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wizkiddx · 4 years ago

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i have exams hence why i needed to write something exceptionally cringe :)

PSA: this is completely inspired from one of my fave writers own blurb @blissfulparker --> completely recommend u go read hers its much better than anything i could ever write!!!! (and just her whole account) = link

Summary: pure exhaustion and mutual pining, Tom Holland x actress!reader

^(just thought this was cute, doesn't really fit aha but full credit to op!!)

A scheduling nightmare would be putting it lightly. Perhaps almost unavoidable but that didn’t make it any less of a hellish form a torture. Harry had very helpfully said it actually was a form of torture, that is sleep deprivation. Y/n loved her job - it was all she’d ever really wanted - yet that thought was quickly becoming not enough to get her through the day. Not when it felt like an interrogation tactic used by the CIA.

To give a quick timeline of the past few days may give a little context:

Thursday - filming the fight scene all day plus an evening-turned-half-the-night-shoot due to some technically difficulties delaying the process.

Friday - flying to New York while doing read throughs of scenes for the next few days; followed immediately by getting glammed and filming the tonight show with Fallon; then a dash across town to the late late show with James Corden; then straight back on a flight to Atlanta that landed at stupid o’clock in the morning

Saturday - a full day of shooting in a mock grand central station set

The press trip to NY had been unplanned… to say the least. But the star of their studios other new release had taken ill - meaning they had slots booked on some of the biggest talk shows in America that would just be abandoned (angering the shows bookers too). It was a waste of perfectly good promo time and since the studio had their two other stars together doing a block of reshoots - it wasn’t a conversation. Much more a call demanding the two of them to be on the plane.

Normally this wouldn’t be such an unmanageable ask either, except the reshoot block was really rather time pressured. You see, the promo tour wasn’t far from beginning meaning they really needed the final film in the can. So really it was a bit of a mess. Just to free up that single day the two were in New York the whole schedule had had to be rejigged - in doing so they’d lost a rare day off too. It was just typical.

The joys of success hey?

Well, that’s at least what Y/n was making herself think whilst her incredibly talented SFX artist was in the process of crafting a deep wound onto her upper arm. The reason why she would be ‘dripping with blood’ whilst at a train station was beyond Y/n to be honest - she hadn’t been allowed to read a lot of the script so even now as filming was drawing to a close, the story arc of the movie she was headlining was still a little ‘fuzzy’.

“So I watched your ‘spill your guts’ thing on YouTube” Ellie giggled whilst reaching over for more prosthetic putty- a technical term apparently

“I’m glad one of us enjoyed the experience” Y/n replied with a sigh, rolling her eyes at the mischievous smirk on her face - no doubt Ellie took great joy out of seeing her suffer through eating a thousand year old egg. Which Y/n swore the taste of was still in her mouth… and it seemed as though it’d never leave.

“Oh don’t worry darling I did too” Nelli called over from the next chair along, where she was doing Tom’s makeup for the day of shoots. “Between that and the animals on Fallon, you made a hell of a lot of people laugh last night” Tom’s artist was referencing the fact one of Jimmys other guests was a zookeeper, so at the end of the interview he had you and Tom join in trying not to scream at the snakes and spiders.

“You mean laugh at us?”

“Well of course darling!” Nelli exclaimed back in an overdramatic bronx accent making all three of the women burst out laughing, Ellie’s unceremonious snorts echoing through the trailer only egged them all on more.

Tom in response, who had otherwise been absent from conversation for the majority of the morning, exclaimed a curse and jumped up in his chair. While you and Ellie collected yourself, Nelli apologised to him.

“Oh sorry love, I’m interrupting your snooze with my uncontrollable comedic gift” She spoke sweetly, even if still taking the moment to flaunt to the other women, as she squeezed his shoulder compassionately.

“No no” Tom waved off her apology, attempting to rub his eye before Nelli swatted his arm away - a stern look for the risk of ruining all her hard work she’d put into making his face look half presentable.

“I’m impressed you can sleep while they poke you with all these er instruments” Y/n added in, having only just realised Tom had been in a light sleep for god knows how long they’d been in that chair. It did seem a bit unlikely, being able to fall asleep as you were dabbed, prodded and brushed.

“Maybe you should try though Y/n… your purple eye bags are proving a struggle even for me” Ellie quipped back, now it was Y/n’s turn to give the stern look. Tom took the explain though, shutting her off from whatever kindly meant insult she was about to throw back at her friend.

“No normally never, I just….” He was cut off by an ear splitting yawn, appearing almost powerful enough to crack his jaw - which would be a disaster, for no one should ruin such a beautiful and sharp jaw line. “…uh-sorry. I just think I ended up taking my NyQuil and DayQuil the wrong way round in the madness of yesterday.” Only Tom, the poor kid often seemed to lacking in any form of common sense - even if those closest to him knew just how intellectual and passionate he could be about the right topic. Affectionately, Nelli scalded his idiocy by jokingly swatting his head with a little tut.

“I can’t believe your still standing then! I’m barely alive and I don’t have any sedatives in my system.” It was true, Y/n was at that stage where every part of her body felt ridiculously heavy… eyes included … eyes especially.

“But I did sleep on the jet back while your stupid self was studying the script!” Tom replied with a pretty inarguable point - at the time he knew her actions were stupid; when their flight took off at 11 PM he was certain that the most valuable asset to his ability to act in the reshoots today would be sleep - rather than character development. And he’d tried to convince Y/n that briefly, but gave up. She was bloody stubborn when she wanted to be.

“Stop competing about who has it worse cos I think it’s me and Nell”Ellie announced - making Nelli agree empathically with her coworker, nodding her head as she looked first to Y/n in her chair then back at Tom.

“Yeh because we have to deal with your unusable faces!!”

After much sarcasm thrown back and fourth, the trailer slowly ebbed it’s way back into serenity and peace as both artists focused on their work. Once Nelli was done she excused herself, Tom staying in the chair in favour of studying (more like staring blankly) at the dialogue for this mornings scenes. His pretence didn’t last long though and while Ellie was busy adding the final touches of fake blood to the now almost completely believable gash that she’d crafted on Y/n’s arm - Y/n had her attention focused the opposite way.

At poor little Tom. He looked so childlike, his slightly puffy eyes looked as if they had weights tied to them - they way he was having fight against gravity to flutter his eyes open, before loosing the next second only for the process to repeat as they dragged downwards. The broad muscles of his neck occasionally seemed to occasionally let up a little, letting his head tilt slowly at first until it gathered enough momentum to throw him off balance. The then sudden movement of his head unconsciously pulling itself back in line caused his eyes to bolt open prior to the whole cycle repeating again. All Y/n wanted to do was let him lay down someone, her heart feeling a tug in her chest just seeing him like that.

Ellie proclaimed her completion of the wound, leaning back to admire her work before looking to get an affirming nod from Y/n. Yet instead, she was too preoccupied gazing at the boy slouched across from them. “Someone seems a little distracted.” Ellie smirked, finally garnering Y/n’s attention, only feeling more and more smug watching a light tint appear on the actors cheeks.

“I-well-no… we need to go.” Y/n ignored her words as though nothing had happened, instead rushing off the chair to get Tom out the chair and onto the awaiting set. They had places to be.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (bcos im lazy)

Honestly when the director, Ed, called for lunch break, it was pretty apparent to be purely as a compassionate gesture to Y/n and Tom. Both of them had tried so hard this morning to fully commit, even so they’d both been almost completely useless. Y/n kept missing cues whilst all Tom’s actions and lines where slow, dragged out and at times completely prompted from someone behind the cameras.

So when the lunch break was called there was only one thing on Y/n’s mind and what sandwich was available in the mess tent was not it. Still standing on the set next to her fake holdall bag she looked toward Tom, who was pulling himself up to standing from the train station bench - the pace of his movement making him look more like an old man.

“You good?” His answer was predictable.

“I’m so fucking shattered”

Tom swore he’d never heard anything sweeter come out of Y/n’s pink lips than her next statement.

“C’mon I know somewhere we can lie down.”

Without any sort of thought Tom blindly agreed, nodding as he took her outstretched hand in his. The gesture in itself brought a fresh wave of comfort to his aching limbs and as his feet stumbled to catchup with her slight head start he leant the majority of his weight into their connected hands.

Neither would admit it but they were ‘a thing’… whatever the hell that meant. It was clear as day to everyone and anyone that worked closely to the two but neither of them had ever broached the topic with each other. They’d worked on a few films together over the years; each time they got closer and closer to the point any job without the other simply wasn’t as good. It was scary though, especially for two actors in the prime of their careers. If they weren’t working the same film they’d likely be the opposite side of the world to each other most of the time - quality time together would be few and far between, Really their jobs didn’t suit dating at all, yet it would be perhaps easier if one half of it worked a ‘normal’ job. Something with consistency, a regular structure. A level of dependability that neither Y/n nor Tom could offer to the other.

So it was terrifying, acknowledging the growth in their magnetic attraction to each other. Both were acutely aware that doing that, confronting their feelings, would most likely signal the beginning of the end.

Although none of this stoped Y/n from returning the gesture, tilting her shoulder into Tom’s left side as they took slow steps through and then out the set building. She steered the two past the hair and makeup trailer and round into a store and extra equipment trailer. Tom tilted his head as she climbed the stairs whilst beckoning for him to follow - it didn’t seem like the most obvious choice. Rolling her eyes, Y/n explained.

“It’s where all the blankets and coats and kept for the raining scenes plusssss no one will disturb us in here.” Again Tom was not in a position to disagree, eyes drooping as his shoulders sagged to the floor. Right now he’d take anything.

So he climbed up the stairs and shut the door behind him, just as Y/n flipped the light on. She was right, it was well equipped and with an almost mountainous supply of red blankets that normally the crew and extra would all be wrapped up in after the freezing rain scenes with all the ‘waterfall machines’ as Y/n called them. However it was also um…. It was cosy. “Oh I don’t think I realised how small it was” She chuckled lightly, since now the door was closed her back was pressed up against the far wall of cabinets and still her front was mere millimetres from Tom.

“I…I don’t mind… if-if you don’t?”

“I’m too tired to care” She giggled in response, and Tom , now with her seal of approval, immediately started ransacking the piled shelves for all their worth creating a floor carpeted in the pale red of the blankets, in an attempt to make it more cosy. Joining in, it was almost remarkable how quickly their bodies suddenly agreed to move, with the new promise of rest mere moments away.

Once the trailer was fully drowned, Tom kicked off his costume shoes and threw his jacket off - it haphazardly landing by the doorway. Y/n copied him, leaving her stood up whilst he had the advantaged of already settling down on the floor, her standing and looking down at him.

The space between the two opposing shelving units was not close spacious enough for two people to lie down whilst keeping a respectable level of personal space. Suddenly feeling a wave of awkwardness, Y/n stayed standing, wringing her hands slightly - whilst fairly certain Tom could hear her heart running at 100 mph.

“You er… gonna stay there or?” Tom, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t a complete idiot - he could see she was suddenly self conscious. He got it too - they’d never crossed this boundary of choosing to cuddle into each other. It had happened once of twice accidentally over there 2 years of knowing each other. Both of those times it was completely accidental, falling asleep watching a movie with a safe distance of space b between the two, only to find hours later their bodies almost completely intwined. Tom would be lying if he said that his heart didnt skip a beat when he had awoken to Y/n’s soft and gently breath fanning into his neck. He’d loved it, but understood that was unconsciously breaking down part of the wall they’d both been the constructors of.

For fear of getting hurt.

So now, as Y/n awkwardly bent down and lay on her side, he thought it was imperative to make her feel comfortable. Naturally then, his arm slid round her shoulders and pulled her down toward his chest, releasing a little breath as he felt her relax, her legs slowly wrapping round one of his.

“This okay?” He murmured, now into the crown of her head as she lay half on her side half on his chest. In reply she nodded into him and Tom couldn’t help but grin- unbeknownst to him but Y/n was doing the exact same thing.

The peace lasted all of 3 seconds until she groaned again.

“What?” Tom enquired as she wriggled out his hold and stood up. Instead of replying though she just leant over and flicked the one harsh light bulb off making Tom chuckle as she fumbled her way back onto the padded floor in the darkness, earning a few grunts from both as she accidentally kicked Tom’s thighs or banged her head on one of the now empty shelves. Fumbling her way back into a comfortable position, occasionally cursing when she stubbed her toe- or Tom did when she accidentally elbowed him in the ribs.

“Comfy?” Tom asked a little sarkily as he squeezed her a little more into his side.

“Mhmmmm… I’m gonna sleep for 100 years”

“Yeh me… me too”

And with that they both almost instantly and in complete unison sagged into each other and the blankets - the pent up stress and tension of the past few days ebbing away.

What the pair had neglected to remember was that sleeping for 100 years wasn’t really an option. The whole crew of 50 people, who wanted to restart filming after 45 minutes, had not been told about Y/n’s little hiding place. The pair were so completely safe in their own little cocoon of comfort they were completely oblivious to their teams calling there names more and more frantically. Completely oblivious to the game of hide and seek the situation had descended into, completely oblivious to Harrys natural annoyance as the director asked him for the whereabouts of the two stars - as though Harry was childminder to the pair of them.

It was Nelli who found them first. She’d and Ellie and Tom’s manager had all been recruited by Harry as part of the man hunt. Both girls, having seen first hand the state of the two this morning, were fairly certain they’d both crashed out somewhere. So Nelli, already with a sneaking suspicion, opened the door gently, her figure blocking the majority of the light from seeping through to the dimly lit inside. The sight she was met with had her actually pouting at the cuteness - and yes its a cringey word but also the only one appropriate.

Between bedding down and barely an hour later the two had managed to become impossibly tighter pressed to each other. Y/n’s face was pressed into the crook of Tom’s neck and his arms seemed to have pulled her on-top of him almost completely. Her left leg was hooked under his right, which was then sandwiched by his left too. They both looked so pure and innocent and god did Nelli know they both needed any extra time they could get.

Nelli cared a lot about Tom, she’d been working with him from the beginning, from the child star days to now. She cared about him like her very annoying surrogate son and she wanted to see him looked after. She also so completely wanted the two stars to stop pining after each other. Because frankly it was getting a little frustrating for everyone else.

So she chose to tactically forget about her discovery, sneaking a photo on the sly before silently pulling the door closed and leaving them to their sleep.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader #fluff

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kazoracht · 3 years ago

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Intro quest for Asphodel Wastes

The node would only be visible after starting the quest, some point post new war. Ideally the quest would have a few 'routes' depending on player choices and which lotus you chose, as well as your interactions with Maximilius.

Quest starts as an inbox message, though the contents vary.

Quest starts as an inbox message, telling the player of another Tenno who's spent an overwhelming majority of their time on Mars and in an area where communications and means of monitoring remotely are either blocked, ignored or through some means rendered inoperable or ineffective, and asks you to investigate.

If Natah, she's aggressive, suspecting him of being a potential deserter or traitor planning hostile action against the rest of the Tenno, suggests that the player acts 'decisively'.

If Lotus, she's cautious, and perhaps a bit openly confused. She makes it clear she's not entirely sure what's going on here and prompts the player to be cautious and remain unseen while gathering data.

If Margulis, she's worried primarily about this Tenno, that he may be victim to some kind of blackmail and the like or is simply disturbed in some way after Narmer and just wants some time alone. or something like that idk. Stresses the need for caution and compassion, this is another Tenno after all, surely all that's needed are some words, right?

alright this is gonna get pretty long so ill add a readmore

After landing in the Wastes, the surface section of the region, it's windy and kicking up dust, but not yet a proper storm. Looking out over whatever convenient scenic cliffside you landed on, im going to add the descriptions of the areas in a different post to force people to look at them as i am actually proud of the work so far.

Mother Dearest prompts you to advance into the mess before you, squads of enemies you can either engage or allow to rip eachother apart slowly weave their way around as well, and you see some larger vehicle get hit by an apparent raiding party, a unique look to their equipment suggest they're the locals. You're now one of the few who's laid eyes on them and lived to tell about it. A ragtag bunch of both former grineer, corpus and some others, their odd vehicle burrows up from the sand, the large horn or fin structure quickly and easily flipping over an enemy convoy in a charge attack, as infantry pile out or swoop in from hiding places and smaller craft following it, they split into groups, attacking the convoy and looting cargo, even carving chunks out of the larger equipment.

The player has two options after the convoy is decimated,

Move in and engage the raiders, or hang back and examine them.

The player is prompted to either attack or, equip a scanner. This is the first interaction that alters your relationship with Maximilius as well as your alignment.

Moving in gets your ass kicked either way, should you mechanically get the upper hand, a cutscene plays where these desperados hit your warframe with a truck. If you fail to actually start beating them, then frankly you deserve to get your ass kicked, on entering bleedout or after taking three scans, a unique necramech appears, and finishes off a heavier enemy unit, showing where some of the stronger hits from earlier were coming from.

The mech's unique style show much about the owner and the environment it was designed for. Visibly lighter build, a helmet evoking a classic cowboy hat and longcoat like armor, alongside a menacing skull like respirator mask, specially designed legs allow the mech to march normally or glide over the sands on fold out skis with equal ease, complimented by a massive triple barreled shotgun in it's right hand and the left having the unique addition of an oversized bowie knife.

The pilot spots you quickly, and either demonstrates the mech's lasso to pull you in or presses your frame into the sand with the business end of the shotgun.

If you attacked the raiders, Maximilius, the pilot of the mech and Tenno you were sent to investigate, starts cussing you out, enraged that another Tenno would attack him and his friends. Either your Tenno learns to swear or Mother Dearest censors your audio somehow.

If you didn't attack Max is initially far more polite, and less threatening, curious as to why a fellow Tenno is spying on him.

He interrogates the player, prompting three choices:

"What in the hell are you doing here?"

Be honest and neutral, you're here to investigate the area, say nothing beyond that.

Be honest and diplomatic, you're here because it seemed someone might be getting the better of a fellow tenno

Be a lying jackass. Say something hostile and objectively incorrect, to be more irritating or self aggrandizing.

Depending on the encounter, Maximilius has different responses.

If no hostile actions were taken and you don't act overtly hostile, Max releases the player, suspicious and annoyed, but not hostile.

If hostile actions were taken but the player chooses a non aggressive dialogue, Maximilius insults the player and fires the gun, dealing enough damage to the frame to force the player to retreat for repairs.

If hostile for both the encounter and dialogue, Maximilius and the raiders laugh and insult the player more before procuring more restraints and means to disable the frame's movement and ability systems, throwing them in with the rest of the loot.

Regardless, Max refers to the Lotus/Natah/Margulis as "Mother Dearest", expresses a deal of irritation and suspicion, before heading back to the Verdant Citadel.

Act two of the quest begins after.

#maximilius vaeto #asphodel wastes #warframe #am i cool yet #posting cringe sorry #fan content whole quest sheesh #long post

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himbodjarin · 4 years ago

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LUNAR; CH8

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. Chapter Word Count: 8263 (im sorry) Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use��“y/n”

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER EIGHT: BLUE MILK PANCAKES

Mando still can’t grasp it actually happened—that he’d been so fortunate to experience such a jaw-dropping night with the Girl, with no ulterior motives no less. Back in his youth, when he was naive and desperate, it wasn’t exactly infrequent for a fling to take advantage of him; spend a quick few minutes so that one may eliminate him in his distraction or gain intel on private matters. The Girl didn’t try that—didn’t want that. She sought to provide him with sweet relief and nothing more, not even her own relief.

He felt so fucking worshipped.

Mando is the first of them to wake in the early rise of the sun. He sits there for a moment, savouring the gleaming rays shining through the viewport to warm his beskar and, consequently, his rigid body underneath. The Crest is coated in a layer of ice, corroding the durasteel beneath and, accompanied by the packed snow resting atop, it’s refrigerating the inside of the spacecraft. Mando slips on the discarded glove from overnight—a warmth surfacing his cheeks upon the reminder of last night’s events—and supplies friction to either hand in the prospect it’ll produce warmth. It’s wishful thinking.

Granting him the opportunity to adjust to his surroundings, Mando stretches in his chair and virtually moans at the pulsations ranging through his limbs. It starts at his shoulders and travels through his core, nudging against the wound on his back and easing the tension out of his muscles, and reaches to the bottom of his toes which practically curl with delight.

Mando considers removing the helmet to rub his eyes—the crust in the corners a botheration—lift it a tad in the least, but he doesn’t get the chance. The Child coos beside him, his little arms reaching up for assistance.

“How did you get up here?” he asks, placing him on his knees. The Child doesn’t answer—why would he—and concentrates on balancing across the joints to tinker with deactivated buttons of the nav controls. “Where to, kid?” Mando scans the system’s database for a paragon planet to hunker down for a few days; spend some time with the kid—and the Girl, of course—before being ripped away from the semi-domestic life and continue on his unwritten path of planet-hopping.

There’s a planet not too far; small population, plenty of wilderness for the kid to explore, and there’s not much traffic that passes through. It’s good, perfect almost, and Mando is hesitant to accept the temptation. The Child’s head rotates to look at his guardian, his large green ears twitching curiously. He sighs and sets the coordinates for the planet despite his better judgement. It’s too fortunate; the last ‘safe’ planet they visited ended up in him protecting an entire village and the kid almost being killed. Although, he’s made a trustworthy ally who’ll assist if something were to go down. He glances behind him at the Girl, raking his brown eyes across her contorted body in the seat.

“Hang on, kid.” Mando lifts himself out of the pilot chair, leaving behind a monitoring toddler in his place, and kneels beside the Girl in the passengers. She’s sleeping peacefully and he doesn’t disturb her, despite the positioning she’s managed to get herself into. It’s unpleasant on his eyes and it couldn’t be comfortable. With a tremble in his back muscles, he reaches behind his neck and peels the cloak from his armour to drape it across her figure, relying on it to provide at least a small portion of warmth to her. She clasps the garment slightly and a smile surfaces his lips, his leathers coming up to brush a stroke across her cheek faintly—only lasting a second or two before detaching from her like an uncooperative magnet. Once she’s finally soothed back into position, Mando retrieves the safety belt from beside her and secures it across her waist before grudgingly tearing away from the Girl. “Looks like you’re with me.”

The Child squeals with enjoyment as the Mandalorian returns to his seat.

“Shh,” he instructs, glancing back to see the Girl motionless. He sighs with relief.

Mando joins the buckle’s latches together and wraps an arm around the Child to secure him against himself. The thrusters wake with a roar and quake the craft’s hull, the ion accelerator chamber thawing the thrusters nozzles of their icy barricade—shit, the ice. It’ll pose a threat, a handicap at the minimum if it doesn’t defrost soon enough. He cringes as the Crest whines against the glacier's dominance on his landing gear, but with the newly-maintenance thrusters, it’s no match against the craft. It rips from the ice and retracts to the hull’s underbelly, allowing Mando to manipulate the ship through the sky and out of the atmosphere; slabs of ice and snow descend to the ground beneath them.

The feeble bumpiness fades into a smooth flight and Mando activates the autopilot controls. “Not so bad, huh?” He disconnects the buckle from his belt and slips out of the chair, letting the Child sit in the warm leather. “Don’t go touching things—and don’t wake her up,” he quickly adds, noting the Child’s inquisitive staring as though he hadn’t genuinely noticed her earlier.

Mando sighs and hopes he’ll listen to his request just this once.

The Crest’s hold had been cleaned, just as the Girl promised to do, hardly even a speck of dust surfaced the floor. She’d been busy—and he had just been preoccupied with himself. Mando sighs to himself and browses through his reserved clothing. It mostly consists of bunking apparel—a couple of loose shirts and favourable pants—that he hadn’t had the opportunity to put to use since he fostered the Child. He’s expected—required to remain on the defensive at all times with the Guild breathing down his neck.

He sorts through the articles and grabs the spare flight suit, his only other. It would be ideal to purchase another, especially now with this one having been ripped, but it wasn’t a necessity presently. The fabric in his hands smells of dirt and grime, residue from the lake he attempted to clean it in all those weeks ago, but it’s better than his current—tattered, bloody, sweaty, and cum-stained. What a combination.

Perhaps he should invest in a refresher for his Crest. That way he wouldn’t be hunched over in the dark corners of the hold, stripping the beskar steel from his body for anybody to stumble across. It didn’t provide much assurance being within eyeshot of the cockpit ladder and with the lack of places to conceal himself, his hurried movements advanced. Then again the sheer thought of the Girl seeing him like this—and joining him—isn’t unpleasant; it would make the situation a whole lot less embarrassing.

He peels the last of his beskar from his body and stacks it against the wall, reorienting himself to slip out of his boots. It’s been a while since he last stood without any armour, excluding the helmet, and it feels refreshing in a way. But it doesn’t feel right.

Mando wasted no time in replacing the flight suit, smoothing the fabric out with his gloves and reapplying the ensemble of beskar; each patch of steel fitting snugly where it belongs. It’s slightly more bearable, not having to feel his own mess rubbing against him on the inside of the fabric, and he shoves the dirty flight suit in replace of the clean. He’ll get around to washing it when he has the time—or burn it by virtue of the rip across the arm.

Speaking of arms, the bacta patch on his bicep had aided the wound significantly and within the next day or two, it should be healed. The lesion on his back was a different story. It’s still sore, somewhat better with a night’s rest, but it’ll be a while before he’s out there firing blasters with that same authority. It could cause jeopardy if he’s not cautious.

The Razor Crest abruptly rumbles and falls into a fit of tremors, hurling the Mandalorian against the stationary carbonite pods with fury. “Shit,” he growls and grips his bicep, pleading he won’t bleed through the fresh clothes so soon. It pulses again and the engines’ whining travels through the ventilation, discharging a high-pitched shriek followed by a low hum of a whistle.

“Man-fuck, Mando!” the Girl beckons from upstairs. Mando is quick on his feet up the ladder, clinging desperately to the rungs upon another spasm. “I was sleeping a-and the kid…” She doesn’t need to finish for him to understand, for the Child is sitting underneath the nav panel with colourful cords in his hands; wire coverings peeled away to expose the electricity hazards sparking in his fists.

“Kid, no!” Mando scolds and snatches the cables from his stubborn claws. He babbles a complaint to his guardian as he’s being relocated far away from the electricity. He’s completely dismantled it—Mando will need to implement an entirely new wiring system for the navigation controls alone; a job he’s not suited for. He turns to the Girl for support.

“Don’t look at me,” she raises her hands defensively, “I only know bits and pieces.”

Innocently burbling besides the Mandalorian, the Child watches as leather gloves track across the navigation controls urgently. He’s unbothered by the predicament they’re in—just glad that his guardian had returned to the cockpit’s cabin, it appears. Mando groans in annoyance, fumbling with the nav and fighting against it’s constant glitching. “We’re in luck. There’s a planet on the way. Tatooine. Someone can help us there.”

“Yeah. Heard of it,” she mutters, regrettably, and he wonders what that is all about but it can wait. It wasn’t the time to sweat over the small details. “We’re not going to crash, are we?”

He contemplates, glancing over the system’s diagnosis and dismisses the electrical yammering it erupts. “Shouldn't—there’ll just be a lot of turbulence.”

That there is—turbulence and a great deal of it. There’s too much to maintain an uncoiled stomach throughout the remainder of the short flight and they’re both surprised when they’re successful in their landing, especially without the contents of their stomach having been dumped over themselves. Peli Motto—an innovative mechanic but a bit too communicatory for the Mandalorian’s preference—stands in her hangar with two greasy hands on her hips, eyes squinting through the viewport to gaze up at Mando. Better have my credits ready to go this time, he can already hear her say and he sighs. Credits he did have, but they weren’t exactly his, and there wasn’t much to spare.

“I’ll see to her,” Mando announces and retrieves the Child, “would you care to join?”

The Girl seems hesitant and peers out the viewport curiously. “Do you trust her?”

Mando takes another glance outside. Peli’s droids are nearing his ship to begin operations but with one stern look from the woman, they back away from the craft. “I do.”

The Girl sighs and peels herself from her seat, fiddling with the cloak that had been laid across her body earlier. “This, uh-”

“Clip it on for me,” he instructs and turns, waiting for familiar hands to run across his shoulders. It takes a moment and he considers retrieving it himself, but he’s patient and it pays off—her fingers playing with the neck covering to manipulate the cloak into place, her digits stroking against the back of his neck underneath all the thick fabric. It’s therapeutic somehow or other. He doesn’t quite understand it himself, but feeling the Girl’s pressure against him relaxes him; eases his eyes closed until all he wants to do is sleep, in her arms preferably and with his head on her chest—his head, not his helmet. Mando wants to press his ear against her flesh and listen to her heartbeat, her breathing, but most of all he just wants to be touched and to touch another.

The Girl smoothes her hands out across the cloak, running her palm down his back and ending just before it reaches the curve at the bottom. “There you go.” She smiles. Fuck, her smile. It makes him want to say something stupid, something embarrassing just to get the same reaction out of her; he wants to be the cause of that smile on her face. She adds, “Thank you.”

Mando twists to face her again, his head tilting. “What for?”

“Buckling me up and, uh, giving me the cloak,” she confesses, a timid hue of pink on her cheeks—she was blushing. “You could have given it to the kid or just kept it yourself, but… you didn’t. So, thank you.”

He swallows and reaches his hand up—for what, he doesn’t know. It’s not until his digits touch the soft padding of her cheek that he notices he’s making a move, his strokes transforming into uncertain shakes. The Girl’s blush deepens at the contact and she places her hand atop his, giving a quick squeeze of reassurance.

With that, his head is back to sorting through indecent thoughts and actions—but none are related to those they had been previously; they’re not obscene nor lustful. It’s his Creed that they’re unethical towards. He imagines the Girl reaching for his helmet, her slender fingers brushing against his chin as she does so, and lifts the steel to unmask the face that’s been sealed away for a long, long time. If she tried to do it right here, right now, he’s not positive whether he would stop her.

“We shouldn’t keep her waiting, it’ll be rude.”

She can wait, is what he wants to say, instead, he murmurs a simple, “Right.”

The Child appears satisfied in Peli’s arms, a large smile on his face as he glares up at the Mandalorian ahead of him. He’s receiving every ounce of attention he can muster out of the woman. “You telling me this little one did all that? Maybe if you gave him a little more attention he wouldn’t be tearing out your cables!”

“What do you mean?” Mando ponders. She runs a finger across the kid’s batwing ears and gestures behind him in the distance where the Girl preoccupies herself tending to their blasters. “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, come on! Do I have to spell it out for you? Are you that oblivious?” She sighs and soothes the Child, “You’ve found yourself another lifeform to harbour—probably spending an awful lot of time with her, aren’t ya?”

He’s not oblivious, not in the slightest; he’s just trying to avoid coming to terms with the thoughts in his head. However, he hadn’t noticed his lack of bonding with the Child and he mentally scolds himself. Of course, the kid wants attention, all kids do, and he’s probably becoming rather frustrated at the inadvertent neglect as a by-product of Mando’s fantasies.

“I ain’t saying ya shouldn’t indulge a little,” Peli chuckles and wags her hairless eyebrows at the visor, “I don’t blame ya for that. It must be hard adapting to having a girl like that on board your ship.”

Mando quietly sighs under his helmet but a blush lines his cheeks nonetheless. He’s relieved she can’t see it. He grumbles, “Get to the point.”

“Point is, you can’t ignore a child like that,” she explains, “he’s an impish little critter—smart, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did that on purpose to get your attention.”

“He’s costing me a lot of credits for attention.” Black-brown eyes observe the looming figure of beskar and Mando softens slightly. Peli watches with interest and returns the toddler to his arms. “The Girl-”

“She’ll be fine,” she assures, “if she wants to help, I’ll be sure to give her a real workout—don’t worry she won’t be too drained.”

The Mandalorian commits a final leer at the mechanic, enough to cause her to pull her lips tight into a smirk, and he returns to the Girl’s side to exchange his goodbyes, “I’m going to head into town and see if there are any jobs available.”

The Girl raises an eyebrow in question and pauses polishing the blasters, “I’m not coming with you?”

Does she want to come with him? The vocoder emits a hum of thought but ultimately he knows she should stay behind this time, “Peli reckons I should spend time with the kid. Shouldn’t take too long—I’ll just head in and grab the kid a meal, look around for intel… I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

She nods, understanding. “I’ll—just wait here then.”

Mando reciprocates her nod and hesitantly steps back, but the Girl’s fingers loop through his belt and draws him in close to her once again. He steadies himself with a hand on the dip of her waist, digits unconsciously poking into the flesh deeper, and he angles the helmet to her eye level in disarray.

The familiar weight of his blaster slips into position against his thigh but he doesn’t tear his eyes away to look, he doesn’t want to move at all. “Might need it,” she explains, her tone hushed, “it’s good to go.” She lightly taps the blaster with her free hand and he stiffens when her palm comes to rest atop it, the tips of her fingers brushing against the outside of his thigh.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Her lips curl into a cunning grin and she tries to hide it by lifting herself onto her toes and breathing through the fabric surrounding his neck. Mando’s muscles flex involuntarily and the hand on her hip slinks a path to the curve of her back, where he fists a bundle of poncho fabric in his leathers. She whispers, “How’s your back feeling?”

“It’s - it’s better.”

She exhales softly and he swears he can feel it through the cloth, warming his jugular with her gleaming words, “So, you won’t be needing my help tonight?” Mando groans as she weakly pats the lesion deep underneath his cloak—it doesn’t hurt, more or less stings like a Droch crawling through his skin and draining his energy, but that was the Girl’s disposition more so than the wound’s sensitivity.

“Well,” Mando clears his throat and steps closer—if that’s even possible—so his lower-half is pressing against her waist, evoking a hitch of his own breath from the contact. She’s so soft against him. “I might need a hand…”

She chuckles into his neck, sending the vibrations from her throat into his and it makes a beeline to his heart. It vortexes around the organ, a current so strong it’d be fatal to terminate the stream. Not that he wanted to stop it. It’s such a pleasant feeling, the phantoms of sunshine-esque tendrils applying a pacifying pressure that feels like that of an embrace; warm hands clasping his heart and delivering delicate kisses across the muscle. He can almost sense the cushioning of lips against the pulsing organ.

“Ya know, I’ve got more than just hands.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, practically drooling at the mere suggestion—he’d be so sluggish to drag it out as long as possible, every single touch of his deliberate to commit all her curves, bumps, even bruises, to memory. Store it away for a gloomy day, like a breach in the clouds; sunbeams breaking through the overcast and introducing a warmth like none other.

Mando cranes his neck to the side slightly and she takes the invite to burrow deeper. The blood in his neck is hot and the air in his helmet sultry. He wants to do nothing but drag her back to the ship and lock themselves away for the remainder of the day, but the irritated child on his hip is starting to get antsy. Mando gasps, “Need to - to take the kid out.”

She hums her sympathy against his neck, “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

Well, time was indeed taken, or however the saying goes.

The Mandalorian had been forced into conversations all day courtesy of the Child; he just couldn’t seem to stop touching things or feeding on display products of each stall they’d pass. Mando’s entire vocabulary had been decreased to continuous sorry’s and kid, no! It doesn’t just end there. The Child was inquisitive of all his surroundings, particularly places Mando couldn’t fit himself—it made for some awkward dialogue between him and the kiosk attendants when he’d be on his hands and knees rummaging around for a loose alien baby.

“I’m not stealing!” He’d reassure but it’d have the opposite effect and turn heads, people eyeing him with curiosity; a Mandalorian, like that in folklore, frantically chasing a little green toddler with something half-alive dangling from its mouth. He’s made a fool out of himself enough for a day. The Child, on the other hand, is still persistent—giving him somewhat of the silent treatment until Mando bargains a promise of food.

The Child attentively watches his food in the arms of the server, streaks of steam and a tender fragrance wafting in his direction as it settles onto the table ahead. “Thank you,” Mando nods and leans back in his seat, unequipping a small bag of leftover credits he could spare for the day and sliding it across the wooden surface, “do you know of any employment opportunities?”

“Regrettably not, sir,” the waiter replies and exchanges final pleasantries before returning behind the buffet to assist an unruly patron.

Mando sighs and returns his guard to the Child—who grabs a spoonful of scalding liquid and squeals in delight—and chews on the inside of his lip in thought. Tatooine is just as detestable as the last time he was here—the hustle and bustle never-ending. One would think that the Mandalorian could blend in with such an immense and diverse population, but his outright existence drew attention to himself; it’s becoming a ritual each time he steps foot inside a cantina. People’s discussions quickly cease as they scrutinise the warrior upon his entrance, contemplating whether they could neutralize him and pry the beskar steel from his body to sell in the black market. Some have tried and failed, of course. In his youth, Mando thrived off the sensation. It was empowering to have others tremble in their skin at the sheer sight of a Mandalorian, but he’s matured and those days are long since dead. He’s travel-worn, too exhausted to concern himself with people’s thoughts regarding him, so long as they weren’t orchestrating his downfall.

“I ain’t never seen a thing like this before,” a disembodied voice mutters from behind the Mandalorian, the shoddy cantina lighting casting a shadow across their table. Mando doesn’t tear his attention from the Child but reaches for his blaster nonetheless, the leathers fiddling with the hilt in preparation. “Where’d you get it?”

When he doesn’t reply, the figure shifts to come between him and the Child—a trandoshan with wide-set eyes and sharp pointed teeth, sneering at the man underneath the beskar. She’s got yellow-brown scaly skin and dons a protective piece underneath an unbuttoned shirt, with a hunting rifle across her back and a carbine strapped to her belt. She steals a chair from the closest table and swings it around to join the pair, placing her elbows on the table and looking back-and-forth between Mando and the Child.

“We’re looking to raise a youngling like this, maybe something a lil’ bit more competent than this one.” The Child’s green ears perk up at the stranger but just as quickly dismisses her, plunging the spoon into the womp rat stew for seconds or thirds—Mando wasn’t keeping track. She glances behind Mando and waves a hand and calls, “Bookoo, what d’ya think?”

Bookoo—a Wookiee decked with nothing more than a dual bandolier across his chest and a small satchel at his hip—appears into view, soaring over the accumulated individuals and extends a welcoming smile at Mando underneath the shaggy rug of his face. “Muawa, ur oh.”

“No? What, you think we’re gonna get anything better?”

Mando interrupts, tired of the banter, “He’s not going with you.”

“We have credits,” she taps the satchel on Bookoo’s hip, they clash against one another inside the leather.

“He’s not for sale.” Mando tears himself from his seat and shepherds the Child into his arms, ignoring the burbles and whines he emits as he tries to grab hold of the bowl. Mando turns for the exit, intently listening to the whispers of the pair behind him, but stops when called for.

“Uh-sir... Mandalorian, sir?” He turns on his heels and eyes the waiter who places two small packages stacked together atop the counter. “Your dessert, sir.”

The Trandoshan eyes the Mandalorian as he awkwardly balances the boxes in one arm and the Child in the other. She steps forwards once his hands are far from his blaster to make her claim, “I promised my group I’d bring back an apprentice, ya see? With a lil’ bit of training, that thing should be good to go. Ain’t that right, Bookoo?”

Bookoo steps back defensively, “Mu waa waa.”

“Stupid Wookiee,” she mutters and rises from her stool, her bare feet tapping against the cantina’s duracrete flooring. She places a claw on the counter in an attempt of intimidation, but she only sustains a pathetic reaction from the waiter. “What’s a Mandalorian need a child for anyways? You raising that thing to become one?”

“We’re done talking.”

“Aw, come on. We’re just having a small chat. No need to run for the dunes.”

The Mandalorian denies her the satisfaction of retaliation and continues outside. The familiar crunch of grit a welcoming sound through his filters—he never thought he’d be comforted by such a sound. The Trandoshan yells one last remark before he steers a corner, “If you change your mind, we’ll be here!”

He’s suspicious of their intentions—and uncertain whether they were tailing him—so he weaves through the night crowd, bumping and pushing the drunkards to and fro. Once he’s scampered plenty, and positive they hadn’t been stalking his footsteps, he returns to Peli’s hangar with a drowsy Child and now-cold dessert. Optimally, the kid will be tuckered out for the rest of the night but it was never a certainty—he just hopes he’ll give him some privacy for at least a few hours.

Peli wipes grease on a rag hanging from a belt hoop of her coveralls and offers Mando a smile, “I assume you got yourself a job?”

Mando shakes his head in defeat and delivers one of the takeaway boxes in her hands.

“What’s this?” She opens the box and her eyes practically light up with joy but it’s short-lived as she eyes him suspiciously, “Is this a bribe?”

“Just a nice gesture. I thought.”

“Hmm,” Peli hums and closes the box, nodding her head slightly. “Well, ‘bout that ship of yours… It’ll be two thousand.”

Two thousand. It’ll bleed their funds dry, but the Crest needs repairs. Without them, they’d be stranded here on Tatooine for the unforeseeable future—something Mando really couldn’t accommodate. There’s too much sand. Too many people. His calloused hands aren’t for sitting on; they’re created to work, and he won’t allow himself to leisure around a planet without performing some act.

The Girl won’t be pleased to hear he’s gone and spent a large sum of her earnings—not to mention how she’ll react when she ultimately comprehends she will be required to stay a little longer than expected. Mando feels his lips curling and he tries to smother it with reasoning; tries to tell himself he can’t keep her detained alongside him forever, but he’s obstinate and doesn’t take heed of his own advice. There’s a leap in his heart and a twisting in his stomach at the thought she’ll remain beside him for a little while longer—at least until he has the credits.

Perhaps the Child was onto something when he went and ripped all those wires out.

“That’s with a discount,” Peli adds.

“I should buy more of those.”

Peli scoffs at his jesting comment and tosses the takeaway parcel atop a flat surface. “The Girl. She’s good with her hands.”

If only she knew.

Something within the mechanic suggests that she does, in fact, know judging by the speculation written across her face; her squinted eyes waltzing his figure and her teeth chomping on the inside of her cheek to avoid voicing a sarcastic comment. The shield of beskar may disrupt his facial expressions—concealing them to only his cognisance—but his mannerisms are increasingly heightened to others and he’s gradually realising he’s not as proficient in masking them as he originally thought.

Mando swallows a thick lump in his throat and shifts his weight to one foot, his hip cocking out vaguely. “Is the maintenance finished?” he asks, shifting the topic to something he can reduce the awkwardness with.

Peli clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, “Oh, you mean the replacement of the entire navigational controls? Yeah, did it all by myself in a matter of a few hours. No help from my droids. No, it’s not done! Do you know anything about spacecraft restoration?”

“I typically leave that in the hands of...professionals.” Mando chooses carefully. “When will it be ready?”

“Me and your Girl are done for the night.”

His Girl?

Mando’s cheeks flush mildly, a faint tint of pink lining across his nose accompanied by a heat tackling the inside of his visor. Those two little words sound exceptional as the settle surrounding him, fogging his head with the seven letters—seven letters that he couldn’t relate to. They don’t belong to him; wouldn’t belong to him.

But he lets himself fantasise they could—they are.

His Girl.

Mando’s lips ghost underneath the beskar, mouthing the words to himself as though to test the waters; dipping his toes in the substance and sampling the texture before sinking into it, letting it engulf him. He thinks of His Girl’s lips and how soft, how gentle, they looked. Her lips are the sandy borders of a beach—sand he wouldn’t mind if it were to wedge its way through his flight suit to abuse his body— and her tongue, her saliva, are the waters; refreshing but salty, leaving him thirsty for more.

Peli drags him out of his daydreaming without realising it, “But it should be up and running before the suns’ at its peaks. So you better have my credits ready! I’m not free labour, ya know.”

“Don’t worry,” he groans, “you’ll get the payment.”

She crosses her arms taut over her chest and squints at him suspiciously, probably wondering how he’s going to manage to pay her, but her determination fades into moderate compassion with a deep exhale. “All right, gimme the kid.”

“What? Why?”

Her earthy eyes flick up to the cockpit’s viewport and Mando twists his body to observe. The top of the Girl’s head can be seen from his perspective, her arms raised high above her in a stretch and then just as quickly disappears out of sight. Peli teasingly shoves Mando’s shoulder and laughs, “Go on, I’ll take the kid for the night. I’ll even do it for free; reimbursement for the dessert.”

She’s a blessing in disguise—who’s he to decline such a persuasive offer?

“Just-” Peli stabilises the weight in her arms, the Child placidly dozing off in one, “I better not be hearing all that, okay? If you wake either me or the kid up-”

“Thank you.”

She watches him, stunned, and then shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. Mando doesn’t even feel tempted to know what she’s whispering to herself, he only has one thought on his mind: His Girl.

The Mandalorian reunites with the Girl in the cockpit’s cabin. She’s sitting on the floor tinkering with loose cabling with a craned neck to accommodate for the low-rise control board. Mando’s unsure whether he’s delighted to see her down there or disappointed; something within him expecting her to be somewhere less uncomfortable, awaiting his return—it’s a selfish thought and a very hormonal one at that. He sighs to himself and sits in the passenger’s seat, his elbows leaning on his knees to peer over her shoulder. “I thought Peli said you were finished?” Mando queries.

“She’s finished. I’m not.”

Mando breathes her name, introducing it to the cramped cockpit and it’s stale air, and she pauses a moment to turn her head and look into the magnetising visor. Now he’s the one pausing. It’s comical how he’s so easily conquered by a single glance. She doesn’t look at him like that in holoplays—where her eyes gleam in the low light hanging above and her mouth twitches when she’s restraining a smile—so why does his heart flutter and his blood surge through his veins? Rather, her eyebrows are crinkled with discouragement on account of uncooperative cords and there’s a streak of oil across her forehead—she looks just as gorgeous as ever.

Mando’s voice softens as he talks to her, “Take a break. It can wait until morning.”

She dismisses his recommendation, “It’s fine, I can keep going.”

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

“Quoting me to myself now, are we?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “You’re persuasive.” She chuckles some and he delves into the rumbles, enveloping himself in the bubbliness of it. “I brought food. You can have some if you stop working.”

She quirks an eyebrow and eyes the package in his leathers. “What is it?”

“Come here and look.”

“Are you having some?”

Mando contemplates, but he already knows his answer. “I’m not hungry,” he lies.

“Neither am I.” She deceitfully smiles and returns to her labours—it’s arduous, her fingers firmly twining the wires together and unravelling others apart to reconnect to a bundle loosely hanging underneath the panel.

The Mandalorian had completely forgotten how stubborn she can be, especially with his thoughts distorted by the events of last night; she had been so adaptable and willing to aid him. It’s ridiculous to think they’re the same person. Jaw clenching with defeat, Mando sighs heavily and fiddles with the takeaway box. It’s lid lifts from its fastenings to expose a small stack of fluffy cobalt-coloured pancakes. They’re slightly soggy from the absorbed condiments and stone-cold, having been outside for far too long, but they’re a Tatooine delicacy he had yet to try before.

Mando glances at the Girl and rips the pancake into sections, simultaneously watching her exhaust herself. She groans dramatically and readjusts her position, practically laying on her stomach with her torso hoisted by her elbows. It allows for her to maneuver underneath the control panels—and allows Mando to drag his eyes lower.

His leathers slide underneath the bottom of his helm and dislodge it from position, the beskar expelling a sharp hiss of air. He freezes at the reminder but the Girl doesn’t seem interested in the newly discovered noise; he continues, elevating the hindrance just above his mouth to slot in a slice of torn pancake.

They’re soft like her hands and he lets himself imagine they are—pretends the sweetness of the syrup is actually his cum on her fingers or, better yet, her own slick. He’s reluctant to even chew, not wanting to shred the impure fantasy he’s created upon himself, so he doesn’t. Mando sits there with the pancake in his mouth just holding it there, letting his tongue flatten underneath it and suck the syrup out to relish in the bittersweetness.

It’s only once he’s drained it of its flavour that he finally devours the cake in hunger. It’d been a while since he last ate, but he repeats the process with the other sections he had torn apart—struggling to contain his self-control as he savours the sweetness and imagery of the Girl writhing underneath him.

Mando plops the tips of his leathers in his mouth and absorbs the residual syrup before aligning his helmet in place yet again, his hunger reasonably quenched—his thirst for the Girl, not so much. It doesn’t help matters when she reaches for a cord and her poncho rides up, unmasking the curves of her backside and revealing a splinters-worth of skin above the hem of her pants. He indulges at the sight of taunting skin and licks a drop of syrup from his lips, imagining his head between her thighs lapping at something sweeter—tangier. Mando feels so fucking undignified around her like his honour has been squeezed out of an over-absorbed rag; dripping through the gaps in his fingers and there’s nothing he can do to catch it before it vaporises before his eyes hardly leaving a trace in its wake.

It’s wholly improper how his eyes attack her unclothed skin, obsessing over it like a glass of water in the outskirts of Tatooine. Now that he thinks about it, his mouth is significantly parched and he’s forced to bite his lip to avoid reaching out for the temptation. Still, he hungers to run his fingers across the bare flesh and explore her bumps and curves with his tongue, dragging it over her neck and feel the rumbles of her moans as he sucked on a pulsing vein. Her moans—what a magnificent sound that must be.

The unspoken promise between them plays with the dark crevices of his imagination.

I’ve got more than hands.

Mando’s unsure if she meant it; she hadn’t indicated anything to him since his return. Is she expecting him to make the first move? If so, that’s torturous in itself.

Coffee-coloured eyes battle against the azure cakes and he confronts a moral dilemma. He has an inclination to satisfy the building arousal in his pants but it doesn’t align with his traitorous voice, “Eat.”

The Girl glances over her shoulder and Lord, he could get used to that view especially with him atop of her. She reverts her gaze to the opened box in his lap. “I’m not-”

“I’ve had one,” he confesses and tilts the box to show a stack of three remainders, “two each, but you can have my other.”

“When did you… Did you take off your helmet? In front of me?”

“Behind you,” he corrects.

She doesn’t find the humour in the situation, though, which surprises Mando. “What - what about your Creed? Fuck, Mando. You can’t…”

His expression softens underneath the visor and he sinks to his knees on the ground so he’s eye-level with the Girl, clasping one of her hands in his leathers. “Don’t concern yourself with that. I didn’t remove it entirely, just enough to eat. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal? Mando-”

Mando impolitely interrupts her by pushing a torn slab of blue through her parted lips—his digits lingering longer than necessary—and he chuckles at her shocked grimace.

She swallows and slaps his pauldron, “Rude!”

“Sit down and eat.”

The Girl conforms to his invitation and settles beside him, her back firmly planted against the durasteel wall of the cockpit. Mando awkwardly lowers to sit as well, the beskar clanking against the wall behind them but he doesn’t take any notice of it. It’d be like herding a group of Nexu—utterly impossible—if he tried to concentrate on anything but her thigh against his or her hand digging through the box on his lap.

She munches on a blue cake beside him and it takes everything in him to give her privacy and not drool over the sticky syrup running down her fingers. It’s like she can read him though, her unsoiled hand hooking two fingers on the underside of the helmet and dragging it to look at her. “What about you?”

“I’ve...had one.”

“One. I don’t want you passing out on me. Here, I’ll look away.”

Mando eyes the divided dessert between her fingers and the drop of golden syrup slowly making way to her third knuckle. She’s not looking at him and can’t identify whether he’s accepting her offer or not, but she doesn’t dare retract her hand; it just hovers in the air waiting for his leathers to grasp the food from her—they don’t. Something so much softer does, though.

Mando licks a long stripe along the underside of her fingers, tearing the pancake from her clutch with his tongue and reserving it in the cheek of his mouth for later—too preoccupied with the sugary concentrate coating her fingers. She tenses at the sensations. It’s overwhelming, consuming her thoughts and spitting them out in a pile of goo. It’s almost irresistible to not look at him, to not watch as he sucks on her fingers so fucking desperately, but she’s respectful of his Creed even if it kills her.

“Mando,” she whispers because it’s too quiet, too real.

His tongue is persistent, parting her fingers from each other and lapping at the syrup in the crevices of her knuckles. It’s so sweet and he moans around her fingers at the taste on the back of his tongue. Mando doesn’t concern himself with the potential of humiliation—he ought to look downright laughable right now—because she’s so sweet and soft in his mouth, far superior to the pancake he relished earlier. There’s a puny attempt to pull away on her behalf but with a firm grip on her wrist, she holds her position inside his mouth, especially when his teeth lock her digits in place, while her other hand finds the plate of thigh armour and hooks the fingers underneath.

“Shit,” she breathes and leans into him.

The Girl’s palm flattens against his chin and he stiffens his jaw, his movements slacking behind now that he’s focused on the warmth on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so tenderly, no - he could but he didn’t want to; didn’t want to ruin the moment with the imagery of blaster fire and his mother’s last loving touch.

Her reassuring strokes against his cheeks with her free fingers urge him on and he sucked the final of the syrup from her digits before freeing them from his lips, placing a peck on the tips. Once the helmet is resealed, he finishes the neglected pancake in his mouth.

“You’re not as reserved as you act,” she chuckles, “where was that last night?”

Mando smiles. “Come here and let me show you.”

Where was all this confidence coming from?

He doesn’t care—he’s making a fucking move while he can.

The Girl contemplates him with a raised brow and a small smirk toying at her lips. It makes him want to know what she’s thinking—formulating—in that head of hers, but he’s not left in suspense for long. She braces a leg over his lap and straddles him, constricting her inner thighs against the outside of his and tilting his helmet back to look up at her.

Mando nearly stops breathing, his organs refusing to cooperate in unison with such an unknown weight atop of him. All that confidence from earlier completely obliterates with just one roll of her hips—maybe it wasn’t confidence but arrogance, he thinks. She’s devious, he can see the pleasure in her eyes at his unfolding below her.

“Are you looking at me?” she asks, a hand on either side of his helmet to steady his head.

He nods because he doesn’t trust himself not to whine if he opens his mouth.

She looks back at him and for a moment, just a second, he feels as though she can see him, and then she grinds down and sketches the outline of his stiffening cock below her heat—and fuck if it isn’t one of the friskiest things he’s ever beared witness to. There’s just something so unique about the eye contact when she’s unravelling him like a ball of yarn; he wants to gaze into her eyes without the guard ahead of him and break her apart. “F-fuck, you’re,”-she rolls her hips again, faster-“ah, you’re too - too good to me.”

“I know,” she quips.

Daunting. It’s so fucking daunting being so paralysed with arousal underneath the Girl, stripped down to an accumulated pile of whimpers and twitches as she takes her sweet time tormenting him—and he fucking enjoys every second of it. He’s fatigued from years of bounty hunting, years of being shot, stabbed, beaten, and it’s stimulating having somebody touch him so languidly and voluntarily care for him in such a way.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.”

He swallows.

It’s so fucking ironic. He’s never had more than a few thousand credits to his name at a time and yet, pinned below the Girl with her being so provocative, he feels like the richest man alive—because it couldn’t be luck; he’d never been so fortunate to as receiving a simple bounty commission, a beautiful girl extracting every drop of arousal out of him no less.

He moans her name and inches his fingers under her poncho, “Want - fuck, I need-”

Mando’s pleas are interrupted by a suspiciously familiar disembodied voice shouting, “Come on out and nobody gets hurt!” It’s a gruff, hoarse sound that oils the cogs in his mind. The Trandoshan. She must’ve followed him here…but he took precautions…

He can’t find it within himself to tear his hands away from the Girl to survey the threat outside, so she takes it upon herself to clamber off his lap leaving him cold and hard in his pants. Molten lava rises in his chest as he raises to his feet, staring out the viewport with such vengeance it almost surprises him. The Trandoshan firmly stands with Peli Motto beside her, the barrel of her carbine pressed against her temple, and the Child squirming in her adjacent limb.

“Shit!” he growls and slams a pair of closed fists against the nav controls. It whines upon impact and blips a malfunctioning screen at his outburst.

“Hey, calm down,” she soothes, a hand slipping into his.

“They have Peli! ...The kid.”

The Trandoshan leers at him through the viewport. “Leave that blaster of yours on the ship and get down ‘ere. No funny business either! I’ll fire a hole through her head otherwise. Then the Kid’s.” She accentuates her point by thrusting the barrel against Peli’s temple harder.

The Girl fishes his blaster out of his holster. “They haven’t seen me,” she explains. “I’ll wait until you get close enough to them but don’t try anything without me.”

It could work. It could fail. He didn’t have an alternative plan.

“Okay,” he agrees, understanding the moment between them is long gone.

With one final gawp outside, Mando pries himself away from the nav controls and heads downstairs, bare. It’s not as though he’s completely defenceless; the flamethrower in his vambraces had enough fuel to get him out of a pinch, the whipcord could serve a purpose if essential, and he still possessed his vibro-knife in his boot. None of that can compare to the comfort of a blaster in his hand though.

The Child and Peli Motto’s safety is his priority, so he’ll comply with the Girl’s strategy and get as close to the Trandoshan as possible. He’ll use brute force if necessary.

They’ve relocated to an open region in the hangar where it’ll be near impossible to shield everybody if a blaster fight ensues. Preferably, it won’t come to that. The Trandoshan flexes her finger against the trigger when Peli fidgets with her hands beside her. Mando vaguely shakes his head in her direction and examines the Child’s wellbeing in the yellow-brown scaly arms.

“I’m here.” He raises his hands to demonstrate his compliance, “Let them go and we’ll talk.”

She sneers at him, laughs. “No.” The blaster reels back and whips Peli over the head, knocking her unconscious in a piled heap on the ground. Mando moves forwards, his fists tightening with each step. “Hold it right there.” The Child whines against the cold barrel pressing into his wrinkled forehead. Mando stops hastily, his eyebrows twitching with rage.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“What do you need a child for?”

She smiles hauntingly, her sharp teeth locking together through her open-mouthed grin. “We don’t need one, but this one’s got a pricey bounty on its head,”—she aims for the flesh above his heart plate—“as do you.”

Guild members. Just his luck they’d be situated on Tatooine at the same time as he is.

The Mandalorian’s visor tilts to the Child in her arms, his eyes narrowing on the outstretched green claw. The kid’s eyes shut and his forehead wrinkles as he desperately tries to concentrate on something, and then it clicks in Mando’s head. His powers. The Child hadn’t used them since they took down the Mudhorn and Mando was beginning to think they had vanished, but they mustn’t have—he’s too focused on the air ahead of him.

The Trandoshan hasn’t noticed his fidgeting and Mando takes it upon himself to keep the barrel focused on him by stepping forwards, providing the Child time to figure out his abilities. “You won’t leave here alive,” he taunts.

She seems unfazed by his remarks, too confident in her plans. “Ah, what do we have here?” The Trandoshan asks curiously, peering over the Mandalorian’s figure and he whips his head to follow. The Girl is subdued in the arms of the acquainted Bookoo, who must’ve been anticipating resistance and remained obscured from their sight.

The Girl fights against his grip but he’s far too strong for her to overpower and she limps in defeat, glancing up behind her at the Wookiee; eyes enlarging and her mouth falling agape underneath the face-covering she donned for the occasion.

Then—the last thing the Mandalorian expects to hear—the Trandoshan exclaims her name in a greeting, “It’s been a while!”

_______________________________

“Muawa, ur oh” - no, thank you “Mu waa waa” - please leave me alone

A/N: Good lord I am so sorry for an 8k chapter, I really didn’t want to split it into two. However, with this one being so long the next might not be out until the middle of next week (if I can manage to actually concentrate for long enough to write). Let me know how you enjoyed it and if you want to be added to the taglist! PS I’m running of gifs...please help...what do yall search for such hd gifs?

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79

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suffering-with-fiery · 3 years ago

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Rune translations and Bottom theories (I did my best!) (: It's long! I mean REALLY REALLY REALLY LONG!!!! You've been warned. (Potential TWs below the cut) yeah Hyoga doesn't have a good time here.

I should probably start calling Hyoga "Hyouga" instead since I'm pretty sure it's spelled with a 'U'... but I probably won't. Apologies.

Bottom English translation by Tackmyn Y! (I can't speak Japanese, again, apologies, though I was able to make my own version of Autophagy)

Potential TWs (I dont want to harm anyone by going on this rant): Autophagy (medical terms), nightmares, demons tormenting a guy, Hyoga being unhealthy in more ways than one, mentions of death/murder, self esteem issues, mentions of destructive behavior, manipulation, violence.

Yeah, my boy Hyoga ain't having a good time in this theory.

I feel the need to clarify that this is all speculation. So uh. Everything here is just what I've been thinking about since I hopped into this rabbit hole.

Sinfan (I'm not sure what order they go in, it's quite hard to tell):

["Death"

"I"

"Revive"

"Spirit"

"I"

"Something with shape"]

I'm not fully sure what "something with shape" means, but there's a possibility that Sinfan could be referring to Hyoga, (a doll/wax figure) or maybe that Sinfan needs something with a shape to be able to exist. Sinfan could need a vessel to stay on the mortal plain and go undetected while staying alive.

Sinfan needs a vessel. And with that thought, it launches into indecipherable theory crafting.

Hyoga summoned Sinfan when he was 12 years old. Thinking he found a vessel, he called upon Pabometh, another grey demon, to help torment Hyoga so the two could get their wish.

Hyoga, at the time, is young, dumb and susceptible to manipulation, meaning it could be easy for Sinfan to grasp the situation with an iron grip which follows Hyoga into adulthood.

"Revival" could also be referring to "Rebirth," symbolized by a butterfly. It could also mean that Sinfan/Pabo has the powers to revive people. Maybe as a last resort if they need it.

In Hiiragi Kirai's album trailer on Youtube, Hyoga shows up in a scene with 'D' and 'B' in calligraphy on each cheek. They could mean "Death" and "Birth" respectively.

Lines from Autophagy:

"I just wants a peaceful life." Likely means Hyoga wants the demons gone so he can live how he wants to. (Who wouldn't?)

"The voice inside my head? Huh... how odd." Also implies that the demons are still with him.

"My body pulses, memories from my past bringing pain." Means that in Autophagy, Hyoga remembers his past, but it hurts him.

""You can't avoid it in life, so it's best to just deal with it." You say, but you dont seem bothered." Is most likely Sinfan talking to Hyoga. It could also mean that Hyoga can't avoid the demons, so he should just deal with it.

"I can't stop now, so pretend nothing happened!" Could be Hyoga trying to ignore the demons, or maybe he did something he shouldn't have. (Always knew those were prison tattoos...)

"I want to wash my skull out! I want to say bye bye! But yet I didn't do it..." Could mean that the demons are still with him in Autophagy and likely still tormenting him.

"I won't stop, I can't look back." Might mean Hyoga is trying to move on, but with the demons still in his head, he can't, so the "Let me forget!" after the instrument solo might be him wishing that he never remembered in the first place and trying to get the demons to take them away again.

"Just stay away from me!" Could be Hyoga distancing himself from everyone he knows, or trying to get the demons to go away.

"Hello! HAHAHAHA Hello! HAHAHAHAHA!" Might be Hyoga as he slowly loses his remaining sanity due to constant tormenting and pressure from the demons.

"A A A A- 'Allo/Allow/Arrow" could all imply different things, so I'll give a short on all of them.

"'Allo!" Is just an abbreviation of "Hello."

"Arrow!" -According to a quick google search- is a common symbolism for peace and philosophical ideas, and used for protection and hunting. It could mean that Hyoga just wants peace and quiet, which is enforced by "I just want a peaceful life." in the beginning.

"Allow!" Could mean that the demons are trying even harder to bend him to their will and take him over as a vessel. They want Hyoga to allow them to posses him so they can do whatever they please.

Pabo only has 2 that I can see:

["Nightmare"

"Save (?)ime"]

It might be "time" but I couldn't make out the rune symbol there.

"Nightmare" hardens my thought that Bottom is just a massive nightmare set up by the demons to torment Hyoga, that the song is sung from the perspective of one of the demons (likely Pabo), and that Young Hyoga(tm) in the video is Pabometh playing the part of his repressed/forgotten memories.

This is all assuming the song is, infact, sung by the demons.

Lines from Bottom:

"You're keeping me alive! Today, today, you're killing me!" Could go both ways (Pabo/Sinfan and Hyoga) For Pabo it could just be another variation of the next line I'm about to talk about.

For Hyoga it could mean that he wouldn't be able to function if he didn't have the demons (Sinfan might posses him to make him fit in so nobody notices, keep him from dying from mortal wounds, and he's lived with them so long he might not know what to do without them), but with them he's slowly tearing himself apart from the inside out due to their constant tormenting. Metaphorically or literally is anyone's guess at the moment.

"Autophagy" (his songs name) is a medical term for "self eat" which normally happens when your body is starved, so it eats it's own cells to survive as long as it can. It can also correlate to certain diseases. Autophagy in these terms might also be referring to emotions. It's possible he's been stewing in any sort of negative emotions to cause such effects. (I.E: Guilt, fear, self worth issues,) which could make his resolve weaker, making it easier for Pabo and Sinfan to torment him/possess him. The longer it goes on, the closer he could be to self destructing.

"A wax figure/a doll is keeping me alive/killing me." Is more related to the demons in my eyes. "Wax figure/a doll" is likely referring to Hyoga. Hyoga could be their only tie to the mortal realm, (Sinfan being more prominent because he was summoned first, and by Hyoga himself.)

It could also mean that they need to inhabit his mind/body in order to survive and make it easier to torment Hyoga. If they both are in Hyoga's mind 24/7 while he suffers from nightmares (which cause lack of sleep, keeping his body in a perpetually weak state), no self worth, and a fragile mental state ("I wanna keep you out of my fragile mind!") while he tears himself apart, it would mean it would be harder to stay with him without something happening.

Due to that, it's likely that the very thing keeping them alive and in the mortal realm is also killing them at the same time.

It may be worth mentioning that a line in Bottom is "You think you're a god to me?" while 9lore translated Rinen's (Möbius') tattoo on his chest, which reads "Be still and know that I am god." It could a a coincidence, but I thought I'd mention it just in case (:

Throughout the entire song the demons are mocking and belittling Hyoga. (I.E: "Defying all logic, you're nothing but evil." "You're so stupid! You scumbag, scumbag, scumbag!") Most of the angry rant type of thing happens when Young Hyoga (tm) is on-screen. (It could be a tactic to make Hyoga not want to remember/manipulate his memories/tear down his resolve even more/or just plain upset him.)

"I mean, who, who, who are you?" It's been made clear that for the longest time (according to WOOMA) Hyoga didn't even remember his own name. "Who are you?" might be Pabo trying to get into Hyoga's head and make him question his own sanity.

"What the hell are you to me?" Implies that Pabo also want Hyoga to question why Pabo is here. Sinfan was summoned by Hyoga, but Pabometh was likely summoned by Sinfan to help tear down Hyoga. That means the two don't have much history, and Hyoga most likely doesn't know why Pabo is here for awhile.

It's "you to me" instead of "me to you" so Pabo could also be trying to get Hyoga to try and notice him in a positive way so that the nightmares stop. I'll expand on that some more a few (a lot) of paragraphs down.

"Inside my heart is- such a rage! Such a rage! So I'll grab you, grasp you, and crush you flat!" Is a line I find interesting. It also leads directing into another line; "The symptom of the unforgettable emotion is my burning intent to murder, which is absolutely right." Pabo would likely be talking about Hyoga, which implies that if he could, Pabo would murder Hyoga himself, but since the "wax figure" is needed to keep both him and his accomplice, Sinfan, alive, he can't.

It also implies that Pabo is extremely angry with Hyoga, for a reason I can't particularly pinpoint, except maybe for the fact that Hyoga's becoming more and more unstable and not safe for Pabo and Sinfan. The only problem is, it's Pabo and Sinfans fault he's like that. They're the ones that chose Hyoga as a vessel while simultaneously destroying him.

However, it's possible that Pabo's aim was to devoid Hyoga of anything and everything, (I.E: memories, emotions, etc. etc.) so that he was just that: a vessel. But with Hyoga being so destructive to himself, the whole plan could have gone awry and Pabo's only thought was how furious he was at Hyoga for messing up his chance to be in the mortal realm undetected for good, meaning he wishes he could destroy Hyoga and just get it over with so him and Sinfan could wait until someone else summoned them so they could take advantage of that.

""How deplorable you are! How deplorable you are!"" Is a line that has a chance of Hyoga himself having said it due to it having quotes on it. It also implies that he he could be fighting back, so his resolve might not crushed completely. However, a show of strength like that would likely just enrage Pabometh even more than he already is. It also doesn't help the positive impression he wants Pabo to have of him.

"You're involving yourself with me again like a clingy, clingy neighbor!" Sounds like Pabo, again, insulting Hyoga. If we go off of another part of this fever dream I've cooked up, (Hyoga not knowing what to do without the demons, but with them destroying himself), sounds like Pabo doesn't want to be with Hyoga anymore, going as far as hating him so much he's festering in it.

The "again" makes it sound like Hyoga's tried to communicate with them more than once, being unsuccessful each time. Hyoga could be trying to latch onto them, either to take them down with him or trying to get the nightmares to stop. Like I said, for a while Hyoga could have been trying to get positive attention and make Pabo like him.

"The low-end is going to manipulate me." Could be Pabo addressing that he knows what Hyoga was trying to do and calling him out for it.

"Brimming with momentary anger, rot away quickly, quickly, quickly!" Again, Pabo is talking about his burning hatred for Hyoga.

"I'm always losing! How, how dare you!" Implies that even with all the nightmares and torment, Hyoga has just enough willpower to keep Pabo from getting his wish, angering him even more.

And finally, a line from Autophagy:

"Oh, rise seeds of evil, bursting with malice!" Might be Hyoga finally giving into the demons and becoming their vessel if they take away his painful memories and stop hurting him.

Pentagram:

["-r Guide(A) N(?)E A(?)R"

"The ability to know wh-"

"Grant me the power to be strong in spirit-"

"Grant me the wisdom to understand-"]

With it over Pabo, it's possible that this was the one that summoned Pabo instead of Sinfan, although with it also under Hyoga, it could be Sinfan's. Who knows, it might also be boths.

In the ending scene with the pentagram, the colors of the other songs are visible, meaning that it's possible all of them are connected.

(I could go on for hours about the small loopholes that I think mean all the songs are connected in specific ways. Either way I know they're all from the same universe.)

With all their colors on it, it might mean they all have a demon of their own.

I'm still working slightly on the pentagram, I'll probably keep ya updated if I can find out what the rest of it says (:

If anyone can find the full version (preferably readable) of the pentagram, that'd be lovely (if it even exists)

(If you find more runes in "Bottom" or another Hiiragi song I'd be happy to see if I can translate it (: I'm not very good though, and I can't speak Japanese-)

English translation of Bottom used by: Tackmyn Y (I don't know where you are but you're a lifesaver)

Find any spelling errors, let me know! I'll see if I can fix 'em (:

If you read this far, what're you doing??

Have an absolutely amazing day!!! <3

#hiiragi kirai #wooma #autophagy #runes #translation #theories #fan theory #speculation #v flower #THE WOOMAVERSE #I need a manga anime and Netflix adaptation NOW

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spacetwiga · 4 years ago

Text

leave c!phil out of bullshit 2k21 -- a not so tiny post by a new enthusiast

As someone who finds both common fanon and actual canon to be quite fun, I really think the general DSMP fandom would benefit greatly from a few things in general: the greatest, in my opinion, is learning to accept that popular fanon won’t usually be the canon you receive. Another, of course, is that POVs are golden, but with these two things being flimsy in being accepted, they are the major flaws that cause about 90% of the absolute messy takes that gain traction, oftentimes poisoning a canon character's ability to exist in the story.

My biggest beef regarding this comes from how y’all treat c!Phil, so here I am, being annoying on main side!

TL;DR... Just because someone acted like like a guidance to others, doesn’t always mean that they'll want to be the father figure role for everyone that breathes. Similarly, pinning down a character on a single trope is wack, so don't be surprised if they grow away from it.

Baby’s first little dsmp rambling below!

(Warning: it's long as hell)

The Dream SMP plotline is not written out like most popular media. With so many moving parts in the form of daily streams and the wonderful tool of live improvisation, it makes perfect sense that such a giant cast would not always be on the same page. Adding onto that, it also makes more sense that a vast majority of the cast will be placed into supporting roles, as the story needs to have characters that serve as narrative anchors and others that function as the links in a chain, all weathering the storm that is the plot.

Screentime, of course, plays a major factor into canon exposure -- in terms of the Dream SMP, POV matters equally, if not more, too.

It’s a pretty neat way of showing things, but in the end, the fanbase has a lovely (read: godawful /lh) way of analysing characters, particularly when it relates to how they interact with others from their fave character’s POV. The tendency to analyse things from a single character's POV is fine, but not when attempting to critique the greater whole of a conflict. Both sides, no matter how wrong they may seem to be, matter.

Adding onto the fact that everything is live, there are things that will spiral out of control, casual words being skewed and thus having the potential of a single line seemingly contradicting the entire ‘story’ that the fanbase has made. If it directly affects a fave's POV in particular, one is more likely to take offense, as bias immediately bars one from trying to see the other person's side of things.

POV is important.

Which brings me to c!Phil, and how critics tend to ignore his perspective to prop up another character, or justify the tearing down of another.

Improvisation is both a blessing and a curse; the fanbase, however, loves to test out the latter. With it, the fanbase starts crafting tales to justify it...And so begins the mess that is c!Phil discourse.

Say it with me, folks: c!Phil is not supposed to be your fave’s fluffy father figure... unless you’re c!Wilbur!!!

😃☝��Dadza is good...👉🏾😎👉🏾 But fandom wants the excessive, idealized version.

-- birb 2k21

Family dynamics are generally loved for their potential for comfort, particularly those of a found family nature. Fandom in general tends to lean into them wholeheartedly, with most major bases having at least one prominent group present; SBI, of course, is no different. From fanart to popular fanfiction, it's arguably the biggest group dynamic alongside the Dream Team, and for that, a precedence was set.

c!Phil, if he ever joined, would fix everything! All of the ‘kids’ would turn to their new mentor and everything would turn out fine! This all knowing, morally just character will chuckle at their antics and wacky hijinks will follow! Fun times, right? /s

The hope for it, however, has long since been shattered, and frankly, good for him!

To go a little ooc, cc!Phil has stated multiple times that, while he was friendly with a lot of the cast as c!Phil, his only paternal link (at least biologically) lies with c!Wilbur. Simple, right? It should be -- there are multiple clips of him saying this -- but fans choose to ignore it in their critiques, generally citing favouritism or downright neglect for the character’s flaws. From 'favoring' Techno (who, in canon, holds the highest link in friendship outside of c!Wilbur's familal link) to 'neglecting' to visit Tommy (who he barely knew, and also assumed, like many others, that he was fine), these critiques weigh heavily on the scale that judges Phil’s so called father figure trope.

The story, however, has only leaned into (and persisted with) that for c!Wilbur alone, and adding onto it, there is an established acknowledgement from both ccs. That confirmation should hold the most weight, especially since both Phil and Wilbur seem alright with it. Even so, that familial has yet to be explored much for both characters, particularly regarding c!Phil, who has his debut (at least narratively) in a scene that feels opposite to the classic fatherly role.

c!Wilbur denounced accepting that helping hand to fall entirely into his explosive end, setting a precedence unlike most fatherly types arriving to save their kid. Usually, fandom narrative would love a close save, father and son uniting to heal and build up what was broken, but c!Phil’s entrance inks his story in failure. Angsty, right? We love angst!

And yet, as the story ticks on, the bad takes pile up.

Why? Well, I’l used to think that it is a “funny haha” type thing; a way to grieve for a character that was lost, as Alivebur was genuinely a great character. However, with the plot slowly progressing c!Phil’s story to evolve away from the ‘mentor the kids’ trope , I should have seen a storm on the horizon.

It should have been seen from the moment he stabbed c!Wilbur in the chest, but optimism is one hell of a smokescreen.

Built up fanon, however, is probably the greatest fog to ever exist.

There are lines before the button room confrontation that paint a picture of Wilbur seeking out the approval of his father (who seemed distant, at least from his POV), as well as hints to the SBI dynamic, but with the countless dismissals/retcons from CCs involved, as well as little to no consistent canon acknowledgement of this team dad role...Why base an entire hate piece of c!Phil just because popular fanon isn’t real?

Why, for the sake of building up a well rounded character, would one place the title of a communal parental figure on a grieving father who has little attachment to the community involved, especially when most of them are too busy delving into their own issues?

Furthermore, why go for Mr. Philza Minecraft: Angel of Death, CEO of KEKW, Functioning Immortal????

It’s madness, luv, and frankly, antis cannot let c!Phil process any of his grief (or flesh out his character) without his contributions being fatherly. His role has been idealized to the point where he is not a character on his own, but an accessory to the happiness of other characters. That is not how the world works, and in a conflict riddled server like the dsmp, arguing that it should be like that is counterproductive.

c!Phil had his own shit to deal with, and as he slowly uncovers how fucked up the server actually was, he merely adapts to it. He learns to play the game by his own rules, and people become mad that he’s succeeding in his own way. It's as simple as that, particularly when referencing his initial exposure to the world he now inhabits.

c!Phil is a man who used to hear of his son’s success from the letters he received, words spinning tales of won revolutions and newfound friendships. To a father, those letters are more than enough to assume that all is well, and with it, he had no reason to check on his son, who was already old enough to be carving his path alone. For him to arrive and see just how broken his son actually was, and then, in front of faces he only vaguely knows, kill said son... There's a lot to take in.

He shouldn't have had to care about L'Manberg in those moments, not when he had his son in his arms, dead by his own goddamn weapon; his son who, to his knowledge, was doing pretty well up until he caught wind of his plot. Yet, he does.

He gives them the benefIt of the doubt, even ignoring the one person he has shown to have deep history with (c!Techno) to assist the nation in defeating the withers and rebuilding what was lost.

c!Phil stays in a nation that has seemingly brought his son right into his demise, holding in that grief to help people who he assumes have the chance to rebuild, to reform. For a moment, he trusts that the system can turn into something positive, offering to hunker down and do what he can to help. That’s the start of a fatherly type role for most -- with many expectations rising from fans to ‘fix’ all these traumatized characters.

In another plot, perhaps critics could have gotten the tropes they want from c!Phil, but to blame the character for reacting negatively to a world he barely knew, right after seeing it ruin his son and target a friend...Maybe the need for a "father figure" only stems from making their faves happy.

Characters that don't directly support your fave are not inherently awful characters. Critique based on that alone is...flimsy, really, but honestly, you can use to to show how they process things.

Which brings me to the events leading up to Doomsday, and with it, the steady rise of c!Phil’s defining traits.

Say it with me, folks: c!Phil is one of the most loyal members on the server, but loyalty doesn’t mean he's blindly following along!

😃☝🏾Butcher Army take this L👉🏾😎👉🏾 Found it in the L’Mancrater

-- birb 2k21

The butcher army arc, while nestled among the mainline story of Tommy’s exile (which I will not even mention, because those dadza takes about visiting may deserve a post on their own), allows for c!Phil to see into the minds of those who had once been with (or even against) his son’s plans. Sure, he may be witnessing them after the eve of their newfound traumas, but this is an important observation to make when comparing how easy it was to denounce his affiliation to them and side with c!Technoblade.

Unlike the new Administration, slowly dipping deeper and deeper into their own form of power hunger, c!Technoblade’s base desires had never wavered. His trust in others, however, had, still nursing the sting of a betrayal, but with no conflict in sight. He is reforming, finding comfort in his solitude, and still maintaining contact with those he trusts.

Techno's Compass, for one, is a major example of their mutual trust. Despite being on opposing territories, they are civil enough to trust each other, just like old friends.

Thus, when you take two old friends who are more than used to conflict -- one grieving and one betrayed, but both seeking neutrality -- it shouldn’t have surprised the antis that c!Phil would place c!Techno’s whereabouts (and life, mind you) over some government he barely knew.

And yet, above all else, c!Phil starts off as a neutral party for everyone's sake, forgoing potential conquest for peace.

To c!Phil and c!Techno, it’s like fighting back to back, knowing that one can always trust the other to fend off those just waiting to take advantage of your blindspot, while also quelling the need to imagine your partner turning around and doing the same. That sort of friendship is forged through many, many hardships.

They betray what little trust he had built in them. That’s on them.

c!Phil is aware how untrusting c!Techno is, and while c!Techno feels safe enough to give his all for c!Phil, he never exploits it to get ahead, which is something L'Manbergians felt okay with doing.

They take a book out of the playbook used on c!Techno, for c!Techno.

They went after yet another person who was close to him, using their power and influence to hold an execution under the guise of seeking justice. If c!Wilbur, at least pre-corruption arc, sent letters to his father, one would at least expect some of his old ideals of freedom and fairness to leak through into his friends, right? To see those c!Phil assumed would hold similar ideals immediately skew towards a darker, brutal side, particularly in threatening others to get what they wanted...Well, shit hit the fan.

c!Phil does not have that strong relationship with any former L’Manbergians, and despite there being potential for such, it didn't work out that way; instead, however, those characters manage to mistake his kindness for weakness. They take his preferred neutrality as a way to exploit him, to gain in such a way that he lost agency...

No more Mister Nice Dadza, and honestly, he’s justified in that notion.

They’ve lost his trust, time too short to have gained that strong link like c!Techno’s or c!Wilbur’s, and with it, came the inevitable association with Doomsday.

c!Phil knew c!Techno’s intentions from the beginning -- which had only wavered into dormancy because he had grown tired of fighting, understanding that the cycle he wishes to break is not worth his efforts -- so the agreement in participating is effortless.

c!Dream was there too, of course, but in their mutual quest for eradication, it’s made canon that c!Techno and c!Phil hid away most of their arsenal, despite seeming overprepared. They have no loyalty to c!Dream; they’re smart enough to play along, however. He was a means to an end.

There’s no lies present in their relationship; c!Phil needed someone who didn’t try and pull wool over his eyes, and c!Techno let him see.

c!Techno needed someone who wouldn't stab him in the back, and c!Phil stayed true as his hidden sword.

Which is why, as the two joined forces, ideals aligning and power synergized, they didn’t think twice about nuking the nation to bedrock. Mutually agreeing that the system needs to die, they did what they could, and they succeeded.

How cool of them, tbh LMAO.

New L’Manberg tugged too hard at the sleeping tiger’s tail; they shouldn’t have expected it to roll over.

Their openness to each other was known.

There was no need for underhanded plays, for hidden betrayals, for undisclosed words.

Their loyalties were strong.

They were in sync.

In conclusion (maybe, maybe not...this shit is long holy heck)

😃☝🏾 I may hate this analysis in 30 minutes👉🏾😎👉🏾 Or I may make a part 2. Fuck it!

-- birb 2k21

And that’s what makes c!Phil an interesting character: He tends to be critiqued in reference to chatacters who have very well wronged him, have no affiliation to him or get associated to him through popular fanon. There's a lot to cover that I haven't (from Ghostbur to the whole Tommy 'dilemna') but overall I'm digging what I have now and if I ever get more energy, I'll continue!

c!Phil enthusiasts, I hope I did you proud LMAO. It's my first forray into this side of tumblr 👉🏾👈🏾 I'm a lurker.

c!Phil antis, you can either act respectful or go argue with a wall. I got experience dealing with antis on Tumblr; I am immune to BS.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed. Signing off!

- BIRB.

#dream smp #dsmp #philza #ph1lza #this one's for the c!phil enthusiasts hello hi ily all #I have spent the entire afternoon writing this while the power is out lmaoo #fandom leave my mans philza minecraft alone challenge #god i don't even know how long this is I'm so sorry #i let a little bit of my c!techno enthusiasm shine through too

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hamburgerhelpersotherhand · 5 years ago

Text

Infatuation P1

Joe Goldberg x Reader x Love Quinn

Warnings: Casual Joe thoughts and stalking/watching from afar

Notes: Baby’s first fanfic... and I chose Netflix’s YOU of all things. This doesn’t specifically take place anywhere on any timeline, but know that Joe and Love are together. I don’t know if I should continue this but I felt like it needed to be posted.

There you were.

You are currently Love’s favourite customer and, as I watch you, I can’t begin to see why.

You’re not really interested in what’s on display, are you? You come in every day, glance around as if you’ve never seen the place, and slowly make your way to the front counter.

You don’t even say anything when you find yourself waiting alone, but you do toy with the bell charm on your bag. It’s almost like a replacement for your own voice.

You know, by the way you’re looking around, it almost seems like you’re searching for something... or someone. Should I feel threatened? You come in three times a week and hog Love’s attention like a spoiled kid.

Now you’re checking the time on your phone. Do you have somewhere else you have to be? Relax, Y/N, you’re just in Anavrin.

“Y/N, can you proof read this for me?” Forty walks into frame with his phone in hand, saving you from your awkward wait.

I click my pen and pretend to be taking inventory.

“I don’t know, I’m waiting for Love.” You say quietly. I almost didn’t catch that.

The conversation seemed to stop and I glance up to see Forty’s lips puckered. He’s thinking.

“Well, I don’t see her anywhere and it’ll only take a minute.” He continued suddenly. “Please, please, please?”

A little annoying, I will admit. But his request doesn’t feel like something you’d turn down-and I already spot you nodding your head. He hands you his phone and you begin to read.

Your lips are pursed and your eyes are moving back and forth. Either you’re a fast reader or Forty used a very large font size. Do you read often? Your bag looks big enough to hold a couple books.

You’re very petite, reserved and seem like just the type to secretly enjoy a steamy romance novel. As they say, It’s always the quiet ones you have to look out for.

“Sorry for the wait, someone left one of the spice caps loose and I had to clean the mess.” Love steals your attention away from Forty’s phone. He’s quick to take the device back from you. He looks frustrated.

“Oh, it’s alright! Forty was keeping me company.” You say, but Forty is already walking away- more specifically, walking towards me.

My attention is momentarily taken away from you while I look down and pretend to examine the books that came in this morning.

“Hey old sport, can you proof read this?”

I look at him, his phone, and then glance towards Love. He seems to notice and also glances back.

“Hey, Love has her friends and I have mine.” He snaps his fingers infront of my face and I look at him. “Right now is friend time and your creepy silence is not allowed.”

“I-“ before I can even get two words out, he’s got his phone in my face and an expectant look in his eye.

It had been a long day of enduring an earful from Forty. He’s passionate for his craft of the week, I’ll give him that.

But you... you left hours ago, yet you were still on my mind.

Love and you were in the back kitchen and I knew. Love doesn’t just take anyone into the kitchen, especially not a customer... no. You’re much more than that. Aren’t you, Y/N?

You two prepared a lunch together, as you did every time you found yourself at Anavrin.

“Will, I’m planning a ‘get together’ on Friday.” Love snapped me out of my expressionless daze. “In all seriousness, I just want to relax with some friends at home. Will you be there?”

“That depends, am I invited?” I reply with a quirked smile and an innocent look in my eye.

“Of course you are! Come over around 3, I’ll need help with dinner.” She doesn’t actually need help with preparing dinner, but I can tell she’d prefer the extra set of hands.

“I’ll be there.” I smile, a real genuine one too.

This is a nice conversation and all, but I want to find out more about you, Y/N. “While dinner is on the table, I was wondering if you wanted to go out and grab lunch with me tomorrow?” Im asking this because I know you’re coming in for your secret lunch dates with Love. This question is just the bait I need to get a conversation going.

“Oh. I don’t know about that. I kind of have plans with Y/N during my lunch break.” Bingo. Just what I wanted to hear. Well, not really but you get the point.

“Y/N... Is that... the...uhh...” This is all an act. I’m pretending to search for the name, but she’s never actually mentioned you to me directly before.

“She’s a customer.” Love says. Downplaying the meaning behind your relationship and keeping it professional? Are you two hiding something or am I just losing it?

“Is she the girl with the bell on her bag? There was a girl jingling something on her bag around noon.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely her.” Love nods. I like how reserved she’s being, despite feeling a bit frustrated that I couldn’t find out more. It’s almost like Love is tempting me to find you on my own.

“I guess lunch can wait then. I’ll be looking forward to dinner on Friday.”

Love leans forward and gives me one of her softest kisses. I return the action and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

My thoughts almost naturally start to drift to you again.

It’s another day at Anavrin, but I don’t see you anywhere.

Love is in the back kitchen, lost in her own cooking trance as per usual. She looks very beautiful with that focused look on her face.

But where are you? You were supposed to be here half an hour ago and yet, there’s no sign of you.

At least, not until I start to hear that little chime on your bag.

“Thank you for the input. I might not do anything with what you said, but I’ll definitely consider it.” That’s right... Forty knows you too. He’s talking about his story again and you seem interested. I can’t tell if you’re genuinely into it or just being nice.

When you come into view, Love looks up and spots you. You don’t notice her right away, but she smiles in your direction.

I spot your lips moving but I can’t make out what you’re saying. Damn it, Y/N. You have to get out of that mumbling habit.

Forty takes a sip of his drink and nods in response. Before I know it, you’re both going your separate ways: Forty hovers around some books while you go towards the back kitchen.

I look back to Love and see her eyes staring right at me. She’s looking with an unreadable expression... then she smiles, waves, and I wave back with a smile of my own.

I remember Forty and turn around.

“I kind of don’t like the placement of these.” Forty rotates a finger around the display. I ignore his statement.

“Who’s that girl?” I look towards the back kitchen. “I see her come in like every day but she doesn’t say a word.”

He seems to think for a bit as he spins whatever remains of his drink with his reusable straw.

“That’s Y/N.” I wait for him to continue. “She’s an old friend of Love’s. Y/N is back in LA and I guess Love just wants to spend time with her.”

“Who is she to you?” It only feels natural that I ask this. Forty seems to trail behind you, but it could be because you’re a recognizable face.

“I took her out on a date once.” He sips his drink. “Then she pretty much ghosted everyone when she moved.”

Now that... that makes me curious... I now want to dive deeper than I would have, if just to find out why you ghosted Love of all people. She’s good for you, she’s good for everyone.

There’s always the possibility you moved away with family, but I’d like to believe there’s a better story in there somewhere.

I think it’s time to see how reserved you really are, Y/N.

#you #love quinn #joe goldberg #poly #polyamory #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #reader #short story #oneshot #fanfiction #joe goldberg x reader #love quinn x reader #forty quinn #forty quinn x reader

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calpops · 4 years ago

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through the clouds | c.h.

You try to teach Calum how to bake and he brings records from his shop that you just have to listen to.

1k words

business!sos masterlist

<< >>

Calum has his first full day off from the record shop in what feels like forever; Ashton afforded him some time away when he came back walking on air after a date with you that finally ended in a kiss. Ashton saw how smitten he was, the undeniable smirks through the bay window and the small waves when your attention was caught. The day is calm, the sun is out and white clouds drift through a blue sky in a serene way. It’s warm and the heat of a preheating oven in a small galley style kitchen makes it even more so, but Calum doesn’t mind as he watches you pour over a new recipe. You flutter around the kitchen, pivoting on feet that know their way with hands that handle the ingredients with care. It’s the first time Calum has seen you in your element, the first time he’s been in the small apartment you’ve managed to make into a beautiful home.

He lives not far away, in a building quite similar to yours. The differences are striking though; where he has blank walls, dying plants and memorabilia from or for the record shop spilling out of corners and cabinets your place is much more put together. Lively plants scatter the apartment, sheer curtains let the light in even when they’re pulled, small art pieces and cookbooks on oak bookshelves that dominate the wall space. He feels at ease within your world as he watches you sift sugar into a bowl.

“I thought you were supposed to be learning,” you say in a small voice and cut through the haze Calum has found himself in.

“I’m a visual learner,” Calum offers around a smirk. He leans forward, elbows on the bar counter top and eyes peering at the work you’ve already done. “Mm, yes, makes sense.”

He revels in the laughter that spills out of you at his silly comment and receives the bag of flour you push toward him. “Measure out one cup.”

The instruction is simple but the execution ends in half a bag of spilled flour on a marble countertop and eyes blown wide in disbelief before another round of laughter ensues. You shake your head and Calum heats up, a blush dominating his cheeks and crawling down his neck and chest. Your laughter is innocent, not mocking in the slightest but Calum is still embarrassed at his failure for such a simple task.

“Next time,” you begin as you start sweeping the fallen flour into a pile. “Put the cup into the bag and scoop. Lifting and pouring it in never ends well. Trust me, my floors will vouch for that.”

Calum nods his understanding and just like that his embarrassment vanishes into thin air. You make him feel at ease once more as you tell him of your own disasters in the kitchen; spilled flour, forgotten ingredients, and exploding batter—that one you’re still unsure of how it happened. The pile of flour on the counter top is quickly forgotten until Calum receives a slight flick of it at him and a mischievous smirk from you. He laughs, responds in kind with an arched eyebrow and rounds the counter to close the distance between you. He’s been sampling the goodies as they come out of the oven and the shy kiss he graces you with tastes of chocolate and sugar. It’s as soft as the first kiss you shared on a night under the stars. He’s as supple and sweet as shy smiles through the windows and the offering of a place for cover during torrential downpour.

“I might not be much use in the kitchen,” Calum says softly, the press of his lips meeting yours with each syllable. “But I did bring those records I thought you should listen to.”

His statement brings you away from the kitchen and the mess that was created in your wake—you clean as you go but a few remnants of your baking lesson remain; a pile of flour and a measuring cup among them. You have an old record player you got from the antique store just across from the record shop and adjacent to the bakery you work in. You both sprawl out on the floor covered with blankets and pillows and nothing but music comes between you. The initial shyness that was your introduction to each other melts away quickly, a kiss breaking the sheen of uncertainty. It feels all too natural to rest your head against his chest, to keep time with his heartbeat and let the record be nothing more than background noise. The afternoon drifts in a lovely and golden haze.

Small talk comes easy and the mention of your respective work places brings stories you’re both apt to share. Calum laughs at stories of the bakery and it devolves into stories of childhood; the easy bake oven you had as a kid being your inspiration into the craft. Stories of the record shop bring tales of garage bands in Calum’s youth and him offering an even trade; you continue to teach him how to bake and he’ll teach you to play bass.

“Wish we could do this more often,” Calum admits around a sigh.

“Me too,” you said and even though it’s a timid movement you bring yourself a little bit closer to Calum; reveling in the feeling and knowing you’ll have to hold onto it for a while.

Time with you comes in fleeting droves. Morning orders at the bakery. Night time rides around the neighborhood instead of going directly home. Surprise visits to the record shop on your lunch break. The smallest of moments coming through the windows. An entire day together is almost too good to be true. An entire night spent together would be even better. You both feel as though you’re floating through the clouds; running on a high of sugar, good music and afternoon sunshine warming your skin but you both surmise it’s mostly due to each other.

<< >>

If you’d like to be added to my tag list just let me know!

Tagged: @rosecolouredash @irwinkitten @golden-hood @who-do-you-love-5sos @caswinchester2000 @wildflowergrae @empathycth @cuddlemecalx @malumsmermaid @babylon-corgis @outerspaceisbetterthannothing @mariellelovescupcakes @xhaileyreneex @goth5sos @gosh-im-short @feliznavidaddycal @loveroflrh @findingliam-o @flowerthug @g-l-pierce @talkfastromance4 @cashtonasfuck @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer @wastedheartcth @calumscalm @notinthesameguey @lukesfuckingbeard @myloverboyash @treatallwithkindness @haikucal @wiildflower-xxx @calum-uncrowned @egyptiangoldhood @drarryetcetera @another-lonely-heart @megz1985 @idk-harry @dinosaursandsocks @wildflower-cth @idontneedanyone @everyscarisahealingplace @myfavfanficsever @stormrider505 @karajaynetoday @333-xx @calumshpod @calumsphile @calumrose @justhereforcalum @grreatgooglymoogly @mantlereid @hemmingslftv

#calum hood blurbs #calum hood imagines #5sos blurbs #5sos imagines #calum hood x you #calum hood x reader #5sos x you #5sos x reader #business!sos #rs!cal

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shyrose57 · 4 years ago

Note

Brothers anon back with ANGST at the very last question on part 2. Im honestly not positive myself how im gonna fix it. I have ideas but still. Hopefully this isn't to long.

Rans life at Mizu: For Mizu I've changed it a bit, history is still messed up to a point. But other people like Technoblade, Philza, Sam, Foolish, etc are now included with their own rooms. Ran idolized/choose Technoblade to follow. Followers of Technoblade are the only people in the City (expect for guards or police type people, though they also tend to be followers of Techno) that are allowed to freely carry weapons (after the proper training of course). Ran choose Technoblade because he wanted to protect those he loved and he was always interested in the art of fighting. He had two mentors, a women named Alma, she mostly did hand to hand combat and defense training with Ran, while a man named Fermin was a historical teacher, and taught him the history of wars and weapons more indepth than regular classes did. He had quite a few friends, though only a few close friends he often went to play games with or have sleepovers with (if you want angst, Ran was actually the one who discovered two of his friends bodies and had to report them, forcing him to go back a few times to see their bodies). Im pretty sure I mentioned it before but the brothers had a family of 6! Their mom was Ranya and was a 20% enderman hybrid, their dad was Seth and was a normal human, of course you know the brothers, their younger brother (14 years old upon death/a year younger than Ran) was named Lias and was human, and their younger sister was Memi (10 years old upon death) and was human. Ran was close to his parents, often having Ranya read him to bed and riding Seth's shoulders when he was young. He also baby sat Lias and Memi when everyone else was out, also helping them with homework and letting them sleep in his bed when nightmares happened. He loved his family and its when the murders and sabotages started happening did he choose Technoblade as his idol, to protect his family and seem intimating to whoever was doing the sabotages.

1: When the carriage finally stopped Cletus jumped out and faceplanted onto the ground, screaming about how he was finally free and away from all the awkward tension. Grievous, Jackie, and Isaac where all close behind, all having a similar reaction. While Watson, Charles, and Benjamin had a calmer reaction simply walking out and stretching. Ran was the last to get out, and he had to be dragged out by Watson, but he fought being dragged out. He grabbed the edges of the carriage and screamed while being forced out. Ranbob was calmer, and while jumping out he accidentally landed on Grievous, forcing his head back into the dirt, who then let out a muffled shout of alarm before immediately getting up and confronting a nervous and apologetic Ranbob.

3: He isn't the fastest at evaluating a situation, and needs ample time to make decisions. He also isnt the best at understanding emotions at times and sometimes needs a little push in a direction to understand. Also at points he gets into situations he doesnt know how to handle at all, at those times he almost shuts down with overwhelment, and the leadership tends to go to Benjamin for a while during it.

5: Their healing potions, so they work over time, slowly working with the body to heal and regenerate, so they take longer to fully work. Poitions work generally the same (ingredient wise), but theres more steps. For a potion of harming, first you crush up and gently mix in a spiders eye into a Awkward potion, then put it on the brewing stand for 10 minutes, then after the Poison potion is made, you get another spider eye and roll it in sugar cane until the general texture changes into a more wrinkly and powder like texture, then crush that up and mix it into the Poison potion, put it in the brewing stand for at least 30 minutes, then it makes a harming potion. The process its generally the same for all the rest of the potions, though it depends on ingredients and how long they must stand on the brewing stand.

7: I'll try doing that, thank you! Cause Grievous is a lil shit at times and encourages violence as long as its not against him. I know you probably expect a deep answer but thats purely the only reason Grievous encourages it. It depends on what was said to Jackie, if its something that deeply and emotionally hurts Jackie, than he'd likely discourage him, instead comforting him and convincing him if he attacked the person he'll just feel worse. But if its something he knows Jackie can handle, he'll encourage Jackie to beat em up.

8: Watson went almost everywhere, the only places he didn't go was The End, Mushroom Islands, Badlands, Ice Spikes, and Gravel Mountains (he saw them he just didn't wanna go in them), and thats because he never came across them or traveled there. He has a long bamboo that he uses to wack people over the head with when their being idiots, he has a framed nether star fragment that he found in a ruined and abandoned village (he doesnt know what it is he just knows its shiny and cool), he has some fur-lined outfits from the time spent in Tundras, and he has a book where he records locations of interesting formations he found and just a general record of stuff (how much food he has, the season, days until winter, when he should go on a supply run, etc). When Watson still lived as a kid in a village, he often went to watch the blacksmith (also the farmers, clerics, and others) and when he was old enough the blacksmith showed him how to make a multitude of weapons with different materials. And now he pushes the limits of what he's learned from that and over the years to make brand new weapons. And since I'm not sure if you where also asking about Ran, Ran only went to Plains, Covered Forest, Tundra, Savanna, and Tagia biomes. He has a dagger (specifically a Zorlin Shape dagger) that he took off of a hunter when he killed them, has parts of iron armour (shoulder and chest pieces, with the pieces that go on his shins), again some fur-lined clothes from his time in the Tundra, a selfbow, and also has a book similar to Watson's, but his has notes of potion affects,crafting recipes, mobs to avoid, etc. Visiting the nether is not common at all! Infact no vists it expect travelers or people who get hired to go in for potion ingredients and building supplies. Jackie does eventually give up painting, and instead picks up the hobby of annoying people and just training. It actually goes pretty well, there are rules put in place during it to protect them, but other than that its generally the same as the one played in our world. Jackie wants to vist those biomes because he thinks there cool, and thinks their good starting biomes to vist for a beginner adventure. Yep, Ran says its way to dangerous to go to the nether, especially with almost no one knowing how the nether works. Though actually Watson wants to bring the others into the nether, saying its a good learning experience and no one will learn how to survive if they dont go. Ran still agures its too dangerous though, citing the Piglins and Ghasts as evidence, but eventually, after much begging and negotiations, Ran agrees to let them go. They just need to listen to Ran and Watson teach them about the nether and follow everything they say to a T while in the nether.

9: Jackie screamed while being thrown, but after that and a bit of stunned silence, he jumped up and demanded for Ran to throw him again. So he enjoys being thrown, and sometimes he specifically requests to be thrown, so he can curl into a ball and slam into people like a goddamn canon ball. Porkius was also shocked into stunned silence, but after he saw Jackie get back up and demand to be thrown again, he just started bellowing in laughter, you could hear his laughter even echoing a bit outside of the Pit.

10: Then you may be happy to know, but I believe at the end I'll make it so after the brothers have fixed their relationship, their still being haunted by Dream, and eventually the decision gets made to go back to Mizu and face him. Where Dream has actually escaped (Due to a big group coming in, and him being able to convince them to take the Mask with them) so now they have to hunt him down. And when they finally find him you can bet someone (or multiple people) are going to punch him.

12: He does tell the fishermen about these thoughts once, but the fishermen sadly fail at comforting him and changing those thoughts, so he decides to keep it inside and suffer in quite. Though 2 people do see his suffering, Ran and Grievous. Grievous is debating if he should step in and ask what's wrong and if he can help, while Ran just watches (though he does feel some hurt watching his brother suffer, though he denies it).

13: They all had a blast there, Charles showed Jackie how to make flower crowns, then they went and made one for everyone else, Ran just laid in the grass and tried to relax, Ranbob eventually joined in with the flower crowns, Watson was telling Grievous all the meaning of flower colors and what certain flowers stand for, while Isaac and Cletus chased eachother around and eventually got Jackie, Grievous, and Watson involved in a game of chase. They did leave after a General battle, as that was one of the things they had to do for Porkius to approve of them leaving. Porkius still wants them back in less than 5 years, though they can take like a year or 2 longer max. Jackie is technically a general, though the general title he has is specifically only for the Pit matches and instead is more of a like final boss title.

14: Again its very much like a abusive relationship. Ranbob believes Dream has changed because of distant whispers from Dream (only happened while they still lived at the fishermen house which is kinda-close to Mizu) promising he has changed and he truly wants to help Ranbob, and saying how he can help Ranbob be of more use to the fishermen and since Dream did actually help Ranbob at first, he wants to believe him. But once they get futher away from Mizu, the whispers disappear, only rarely appearing in his dreams. Cletus doesn't really help, not because he doesnt care but more because he doesn't know how to help, he knows its a very delicate situation and saying or doing the wrong thing could hurt more than help, so he decided to play it safe. Charles tries to help, though he provides more physical help, like hugs to ground him or showing him how to breath again, while Benjamin and Isaac tackle the more internal issues and do so comfortingly and gently. Making it so Ranbob only notices their actually helping when he starts to do things on his own and no longer has such strong and often urges to return to Dream.

15: One night when Ranbob is off getting firewood and Ran is off checking surroundings to make sure its safe, the Hunters actually get into the camp and holds everyone at sword and bow point. Ran sees them when coming back and actually, though hesitantly, decides to wait for Ranbob to come back. And once Ranbob is back the two make a plan to rescue them, which goes mostly well. Ran gets shot in the stomach and Ranbob gets a sword through his arm, but other than that they do manage to rescue them. Watson jokingly says how they've finally made progress and that they can now work toghere without fighting now, Ran growls at this and storms away, denying it, but Ranbob just nervously shuffles and sits down, letting Charles tend to his wounds, as Jackie chases off after Ran to tend to his wounds. I really want them to stumble across the Wild West ruins and maybe The Masquerade ruins but im not sure how I'll get them to either.

1: Haha, ouch. Poor Ran. Nice backstory though. I can only imagine how he must have felt, coming across those. Does him choosing Techno have anything to do with him choosing to enter the Pit? Also how did Ranbob feel about killing his family? We’ve talked about the guilt about hurting Ran and stuff, but about the ones who weren’t as lucky to escape?

2: That sounds like...a scene. Funny, but probably not until a few days after it happened for the people who actually had to go through it.

3: Is Isaac the type to get overwhelmed easily? But very nice to see Benjamin helping out!

5: So basically just tossing some real life logic in there? Hmm, interesting.

7: Hope it helps! Nope, no deep answer. That’s about what I expected actually. Grievous has that energy, y’know? Also, very sweet of Ran to comfort Jackie. Does he ever get revenge on Jackie’s behalf? He doesn’t strike me as the type to let that go, especially if it actually hurt somebody he cared for. Him otherwise encouraging it..yeah, sounds about right. Gremlin children.

8: Sounds like he’s really been a lot of places! He must know a lot, huh? Also, he just...wack? Cause that’s kind of funny. He watched others beside the Blacksmith? Did he learn anything from them? Ran personally sounds very intimidating. Though if he has potion notes, does he often make them? Is there a particular reason Nether travel is no longer common? Also, would the gang ever happen to stumble across ruins from the time of the Smp? Cause that’d be kind of cool. Jackie’s new hobby sounds very nice, I hope he has fun doing it. How long does it take before Ran deems everyone ready for the Nether? And do the Fishermen also go through, or do they prefer to stick to safer grounds?

9: I bet the first time the fishermen saw that show they were surprised. And honestly, Porkius, I’d laugh too.

10: I am happy to know that! Well, not the escape bit, but the punching, for sure! You go, guys, punch that neon green slimeball!

12: Oh no. Does Grievous ever step in?

13: Sounds like they had a good time, I’m happy for them. And a final boss title? Is Jackie like a final boss? What differs between them fighting as the general, and as a typical gladiator?

14: Hm, that’s not good. What is good is that he’s getting away from Dream’s influence. Did that have anything to do with the group deciding to head to Subbin?

15: Well, progress is progress! Surely it’s a step in the right direction, right?

Also, not really a Brothers AU question, but as you may have noticed, I pinned a post of all the AUs on here, and I was wondering if you’d like me to put yours on there too. Obviously, I’d put it as yours. I wanted to earlier, but I figured it would be better to ask, so tell me your feelings on that.

#Brothers AU #dream smp #dream smp au #tales from mizu #ran #ranbob #watson #jackie #grievous #isaac #cletus #charles #benjamin

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