the socioeconomic status that I do. At the same time, being well to do does not exclude a black person from being subject to racism and discrimination and I'm well aware of that. A lot of men fetishize black women and don't respect us. I know because I've experienced the shit first hand. That's why I complain about it. It is true. Everyone loves to copy black people, but they hate us. Doesn't matter what anyone else says. I see the bullshit myself. I've experienced it myself. It just got on my nerves that that arrogant Nigerian idiot thought he could come in my inbox talking shit. And I am Nigerian, so I know how big headed Nigerian people can be and I hate that shit! The guy was also saying he wanted kids and I don't, so that's a barrier. Bitch, fuck you! I do not want kids, nor have I ever wanted them and I'm perfectly fine with being passed over by men who want kids because obviously, we don't want the same things! Nothing of value is lost in that case! The guy was 38 and annoying and that's probably why no one wants him. You aren't a prize to me because you aren't who I'm looking for. I wanted to swipe right just so I could tell his stupid ass off but I just swiped left. I can't stand stupid people like that. There have been other guys who message me who acknowledge that what I'm saying is true--because it is. Everyone likes to copy black culture, but they still don't like black people. They wouldn't choose to be black if they were given the option. And you have to be willfully ignorant to truly believe that there's no racism or discrimination or antiblackness that makes a lot of things more difficult for black people. It doesn't mean we cannot overcome all of the bullshit. But the bullshit is there and there is no reason to pretend it isn't. I'm not interested in most men who are interested in me. They are not on my level intellectually, I am not physically attracted to them, and we do not want the same things. Why they hell should I accept someone like that? I'd much rather be alone. And that's what I'm doing. It'd be great if I could meet someone who actually matches what I'm looking for who actually has genuine interest in me. But so far, pretty much every guy I've liked (rarely do I ever even meet such a man) has let me down. They often try to come back later when they realize they fucked up and that they aren't going to find anyone better. But I will never accept that. I will never be anyone's back up plan. Fuck that. You choose me or you lose me. The end. I would much rather be single and unhappy than with someone I don't want and still unhappy. My focus is on achieving my career goals. I just want to be a successful doctor. If I can at least accomplish that, I'll be fine. One day I might get a dog for companionship. Men have always let me down and I'm tired of being disappointed. That's why I've accepted that I'm probably going to end up alone. Can I just have the professional success I have worked so hard for, God? Please. That's all I want. Ok I'm done ranting now.

#rant #okstupid

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nacentart · 11 days

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You Get a Car [Everybody Gets a Car] RESOLVE COLLECTIVE Liverpool.

Presumably, this exhibition is named after that time on Oprah Winfrey’s American talk show when Oprah excitedly points to individual members of her audience exclaiming that they ‘get a car’ and then concludes ‘Everybody gets a car,’ sending the American crowd into wild rapture. The title is a sardonic take on the mass consumption and climate-killing frivolity of it all. Fortunately, I cannot see that happening on a British talk show, someone like Jonathon Ross would probably have only given out half-price car space tickets for the ITV studio car park. Anyway, on entering the space at RIBA Liverpool, which is a branch centre for the Royal Institute of British Architects, it felt confusing at first, a disparate hotchpotch of items, and a set of open lockers, as if this was the cloakroom to the gallery, it made me want to put my coat in one of the lockers, then the realisation that the doors had all been carefully opened at slightly different angles, I understood, using my newly acquired art historical knowledge, that this careful angle placement of the locker doors can only mean one thing, I am now in the centre of a meaningful art installation, reminiscent of a Duchamp ready-made. Yes, Duchamp has a lot to answer for. I have probably used the said lockers on a few previous occasions, they were at the foot of the stairs at the Tate Gallery for many years, and this has been repurposed for this exhibition, to get the message across about the need to recycle, repurpose, and redistribute, with an emphasis on the important work being carried out by the local community-based organisations on offer in Liverpool, such as Home Baked, the Black E, The Florrie, etc.

These important community-based collectives have served the community well and have had a great impact on the well-being of all those taking part or using their services. They are integral projects that are part of the Liverpool fabric. Possibly an example, though, of how underserved Liverpool is by government funding, with its local people stepping up, as usual, when If we were all paid a more appropriate amount for our work, and food, energy bills and rent, etc were lower, there would not be a need for some of the organisations to exist. Nonetheless, it is a reminder of the good people of Liverpool. RESOLVE is a collective who are arts-based and work with communities to help redistribute and repurpose items from Liverpool Tate Gallery, while it has its multi-million pound makeover, to produce a sustainable outcome of redistribution with a positive impact in terms of future climate. One does think though if this exhibition has a positive impact on climate, i.e, the items had to be brought over from the Tate Gallery, I assume the lockers were brought in a van and then there is the heating and lighting of the space, I counted at least 4 television sets on all day, then there is the active invitation of people to its exhibition, some who must visit in their cars, etc. The actual exhibition must have some negative impact, however, in getting its message across, must offset that paradox. It is said the items from the Tate were moved from trollies and everything would eventually be given away in a series of giveaway events.

One hears the staff at the Tate have also been given away free. Expendable. Tossed aside like an unwanted MDF display stand. I wonder if Tate Liverpool also saved money by getting RESOLVE to become de facto removal men and clear out their gallery for them. I suppose it left me to ponder whether it was worth setting up the exhibition, which slightly negatively impacts the environment, and goes against the ethos of the RESOLVE collective. Especially when everything could just be redistributed and given away without the need for it to be shouted about from the rooftops, in the first place. This was the point, though, to educate people and get people talking. Another exhibition would have just taken its place, and I am one of the people who have visited, who are now talking and thinking both about the excellent community projects of Liverpool and reflecting on our impact on the climate. I might even have a conversation with someone else about it, which all help to get that message across. This would not have happened had the items just been redistributed, without a fuss, so perhaps it was worth it in the end.

#climate change #Community Art

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sitron-sunni · 13 days

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a get to know you better meme

tagged by @dummerjan, tysm!<33

do you make your bed? no.

what's your favourite number? Four! No reason behind it, I've just always really liked four.

what is your job? don't have one

If you could go back to school, would you? I'm in school! I actually had to drop out for several long years due to chronic illness. I had to move to find a school willing to provide accommodations, but I got started again with online classes almost three years ago. Now, I'm finally (finally!!), wrapping up my last subject for upper secondary school, which qualifies me for higher education. I literally sent in my application for art school last night<3 Everything is terrifying but also exciting but also terrifying but also there's no other way but forward, so.

can you parallel park? nope, I can't drive.

a job you had that would surprise people? Have not had any jobs.

do you think aliens are real? Well yes. the universe is infinitely big, I do believe some form of life exists out there, whether single-cell organisms or a more intelligent species. Do I think they came over here and built the pyramids? no. no i do not.

can you drive a manual car? still can't drive...

what's your guilty pleasure? i don't know, do i have one? I like lots of things people might find cringe, like, 80's love ballads or early one direction songs, but I wouldn't say there's anything I think of as a guilty pleasure.

tattoos? can look really cool on other people, though they're not necessarily something I'm inherently attracted to. also, they are not meant for me. I'm too indescisive, too afraid of making a mistake, and too aware of how changeable I am. I hope I keep growing and changing for the rest of my life, and I don't wanna put marks on my body that define me as someone I've moved away from, if that makes sense.

that being said, there are some tattoo artists i follow on instagram whose work i really like. People who do the loveliest watercolour work, people with insane colors, people with gorgeous, folk art-style. If I had to get a tatto, I would go to one of them, and let them dream up something wonderful.

favourite colour? yellow! yellow-y orange! sunlight!<3

favourite type of music? I think spotify usually tells me it's some type of folk indie pop rock-thing, but it's easier to answer the reverse: I don't really listen to opera, screamo/heavy metal or dubstep/edm. Aside from that? I love gathering artists and songs of all different styles from all over the world in all different languages. I'm eclectic at heart.

do you like puzzles? yes, although it's a struggle to do physical puzzles as I can't seem to find a spot with good lighting. But I've done lots of digital puzzles and they're fun.

any phobias? my fear of insects has gotten progressivley worse. specifically the crawling ones. especially if they have lots of legs, and are fast. ughhhh. does it classify as a phobia? idk.

favourite childhood sport? the words 'childhood' and 'sport' in combination are rarely associated with enjoyment for me. idk. we played a game similar to baseball sometimes, that would probably have to be the one but... I've never really been a sports-person...

do you talk to yourself? Hm. rarely out loud, but often in my head.

what movie(s) do you adore? the first lotr movie = ultimate comfort movie. Mamma mia, pretty woman, notting hill, wild child = fond childhood memories w/ my mom. Billy Elliot and the way back are two movies I've watched several times and really really enjoyed, like they just stand out in my mind. Divines, which I stumbled across on netflix, is possibly my fave. If I were to rec someone one movie, it would be that one. I just think it's good. I vibe with it.

coffee or tea? coffee, I cannot stand tea.

first thing you wanted to be growing up? A hairdresser, maybe? and I wanted to be a designer for several years after I read the book threads by sophia bennett, lol. Grew out of that one around 13/14 i think.

tagging whoever sees this and wants to do it!<3

#thanks for the tag!#also #I was the one you did that jeff-puzzle with! we should do another one some time if you wanna :)

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naturecoaster · 4 months

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Coping with Dementia: Thank you, Mr. Vice President

My partner, Ed, and I recently visited a memory care community. During these visits, I like to try to meet and talk with as many residents as possible. I extend my hand, palm up, and say, “Hi, my name is Debbie, and you are?” Usually, they will break into a smile before I have even completed the sentence. Some of them are unable to respond through language, but they always respond through their eyes and their smile. On this occasion, I approached a man who was sitting at a lunchroom table and extended my hand. But before I could even speak, he looked at my name tag, and with precise diction said, “You are Debbie Selsavage.” This threw me. You cannot imagine how many people without dementia can’t manage to pronounce my name, and here was this man with dementia pronouncing it with the correctness and clarity of some kind of media professional! I learned his name was Doug, and I began to inquire about his history and his interests. Early in our conversation, Doug used the word “recidivism,” again with perfect diction. I knew right away that Doug was an educated man with an interesting past. Turns out, he had worked at a senior level insocial services in Florida state government. But I did not yet know the half of it! I pressed on and asked Doug what else he had done, and he responded with confidence and a certain amount of surprise that I had not already recognized him, “Well, I was Vice President of the United States!” Okay, now I realized I might be out of my depth, and I called my partner Ed over to meet Doug. Ed is fifteen years older than I am and pays more attention to politics. Ed once told me that he could distinctly remember his first political argument. He was nine years old and got into it with some kid about whether to vote for Eisenhower or Stevenson. He recalled, with contempt, that this kid couldn’t even pronounce Eisenhower’s name! He kept calling him ‘Heidenhower!’” Ed sat down with Doug, learned of his Vice Presidency, and said, without skipping a beat, “For whom were you Vice President?” to which Doug responded, “Johnson.” And the two of them were off to the races, discussing political history, according to the Book of Doug. They talked for probably 45 minutes, during which Ed learned that the real reason Johnson did not run for a full second term was because he had chosen someone other than Doug as his running mate, and this, according to Doug, was a fatal political error. Doug concluded the discussion: “There are still many people who want me to run now, but I won’t do it because I do not want to stand in the way of a Goldwater victory!” Doug was a reminder to us that people with dementia often live in a different reality. But their reality is as valid for them as ours is for us, and often it is a great deal more fascinating than the lives we live! Is there a single reason under the sun that we should correct them or tell them they are wrong? No, there is not. People like Doug deserve to be listened to and encouraged because validation contributes to their self-esteem and quality of life. Quality of life is all we can give them becausewe cannot cure or reverse their disease.And they, like the rest of us, deserve the best! About Debbie Selsavage Debbie Selsavage is a Certified Trainer and Consultant in the Positive Approach to Care and a Certified Dementia Practitioner. She authors a monthly column to assist caregivers in coping with Dementia. Her company, Coping with Dementia LLC is dedicated to making life better for individuals living with dementia. Contact Debbie at [email protected]. Read the full article

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no-droids · 3 years

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Whenever You Want

Part Fourteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: Listen there is some dirty smut in this one yall okay like I was blushing when I wrote it, it has a very stark beginning and theres a pagebreak afterwards if you would prefer to skip over it. Smut includes oral sex (female receiving) rough sex, sensory deprivation, butt stuff (ass to mouth, anal fingering/penetration) so PLEASE LOOK OUT FOR IT PLEASE. Also there is jealous/possessive mando in this, season 1 Karga makes another appearance, and some angst/fluff towards the end

A/N: Nothing much today yoditos just love you all

***

Din said he’d meet you here.

You’re currently sitting across from Greef Karga in a cantina on Nevarro, a closed shield next to you and a blaster tucked into the back of your waistband, hidden underneath your shirt. You’re barely even looking at him, though—your eyes are attached to the door by an invisible string, forcing your gaze back to it no matter how much it bounces around the room.

You don’t know where Din is, you haven’t seen him in hours. But you do know that when he left, he was moving slower than you’re used to. You don’t think anyone else would notice, but you sure did. Not that he was obvious about it—you only picked up on very subtle hints. Leaning up against things just a bit more than he usually does. Taking slightly longer exiting the ramp of the Crest than his normal strides would carry him.

He didn’t say what he was going to do—just that he needed to find someone before meeting with Karga, and you accepted it. But truthfully, you didn’t want to. You were worried about him—still are, actually. But for all intents and purposes, he was speaking and acting like himself, showing no real signs of exhaustion other than the smallest instances you described before, so you didn’t really have a leg to stand on. He’s been through way worse, and you know it. You just… find yourself worrying about him so much more than you used to, and you need to learn how to gain some control over that part of you.

The kid was still passed out from healing him and you remember Din carefully setting four pucks down in the sleeping baby’s sphere and giving his ears a gentle rub between leather fingers. He turned back to you and told you to meet him at the cantina in three hours, but if it ended up taking him too long for any reason, to try your best to see if Karga will let you exchange on his behalf.

Admittedly, he didn’t sound too confident about it—the instructions were delivered with a tone that implied a doubtful, just-in-case scenario he wasn’t foreseeing happening. Or maybe he just doubted the likelihood of Karga agreeing to do business with you, you’re not entirely sure. All you know is that when he left, you were almost certain he wouldn’t be late, but you also took the time to grab the smallest blaster from his armory before heading out just in case.

Yet—here you are, three and a half hours later, eyes flicking between the door and Karga as you attempt to keep up polite conversation. After turning down his offer of alcohol for the fifth time and still not seeing any glimpse of beskar coming to your rescue, you figure this may be as good a time as any to start the exchange.

During an extended break in the small talk, you slowly reach over to the corner of your booth and press a button on the face of the kid’s shield. It hisses open and you completely miss the way Karga’s hand raises while three of his guards automatically reach for their hips. The little green monster is still snoozing comfortably while you pull out the four glowing pucks Din left you and set them on the table one by one.

They scrape along the top of it as you slowly push them over to him, before sitting back in the booth and clearing your throat, flicking your eyes between Karga and his guards. To you, nobody appears to have moved, so you muster a polite smile at him.

Karga smiles back, but makes no move to gather or inspect the offerings in front of him.

“Um…” you say after a moment, suddenly feeling your heart start to beat a little faster. “Mando… Mando gave me permission to exchange on his behalf.”

“I believe you,” he drawls out in response, but the pucks still sit untouched in front of him as he leans back in the booth and studies you. “Mando has always had a… let’s say, a frustrating penchant for disregarding the pillars of our code. My apologies, young lady, but I’m afraid that I cannot accept these from you.”

Your voice comes out quieter than you’d like it to sound. “Why not?”

“It is… unlawful,” he answers after a moment. “Our organization operates under strict rules.”

Does it? You blink. No, it doesn’t. You’re nothing to the Guild and you’ve sat next to Din quite a few times while Karga talked, listening to him drunkenly boast about return rates and out members by name. You’re not sure why he’s barring you like this, but you’re also not self-assured enough to put practically any spine into it whatsoever. “I’m… afraid I don’t understand.”

“I cannot legally do guild business with individuals not recognized as members in an official capacity,” he sighs, sounding grave and almost apologetic about it, but you don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a good actor or not. “There’s nothing I can do for you besides provide you with my company, not until Mando decides to show.”

Well now that doesn’t make any sense, and you’re starting to worry that for some reason or another, he isn’t going to show. Though it was incredibly well concealed, you’re well aware that Din was still lingering in the final recovery stages when he left the Crest earlier and all you have to go on is his word that he’d be here. Something could’ve happened. Something could be happening right now, you need to push.

“People pick up bounties for extra credits all the time,” you mumble, still way too fucking quiet about it. Maker, you’re not even sure if he could hear that over the sound of the cantina. Speak up, speak up.

“Yes, but those quarry are listed on the New Republic’s most wanted database,” Karga acknowledges diplomatically, educating more than he is arguing, before uncorking the bottle of glowing blue alcohol in front of him and beginning to pour himself another shot. “They’re fodder. Up for grabs—names, last known locations, and biometrics published for the entire galaxy to read.” He tilts his head down at the four metal pucks on the table without removing his gaze from the gradually filling glass. “Those pucks are different, they’re commissions. Tied specifically to Guild contracts.” Karga clunks the bottle back down again and corks it, pinning you with a stare. “For all I know, you could’ve murdered a member of our ranks and come to collect payment for his bounties. Can’t have that.”

Your blood suddenly turns to ice at the implication, eyes wide and your heartbeat rocketing as you look from Karga to the three guards casually stationed behind him. “You—You think I murdered Mando?”

“No,” he says, easily and in the very same breath, before throwing the shot back and wiping his mouth with a grimace. “Not sure I’d care too much if you did. It’s not my rule, but I am required to follow it or risk losing my position in the Guild.”

Shit. Shit. What do you do?

You’re blank, left quiet and feeling increasingly unsure of how to proceed. Karga, however, seems completely unbothered and even appears to be enjoying himself and your company. He gives you another smile, this one a lot friendlier and more genuine than the one earlier, before setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

“Look, I want to help you,” he admits, keeping his tone light, “but my hands are tied. Just relax and share a drink with me until he gets here, it’s not a problem.”

Fuck, you don’t like this, and a quick look around brings another reminder of Din’s continued absence. Your chest feels tight, the anxiety starting to compound and make you jumpy. It’s been too long—it’s been at least forty minutes or so of waiting by now and something just feels wrong about this. Not having him next to you feels wrong enough on its own, but when he specifically told you he’d be here?

You clench your jaw and try to work up your nerve. Karga is a nice guy, right? He knows you by name, he knows who you are to Mando. And while you never really thought about the bounty hunter’s omnipresent protection as being anything other than metaphorical, you suddenly realize that… it might be literal, too. How much sway do you actually have here, you wonder? You’re not stupid, you’re not going to try anything stupid, but maybe just another question won’t hurt?

“Well, um… how do you become a member, then?” You ask him, and you watch as he leans back in the booth, raising both eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me?” He asks, though there’s a genuine amusement in his voice. Stunned that you’d even say the words aloud.

“I have four bodies,” you tell him shortly. You’re still quiet about it, but his thoroughly entertained astonishment is beginning to rub you the wrong way. You don’t want to be part of the Guild, you don’t want to be here, you’re doing this out of growing necessity. “One of which I dragged through a blizzard on Hoth by its ankles and put into carbonite myself, so please just tell me what I have to do to get you to take them.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, shaking his head like you’re just not getting it. “New members are only accepted if they bring in an S-level criminal from the database or if they complete a commission that was granted to them by someone of my station—neither of which apply to you. If you cannot present me with any sort of reasonable argument for which they could, then I’m afraid this is not a favor I can swing.”

“I was sitting right here,” you return, suddenly finding your voice. If Karga wants an argument from you to get this to happen, then you’ll do it. You just need to finish this exchange, go back to the Crest, and scan around for Din’s signal. “When you first gave the pucks to Mando, I sat right here and you pushed them over to this side of the table—I was present for the commission and now I’m here to complete it.”

He shakes his head. “But I didn’t give them to you, I gave them to Mando—”

“Yes, but you only wanted to give him three,” you immediately point out. “The last one, the one I told you I put into carbonite—you said you threw it in because you liked me, it could’ve been for me.”

Karga suddenly stops and blinks at you for a few seconds, and you bite your lip, wondering if the logic will hold. It’s flimsy as fuck and you know he could very easily rip it apart if he wanted to. It could’ve been for you but it wasn’t, he gave it to Mando. You also purposefully leave out the fact that you’re also the reason Mando only gave him three bodies in the first place; your only goal here is to complete this transaction as quickly as possible and leave. You don’t like the fact that it’s taking Din so long, and you also don’t like the fact that Karga seems so keen on keeping you here with him, no matter how many reassurances he provides. He said he wants to help you? This can be his chance to prove it.

After a few extended moments of consideration, Karga finally shrugs like he really couldn’t care less before reaching across the table for the pucks and beginning to stack them in his palm.

“What is your last name?” He asks, turning behind him to gesture for one of his men with a jerk of his head. The bodyguard exits the cantina without another word and your eyes flick back to Karga’s.

“Why does it matter?” You ask uncertainly, watching another guard approach with a holopad as he shrugs once more.

“It doesn’t, but we need something for our records,” Karga explains, grabbing the device as it’s tapped against his shoulder without removing his gaze from yours. “I can just use Doe if you don’t feel like sharing—most of our members tend to prefer anonymity, including your companion.”

Your eyebrows furrow even as your heart continues to pound, wondering how they can afford to be so lax about some things but take others so seriously. “You have him down as John Doe?”

“First name Man,” Karga grunts in response, finally breaking eye contact to begin navigating through pages on the holopad.

“Ah,” you say shortly, knowing you’d probably find the joke funny in other circumstances. You’re not out of the trenches yet, you still feel the worry tugging hard at your chest.

“Very well,” Karga announces with a sigh, pocketing the pucks in his leather overcoat and then handing the holopad back to one of the men flanking him after a moment. “Someone is collecting the carbonite plaques from your vessel as we speak.”

You give him a nod, taking a deep breath that you hope is slow and subtle enough to not give your anxiety away. He helped you out, you’re halfway through this. Now comes the exchange. Now it’s his turn to give you the credits and four more pucks, that’s how this should go.

Only, Karga leans back in his seat and cocks his head at you. “Unfortunately, I believe we have found ourselves in the midst of yet another predicament.”

Your heart continues to slam, praying you haven’t somehow majorly fucked things up by getting this far. Din still isn’t here, why is he so fucking late? He nearly froze to death and you handled a dead body just to make this meeting on time, where the fuck is he?

You raise an eyebrow at him, willing the building panic not to show on your face. “Have we?”

“You’re lucky credits are attached to commissions instead of rank within the Guild,” he prefaces, pulling out a large handful of them to begin counting, and your eyes flick around the cantina while you know he isn’t looking, “or else you’d be getting about half of what I’d normally give him.”

Heart galloping when you still don’t see any sign of him, you just decide to keep extra quiet as you watch Karga divvy out a sizable stack of credits, hoping your prolonged silence will protect you somehow.

“The question now becomes…” he lifts an eyebrow at you while sliding them across the table to you, “how many pucks do I give you in return, hm?”

Fuck, you don’t like this, you’re trying to make it crystal fucking clear that your intentions do not extend beyond the perimeter of this table. There’s no you to be found in this deal, you’re just an emergency proxy in Din’s absence and you only inserted yourself in the situation to accomplish that task. “I told you I’m only here to exchange on Mando’s behalf, that’s it.”

“Be that as it may…” Karga glances around the cantina like he’s thinking extra hard about it. This is a made-up problem, you both know there’s no predicament here. He knows you didn’t kill Mando, he knows there’s no real reason to be giving you such a hard time about this, and you clench your jaw as he still seems to take his time considering it. “Tell you what, young lady,” he finally turns back to you. “Do me the honor of sharing one sip of this fine spotchka with me and I’ll give you four pucks to pass along to Mando.”

Okay. Okay, you can do that, if he really cares that much. Karga gestures for the closest droid to come by with a glass for you, but you just grab the bottle in front of him and uncork it without thinking too much, balancing the glowing blue liquid with two hands and diligently taking a small sip of it before setting it down again. Appearing satisfied with your demonstration of upholding your end of the bargain, Karga grins and reaches into another pocket.

“Four for Mando,” he pushes four pucks across the table, “same rate and return as last time, as promised.” You nearly deflate in relief as you quickly gather them up and begin dropping them into the snoozing baby’s shield along with the credits, but then Karga reaches back and pulls out another puck, pushing it over to you. “And one for you.”

You blink at him, frozen in place.

“Lowest level, lowest pay. Not even a criminal by New Republic standards, just a missing person,” he goes on to say, but then quite suddenly…

Quite suddenly you’re absolutely fucking horrified.

You don’t want it. Everything inside you surges up to scream that you do not want that puck. It’s a waste of time, even if it’s an extra job—it’s too much trouble, too much fuel for such a small reward. You already know good and well that Din won’t want to bother, getting this extra puck would be considered a detriment to him.

“What if I don’t want it?” You ask, sounding nervous and vaguely out of breath as you look down at it.

Karga scoffs. “Of course you don’t. Nobody wants these, why do you think I’m trying so hard to pawn one off on you?”

Shit. This is not at all how you expected any of this would go. You know he’s not really asking, even if his tone and continued courtesy implies it’s only a request. There’s an expectation attached to this, and it appears you take too long pondering an offer that isn’t actually voluntary. Karga stares at you and your clear apprehension for just a few seconds more, before finally giving you an ultimatum. “You said you’re here on his behalf. You either take all five pucks now or Mando only gets three next time, your choice.”

Oh. Oh, no. This is a lose-lose; three pucks means more fuel and less credits, five pucks means more fuel and less credits. It’s not like you have any real bargaining power here—almost everything he’s done for you today has been a favor of some sort and you’re well aware that things can always get worse.

Still, you take a deep breath and try your best to throw around whatever weight you have left in one final agreement.

“Give me your word you’ll go back to giving him four from now on, no more hassling or hard time constraints and we’ll take it just this once,” you tell him, trying to conjure and put power behind your words even though you’re unsure if they’ll stick.

“Deal,” Karga readily agrees with a smile, reaching his hand across the table. You have no choice but to meet him in the middle and clasp it, unable to feel anywhere close to good about your performance here. It was clunky and insecure and even though you just barely succeeded in making the exchange overall, you’re massively disappointed in the specifics.

But then Karga’s eyes quickly flick over your shoulder.

“Ah, Mando!” He suddenly calls out, and your hand nearly snatches away from his while your body goes rigid.

Oh, this isn’t good, this is not good. Well, it’s good that he’s here but it also really fucking isn’t. You don’t even turn your head; you sit completely straight and still while the cantina falls to a hush and heavy footsteps begin to approach behind you. You fucked up—you fucked up, you didn’t wait long enough and you feel the sharp regret instantly twist in your stomach. He said he’d be here, why didn’t you trust him? Your anxiety and stress compounded and spurned you to act too quickly, you made the deal a few fucking seconds before he showed up.

And, as Din eventually comes into your peripheral, taking his time leaning his rifle up against the table, you immediately realize that you should not have worried. Recovery isn’t even a word in his vocabulary right now—he’s more intimidating than he’s ever been, more powerful and certain and dangerous while he lowers himself into the seat next to you than he’s ever felt to you before. Everything is so quiet now that he’s here; you feel like even just swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat turns into an audible gulp. The man sitting across from you may own this cantina and every material good under its roof, but the one sitting by your side feels like he steals the literal air from the room just by walking inside it.

Yet, in spite of the daunting presence of the Mandalorian, Karga beams and tips his glass at him. “I believe you’ve arrived just in time for your favorite part of the conversation, friend. The farewells.”

You stare wide-eyed down at the table as Din leans back into the booth and very slowly extends his arm behind your shoulders, saying nothing at all to him.

The testosterone is radiating from him to the point of near suffocation, you can taste the alpha in the air. Your heart slams in your chest at the unspoken claim he just made with a subtle movement, and though you’ve never been one for masculine displays, this one weirdly feels… good right now. You know it’s primitive and crude and you’re not a piece of meat to be fought over, but it doesn’t feel like that at all. It’s the immediate feeling of security that serves to heat your cheeks, the fact that you’ve been a nervous mess trying to be extra brave this whole interaction and then suddenly you have the backup of an entire army contained within one single suit of armor next to you.

If you weren’t internally panicking at how badly you screwed this shit up, you’d probably be going fucking feral for him right now.

Karga says your name and your gaze snaps to his, feeling like you can’t breathe. “My associate has collected the plaques, nothing keeps you here any longer. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Still, nobody at the table moves.

After a moment, you carefully glance up and to the side at the sharp, metallic profile of his helmet. Maker, you can’t explain it—it’s like you feel terrified but not really for yourself, if that makes sense. You’re upset with yourself for not having enough trust in his word, absolutely, but something in Din’s demeanor tells you that he’s going to be considerably less understanding of how Karga handled this situation than the way you did.

The helmet slowly turns down to look at you, and you bite your lip while carefully placing your hand on his thigh brace under the table, letting him feel your fingers brush against the bend of his knee.

He turns back to Karga after a few seconds, still not saying a single word, until eventually Din’s arm is lifted from behind your shoulders and you feel his leather fingers gently clasp your hand, before he starts to rise from the booth and pull you along next to him. You both stand, and he silently presses a button on his vambrace without dropping your grip, urging the kid’s shield to follow along behind him.

“Um, goodbye,” you just barely remember to tell Karga as Din begins leading you away, apparently not waiting for the polite farewells he arrived in time for.

“Wait!” A voice calls out just before you can make your exit, and Din pauses just in time for Karga to extend that damned fifth puck out for you to grab. Right in fucking front of him. “Can’t forget this!”

Fuck. Great. Thanks.

Blood rushes to your face while you go to reach for it, taking the puck and then placing it in the open shield along with four others in a way that you hope is casual but you know isn’t. You close the lid on it and then squeeze Din’s hand slightly, but he stays rooted to the spot for a few more seconds, having watched the entire exchange play out. Though you obviously wouldn’t be able to read his facial expressions even if you could lift your head to look up at him, you can’t will yourself to do so right now. You’re too disappointed in yourself and nervous—you just stand there silently as he looks back at Karga, staring at your feet and praying he doesn’t do anything brash.

After too many moments of uncertainty, you squeeze his hand again and slowly begin to pull on it. Without needing much pressure at all, he goes where you go, and you end up being the one to lead Din out of the cantina by the hand still tangled with yours.

***

The walk back to the Crest lasts an eternity.

Neither one of you say anything at all to each other the entire way there, and you know he’s not mad at you yet, but you’re worried. You feel incredibly self-critical right now and it’s really not helping that he seems even quieter and more wound up than usual. You don’t know if it’s because he already figured out that you just handed him extra work or if it’s because whatever made him late to the cantina also altered his mood, hit a reset button and reminded him of the way he used to be, the armor he’s wearing. Was there a confrontation, you wonder? Is he okay? He seems like he’s… extra Mandalorian right now, there’s not really a better way to describe it.

He doesn’t drop your hand, though. As you pass through the markets and shanty huts lining the streets, Din holds onto you. Shoulders tense and strides heavy, but his fingers stay tangled in yours.

Regardless, you keep your mouth shut and eventually the Crest comes into view. The ramp drops to the ground and the three of you make your way up, and you have enough foresight to carefully drop Din’s hand and lead the baby’s shield over to the unused cot built into the hull walls, closing him in a safe quiet place to sleep and continue building up his strength again.

You turn around to see Din press another button on his vambrace. He stays with his back to you as the ramp slowly closes, but as soon as it latches up against the hull and locks into place, he nearly whips around and suddenly he’s right in front of you, gloves cupping your face.

“What happened?” He asks sharply, the helmet looking you up and down. “Are you alright? Why did you look so scared?”

You reach up to rest your hands on his, blinking up at him and not knowing what to say. How are you going to tell him? He’s gotta waste extra fuel and time on a bullshit quarry because of you, what are you going to say? You don’t even know if it’s last known location is nearby; he might have to fly to some remote, desolate corner of the galaxy just for a handful of credits because you couldn’t wait a fucking hour for him.

“I, uh… I-I’m sorry, I just…” But it’s nearly impossible to form a coherent thought when he’s this close to you and sounding fucking sincere, genuinely concerned about you while you’re stuck worrying about how to break the bad news to him. “Oh, stars, um…”

“Did Karga fuck with you?” He asks in that same sharp tone when you don’t finish your thought, but you’re so absorbed in your own conflict that you barely even hear him. “Because I can go back right now, the cantina is just—”

“Okay wait, please—” You suddenly speak up, “before I tell you, just… please keep in mind that I did save your life two days ago, so…”

“Sweet girl,” Din rumbles slowly, a subtle warning for you to hurry up and spit it out. His fingers tighten just slightly on your cheeks, still so gentle but needing you to communicate with him right now.

Tell him, you just need to tell him. If he gets mad, then he gets mad, but at least he’ll know at that point and you won’t just be springing it on him out of nowhere.

“I fucked up,” you breathe out, eyebrows pulling up in the middle as you tighten your own grip on his hands. “I’m so sorry, I fucked up and you were late and I got nervous and I didn’t wait long enough and I tried to make the exchange like you asked me to but then I had to take a fifth puck and I didn’t want to but Karga threatened to short change you next time around unless I agreed to take an extra one for the lowest pay just this once and I didn’t have any bargaining power and you showed up right after I agreed to the deal and I’m so so sorry—”

You cut yourself off with your own ragged gasp, not having paused once to breathe throughout the entire thing while your expression twisted up with regret more and more the longer he allowed you to speak.

Din stands there in front of you and doesn’t move, hands still attached to your face.

“Okay,” he eventually tells you. Stunted words, like he’s trying extra hard to find them when yours just fell out of your mouth in a complete mess. “It’s okay. You did… good.”

The silence is tense and you’re becoming more and more anxious the longer he takes to speak. He’s lying for your benefit, he must be. When he drops his hands from your face and takes a full step back, you take the gesture as symbolic and nearly launch into panic.

“Maker, I’m so sorry I didn’t wait for—” You start to say, but Din cuts you off.

“Did he make you…” His back suddenly goes a little straighter, voice finding a quiet edge through the modulator as his fingers subtly twitch at his sides, “…Uncomfortable?”

You pull back at the sudden change in subject and furrow your eyebrows.

“Who, Karga?” You have to think about it. Did he make you uncomfortable, or were you just uncomfortable already? You might’ve just been scared because you were making it scarier than it really was, you can admit that’s a valid possibility. “Um… no? I don’t know, not… not really, I don’t think.”

“No?” He asks, taking a small step forward. “You don’t know? Or not really… you don’t think?”

You know you can only see the blade of his visor, but something makes you feel like you’re looking right in his eyes. You even go back and forth between where you’re pretty confident each one is, trying to read his intentions right now. It’s like he’s purposefully trying to keep space between you even though he looks like he wants to move closer, fisting his hands at his sides when he looks like he wants to touch you.

“No, he just… lowballed me towards the end of it and I got intimidated, but I’m also not…” Your expression narrows in concentration while you try to find the words to explain yourself, wanting to be as honest as possible with him. “I don’t know, I’m not like you. I’m not that strong, but I’m trying to get better. I think he was probably just being normal. He did offer me alcohol a bunch, but I’m pretty sure he also did that last time, so—”

“And I didn’t like it the last time he did it,” Din says quietly, taking another small step forward.

You blink up at him, completely dumb. This is what’s bothering him? Is he really not upset with you at all for giving him more work? It’s like the major fuckup on your behalf just went in one side of the helmet and out the other, he barely even acknowledged it other than the role Karga played. He said it’s okay and you did good, which are like… five of the most common words in Galactic Basic, a Wookiee could probably find a way to say them. How are you supposed to take that? Were you just overthinking this whole thing from the very beginning? You know anxiety tends to be irrational by definition, but has none of your panic from the past hour been justified whatsoever?

“Why were you so late?” You ask him, but it’s not accusatory in the slightest. It’s… concerned, worried about his well-being without having a real reason. He’s clearly more than fine right now, he’s like a hurricane enclosed in metal and holding still in front of you. Too much potential energy just waiting for a reason to be released, too much tension held tight and ready to snap.

“I’m sorry.” He quickly reaches out to grab your hand and squeeze it, before dropping it just as quickly. Fucking lightning quick, you’ll never understand how he can be so damn quick with all that extra weight strapped to him. “It took longer than I thought it would and she’s not really someone you can rush.” His response, ironically, feels very rushed, like he’s trying to address the tangent but also keep things on track, but something in the answer he gives catches your direct attention. “Did he flirt with you?”

“Who is she and what can’t be rushed?” You blurt at the same time, not even taking a split second to think about it.

Din stops short at the blunt question, staring at you in a silence that feels like it’s vaguely taken aback.

After a few moments of that… strangeness, of the two of you realizing that you’re both feeling slightly possessive over each other for absolutely no reason whatsoever, you start to feel… warm. In another weirdly stupid, primitive way. You know that letting those kinds of thoughts have their day in a relationship isn’t a good thing, but you can’t explain it. Some deep-seated, prehistoric instinct inside you just goes fucking nuts whenever he gets in either provider or protector mode. Now you understand exactly why he wanted to get you alone after you admitted to being jealous once before. You totally fucking get it, you’re right there with him right now. He hasn’t said anything, but you think he feels it, too.

“She makes things,” Din finally answers you, careful with his words and somehow managing to address your question while also sidestepping it, leaving you with only the smallest bit of information to go off of. “Did he flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly. “Maybe. He could’ve just been trying to be friendly. What did she make for you?”

“She made it for you,” he responds, again not really answering the question but continuing to juggle two separate conversations for your benefit. “Did he scare you?”

“For me?” You ask, eyebrows shooting upwards. Provider, that stupid cavewoman DNA whispers to your lower body, making your voice go a little breathless. “You asked her to make something for me?”

“Did he scare you?” Din repeats sternly, grabbing your hand and giving it a firm squeeze. “Because I can go back, I swear—”

Protector, it whispers this time, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Everything is scary when I don’t know where you are,” you admit to him, knowing it’s the truth regardless of how self-deprecating it sounds. The only times you’ve ever truly been brave was because of him or the kid. Stabbing a Corellian and then immediately flying the Crest out to him afterwards, walking through a pitch black forest believing a dangerous criminal was hiding in it, dragging a dead body through snow and shoving it into carbonite, standing up for yourself and pushing a deal through when odds were stacked against you. Though it’s nothing to him, it’s nothing, it’s leaps for you. You’re slowly learning to find a backbone, and he’s the one inspiring it.

Din holds there for a moment, unmoving with his hand still clutching yours. You can’t get a read on him but you know how you feel right now. Achy. Hot. Needy. Wanting him to come closer.

“Will you do something for me?” He asks you after a prolonged silence. His voice is quiet, but… incredibly restrained. Controlled chaos—his body is rigid and he’s flexing muscles that aren’t necessary for just standing, feeling like a sprinter holding still on the starting blocks.

“Of course,” you breathe out.

Din lets go of your hand and tilts his helmet over at the corner of the hull behind you. “Go turn around and face that wall.”

You freeze, immediately recognizing the undertone in his voice. Heat ladles deep into the pit of your tummy, sends warmth pooling downwards. He wants to do this here? Right now?

“We’re—” you look around the enclosed hull, “Mando, we’re not in hyperspace, we haven’t even left the surface yet…”

He looks around too, taking a second to blankly take in his stagnant surroundings like he had absolutely fucking no idea, before turning back to you and not saying a word. Maker, everything below your waist is already stirring, twisting hot and deep inside, but you’re trying to be the voice of reason for a second.

“What if somebody hears us?” You whisper, and Din cocks his head to the other side.

“I can help you stay quiet,” he murmurs, and… fuck. You don’t know what it means, but you immediately imagine his hand held tight over your mouth while he takes some of this stress out on you and you already feel yourself wilting at the thought. Okay.

“Okay,” you breathe without needing anything else at all, before spinning around and standing exactly where he told you to. It’s just a corner near the back of the hull, nothing else here to look at besides two metal panels meeting at a right angle, but that’s admittedly what makes your heart start beating quicker. You can’t see him come up behind you but you can feel it. Slow, measured, but so restrained.

But then he stops almost immediately, before the back of your shirt is suddenly being yanked upwards and you remember at the very last second.

Din carefully grips his blaster and then eases it out of your waistband, the metal sliding warm along your skin from pressing against it for so long. You never told him you took it with you, and he’s so fucking quiet behind you. You have no idea how he’s reacting to that piece of information you originally didn’t think twice about.

“Do you like carrying my gun around?” Din’s voice murmurs soft through the modulator to you, but then the blaster is tossed uselessly to the side, skittering loudly across the floor of the hull.

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to shyly turn your head back to look at him, hoping to gauge his response.

“Don’t turn around,” he quickly interrupts you, pushing your shoulder back into position and keeping you facing the corner. You blink at the metal walls in a bit of a daze but follow instructions regardless, feeling your heart pound at the sudden display of dominance from him. He has a very valid reason for it and you don’t realize what it is until a few seconds later, but even if he didn’t and he was just telling you what to do for the fun of it… you’d still like it.

But then his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head and you shudder as your vision is replaced with a familiar black abyss. Fuck, his helmet, why does he like it so much when you wear this? Admittedly, you don’t have much time to contemplate—as soon as it’s fitted and secure, he spins you around and you have to just do your best to maintain your balance, not having any visual to help.

“Can you hear me?” Din asks, and your clothes start to be ripped off of you. Your shoulders tip sideways with how quick he is about it, feeling him pull the fabric off and hearing the soft sound it makes landing on the floor.

“Yes,” you tell him, but he doesn’t respond, continuing to strip you completely naked in the hull. Once your upper body is bare and he’s yanking your pants and underwear down your legs, you try saying it again as you step out of them, louder for him this time.

“I can’t hear you,” his voice grunts after a moment. You know he’s in front of you but you can’t really tell where, now that he’s not touching you. “Scream.”

You take a second, not having hard evidence anymore but still very well aware that you’re parked close to a marketplace on Nevarro and multiple people are nearby while you’re wearing his helmet. This is dangerous for him, and not sure if you should, but then an arm is wrapping around your back and a large leather palm rests directly over your chest. Din repeats his last word very slowly and clearly for you, waiting to feel it under his hands.

Your sternum lifts while it rises with your deep breath and then collapses as you diligently yell as loud as you can into the helmet, feeling like you might deafen yourself with the trapped sound.

“Good,” he growls, suddenly spinning you around and pushing you back into the metal paneling. “I can’t hear you, be as loud as you need. Hit me or something, put up a fight if you want me to stop, alright?”

Arousal rockets through you and you let out a moan already, taking advantage of the noise suppression and beyond turned on at this point. You feel like you’re buzzing with it, lit up with excitement and wondering with bated breath what he’s planning to do to you.

“Alright?” Comes his voice from behind you once more, and you quickly jerk the heavy helmet in a nod for him. You can put up a fight and you know he’ll stop, you don’t have any problem with that and the fact that he specifically made sure to wait until he knew you understood him makes you start to pant inside the hollow beskar.

But then you feel him flick a small switch at the base of the helmet and then everything abruptly cuts out and goes dead silent.

Nothing. Nothing. You’re standing in a pitch black room where no other sound exists besides your own labored breathing. Just like the waterfall on Naboo, but you can’t speak this time. Temporarily making you blind, deaf, and putting a proverbial gag over your mouth all with one powerful piece of armor.

You shudder and he kicks your legs apart before you can do much else, yanking your hips back while you just try your best to cling to the wall for stability. You don’t know what he’s going to do, you’re completely isolated in here and the only way you can even tell he dropped to his knees is the hot glide of his tongue through your pussy from behind.

Oh fuck—you arch into position as best you can while hands wrap around your ankles to pull them apart, trying to make the angle better. His tongue licks softly over your clit and each time is like an electric shock jolting through your body, making you twitch back and up for him, stretching and begging him to do it again. You can’t see anything right now so your mind readily imagines the visuals instead, providing you with a third party view. Din, fully clothed and face shielded by your thighs, eating you out from behind while you brace yourself against the wall, completely naked and at his mercy, head tilted down from the weight of his helmet and living for the moments he decides to drag his tongue across your clit.

Without warning, a sudden burst of sensation ripples along your backside and causes you to lift the beskar in surprise, but without being able to hear anything, it takes you a second to figure out that he just smacked your ass. The realization comes more or less at the exact time he decides to flatten his tongue and follow the curve of you back and up.

You gasp into the pitch black and there’s a moment where you just hold utterly still for him, experiencing and processing the sensation for the very first time. His mouth is soft and warm as he tastes you here, his fingers digging into the swell of your cheeks to spread you open. You’re glad your face is hidden so he can’t see the shock in your expression, the way your mouth drops and your eyes close as you let him explore you this way.

His gloved hands leave you for just a moment while he continues gliding his tongue against you, along every single bit of skin he can reach, and then you feel a bare hand reach up between your legs and begin to rub slow circles around your clit. His other arm pushes against your lower back and you’re forced into the corner even more, your naked breasts pressing hard against cool metal and feeling his hot mouth and strong fingers work you closer to the edge from behind.

You’re panting into the helmet, your hips arching back to feel that stimulation on your clit better, and as his fingers move over it slow and strong, you feel a soft vibration against your skin and you realize he’s moaning into you. The knowledge sparks a different kind of heat through you and makes you suddenly go still and tense right here. If he stays just like this for even just a few more seconds, you’re going to cum.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” your voice warbles inside the enclosed steel—just as his touch decides to abandon your body. You groan loudly in distress, completely alone without his hands or mouth on you anymore, but all he likely hears is the silence of the hull and the way your palm smacks against the wall with it. You were so close, everything feels like it’s pulled up so tight and painful and it hurts—

A hand clutches your hip and then a thick cock is suddenly pushing up against your soaking wet entrance, going to alleviate that twisting discomfort. Your eyes roll back and your whole body goes limp as he slowly eases forward and breaks you open, fitting himself deep inside where you love to feel him most. Your hands claw down the walls with a swell of bliss as he pulls out and then starts thrusting—and fuck, you love this. You love the way he’s trapping you up against the corner and making you see stars at the same time, the way he’s supporting your weight but crushing down into you, too. It makes you go boneless and want to riot simultaneously, groaning loud into the quiet abyss as he gives you what you both desperately needed.

One of his hands sinks down between your legs to play with your clit again, while a slick finger presses up against your ass and you gasp as he slowly penetrates you there, too. Din’s hips work steady and powerful behind you, pushing you into the wall with every desperate thrust, using the arm shoved between your legs to support you as well as stimulate, and you just feel yourself move into a different place. You don’t have a name for it but it feels like hyperspace. Silence so loud it feels suppressing, faster than anything light can touch, nowhere and everywhere, hurtling towards something you can’t see but know lies in the distance. You can tell he’s still fucking the tension out of his body, you can feel him working another wet finger inside you and stretching the virgin muscles back there, but every sensation begins to slowly blur together in a wicked uprising of ecstasy.

You don’t know where you are anymore, just that his fingers keep rubbing your clit and you think he's trying to ease a third into you when your destination abruptly arrives.

You nearly collapse when you cum, contracting so hard around his cock and fingers that you cry out unexpectedly—and because of the helmet, you think it’s just as unexpected for him. He stops moving—everything stops moving besides you. Your hips stutter backwards into his stationary body, dragging your clit back and forth against the tips of his unmoving fingers and fucking him as best you can. It shatters white hot and goes straight through to your soul, wringing pleasure and wetness between your legs in waves.

Your knees are knocking against each other when Din pulls out, his cock still deliciously hard and now soaking wet with your cum, and then they just suddenly decide to give up without warning. You don’t fall necessarily, but you do slowly slide down the wall like a slug and Din follows you to the floor instead of holding you up any longer. His sternum moves quick and heavy against your back as he breathes and then suddenly the same switch at the base of his helmet is flicked, and sound bursts into existence all at once.

He’s panting. Harsh breaths behind you that match the rapid pace of his chest, and the ambient noise of the rest of the hull.

“Can you hear me?” He gasps, sounding fucking wrecked, and you nod the helmet against the wall while gravity and exhaustion and his beskar chestplate squishes you into it. “P-Put up a fight if you want me t-to stop, p-please—” he rasps out, almost the entire thing air and so close to cumming, and then his knees lift just slightly and the blunt head of his cock presses against your other entrance.

And, if you wanted, you absolutely could. He’s got you boxed into the corner but he’s not constricting your movements, he’s given you every ability to struggle. You could easily throw an elbow back against his side, push against the wall to shove him away, smack at his arms or even just flail against his body in panic—you could do one or all of those things to signal him to stop and you know he’d do it immediately, he’s asking you to. You could struggle. If you wanted.

Instead, you just grab hold of the beskar strapped to his thigh and drop the helmet to your chest, nearly vibrating with the thrill and preparing yourself for it. You know he’s gotta be inches away from orgasm, you know from the tone of his voice that he’s right there on the edge and it’s not like it’s going to last a long time. Thanks to him, you also feel like you’re just as slick and wet back there as you are between your legs, stretched open by his fingers while you came all over him. You want nothing more than to give this to him, to let him be the only person in the universe that knows how you feel this way.

When you pointedly do not put up a fight and even go so far as to arch your lower back for him in presentation, Din curses and his fingers begin jerking back and forth over your sensitive clit once more. It might normally be too much for you, but your body is sparking with lust and quickly acclimates to the stimulation, learning to burn and ache for it, too. Fuck, it feels so good, you tense and melt into it at the same time, letting him ease you back up to that peak once more.

He pushes up against the tight ring of skin and you can’t fucking explain it—his fingers keep rubbing your clit and he’s slowly pushing into your ass and—

“I—I think I’m—” you suddenly lift the helmet to gasp out in surprise, forgetting he can’t hear you, “ngh—D-Din, I think I’m gonna c—”

He’s just barely able to breach the tight entrance and fit the head inside before he freezes—and even though everything happens consecutively, it’s all so rapid that it feels simultaneous.

Your hips could go forward, but they don’t. Your body decides to send you backwards into him, pushing him inside nearly halfway all at once as your muscles lock down and just fucking strangle his cock. Your piercing scream gets trapped in the silence of his helmet as you cum once more—painfully, madly and with every fucking part of you for him. There’s maybe one or two mind shattering pulses of ecstasy before the rest of your body catches up and starts convulsing, and by then Din is already gasping and fumbling behind you, suddenly realizing what’s happening without hearing the sound of your ragged warnings and then ripping himself away just in time.

He punches out your name when he cums like you just fucking snapped him in half—his body hunches and the beskar digs hard into your back as warmth starts splattering along your skin. You crumple while he shoves his hips up against your spine, riding and working the orgasm out of himself while yours just fucking obliterates you. You think you whine his name—or a curse word or something, but it gets strained and your lungs lose air every time his powerful armored body humps you into the wall of his ship.

Finally he eases up and you just lay there and listen to the ringing in your ears. Blissfully empty, still pulsing from cumming so hard and feeling like your bones just decided to stop existing and the rest of you was okay with it since you were already on the floor anyways. You feel him shudder and twitch behind you, letting go of that last bit of tension until he too allows gravity to slouch his heavy torso over onto you.

You both stay like that for a while, until your eyes close and your everything below your waist goes numb. Eventually you feel him shift and your head bobbles as the helmet is slowly removed, but a large palm cradles your chin to stop your face from slamming into the wall in exhaustion once it’s off. You just continue to melt into the paneling like you’re nothing more than goo of a human being while he trades it back to its rightful place on his shoulders and tucks his cock back into his pants, before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you both up. The floor and metal walls, once feeling like you and them were one, suddenly decide to disappear entirely as you’re hauled up into Din’s powerful arms.

He slowly carries your naked, fucked senseless body over to the fresher, and you squint your eyes open over his shoulder to see… he’s still got his rifle slung around his back while his cum is dripping down yours. Not a single thing on him is out of place and you’re, well… a mess is a word that works. Limp and doll-like, carried like your weight is practically nothing to him after years of having the densest armor known to the galaxy strapped to his body.

Setting you down is a mess, too. At some point you think he just gives up and decides to return you to your humble floor abode with a patience and care unexpected from someone who just defiled you so thoroughly. You hear the fresher door open and the faucet squeak, before he turns back around and crouches to your level.

“Stay here,” Din tells you lowly, his modulated voice coming gentle and warm through the sounds of water raining down against metal. You don’t feel his touch directly, but your hair moves away from your face. “I’ll be right back, okay—just stay here.”

Can do. Easy. He waits until you murmur a soft mhm to him before he leaves the tiny compartment, and then you soon hear his heavy footsteps ascending the ladder to the cockpit.

***

You don’t think you fall asleep, but the powering up of the Crest’s thrusters make you realize your eyes were closed. Opening them barely qualifies as a squint though; you look around to see steam slowly filling the fresher, the water already running hot and welcoming in the small room.

You know you need to shower but you’re so fucking exhausted, you feel like you can’t even move your body. You also know you can just do the same exact thing in there as you’re doing in here, you just need to muster up the energy necessary to get inside it and then fall back asleep. He set you down in the small little space outside the shower door and then got everything set up for you, you can at least stand up and take a few steps.

Unfortunately, you might pick just about the worst time possible to plant your hands on the ground and work to struggle upright on all fours like a newborn animal. The steady rise through Nevarro’s atmosphere pushes gravity down harder than you’re expecting—is he trying to fly quickly or are you just that dead-limbed?—and then of course, by the time you do manage to fight it and successfully get on two wobbly legs to hold yourself up, the subtle shift of the hyperdrive kicking in nearly knocks you back down again. You stumble and grab the walls, bracing yourself against them and looking down at your knees in exasperation. Come on, work. Move forward. Come on.

You’re glad he’s not here to witness this monstrosity, honestly. Just opening the door and taking a few steps into the fresher is a feat—while you’re not in any pain and he didn’t leave any marks on you, you just feel… steamrolled. Ran over by a truck. Only having the strength to keep your feet beneath you as you finally move under the water and close the door behind you.

Oh, but this is wonderful. This was such a good idea, he’s so fucking smart. The shower falls warm and lovely against your body, wetting your hair and immediately heating you down to your bones. You don’t move really at all—you kinda just stand there and slouch, closing your eyes against the spray and slowly breathing the mist into your lungs. It feels so nice—not really restorative even though you like that word, it would imply the water provides you with any energy whatsoever. It just feels like a comfort, a relief and sedative for your already wildly fatigued body.

You haven’t been in here for more than a minute or two when knuckles tap gently against the metal walls of the fresher, before the natural bass of Din’s unmodulated voice murmurs from somewhere beyond it. “Hey. Keep your eyes closed.”

How did he know? You figured you’d be way ahead of him. You’re standing but slumped over, wanting nothing more than to just say fuck gravity and pass out right here. The walls are too cold to lean against now that you’re all toasty from the heat and steam, so you’re just unconsciously swaying on your feet, trying to balance the precedence of sleeping versus not falling over. You don’t even comprehend the sudden flip of the light switch overhead beyond the fact that it makes it easier to snooze without being so bright behind your eyelids.

The door eventually opens at the very same time you realize you never answered him, but you just commit to the silence at this point. It’s easy, you like it. Soon you feel warm hands touch your shoulders, slowly spinning you around while you follow and hang your head, your neck not wanting to support it any longer, and then suddenly a bare chest is pressing up against you and powerful arms are wrapping around your body, and you can just lean all of your weight into him while your head rests right here on his shoulder.

He holds you without moving for a long time, keeping you just like this—your ear pressed against his skin while water rains hot and comfortable down your back. Knowing you’re facing one of the walls, you crack your heavy lids just the slightest bit and finally notice the tiny compartment is dim and shrouded—the only light source is a single one coming from somewhere in the hull beyond the partially closed doorway. It’s dark and quiet and you can barely see anything besides the metallic fresher walls and unfocused droplets chasing each other down Din’s naked skin. Just you and him, flowing water with a sheet metal backdrop.

You think you spend an eternity like that and yet you still find yourself wanting another when he finally shifts, reaching over you to grab a bar of his generic soap but making sure to use the arm whose shoulder you’re not currently resting against.

It glides slow and hypnotic down your back, dragging up over your sides and then back down the curve of your spine. He’s so sturdy and he doesn’t say a word while he does it, lathering it along your body and rubbing it into your skin. His bar of soap, not yours. They started out almost the same since you picked them up at the same vendor, but there’s just a slightly bolder and sharper scent to his that you recognize. How the bar is far larger than yours because of how often he’s gone away.

Your eyes droop and you feel the water trail over your lips, dripping down your chin and pooling the dip of his collarbone. The only other time you two shared this fresher was terrifying and he’s rewriting the memories right now, whether consciously or not. Hot water, not freezing cold. Standing upright and supporting you. Heart beating strong under your ear, taking care of you this time until you can care for yourself.

You… you just worry so much more now, it’s becoming an issue. You didn’t realize how much until you nearly lost him, and you know in your heart that he’s just going to go away again. Throw himself into more danger, tempt death as always, risk his life for mere credits while all you can provide in return is this. Skin to skin contact. Someone to hold. Someone who knows him, who knows the way he struggles between reaching out for a softness that life has always denied him and clinging to what is rough and familiar. Someone to remind him that there’s still gentle and forgiving things in this galaxy that won’t disappear when he’s gone, and that he can always come home to them, as long as he can manage to find his way back.

Something sad tugs hard at your chest. You want to tell him not to leave. Again, again—you want nothing more than to beg him to stay. You don’t have anything better to offer instead; if he asked you how it would work, how you imagine your lives would go if he wasn’t hunting quarry on a constant timetable, you’d be hard-pressed. You don’t know. But you know what you want to say, because it’s two words you shouldn’t say but always find yourself needing to say regardless.

Don’t go.

But, instead of two words, you give him three.

Instead of asking him not to leave you again… in the haze and comfort of his arms, you think you just tell him that you love him.

And… you also don’t think the water falling down on the two of you is loud enough to cover it up this time.

It’s not ideal, you know. You know. From his point of view, he just got finished releasing all sorts of pent up tension on you, overwhelming your body with the strength and power of his in a way that normal people wouldn’t take as an expression of affection. But you know him. You know that he finds it much easier to express the things he feels in a physical way, which is why there’s a bar of soap against your back right now instead of his voice in your ear, telling you all the things you’ve always wanted to hear from him in return. You know that sex is how this all began and it’s likely just the closest link between roughness and sweetness that he can really put his hands on, something that can fit him equally as well as it fits you. Love is different, it’s thrilling and scary. Even to someone like him, who lives everyday of his life surrounded by thrilling and scary things, who’s seen more bloodshed and suffering and pain than you can ever even imagine, you know that it’s scary.

Din doesn’t say anything back to your confession, and truthfully, not a single part of you was expecting him to. It wasn’t said so he could say it back. It just is. Some things don’t need explanations, they just are. You’re okay with that.

But, you eventually come to realize that he always waits until you’re just on the very edges of sleep, holding out until your blurry vision and fading consciousness can trick you into thinking you only imagined it. You won’t ever figure out if it’s purposeful or if he just needs that long to find what he wants to say.

Another soft, lilting sentence in a language you wouldn’t be able to translate, even if you could pick out a single word. It sounds so beautiful though, regardless of how mysterious and far away its meaning feels. There’s something hidden underneath. You ache to know what it is.

But you’re so tired. You just whine softly against his shoulder, not being able to transform the thoughts into sentences anymore but hoping he understands regardless. He can’t just resort to bearing his soul in Mando’a all the time now, especially when you’re always on the verge of sleep when he chooses to do so.

But at some point, his arms subtly tighten around you and the pressure is one of the only things that’s keeping you awake anymore.

“I won’t ever ask you to,” he says to you, the quietness of his baritone getting lost in the gentle spray and your looming slumber. “I’m… not allowed to ask. I can’t.”

Your expression twitches just the slightest bit against his shoulder in confusion, wondering distantly what word or sentence you must’ve missed from before that would make him make sense. Was that a translation? Or a continuation?

But then your wet hair is slowly moved away from your nape and his head tilts down, face pressing into your neck and voice lowering until it’s nothing more than a breath against your skin, nothing more than a confession that he couldn’t ever say out loud with his full chest. It’s a secret he only ever wants you to know, a truth he’s choosing to admit to even though you could ruin him with it. You have no idea how much, you won’t know for a long time just how much power he’s giving you by telling you this one very simple thing.

“But whenever you want to look,” Din finally whispers, the only version of I love you too that a Mandalorian knows. “You can.”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #fanfic #reader-insert #rough day #no-droids #smut

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idy-ll-ique · 3 years

Text

A Day Well-Spent

Pairing: Mob Boss!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Genre: It's like... fluff to the extreme

Warnings: mention of guns

Requested: nope

Summary: Y/N has just moved to Brooklyn and doesn't know how things are there. Bucky Barnes runs things around Brooklyn but what happens when they meet? Will she run away or will she still shoot her shot?

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! Okay, first of all, THANK YOU FOR 500 FOLLOWERS I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH I LOVE Y'ALL SO MUCH. also i think im obsessed with mob fics????? chile anyways so... enjoy!

---

"Ready to go, sweetie?"

"You know it, babe," Y/N grinned at her friend, Clarice. The two, on their way to work, had stopped by a coffee shop for their daily dose of caffeine. As they walked out of the café, Clarice turned to Y/N. "Finish your story! What did Brad say to you after that?!" Clarice reminded her and Y/N giggled.

"Oh, he was just too sweet! But not my type, ya know what I mean? I didn't know how to turn him down," she sighed. "Poor guy. If he had approached me…" Y/N lightly shoved her friend. "I have his number, should I pass it on?" Clarice turned to Y/N, wide eyed. "Darling, you're too good to me," she spoke with a strong Brooklyn accent.

Y/N burst out laughing. She had moved from another part of the country to Brooklyn for education; along with attending college, she was also working as a waitress at a nice little restaurant. That was how she met Clarice, her being another waitress at said restaurant. The two became fast friends.

Clarice was a few years older than Y/N, a single mother with a 4 year old son. Her son was extremely cute. As Y/N continued laughing, she didn't notice how her friend stopped in her tracks. Clarice was busy staring at the huge hunk of a man a few feet ahead of Y/N, standing in the middle of the pavement with his phone held to his ear, his back to them.

Bucky Barnes.

That man was James Buchanan Barnes, the King of Brooklyn. He ran the whole damn city along with his mob; very important and influential. On top of that? He was hot-headed, easily got angry and people knew what happened when he got angry. Except Y/N. Y/N didn't even know who he was.

As Y/N neared Bucky, still laughing for some reason, Clarice thought of calling out to her. And alert him of their presence? No way! "Clarice, you know I love it when you do your acc—" All of a sudden, Y/N collided into a soft wall, spilling her coffee all over it. Opening her eyes, she found out that it was no wall; instead, she had collided straight into a person.

And drenched his back with coffee.

He was wearing what looked like a very expensive suit and Y/N immediately felt guilty. "Oh my goodness, I'm so fucking sorry!" she blurted out as Bucky pulled the phone away from his ear, turning to look at her. His men, who were loitering around, had her surrounded as they pointed their guns at her. But she didn't notice.

She was busy staring at Bucky, her jaw slightly dropped. Hot damn, he is good looking, she thought to herself. It wasn't until he cleared his throat that she snapped out of a daydream. He had a stern expression on his face and she realized she messed up. He's someone important. Then she started apologizing profusely.

Bucky simply stared at her, taking in her features as he gave her a once-over. She's new, he realized, not from Brooklyn. "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," he chuckled and she immediately shut up, offering him a timid smile. "I really am sorry, I feel like a total ass. That suit looks expensive, sir, is there any way I can help? Maybe pay for dry cleaning?"

"Do you know who I am?" he instead asked and her brows furrowed. "Oh Lord, am I supposed to know?! One mess up after another…" she grumbled and Bucky couldn't help but laugh. "Don't worry. My name is Bucky Barnes, you may call me Bucky." At this point, even his men were surprised, lowering their guns.

Clarice was still standing there and one of the men caught her eye. He nodded his head towards Y/N and Clarice gave him an unsure smile. He sauntered over to her. "She's with you?" he asked and Clarice groaned, dropping her head. "She's new to Brooklyn, and has no idea who he is. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience."

The man smiled at her. "No worries, looks like the boss isn't gonna hurt her. I'm Sam, by the way." Clarice gave him a shy smile. Sam was also very good-looking. "I'm Clarice, nice to meet you." Better to remain on the good side of the mob. Back to Y/N and Bucky… "Bucky, that's a good name. Short for anything?"

He ran a hand through his hair, grinning. It had been years, years since someone outside of the mob had spoken to him so freely and without fear. It felt nice and refreshing, even more so because Y/N was super gorgeous. "James Buchanan Barnes." Y/N couldn't help but laugh. "Named after a president, huh?"

"You making fun of my name now, doll?" he smirked slyly. "Oh no no, I wouldn't dare," she flirted easily, "My name is Y/N. I still feel bad about ruining your suit, you won't even take the money…" Bucky waved her off. "First, Y/N is a wonderful name. Second, you don't need to worry your pretty head over me, this suit can easily be replaced."

"Then how about this? A coffee. My treat. It'll make me feel better," she insisted. Bucky raised a quick brow, thinking that he would be the one to ask her out but oh well, this works too. "Let's call it a date, shall we?" he purred, taking a step closer to her. She didn't back off. "If you'd like," she grinned up at him.

He couldn't help but grin back. "Excellent. Then how about you put your number in my phone and I pick you up next Sunday at 7 pm?" He thrust his phone into her hand and Y/N swore she heard someone gasping in the background. Bucky Barnes was a very private person but here he was now; handing his phone to a stranger.

She quickly put her number in his phone and handed it back, smiling. "I'll await your call." He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I have to go now, so I'll see you later. Say hello to your friend from my side. Sam! Stop flirting, man, we gotta go!" Y/N looked over her shoulder to see his friend flirting with Clarice.

She laughed and turned back to Bucky, who was already looking at her with a goofy grin on his face. "I'll see you next Sunday, Mr Barnes. Again, sorry for the suit!" He waved his arm in dismissal and got into the car, throwing her one last blowing kiss before zooming off. Y/N walked back to Clarice, who was staring at her, jaw dropped.

"I know the hell you didn't just do that."

"Did I do something wrong?" Y/N frowned. Then, all of a sudden, a wide grin bloomed on Clarice's face. "Do you even know who you're going to go on a date with next Sunday?!" Y/N blinked. "Is he someone important?" Clarice made a sound of indignation. "Important? Bitch, he's the Kingpin! The King of Brooklyn! A mob boss!"

Y/N's eyes went wide. "No way," she scoffed. "Yes way! Ask anyone! He runs things around here, babe. It was fun to see him all soft, though, he's kinda hot-headed and hard to impress. Even women stay away from him. And now you two are going on a date?! If this relationship does not end in a marriage I'm suing."

Y/N flushed slightly and punched Clarice on the shoulder. "Clair, we haven't even gone on one date." Clarice shrugged. "A girl can dream. Oh, your children will be the most beautiful! Did you see his right hand man, though?! Mamma mia! Said his name was Sam Wilson, I got his number!" The two reached their workplace.

Inside Bucky's car, he was still smiling, lost in thoughts. "So, that chick, huh," Sam spoke devilishly from the driver's seat. Bucky looked at him. "That's no way to talk about the future Mrs Barnes," he admonished and Sam chortled. "Dude, you haven't been on even one date! Slow down, chicks don't like dudes who plan out a marriage on the first date."

"But I know I'm right, so why shouldn't I plan?" Bucky shrugged. He was more than confident that Y/N was going to become his in the future. The way she looked at him, spoke to him, flirted with him… it was enough for him to become smitten with her at the first glance. "What about you and her friend, huh?"

It was Sam's turn to become flustered. "Clarice Light. Has a 4-year old son, Aaron." Bucky nodded thoughtfully. "A mother. Well-maintained looks," he commented, laughing when Sam punched him on the shoulder. "Why don't you think about your own chick and leave mine alone?"

---

Y/N frantically smoothed out her dress, checking herself in the mirror. She wore a beautiful, nude coloured bandage dress that reached mid-thigh, along with similar coloured heels. Bucky was coming to pick her up in 5 minutes. Even after finding out who he was she didn't back away, instead finding it empowering that the most important man in Brooklyn wanted to take her out on a date.

All of a sudden the bell rang, pulling Y/N out of her thoughts. The first thing she saw upon opening the door was a huge bouquet of red roses right in front of someone's face. He then moved the bouquet to reveal his face and Y/N smiled broadly. "Bucky!" He grinned back at her. "Hi, doll! Here, an extraordinary bouquet for an equally extraordinary woman."

"You're too flattering. These roses smell amazing, thank you so much." She took the bouquet from his hands and kept it away, stepping out of the house. Bucky offered her his hand and she took it, allowing him to lead her out of the building and towards an audacious, ridiculously expensive looking car.

"Everything about you is lavish, huh?" she teased as he ushered her into the passenger seat, sitting next to her. "Bad to have a taste for the finer things in life?" he teased right back, placing his hand on her thigh as the other gripped the steering wheel. "No, I mean, you are the Kingpin. I should expect luxury."

He glanced at her to see her grinning at him. "You found out?" She nodded. "Yup, Clarice told me as soon as you left. I don't mind though, I'm just wondering… why me?" He laughed. "Why you? Sweetheart, you are the first person aside from Sam who has talked to me so freely since… since I was 18. And you're gorgeous. So why not?"

"Again, with the flattery…"

"Just stating facts, my dear."

"Also, my friend has a crush on Sam, so do tell him to ask her out." Bucky laughed harder. It had been years since he'd enjoyed himself so much. "Really? He has a crush on her too! I guess I'll tell him tomorrow." Y/N looked out of the window. "Where are we going?" Bucky gently squeezed her thigh. It was clear he wasn't taking her to a café, like originally planned.

"A picnic in the park." Y/N's eyes lit up. "I love picnics!" she squealed. "Then I guess I made a good choice," Bucky chortled along. The two soon reached the park and Bucky got out of the car first, holding the door open for Y/N to step out. "A gentleman," she noted, making him grin. He then took out the picnic basket from the backseat.

Y/N laid out the classic pink and white checkered blanket that he had brought along, taking off her heels before sitting down. "Ugh, I'd have worn pants if I knew I was going to be sitting on the ground," she groaned as she somehow sat down, adjusting her dress.

"You look gorgeous in that dress though," Bucky commented, "But you don't need to worry about public indecency because it's just you and me in the park." Y/N blinked at him as he sat down, opening the basket and taking out food. "Just us? You booked the whole park?" Bucky smirked at her. "It's easy when you run things around here."

Y/N fondly shook her head. "So much effort." He winked at her. "All for you, doll, all for you." The two maintained a chat as they ate. "So, you're new here. Why did you move to Brooklyn?" Bucky asked her. "Education. I go to [Name] college, actually, and work part-time as a waitress for some additional income," she hummed. He nodded thoughtfully.

"What about you? Is the mob a family business or a start-up?" Bucky smiled at her boldness. "Family business, my dad used to run it before me. I was 16 when I took over." Y/N realized what must've happened and gave him a sad smile. "I'm sorry for your loss." Bucky returned the smile. "It's fine, he was no saint."

"No?"

"Yup, hated him actually. Used to be cruel to my mom, to me too… until he got shot. Best day of my life." Y/N gasped quietly. "Bucky! He was your father!" Bucky chuckled mercilessly. "An asshole is what he was. Geez, speaking of, my mom is gonna be so happy."

"What's her name?" Y/N took a bite of her sandwich. "Winifred. She's awesome, raised me and my sister alone, ya know? Dad was always too busy. My mom will like you, I can tell. And so will my sister." Y/N smiled at that. "A sister?" He nodded, excited to talk about his family.

"Rebecca Barnes. She's a few years younger than me, maybe your age. She goes to your college too." Y/N suddenly squealed. "You mean to tell me my best friend from college is your sister? Rebecca Barnes?!" Bucky smiled so wide he thought his cheeks were gonna tear. "You've met her?" Y/N vehemently nodded.

"She's really great, the only person kind enough to introduce herself on the first day I moved in. She was the one who showed me around campus and I found out that she mostly spent time alone because no one wanted to talk to her, her brother being involved with the bad side of law or something. But I didn't care. I still don't. She's awesome, you're awesome."

Bucky felt himself tear up at her words. "Doll, you have no idea how much that means to me." Y/N grinned at him, scooting sideways so she could lay her head on his shoulder. "I'm serious, you know. I can't wait to tell her about this." Bucky laughed in a watery tone, pressing his lips to her temple.

The two quietly ate after that. When the food was over both of them lay down on the blanket, looking up at the starry sky. "It's so beautiful," Y/N whispered, cuddling into Bucky's side as she stared at the gibbous moon. Bucky wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer to him.

"It's nothing compared to you."

Y/N laughed quietly and looked up, the same time he looked down. They met each other halfway; their lips connecting softly yet eagerly. Lost in the kiss Bucky sat up, pulling Y/N on his lap as they continued making out. Finally, after what felt like hours did they pull away, breathless. They said nothing; Bucky looked at her as if she hung the moon.

Y/N stared at him as if he were the only thing in the world. "So, when will I get a second date?" she broke the silence, leaning down to press her forehead to his. "Oh, doll, you're not getting rid of me any time soon," he shot back, laughing. Y/N giggled along and stood up.

Both of them packed their things and got into the car, Bucky offering to drive her home since it was late. So I guess it had been hours. As Bucky drove, Y/N's phone chimed. He glanced at her when she laughed. "What's so funny?" Y/N wheezed before answering.

"I've got two texts. One from Becca and one from Clarice."

Bucky couldn't stop his chuckle. "What did Becca say?" Y/N read out, "Girl, just heard you're on a date with my bro? And I— I swear if you don't become my sister in law, I'm suing." Laughter filled the car. "She really said that?" Y/N nodded. "Yup! Even Clarice, on the day we met, said the same thing! It's nuts. We just met and they're already planning a wedding."

"Speaking of, what was Clarice's message?"

"Oh nothing, just that she got back home from a date with Sam a few minutes ago."

"What?!"

"What's wrong with that?"

"That asshole had work today!"

"Bucky!"

All in all, it was a day well-spent.

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Leave a like if you enjoyed!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fluff #winter soldier #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan characters #disney #mcu #marvel #avengers #fanfic #writing #writeblr

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antimonarchy · 3 years

Text

How to Create Image Descriptions

So I’ve been creating image descriptions on tumblr for about a month, and I wanted to share some helpful guides I’ve found on how to create them as well as my own tips that I’ve picked up. Video descriptions and transcripts are also necessary, but since I mostly focus on image descriptions that’s what this guide is about. This might get a bit long, so fair warning.

What are image descriptions?

Image descriptions are a textual depiction of what is going on in an image, as shown with the image below.

[Image ID: A picture of a person with short black hair working on a computer. They are sitting at a wooden table with a large blue pot of pink flowers in front of a grey brick wall. A guitar is propped up against the wall in the background, and there is a string of lights near the ceiling. /.End ID]

Why create image descriptions?

The primary reason for creating image descriptions is to allow people who are blind/have limited vision to experience visual content. Many people who are blind/have low vision use screenreaders, which read text out loud when it is clicked or hovered over with a mouse. A large amount of online content, such as pictures, graphics, or drawings, is visual and so possibly cannot be experienced by someone with vision problems. As a general rule of thumb, anything that can be dragged or dropped most probably requires a description. In addition, if someone has partial vision and attempts to zoom in on an image, sometimes it can become pixelated and impossible to understand.

Some neurodivergent people might need a description to understand the tone of an image, such as the meaning of facial expressions of a person to understand what emotion the artist is trying to depict

Some people might not have high speed internet or have low computer memory, meaning that they turn off images in order to save space. This means that they as well might require descriptions of visual content

Are image descriptions the same as alt text?

no, alt text and image descriptions serve the same purpose, but they are different in how they are presented. Alt text, short for alternative text, is included in the html of an image and can be read by a screen reader. However, there are many reasons why many prefer image descriptions over alt text.

There is a limit of 200 words in alt text on tumblr specifically (and not in other contexts, which makes this information only applicable here), which means that detailed images or graphics are unable to be described fully without possibly cutting out important information.

People who require descriptions, but who do not use a screenreader, must right-click and search through the html of an image in order to find alt text, but with an image description they are saved that work.

Who should create image descriptions?

Everyone who is able to should create image descriptions. A content creator is best able to communicate the message of their work through text, as they are the one who created it and thus understand its message the best. While of course it takes practice when starting out, over time image descriptions become second nature when posting visual content. Always check the notes of a tumblr post for an ID rather than reblogging without one.

What should be included in image descriptions?

There is no simple answer to this question, there are a variety of resources and guides on how to create one, and you should not accept my advice as the ultimate authority, as I am by no means a professional, and only create descriptions in my spare time as part of the effort to make Tumblr more accessible. However, here is my information for those starting out.

First, consider what type of visual content it is. Is it fanart of a tv show, a screenshot of a tweet, or an informational graphic meant to educate people on a particular issue?

Then, consider what information is most important in the image. If the visual content is an image of a famous building, then in writing the description the focus should be on the building, rather than describing for instance the color of the sky, surrounding buildings, or the clothing of the people walking by, as they are not the information that is being presented.

Perkins ELearning has an excellent list of things that should generally be included, which I will include here. In my experience, these are the most important elements to describe

The people and animals in an image

The background or setting of an image

Elements that relate to the context specifically, so if it was an image of a congested highway on a news website, the description would mention the packed cars

The colors of an image (don’t overdo it however, a simple ‘light blue’ will suffice, no need to say something like ‘a color blue that is similar to the color of a robin’s egg’ unless it is crucial to the viewer’s comprehension of an image)

Context for an image. For instance, imagine if someone had drawn a version of the Bernie Sanders ‘I am once again asking’ meme, with Eleanor Shellstrop from the Good Place saying “I am once again asking for there to be a Medium Place.” Rather than provide a description to the example such as: [Image ID: A drawing of Eleanor Shellstrop saying ��I am once again asking for there to be a Medium Place.” /.End ID] you would instead say [Image ID: A redraw of the Bernie Sanders ‘I am once again asking’ meme with Eleanor Shellstrop from The Good Place saying “I am once again asking for there to be a Medium Place. /.End ID]

If the image is of a social media post, include the username/handle of the creator as well as the reactions (likes/reblogs) if they are visible in the image, as they may be cut off by the original screenshotter.

If it is a drawing or piece of art, always look for the artist’s signature when writing a description

How do I write an image description?

To start off, here is an example description written for a piece of art I made myself.

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Suki from Avatar: The Last Airbender over a gold background. She is shown from the shoulders up facing the viewer, and has a neutral expression. She is wearing metal armor over a light green tunic, and is wearing her Kyoshi Warriors facepaint and headdress. The artist’s signature ‘Astra’ is written in the lower right of the image. /.End ID]

In this description:

I made clear where the description begins and ends, so that someone with a screenreader is not confused. I usually use brackets ([ ]), write the words ‘Image ID’ (or video/gif/other) and finish with a slash, period, and the words End ID. (/.End ID)

I emphasized the type of image, in this case a digital drawing

I said the character’s name (obviously this may not be known if describing a photo or something you are not familiar with)

I described the background and the character’s clothing

I described her expression

I included the description of my signature.

This is my basic process for writing a description

I first say what the content is, such as a drawing, photo, or screenshot of a tweet.

I then use what is called Object-Action-Context for the most part, which UXDesign has a long article on https://uxdesign.cc/how-to-write-an-image-description-2f30d3bf5546. For example, [Image ID: A photo of a person standing in a crowd waving to someone out of view in front of a river. /.End ID] While obviously I would usually provide more information than that, Person = object, standing + waving to someone out of view = action, and ‘in a crowd’ = context.

I describe the clothing that might be worn

I talk about the position that people in an image might be in, such as leaning against one another on a couch, or standing with their fingers intertwined

I talk about the expressions on their faces, if shown

I talk about their general appearance (if important to the description) such as hair color/length

As said before, I talk about the context of an image if necessary

If the background is a simple color, I usually include it in the first sentence of the description. However if it is more complicated, such as a river winding through a dense forest, I include that at the end of the description after describing the important elements.

Typically if I am reblogging an image, I do not add on any commentary after creating an image description, as this allows others to reblog my description without my personal reaction. If I want to add on to an image, I usually reblog my description post.

In general, it is best to remain objective when writing a description, meaning not including your opinion of the content. However especially in an informal setting, say for instance you were describing an adorable cow, I would see it as fine to say [Image ID: A small drawing of an adorable cow. /.End ID] because the emphasis is on the appearance. There isn’t a clearcut answer, and it really depends on the context.

What are some tips for writing descriptions/common pitfalls?

If there is an element of an image like a line that represents an emotion, or a sound effect like ‘clang’ if something falls, include that in the description. For instance, [Image ID: ...beside the mug that has fallen on the floor, there are the words ‘sploosh’ indicating the sound of the water that has spilled out. /.End ID]

Put image descriptions first. Don’t hide them under readmores or any other text. If you have something with multiple images and you are the creator, place the description under each image in succession rather than all at the end. Readmores are ableist, as they require someone who has vision problems/one of the conditions described above to do more work to access the message of visual content.

If you are mentioning the skin color and/or race of someone in an image, make sure you describe it for anyone else who might be in an image. Don’t just describe the race of someone who appears to not be white. This doesn’t mean that you have to describe race, such as if the character is one whose race is commonly known, just that if you do, make sure you do it for all characters/people in an image.

In order to write IDs effectively, I’ve found it useful to download a screen reader. I use NVDA, which is entirely free and easy to use and can be downloaded here: https://www.nvaccess.org/download/.

Insert + Q turns it off

While my guide has focused mostly on image descriptions, video descriptions are also necessary. However they are not my area of expertise, and differ slightly, so I would recommend anyone interested in them to check out this website https://www.washington.edu/accessibility/videos/

Transcripts, for those who are d/Deaf/Hard of Hearing, are also necessary for making content accessible, and might be required for content that also has a visual format, such as a Tiktok. I would recommend this website https://www.w3.org/WAI/media/av/transcripts/ for anyone interested in writing transcripts

What are some more resources I can check out?

Here are a series of websites that I have found while researching how to write descriptions

UX Design - I mentioned UX Design earlier when talking about Object - Action - Context, this article is very useful and examines how to structure a description and provides very useful examples for beginners

Perkins E-Learning - This article is very useful in helping someone what to include in a description, such as clothing or background information, as well as providing some additional information on alt text if you are interested

Meloukhianet - This blog post by s. e. smith goes into detail on the elements of an image to emphasize depending on its context, using the example of a picture of their cat sunning himself.

SOAP - This article by the Stanford Online Accessibility Program (SOAP) provides a large amount of information on the purpose of image descriptions and what content requires them

HubPages - This article by SOTD and Zera discusses the difference between sparse, lush, and overdone descriptions, which is the amount of information included, and if/when each should be used.

I hope you found this information helpful, I encourage everyone to check out these websites, and my inbox is always open for questions!

#has id #please feel free to send me any questions you might have!#while I am not a professional by any definition of the term #accessibility is a large interest of mine and so I am more than happy to help #image descriptions #accessibility

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