#dont fight in tags ir comments

[autistic-rogue]

New mutants are all gay

Karma = canonical lesbian

Cypher and warlock their something going on there

Dan Monstar or mirage=is a lesbian because I said so.

Sunspot = is a bi icon

Cannonball =is a bi disaster

Boom boom = is pan or bi or ace

Magik= is ace reading to be and subtextual is obv a lesbian

Wolfbane = either bi or lesbian but i see her in the 90s x-factor as aroace

Magma (i have no strong opinions)

[britishassistant]

Saw ur tags abt bg3 paranoid villian yuu being judges for their taste in men and just.. hmm. I wonder who the companions would approve of, if anyone?

I can see Astarion lording his power as yuu's "sibling" (if that bit is canon) over the others like "I'm their sibling, I get a say on who they're dating." Only for the other tadpoles to be like "dude we know by now that was a lie lmao ur not actually their 'big brother'" and then he goes off to sulk in a corner.

On Astarion, I could see him approving of Vil, Azul and the Tweels? Based on his reaction to Ethel/general goofy blood-lust (lol literally) maybe the tweels would be his favourites as teens he can tolerate, whether or not yuu should be dating them though... I can also see him, on one hand relating to jamil's struggles as a servant, and on another hand being pissy, because what's he got to complain about Kalim is annoying but seems to treat him well/put too much faith in him, back in His day the masters you rebelled against were horrible people (we get it astarion you have trauma). I can see him being slightly wary of Malleus, and simultaneously going "holy shit yuu get that bag!!! He's rich as fuck it doesn't matter if you actually like him, marry him for the money! (And then kill him)" Riddle would definitely annoy him, quite frankly I think a lot of the nrc boys would, though I think Rook would be highest on his list of "get the absolute fuck away from me and that tiefling kid I totally dont care about rn".

I can see Gale quite approving of Trey, bc cooking/baking skills, plus he just seems like such a nice young chap! The teeth thing is a little odd but hey we all have strange interests! I think Deuce's heartfelt will to be a better person for his mother would probably strike a chord in him too, he might try and take the poor boy under his wing lol.

Shadowheart is tricky to me, but maybe Jamil? Or Vil? Both are sort of trying to get away from their past and become greater, maybe that would resonate with her. Plus theyre both kinda catty as well. Tbh I just feel like she'd sit in the background sipping wine and making pointed remarks at almost all of them lol. Pretwnds shes above getting invested in teen drama but is always conveniently nearby whenever vil and leona are arguing. (So is Astarion.) Ace might be good actually, as a trickster who is rather mean to everyone, including yuu, but is also impressively ride ir die/protective of them (remember when he punched riddle for being mean to yuu in twst canon? He's a softies for his friends I just know it) Tbh I think either someone she can tease, or someone she can get into a playful bitch-fit with would be good in her book as long as they're treating yuu right.

Lae'zel approves of none of them. They are all distractions from her Gi's training and all are unworthy. They cannot even best the owlbear in single combat. (Imagine her making an offhand comment and some of the more foolhardy boys take this as a challenge lol) Floyd makes a comment about "squeezing his shrimpy" and Lae'zel immidiently instructs yuu on how to crush his ass flat. On one hand, I don't think she'd react well to him calling them food. (From her perspective lol) On the other hand, since physically fighting your lover seems to be a thing for gith, maybe she'd approve of the "courting method" (even if he meant it fully platonically lmao). I think if anyone, Jack's seriousness and drive to improve himself through training might fufill the "bare minimum" for her. Sebeck's loud devotion to Malleus might remind herself of what she was like with Vlakeeth, I wonder how that dynamic would go. Actually she might rather like him, he's trained in combat (silver would be a contender, but his sleeping problem would probably make him unreliable in her eyes), and her and Sebeck sort of speak the same language in a sense, with the whole "I am superior to you and will give you backhanded compliments whenever I try to say smth nice". The fact that he's a dragonborn might help too, from what I remember of Lae's dialouge when I played as one she warmed up to me quicker I think lol. Actually, I wonder if Lae'zel would outright remind Yuu of Sebeck, since the more I think about it the more they seem kinda similar.

I think Wyll would probably like Jack too, along with Deuce, the pair of good boys. He would be able to bond a bit with Deuce over knowing what its like to dissapoint a parent, though his case was much more severe. I think he would absolutely be wary of Azul, considering the whole deal maker thing (especially if magical contracts were brought into play), though honestly I think any boy could win him over of they prove to be genuinely interested in yuu and treating them well lol. Actually, maybe he could resonate with Leona a bit on struggling to live up to parental expectations? Though he'd probably try to gently encourage him to like take up a non-destructive hobby or something.

Oh my god I can't believe I forgot Ruggie when talking abt Astarion. Astarion Absolutely approves of/likes Ruggie. Scratch the tweels, that's his new favourite lol.

I can see Karlach as being similar to Wyll, where she ultimately doesn't rly care abt how yuu is dating as long as the person in question treats them right. Though I can see her really getting along with Kalim, as fellow upbeat party people (aside from the culture shock between rich and poor lol), though I can also see her gently trying to nudge him to become more independent for his own sake lol. (If they're somehow meeting the twst boys pre end of journey, you cannot tell me they don't both think it's a good idea for kalim to use his um on her to try and cool her down, if ums r a thing here lol). I can see her finding Riddle stressful to be honest, why is this small red child giving her homework? She's an adult, and she'd rather not have to read a book of 810 rules today, thank you. She might not say that directly to his face though. I can see her being... wary? A little concerned of boys who appear friendly but you just know are hiding smth, especially if they're rich/business folk cough cough gortash cough cough. (Can't wait to see how yuu reacts to him lmao). I imagine her finding the first year's sweet, since they seem to be such a bonded group lol.

Halsin is another one where I feel like it doesn't rly matter much to him as long as yuu is happy :). Though maybe any boys who are druids may have an edge?

Minthara (if here) approves of absolutely none of them. They are all men, absolutely not. If you really must have a date, yuu, come with her and you two can scope out some more worthy options.

Overall I would like to speculate that, from most to least picky/judgemental abt yuu's dating life, would be: Minthara (If present), Lae'zel, Astarion, Shadowheart, Wyll, Gale, Karlach, Halsin.

Though imagining the eventual reaction of the twst boys to yuu coming home from a horrifying adventure with 6-8 new familial figures is funny.

"Yuu is that- oh gods that's clearly a vampire right next to you ok don't panic ill save you- WHAT DO YOU MEAN "YOU ADOPTED HIM"?" (Astarion jumps in to loudly protest that he the one who did the adopting. Everyone ignores him)

"Yuu is that an owlbear. Yuu where the fuck did you get an owlbear- oH SEVEN ITS HEADING STRAIGHT FOR ME!"

Not to mention the bg3 crew coming together to collectively beat Crowley's ass. They're literally saviours of the world at this point with the skills/power to back it up, what can he really do against them? Crewel just stands back and watches, sipping his coffee and covertly giving them a thumbs up.

Do you have any thoughts on what grim is in this au? Would be funny if he was like, a baby tressym for Tara to fuss over. Or maybe an actual powerful wizard cursed to live in the body of a cat? Who knows.

Yuu comes back from their lifechanging quest to save the world like: "hey guys!! I'm a proper bard now :))" and all their nrc friends are like. "That's cool yuu. Who are all those wierd looking adults behind you that are staring into our souls and where did you get those animals from."

Actually it might be funny if each bg3 companion resonated with one dorm, though I would say it's kinda unrealistic lol. But my organisation brain loves it. Astarion obvi has to be Octoville, Lae'zel I think would work for either Diasomnia or Savanaclaw (both have aspects I think she would like but I also think she'd have issues with certain people), Karlach is Scarabia and not just bc fire=hot, but bc I just think she would vibe so hard with Kalim. She might have a little brother now who's to say. I think Gale could work well with Indihyde (how did I not mention idia in his section. The isolation from ppl/general wasting away alone, I think gale would probably actually take this one under his metaphorical wing and try to gently push idia out of his comfort zone, to the poor boy's discomfort) Wyll is tricky, maybe Diasomnia? Or heartsaybul?? Honestly I have no idea. Shadowheart also stumps me a bit, bit probably Pomifore. Halsin is probably Savanaclaw tbh, and Minthara (again if here), really only would work with Pomifore. That's based more off the vibes of the dorm than the actual characters in them though. Actually, maybe Gale would see the Queen of Hearts rules as a fun little challenge/cultural exchange sort of thing, maybe one of the only ones in the bg3 group who would be excited about and genuinely try to memorise them all. He'd also call out when the others slip up, much to everyone (specifically Astarion)'s annoyance.

Gale: "Ah! You see, Astarion, according to rule #435, one must always tie their shoelaces clockwise on a Saturday! 😏 How silly of you to forget it."

Astarion is fuming. Riddle is wondering if this is what having a father is like (no, riddle, this isn't parental affection, you need serious help).

Sorry this was just a bunch of disorganised thoughts, these two hyperfixations are also hitting me like a frieght train. Hope at least some of it was interesting!

aaaaAAAAH THERE ARE NO WORDS FOR HOW EXCITED I WAS TO RECEIVE THIS ASK!!!

(Which is partially why I took so long in answering it, as I enjoyed rereading it so much)

While Astarion getting to pretend to be the insufferable elder brother he was destined to be is part of an AU focusing on him as the “player” character, I will tell you for free that he and Yuu manage to keep up the sibling act at least until Act 2, when the Shadow-Cursed lands’ lack of nutrition forces them to come clean about the whole “vampire” thing.

Gale, Shadowheart, and Wyll are scandalized. Karlach’s half convinced they’re still related somehow. Lae’zel doesn’t understand what sib-lings are and doesn’t want to.

But no, yeah, I personally headcanon that Astarion is the one who overhears Yuu defending themself from Withers’ questioning of their single status by claiming they’re interested in someone from their old mercenary group rather than any of their current companions…

And once that little tidbit gets shared around the tadpole, and sundry members of that mercenary group start popping up in the Shadow-Cursed lands and in Baldur’s Gate?

Let’s just say Yuu is receiving a lot of unsolicited advice on their taste in men and who is suitable enough to date them.

(Yes, Minthara is there. I accidentally knocked her out because I forgot to turn off the setting after Ethel’s lair, saved her to help bust the prisoners out of Moonrise, and then was weak to puppy-dog eyes when Yuu tried to tell her “I’m still mad about the attempted murder over the grove, go away”. Halsin took being kicked out of his tent with exceptional grace.)

Also Malleus is a black dragon who’s just reached the age where he can take on a human form, though he’s not quite mastered hiding his horns, tail, or various scales depending on his emotions. Astarion and Karlach both get deja vu when they meet him…

The Night Raven mercenaries, for their part, also have opinions about Yuu’s new travelling companions.

These tend to range from excited (“Ah, Yuu, these are the guys you’re travelling with now?! It’s great to meet you!! Hey, hey, Jamil, we should throw a party to celebrate!”) to curious (“Eh, Shrimpy, are you sure these guys are strong? Maybe I should put ‘em through their paces t’ make sure, ehhehehe~”) to opportunistic (���So now that you’re a hero, you won’t go forgetting any of your old buddies, right? It’s good to help out the less fortunate, shihihi.”) to wary (“Y-Y-Yuu-sshi, you do know th-that’s a githyanki, right?? And a devil?? And a vampire, and a Sharran?!? I-it’s like a buffet of super elite flee on sight mooks here, what—whAT DO YOU MEAN THE OTHER TWO ARE GOING TO EXPLODE—?!”) to disdainful (“Hmph. I suppose such ruffians are suited to your scaleless company, but THEY ARE FAR TOO UNPOLISHED TO BASK IN THE GLORY OF LORD MALLEUS!!”) to fervent (“Ah, mon cher ‘tit Trickster, how interessante your friends are! And you are certain I cannot study them more closely?”) to mildly insecure (“W-well ‘s not like it matters because Yuu was adventuring with us first, so—no I’m not bein’ weird Deuce, shutUP!”).

Yuu’s former coworkers all more surprised by Scratch the dog than Munch the owlbear, to be honest. After all, Yuu has a history of getting soft spots for gluttonous little creatures who look cute but will grow into something dangerous. But Yuu being a dog person?! Who could have seen that one coming??

They just hope that this time will go better than it did with that cat-like monster who wanted to be a wizard in the Hells…

As for which houses each of our tadpole gang belong in…this is my take:

Lae’zel: Savannaclaw

Shadowheart: Ignihyde

Astarion: Octavinelle

Gale: Heartslaybul

Wyll: Diasomnia

Karlach: Scarabia

Halsin: Ramshackle

Minthara: Pomefiore

Also not me getting to the bit of Gale’s dialogue where he describes himself as “the villain of this story” and immediately having my brain jump to “Professor Dekarios of Night Raven College” XD XD

He overblots and it’s a timed fight to beat him up before the overblot activates the orb in his chest and everyone gets blown up.

Thank you so much again for sending this ask in!

[jangofctts]

Sink Your Teeth In (Part 2 of Are You In Or Out?)

Rated: Explicit (Paz is in the next chapter DONT WORRY)

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, the cold?, reader is in PERIL YET AGAIN, vaginal fingering, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap them schlongs yall), brief hand jobs, swearing, angst, very VERY light choking, din is a sub sorta?? bottom energy 

Summary: Well. At least you aren't dead. After a solo hunt gone wrong, you’re dumped in a cave on Csilla. Hopefully someone finds you before you freeze to death.  

a/n: hey…so uh. HOW ABOUT THAT EPISODE HUH?!? aheM anyway--yall I just wanna thank everyone first off for all the love and support!!! I see all of your comments and tags and AH IM SO LUCKY TO HAVE ALL OF YOU GUYS. ALSO SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO @djxrxn​ THIS WOULDNT HAVE BEEN DONE WITHOUT YOU BB GORL

Well—

Here you are. 

Taken by surprise by another bounty, further proving how irrevocably incompetent you are at this line of work. You blame the binders. An older, clunkier model—easy to pick if you’re clever enough and yes. Maybe you should’ve asked to borrow a carbonite chamber, but hey—where’s the fun in that? 

Not much, as it so happens. 

Your feet had been kicked up on the dashboard, dozing and unaware of the freed bounty creeping up behind the pilot’s seat. Something delightfully blunt smashed against your temple, jolting you into a brief conscious state where the only thing you could think before passing out again, was a resounding— 

Oh, fuck me sideways with a fucking lightsaber—

The rest is hazy. A blur of colors and the fuzzy shapes of your bounty’s face sneering in amusement when she bound your wrists and ankles and left you in the cargo hold. Vaguely you recall your ship being commandeered, swung into an unidentified atmosphere and landing on said unknown planet Or planets. Planet hopping to cover up a trail. 

The bitter cold, sharper than a needle through skin is what shook off the last dregs of unconsciousness. The bounty’s hand was hooked into the collar of your clothes, dragging your limp body through drifts of snow and ice. You would’ve fought back—should’ve even though each extremity felt like a numb block of lead. Not very useful in a fight…

Soon, the snow turned to mud and the mud to stone as a mouth of a cave slid over the impossibly blue sky. Dumped in a cave, and left to die—perfect way to bite the dust. Your bounty turned captor lands a sharp kick to your ribs, mouthing some curse in a language you don’t understand, and left without a second thought. 

Seems about right. You have a knack for lying helpless and half dead in places you ought not to be in. 

Two days and counting, you’ve been holed up in this blasted cave with no food, no supplies and no comlink. It’s going be a fucking chore to find you—nearly impossible. You’re lucky in that aspect you guess—you know enough bounty hunters to sniff out a a needle in a whole stack of needles, so all it is is a race of time against the elements and how long it takes for one of them to notice.            

Aeris is no help. He left a day before you had—hired as personal protection for some syndicate leader halfway across the galaxy. Ives is in a similar boat, off-world and unavailable to drag your ass out of the hole you’ve dug. Which leaves…

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb. Anytime you even think of those two a migraine cumulates behind your eyes. It’s…it’s not like anything bad happened in the aftermath—there’s been no fallout or arguments with barbed words as weapons. It’s been quiet. Like stepping onto a sheet of cracked transparisteel in a library full of tight-lipped academics. 

The questions lurk under the surface of every conversation and longing look cast your way. You’ll need to clarify and sort things out eventually, but fuck—it’s such a mess of frazzled heartstrings and fine strands of impossible thoughts that lead into an endless void of doubt. You’re shoving that emotional time bomb to the very back of your mind—everything is still so raw…  

So you ran. 

Picked up any and all jobs that the Guild provided just to escape the looming decision of confronting a certain pair of Mandalorians. That and with them having their own tasks to complete, it was rare to see them, let alone together in the past few weeks. A simple run in here and there in the halls of the Covert, but you were too busy to stop and chat—forced a chaotic schedule upon yourself as an excuse to avoid staying in once place at a time.    

Coward.

The word knots in your stomach like gnarled tree roots escaping their prison of dark soil on untrodden land.  

Maker—how did everything become so tangled? 

You draw your knees up to your chest and release a long, drawn out exhale that echoes through the cave. You sniff and force the swell of tears that prick at your eyes away. You’re pretty sure they’ll freeze and you’re not hoping to find out. 

The only good thing about being dropped on this Maker-forsaken, wasteland devoid of anything but snow, is the free ice for the nasty gash on your forehead. A nice little parting gift. 

It’s shallow…you think—it stopped bleeding the night before and is now just a scabbed over, tender wound that throbs whenever you move your head too fast. Concussion maybe—a mild one.  

Maker willing when someone finds your sorry ass they’ll have bacta. Or a blanket. Either would be peachy.     

Sitting up with a wince, you shuffle to the mouth of the cave for the thousandth time and scour the skyline for a familiar ship. Or, any ship really. The only thing you do see is a lonesome wisp of cloud against the grayish blue sky much to your chagrin. You scowl and stalk back into your little hovel and slump back onto the ground. 

The hours drag on, the watery light of the dying sun barely doing anything to warm you. Sulking is hardly what you should be doing—not great for the burdened mind and all that, but ah, it’s so fun to wallow in misery. You curl your knees up to your chest and you must slip into a doze because when you’re snapped back into the present, footsteps punch through the frozen tundra outside your cave.  

Adrenaline crackles down your spine—the bounty changed her mind. Ultimately decided she’d be safer in the long run with you dead. Fine.

If this is where your grave is going to be, might as well get in one or two punches. What’s another black eye anyway?

A shadow flickers at the mouth of the cave, curling around the wall as she draws closer. A brown boot kicks through the snow and— 

“Changed your mind? I—“

Your words die on your tongue as relief floods your veins. Din Djarin stands before you, a sight for sore eyes in these trying times. 

Frost glitters on the burgundy chest plate, glinting in the dim sunlight that touches the mouth of the cave. A delicate feathering of the dainty crystals that no high end lace maker could ever hope to mimic curls up the front of Din’s visor and eats away at the edges of his cloak. His heavy step forward reverberates off the walls, some of that ease replaced by the prickle of dread. His silence is unnerving. 

“Din,” you say again, just so he’ll say something. “I can—“

You move to stand, but he interrupts with a halting;

“Sit.”       

Your mouth snaps shut and you drop back on the floor. This…is not good. His footsteps are heavy as he approaches you and every muscle in your frame tightens like a fist wrapping around your ribcage and squeezing. The precise edges of his helmet are not a forgiving sight and even when he kneels onto one knee you have to resist the natural urge to flinch. Like this, despite hunching over, Din is broad. All hard muscle and sinew amplified by the bulky layer of beskar.   

Your tongue runs over the insides of your teeth as you track his hand that he thrusts foreword. You hiss and jerk away at the sudden needly pain when his gloved thumb finds the edges of your head wound. A low sound of disapproval filters out through the helmet in a low metallic buzz. 

“You won’t need stitches,” he says. Din reaches into one of his various supply pouches and pulls out a tiny vile of bacta. He casually pulls off his right glove, unscrews the vile and smears the bacta over his thumb. This time you don’t make a sound, even though your nerves scream at the razor like sensation of his thumb working the bacta into the damaged flesh. He doesn’t ask how the injury happened and you don’t care to tell him. There’s a time and place for stories about battle scars and near misses—it’s much too fresh to be spoken of right now. 

The brief torture finally ends after once last glance over for other presenting injuries. He finds none, replaces his glove and stands with a muted grunt. You know what’s next. You’d rather avoid it—you aren’t keen on the berating lectures—as deserved as they are.      

“I found your ship on Sato 3,” Din begins with a growl. “Imagine my surprise when I found your bounty selling it for parts.”  

Ah, there it is. You wince and study your fingernails. “Pile of junk anyway…”

“I thought you’d be smarter about these things,” he snarls, his sharp tone deadly enough to slice through bone. “Was the hole blown into your lung not enough for you?”

You swallow and bite your tongue.  

The bristling Mandalorian, continues and jabs an orange tipped finger at you. “You are reckless.”

Your chest constricts as you look away, shame blooming in the pit of your stomach.This is a new facet of Din you’ve never encountered. You aren’t naïve—even the most docile of people can harbor a temper, you know that. And you know Din is by no means passive—he’s an elite warrior equipped with a small arsenal at his disposal. You don’t expect him to coddle you or treat you different than any other companion; but…but it’s hard not to take his ire to heart. Not when it’s the kind of anger that boils deep in your chest and erupts with molten streams that leaves scathing wounds and blistered feelings.  

You chew your lip hard enough to taste blood and avoid his piercing gaze. You think if you do you might catch fire and burn to a crisp. “I’m sorry.”   

The meek apology settles in the air like a heavy fog. Din’s anger still brews, looming and dark but he reigns in his temper and switches out the searing cadence of his words with chilly informality. You’re not sure which is worse.   

“No more bounties.” 

“What?” Your brows knit together. The fuck does he mean.  

“No more hunts alone—“  

You interrupt with a scoff. “You’re grounding me?”

He strides across the small space and plants himself on the opposing wall. “Until you’re competent enough, you have no business being out in the field. You might as well be bait at this point.” 

“Competent.” You echo through clenched teeth.  

His helmet dips, leveling a steady glare of indifference. “The Crest is a half cycle’s walk from here. In the morning I’m taking you back to Nevarro.”   

“I’m not a child. You can’t just,” you throw your hands up in dismay, “ban me from bounty hunting.”    

Din’s armor clinks together as he moves to sit. He rests one elbow on his propped up knee, extends his other and rolls his helmet to meet your eyes. “Your actions reflect the Covert now. We can’t risk discovery because of one stupid mistake or a careless loose end.”    

That hadn’t even crossed your mind. Stars, you want to smack yourself. Your ship, as shitty as it was, hosted a good chunk of sensitive information, all encrypted and translated into binary. A mediocre slicer could hack through it in hours. Not exactly foolproof but hey, at least you had something. Good thing your bounty wasn’t in the market of selling stolen ships to the Empire. 

“Din?”

The Mandalorian makes no noise of affirmation that he heard you. You sigh and take his silence as a go ahead and clear your throat. “How long was I gone for?”

Here, in the cave it’s been nearly three days, but the rest of it you’re not exactly sure. Hunting the bounty down took up at least a week or two and even longer to capture her and there’s no accounting for the time lost after your ship was commandeered. Your teeth roll over your bottom lip as you wait for him to respond. 

“Almost two months.” He replies evenly. “Your transmissions were cut three weeks ago and I didn’t think anything of it. Comms are always patchy in Wild Space."

Leather creaks as his fist balls at his side. “You didn’t answer for days. Paz and I tracked the ship to Sato 3, but you weren’t there. Do you know how difficult it was to pick through all the planets recorded on your log?”

You blink and return to picking at your fingernails. 

“You weren’t easy to find, I—“ He severs the rest of his sentence with a crackling sigh and tilts his head back. “You’re lucky.”    

The hesitance lacing his words makes you bite your tongue, the snarky retort crumbling to ash in your mouth. Din doesn’t bother to filter his words—he’s blunt. Efficient and to the point when he does decide to speak. That…well that was different.   

He was worried—

You rub at your cheek—numb with the cold and curl into yourself. Din was worried. Easily the most feared bounty hunter in the parsec, worried that he couldn’t find you.   

A different cold—one that settles deep into the marrow of your bones and hugs your soul with a sheet of frost, makes a home in your heart. The severity of what could’ve happened replaces that sheen of hilarity and fuck. You were closer to freezing to death than Din finding you here—alone in some stupid kriffing cave.  

Somehow the idea of that is worse than the brief brush of eternal slumber you had on Nar Shaddaa. Up to that point you expected to die young—no harm and no foul in it either. You had no attachments, no debt to pay—a drifter in an endless galaxy.    

Now you’re here, buckling under the weight of mismanaged friendships and your uncanny skill at weaseling into any and all trouble. 

Neither you or Din jump to fill the silence. The ashes of disaster settle in nicely with the frozen echo of an endless winter.      

It’d been a couple hours shy from sunset when Din arrived, the sun providing weak light that hardly touched the mouth of the cave. Now as the shadows grow longer and with the temperature dropping, the two of you are swallowed up by the unyielding darkness of night. 

Din shuffles and fishes out the solar light from his supply bag. It clicks on and warm, orange light illuminates the cave. It bounces off his beskar, fracturing the light like a million tiny suns in the tempered metal and in the impossibly dark visor. He looks up, and tosses the light over. 

You catch it easily and despite the warmness of the light it emits, it offers no heat for your chilled fingers. You set it to the side and tuck your hands into your armpits. 

By no means is the cave warm—the natural thermal vents kept the ground dry and free of the ice and snow that rages outside, but it doesn’t protect you from the occasion chilly draft that cuts through each layer you wear. Then again, you weren’t planning on taking an unexpected vacation on Csilla. No time to plan really.  

You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest and cast a glance at your ever radiant ray of sunshine across from you.  

He looks nice and cozy—leaned back against the cave wall, one leg crossed over the other while his hands sit intertwined just below his navel. The beskar must provide insulation—maybe a fancy heater in that bucket of his, or maybe he’s just too stubborn to show anything other than indifference.   

Another bout of shivers tear through your frame and you’re certain Din can hear the enamel of your teeth clack together. You shove your hands deeper into your armpits and tuck your chin into your chest to preserve heat and pray that sleep isn’t far off—can’t be cold if you’re unconscious.    

Metal scrapes over stone as Din readjusts himself and you can feel him looking at you. It’s not a terrible weight to bear; intense and analytic, sure and in the past it would’ve unnerved you. Now, instead of it feeling like he were peeling back each fibre of your soul each time he stares, it’s familiar. A pattern of sorts—

It happens each time Din wrestles with an uncertain question. He deals in absolutes, and it’s no surprise he rarely knows what to say to you. 

“You’re shivering,” he states. You roll your eyes. “Are you cold?”

“Boiling, actually,” you snip. “Why else would I forget a jacket?”

A sharp hiss of air crackles through the vocoder. “Don’t get mouthy with me. It was a simple question.”

“Well—there’s not much to do about it,” you sneer, watching your breath condensate in the air. “I’m freezing, exhausted, and hungry.”       

You know you’re being snide—but your nerves feel like they’ve been severed at the root with a dull vibroblade. You have neither the time nor energy to spare for simple questions. Din should understand that—seeing as he’s a man familiar with short temperament.

The space between you is ripe with crackling tension, and maybe—if you weren’t so fucking cold—you’d play the mediator. Thread stitches into the gash you both sliced into your friendship, as small it may be. You’ve lost friends over less—this could end up no different.

You sigh and turn your head. This is a problem for tomorrow. 

Irritated and upset, you squeeze your eyes shut and chase after sleep. You slip in a doze faster than expected, any and all discomfort fading away a you toe the line between a deeper sleep and waking dreams. You think you imagined Din saying your name—Maker you can’t even escape him in your own fucking head—  

It doesn’t end—like a nagging buzz that swells until it’s right near your ear. Spite spurs you to ignore It and exhaustion convinces you to drift further away. That is, until a hand, gentle and warm curls around your shoulder. You once again hear your name rumble low through Din’s helmet, but it’s much too difficult to open your eyes. Why can’t he leave you be? You barely feel the cold now…

“Stay awake.” Din sounds distant, in some other plane of existence despite the steady hold he has on your arm. “Maker—you’re colder than kriffing ice.” 

“Go away,” you grumble through numb lips. Such a pest.  

He’s talking—but the words don’t make sense. Muddled—split between that hazy line of dreaming and consciousness where you can’t decipher what’s real. His hands however—you can feel those plain as day. A bare palm cups your cheek—shreds through the layer of frost you’re positive has crystalized over your skin and rouses you to a more coherent level of presentness.       

“Don’t quit on me yet—“

“Nah,” you mumble. “I’m hard to…to kill. L-like a scrap rat…”  

Din grunts in response. “Rat is a compliment. You’re more of a spider-roach.”

The ends of your mouth quirk. It’s the best you can do—a full smile just might push you to the brink of death.        

“C’mon—I won’t let either of us freeze,” Din sighs. His fingers find the magnetized latches on his cuirass and it slips off with practiced ease, the armored thigh plating following a moment later. He neatly sets it to the side and grabs his cloak to fasten it around you. With another sigh, Din shuffles in behind you and wraps an arm around your middle, nestling his legs and body snuggly around yours.   

Maker—you don’t have time to bother about the intimacy of this because all you’re drawn to is the furnace like heat. Fuck, he’s so warm. You have only a second to enjoy it before your body begins to thaw—bringing forth waves of achey pain.   

His chest molds to your back, both arms curling over your own arms that are scrunched up tight around your chest. You shake in his hold, vicious waves of cold clashing against his body heat—it hurts—like sticking your bare foot into hot coals.     

You squirm, little gasps of discomfort slipping out that echo around the cave. Din shifts, tucking you further under his body until he’s nearly crushing you. It’s a bit tricky to breathe like this but hey—you’re not complaining. Not when your nose is buried in his soft undershirt that smells purely of Din.   

Your fingers and toes still throb as they thaw, but it’s working. Cuddling Din Djarin to stave off hypothermia—sounds kriffing ridiculous. 

“You’re still shivering,” he says. “I might…”

Your breath catches in your throat as he trails off. “Might what?”

Another shiver wracks through your body as his frosty helmet catches on bare skin when he dips his head in embarrassment. You don’t quite catch what he says and he doesn’t bother to clarify. “Forget it.”  

You turn your head as much as you can, straining your eyes to meet the strip of visor. “Tell me.”

He mumbles under his breath again and cuddles closer, slotting his hips against your ass. “Might know…know another way to keep us warm…”

Oh. 

A spark breathes to life in the pit of your tummy. You wiggle onto your back, your nose brushing the vizor. “Does it involve me taking off my pants?” 

Din huffs, his hands, previously latched onto your hips, starting to crawl up your waist. “It could…”    

You smirk and rock your hips back, eliciting a low growl that rumbles through his chest. With your whine of approval, Din’s hand slips between your legs and gives the meat of your inner thigh a squeeze. You let your knees fall open as far as they can in this position and it’s all Din needs to cup your cunt through the thin material of your trousers. 

Crackling pleasure flood your veins as the heel of his palm grinds into your clit, and while the pressure is nice, it does nothing to satisfy. Only feeds the growing flames of desire with brittle kindling. 

You pull at his undershirt and whimper, thrilled once his deft fingers, calloused and thick unlace your pants and yank far enough down to fit his hand. His fingers trace your outer lips, a ghost of a touch as arousal swells in your stomach. He parts your folds once your wetness begins to dribble out and coats his fingertips with your arousal. 

Stars—you need him. You arch into him and whine. “Touch me. Din, please—“ 

You jerk as Din’s thumb swirls a slow circle over your clit, a rush of endorphins surging out like unrefined fire whiskey. Din’s head tilts to watch you writhe over his fingers and the sudden chill of his helmet touching the inside of your flushed neck steals away your next inhale. Goosebumps race down your entire being, adding to the influx of your excitement that pools in your lower belly.       

Your hands tangle into his undershirt, pulling him closer until you can’t find where he begins and you end. His heart pounds in his chest, thrumming to the dance of your own heart that yearns to break free from your ribcage. Your breath catches when two of his thick fingers tease at your entrance. Your walls flutter around him as the slip in easily.   

His fingers roll forward and stroke against something devastating inside of you, and he when his palm rolls back, it bumps against your clit with that divine firmness you need. Your cunt tightens around the two digits as they curl.  

“Fuck. Can you hear yourself?” He pants, groping your breast to elicit a high pitched wail. “You always make—make such pretty noises.” 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words and fuck. You’re already dipping head first into release. A moment later you’re arching into his chest as every muscle stiffens in a crescendo of bliss, your stuttered breathing harsh even to your own ears.  

Your quick pants fog up his visor as Din rests the crown of his helmet on your forehead, the metal a cool relief to your flushed skin. He slips his fingers out of your dripping cunt, your chest still heaving with exertion as the last strands of your high fizzle and ebb away. Din shifts and and snakes his fingers, still shiny and wet with your arousal, beneath the lip of his helmet and sucks them clean with an appreciative groan.  

“Fuck—“ You breathe, pushing your face into his hand as he cups your cheek. Din’s thumb brushes over your cheekbone and swings his leg over your hips to hoist himself over you. 

“Do you remember...” He starts, his voice buzzing through the vocoder. His fingers tickle down your cheek and trace the parted outline of your lips. “When you let me taste you?”

You nod, and it’s all you’re able to do. You’re not even sure you can formulate words, let alone voice them right now. 

Din’s thumb pulls at your plush bottom lip, and you can’t help but slide your tongue along the digit. He grunts and slips his thumb into the wet heat of your mouth. “I think about you every night…how you came on my tongue—”

Your stomach flips as a rush of arousal sweeps through your tummy. You groan and you’re half sure you’re gonna dissipate into the floor from how hot your cheeks burn. “Din—"  

He continues without missing a beat. 

“You were so fucking wet for me—dripped all over my hand,” he murmurs, nuzzling his helmet, still chilly and frosted over, into the crook of you neck.  “I want to do it again—can I?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence. He wasn’t the only one longing for his head between your thighs on those long nights apart. Remembering those plush lips and addictive touches could only get you so far and well—he’s here now. You said it once and you’ll say it again—there’s no chance in hell you’d be passing up this opportunity. 

Din lifts his head and as you watch the light glitter in the reflection of the beskar, a sudden stray thought ricochets into the forefront of your mind. “Din, the light—your helmet.”

He pauses, his body tensing as he mulls over his options. “It’s—I—it’s ok…It’ll be ok.”

Din inhales a stuttered breath and casts a brief glance over his shoulder. It’s a dim light, kicked into the corner and laying on its side. From this angle, his face would be partially obscured in shadow…but still. There are easier ways to go about this. Ways that don’t risk jeopardizing the very foundation of who he is—what he stands for and what he so devoutly follows.    

To say you know anything about his religion is laughable. Everything you know can fit on the back of a thumbtack and even still, you’re sure that half of that is still based upon rumor and speculation. But this—what Din is hinting at, you know is not something to be taken lightly. 

He’s stripping his soul bare for you—allowing you to glimpse at that bleeding heart of his he guards so securely within layers of flesh and bone and impenetrable beskar. Din is gifting you his trust and there’s no where else to put it except for the space beneath your breast bone.   

Yet, even still—this could mean nothing at all. You have no way to know the exact magnitude of what this means to him. If he’s alright with this, who are you to question?

He mumbles one last thing about the light and sits up. Goosebumps rush up your bare skin at the loss of the heavy warmth of his body. You whine and curl up closer to his legs, greedy for any spare iota of heat like you’ve been denied it your entire life.   

Maker you hate this fucking planet—   

Your attention snaps back to Din when he makes a noise of uncertainty. His hands are cupped around his helmet—hesitant, nervous and you suspect if Din’s hands weren’t plastered so tight around the metal, he’d be shaking. You chew on your lip and prop yourself up. 

Cautiously, so as not to startle, you reach up and curl your fingers around his wrist. You can feel his pulse thrumming through his veins—alive, flesh and bone like you. Not some heap of sentient metal built for the horrors of war. You don’t know why you do it—just seems right to pull the fragile and vulnerable skin of his inner wrist to you mouth. You plant a gentle kiss there and smile when he cups your cheek.           

“You don’t owe me anything, Din,” you say, staring into the darkened depths of his visor. “Least of all this.”    

Some of that tension held in Din’s shoulders melts. He utters something in that clipped language of his people, and the only thing you can make out is your name. He lurches foreword and fuck—you’re terrified for a split second he’s gonna cave your skull in but instead he lightly bumps the crown of his helmet over your forehead.      

“I want to. For you—only you.”

Din doesn’t leave any time to unpack all of that. He sits up again, wraps his hands around the beskar— 

The metallic thunk of the helmet reverberates through the cave like a crack of thunder.    

You were right. 

You can barely see his face—if you really look, you can see the murky outline of his nose, dark hair and a sliver of his tan skin that the light touches. Attractive—but you knew that already. You touch his cheek and smile, your thumb catching over wiry facial hair and soft skin. Din makes a sound low in his throat and pushes his cheek into your hand. 

“I still want to taste you,” Din says, his voice richer when stripped of that tinny vocoder. You like listening to him speak without it, you think, and it’s a damn shame you never get to hear it. “Please.”     

Before he can escape and fulfill that fantasy, you yank him into a blinding kiss. He kisses the same—all wild edges and with desperation lining each motion—but there’s a new found tenderness here. Like he’s savoring each gasp and every brush of skin you grace him with like it’s your last night left in the galaxy.   

He breaks away from your mouth and peppers kisses and nips down your jaw, then lower as you arch and expose the bare skin of your throat. There’ll be a plethora of bruises tomorrow, and with no hope to cover them either but fuck it—Din can leave as many hickeys and teeth marks as he wants. 

If not for the cold still latching onto your very soul, you’d ditch the shirt; give Din better access instead of him needing to shove a hand up under and grope at your breasts. He gives the fabric an annoyed tug, but it’s fruitless. There’s no use when there’s better things to be sought. 

He shoves your shirt as far up as it goes, shivering as he mouths down your stomach, licks around your bellybutton and sucks a bruise onto your hipbone. Your pants are already pulled halfway down—one sharp yank and they’re around your ankles and off in the next breath. 

Cupping your knees with both hands he gingerly spreads your legs and drapes them over his muscular shoulders. Din rubs his patchy haired cheek along your thigh and hooks his hands under your ass, his ivory white teeth catching the light as he smiles.  

“Fucking perfect—“ He groans, planting his lips over your inner thigh. His tongue swipes a wet line up, stopping just before your aching cunt to dig his teeth into the sensitive flesh. You jump at the burst of pain and shoot a hand down, tangling your fingers into the soft curls atop his head.  

Din grunts and jumps to your other thigh, leaving no inch of skin neglected and without evidence of his teeth and lips. By the time his thumbs touch the outer lips of your cunt, the aching need for him is burning you from the outside in. He has to still your twitching hips with a calloused palm, and only after you settle does he surge forward. 

His tongue meets your swollen clit, ripping a tangled cry from you vocal cords. He’s just as eager as the first time he tasted you, if not more—every action backed by needy abandon. He sucks at the bundle of nerves then sweeps his tongue lower. Din’s thumbs part your lower lips as he runs his tongue though your soaked folds, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit that send delicious sparks throughout your whole body. Little noises and breathy gasps fill the cave, encouraging Din to push his tongue deep into your aching entrance. 

Your hand fists into his hair as your hips stutter and rock into the searing heat of his mouth. The noises you make are obscene, and Din is no better. Each pass of his tongue over your pussy is matched with his own deep moans that vibrated against your clit. Fucking hell he’s devouring you alive.          

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, robs you blind and crashes over you in deep waves that drag you out to sea and never to be found again as you spill onto his greedy tongue. Your fingers are threaded tight in his hair as you squeak and press harder into his mouth, riding out your pleasure until it shifts and becomes raw and sore.  

Din doesn’t pause for even a second—all too happy to stay put between your thighs for eternity. Your legs are trembling when you force his head away, a nice, tingly warmth settling into your limbs 

A dark thrill rushes down your spine when he looks up, wild hair and mouth covered in your slick. If not for the low lighting you imagine his eyes would be glazed over and Maker you want him again. Din swoops down and presses his mouth to yours, the taste of yourself heavy on his tongue that slips past the seem of your lips. 

You whine after he breaks away and sits up—an opportunity for your eyes to roam down his body. He’s still got his trousers on, a considerable bulge tenting the front. With a smirk you reach up and grab a handful, delighting in Din’s startled grunt. “Easy.”

You flash him a wry smile and give his clothed cock a playful squeeze. “Take them off.” 

Din huffs and pulls at the drawstrings. “Needy.”

He says it with no bite and no coquettish retort on your end springs to mind—especially when his thumbs hook into the waistband and pull. A slow reveal of sun-kissed skin and a sparse happy trail that your eyes eagerly drink up. 

Din’s cock bobs as his trousers fall around his knees, tip shiny and wet and curling towards his navel. You bite the inside of your cheek and reach out, a rush of arousal pulsing through your core at Din’s low moan. He’s heavy in your hand, deliciously thick and throbbing—and all of it for you. 

Din gasps out your name as you lightly squeeze and stroke down, your pace dreadfully slow and teasing. Who knows when you’ll get another chance like this—a Mandalorian willingly on their knees for you.           

Your other hand slips up his chest as you stroke him, intent on grabbing a handful of his thick hair that curls softly against the column of his neck. Your fingernail lightly scrapes across his nipple and he sways, pitching forward before he catches himself and straightens. Din’s eyes are squeezed tight, chest heaving with shallow pants as a smirk tugs at your lips. 

“It’s ok, Din,” you whisper. “I won’t break.” 

Your fingers twist into the hair at the base of his skull and guide him back. He slumps forward with a sweet moan, laying his weight onto your body that you’re all too happy too bare. His nose is nestled into the slope of your neck as his hands lock around the dip of your lower back while the other cradles the back of your head, drawing you into a loose semblance of a hug. 

Something snaps and crumbles deep in your soul that bleeds the heartstring blues, humming with broken chords in the presence of Din’s soft fragility. Your hand moves from between his legs to instead wrap around the wide expanse of his back, squeezing him tight to your chest. You hold each other like there isn’t tomorrow to look forward to and you wonder if this is how it feels to fall apart. Two spinning halves of a supernova torn apart and destined to collide and shatter into a million fragments of dazzling light.  

Yes, you’re scared he might blind you or burn you with his brilliance, but you can’t look away.      

Your fingers crawl up his muscled thigh and settle on his hip. “Lie down for me?”

There’s no hint of hesitation or complaint as he maneuvers himself onto his back, patiently allowing you to clamber over his legs and straddle his hips. His cock rests on your inner thigh, pulsing and leaving a dribble of wetness every time it twitches.    

“Good boy.” It’s subtle but it ripples out like a heavy stone thrown into a still lake. Din shudders and says your name in a cracked whisper. He rolls his hips, both of you groaning at the sensation of his cock running along your dripping center.     

Another time for that game maybe. 

Your desperation is running hot and wild to have him inside you and you know he’s in a similar boat. You grab the thick shaft of his cock and grind the tip of him through your lips, breath hitching when it extracts such a perfect moan from the man below you. 

“Ride me,” he pleads, clamping his large hands over your hips. “Fuck—I need you.” 

How can you deny such a request?

You line the wide head up with your aching center and slowly work him in. Shivers wrack through you, and Maker—he’s splitting you apart, molding your insides to the shape of him. Beads of sweat dot your hairline by the time you’re seated fully on his member, the both of you pushed even closer towards madness.  

Din squeezes your ass and props his knees up, rolling his hips up into you. You whimper and tip forward, propping your palms over his chest as he sets the pace. You may be on top but there’s no changing the bold colors of power and lust that cloud his mind, fueling the brutal movements of fucking up into you. Your thighs burn already and Maker—why the fuck are you already tired? You’re not doing any of the work.  

Quicker than lightning, Din curls forward and manhandles you onto your back. You squeak as he grips your thigh and yanks it around his narrow hips, thrusting in deeper. His right hand crawls up the front of your shirt and wraps his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. His thumb hovers over the dip at the base of your neck but he makes no move to press down—just allows the weight of his palm to do the work. And fuck—it works. 

Choked garbles of his name pass through your lips as you buck and squirm in his hold, feeling your arousal begin to drip down the back of your thighs. You’re skirting the edge of sizzling release that alights your nerves with liquid wildfire. Your nails harpoon into the meat of his shoulders as your eyes squeeze shut. Din won’t allow it.      

“Look at me,” Din snarls, yanking your head back by your hair. “I want to—to watch you cum for me.” 

A blush scalds your cheeks but you listen. Your eyes flutter open for him, sliding to the dark shadows of his eyes that sweep you into their own gravity well with no hope to escape. You don’t mind. 

“You’re so g-good for me—always so perfect.”

White hot light bursts behind your eyelids, and that’s all it takes. Your body seizes, your cunt squeezing impossibly tight around his cock as you cum. This one is different—steals your breath away and leaves you a broken husk of a person lost in most delectable forms of agony and pleasure. The cry of his name pierces the air only spurring the Mandalorian into a jarring pace to seek his own peak of ecstasy.  

Din’s nose nuzzles into your neck, his pants hot and sharp against your flushed skin. “You f-feel so—fuck. Say—say my name.”

You leap to his request and with a playful nip to his earlobe, you whisper it to him with the sweetness of starcherrries and the promise of better things. 

He tips over the edge, his hips faltering into no discernible pace as he cums. Din buries his teeth into the skin below your jaw, a mess of whines and begging gasps of nonsense as he fills your cunt to the brim. 

Your harsh breathing mingles as you both lazily slip down from your high. He rests his head over your sternum, listening to your beating heart that drums in a wild staccato as your fingers carefully comb through his hair. If not for the ache in your hips you’d keep him here forever. Din pulls out and you both groan at the loss. 

He doesn’t completely move away and you’re glad for it. He brushes his knuckles down the expanse of your cheek and dots a tender kiss to your hairline. Your name rumbles low in his throat as he shifts lower and gives your ear lobe a playful nip. His stubble scrapes along your neck, and you can’t help but giggle and squirm—but the weight of his body keeps you pinned. Your name slips from his lips a second time, breathy and drawn out in a sweet sigh, like he’s savoring the sound of each syllable and roll of the tongue. 

Din lifts his head, only slightly—near enough that his nose bumps into yours and his lips scrape along yours that are still parted and wet. “I—can I tell you something?” 

You cup his cheek and steal a kiss. It’s supposed to be quick—but instead he leans into it, guiding your mouth into a slow dance of sticky sweet movements that are caught in a slow draw, like crystalized honey abandoned in a glass jar. You’re enraptured by his touch—his skin mottled with scars yet somehow still unfairly soft. He smells of snow—like metal and soap and something gentler, that’s uniquely Din.            

Fuck—you can feel your mind slipping away, wrapped up so snugly in his presence you almost forget to answer. “Yeah—anything.”

Crackling static suddenly rips through the cave, startling you both. A distorted voice chatters on the comlink that lies forgotten beside your pants. It blinks and the transmission ends just as abruptly. With a sigh Din brushes it off and tilts his head to tempt you into another kiss but—

Whoever’s trying to patch through is persistent. 

His lip curls in a scowl and snatches the comm. “Jorhaa’ir.”

You only catch your name being mentioned twice as rapid Mando’a is exchanged. Aeris maybe judging by the tone, but no that’s not right.   

“Wait—is that Paz?”

The muscles in Din’s shoulders tense, confirming your suspicion.

“Is everything ok?” Din doesn’t resist you when you pry the comlink out of his fingers and patch in. “Paz?”

Your heart skips a beat. 

“There you are,” the comlink crackles and you smile. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” 

Stars—you didn’t think you’d miss hearing Paz’s voice. Your chest aches. 

The conversation is short, he asks you how you are and when you’re coming home and in the time it takes to answer, Din is peeling himself from your body. While you're distracted, he pulls on his pants and sits at the edges of your vision.

You both pretend when you say goodnight to Paz, return the comlink and crawl into his arms that nothing has festered with savage detachment. You don't remember to ask him what he was going to say and he lets you forget. The golden heart that bleeds molten ichor slips from your sight and becomes shut behind walls of beskar and bushes of thick thorns and overgrown ivy.         

He still holds you, but it’s the coldest you’ve ever been. 

Tag List: @teaofpeach @corrupt-fvcker @nelba @datmando @ben-is-a-hoe @dreams-like-clockwork @aeryns-library @auty-ren @huliabitch @anxiety-riddled-mando @phoenixhalliwell @cptnbvcks @thesoftdumbass @krissology @starlite41 @legally-a-bastard @basslinedweller @cloud-of-roses @elenamiria @goldafterglow @maybege @equalstrashflavoredtrash @wandxrlust @hdlynnslibrary @calamity-queen @sgtbookybarnes @pinkninja190 @lackofhonor @darthstyles @spacegayofficial @absurdthirst​ @blue-writes-a03​ @max--phillips​

[randombubblegum]

i dont want this to come off as rude bc i dont have anything *against* it at all (i am very pro shipping, especially with awsten bc of the pocast) but i do kinda wonder what the thought process behind shipping aws and otto is. mostly bc of the whole thing with otto's girlfriend being awsten's ex. idk if i'm just being too obsessed with realism (which i do have an affinity for, so it's possible) but it just seems like they'd have a really weird irl romantic relationship because of it.

hi anon!! this doesnt come off as rude, dw!! let me preface this by saying im ALSO obsessed with realism; you can see it in every fic i write, every Lore Piece i bring up, and every time i like cross-check a video and analyze it lol. i have a detailed timeline in my mind for basically every ship/band i like, parx included. and i think thats good! to me, the fun of liking a band or an rpf fandom is the three-dimensional, authentic relationships between people, however you interpret them.

(under a cut because this got long-ish lol)

im not going to lie; i dont like the gr*ce thing. i dont! i think its extremely shady, and even outside of the relationship with otto and/or awsten i think her public behavior online has been abhorrent for years. the more i learn about it/the way she acts and has acted the more strongly i feel this way. i wont get into it further right now, and i dont want any messages telling me why i should feel X way or Y way instead. i hated the whole situation so much it nearly stopped me from getting into parx at all when i first found out about it. THAT is how much i hate it, and when things are publicly aired (not leaked, aired) on the internet it is everyones right to form their own opinions about them.

that being said, for the sake of this ask, let me take off my rpf goggles for a second. the relationship between awsten and otto runs SO deep. they met when awsten was 17 and otto was 18 and have stayed close for more than a decade. the chemistry they have is immediately evident and obvious!! watch any clip in the many many videos in my awtto moments tag or look through my awtto tag or the awtto tags of my friends or ANYTHING and i think youll see!!! i really do!! its clearly a very deep friendship that i think can easily be interpreted as romantic, which is why i like to :-)

when the whole Thing happened, it was the fall of 2015. waterparks wasnt big enough at that point to be unable to bounce back if, say, their drummer got kicked out. the fact that awsten has made several public (shady, but like, thats his right i think) negative comments about his ex and the situation, but never about otto, says something to me. actually when the whole thing went down someone asked him on ask.fm if he and otto were fighting and he replied something like “me and otto are tight, always have been, always will be. nothing will change that” (i cant link bc theres no way to search beyond scrolling all the way down like a madman sorry BUT ITS THERE). all this is to say, an awtto reading of the situation actually makes MORE sense to me instead of less: if otto werent really, incredibly special to awsten, more so than a normal friend, i FULLY believe this would have ended in a. a broken friendship b. a swift kick out of the band c. a fistfight or d. all of the above.

obviously we will never know the whole story, nor is it ours to know. but i dont think awsten “writes 2 albums and several demos about ONE relationship betrayal” knight would just suck it up and let this slide if he REALLY harbored any ire for otto. no other explanation makes as much sense to me as “otto is really just that special to him” personally. youd kinda think theyd have a super weird FRIENDSHIP relationship irl too, right?? but they dont seem to!

in conclusion, i want to say i totally get the mental block youre facing right now. i was there too, like i said!! im not gonna be like “SO ALL OF THIS IS WHY YOU HAVE TO SHIP AWTTO BYEEEE” but i hope it clears up my thought process for you a bit <:-) i really appreciate the kind and respectful way you worded this and rock on with the pro-shipping stance, i agree!!! especially with the podcast yo!! if you have questions or want to talk more in-depth off anon i promise to keep it totally confidential. thanks for ur ask!!

[worstfruit]

BEASTMASTER

playing with names. zh'ang, bastardization of the romanization OF a translation meaning warsong, but i was just trying to find something that could sound gith so that doesnt really matter! he never goes by this tho, as his subordinates just call him master, sir, or boss. i think he would be very private about his life before joining a company (one i havent plotted out yet, though i like the idea of whatever mercenary crew he’s apart of following the idea of using assigned nicknames or titles in place of true names, even amongst the non-magic users, just for their safety or rather the integrity of the company so that their private information can’t easily be used against them).

yiz'shi, same bastard deal, this time im thinking beastmaster could be something he gained before joining a company and he just translated it to common. im not sure if the gith would have a need of surnames. i assume they’d be like uh ‘conan the brave’ or whatever, a sort of similar idea i’ve establish for my goblins where their surnames are based on trade and can changed based off merit, and their first names are given after a personality begins to appear. i think gith may be given names, then a ‘the brave’ or ‘unholy’ may follow depending on how they choose to live their life. 

zizshangi --> yizshangi --> some sort of mix between warsong/beastmaster. perhaps his true name is obscured and not even his minions know it!

im thinking he will be a shadow monk who uses his telepathy to rise in the ranks! i dont like multiclassing but i also really want to incorporate aspects of a whisper bard into this character or at least one of his underlings. i think after coming out of slavery under some mindflayers, he joins the company that frees him and starts using his monk training from the astral plane to...not convert, but to translate into the way of shadows. he would recruit the help of those who others overlook, such as kenku, kobolds, gnolls, and goblins. he’s very quiet, very observant, wears a mask often and even when he doesn’t he pretty much as a complete poker face. He chooses his words carefully but does relax around those he knows/trusts, and has a sort of dry sense of humor. Despite his psionic abiliities he’s sort of like, an idiot socially and can’t actually read people all that well. he relies on his extrasensory input and Maud (explained below) to navigate relations mostly. I’m not too sure what he looks like yet! I do want him to have the sort of vaguely asianic features a lot of githzerai have however, and i have a monk outfit in mind based off some Absolver outfits. He’s worked his way up in company rank enough to become a sort of espionage expert within the troops! This has earned the ire of some other company members, but for the most part i think this mercenary group would be pretty civil and view each other as respected associates and comrades. 

His main crew consists of two kenu, two goblins, and a tabaxi. He’s known the tabaxi longest-- im thinking she was also an underling in the company who helped him get back on his feet when they picked him up. She was a teen looking to hone her skills as a rogue and he helped her learn the art of stepping lightly and always keeping an ear to the ground. Looking at tabaxi names I’m thinking she probably has some dumbass one like ‘quick of paw’ but they just started calling her Maraud, which turned into Maud LOL. She’s all black and has short, sleek, shiny fur, brownish/maroon irises, pointed ears and big paws with her claws usually unsheathed. She’s become a mastermind rogue who trains two (also totally black, yellow eyed) kenku twins as a thief and scout under Beastmaster’s tutelage. She’s very streetsmart and has a gravelly sort of raspy voice from years of working as a slave (able to rise as a slavemaster who was tasked with yelling orders to the other slaves and cracking the whip). She’s a bit matronly, very wry and slinky and coy, and very good with people. Typical scorpio but with a flair of aires determination and single mindedness. She’s very driven, but has the life experience to keep herself grounded and logical. She’s beastmaster’s most trusted associate and essentially the brains behind his crew, at least second to him. She’s the boss when he’s not around, but while strict, she has a HUGE softspot for her sort of adopted siblings. She gets along well enough with the rest of the company.

The two kenkus are fraternal twins, a bit younger than Maud, named Lasher (girl) and Bowstring. Lasher is the thief and Bow is the scout. They were orphaned and picked up by the company shortly before absorbing the refugees from the Mindflayer slaveship so they never really had birthnames afa the company was concerned. They speak through sign language, body language and gesture, facial expressions, and a sort of quick-hand morse code they’ve developed from both thieves cant as well as the company cant. They can’t easily speak to people outside the company, and even within the ranks they have trouble communicating without parroting, which they don’t seem to like doing unless it’s to mock someone. Their inability to speak, however, lends to their spy nature as people often underestimate their intelligence and perception. Though they can’t fly, they’re quick when racing across building tops and through tree canopy and prefer high vantage points to preform their work. Beastmaster is a very silent person who gets along well with these two, using his telepathy and patience to forge a mentor relationship with them and cultivate their infiltration and investigative skills. Lasher loves to read anything she can get her feather little fingers on, and often steals what she can’t buy. She’s not too girly but does enjoy fantasizing about the high life noble ladies lead and likes to collect trinkets she thinks represent this such as bows, perfume bottles, bits of mirror and buttons. Bowstring likes to help his sister with her plights but is much more grounded and serious. he’s dry and sardonic and takes himself a little too seriously. even for a mute, he’s very silent and a little shy and prefers to hide behind Maud or beastmaster or even Lasher. He get’s his name for his skills as a ranger, whereas lasher gets hers from her talons and tendency to use them when people get too close to her or her brother. she gets along better with the rest of the company however, and likes to be seen as cute even if she feels she’s being condescended on. she and her brother work spectacularly together, along with beastmaster and maud, and don’t mind being separated for missions or otherwise.

The two goblin (identical!) twins’ names are Fritz and Racket and they are, respectively, a storm sorcerer and a storm barbarian! obviously they’re not as subtle as the rest of the gang despite being gobs, in fact they get their nicknames from their quirks of being loud, aggressive, and favoring a sort of berserker approach to confrontation. Fritz is the caster, Racket is the muscle, and both feed off each’s other whole uh, storm bullshit. they both worship an elemental goblin deity but very very casually, it’s more of hero worship, and beastmaster sorta thinks they might have a touch of wild magic and a fixation on LOUD and FLASHY shit hence the storm kick. they’re very loyal, very brave, and only a little stupid. they both have tempers and don’t like comments about their height. very easy to bait into confrontation especially if they’re together. they’re not the kinda twins who walk together in unison and finish each other’s sentences (like the kenku twins, who similarly work off each other’s energies for their work), but they are usually together and look almost exactly alike. Fritz is a bit slimmer and taller, a bit pointier and a bit more spastic and shrill. He’s weaker than his brother but is smarter. He also has a worse temper and despite not being a melee fighter, will not hesitate to tackle anyone and just use his claws and teeth. Racket is a bit calmer but dumber, more gullible, and a lot stronger. He’s only a tad quieter than his brother but is also more physically aggressive and tends to stomp and throw shit around, hence his name. he usually follow’s frtiz’s lead if beastmaster isn’t around, but the both defer to Maud for instruction. They’re technically younger than the kenku twins if you account for the fact that goblins age quicker than kenku, they’re only slightly older! they’re more immature, however, and usually need more corralling than anyone else. unlike lasher and bow, fritz and racket dont like being seperated, but usually dont have to be since they don’t do much espionage. if they are dispatched for such tasks, it’s usually a matter of blending into busy, or sketchy environments rather than being silent and shadowy. they’re useful for intimidation, distraction, firepower, and muscle.

the last notable character i’ve cooked up is a kobold, the youngest (but again due to kobold age, its not like hes a baby technically) named Rak! he’s not very skilled in anything but he considers himself an inventor and makes really pathetic little stick contraptions that use like. shitty venoumous bugs and stink bombs LOL. i dont even know what class he’d be. no magic skills, too dumb and loud for espionage. he’s sort of a little mascot for the company and everyone treats him like a pet, but beastmaster took pity on him and lets him tag along with them. fritz and racket think hes funny and usually just throw him in a bag or like, if they have to fight, put him in a pocket till theyre done. he doesn’t get in the way too much and every now and again is a bit useful to get into super small places or to do errands like deliveries or shopping or cleaning. he got his name bc he makes a sorta RAK sound a lot when scared or startled or hurt or excited or mad. like a mouse goes EEK but he’s a stupid lizard guy so he goes RAK!