#is defended and protected by many of his crewmates in a way that

[july-19th-club]

i love when characters suck and are bad people like the thing about murphy is that i liked him before he was the incredible wife guy (which is also pretty great, dont get me wrong) but like. i thought he was cool when he was a horrible jackass that everyone hated . like he was interesting before he got morals; he was interesting as a guy who gets lynched in a frontier justice display of retaliation for a murder because he just seems like the kind of dude who would murder someone. and he is! just not that dead guy, specifically. whereas the actual killer is a twelve-year-old girl who the whole crew spends the episode trying to proctect from any kind of punishment, while murph runs around trying and failing to get anyone to admit out loud that the only reason there's a difference between punishing him and punishing her is because he has a bad personality . and also the murders but at that point in the show he hadn't killed anyone, he just seemed like he would

[bitchimasnake-sss]

Hey love ❤️ I love the way you do Zoro angst. I was thinking like Zoro and the reader get pretty drunk at a festival and some guy sweeps her off her feet. Like she's all giggly and blushy and he's miserable about it. I was thinking maybe his perspective. She ends up not going home with this guy cause she knows Zoro's tendency to get lost. He's pissed off but also wasted so he doesn't make much sense. Maybe they argue. Maybe he drunkenly confesses. I think you can pick whether it ends well or not. I like pain.

mwuhahah i thrive off of angst (but i suck at writing it). this also shall have little bit of miscommunication trope (I HATE IT AS MUCH AS THE NEXT PERSON BUT IT MAKES FOR BRILLIANT ANGST HELLO!), and this ends in like unresolved angst and tension (cause i thought that was super funny of me). also a bit of crack included (cause im a jester and a clown and i enjoy making everything a bit stupid).

drunken liabilities ft. roronoa zoro!

set up: check above! the strawhat crew are invited to a celebratory party after saving an island from merciless pirates and somewhere between the drinking and the dancing, zoro finds himself yearning for a certain someone. warnings: dumb people, even dumber plot by me. mentions of alcohol, a fight, random party shenanigans; zoro gets jealous and petty. mutual pining by two idiots. "We're just crewmates" stfu no you're not. nami is the best thing in the universe. yeah, thats about it. wc: 2.7k

zoro saw you.

he saw your smile, and your ability to turn every one of his jabs into a nice, little argument. he saw the way you smiled, all self-satisfactory when you finally shut him up in those arguments. he saw the way you took him on in drinking competitions and how you giggled when he pretended to lose. he saw how pretty you looked, eyes hazy and cheek flushed after each of those competitions.

roronoa zoro saw you, whether you knew it or not.

but now, he saw you swaying your hips with your hands wrapped around a man. a maN?? A MAN THAT WASN'T EVEN HIM?

nami cleared her throat, raising the bottle of beer to her painted lips. she wanted to laugh at zoro's grumpy face, the way his eyebrows were knitted together. but being a woman of honour and virtue, she held back.

"fuck is wrong with him?" zoro muttered under his breath, mentally slicing up that man that was swaying with you. "why is he eye-fucking her?"

"you good?" nami laughed, finally.

zoro begrudgingly shifted his vicious glare from you and that stranger you were dancing with to nami. he gave her a shrug, "whatcha laughin' at, woman?"

"nothing, you're just murdering a man in your head again."

zoro said nothing, finding his words too simple to convey whatever it was that he was feeling. he didn't need to defend himself, after all.

it wasn't jealousy. pfft, ofcourse not.

maybe protectiveness? yeah, thats the word. you were part of the crew. and so, as the first mate, it was his duty to ensure that you were safe and sound from any imminent threat. even if that imminent threat was a man who you were dancing with. now, ofc, the swordsman wasn't a complete idiot. he knew that maybe he had a teeny, tiny-miny crush on you. maybe.

"i don't think it should be this normal for a person to be this casual about murder, zoro." the navigator egged him on.

"we're pirates, who cares." his shoulders slumped downwards as if to showcase his nonchalance about the subject matter.

"we care, we're the good kind."

"yeah, yeah. good kind." the former pirate hunter dragged the bottle to his lips, drinking in the intoxicating liquid as a light thump thump thump built in his head. he closed his eyes and tried to find a second of peace. but the people were singing too loud, and the makeshift lighting too blinding and if zoro recalled correctly, the sake he was chugging on was cheap as fuck. and he had had one too many as always.

typical celebratory things.

"you do know that she's single, right?" nami quipped after a minute, nodding in your general direction, "like, she isn't doing something morally wrong by dancing with a random dude. it's your own fault you're a pussy and can't ask her out."

he cracked open one eye, glaring at the red-head, "yeah okay, do you get paid to be all up in other people's business?"

"no," nami grinned, "but it's fun."

"right." zoro closed his eyes again and ran a light hand through his hair. he tried to guess where the other members of the group were. it wasn't hard to come to a convincing conclusion. he was sure that somewhere in the party, luffy, chopper, and ussop were busy playing some sort of food-related game. sanji was probably busy trying to pick up women. and the others mingling with the townsfolk. but you— what were you upto?

the swordsman's thoughts grabbed him by the collar and shook him like a wet, rabid dog. what if— what if you were swaying along with that man? your head on the stranger's chest, your ass hard against that man. what if that man took you through the unknown alleyways and up to his house and fu—

zoro whipped his face to look to where you were previously dancing. relief washed over his face when he found you on the dancefloor, still intoxicatedly dancing with the stranger.

but now the scene was different.

that guy had lifted you up in his arms. and the people around you (who were drunk out of their pea-shaped minds) hollered and cheered as you burst into a fit of giggles.

"hey, hey easy now." nami gently withdrew the glass bottle from zoro's grasp before he shattered it into a million pieces. the action from the navigator made the green-haired man looked down at his reddened palms in surprise. just protectiveness, right?

when nami spoke up again, she offered her (annoying) crewmate a sympathetic smile, "just go talk to her," zoro ignored the next part of her sentence, "when you're sober, okay?"

and that is how a very drunk roronoa zoro ended up in front of you on the dance floor.

the guy was swiftly carrying you away from the dance floor, to one of the darkened alleyways as you blushed and giggled when zoro approached the both of you.

"hey, i need to talk to ya for a sec." zoro's voice was slightly sluggish while addressing you, but the man turned around and gave him a confused look, "you want something, zoro?"

the swordsman shrugged, dismissing the well-natured man, "wasn't talking to you, was i now?"

drawing out your gaze on zoro, you scrambled off from the man's grip, standing up before answering, "sorry. what is it, zo?"

but it seems like whatever had been on zoro's tongue died within a minute of approaching you and that bastard. he resigned himself to a soft sigh, looking away from you. "nothin'" he grumbled, "nami was sayin that once you're done dancing, meet up with her."

"oh? is that all?" you asked softly, hoping that the stoic man would say something else.

but he was a man of few words, that you knew.

"yeah, well, she says she wants to walk back to the sunny with you. it's unsafe alone." he shrugged, "also, im heading back to the sunny."

"so soon?" and he nodded curtly in response. he gave the man next to you a quick side-eye before attempting to walk away from you at lightning speed.

by now the stranger had almost faded to the background as all your focus fell upon the man your captain called his first mate. as he walked away, his green hair were tousled, his walk a bit jagged up from all the alcohol. the overhead lighting plays with the dips and creases of his kimono and you found yourself following after him.

"hey!! where are ya going?!" the stranger called out after you but his voice faded between the rhythms and thumps of the songs and dances.

"zo!" you called after him, long forgetting the stranger that was spinning you around a few minutes ago. you caught up with him, "you know what? i actually wanna go back too, mind if i walk with you?"

he nodded solemnly, and you didn't mention that it was because you knew he would get lost and get drunkenly passed out on these unknown streets. and you didn't mention that you were worried about him, just because he was your crewmate. that's it.

the both of you walked in uncomfortable silence, as if something sinister was lurking around, waiting to ruin whatever peace remained between the two of you.

"you know." the swordsman voiced as he followed you into a dimly lit street. you were now far away from the celebratory festival, trying to take a shortcut to head back to the ship.

"hm?"

"you shouldn't get that close to a stranger." his words were innocent enough; a cautionary advice from one crewmate to the other. but it was his tone — dashed with a tiny bit of accusation — that made your skin crawl.

"well," you glanced back over your shoulder, finding his drunken form trailing you, "i don't really need you to tell me what to do. i can take care of myself, i know how to fight."

he scoffed, "oh, do you?"

maybe it was his tone. oh no, it was definitely his tone that pissed you off. so, you turned around. crossing your arms over your chest, you stared him down, "what's the problem with you?"

both of you were drunk, and the tension between you two ran high. one slip of tongue, one wayward action and the swordsman didn't know how the night would end— with you in his arms or with your dagger in his chest.

so, he decided not to take his chances. it was too risky, too bold. and the swordsman was never the kind to take uncalculated risks. so, he stifled his words and brushed past you. walking ahead now, he declared into the night air, "nothing's the problem with me, was jus' offering advice. don't take it if ya don't want it."

you followed suit, voice growing agitated, "why do you have a problem if i'm dancing with somebody else. or even making out or fucking them. it's none of your business. we're friends."

now it was his turn to turn around and glare at you, "i know that."

he paused for a second. were you really that stupid? did you not notice that whatever was left of his wretched heart belonged to you? or did you notice and you liked to stomp over it, anyways?

he finally sucked in a breath, steadying his drunken thoughts, "as you said, we're friends. you're part of the crew. and i was just l-looking out for you—"

"—well, you don't fucking have to. i am grown adult, zoro."

and just like that, whatever argument he had died within him. and he looked at you, dumbfounded. then, his gaze hardened and he stepped forward. were you really that stupid? or was he just that good of an actor for you to not see him the way he saw you?

he highly doubted the second one. maybe you were just very dense.

your breath hitched as he walked forward. if you had forgotten how scary the former pirate hunter can be, you were reminded right this second as you backtracked slowly. the two of you moved in tandem till your back was pressed against a solid wall and zoro stood directly in front of you.

towering over you, the menacing first mate said nothing as his gaze bore down holes into you.

"zo—zoro?" your voice was a meek whisper, eyes drifting downwards to avoid looking at him.

and suddenly, he was hyperaware of the situation he had forced you into. the closed proximity of it all, as you looked away from him. for someone who was a swordsman, he was certainly losing his patience. so, he simply pulled back, giving you some space. he sighed, he had clearly drunk too much tonight.

all that alcohol with all that pining was messing with his brain, "you should stay back, i'm going to the ship."

"what are you talking about—"

"—just go, enjoy. you're right, it is none of my business who you see." and with that the swordsman walked away.

"huh?? zoro!" you yelled after him, an unyielding resolve in your voice, "whe- where ARE YOU EVEN GOIN' ALONE? YOU'RE GONNA LOSE YOUR WAY!"

but in his classic avoidant way, he ignored you. taking long steps through the dusty road to reach the ship.

"oh my god, are you GONNA MAKE ME RUN TO REACH YOU?"

but he dismissed you again, clenching his jaw and continuing to walk. and you decided to jog to catch up with him, much to your dismay. he scoffed over his shoulder, fingers dancing along the hilt of his swords, "no need. sorry i ruined your plans tonight."

and that halted you dead in your tracks. to fuck with any apologies you had, who was he to pass around judgement for what you do?

"what's that supposed to mean? fuck you." you spat out, "i'm going back to the crew."

"fine by me." he grumbled, turning around to face you, "have fun."

"will do." you seethed, trying to raise his hackles, "make sure you don't pass out on the streets like a drunkard."

"even if i do, i'd be fine." he was getting more and more irritated, trying to raise your hackles right back, "why do you care?"

"ugh." you stepped forward, jabbing his chest accusatorily, "i was so dumb to leave that super nice guy to come chase after you! all you care about are your swords and your dumb sake."

he pursed his lips. what were you both even arguing about anymore? it made no sense, any of it. he wasn't even sure why the two of you were yelling at each other anymore. the nightly winds were unforgiving and cold. and all he knew was that as you yelled at him, blood rushed to your cheeks and your eyes came ablaze. your brows furrowed and lips fell into a pout as you awaited him to answer you. the gentle caress of the winds washed your hair over your face and you pushed them back in annoyance.

dammit.

zoro never believed in gods, but right now he would curse whatever deity sat above for making you so goddamn pretty. and making him so goddamn stupid.

as if looking at you would lead to his demise, now, it was his turn to look away. slowly drawing in a breath, he muttered, "jus' go back, there's no point arguing."

"fine. i'm leaving."

and wow, there must be some sort of cruel deity above. one who especially had a vendetta against zoro.

because, as if on cue, the man who you had been dancing showed up. he was slightly out of breath, as if he had run to come catch up with you, "hey! uh," he stopped short as he saw the stare off between you and zoro. "sorry, am i interrupting something?"

you turned around to look at the man, "what? no. nothing." you paused, giving zoro a short glace, "what are you doing here?"

"i uh—" the stranger shifted on his feet, a nervous smile on his face, "i- well, my friends forced me to come after you. i— i just... i know you guys are leaving in two days, but i was wondering if you would maybe wanna spend some time with me tonight? i, uh, i would really like to get to know you."

zoro stared at the man in a strange mix of jealousy and awe. was it that easy to confess?

"—it's okay if you're tired!" the man spluttered on, "i mean, i just wanted to talk— only if you want to, of course."

clearly, it was. because you turned away from zoro, giving that stranger a genuine smile, "you're too sweet. and, i was heading back to the party anyways, so might as well—"

"—really?" the man beamed and you nodded, walking towards him, mirroring his smile.

roronoa zoro watched you walk away, not even sparing him a sliver of a glance. and all of a sudden, the night air was too chilly and his headache too annoying and his heart, it ached.

before you turned to next street and disappeared with the stranger, you looked back at him. something in your gaze that begged the first mate to stop you, to call you back to him instead.

but he didn't.

all zoro could do was stand there, stupefied. you turned the corner, taking your gaze off of him with mild disappointment. before you turned, he saw you laughing at something the stranger had said.

zoro had no idea how long he stood there, transfixed at the ghost of you that was once in front of him.

roronoa zoro always saw you, right? well, now, he just saw you leave.

"what are you doing here? lost your way, marimo?" sanji asked as he materialized out of thin air on that street.

"huh?" zoro broke out of his daze, "what are you doing here?"

"hah," sanji looked smug, ignoring his question and blowing out a puff of smoke, "what did i expect from the idiot with no sense of direction."

"oh, go fuck yourself, shitty cook."

now, why did sanji show up at the exact moment zoro got his heart (whatever of it was left, anyways) broken?

the gods above must be laughing at the swordsman.

credits: to @bucciniexe for the format of the header; @chachachannah for the divider above! a/n: i don't know if this was nearly angsty enough, but i really do picture zoro as an avoidant who runs from his feelings for quite a long time. sooo, i hope this was angsty enough. thankyou @screaming-crying-screamingagain for the prompt, hope you like it mwuah <3

[votederpycausemufins]

Okay I swear I'm working on the characters I wanted to... I just happened to be researching gems and stumbled upon Orange Spodumene, went 'wait spodumene comes in blue, it would be perfect for Jevin' and made this. Honestly I'm surprised no one had done it yet.

But part of the reason I did him is because I may be working on my own Xisuma and Evil Xisuma designs (I know I used sweetest-honeybee's designs on the second page of my zedaph ones, but I have so many ideas now that require my own designs)

Just so I can make sure it's out there sooner rather than later, I know @chrisrin , the one responsible for the gemcyt brainrot, made the Boatem Gems to probably be the Crystal Gems equivalent, and people are already writing stories for gemcyt linked to the life series since most of the characters done were from there. However, what if Hermit Gems? Are you intrigued by the idea? I have more info below the cut, both on that and also how it connects to a part of Jevin's design.

Okay hear me out, Hermit Gems. A variation for the crystal gems. Instead of just defending Earth, it's a planet system they defend. That way you can have a planet for hermitcraft, a planet for the live series, a planet for a different group, etc etc.

Unlike with Earth, that had the normal warp pads and the homeworld warp, let's have 3 kinds. Normal 'Planetary Warps', Solar System or just 'System Warps', and ofc the 'Homeworld Warps'. The Hermits/Hermit Gems have disabled the Homeworld warps on any planet they were on, but for the most part the planetary and system warps are still functional.

Like, let's imagine there's 10 planets in the system. Each planet would have 10-15 Planetary warps, 1 System warp (to get from one planet to another) and maybe 3-5 of the planets would have homeworld warps. All the Homeworld ones are disabled purposely, and then a few of the system and a number of the planetary warps are disabled just due to wear and tear from over the years similar to what was seen in the show. That way while it's all the same solar system, there are a few planets that would be disconnected from the other planets. So you could have the life players end up stranded on a planet and not know that it technically is protected by the Hermits.

Now, as for the Hermit Gems themselves, I imagine most of the Hermits were part of the Hermit Gems, but the planets are a bit more dangerous than Earth, so former hermits have either been corrupted, shattered, or lost when they were poofed over time. As it stands, Xisuma has become the defacto leader of the HG's, but in the same way that after Rose became Steven, Garnet was seen as the defacto leader, but really there was no true leader.

The Hermits who were in season 1 that are present day Hermits are probably the original Hermit Gems. So that's Xisuma, Joe and Keralis. Technically Bdubs was in season 1, albeit briefly, so we're not counting him. (Though since Pungence was there, could be that he was there as another Nephrite and when Bdubs eventually learns of the HG's and of his uh... former crewmate(?), he might join with them. But I feel like most of the people part of the life series are up in the air.

Of course more gems/hermits ended up joining the HG's over time, whether on purpose or accident. I'm not sure about some of the other life series people, but Cleo having been in hermitcraft since s2 seems like she probably went to a different planet through the system warps, but by the time she wanted to go back, something had damaged the warp to go back to the sort of main planet, so she ended up stuck on what could be the life series planet.

Of the planets, I feel like the system would go along the lines of 9201 dash [XX], 9 bc of hermitcraft s9, and then the 201 due to us being on 1.20.1. And then the letters signify the planet, so the main one would be 9201-HC and the life series could be 9201-TL (for third life or traffic life, pick your poison).

The Hermit Gems are of course mainly on 9201-HC, and instead of their main base being the Gem Temple, they have it called the Mega Base (for obvious reasons). It would still be similar to the Gem Temple with having a door to various rooms that each Hermit would get, but unlike the Gem Temple, it wouldn't stick to the 5 rooms or whatever number, but it would change with the different HG's, mainly through someone like Xisuma or Joe messing with the gem tech inside. (Since the fact that the Gem Temple has it for the present crystal gems means that it was made after Bismuth was poofed and Amethyst has joined. That, or they changed the door. The fact that Bismuth has a gem in the same place Amethyst does means that the Temple Gem itself could have been her instead, but who knows. We don't know enough about the Temple's history)

Finally, the part that involves Jevin's design. Similar to how the CG's all had stars as part of their designs, I feel like the HG's would have x's. We see that Rose had her star far before the others did, and they added their stars around the time Steven was born, likely in honor of Rose, but Bismuth had stars of her own on her apron and 'tattoo' despite not knowing Rose's fate. So I imagine that the HG's, after joining the Hermits, if they got poofed and regeneration, they had the possibility of adding on an x design to show their allegiance to the Hermits. Xisuma was the first to do it, which is part of how he got his nickname instead of just being called his gem name: P[redacted until the design is complete]. Other HG's probably did it as well before Xisuma was seen as the leader, X just added x's first and whoever was in charge at the time liked it as a replacement for their diamond decals.

I'm not sure if I want to say the HG leader before was Generik, mainly because of... recent outlook on him. And I know Rose/PD had a sort of problematic backstory to put it lightly. It could be similar to why he seemed to have made HC in the first place (assumed to be that he was salty about not being invited to MindCrack, so made his own server, and then once he did get onto MindCrack, he didn't return for s2). If we go with that, it could be something along the lines of Generik started their gem rebellion, and the other Hermit Gems assumed it was for their independence and freedom, but then it was revealed that Generik just wanted to do it to upset HW and didn't care about the other stuff, which put a sour note on the whole thing. Whether he decided he was done, or if HW managed to find and capture/shatter him, who knows. Even if he didn't exist, Xisuma's the technical leader now and the symbol of the HG's is an x.

Of course, it's not required. The designs I saw for Cleo and Joe don't have x's (though i feel like that's because Cleo has never been poofed), it's just a 'if you want to have it, go ahead'. Which is part of why Jevin has an X through his hood and what represents the drawstrings of the hood, but then the hoodie pocket is still a diamond. I almost didn't make it an actual pocket, but i didn't know what to do with his arms, so in ze pocket they go.

If anyone wants to draw/tweak his design, the non transparent version is there for color grabbing. I put the transparent parts at 75% opacity. If you can't tell, his gem is at his chest as opposed to Orange Spodumene having it at her belly.

And lastly, part of why I designed him instead of just saying 'hey, someone do that' is bc i'm working on a fic. and while he's not the main focus, I needed more gems for it and he happened to be sitting there and easy to choose a gem for.

[serialadoptersbracket]

Round 2, Match 63: Whitebeard vs. Otose

Submitted kids:

Whitebeard: Marco, Portgas D. Ace, Thatch, Izou, Haruta, Deuce, Jozu, Vista, and a bunch more I can’t think of rn

Otose: Sakata Gintoki, Catherine, Tama, and arguably most of Kabukicho

Propaganda under the cut!

Whitebeard:

1. “His reason for piracy was to start a family. He has so many kids who all call him dad. Found family to the max.”

2. “His biggest dream in life is to have a family of his own, but how to go about that? Settle down with a wife and have lots of kids? Boring. No, the best way to go about it is to become a pirate, find the most outcasted and lost people you can, and make them your crewmates/sons”

3. “His entire crew calls him pops because he takes them in and treats them like his children. He also likes to take into those who don’t have anyone else. His main goal in life was to have a big family that cared for each other so that’s what he made his crew.”

(Mod note: Full propaganda list coming soon!)

Otose:

“Okay so Otose is a middle aged to elderly woman who we are introduced to in the series as Gintoki’s landlady. However we later learn that when visiting her husband’s grave she found Gintoki, in his late teens having been discreetly released from the prison he was held in because the head executioner didn’t believe he deserved death. In exchange for being allied to eat the manju she wanted to offer her husband, Gintoki promised (her husband since it was his manju) to always protect Otose. She then took him, cleaned him up, helped him heal, and let’s him live with her. While she’s technically his landlady, Gintoki doesn’t pay rent, ever. To the extant that when his rival and him switch bodies, and said rival pays rent, she takes it as a sign of the apocalypse. Also I should note later arcs draw clear parallels between Gintoki and her husband And her other love interest, Jirochou, almost like he’s the kid they never had.

Catherine is introduced as a new employee of Otose’s, a middle aged woman who’s a dream employee right up until it’s revealed this is a con and she’s actually robbing Otose. Gintoki puts a stop to it, and Otose’s response it to, rehire her, realizing Catherine has no opportunities But crime otherwise. This creates an intense loyalty that while Catherine might bitch about, she once put her life on the line, telling her old crew she can’t do another job with them, leading them to try and beat her to death before Gintoki intervenes.

Then there’s Tama, a robot who began as a toy her creator made for his sick daughter, but as he kept improving upon her, eventually made her into a fully functioning android he essentially saw as his daughter. Then Tama is framed for murdering him, and then she learns he set it up to create a robot apocalypse. Afterwards Otose takes her in, and gives her a job working for her.

A final element of Otose’s adoptive nature is how she became one of the four devas of Kabukicho. The four devas are the most powerful people in Kabukicho and the other three are, a yakuza and former war hero/criminal, another former war hero/criminal who single handily took out fleets of enemies, and a former captain of the Harusame (space pirates). What did Otose do to join their ranks? Well she repeatedly helped people out when she didn’t have to, the repeated kindness she showed to everyone when they needed it meant that multiple residents were willing to put their lives on the line to defend her. Like it takes kidnapping the son of another deva and holding him hostage to get that fraction to turn on her.”

[emberflame999]

OKAY pop off about your Toppat OCs like the ones you love the most so I can answer YOUR ask (:

I have spent three days writing all this, I hope you’re satisfied

The OCs in order:

Mr. Gold

Silver

Egg

Stitchhat

Rodney

Ales

——————————————————————————————————

Mr. Gold (aka Ethan Gold)

 He/Him | 5’10 ft tall | Late 30’s | Gay

 He was born into the very rich Gold family in London, and his family consisted of him, his younger brother Elijah Gold, and his mother Cynthia Gold. Neither he nor Elijah inherited their mother’s power of being able to summon golden spikes out of any surface. Their mother held lots of power and wealth, even owning a secret vault full of powerful magical relics.  Although to her, her most valuable possessions were her sons and she did all she could for them. Gold lost one of his upper teeth in a mugging incident when he was 16 where he tried to fight back against his attackers, but failed miserably because he is about as strong as a soggy noodle. The lost tooth was eventually replaced by a golden one. When he was 17, his mother was assassinated and another assassin came after him and his brother, but Gold managed to shoot the assassin first. Filled with paranoia, Gold ran away from home, (he took his brother with him), and was on the run for about two months until they were found by the Toppat Clan. He joined the clan as a way to protect himself and Elijah from anyone who wanted them dead. 

 His early life in the clan was somewhat rough, he took up a job as a low-ranking treasurer and ended up getting a surprise promotion to head treasurer after only a year, because the previous one had died and the current chief Terrence couldn’t care a less about who was treasurer. Stressed out by the sudden increase in responsibility, Mr. Gold started abusing his sleep schedule and even his eating schedule, some days even forgetting to eat entirely, desperate to do everything the best he could. The added stress only worsened his already awful anxiety. He first met Tony and Hector when Gold was getting shoved around and teased by some higher ups and Tony and Hector defended him. After that incident, Gold started heavily crushing on them, and eventually somehow managed to summon the courage to ask them out, and (after several years of dating, of course!) the trio eventually got married! 

 Mr. Gold was relieved when Terrence was overthrown, because Terrence had always scared Gold and was also a really bad leader anyways. Gold fully supported Reginald and would be somewhat wary of Henry in the endings where Henry becomes leader. Gold still has problems with sleep and eating, like typically staying up late working as well as almost never eating breakfast because he views it as unimportant, and sometimes he skips out on lunch too. (Tony and Hector try their best to try and help Gold but old habits die hard). Mr. Gold does his best to try and be friendly to everyone, which can be hard because he finds many people rather intimidating. He always heavily worries about saying or doing the wrong thing, or just about messing up in general. He is obsessed with gold, and keeps a hoard of golden trinkets he finds or steals. 

 Mr. Gold has been with the Toppat Clan since he was 17 years old.

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Silver

She/Her | 3’8 ft tall | Early 40’s | Lesbian 

 Silver is a crewmate who hails from the planet Mira. She is the daughter of the Admiral, and used to be a General and Mechanic before she ended up on Earth. Silver’s father died, and her twin brother, Fredrick, ran away to avoid having to become the next Admiral. Silver oversaw her own ship and crew alongside her best friend Nightlock, who was the manager of communications, and Silver’s wife, Amethyst, who served as the commander of the ship. Silver’s crew were all killed by a murderous Shifter (a type of imposter who can shapeshift into literally anything) who had killed and disguised itself as Nightlock. Amethyst sacrificed herself so Silver could make it to an escape pod. Silver’s escape pod landed on Earth, where she was found and eventually taken in by the Toppat Clan. 

 In the first few weeks after being found by the clan, Silver was heavily burdened by her grief and did little but sleep and eat. She started doing jobs like carrying cargo or delivering things to other Toppats. (Crewmates are actually quite strong despite their smaller size!) She eventually started to heal from her grief, but it never went away completely. Silver began to work harder than any other Toppat and ensured herself a place among the clan’s higher-ups. About 6 years after she had joined the clan, Egg was found, and since Silver was pretty much the only other person who could speak Egg’s native language, Silver made Egg her assistant.

 Silver typically comes across as stern and no-nonsense, (do no harm but take no shit) but she always tends to look out for her fellow Toppats and make sure that they are doing well, because she was a Captain once, and it is a Captain’s job to make sure the crew is in top noch condition. She will listen to anyone who needs it, and she will defend the other Toppats with her life. Though Silver does feel some envy when she sees a happy couple, as it reminds her of her deceased wife. Silver still wears her wedding ring, which is a ring made of a back mineral that is not native to Earth. Some nights, Silver goes over to the observatory or a balcony and just stares out at the stars, finding constellations as she thinks about everyone she has lost.

 The ghosts of Nightlock and Amethyst still follow Silver around. And although Silver can’t see them, she is aware that they are there because of Nightlock using his guardian angel abilities to protect Silver. 

 As of current, Silver has been with the Toppat Clan for about 11 years.

—————————

Egg

She/They | 6’1 ft tall | Early 30’s | Aroace

 Egg is a type of imposter known as a Seeker, and she hails from an unnamed remote planet. Seekers are built for hunting down their prey, so Egg has abilities like having an incredible sense of smell, being very fast, having the ability to sense heartbeats, deadly claws, and several more. ‘Egg’ isn’t her original name, it’s more of just a nickname that eventually just became her name over time. Egg has has a slight difficulty understanding English and has an even harder time speaking it, because her vocal cords weren’t really built for speaking in a non-native language, but she tries her best! Her native language is Galactic, which is also a language that all of the Mirans (crewmates) also know and can speak, although Mirans also all use plain English as well. Because of this, Silver typically serves as Egg’s translator. Egg is actually very friendly and curious, and doesn’t always understand how things work on Earth, but she’s always willing to learn.

 Egg grew up in a small farming community, and spent most of her days tending to her family’s farm. One day while working, she discovered a small device (aka a teleporter) and letting her curiosity take over, she pressed the button and was teleported into a Toppat base. After a couple days, some Toppats found Egg hiding in a closet, gave her a top hat, and then she joined the clan, eventually working as Silver’s assistant. Egg was intrigued by the way Earth people make food and would stare at and watch the Toppat chefs before trying out cooking for herself, which she actually ended up being good at, and so she sometimes helps out in the kitchen. She’s also a great listener, and will listen to you vent about your tragic backstory for hours on end. (And she will do her best to comfort troubled Toppats, even if she’s not always sure how to do so).

 Egg has been in the clan for about 5 years.

—————————

Stitchhat (aka Sadie Bonaccorso)

She/Her | 6 ft tall | Early 30’s | Aroace

 Stitchhat was born into the clan to a pair of somewhat low-ranking Toppats. When Stitchhat was pretty young, her parents were killed by Terrence “supporters” (a group of Toppats who carried out Terrence’s dirty work, aka killing off rebels) because her parents were trying to rebel against Terrence. One of them felt pity for the young Stitchhat, and adopted her. Stitchhat grew to love her adoptive mother and her four uncles, and being one of the few who understood that they only “supported” Terrence to protect their own lives. She lived like every other Toppat kid until Terrence’s dethronement, in which one of her uncles was executed. Her remaining uncles and her adoptive mother were punished for what they had done for Terrence and demoted to being the lowest-ranking Toppats, earning minimum wage and typically carrying heavy cargo 24/7. (Which just made them 2x more buff honestly).  

 Despite the hatred to her mom and uncles, Stitchhat still lived a relatively normal life. When she turned 18 and officially became a full Toppat, she wore her birth mother’s hat and began stitching on the name tags of government soldiers of whom were killed by her own hands. (I would like to clarify she did NOT hunt soldiers for sport). Eventually she filled up the hat and no longer took the name tags from dead soldiers. Her hat is her most prized possession. Stitchhat is a pretty carefree person despite having killed so many people, being friendly and having a more enthusiastic demeanor. She pranks people on occasion, as well as giving people a friendly tease every now and then. She rarely refers to Reginald by his actual name, typically just calling him “Twink”. She hides it very well, but she actually holds a teeny bit of resentment towards Reginald for killing one of her uncles. She is always trying to prove herself, even at the cost of her own health, because she feels that she could do more for the clan.

 Stitchhat has been with the clan her whole life.

—————————

Rodney Brandt 

He/Him | 5’11 ft tall | Early 30’s | Bisexual 

 Rodney was born into the clan, and has dedicated himself to being one of the clan’s best fighters. He has fire powers, and after using them he will clean off the ash and stuff the fire leaves behind on his hands and arms. (If he doesn’t clean it off, it’ll build up and become permanent. He once had a colleague who had permanently black hands and arms because of it). His flames grow stronger and bigger depending on his emotions, but never can spread farther than his shoulders. (He is fireproof, his clothes are fireproof as well).

 Rodney’s personality is honestly not too different from Stitchhat’s, but a main difference is that he’s somewhat quieter than Stitchhat, and less likely to use his words to express his emotions.  He’s somewhat of a thrill-seeker, he loves to go on heists or fight enemies, he loves that rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. His best friend is Stitchhat, and together, Rodney and Stitchhat are an extremely deadly duo.

 Rodney has been with the clan his whole life.

—————————

Ales Dahlman

He/Him | 5’7 ft tall | Early 30’s | Pansexual

 Ales was not born into the clan, he and his sister Vera grew up on the streets of a rather rough neighborhood. They were often chased away and treated unfairly because of their strange appearances, which said appearances were caused by the fact that one of their direct great-grandparents had been a Shifter. After Ales and Vera had close run-ins with one too many gangs, they knew they had to find a better place to live. They eventually found the Toppat Clan and finally found acceptance.

 Ales has a somewhat friendly personality, though still gets into shenanigans. And when angered, he can go absolutely apeshit. His fighting style is rather scrappy, and he’s not afraid to fight dirty in order to win. He typically hangs out with Stitchhat and Rodney, and they’re basically like a Toppat Triple Threat. (Silver would be like their Galeforce, and she’s like an aunt to them.)

 Ales has been with the clan since he was 13 years old.

[humantome]

hi hello!

i'm max or tome and this is my self-ship blog!

i'm very new to self-ship as a whole so please bear with me as i start my first steps into this lovely community

(bio, s/i and f/o info below!)

. . .

- self / self inserts -

Maxwell (real life!!!!)

he/they

adult

5'4"

hobbyist musician, writer and artist!! aspiring botanist <3

catch me falling for any fictional masked man out there

main / system blog @mindscapers

Orange (Among Us)

#🕹️;; ''i am the willing victim of a cannibal!''

crewmate extraordinaire & head of communications!

managed to convince the super scary shapeshifting imposter to NOT eat his crew and instead kiss him sloppy and hide undercover as a human with him on polus

will talk about retro video games for hours if given the chance and that is a threat. loves old handhelds, never leaves his dormitories without a gameboy color or gameboy advance sp

he/him

Maxwell (Lethal Company)

#🪐;; ''...and i stared back into them in a fearful trance''

a goofy and fun-loving botanist, who turned to working for the company to pay off his student debts. LOVES cracking jokes, but a nervous wreck when monsters are involved....

determined to keep his crewmates safe and to always meet quota no matter the risk! most likely in the group to run in with a shovel to save their crew, no matter how afraid

has a curiosity with the bracken ever since learning of it's botanical origins.... gains a bit of a crush on that plant monster after being stalked around the facility one too many times

he/him

. . .

- fictional others -

Simon Jarrett (SOMA)

#🌊;; ''take me back home‚ let me know that you're human''

MY ROBOT LOVERBOY... a human turned into AI, sent a hundred years into the future after the apocalypse

some of the last surviving evidence of humanity and hating every second of it

24/7 identity crisis! he needs a hug and he needs one badly. i for one am settling for kisses

he/him

Cyan (Among Us)

#🌠;; ''you're an enemy who i'm keen to defend!''

most lovable shapeshifting alien around!!

one of two impostors that took over our ship but he got better <3

we worked together to expose our crew member red for murder and got him thrown out the airlock

shhh the murdering stopped after that so the crew doesn't have to know that cyan caused like half of those deaths they can think he's human shhhhhhhh

he/it

Tardif (Darkest Dungeon)

#📜;; "i can fill your heart with something new"

also known as the bounty hunter!

a quiet yet intimidating loner.... no past and no future... he will hunt down anyone and everyone, for a price

...but i think he's secretly a big softie who's afraid of vulnerability and loves animals and likes to bake cookies because i'm INSANE

also very, very british

he/him

. . .

- fictional crushes -

The Bracken (Lethal Company)

#🌿;; ''with eyes as white as the moons...''

♪ he was a plant... i was a gardener.... can i make it any more obvious... ♪

has all of the best qualities of a monster boyfriend!

it could kill you in an instant. it's SHY! it lurks and follows from the shadows. IT HAS A CUTE LITTLE GROWL. it's territorial and protective. IT PURRS!!!!!

i would spritz it with water twice daily and sunbathe with it and prune its leaves and and and-

it/he

The Merchant (Resident Evil 4: Remake)

#💎;; ''oh‚ i'm in love with a stranger...''

GIVING HIM ALL MY MONEY <3

funny british pirate man likes to sell me guns and herbs

probably infected with the plaga but who doesn't like that?

no one knows his real identity behind that mask (and i want to pull it off him and find out) ((maybe kiss him along the way))

he/they

HUNK (Resident Evil)

#⚰️;; "kiss me‚ kill me‚ catch me‚ thrill me!"

his code name is HUNK, standing for "human unit never killed"

but to me? that's HUNK as in "god DAMN is he a hunk!"

no one knows anything about him, except for that almost every mission he's been on, every member of team died or never returned... except for one sole survivor, being himself

this also earned him the title of "the grim reaper".... but i think his title really should be "my boyfriend"

he/him

. . .

- familial f/o's -

Builderman (ROBLOX)

#🛠️;; "what will you build?"

obligatory "builderman is my dad" joke

the co-founder of the ROBLOX platform! he's a friendly (and heavily overworked) construction worker...

he loves his job so much but good GOD does ROBLOX need to give him a break. always makes it a point to be kind to the younger userbase despite the circumstances

(HE'S A CHARACTER I PROMISE MY FATHER IS NOT THE ACTUAL DAVID BASZUCKI)

he/him

. . .

all for now, thank you for stopping by!

[violetomnivore]

Name: Hawks (aka: Chicken, real name : Zyn Hel'Vrune )

Race: Half Drow / Eladrin

Class: Fighter /Rouge

Age: 117

Place of Birth: Underdark ( skullport )

Background: Pirate ( sailor)

Favourite Colours: Dark Reds, mother of pearl.

Romancing: feels Kinship for Astarion but is too awkward for romance.

Hobbies: Cooking, Mapmaking. Collecting new recipes.

Bad Habits: Heavy Drinker, Mumbles and stutters. Insomniac.

Best quality: Hard worker, Extremely Loyal

Major Flaw: Coward, Won't speak up, rather finish others work than confront. Also is Loyal even to those who don't deserve it.

What would completely break your character? Hawks is slow to trust so if he did finally open up and then have that person betray him, he might not recover from that, especially if it involved putting him back into slavery.

What was the best thing in your character's life? Hawks hasn't had anything very good in his life so he's always focused on small joys like food, a job finished.

What was the worst thing in your character's life? One of the first ships in which he was put in the galley the ogre captain was a known cannibal and told him every day that if the food he was served was unacceptable that he would eat Hawks instead ( at the time they called him chicken and the captain did end biting him a few times)

What seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character? Hawk suffers from both insomnia and attention to detail so he has vivid memories about dumb stuff like how many planks of wood were in the ceiling in the galley of every ship he's been on.

Does your character work so that they can support their hobbies or use their hobbies as a way of filling up the time they aren't working? Hawks' hobbies are just aspects of the work he's already doing mostly. He doesn't really have free time and they are distractions, small things to focus on so he can ignore the terrible things around him.

What is your character reluctant to tell people? Anything. Hawks tries to avoid talking about himself completely. If pressed he only shares the smallest details.

How does your character feel about sex?

Sex is a activity that has happened to him a few times, however he has never sought it out.

How many friends does your character have? Hawks Is not sure about how to make friends, he's had crewmates that didn't hate him. At the start of BG3 it is assumed his current crewmates are all dead.

How many friends does your character want? He likes the concept. It would be nice to have a friend, or family, not just a Crew.

What would your character make a scene in public about? Normally his cowardly nature would stop him from doing so however he has a fierce loyal streak, he would stand up to defend a person he decided to be loyal to.

What would your character give their life for? He's not eager to die, however he doesn't view his life being worth much so if it was to protect someone else even if they had the smallest of connections.

What does your character pretend or try to care about? Hawks is illiterate, and is overall uneducated, he acts like it's a lack of opportunity but in reality he doubts he could learn.

How does the image your character tries to project differ from the image they actually project? He hopes he comes across strong and silent even though he is honestly shy, awkward and terrified most of the time.

What is your character afraid of? Loads! First time in his life away from a ship everything is new and terrifying ( some of it in good ways) and the idea of being forced to return to his old life is also terrifying.

What is something most people do that your character things is dumb?

Sleeping at all, Sleeping or resting outside!, Drinking Water. Owning more than you can carry.

[moscnios]

hey !! could i request strawhat pirates with a teen reader who’s really elegant and stuff? she’s just really kind and sweet and sort of princessy?

okay so i thought this rq worked better with headcanons. and i usually don't write headcanons because i don't think i'm good at them. but i wanted to take a stab at it. ( if it's bad...i am so sorry )

THE STRAW HATS W / PRINCESSY TEEN READER+ / ☻

Now for the Straw Hats to even consider letting such a young girl join the crew, you must be incredible strong...or you showed Luffy something semi-cool and he wanted you to be apart of the crew. 

Let’s be honest, he’s easily impressed. 

You could do that finger trick where it looks like you can take off your thumb and Luffy is BEYOND EXCITED and wants you to teach him how to do it.

But moving on, you’re part of the crew.

I imagine it is fairly hard at first getting used to the sudden change and being surrounded by a crew of pirates. Your elegant, well-mannered behavior will probably clash a lot with just about everyone, except Nami, Robin, and Sanji.

Being another girl on the crew, Nami and Robin would always be there for you and be the ones to help you truly get used to the crazy antics of your new crew.

Nami loves to take you shopping. She doesn’t mind spending money on you because she finds you so adorable. Of course, she’ll end up being cheap and haggling vendors. And will somehow successfully get away with it.

Nami is also the one who keeps everyone else in line around you to make sure a certain someone isn’t bothering you. By someone, I mean Sanji. She wastes no time to defend you from his ogling.

Robin with her mother-like instincts will immediately take to you and would probably be the one you spend the most time with. Whether it be reading together, playing board games, or anything else you like, she enjoys her moments with you.

She can also be pretty protective of you if she feels something is too dangerous for you to handle. She will voice her concerns and if you don’t heed her warning and get into danger, she will save you herself.

There’s been one too many dangerous things you have been talked into doing by your captain, needing Robin to help you. She just doesn’t want to see you hurt. She understands you are young and you want to experience a lot, but it doesn’t stop her from worrying.

Speaking of your captain.

Luffy will want to spend a lot of time with you and will try to understand your attitude and will want to try it out for himself. But he will quickly realize how much it is not for him.

He has probably tried on your clothes more times than he can count. He thinks he looks cute in them.

Luffy will 100% rub off on you. There’s no way you’ll stay the exact same after staying on a ship with him and the others for some time.

Sanji HATES when you spend time with Luffy. Not that he’s jealous ( he most absolutely is ) but he hates that Luffy is little by little turning you into a hooligan. It broke his little heart when you stopped referring to him with honorifics. He cried.

Originally, Zoro had no opinion of you. You were his crewmate, nothing more nothing less. Getting Zoro to open up to you was harder than the others, who were accepting to you pretty early on. Your kindness alone wasn’t enough for him.

However, asking to spar with him will get his attention. If it becomes a regular thing, he’ll look forward to your sessions and truly wants you to put up a good fight. He’s a bit harsh on you, but he does it out of tough love.

He doesn’t say it often, but he is very proud of you.

Chopper and Usopp trying to be elegant with you and saying formal words incorrectly. Having tea parties and playing dress up on the deck of the Sunny.

And Franky being upset that he wasn’t invited so you spend a good 30 minutes trying to get him in a suit jacket and arguing with him about how he needs to put on pants because fancy guys wear pants...he refuses. But he lets you style his hair instead.

And of course the rest of the Straw Hats attend these tea parties with Brook playing soft music. However, they’re always ruined by Luffy...but you always end up laughing.

© MANGEKYUOU. / ☻

[whiteqnn]

PURE [2] - Corpse Husband x Fem! Reader

Pairing: Corpse Husband x Fem!Reader

A/N:  443 notes?! THIS IS INSANE! Thank you guys so much for all the love under the first part of this, I was so shocked to see how many people enjoyed this story! I hope this one will be just as fun for you as the first one ^^

part 1

part 3 

part 4 

part 5

PURE [2]

Corpse stared at the red screen with the word IMPOSTOR written in the middle, his eyes widened, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“No way” he murmured into his microphone, no longer holding himself from breaking into laughter. “Do you guys see this? I wish I could see Y/N’s reaction.”

It took his audience just a second to respond, his chat being flooded with lots of comments about the said girl. 

“SHES SHOOK” he managed to read one from the hundreds of comments, once again bursting into laughter. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

He decided to follow Lily for a while to make himself less suspicious. He probably didn’t need to do that this time, since the others usually suspected him when he was innocent. Ironically, each time he was the impostor, they seemed completely blind to every murder he committed. 

They were both doing their tasks in O2 when the first body was reported. 

“Woah, Y/N is fast” he mumbled, before unmuting himself. 

“Okay,” Lily began speaking first “Corpse is 100% innocent, we were together this whole round, doing our tasks in O2. That’s all I have.”

“Yeah I saw you guys in there,” Felix said. “Where’s the body Sykkuno?”

“Um, so first of all I can also vouch for Dave and Y/N, we were hanging out all this time. So in the beginning, we were all in the upper engine, protecting each other like good friends that we are, and then we headed towards the medbay. And that’s where it gets interesting because I’m pretty sure I saw Poki leave medbay and run to the cafeteria.”

“You really think I would kill my best friend in the first round?”

“Yeah well, some people do” Sean scoffed, clearly referring to the last game when he was murdered by Felix. “Besides, I saw you guys when I was leaving Security so it looks like you were with her the entire round.”

“Wha- Okay, let me defend myself. I would never kill her if I was the impostor, which I’m not because she’d literally come barging into my room to murder me. She’d kill me for killing her first.”

Toast, who seemingly still held grudge against Corpse’s fellow impostor, decided to call Y/N out “Y’know, we all played with Rae before, so we all know how furious she gets after being killed first... but there’s one person who doesn’t know that.”

“Y/N/N?” Sean’s voice blared through their headphones “As much as I know how hard it would be for her to make the first kill, I can actually see that happening.”

“What?! Sykkuno vouched for me literally seconds ago, where the heck did you get that from Toast?” she asked in utter shock. Corpse glanced at his chat and leaned towards his mic, making sure that he was muted in the game.

“Y’know guys, if I didn’t know she’s the impostor, I’d believe in her every word. I mean, she’s so innocent, just listen to her.” he said with a smile, not expecting in the slightest how his audience will react. 

“Aww, he goes soft for her ^^” 

“The duo we need but don’t deserve”

“Y/N FOR THE BRIDE”

“What?” he almost stuttered, quickly going through the growing number of such comments. “I mean-”

“Ooh, someone’s getting angry. Where the heck? That’s aggressive, Y/N” Felix’s amused voice brought him back to reality, and even though Corpse didn’t use a webcam, he still tried to hide his pink-tinted cheeks in the material of his hoodie.

“It was not me! I swear! I was doing my tasks all this time, making sure that no one murders Sykkuno or Dave!” 

“You’re pretty defensive for someone who claims to be innocent,” Toast said with a smirk hiding in his voice. 

“Give her a break guys, she was literally with us all this time. I’m sure we would’ve noticed if she killed somebody” Dave stood up for her, but it seemed like all the attention was directed from Poki to Y/N. 

“Well maybe the other impostor is either you or Sykkuno and you’re just trying to clear each other?”

“Um, if there were two impostors among the three of us, the third person would have to be a crewmate. I mean, it would be impossible for them to kill somebody without a crewmate seeing it.” Sykkuno pointed out, much to Corpses’ relief. 

“I knew Sykkuno would vouch for her” he told his chat, before unmuting himself to defend Y/N as well “Haven’t we already established that Poki is sus as well? She was last seen near the body and has no alibi.” 

“I didn’t do it. The only person that could vouch for me is dead, we were with each other the entire round. I leave her for a few seconds and somebody kills her, but it wasn’t me.” 

“I don’t think she’s lying guys, I mean, if she killed Rae she’d probably be dead already” Felix chuckled “Let’s just skip this round, we don’t have enough evidence.”

“Alright, but Y/N,” Toast said, as everyone pressed the skip button “I have my eyes on you.”

Corpse could hear her sigh before everyone muted their mics. 

“We’ve gotta get rid of Toast guys, he’s too suspicious. I don’t want him accusing my partner in crime, even though he’s right” he chuckled under his breath, following Toast’s character into Admin. “Alright, Felix is with us as well, good. If I just pretend I’m doing card swipe, they’re gonna both vouch for me since everyone knows I’m great at this task.” he shook his head with a deep laugh escaping his throat. 

He could see the other two astronauts running around admin, before they both decided to leave, which gave Corpse a perfect opportunity to frame Toast. He killed the lights and chased his victim who, much to his joy, was now completely alone in comms. 

“Hi, Felix. Bye, Felix.” Corpse snapped his neck before speeding out of the room and venting into Navigation.

That’s when someone fixed the lights. And Corpse jumped out of the vent, only to come face to face with none other than Toast. 

“SHIT” he laughed in panic, seeing that he couldn’t use the kill function yet. “Shit, he must’ve seen me.”

And indeed, it took Toast just a split of second to run out of the room and speed towards the emergency button, Corpse hot on his tail, even though he knew he wouldn’t avoid getting ejected. 

“I’m busted guys, there’s no way they’re gonna believe me” he told his audience, watching as Toast’s character approached the button. However, Corpse wasn’t sure if he was just seeing things, but he thought that he saw an outline of another character appear out of nowhere just mere seconds before Toast called the meeting...

“YES” he almost screamed, at the same time laughing hysterically, when he saw the red cross decorating Toast’s name. 

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” Sean yelled, similarly to every other player that remained alive. “HOW DID THAT HAPPENED?!”

“Oh my God.”

“But- I don’t get it. What just happened?” Y/N’s soft voice sounded out, making Corpse laugh even more. 

“Someone killed Toast the moment he called the meeting.” Sykkuno explained, barely holding himself from laughing.

“Is that even possible?” she asked confused, her voice sounding so innocent and sweet that the other impostor couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

“Oh my god, she’s just- I can’t.” he chuckled deeply “She’s too precious guys, I swear I’m gonna do everything to keep her alive.”

“Yeah, that’s some big brain move. And since Toast is dead, there’s only one person with balls who could do it” Sean said, clearly very sure of his next words.

“CORPSE!” Lily chirped into her microphone, her voice soon being followed by others who eagerly agreed with her. 

“Okay, I admit I saw them in admin where I was doing the card swipe, but then they both left and I haven’t seen them anymore.”

“Were you in admin this whole time?” Poki asked. 

“Um- yeah, pretty much. I tried to beat my own record in failing a card swipe.” he replied, making everyone laugh. He thought of it as a good cover, unless someone entered the admin after he left... 

“Sykkuno where are you?” Poki directed her next question to the lime astronaut.

“Why am I accused again?” he asked confused “I was with Sean in medbay, I think Y/N joined us for a moment to do the scan, then she left, and then Toast called the meeting.”

“So maybe it’s her?” Dave commented “I mean, medbay is right next to the cafeteria, so she had quite an easy access to the emergency button.”

“Yeah, that would actually make sense” Lily added.

“Oh no, they’re gonna vote her off...” Corpse mumbled under his breath, deciding that he had to intervene. She just saved his ass, he couldn’t possibly just watch her get ejected because of that. 

“Guys, I didn’t even know it was possible to kill someone this way. Trust me, I played only a few times and Jack made sure not to reveal any of his big brain moves.” she scoffed at the last part, making Jack let out a loud laugh.

“How can we be sure you’re not just acting all innocent? I mean, you exposed Felix last game, being one of the last people to stay alive.”

“Y/N was with me when Toast called the meeting, she is innocent” Corpse decided to finally speak up. The silence settled among other players. “She found me in admin and made sure nobody killed me when I failed the fucking card swipe.”

“Why are you saying this just now, Corpse?”

“Cause he’s fallen for her god damn trap! I told you!” Sean argued.

“What trap?” Y/N asked confused.

“I mean, who wouldn’t? It’s like listening to an angel” Corpse said, before he could stop himself. Everyone on the call went wild, just like his chat did... He didn’t know why he said that, it just slipped before he really thought about it.

“Corpse, you do realize you’re simping only makes you even more suspicious?” Poki asked with a laugh, and Corpse felt the blush rising up his cheeks. Even more, when Y/N completely ignored this comment, deciding to suddenly stay quiet...

Did he make her uncomfortable with such comments?

“Seriously though, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t her. We watched each other’s back, so I’m also clean.” 

“As much as I hate to do it, I have to agree with Corpse on this one” Sean suddenly said. “That she’s innocent, I mean. I’m sure Corpse just follows her around like a lost puppy and I didn’t see the two of them, but I doubt Y/N knew it’s possible to kill somebody like that. No offense kiddo.”

“See? Guys, it wasn’t me!” she exclaimed. 

“Wait, why do you hate to agree with me?” Corpse asked in confusion.

“CAUSE YOU’RE KINDA SUS CORPSE” 

“What? I just told you my alibi, weren’t you listening Jack?”

“We have twenty seconds left” Lily reminded, cause everyone seemed to forget about the voting time. “We don’t skip at 7, right?”

“Alright, I’m voting Corpse, I still think he’s sus even though I agreed with him.” Sean announced, much to Y/N’s dismay. She quickly objected, trying to defend her fellow impostor:

“It’s NOT him, I watched him fail that dang card swipe!”

“DANG?! NO NEED TO BE SO OFFENSIVE YOUNG LADY” 

“I’m also voting Corpse, he must be one of them.” Lily agreed with Jack.

“Sykkuno, I hope you’re not doing what I think you’re doing” Y/N asked the lime astronaut, who was silent for the past few minutes.

“I um- I don’t know, they kinda have a point Y/N...”

“Sykkuno, listen to me.” she lowered her voice, trying to convince him “Corpse is not the impostor. You know you can trust me, right?”

“...”

“SYKKUNO GOD DAMN IT, DON’T LISTEN TO HER!”

“Sorry guys...”

Corpse burst out laughing, seeing that out of seven remaining players, five of them decided to skip. 

“She’s too good” he chuckled, quickly running up Y/N’s character when they started the next round. He circled her white astronaut, and she seemed to get his message because she eagerly followed him into Electrical to fake the tasks and wait for someone to show up. 

Soon enough two figures waltzed into the room, only to be simultaneously decapitated by the two impostors, who then swiftly vented into medbay and locked the door to their crime scene. 

“That was smooth” Corpse smiled, happily running around Y/N’s character. “I love being impostors with Y/N, it’s so much fun. The best thing is that no one besides Toast really suspects her of doing something wrong.”

Corpse figured Y/N sabotaged the oxygen because the next thing he saw was Lily running past medbay to stop it from depleting. 

“Ladies first, Y/N” he mumbled, and even though she couldn’t hear him, her small character sped up and left the medbay, chasing after Lily. He waited a few seconds, before bursting out laughing.

Victory. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Sean yelled in shock “Y/N?! EXPLAIN YOURSELF RIGHT NOW”

“Y/N HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!”

“That was... I would never guess it was you!” 

“I’m sorry guys, I really didn’t want to kill any of you” she laughed apologetically, but Corpse could sense she was smiling “I just had no other choice...”

“Yeah, I’m sure you killed us by accident” Toast’s voice blared out, followed by loud laughter.

“What was that again? I didn’t even know you could kill someone this way?” Felix mocked in a high pitched voice, making them laugh hysterically. Corpse also found himself unable to catch a breath between his giggles.

“I told you guys they’d fuck us up.” Rae spoke up “But I was actually glad Y/N killed me first, watching her kill Toast was so much fun.”

“Ha ha, thanks, Rae!” Toast exclaimed ironically.

“Y/N and Corpse are just complete serial killers, I don’t know how else to comment that” Felix chuckled. 

“Well...” Corpse mumbled, unmuting his microphone “I can’t disagree. She’s a perfect partner in crime.”

“NOT AGAIN WITH SIMPING CORPSE” he heard Sean’s response, and once again felt awkward when his all his friends laughed at him, and Y/N remained quiet. 

That was, however, until her soft voice effectively quietened everyone. 

“It was.. an honor to murder my friends with you.” 

Corpse never thought his face could hurt from smiling so much...

“Alright, who’s up for another game?” Felix asked after a few moments, and received a chorus of me’s from almost everyone. 

“Unfortunately I have to go now, but it was so fun playing with you guys!” Y/N said, making everyone (Corpse included) object rather loudly:

“One more round, please? I want to see you kill someone again!”

“C’mon kid, what else do you have to do?”

“Stay with us Y/N, I need someone to protect me!” 

“I’m sorry but I’m really tired. I’m sure I’d just fall asleep on my desk and Toast would come up behind my back to murder me.”

“Well, that was actually my plan...” the man in question replied with a chuckle.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay?” Corpse finally asked “Killing won’t be the same without you...”

“I know, and I’m sorry... But I was working the whole day and my eyes just hurt and I feel like I’m gonna faint” she replied. 

“Alright, but just so you know, we’re playing again later this week, and I better see you entering the lobby on time” Felix said, trying to sound threatening, but failing at it. Y/N giggled to herself, the sound making Corpse smile almost unknowingly. 

“I wouldn’t dare to miss a chance to murder my new friends!” 

“Oh my god, she’s too adorable!” 

Everyone said their goodbyes and soon Y/N left the call, her small astronaut disappearing from the lobby, much to Corpse’s disappointment. He wished she’d stay a little longer, playing with her was something he found incredibly fun and quite relaxing if he was completely honest. Or maybe aside from playing itself, listening to her voice was what kept bringing a smile to his face every time she spoke up. 

“Guys, I think I’m also gonna call it a day, it was really fun.”

“What? It’s not even been over an hour!” Rae protested. 

“Yeah, I um.. I know but-”

“Don’t push him guys, he can’t play without his partner in crime” Toast’s teasing voice made everyone burst out laughing, and Corpse just shook his head, glad that nobody could see how red his face became.

“Fuck you guys, okay?” he chuckled into the mic, before finally saying his goodbyes and leaving as well. He thanked his viewers for watching and promised to stay longer next time, before closing the discord. 

He sat for a moment in his chair, staring at the black screen, a smile slowly widening on his lips. It was one of the best games he had ever played in Among Us, and he couldn’t wait to be Impostor with Y/N again. 

“Perfect partner in crime... I’m such an idiot” he mumbled under his breath and felt himself blush, shaking his head at how awkward that must’ve sounded. He pulled his phone out and checked his Twitter, only for his eyes to widen once he saw the top trending hashtags. 

#Y/NxCorpse

#Y/NfortheBride

#PerfectPartnerInCrime

“Oh my God...” Corpse yelped, covering his eyes with his hand as if it would make all those tweets disappear. “Why am I the way I am?” 

He considered texting her, trying to maybe make things less awkward than they already were, but decided against it. He feared he’d make even more of an idiot out of himself... 

Convinced that all those comments about simping and now those hashtags made her uncomfortable, it didn’t even cross his mind that Y/N might be looking at them at the exact same moment, with adorable blush tinting her cheeks, and her lips turning into a small, shy smile...  

A/N: I think about writing 3rd part... 

[sanjithesimp]

Ace x GN reader

A/n: So as everyone knows because I’ve been repeating it like 10000 times, I’m currently watching Impel Down and I had this idea. I have to warn you it is sad, but it is also sweet and of course it contains spiceeee. Ok so I made myself cry, and I am sorry if this is way to sad but idk I had this idea in my mind and guess is my way of coping with my boy's death I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!!

w.c: 2k words

suggested playlist to listen while reading this fic

WARNING: NSFW(minors DNI)

“But it is so sudden, why do you have to go now?” You asked your boyfriend, as he was resting on the bed while playing with his hat.

“I need to go, Pops assigned me this mission and I have to go, there’s no option” He said firmly, you couldn’t accept it. It was impossible to win.

“You know, maybe I could go with you-” He suddenly stopped playing with his hat, his face suddenly changed.

“No, you can’t go with me. It’s a mission that was only assigned to me and no one else.” And you knew he wasn’t playing, for a second you could see he was also scared.

“I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you”You said as tears ran through your cheeks and fell to the floor. Ace stood up and walked to where you were standing, and embraced you, his warm body making you feel the same and reassuring you that nothing would happen to him.

And even though you knew Ace was strong and fearless, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy. You thought about all those times he almost got caught by the Navy, or fought with some other pirates, and all of the times he came back severely injured.

You loved how he was always protective of his crew, because it was like family to him, and you knew that if anything was to happen to them he would always come out and defend them. And this wasn’t an exception. One of your crew mates, Marshall D. Teach, had killed another crew mate, and that was the biggest crime you could ever commit. It meant you were sentenced to death.

So that was the reason why Whitebeard, your captain, was sending his second division commander to search for him and kill him immediately. You tried not to think that the worst could happen, but just knowing that he had killed one of his crewmates...what would stop him from killing Ace?

You sobbed as the most horrific images went through your mind.

“I know what you are thinking, but I won’t die. I promise you I won’t die.” He said it confidently, as if he was 100% sure he had already won. You took a deep breath, and tried calming down.

But the fact that he was going to be far for what seemed a long time, came to your mind and started crying again. You never felt alone when he was on missions as the whole crew was there for you and had a lot of fun. But this time you felt deep in your heart that he would not be there for a long long time. And you had never really that apart.

Many feelings started hitting you at the same time, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. Your head started spinning, you started feeling lightheaded and the last thing you remember was Ace looking worried while he held you.

You woke up in your bed, you were still feeling weird. Your mind was hazy.

“Babe, you are up! I’m so sorry, I should have never said anything about this..I-I’m sorry” Ace said, his eyes were puffy and he looked like he hadn’t sleep at all, worried that something really bad had happened to you. He hugged you and placed small kisses all over your face.

“Don’t worry, I’m okay now. I just felt overwhelmed for a moment, but I know that you will come back” You said and cupped his face with your hands. Looking at him, and only at him to let him know that you were going to be okay.

He then smiled and lifted you from the bed. “Are you hungry?” He asked and you nodded.”Good cause I’m starving.” He carried you all the way to the dining room and when you got there everybody was having fun, laughing as always, no one had a sad expression on their face.

You stuffed your faces until there was nothing left, after eating you both stood outside for a while just talking and remembering some of the adventures you had had. The moon lit the ship as it drifted in the calm waters. The ocean waves caressed the ship, making a soothing sound.

It had been quite a day, but it ended wonderfully.

For the following days Ace started making preparations for his departure, but never really saying goodbye to anyone. It was like another normal day for him.

You were going to stop at the closest island for some supplies and maybe just wander around it. That island would be where Ace would start his mission. You tried to control yourself and keep a straight face to look okay, but you were far from okay. He wasn’t gone and you already started missing him.

Once you anchored, you descended on the island. It was beautiful, like nothing you had seen before. Ace held your hand and you separated from the crew. You wanted to stay together as much as possible before the end of the day. Ace and you decided to explore the island. It was quite big, you could not see the end of it. It was filled with fruit trees that you had never seen before. And after exploring and finding some of the most beautiful sights you had ever seen you decided to rest and find a spot where you could sit and eat something.

There were only a few clouds in the sky, the sun was shining and a cool breeze caressed your bodies as you walked on the beach.

When you finally found a spot that was private and quiet, you decided to sit on the sand and look at the ocean, the sound was soothing and relaxing. And for a moment you forgot that it was the last time you would see Ace for a long time.

“Aren’t you going to eat” He said as he started eating some meat he had sneaked from the kitchen before anyone noticed. He had brought so much food that it almost occupied 80% of the space on his back pack.

“Yeah, I-” You turned and he was already asleep, he would literally fall asleep anywhere, even sometimes in important things or even in battles. You laughed and grabbed a sandwich from Ace’s backpack. After a few minutes he woke up and continued eating like nothing happened. That would be another thing that you would miss, but you immediately shook that idea and tried to enjoy the present.

The sun was setting and the water was now colored with the pinkish and orange tones of the sky. Ace’s head rested on your lap as you played with strands of his black hair. You saved this exact moment in your mind, as if taking a picture of the moment, but also keeping all the feelings, the way the air messed your hair, the colors, the taste of the strawberries you had for dessert.

The sun had almost disappeared. You didn’t want to say goodbye to Ace and you knew he didn’t want that either. So you approached him and started kissing him, his arms holding you tight as if not wanting to let you go, ever.

His tongue slowly made its way into your mouth slowly until your tongues met each other, making you both moan. Your hands now were on his chest, slowly unbuttoning it, feeling the warmth that was emanating from his body. You started slowly taking off your clothes, while Ace watched you and how the last rays of the sun touched your body, showing you the scars and marks from the past, making them beautiful like you.

The way he looked at you with pure love and tenderness, made your cheeks burn. “You are the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen in my life, Y/n” He said, taking one last glimpse.

Once you both were completely naked you, laid on top of Ace. Then he pulled you closer and started leaving kisses on your neck, marking you as if trying to leave something from him on you. His hand cupped to one of your breasts, his fingers pinched your nipple making you moan and immediately you cover your mouth suddenly thinking that somebody could be watching the whole thing. But the way Ace was making you feel made you forget about it and continue.

He loved watching you react to his touch, the way your face contorted and the low whimpers that came out of your mouths in need of more of his touch. Your mouths met again, as you kissed him softly as the night was starting, and the light of the sun no longer covered your bodies.

When you finally felt ready, your hand traveled to where Ace’s cock was throbbing in need to be inside you, hear you say his name and your moans, oh your moans where music to his ears. You stroked it a few times before making Ace hiss, and throw his head back at how you moved your hand up and down, precum already dripping from the tip, then slowly getting it inside you, feeling it twitch while your walls accepted it until it reached the bottom.

His thrusts were slow and soft, wanting it to never end. You didn’t want it to end either. The way he groaned at how good you felt under him, and the sloppy kisses you left on his neck and collarbone.

Deep inside him he didn’t want to leave your side and stay, but he didn’t want to regret the fact of letting that man go away with murder. He thought about all the moments you had spent together and how happy it made him. Making him forget about all the suffering he had endured when he was younger. And the love that you gave him, also the fact that you accepted him the way he was, all with his issues, insecurities and demons. Suddenly he realized he had been crying, and you had stopped. He had never been happier in his life.

“Ace, are you okay?” You asked, cleaning the tears off his freckled cheeks. Suddenly worried that he wasn’t feeling okay.

“I- I just, I’ve never been happier in my life, and all has been because of you and my family.” He said placing a hand on your cheek, you couldn’t help to let out some tears too. It was a goodbye, and it was definitely harder than you thought.”But, please, continue…but only if you want to.” He said as this had been an emotional moment, and this had never happened whenever you had sex.

“Ok” You said smiling and you continued, rolling your hips as he thrusted you slowly but hard, hitting every time on that spot, your moans were washed off by the ocean waves as the tide was rising. You then laid your body completely on top of Ace feeling as he increased the pace in search of his release, while you bit his shoulder while moaning softly at the feeling of his powerful thrusts.

“Yeah, like that babe” You managed to under your breath and felt as your legs gave out, while shaking from the pleasure you had gone through a few seconds ago. Ace moved in and out of you for a few times before reaching his own high, filling you completely. Then he pulled out and you laid next to him, feeling the breeze dry your sweat, recovering from the ecstasy.

You then turned to face your boyfriend, who was still catching his breath. Sweat beads on his forehead and his hair damp with sweat too. He was looking at you with a big smile drawn across his face.

“I’m yours, don’t you forget that” You said to Ace and kissed him for a long time, not letting him say anything else. As the night was already set, you decided it was time to go. So you both got dressed. And Ace walked with you back to the ship, just to make sure nothing happened to you.

When you were in front of the Moby Dick, you looked at him “I’m yours too” Ace said before giving you a hug and then watching you as you went inside the ship.

And then you knew this was a definite goodbye, and that he probably wouldn’t come back. But nothing would ever make you feel sad about this, because you knew you both had each other carved in your hearts forever.

[withcolebrock]

I Drew That

Corpse Husband x fem!reader

Summary: Corpse finds out that Y/N has a drawing of him as her background

Warnings: swearing :)

Word Count: 1,818

Author’s Note: I’ve spent weeks trying to write this piece :/ I just couldn’t find a way to make it how I wanted it if that makes sense but I tried my best. This idea was very cute because I can totally see this happening lol. Especially with like the whole flirty voice thing Corpse has been doing with like Brentman and like James and stuff haha. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

~~~

Tonight was one of the many nights that she was playing Among Us. It had taken over her life, a flood of success followed her once she had played with Sean and Felix. She had gained over two hundred thousand subscribers on her YouTube channel. It had changed her life for the better, in many ways.

For the last three rounds, it had been strict imposter wins. Felix won two of those. Everyone was shocked when it was him the second time, Felix was getting great at the game. The group then decided to switch lobbies because Felix was throwing a fit about getting imposter too much. It was the usual group of Felix, Sean, Poki, Rae, Sykkuno, Leslie, Toast, Dave, Corpse, and Y/N.

Over the last few months everyone in the group had gotten a lot closer. Especially Corpse and Y/N. After the first time they played together, a lobby Sean had created, they had talked for hours after the first game they played. This had continued almost every time they had played  Most of the time, Corpse would be editing his videos while talking with her. It calmed him as he worked. She would be working on her art or scrolling through Pinterest or Tumblr.

They had even FaceTimed several times, where Corpse revealed his face to her. He made a big deal out of it, saying a whole monologue before he turned the camera to his face. She followed in pursuit being very dramatic as well. Whenever they would talk he would play her his music, waiting to see if she liked it. She loved any song he put out, despite it not being her usual music taste.

One night she was scrolling through Tumblr and found an artist who was drawing Among Us players with their little characters. One particular character made her smile and her heart flutter slightly. It was an amazing drawing of Corpse and his little character sitting on his shoulder. It was an art style she was familiar with, she loved supporting smaller artists. It was the cutest thing she has ever seen. Weirdly, it perfectly described him. She loved it so much, she decided to keep it as her phone Wallpaper.

The round started on Mira, where Y/N was a crewmate again. Throughout the whole night, she still hasn’t gotten imposter. “Dammit,” she groaned at the screen. She stood still at the start of the map, waiting to see if anyone would fake tasks at the start. Everyone ran off, not doing them. She quickly followed.

After a long thirty seconds lights get shut off. She ignores the emergency and continues doing her tasks, she stood by the vending machine when Felix killed her. “It’s fucking Felix again!” she leaned back in her chair groaning. She covered her face with her hands. “He’s gotta stop killing me first,” she shook her head. She tried to hide how annoyed she was.

Her body was called by Poki, she was the only dead one. “Oh my god,” Poki said once the screen popped up.

“Y/N no!” Rae yelled, “You guys, she’s died first the last three rounds,”

“Wait really? Oh Jesus, sorry Y/N,” Sykkuo said, a breathy laugh leaving his lips.

“I’ll protect you next round, Y/N, I promise,” Corpse said. Y/N tried to hide her smile and the heat rushing to her cheeks.

“We’ll avenge you, Y/N!” Sean yelled. Soon after everyone grieved her death they began asking each other where they were. Everyone had a solid alibi making it impossible for them to figure out who did it.

“Guys, guys, Y/N died first the last three rounds right?” Toast started, everyone hummed, “Who was imposter these past few rounds?” he explained. Everyone gasped.

“You really think I would kill her first three rounds in a row?” Felix tried to defend himself as the voting time clock turned red.

“You’ve done it twice already!” Sean yelled, voting Felix. Felix was saved since half of the group skipped. She floated around the map trying to get her tasks done quickly so she could talk to her chat without holding back the rest of the group.

She glanced towards her chat, reading a few questions, she shifted her gaze to the game and thought about the questions. “I’ve been working on a cute little animation for you guys, I might do another art stream with you guys. Only if you guys want it, of course.” she read through a few more questions while answering them, while she waited for the meetings to end.

Once all of her tasks were done, she began to talk about her art and fanart. “Yeah, there’s an artist on Tumblr, they are amazing, they deserve so much more recognition,”  she explained as she showed them her lock screen with the drawing of Corpse; without thinking about her chat being curious as to why it was him. Turning her phone back towards her, her eyes widened as realization dawned on her.

The chat began to flood in with questions, begging Y/N to tell them why she had Corpse’s drawing as her background. She chose to ignore the question and continue talking about her own art and showing fan art. Despite trying to change the subject, she sighed dramatically. “Chat, there’s no reason why Corpse’s character is my background, the artist is just good, stop talking about it,” she giggled as the victory screen popped up on her screen.

“Felix what the fuck!” she unmuted in discord. He began laughing as he began to defend his actions. “No, no it doesn’t matter if I know your liar voice, Felix-” After about five minutes of everyone talking the next round started. She was a crewmate again, “I feel like I’m bugged,” she groaned as she started running around doing her tasks. Corpse’s little black character was following her.

“Looks like I got myself a little body guard,” she smiled as she spoke. They walked passed the medbay room, as Corpse moved his character dramatically. She rolled her eyes as they both walked into the medbay room. She didn’t have medbay, but she sat waiting for Corpse to finish. They continued doing tasks together until a body was called. It was Sean’s.

“Y/N’s cleared I was with her the entire time,” Corpse said confidently into his mic. She said the same about him. Poki was acting a little weird during the call, which made Y/N a little suspicious of her.

~~~

When the lights were shut off Corpse was killed by Poki, and he groaned as his body was killed immediately. Poki called out Y/N right away, saying that she was with Corpse the whole time. Corpse glanced towards his chat, finally able to try and read everything everyone was saying. His eyes lit up as he saw her name flash the screen several times.

One person kept spamming the chat saying, Y/N’s has your Among Us character as her background, he smiled as he read it. He knew exactly what the picture was, “Oh really?” he hummed as he continued reading. Everyone was saying how nervous she got when they kept asking her about it. He pressed his lips together nervously. He decided to drop it for now, but he was curious. He looked back up to the screen and began to listen to what was happening during the meeting.

“...You really think I would spend this whole game marinating Corpse for me to kill him in front of Poki? What about that double kill that happened, there was no way I would’ve done that if I was with him.” Y/N explained, over Poki trying to defend herself.

“I think she’s got it guys,” It was down to Toast, Y/N, Sykkuno, and Poki. Everyone quickly voted for Poki. The Victory screen popped up. “I knew you had it, Y/N,” Corpse said as everyone started shouting into the discord.

After a few minutes of them discussing the round, they decided to switch over to Polius. “Hey, Y/N, can I ask you something?” Corpse asked, the group quickly went quiet.

“Sure,” she giggled.

“My chat keeps saying you have my character as your phone background, is that true?” he asked, teasingly. He smiled widely. The entire group started cheering while teasing Y/N and Corpse.

Her mouth dropped open as she tried to find a way to explain it, “Well, uh,” she cleared her throat, “I do actually, it was great art, what was I supposed to do?” she laughed.

“Oooo, someone has a little crush,” Sean teased, Felix quickly joined. The rest of the group was simply laughing along. Corpse stayed silent while the group was teasing Y/N, and Corpse for that matter.

He pulled up Y/N’s Twitter and began to scroll through her feed to find the perfect drawing. He took the drawing that Y/N did of her own Among Us character. It was a drawing of Y/N holding her little character in her hand. It was his favorite piece of art she has done. Mainly because she drew it while on FaceTime with him. He quickly changed it to his iphone background, he glanced back towards the screen, seeing if the game started. He took a screenshot of it and immediately texted it to Y/N.

“Y/N, look at our messages,” he said simply into his mic. The group slowly stopped talking as they waited for Y/N to open the message.

“Corpse, I’m scared,” she whispered, everyone started laughing.

“Just open the message,” he giggled.

She sighed dramatically while she pulled up the messages with Corpse, seeing the screenshot. Her lips fell into a pout as she saw it. “I drew that,” she mumbled into the mic.

“You did,” he whispered, as he felt heat rise in his cheeks. He loved hearing her voice. “It’s my favorite,” he continued.

“Corpse,” she whined as her eyes began to tear up. She didn’t know why, but her heart felt so full. “You didn’t have to do that,” she mumbled, readjusting herself in her chair. She shifted her gaze towards the contact name, Corpseyyy.

“Of course I did, It was beautiful art,” he muttered while he looked back towards his phone, admiring his new phone background.

“Is this..a possible.. New relationship starting?” Sean whispered dramatically into his mic.

“It sounds like it,” Rae interjected. Corpse rolled his eyes dramatically, but he didn’t oppose the idea; neither did Y/N. Rae quickly started the game, letting the tension ease between everyone. Corpse and Y/N got imposter together.

“Oh my god finally,” Y/N said into the mic as she started faking tasks, “Chat, please stop saying I’m blushing, you aren’t helping,” she giggled as she continued the game. She raised her hand to her cheek, feeling the warmth.

[ct-multifandom]

Miracuclass Amogus Cringe

I was going back and forth about making this post, but then I saw @charming-mage ‘s and I was like screw it we’re doing this. This ended up 10x longer than I thought it’d be.

Marinette (crewmate) - tries to organize everyone into a buddy system to corner the impostors, gets frustrated when people agree to her plan and then start running rogue. When discussions start she’s leading the conversation and asking the most questions. She greatly prefers crewmate over impostor because she likes the mystery solving element of discussions.

Marinette (impostor) - whenever she kills someone she goes, “ahhhh” out loud and panics while her avatar sprints away from the body. She likes coming up with convoluted plans, especially when she can communicate with her fellow imp(s), and tries to make it seem like she’s in two places at once wether it be through venting or falsified testimony.

Adrien (crewmate) - he has to unmute and ask how to do like every individual task to the point where he’s been voted out over it before because cmon, you’ve gotta be lying about it at this point, just piece it together and stop unmuting during task time. He makes puns and sings little improvised songs while tasking. When he suspects someone but they don’t get voted out, he offers to tail them at the cost of his own safety. Same with fixing sabotages late-game. To him, getting killed is just part of the game progression, and it’s not a big deal because he trusts his fellow crewmates to avenge him and doesn’t mind ghost-tasking.

Adrien (impostor) - okay maybe he lies about not knowing tasks sometimes. But it also took him a while to learn imp mechanics and he kept asking about them out loud like, “what’s the red square task on the floor? Why’s my name highlighted?” And somehow nobody noticed while his partner(s) were like nggggg Adrien no... At least he’s good at playing innocent/fake-detective-ing in discussions. Whenever he kills someone he makes some stupid one-liner about it out loud.

Alya (crewmate) - we got Sherlock Holmes over here. She overanalyzes every tiny detail and isn’t scared to sacrifice the sus for the greater cause. When she finishes tasks, she likes to hang out by security and snoop in case of the rare satisfaction of catching someone red-handed. If there’s an emergency meeting, it’s probably because she probably saw something. She supports Crewinette’s plans to corner the imps. She thinks tasks wins are boring and that it’s a lot more fun to win through voting correctly. If they task-win or lose she stops before the new game and asks who the imps were and for a recap of their actions.

Alya (impostor) - a force to be reckoned with. She’ll wait for the perfect moment to strike someone, and then cover her tracks, join a group and win herself a strong alibi anyways. Her reputation as a ruthless detective protects her, even when the game is set to show that the ejected person was innocent. She always chooses someone to kill and someone to blame for it, but sometimes she gets carried away and they vote her off for pointing too many fingers.

Nino (crewmate) - he’s just tasking, man. If he gets killed he’s like, “oh mf” and just keeps ghost-tasking. He mostly hangs out during the discussions unless he has something solid to say, only jumping in at the end to confirm, “so we’re voting for _?”. He leads his own little crewmate squad around when he finishes tasks to protect them while they finish theirs.

Nino (impostor) - mostly plays off the strategy of his partner(s). He likes playing the protective team-player type “innocent diversion” role while the partner(s) get to killing, so when discussions start he’s totally in the clear, which gives him an opening to dodge suspicion in the future if he needs to take over killing. He pretends to fix sabotages all the time because people rely on him to do that as a crewmate.

Max (crewmate) - freakishly good at the card scanning task. People always ask for his secret and he’s like? It’s so easy? He has every map memorized to a t so he can point out the contradictions in people’s stories like an ace attorney character. It’s surprisingly really helpful. He’s the opposite of Alya in that he��s a big supporter of the “guys, stop voting off random innocent people, we have like five tasks left. Whoever hasn’t done them, just finish them” strategy.

Max (impostor) - he tries his best to protect his partner(s) in the discussion while laying low himself, and sometimes he gets voted out for it, but if he senses that there’s nothing he can do, he’ll throw them even further under the bus to build credit for himself. He doesn’t like sacrificing innocents as a crewmate, so his defenses are only sus when he’s caught being wrong. He sabotages a lot to control people’s movements and vents liberally unless he committed to a tasking group. That being said, he can go whole rounds without killing out of caution.

Kim (crewmate) - he’s the guy who calls emergency meetings early into the game only to say, “I miss you guys :)” He gets voted out all the time for doing troll-y crap and ignoring Crewinette’s plans. He’s also severely confused by some of the tasks and game mechanics, but fakes it till he makes it, until the discussion where he rarely says anything valuable and just jokes around. Sometimes, though, he’ll offer a tiny offhand detail and everyone’s like Kim, I hate to say it, but you’re a genius or that’s the piece we’ve been missing! And he’s like haha ok. He’s always behind on tasks, sometimes out of laziness, sometimes out of confusion, but he’s one of the people Max is impatiently waiting on.

Kim (impostor) - he gets caught in the act a lot and it’s hilarious, but other times he gets away with everything the entire time, which is kinda scary. He’s weirdly good at introducing so much confusion and derailment to discussions that everyone gets totally lost and doesn’t know what’s going on, allowing him to survive when they could’ve easily figured him out. Unlike Max, he knows literally nothing about the maps and always says he was at the “slidey thing” or whatever and everyone’s like idk wtf the slidey thing is, and if this were anyone else they’d be gone immediately, but it’s Kim so he might actually be telling the truth. He refuses to learn the names of anything because this really helps him out.

Alix (crewmate) - always trying to convince her friends to experiment with ridiculous game settings. Occasionally, she gets to them, and they get games with comically unbalanced imp:crew ratios, awful lighting, an overwhelming load or lack of tasks, or hilariously low cool downs. She revels in the chaos. When she tasks she usually moves from place to place alone but tries to hop in with groups to confirm her movements. She’s pretty good at sussing imps out when they offer enough information, but otherwise she just makes goofy comments with Kim.

Alix (impostor) - not too worried about killing people and venting. She moves fast and dashes from place to place, joining a group on the opposite side of the map from her last body. If anyone says, “I saw someone vent but I didn’t see who” it was probably her. She likes the “stand in a clump and watch the chaos ensue when one person drops” technique as well as the gambling “hope that the UI for the task everyone’s doing covers your killing and venting” strat. Sometimes she’s forced to vent to a dead end and gets caught, and sometimes the big brain detectives catch her, but she’s usually pretty smooth.

Rose (crewmate) - a big fan of hide and seek mode. She likes grouping up for tasks, protecting each other at the cost of efficiency. During discussions, she has a hard time believing anyone’s the impostor, and everyone’s like, Rose, we know there are exactly three of them, you can’t defend every individual person. Whenever she gets killed she is like *gasp* et tu, Brute? No matter who it was.

Rose (impostor) - runs around with her squad when... oops... looks like something got sabotaged! Uh oh, wonder who could’ve done that? She’s in a battle against that task bar more so than the players, and tries to stay away from killing. She emulates crewmate behavior perfectly so no one ever suspects her until really late. If she’s the only imp left and she has to kill, it’s like an Agatha Christie locked room mystery level of drama and betrayal within her squad. But we were all together the whole time... omfg no way... it was one of us.

Juleka (crewmate) - she secretly prefers when everyone tasks alone, but goes with the squad for Rose. She only talks in discussions if she’s 100% sure about something, and she often incomprehensibly mumbles vital evidence. ~10 minutes later when they catch the imp she’s like iItoldyouso and the crew’s like ??? If she gets killed and her tasks are done, she haunts that impostor relentlessly. Sometimes she even organizes ghost brigades in ghost chat and gets everyone to follow them.

Juleka (impostor) - definitely gets a kick out of the kill button. Whenever she takes someone down she’s like heeheehee. If she was peer pressured into a task team again, she’ll anxiously try to slip away unnoticed for a second to catch someone in the hallway outside, but if she’s alone, she’s on a hunt. Nobody is safe. When she defends herself on voice chat she also mumbles incomprehensibly and everyone’s like sure, fair enough.

Mylene (crewmate) - seasoned task group leader. She also sings little task songs like Adrien. She tries to organize people into chatting regular status updates so they can tell if someone goes missing. She reports every body she finds and actively participates in the discussion, but whenever she makes good points, she gets overlooked. Then, the crew’s like Mylene, why didn’t you say anything sooner? And she’s like agjdjdhh Either that or she gets voted off for always reporting and being too eager to discuss on top of it.

Mylene (impostor) - gets her partner(s) inside her team and tries to tag-team anyone passing by, only for all the impostors to have alibis when she reports. If the ratio is right, they can destroy their own group, and then immediately point the finger at whoever is left, which works about half the time. Mylene is a pretty convincing actress, but the high IQ tricks only work a couple times.

Ivan (crewmate) - he’ll take one for the team if he has to, especially in those sabotage cases where you’d have to be isolated and vulnerable. Otherwise he’ll protect his group. He has an “innocent until proven guilty” attitude when he runs into other people on the map, and skips during a lot of the votes.

Ivan (impostor) - we all know he can’t lie to save his life. He usually gets voted out really fast if he kills someone because he gets nervous and starts saying contradictory things when questioned. That being said, he’ll do what he can to keep his partner(s) in the clear. He never vents because the risk is too high for him, instead just running around and saying, “sorry” out loud when he catches a victim.

Nathaniel (crewmate) - he’s the opposite of Adrien in that he’ll do anything to avoid getting killed. He runs around tasking on his own, but he’s usually behind because he’s so focused on avoiding everyone, to Max’s frustration. He also never reports bodies. This causes him to be sus at all times, so he gets voted out a lot. Wild Nath sightings are rare and terrifying because he’s never in the clear and he’s just standing there, menacingly. Imp!Alix sees him as a fun combo of Where’s Waldo and Assassin.

Nathaniel (impostor) - the millisecond that cool down timer runs out, someone is getting killed. Hit and run. He’s good at entering a fairly crowded large space, striking, and staying in everyone’s blind spots while he runs away, especially when the lights are out. He likes venting to isolated areas and killing as many people per round as he can, laughing when someone finally reports and everyone unmutes to go WHAT!? at the number of deaths. He tends to operate separately from his partner(s) unless they have an actual plan.

Chloe (crewmate) - gathers every single person in medbay and makes sure they all watch her scan. Yeah okay, we get, you’re a crewmate. She feels personally offended whenever someone kills her, which is often, since people tend to jokingly target her. During discussions, she accuses anyone and everyone of being sus, even if she just walked past them or saw them tasking alone. She likes stalking people as a ghost and spilling tea in ghost chat.

Chloe (impostor) - reacts similarly to Marinette when she kills. She will throw her partner(s) under the bus if it’s more advantageous in the long run, and she’s great at shifting the blame to innocents. People vote her out a lot anyways, and she says she can’t believe that they even like this stupid little game. Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Unless she wins. Then it’s fun.

Sabrina (crewmate) - discussion detective supreme. She keeps track of every piece of evidence and testimony, every detail. She tails the sus at a distance, trying to catch them doing something. Sometimes it gets her targeted, but sometimes she catches them and calls emergency meetings to snitch. Somehow she manages to do this and finish her tasks at the same time.

Sabrina (impostor) - sabotages everything, and tries to get her partner(s) to do it too. Once she won because the crew just didn’t fix O2 in time. She avoids killing Chloe, but feels bad if she has to kill anyone else too. She typically just sticks to making other people seem suspicious, and likes the game mode where you can’t see if you voted correctly or not.

Lila (both) - she rarely joins these games. She isn’t even a member of the chat group they use. They occasionally invite her, and she usually lies about how busy she is, but she accepted a couple times to further her narrative. She pretends to be really bad at being an impostor to establish herself as someone incapable of trickery. Regardless of her role, whenever the body announcement pops up, she goes, “oh nooo, not [victim(s)]... nooo....” and Mari’s like stfu Lila.

Bonus Polaroid kids because,,, they <3

Kagami (crewmate) - hella efficient at tasks. Two discussions in and she’s done. She’s the interrogation specialist who stresses out the imps and crew alike with her barrage of questions. She likes moving either alone or in partners, three people maximum, unless Crewinette needs her, in which case she’ll stick to the plan no matter what.

Kagami (impostor) - you’re walking through the base / there’s no one around and comms are down / out of the corner of your eye you spot her / Kagami Tsurugi. She will have you cornered and you won’t be able to do anything about it. She always has a made up explanation for what she was doing, but sometimes it falls through solely because she’s always acting sus.

Luka (crewmate) - he likes crewmate a lot more than impostor. He’ll tag along with a task group until he’s done, and then he’ll go lurk in the corner and spy on people. He moves along the walls, and a few times this has led to him witnessing murders in the middle of the room while the imp only saw him after it was too late. Cue the mad dash for emergency meeting.

Luka (impostor) - works together with his partner(s) to perform some high level backstabbery. He rarely gets voted out unless he messes up because he builds bonds of trust with like half of the crew while he leads the rest into his partner(s)’ traps. He feels bad about killing sometimes, but he doesn’t mind sabotaging.

Zoe (crewmate) - she finds one or two other people she trusts and follows them around. She uses the logic of “well we could’ve both killed each other by now but we didn’t so they must be safe”. She immediately recounts everything that happened to her that round in discussions, even irrelevant details, just in case they might end up useful, and tends to bandwagon with voting.

Zoe (impostor) - tries to catch people in secluded corners or rooms with closable doors to kill them. She avoids taking risks, but sometimes she reports her own bodies and tries to act all surprised by the discovery. She’s a good actress, but she’s not the best bs artist, although the crew is used to her giving a ton of details right from the start, so they don’t suspect her unless there’s a hole in her story.

Marc (crewmate) - does tasks on his own but makes sure to stop near crowds when he can. Whenever he’s running around alone and sees someone else, he immediately turns around like ohmygodohmygod and anxiously dances around the other person who’s more than likely just another, equally anxious crewmate with places to be. He still gets killed a lot.

Marc (impostor) - he goes full anime villain mode. All according to keikaku. He’s one of those people who disproportionately rolls the impostor role and ends up with it like twice every five games. He plans out every move he’s gonna make, every complex lie and big brain play, and sometimes he gets that glorious evil win, but sometimes his plans are totally sabotaged by stupid things like Kim’s trolling.

[larkace]

Robber Claws

hi guys! i've read a bunch of your fics and got inspired so i wrote a thing! enjoy ;) also, it's pretty long so...buckle up! love yall <3

The criminals lurk in the mist, invisible, but Sofiya Pavlichenkov knows they’re there.

She’s perched in the Lookout’s nest of her Warship in Fourth Harbour, pretending to read the documents her first mate, Kastor, has just handed to her. But her blue coat is flapping in the wind and her papers keep jostling and she’s being watched, all of which is rather uncomfortable.

Idly, Sofiya wonders what the criminals might want. A smuggling, perhaps? Out and away from stinking, crawling, loathsome Ketterdam?

Sofiya hates this city. His city. She misses Ravka, her homeland- the Little Palace.

I miss my bloody Kefta, Sofiya thinks darkly as another bought of wind spirals harshly through the Harbour. The blue coat she wears is a subtle nod to her Tidemaker status, but it’s a sad, thin piece of cloth compared to the grandeur of the Fabrikator-made Keftas. But Sofiya can’t wear her Kefta, not if she wants to blend in in Kerch- a lesson she learned long ago…

Old enemies, Sofiya. Old enemies, but not withered grudges.

Huffing out a sigh that would make Zoya Nazyalensky proud, Sofiya rises gracefully to her feet.

They’re coming. She can feel it; they’re making their way towards the ship. They don’t have to be rowdy to intimidate, that’s for sure - or to make a crowd of Merchants and Thieves part like the sea almost immediately.

Sofiya reaches up behind her head and loops her hand around a piece of knotted rope; takes a deep, steadying breath.

And she steps off the platform into the open air.

For a moment, she catches on the air as if a Squaller has caught her on a buffering breeze, but sure enough, gravity kicks in.

Sofiya welcomes the feeling of her stomach in her throat as the fall takes hold, zipping her past the sails. It's good preparation, anyway, for the three dark figures moving up the docks towards her.

As they near and Sofiya lands lightly on the deck, she confirms what she already knew: these were criminals. Her criminals.

The trio stops in front of her. They're all wearing black and gold - not a uniform exactly, but it’s a solid way to show your allegiance. None of their hands were visible, but if they were, Sofiya would find the Robber Claws emblem branded cleanly onto the backs of their knuckles. Their hoods are drawn up over their faces, but Sofiya can tell from their posture who she’s dealing with.

"Ah, Iseut," Sofiya says serenely, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The girl in the middle pulls down her hood, revealing shining blond hair, dark eyes, full lips. She doesn’t smile.

"Where have you been, Sofiya?" Iseut asks coolly.

"The Wandering Isle," Sofiya answers immediately, "I stopped at Os Kervo on my return to pick up some supplies. I'm only three days late, Is. Cut me some slack."

Iseut sighs, and suddenly looks less the badass, fake-waitress man-killer, and more the tired mother of a delinquent child. Sofiya feels a flicker of guilt.

She had stopped at Os Kervo for more than one reason. The "supplies" were crates upon crates of commandeered Fjerdan weapons and traps, intercepted by the First Army on their way to the Front Line. Sofiya had paid nothing to take them off the hands of the Ravkan soldiers, who honestly had no clue where to send them. What good were jerky Fjerdan guns to a sophisticated, well-oiled Second Army legion?

Sofiya could picture Zoya's face at the sight of the sad little weapons. Disgust and disdain, unshakable beauty - and perhaps just a little bit of pride that her friend had been the one to collect the Fjerdan cargo. Sofiya would work on selling it all later. She'd dump the Grisha traps in the ocean, though. Drown them like they deserved to be drowned.

"I am sorry, Iseut," Sofiya says, and her words aren’t mistruths.

"Don't apologise to me," Iseut says dismissively, "It’s your friends that were barely able to sleep the past few nights. You should talk to -"

"Destry," Sofiya's words mist the air like a fine rain, "I know."

One of the tall figures stood behind Iseut lowers her own hood. Lyra. Ly.

It made sense that the Robber Claws would send their best Bruisers to Fourth Harbour. Sofiya knew by the other Robber's posture that beneath the hood, she would find the face of Winter. But Winter wouldn't lower her hood in front of so many people, so Sofiya was content with what she could get.

"You really had Destry worried, Sof," Ly says, chastising.

"Destry can handle me being gone for weeks on end," Sofiya crosses her arms. She will not be guilt-tripped, "This job was half a week, and I was only a few days off schedule. I did tell Cherry that I'd be late." The words come out as a question.

None of them say anything.

Another flash of worry courses through Sofiya. Cherry Vlasova is a Heartrender, and one of Sofiya's closest friends. The message that Sofiya had forwarded was simple and concise: I'll be a few days late. Stopping at Os Kervo. Don't worry, no Fjerdans. Tell Destry -S.P

Had something happened to Cherry? She was an avid gossiper; her post box was always full of tip-offs (a useful source of information for the Robber Claws) but Sofiya was reliably informed that her letters were always placed on the top of the pile. Marked "URGENT."

"What happened? Is Cherry alright?" Sofiya demands.

Iseut holds up her palms, and they are callused and grease-marked. Sometimes Iseut is so well put together that Sofiya forgets she's a barmaid.

"Cherry is fine. But all our Grisha are shaken. Whilst you were away, there was an attack on the East Stave."

Sofiya's heart stops and restarts and stops again.

An attack. On the Grisha. And she wasn’t there to - to help, to defend-

"Destry," Sofiya breathes, "And Cherry - and Adali, Roza, Linnea, Yan, Anya- oh, Saints, was it the Fjerdans?"

There are many Grisha members of the Robber Claws. It was one of the reasons that Sofiya wanted to join them in the first place. If the Fjerdans had attacked -

"Everybody is fine," Ly says lowly, "We had Freya and May fixing people up as soon as we heard- and Lita, of course, but behind the scenes."

Freya and May- and even Lita, whose powers most of the gang didn't even know of. Grisha Healers. So people had been hurt.

"What. Happened." Sofiya growls, and Ly glares at her challengingly, fists clenching. The water beneath the decking froths and bubbles as Sofiya brings her own fists together, power surging pleasantly up her arms. If Ly wants a fight, she can have one.

"Calm down, both of you," Winter's smooth voice projects from under her hood. Despite the heavy fabric, her voice is clear and commanding. Sofiya takes a breath to compose herself.

"To answer your previous question: no. It wasn't the Fjerdans." Iseut says, "We don’t know what they were."

Sofiya's brow creases at the chime of fear in Iseut's voice. She's never seen the golden-haired barmaid afraid before.

It begins to rain softly, the pattering of droplets quiet against the wooden decking of the docks.

"We should go back to the Queen’s Head, Iseut," Ly suggests, referencing Iseut’s place of work. Iseut nods once, swiftly, and glances over Sofiya's shoulder at her warship.

"Do you need to...?"

"Yes."

"Go on, then."

"KASTOR! IM GOING FOR A ROUND OF DAY-DRINKING!" Sofiya yells over the shoulder of her rain-splattered coat. She hears Ly chuckle as Kastor's scruffy head pokes out from a window.

He nods at Sofiya when he spots her, and she waves, assenting. Kastor would keep everything safe whilst she was gone. It was their unspoken agreement, unchanging and unwavering since the day they'd become crewmates.

Sofiya turns back to Iseut, Ly and Winter.

"Let's be on our way," she says, and lets her fellow criminals lead the way along the Harbour, her warship disappearing into the mist behind her.

~~~~

The mid-day slump of customers meant that the Robber Claws had the Queen’s Head pub all to themselves.

Iseut- who did not own the pub, but had put more work into it than the real owners ever did- had immediately trekked behind the bar and poured herself a whisky.

"Want anything?" She asks, directing the question directly at Sofiya despite the equal presence of Ly- and Winter (who had lowered her hood slightly now that she was back on familiar ground, with familiar faces.) Bruisers didn’t drink on the job. It slowed reflexes.

"The story," says Sofiya firmly, "It a joke about the day-drinking. What happened?"

Iseut pours herself another whiskey and the quartet take a seat at a shady little circular table in a quiet corner. The murmurs of other Robber Claws members is enough to shelter their conversation from the group- despite Sofiya being sure she was the only one unaware of what had transpired the days she’d been gone.

As Iseut begins her story, with Winter and Ly regularly interjecting with additions, Sofiya feels horror and fear clamp down on her heart like a Fjerdan Grisha trap.

Iseut’s alluring voice weaves a tale of Komedie Brute actors in bloody masks, rose-painted rubble from an impossible explosion, and worst of all: Grisha. Dead Grisha, killed by creatures with screeching metal wings.

“Only a few of our Grisha were hurt,” Iseut sips her drink solemnly, “We took your advice of keeping them anonymous and undercover. We have Erin and our other spies out searching for answers at the embassies. I’m sure you’re just as eager to find out about the winged creatures as we are.”

Sofiya nods, “I am. Thank you for filling me in, Is, really. And to you, Ly, Winter. I know you don’t like going to far from the West Stave.”

The last comment was directed purely at Winter. It’s not a lie. Winter runs a dojo for training Kerch’s women to protect themselves from Barrel bosses and scum alike; she didn’t want her clients finding out about her… Robber side. Being a criminal wasn’t the most unintimidating, friendly persona to have when speaking with vulnerable women.

Sofiya respected Winter and her clean profession. It was hard to be so kind in the Barrel. And men were rarely kind to women at all.

Sofiya knew that first hand.

Shoving away the memories- blue eyes, dark hair, gorgeous smile, charming words and sharper wounds- Sofiya stands in one fluid movement.

“I’m going to find Destry,” she says. Iseut stands, Ly and Winter falling back to flank her again, and smiles. She’s beautiful, that is undoubtful, but the attacks- the sleazy men at the Queen’s Head, the strain of the city- it’s all gotten to her. Sofiya can see it.

This city is poison, thinks Sofiya as Iseut takes her hand and shakes it. Poison and rot.

“Destry will be in her rooms,” Ly supplies, and Sofiya nods at her once.

Sofiya grins brightly, hoping it covers her own weariness, and recites, “Fair winds.”

“Bright stars,” chorus her friends. Sofiya waves over her shoulder as she slips out of the bar and down an alley. Above her, a storm brews in the clouds.

Perhaps the stars would be out that night. It didn’t matter. Nobody in Kerch saw the stars anymore.

~~~~

On her way to Destry’s apartments, Sofiya ran into more members of the Robber Claws.

Malcolm and Firefly, who lived together in shared housing in the Anvil, were shopping for new blacksmiths’ equipment. They each provided invaluable services to the Robber Claws, crafting flawless weapons second only to that of Fabrikators. They greeted her with a wink each. Sofiya moved on swiftly after trading them a Wandering Isle-crafted staff for twenty Kruge.

She picked up some baked goods on the way. She would need them. Destry- who had been her closest friend since she arrived in Kerch- was an Inferni. Fire-bringer; with an even fierier temperament. Rumour had it- and Sofiya knew the rumours were true- that Destry had been attending the University of Ketterdam when she’d heard a boy make a lude comment during an exam and lit the paper on fire with her mind. And that paper had been thrown. At the boy’s face. Ouch.

Sofiya had been nursing a whiskey in a tavern when she’d first heard the story recounted. She’d leapt up from her seat, slithered into an alley and held the recounter at knifepoint until he’d told her Destry’s name.

They’d become fast friends upon meeting. Sofiya had been in awe of someone so rebellious, so brave as to set fire to an exam paper, and Destry- well. Destry had laughed for hours when Sofiya had told her how she’d first come across her name.

But now, staring up at the ornate windows of Destry’s apartment, Sofiya feels unsure. She didn’t mean to worry her friend. Iseut had explained that her letter must have gotten lost during the riots. Sofiya cursed the post offices. So there was a deadly storm- your motto is still “We always deliver.”

Despite her trepidation, Sofiya’s feet were swift on the stairs. She had a key to the apartment, and didn’t hesitate to unlock the door and slip inside without a sound, content to watch Destry whilst she worked; even if only for a moment.

Leaning against the wall, Sofiya’s brow creases as she surveys her friend. Destry’s hair is plaited carefully into two loops at the nape of her neck, hazel strands freeing themselves gently against her light brown skin. She’s stood facing away from Sofiya, arms circled in rings of fire. The shirt she wears is Fabrikator-made; the flames don’t take to the papery material.

Sofiya takes a step forward, and pointedly drops her bag of confectionary on the floor. It lands with an audible thump.

Destry whirls, the fire at her wrists whirling into an inferno ready to strike- until Destry sees who is at her door.

“Shouldn’t have hesitated, Des,” Sofiya said weakly, “I could have put a knife in your back.”

The shock on Destry’s face dissolves. Her face splinters down the middle. Licks of fire at her fingertips wilt into ash in a pile at her boot-clad feet.

“You would have put out the flames with your water, I’m sure,” Destry says, and then flies across the room towards Sofiya, wrapping her in a tight, smoke-smelling embrace.

Sofiya would normally pull back. “Don’t be too open with your heart, Des,” she’d say, “People use your loves against you here.” But Sofiya couldn’t bring herself to say those things. The weight of the week comes crashing down on her head like a tsunami.

Fjerdan traps on my boat, attacks on my gang, tensions in Ravka boiling over… where’s safe anymore, except here?

Destry pulls back slightly to scan Sofiya’s face. She has a smear of oil on her cheek. Destry’s eyes are filled with fire, burning like an ember beneath onyx waters.

“Where. Have. You. Been.”

“Destry-”

“Don’t you make excuses with me, Pavlichenkov,” Destry snarls, “You didn’t warn us you were late! I couldn’t sleep- neither could Cherry!”

“I-”

“We thought you’d been caught, Sofi,” Destry cries, “We thought the Fjerdans had got you! I thought you died.”

The word is ugly and big in the room, choking Sofiya’s response. Death. Dying. Dead. And by Fjerdan hands. It wasn’t so rare for travelling Grisha to be caught and sent to the pyres.

“I’m sorry,” Sofiya says, because it’s the only thing there is, “I wrote- I really did, don’t look at me like that- according to Lyra, there was a storm in the True Sea. The letter sunk with the ship.”

“You’re a Tidemaker,” Destry huffs.

“Yes, which means I manipulate water,” Sofiya says, “Not stop it from overturning ships with important letters on them. Destry, I’m sorry. I brought waffles.” She offers the last sentence like a defendant on trial with the Stadwatch; one final piece of evidence to prove her innocence.

Destry brightens immediately, “Well, in that case.”

The pair of them set to work, shoulders just brushing in the cramped kitchenette. Sofiya’s array of pasties are laid out over two plates, which they lay on their laps. Destry’s job for the Robber Claws is, in few words, that of the logician. Papers are scattered all over her apartment, covered in detailed blueprints and scale drawings of buildings all over Ketterdam, Fjerda and even- rarely- Shu Han. There were no drawings of Ravka.

If Iseut had ever commissioned a robbery in Ravka, Sofiya didn’t know about it. It would be…unwise to hit out at the Ravkans, with so many Grisha in the gang.

But Destry’s job was essential, so Sofiya couldn’t complain about the lack of trays to put their plates on. Such things were useless for such an incredible mind as Destry’s.

“So,” says Destry conversationally as she lights the fireplace with a casual flick of her wrist, “How were the Wandering Isles?”

Sofiya says nothing, massaging her temples lightly. Destry manages a laugh.

“Your silence is telling, Sofi,” she warns.

Sighing quietly, suddenly feeling very tired, Sofiya says, “It was crawling with our Fjerdan friends from the North. ‘Peaceful’ Fjerdans.”

Destry spins, and she is outlined with the fire. We’re opposites, Sofiya thinks. Fire and Water.

“You didn’t-” Destry begins, horrified.

Silently, solemnly, Sofiya raised her palms to face the ceiling. Destry reaches out.

Her gentle fingers trace the scars there. Deep and painful and barely healed, the scars run red against Sofiya’s pale flesh.

“Sofiya…” Destry breathes.

“It was the only way to push my power down,” Sofiya whispers. She’s rarely so emotive, but Destry is someone she trusts with everything. It was a weakness, some would say, but they were each powerful Grisha. They were Gods in a world of men. And they would not kneel “If I hadn’t, I would’ve been caught. It was a price to pay.”

Grisha shone like lighthouses around people. In Kerch, in Ketterdam, it was safer for them- especially ones loyal to a gang, as Destry and Sofiya were. But in the Wandering Isles; where Fjerdans passed through on their way to Novyi Zem, where gang affiliations mattered less than the colour of your eyes… Sofiya tells herself she had no choice.

“Sofiya, you’ve opened up old wounds here,” Destry says, tracing the marred skin of her palms again, “You need a healer. Freya, Lita, May-”

“Wouldn’t understand,” Sofiya finished, pulling her hands out of Destry’s and placing them carefully in her lap, obscuring them with her coat, “They’re healers, Des, not warriors- they’d go to Iseut.”

Iseut. Their unofficial leader, the founder, the lighthouse in raging seas. All of the Robber Claws seemed to be caught in her gravity. She was their sun. And Sofiya… well, Sofiya was the moon. Iseut would send her to a healer, one who would stop her travels. One who would commandeer her Warship, and Kastor… health of the mind was important to Iseut.

But Sofiya was not damaged, as they would tell her. She was not broken. Her mind was sound.

I did what I had to do, to survive.

But Destry can see through it all. Through the mask, through her eyes, right to her bones. Through to her lying, treacherous heart. We’re all broken in the end.

But.

Oh, Destry, Destry, please…

“I won’t tell her,” Destry promises, “But I’d like you to know that I think you should. Tell her, that is- Iseut. She might help.”

“She might ship me back to Ravka,” Sofiya grumbles, biting into a toasty croissant.

“Oh, she wouldn’t.”

“You never know.”

“She’ll want you to heal, that’s all.”

“Yes,” Sofiya rolls her eyes, “But these wounds are of the flesh. The scars on my heart will never heal, not in this life Perhaps there will be mercy in the next, even for my rotten soul.”

“You sound like you’re auditioning for the Komedie Brute,” Destry laughs.

“Mother, Father, pay the rent!” Sofiya crows.

“I can’t my dear, the money’s spent,” Destry choruses instinctively.

Sofiya wipes away an invisible tear, “Gorgeous! We’ll make an actress out of you, yet, Destry Clements.”

“Oh, you most certainly will not,” Destry huffs.

Their laughter fills the air, and Sofiya thinks that maybe there is hope for her rotten soul, after all.

~~~~

The man returns late from the pub wearing only one shoe.

A bottle drained halfway of mauve liquid dangles limply from his pale fingers. The veins in his foot are blue in the half-moon’s light.

He slurs a broken melody. She catches a few words as he passes below her on the street.

“Hmm… perish… light… air… fire… hell… hmmm…”

The man’s name is Danyl Harrop. And he is going to die tonight.

“Hmm… shadow… devil… rot… earth… sun… burn… lose….”

Harrop continues down the road, heedless of the mud on his bare foot. He'd be blackout drunk in the morning if he survived.

He wouldn’t.

Silent as a breeze, steps as soft as downy feathers, she leaps from the streetlight where she was perched.

She strikes.

She is ash and shadow. She is a storm of fire. She is vengeance.

She is death.

Harrop yelps as she pins him against the tree. His face is as white as the moon, with eyes like black craters.

“What’re you doi-” he slurs dazedly, but she silences him with a wave of her hand. He blubbers like a fish on land as he tries to shout for help.

“For King and Country,” says the girl. Stepping away from Harrop, she lets her power hold him against the tree, keeping his muscles upright. She surveys him like an artist would their unfinished masterpiece.

The girl whispers, “Sleep tight, Danyl.”

Flicking her wrist, she snaps his neck. He’s still alive, barely, so she latches on to what little of his mind there is left and strips it like an onion. For a man who is out so late, so drunk, on what the girl remembers as a work-day, he knows too much.

Secrets. They feed this girl, nourish her. There is a skip in her step as she turns away from Harrop; without her supporting his muscles, he collapses against the tree. She leaves his mind just as it goes dark.

There is no need to hide in the treetops upon her return to the city. It gleams just half a mile away, most of which is roiling seawater. As the girl wanders along the road back to Ketterdam, she finds Danyl Harrop’s shoe in a puddle of mud. The girl laughs at the sky. She flips a coin into the shoe, whispers a heartless prayer to her Saints, and moves on.

Back to Ketterdam. Back home.

~~~~

Ok, so that's that! I left it on a bit of a cliffhanger... I may have created a whole plot... so there might be some more coming soon!

all these excellent characters (save Sofiya, Danyl, Kastor and the girl at the end who kills Danyl- who has no name... yet *wink*) belong to the following:

Iseut is @littlegirldorothea's

Destry is @finnick-annie's (I may have made them besties👀👀)

Cherry is @brekkercookie's (they are ALSO besties👀👀 we have a trio omg)

Winter is @cressjacquine's

Lyra is @no-mourners-at-my-funeral's

Malcom is @blackpheonix’s

Firefly is @ask-shadowbon’s

Erin is @lightningboytytonjesper’s

Adali is @apple-bottom-jeansx’s

Roza is @vampire-rights’s

Linnea is @alonlyfangirl's

Yan is @lucentcorrigan’s

Anya is @queenlilith43’s

Freya is @smol-evil-gremlin’s

Lita is @the-whispers-of-moonlight’s

May is @saltyfortunes

and the "Fair winds, bright stars" motto as created by @spicy-tomato-sauce's

oh and the whole Grishaverse is the wonderful @lbardugo's <3

if I missed anyone or you want to tag anyone go ahead!

[muselexum]

CANON-DIVERGENT PORTRAYAL

PORTGAS D. ACE - FIRE FIST ACE - WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE

His post-timeskip AU is his main verse.

When Akainu went to attack Luffy, Ace stepped in at the last second to shove Luffy out of the way. While Ace didn’t suffer a direct hit through his chest, magma still made contact with his back thus severely burning his skin, muscle tissue, destroying his Whitebeard mark, and injuring his spine.

His crew stepped in as fast as they could to defend the brothers, and Ace was carried off to Law’s submarine alongside Luffy. He slipped into a coma which lasted close to two months and when he awoke he was bed-ridden, disoriented, and separated from his brother and crew. He kept asking for information on what had happened, to which the Heart Pirates finally told him that Whitebeard had died at Marineford.

Ace survived, but at the cost of Whitebeard giving his life protecting his sons to the very end. Whitebeard dying in a war that was started because of him was Ace’s worst nightmare, and he carried the guilt of that as he self-exiled from his crew. Where he was once eager to return to them, he was now ashamed about his continued failures and felt he didn’t deserve to see them again until he made things right.

Ace was devastated, but his physical injuries were so severe that he could not do anything about it even if he wanted to. To add to this guilt and feeling of helplessness, one day through newspapers he learned of the Payback War that essentially wiped out the rest of his crewmates. Guilt and helplessness turned into furious resolve as he made the decision to hunt down and see Blackbeard killed by any means necessary.

Close to two years after Marineford, Ace was finally able to travel on his own again. It was to his shock when he heard about the rising officer in the Revolutionary Army who became the Chief of Staff. Determined to confirm it for himself, Ace made contact with the Revolutionary Army and reunited with his long lost brother Sabo. The two are very close now and keep in touch, both looking out for Luffy and ready to step in if they’re ever needed.

To the rest of the world, Ace’s status is a big question mark. He has not been seen in the public eye since his intended execution and there is debate on whether he survived that day or not. Even many of his former crewmates are unsure. There are a select few that know for certain he is alive like the Heart Pirates, members of the Revolutionary Army, and Luffy who has it confirmed by Law, Robin, and Sabo on different occasions.

PLEASE NOTE: Due to Ace being alive, the fruit Doflamingo presented in Dressrosa was either a SMILE or a different devil fruit entirely. Due to Luffy and Sabo knowing he is alive, their circumstances for being in the fights would be different, though I will leave the details up to you. Sabo would still need to participate in the tournament as he knows the factory is beneath the colosseum.

[ BASIC INFO ]

NAME: Portgas D. Ace

EPITHET: Fire Fist Ace

GENDER: Male

AGE: 22 (post-timeskip)

IDENTIFIED ORIENTATION: Graysexual, Heteromantic

BIRTHDAY: January 1st

ZODIAC: Capricorn

ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good

AFFILIATIONS: Whitebeard Pirates (former)

BIRTHPLACE: South Blue, Baterilla

CURRENT BOUNTY: 1, 000, 000, 000 Beli

DEVIL FRUIT: Mera Mera no Mi

[ APPEARANCE ]

HEIGHT: 6'8" / 193cm (post-timeskip headcanon)

BODY TYPE: Broad-shouldered, “inverted triangle”, muscular

HAIR COLOUR/TYPE: Brunet, wavy, almost shoulder-length

EYE COLOUR: Honey-brown

SKIN TONE: Sun-kissed

NOTABLE FEATURES: The freckles adorning his face, the massive scar on his back though often hidden

STYLE: During his travels Ace wears a heavy cloak that covers his torso and a plain brown leather hat similar to his former orange one. His hair has grown out a bit and can be put into a little ponytail. Click [here] or [here] for a general idea.

[ PERSONALITY ]

TRAITS ->

POSITIVE: Loyal, protective, fun-loving, polite

NEUTRAL: Sentimental, predictable, self-sacrificing

NEGATIVE: Reckless, short-tempered, explosive, vengeful

INTELLIGENCES ->

Bodily-kinesthetic, interpersonal, spatial

SUMMARY ->

Ace tends to come off as very intimidating at first glance, yet when he is approached he is overall a very polite and friendly individual. He has a general care for others even if he may not know them, especially children, as he is seen allowing kids to eat his food before wanting to go off and find them dessert on top of it.

After the loss of Whitebeard and the rest of his crew, Ace has become quite a bit more solemn on his outlook on life, but otherwise retains his kind demeanor with others. He does not laugh as much anymore, but there are rare moments where he is able to forget more negative thoughts.

Before he met Sabo and Luffy, Ace’s childhood was rife with rage and self-loathing. He grew up in the mountains with Dadan and her crew of bandits who provided the very basics, but he was otherwise left to raise and care for himself.

He was a very rough child. He knew he was the son of Gol D. Roger, and thus took all the terrible things he heard people say about the Pirate King and projected it onto himself. If his father was a demon, what was he? What helped change him was his relationship with Sabo and Luffy, who over time became like brothers to him. When Sabo was presumed dead, it was the first time Ace felt the loss of a loved one and grew even more protective of his loved ones that day onward.

Ace first set sail at the age of 17. It was not long after when he became stranded on a deserted island and encountered who would eventually become his first mate, Deuce. It was on this island that he also gained the abilities of the Mera Mera no Mi. The two faced some conflicts, but it concluded with the creation of Ace’s boat Striker that helped get them off the island.

From that event onward, Ace started building the Spade Pirates. His sole goal was to challenge Whitebeard and take his head, and thus turned down otherwise impressive offers like becoming the youngest ever Pirate Warlord. Ace loathed that Roger’s name hung over his head, so his way of breaking free from those chains would be to overcome the opponent who even Roger could never defeat. If Ace could kill Whitebeard and become Pirate King, it would prove to himself that he was more than Roger.

Very soon after entering the New World, the Spade Pirates were overwhelmed by Jinbei and subsequently Whitebeard, who had heard of the rising rookie that wanted to take his head. The emperor proved to be too much for Ace, yet instead of killing him, Whitebeard saw something special in Ace and asked him to become his son. Ace fell unconscious after the fight and was taken aboard the Moby Dick along with his crewmates.

Ace made continued attempts to take Whitebeard’s head while on the ship, all to no avail. His persistence eventually waned and he felt hopeless. It was one evening, with the kind words of Marco, that Ace made the decision to willingly become a son of Whitebeard.

Ace bore Whitebeard’s mark proudly on his back and grew to respect him more than anyone else. The self-loathing he felt for being the son of Roger would wane away as he finally found a father he could look up to.

[ ONE PIECE - MAIN ]

#ACE ( VERSE: survivor’s guilt )

Ace survived Marineford, but at what cost? All he feels he has left to do is to kill Blackbeard by any means possible. He cannot rest until Blackbeard is six feet under.

#ACE ( VERSE: before disaster struck )

Taking place within the canon timeline, Ace is the second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates. He appears much more laidback here, still unknowing of the cataclysmic war ahead. This verse can range anywhere from his time on the Moby Dick to his search for Blackbeard after his betrayal.

#ACE ( VERSE: spades )

Age ranging from seventeen to nineteen, in this verse Ace is the captain of the Spade pirates and a rising super rookie. Powerful, ambitious, and reckless, Ace sets off to take Whitebeard’s head.

#ACE ( VERSE: problem child )

Ace is a young child, his age varies depending on the thread which in turn largely affects his behaviour and personality.

[ ONE PIECE - AU ]

#ACE ( VERSE: family matters )

After Ace’s survival, he fell into a coma and subsequently spent many months rehabilitating his body after he awoke from it. It was only after the Payback war that he could bring himself to go out and search for his family.

It was to his shock when he learned that Akane was on Sphinx with their son, and he made a beeline for the island to see the truth for himself. [read more]

Ace’s full tag list can be found [here]. You can choose to block specific tags, or block his general tag to avoid his content entirely.

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH11

18+ Explicit Content: Graphic descriptions of gore, violence, and smut; oral sex (male recieving), vaginal sex. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18. Chapter Word Count: 12,951 holy fuck Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use of 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 ELEVEN: STORM BOY

Tense. That’s the only word to describe the atmosphere—maybe a little suffocating, too—in Peli’s hangar; she’s been highly adaptable in regards to the Mandalorian’s extended stay, though he suspects she doesn’t mind one bit when the Child is in her arms. Speaking of which, he had eventually reawakened in the earlier hours of the morning when the twin suns were making their reappearance over the town. He hadn’t been acting like his usual self—hadn’t demanded attention nor nutrients all day and the Mandalorian doesn’t know how to restore his regular demeanour. 

Mando isn’t a caretaker—he’s uneducated and inexperienced in regards to performing as someone’s guardian. It’s discouraging not being informed on what to do and there’s not a soul alive that can provide their insight into this situation. There isn’t exactly a whole lot of people in the galaxy who might understand the Child’s abilities, much less the side effects that come with it such as his recent behaviour changes.

Not to forget the Girl.

The Girl—the source of the leaps in his heart, twitching in his fingertips, and the harassing ache in his head. She’s impeccable in contrast to him, beautiful and soft and sweet but dank farrik if she doesn’t know how to invade his thoughts as if they were her own; splayed out in the midst of his consciousness serving as a constant reminder of everything he desires. 

Between needing to prioritise the Child and wanting to surrender himself to the Girl, he’s going stir-crazy being confined in such small spaces surrounded by them, which brings him straight back here—pinned down by blaster fire and frantic screams in Huttese. It’s as though he likes it; enjoys the adrenaline coursing through his veins at every laser shot his way. It gives him an edge and provides a distraction from his thoughts, or it used to but since he took in the foundling his mind hasn’t had a chance to take a break—the arrival of the Girl only made matters harder for him. How’s he supposed to focus when all he can envision is her laying bare underneath him or wearing his shirt, only his shirt. It sends him numb from the waist down.

A twinkle of red flies overhead Mando as he army crawls along the metre-high wall to alternate positions, allowing him to gain an upper hand against the cluster of enemies defending their post. There’s a lot of them, fifteen at the least, all equipped with weapons ranging from vibroblades to flame projectors—he hadn’t prepared himself adequately for such a hefty job only armed with his handheld blaster alongside his amban rifle, though he’s running short on cartridges and decides to save them for when he’s in a pinch. Amongst his blasters he’s low on fuel for the flames in his vambrace, having used a vast majority of it on a heavy-duty lurker mere minutes prior to this shootout.

Putting it simply, Mando was in a dilemma—forced between a rock and a hard place—a real catch-22. He’s reliant on his blasters and that alone as he hadn’t communicated to the Girl about his commission received nor his departure from the hangar. There’s nobody coming to aid him—nobody here to watch as he takes one too many blaster bolts—but he doesn’t mind; actually, he prefers it. It’s as though he’s returned to his earlier years of being a Mandalorian, dependent on himself and his tools and unafraid of death; equipped with nothing but the beskar on his back and the decades-worth of abilities fine-tuned to suit his combat style perfectly. 

Mando won’t go down easy, it’s not in his blood; not the blood of his relatives, but his manufactured Mandalorian blood. He’s been taught to fight - survive and to die here from lousy Klatoonian troopers wouldn’t be warriorlike—especially not with his head wracked with stubbornness regarding his crewmates. Nevertheless, there’s a heaviness in his chest - deep and thick and pleading with him to turn around; to return to the Crest with the Girl and the kid. It’s warning him—the increased beating in his ribs suggesting things aren’t in his favour, but he can’t just leave, not without figuring out what he’s to do for the Child.

And if he was to die here on this scummy rock of a planet, surrounded by nothing but sand, heat, and blasters, it wouldn’t necessarily be all that bad—it’d salvage the Girl and the kid from having to see him die, see him take his last breath.

They’ll be okay in the long run. They’ll care for each other and the Crest will protect them; be their support anchor.

They don’t need to be there when his heart stops beating.

They don’t need to see that.  

It’s a macabre series of thoughts. He sighs groggily and hoists himself up to peer over the barricade, observing two Klatoonian soldiers communing at the top of their post, neither of their eyes on the Mandalorian stealthily underneath—it’s a good opportunity, one with a short duration to act. Mando scans the area for any others on the lookout and climbs the wooden rungs carefully, ensuring he’s making minimal sound to not drag their attention to him. 

At the peak of the tower, Mando fires a bolt at the back of the head to the one on the right and it drops stiffly, the left’s turning around sharply and thrusting a spear in his direction. Mando’s leathers wrap around the shaft and yank it from his clasp, turning it around and penetrating the Klatoonian in the chest above his heart plate. His body plummets to the surface with the spear lodged inside of his torso and Mando steps up towards the edge of the watchtower, counting the visible heads aimed at the barricade he’d been behind a few moments ago. There’s eight to his left, five with rifles and three with melee weapons, and six to his left, all equipped with short-ranged blasters, and another couple secured in the structure below him. 

It’s way out of his comfort zone—there’s far too many for him to take down without receiving some new scars to paint his flesh; he’d already obtained one today. It’s small, not something to fret over, but the gash on his side pulses each time he raises his arm to fire a laser. He’d been distracted while in the midst of combat, his thoughts preoccupied with large green batwing ears, and one of the Klatoonian’s managed a nasty slash to his waist. The assailant was taken care of, of course, but the damage was done and now his movements had been slowed by a hairline fracture—not a lot, but every second counted when on the battlefield.

Mando unclasps the strap of his amban rifle and rests it on the trim of the watchtower’s partition, gazing through the scope as he assesses the situation. There are only three canisters left. Three opportunities to disintegrate and put an end to an overabundance of hostiles. He needs to play it smart; needs to ensure he doesn’t exhaust his ammunition needlessly.

His eyes lock on to an unscathed, ominous-looking canister perched upon a table beside one of their campfires where six of them have gathered around, devouring what looked to be a scorched womp rat. They’re confident in their abilities, not concerning themselves with patrolling the borders for the Mandalorian’s reappearance—a mistake they won’t live to regret. Mando twists the mid-section of the rifle’s scope, scaling in to focus on the canisters’ hazardous symbol painted into the sides. 

Surely they’re not that foolish.

It’s worth a shot—Mando aims for the weakest point in the canister and squeezes the trigger, leather crunching underneath his force and he traces the bolt of red as it nestles a burning hole through the capsule and explodes abruptly upon impact, producing a very loud bang that echoes through the valley for klicks. So they are that stupid to leave out combustible materials, right beside an open flame no less. Four of the six instantly plummet to the ground from the explosion, while the other two attempt to fight off the suffocating flames engulfing their bodies. It’s no use and they, too, fall to a charred heap among the grit; it sticks to their melting flesh with vengeance.

The remainder of the adversaries stand in stunned silence as their heads frantically spin and twist, searching for any sign of the direction the bolt had originated. Mando pops out the empty cartridge from his rifle, listening to the satisfying tink as it bounces along the wooden surface beneath his boots and rolls to a stop beside a corpse. Heaving his leg upwards, he slips another cylinder out of his boot and slides it into the chamber. The nest of Klatoonians have scattered throughout the campgrounds, shielding behind walls of sandstone and supply crates where they blend into a mass of dark greens and browns—Mando activates his thermal vision in order to distinguish the bodies as they peer curious heads out from behind their positions.

His sight is isolated to stone-blue over the landscape except for a blush of orange-red jutting out from the top of a crate, the unsuspecting Klatoonian’s head twisting and turning wildly. Mando shouldn’t fire—shouldn’t waste a shell on a singular soldier, not when there’s still plenty left—but, perhaps, if he eliminates one that’s hiding, they might fall into hysteria and rush out of their concealments. There’s not a whole lot of options from this position—if the watchtower was on the opposing side then he’d be set; easily pick them off one by one with his blaster pistol, but that’s not a course of action now.

Mando flexes his finger against the small of his trigger but doesn’t get the chance to squeeze before there’s a weight on his pauldron—faint, but enough for him to blindly thrust his arm against the figure and knock them against the railings, his hand retrieving his blaster from the holster on his thigh and directing it at the orange heat. Its hands raise swiftly, empty, and the familiar soft, sweet voice he’s grown accustomed to fills his ears, “Hey, hey, it’s me!”

“What’re-”

“Peli told me you went out. Something about a kidnapped girl? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He huffs, returns his blaster to its sleeve and disengages his thermal; returning the colour and the Girl’s features to his vision. She’s eyeing at his side, her eyebrows stitched together in concern but decides not to ask. “It was a ploy. There’s no girl.”

She sighs in relief but notes down his dismissal to her questioning. “Okay, let’s go then. I took out three on my way here and there’s more coming. We’re sitting mynocks up here.”

“No.”

The Girl cocks an eyebrow at Mando and he returns to his scope to avoid her attention. “Let’s go,” she whispers through clenched teeth, digging her fingers into the soft of his shoulder where his pauldron couldn’t shield. She drops the appendage when he shrugs underneath her clutch, obviously peeved at something she couldn’t read on him. “Mando, come on. There’s no girl, there’s nothing to prove to these guys.”

His throat grumbles as he attempts to stifle the thoughts in his head, not wanting to implode at the Girl and potentially startle her, but it’s difficult keeping everything caged up all the time—from his miserable thoughts regarding himself to the domineering cravings deep within his core. It’s too fucking much. If there was a key to it all he’d surely have tossed on a desolate planet by now, somewhere nobody, not even himself, will discover it. 

He snaps.

“I have something to prove—I need to know I’m still useful.” Mando involuntarily groans at his childish outburst. It’s on par with the Child’s when he doesn’t get his way.

He’s not someone to express his emotions and especially not to direct it at another; not the Girl.

“Of course you’re useful, Mando. What’re you talking about?”

Caf-coloured eyes flicker behind the visor and he squeezes them shut, discarding the threats below as he tries to focus on not derailing all of his insecurities at the Girl. He doesn’t want to confess all of the little nitpickings he’s accumulated throughout his life—he’s learned to keep them buried underneath the rubble of trauma that is his daily life—and he especially doesn’t want her to see him so….sensitive; it’s not an attractive feature on him.

Mando’s mouth moves on it’s own accord, suppressed beliefs regarding himself misdirecting at the Girl in surges of angry jeering, “I used to be feared, used to wear this armour with pride; represented the Creed with the beskar the artisans forged for me. Ever since you waltzed in my life, I’ve…” He sighs, his shoulders visibly sagging as he exhales. “My competence has crumbled to dust that resolves from a gentle wind. I’m getting hit, shot, stabbed because I can’t get you off my fucking mind.”

He unknowingly strokes a finger down the barrel of his rifle, as if to imply he’d been shot with one of the pellets—nothing more than mere particles left of him.

He doesn’t need to look at her to acknowledge he’s gone too far—gone and pushed her away—and the lack of noise she produces is mockingly deafening. 

But then there’s that faint, gentle weight on his pauldron again, dragging him from his dissecting and to her eyes filled with reassurance and tenacity. Mando finds himself like an icy dessert underneath the twin suns; liquefying beneath her gaze. 

There’s a lot on his plate right now with the Child’s current situation and the Guild still coming after them—she knows this, and he knows that she knows; she’s accommodating to the unavoidable bursts that may escape him occasionally. She doesn’t need to, but she’s willing to; volunteers as his subject until it’s all out in open air and they can proceed. Mando simultaneously respects that—that he’s allowed to vent even if it means she gets a little bit of venom splattered at her—and despises himself for his misguided resentment.

Mando doesn’t genuinely blame the Girl for his lacking; he’s well aware it’s his own negligence. It’s his responsibility to maintain the upkeep of his abilities, his responsibility to protect himself and his companions as a Mandalorian. It’s just easier to push the blame on another; to pretend it’s out of his reach—out of his control.

“Let’s go,” she repeats, slower. “Please, Mando.”.

I’m sorry, he wants to say. I don’t mean it.

He’s never been good with words.

Hands more experienced than his vocals, he draws a line with his thumb across the curve of her jaw and settles it on the tip of her chin to crane her head back just enough that enables his eyes to swallow the stretched skin of her neck. “Okay,” he murmurs and releases her, withdrawing the rifle from its perch.

She sighs when his leather retires from her face and stumbles over one of the corpses in her daze. She takes the lead down the ladder while he keeps watch from the top, ensuring no Klatoonian’s sneak up on her while vulnerable, and she reciprocates the favour when she’s at the bottom.

“There’s a speeder bike just beyond the walls,” the Girl says once his boots are on firm ground, the sand crunching underneath his weight.

“We won’t both fit on it.”

“Sure we will,” she chuckles. “It’ll be snug, is all.”

Mando scoffs to himself and peers around a sandstone corner, squinting as the suns disorient his vision, but he gets a quick glance at a stroke of red about a metre ahead of him—and then a familiar symbol: hazardous product. 

“Get down!” he yells, but it’s not fast enough - not fucking fast enough - and he’s flung into the parallelled wall. There’s pressure in his neck and spine, his helmet reverberates against the sandstone, and he slips onto his shoulder in the grit; his lesion collecting the sand molecules and painting them red. Pain stretches from the heels of his feet to the back of his head but he hasn’t got the opportunity to examine himself over—the Girl, where is the Girl?

Mando hisses as his head flexes, searching through the cloud of dust and rubble for his companion; heart hurdling over the gaps of beating and his fists balling against the land to keep him off his side.

“Mesh’la,” he croaks. “Where-oh, are-”

She’s hastily beside him, unscathed besides a few grazes across her forehead and hands—hands that are trembling against his beskar, investigating his condition with manic eyes. “Shit, shit, sh-”

There’s an attempt to calm her nerves on his part, placing a stocky leather weight on top of her hand to indicate he’ll be okay, but she doesn’t believe him—he’s still on the ground, apprehensive of moving in fear of what he may discover.

He moans at a twinge in his neck and carefully scrambles to his feet with her aid, her hands submerging into the flight suit for leverage, but it’s a mistake; his legs are numb and can’t support his weight and he has to rely on the wall to remain perpendicular and not tumble on top of her small frame. 

She navigates a hand to his throbbing lesion, covering it with her palm to protect it from further invasion of particles, and the other rests against the back of his neck for reinforcement.

It’s exhausting standing like he’s made of beskar and not just wearing it - anchoring him to the ground, and it’s even worse attempting to move, his legs hot and heavy as his soles drag through the terrain. 

“I got you,” she mumbles to herself, tucking into his side.

There’s a warmth at the back of his neck, his head, underneath her hand; hot, scalding and threatening. It fucking hurts—this isn’t a concussion, he quickly realises, he’s had plenty of them to discern easily; this is different, worse, concerning. The adrenaline is doing very little to conceal the pain and he emits half-groans-half-exhales in protest to his body’s tensing. It’s something he hadn’t experienced before, something that he can’t prepare himself to face the facts.

His leather tugs at the hand on his neck and the Girl hesitantly complies with his request, removing it from the cowl and bringing it ahead of his visor for examination. “What’s the mat- Shit, is that from your head?” she asks, hand trembling. ”

Mando confirms his suspicions; a dark thick coating of the finest Mandalorian blood staining the Girl’s delicate fingers. It’s not good, not ideal, but he wasn’t dead yet and they couldn’t stay pinned down here. “It’s not that bad,” he professes.

“Not that b- your fucking head is bleeding! Fuck, okay, okay. Sit down, here.” She aids him to sink onto an underturned crate against the stone wall and removes a small satchel that rests among her hip. “There’s a medpac in there. Fix yourself up while I go take care of these assholes. Don’t go anywhere.”

“No, wait-” Mando slips his blaster out of his holster and into her free hand, his leathers discreetly caressing the backs of bruising skin before letting her retreat. She glances at him one last time, doing her best to convince herself he won’t bleed out before she makes it back. “You better return,” he whispers as she disappears behind the corner, dual blasters aimed high in her sights.

You better return to me.

Mando turns his attention to the pounding at the back of his neck, the blood pooling inside his helmet, seeping into the thick of his cowl, running beneath the material of his back. What good was a helmet if not to protect your head?

Tatooine’s desert is no match for his throat, it’s suns mere wisps of flames—he’s starting to go into shock and he strives to fight it, his fists clenching and relaxing rhythmically but he can only hold on for so long before it overcomes him. Fuck, he’s so exhausted, his legs numb and throbbing with short bursts of tension beneath the muscles.

The satchel is heavy like a bantha offspring in his lap - taunting and restricting - but he raids its contents in the hope it’ll distract him; it doesn’t. Mando can’t—won’t—dress the wound, not here, not when there’s Klatoonian’s running around with murder on their mind and the Girl in their sights. It can wait—he can wait.

But he’s no help in this condition and he’ll only be a nuisance if he were to go against the Girl’s orders—he’s not that foolish.

He groans, deep and scratchy that tickles his dry throat, and tosses his head back against the wall—prompting a red reservoir to leak from his wound, his vision fuzzy with black and piercing white spots. Fuck. Stupid. So stupid.

“Mando. Mando?”

There’s a tapping against his visor that triggers his ears to ring and his head to throb. His eyes open to see the Girl before him, her face contorted into unpleasant angles of concern; he misses her smile, how her eyes squinted when she laughs.

“Come on, there’s a gap. We need to go.”

“Can’t move,” he whines.

“Use me then.”

He’s apprehensive; she’s small and dainty compared to all the beskar and with his worsening condition his weight will only multiply each step they take.

“Mando!”

She’ll only continue to persist and, to avoid her casualty along with his, he fists the fabric of her shirt and drags himself to his feet, utilising her as a crutch as she navigates him through the narrow alleys of the encampment. They follow a trail of corpses, blood, and blaster holes that he hadn’t even heard ring throughout the desert, his senses so colourless. His boots are alike durasteel; heavy and tight around his feet, constricting and dragging through the sand behind him. He yearns to kick them off, stretch his toes. 

“Left here,” she instructs, twisting his body to a breach in their wall that’ll serve as their escape route perfectly; out of sight, in the far back that’ll provide them enough time to head for the dunes before they’re on their tail—or not. A bolt tinks against Mando’s vambrace grappled around her shoulders, but she’s not messing around - not letting a foolhardy Klatoonian interrupt their evasion. She bends her body just enough to point her blaster at the soldier without disturbing Mando’s positioning and crushes the trigger against the hilt, a vibrant red shooting out of the barrel, skimming through the air and whistling as it burrows a burning hole into his chest—all without looking.

Mando groans, impressed, “Where - where’d you learn that?”

She scoffs in amusement and continues trudging to the hole in the wall. “Well, you’re always so quick to point blasters you never let me show off. Could’ve aided you if you weren’t so metalheaded all the time.”

“Is that so?” Mando huffs a breath as a laugh. “Might have to upgrade your blaster then.”

“I think you need more upgrading than me right now.”

“Not - not a droid.”

She chuckles and assists him in ducking through the hole. “No, but you do need some repairs.”

The speeder bike sits only a few metres away from them; small, dainty, not suitable for a passenger. “Won’t-” he gasps, “-fit.”

She pats his chest for reassurance. “Well, you’re gonna have to. Get on.”

Mando slings a leg over either side of the speeder and lowers onto the back of it, uncomfortable and awkwardly positioned but it’ll have to do. “I can’t drive.”

She teases, “Oh, I know, I’ve seen you pilot.” She seats herself between the handlebars and Mando’s hunched body, patting the side of his thigh to indicate him to scooch closer. “Come on, you’ll fall off back there.”

Mando obeys her commands, his inner thighs pressing against the outside of her frame and beskar squeezed between both of their bodies, an arm gingerly curves around her midsection for greater support and it permits him an opportunity to be close to her - to hold her even if it’s not exactly how he imagines it.

“Go,” he instructs, visor tilted at the influx of Klatoonians emerging from the exit way.

Speeder hums to life, repulsorlift engine vibrates underneath their bodies and sags the vehicle towards the ground at the additional weight of him. She flexes her fingers around the throttle and zips off in the opposite direction of the gathering army, zigging and zagging to dodge the incoming bolts that kick up the dust ahead of them, one of them just barely managing to skid against Mando’s pauldron from this distance. She’s a good driver—avoiding missable dunes and anything else that might jolt him off, but the constant sharp turns don’t assist with his increasing headache and he tucks the peak of his helmet between her shoulder blades, concentrating on the rise and fall of her lungs.

In, out, in, out; fast and shaky like a collapsing tree in a brutish storm.

“Passed by an abandoned cantina on my way here,” the Girl says, mostly to ensure he doesn’t fall unconscious. “We can set up there. Take care of you. Be back before nightfall. Sound good?”

“Nnngh,” he groans. “Out of fucking action, again.”

“There was no way to know they had explosives. Don’t blame yourself.”

“That’s not true - used it against them. Should’ve - should’ve figured they’d do the same.” 

The Girl’s back flexes as she twists the handlebars and sharply turns behind a cluster of boulders, casting them in a thick shadow and providing a break in blaster fire. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mando. I’ll fix you up and we’ll go see the kid, yeah? He’ll be waiting for ya.” It falls on deaf ears, Mando too preoccupied with not passing out and sliding off the speeder—there’s so traction, nothing to support his weight, and he maneuvers his chin to rest against her shoulder questing for the cushioning of flesh to soothe the throbbing in his head.

Normally, the heat of Tatooine suns posed as a nuisance with all of the layers he donned, but now it’s comforting and Mando welcomes it with open arms—the heat equalising with that of his neck—like a temperate bath drawn just for him and he sinks his toes in the waters, moaning at the buoyancy and how light he feels - how unrestricted he is without the beskar.

The Girl slaps his thigh, though it does very little to draw him out of his daydreaming; perceptions desensitising as his weight gradually distributes to her, forcing her shoulders down so she’s almost laying on the speeder with him atop of her. 

“Mando, fuck, come on. Get up, you’re heavy - we’re gonna crash.”

“Can’t.” 

It’s all he can manage to slip out of the drought of his mouth, his lips catching on his teeth. He’s so heavy, blood converted into uncured duracrete that sags through his veins, thick and clumpy and asphyxiating.

“Just hang in there, all right? We’re almost there. Stay awake.”

She sounds so far away, so out of his reach, and his fingers subconsciously dig into the shirt—struggling to latch onto her as though she’ll disappear if he doesn’t—but it feels like he’s grasping at mist; the particles just floating through his digits as he clenches around nothing. He’s breathing it in, dense and cloudy with a taste like smoke and rotten flesh, coagulating in his lungs until he’s spluttering inside the helm at the assault.

Mando doesn’t feel the speeder come to an abrupt stop, doesn’t register he’s been relocated inside the cantina she spoke of until he’s on the floor propped up against a wall; beskar scraping against the stone as he fights off not collapsing to his side and welcome the duracrete as his eternal resting spot. She blocks the door with a bystanding chair, just in case, and returns to his side on her knees, hands frantic and gliding all over his heaving body; it’s oddly comforting - her touches crafted with the healing properties of bacta and his eyes slip closed to envision them slow and grazing along his skin, along his chest and neck, dainty fingers wiping away the dark circles underneath his eyes.

“You didn’t dress the wound?” she questions, dipping her fingers into his cowl and amassing metallic crimson at the tips. “Stubborn son of a-”

“I won’t make it,” he interjects, helm twisting to admire her—memorising her beauty in hopes it’ll remain with him in the afterlife. Her lips raw from the onslaught of pearly whites, her eyebrows taut with concern, eyes shifty as she investigates his bodily injuries; it’s an unfortunate circumstance, yet her beauty knows no bounds—she’s in fear and shock of letting him slip through her fingers but she’s still so fucking breathtaking.

“You’re getting out of this.” 

She files through the medpac stocked with minimal medical supplies, having used a vast sum of it on her the night prior. There’s not enough for both of them, her lashes still needing tending to, and Mando tries to stop her; tries to explain there’s a good chance the bacta won’t even make it to his system before he shuts down, but nothing but a soft groan flutters past his lips - his subconscious taking control over his obscurity. ”

The Girl’s scared, terrified, more than he’s ever seen her before, more than back on the spacecraft; more than when she speculated he would kill her. It shoves needles into his heart looking at her like this, looking at her be so fucking concerned for his health more than her own—she should leave, she needs to leave. They’ll be coming for him. This is why he came alone—why he didn’t want anybody around when his heart stops beating—why he’s been sidestepping around her.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so detached she’d be back safe in the Crest and he wouldn’t be slowly hemorrhaging to death.

She’s been around him too long; her brain picking up the most minute details he lets slip past his beskar walls. “I’m not leaving you,” she reassures, reading his mind.

“Need to.”

“I won’t.”

Mando whispers her name in short puffs, uttering the beautiful title that is solely her into the sand-buried cantina and strokes a delicate line across her cheekbone to her jaw where he rests his hand. It clenches underneath the leather - Mando swipes his thumb over the front of her chin sweetly, tenderly, just feeling her contours and arches. “Go.”

“Mando,” she forcibly smiles, “you’re an idiot if you think you’re dying here.”

She’s as stubborn as a Bluurg - he smiles.

He’s beginning to understand now—why the Girl hadn’t notified him of her past—or, then again, maybe he already figured it out and chose to ignore it, to replace desires with rationality. Perhaps that’s why, despite all of the suppressed emotions expanding against the confines of a metaphorical transparisteel bottle, he subconsciously found ways to distance himself from her. Utilising the Child’s priority, feigning resentment, straight-up leaving her in the dark—why he was still isolating himself even after their cin vhetin. 

After all, it’s easier to care for a skeleton in the closet than the very alive passion in his chest. But it’s easier to neglect the corpse—forget the closet entirely—than the mania; that never stops, never allows him a brief moment to recuperate his thought process.

“I forgive you,” he mumbles with a smile, a smile she won’t get to see. “I forgive you, ner mesh’la.”

It’s only when you’ve forgiven her that you’ll truly move forward.

That’s what he wants; to move forward.

If he doesn’t make it out alive, she deserves to know—she should know how he feels towards her, even if it’s not reciprocated.

She freezes, hands hovering over him with a tremble that matches his heart’s; her eyes sliding close—it’s for his benefit, he realises, she doesn’t want her pathetic sobbing to be the last thing he sees. 

It’s not pathetic in the slightest; how could somebody so intangible ever be considered pathetic?

With quivering muscles, Mando presses his leather flat against her cheek to collect a stray tear. It rolls along the curve of his thumb and soaks into the wrist of his flight suit, the moisture felt against his skin and he moans in a blend of delight and pain; a drops worth of Her converging against his flesh, staining it with salt. 

“I forgive you,” Mando repeats to himself.

Grief is etched into her eyes when she finally peels the thin lids back, her pupils flickering across the visor desperate to discover the eyes behind the cold blackness. There’s a pang in her heart that pulsates each time his chest collapses underneath her hands, counting down the rise and falls until it inevitably discontinues. “You’re not dying here.” Her lips are pulled taut against her teeth, cheeks wet with tears. “I won’t allow it. The kid needs you. I need you. End of discussion, all right?”

Mando’s head tilts, an overly enthusiastic tug in the corner of his mouth.

“All right,” he permits. 

“Good.” The Girl wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of the shirt; his shirt. “Sit forward, let me fix that head of yours.”

“Helmet,” he groans.

Oh, how his creed screws with him, obstructs him from the most basic aspects of life.

“It doesn’t need to come off.” She drives him forwards off the wall and wraps an arm across the front of his shoulders, a leg clipping behind him and another in front over his lap, snuggly positioning him between her legs so he doesn’t collapse either side. She’s tepid, pillowy, and he allows himself to lean into her, his pauldron squishing into her chest. “It’ll just be hard to tell if it’s sealed,” she narrates to herself as she digs through his cowl where it obscures the underneath of his helmet. “Is this okay?”

He nods, fingers itching in his gloves.

Delicate, smooth fingers trail beneath the rim of his helmet—his breath hitches—and slip through the gap. Mando swallows the moans and twitches she produces when she brushes around the wound, charting out its size, location, and severity. She’s so close to him, so fucking close; her hand is inside the helmet, inside his personal space, inside his Creed—fingers tangling with his overgrown locks, curls knotting around creeping digits dragging them in and holding them against his skull while blood cakes onto her skin.

Bacta spray expels from the flacon in her clutch and adheres to the wound, the properties immediately getting to work reconstructing the fractured cells. It’s sticky, burns against the sensitivity, the groaning is unavoidable but he centres on his breathing and slacking his muscles.

“That’s it,” she coos, patting his far-end pauldron, “relax.”

The consoling reminds him of the nights he’d spent staying up with the kid, murmuring reassuring words he’d plucked from the depths of his memories as a child and he hums at the bittersweet remembrances—they’re faded now with his age, as though he watched it through the eyes of a passerby in a dense crowd, too difficult to focus on the exact detailing but everything that mattered remained; the scratchiness of his father’s beard against his forehead each night, his mother’s subdued tone lulling him to sleep, both of their warmth encasing him on chilly nights surrounded by the village’s campfire.

Mando didn’t have the luxury of a rewarding life - the privilege - the right. There’s not much he remembers from his youth, much less than the average with the trauma he’s endured. He doesn’t want that for the kid, doesn’t want him to forget Mando; he means too much to him and it’d tear his heart beyond death if those memories were buried by the same trauma that keeps Mando awake—the same trauma that draws him right back to a battlefield as a coping mechanism. 

Mando’s been living the way of Resol’nare for decades now—ba’jur bal beskar’gam, ara’nov, aliit, Mando’a bal Mand’alor - An vencuyan mhi, he recites the rhyme, obey the commands of Mandalore—his soul intact and a designated spot in Manda reserved just for him; it’s a great honour, one any dar’manda would be envious of, yet he’s uncertain - tentative of the afterlife. He’ll be alone again. Just like before the Child was placed into his care. Just like before he met the Girl. Nobody will be there to welcome him—no parents, no relatives, no friends, no-one.

Twitches coursing along his spine and the back of his neck does little to soothe his nerves regarding his mortality, his body tense and rigid as though he was already proceeding with rigour mortis. He mustn’t be concealing it well as the Girl draws him closer into her chest, his helmet resting against the side of her head as she continues administering the spray, a hand smoothing along the curve of his neck to rest there.

He’s positioned just like he had that night the Mandalorians rescued him, the same fear and panic pulling at his tendons and compressing his lungs, seeking comfort from his saviour—like a scared little boy. 

It’s both humiliating and heartening; the Girl being so delicate with him despite being dipped in a coating of sharp, cold beskar head-to-toe. It’s committed to protecting him, to aid him when all else fails, and yet she’s the one he wants to surround himself with. She’s elastic-y and pliable—versatile for any situation he throws her way—made of exotic materials from the most desolate planets in the Outer Rim. 

Mando wonders what her hands would feel like elsewhere; tending to the wounds he accumulates among his torso, rubbing at the aging lines of his face—always taking care of him. Mando forages underneath the stockiness that is his heart plate and cowl, leathers wrap around the small beskar pendant amidst his chest and rips the lace from around his neck. It’s shiny, rarely exposed to elements and harsh sunlight, but still worn with age and he runs a padded thumb along a steel tusk protruding from the skull.

The Girl pats him on the curvature of neck and shoulder one last time before retracting her hand from his helmet and returning him against the wall; he nearly mopes at the lack of her. “That’s that. I applied a thick coat so you should be okay, give it a moment to settle in.” She wipes her bloody hand against the thigh of her pants and clips the bottom of his helmet between a thumb and forefinger, twisting it to look at her. “How are you feeling?”

Mando considers. The majority of the pain had vanished, or numbed, and his senses are making a steady comeback but the whole ordeal has left him drained, too exhausted to even think about manipulating his muscles to utter a sentence in reply. He does, though, he doesn’t want her worrying more than she already is. “It’s an improvement. Thank you.”

“Let me take a look at this.” She lightly taps around the gash on his side to test his reactivity. It’s not a deep wound—no cauterising today—and he sighs with relief when she fingers through the medpac to recover a bacta patch. He’ll need proper care eventually but it’s all they possess way out here.

Mando flinches when she inches the flight suit out of the way, hissing.

She searches the satchel and retrieves an all-too-familiar pouch, his eyes hardening. “Why do you have that?”

“It can be used as medicine,” she mumbles, suddenly uncertain. “It helped me, it can numb the pain.”

Mando glares at the narcotics, shaking his head obstinately. “No -- no, it’s addictive. You shouldn’t have that. I don’t want you using it.” His muscles tense at his plea, hoping she doesn’t read into it and discover its underlying reasonings—how concerned he is. “It should - should be disposed of. It’ll only entice-”

“I’m not addicted to it, Mando. It was a one-time thing.”

“It’s-”

She cuts him off with a gentle sigh and shoves the pouch back into the satchel. “Was just trying to lessen the pain, ya know, guess you’ll have to endure it. Might teach you some manners.”

His eyes soften, his chest lax; he’s starting to make a habit of blowing things out of proportion—it’ll only drive the Girl away if he persists. His thumb assaults the surface of the pendant in his clutch, rubbing it raw, and folds his adjacent hand over hers poignantly. She understands his sentiment, offering him a small smile that puts his concerns at ease.

She’s too benevolent for her own good—too compliant to his immaturity.

She changes the subject. “This is all getting old real fast, you know. All this patching up we keep doing for each other. We oughta take a break somewhere. Could be good for the kid.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t take breaks, not when he’d been injured and definitely not when he’s a fugitive but hearing the Girl suggest one makes his thoughts run wild creating phony scenarios where the three of them could spend time somewhere secluded other than the Crest. Somewhere far away from all the fucking sand. 

It could be good for the kid, could help him return to himself being out in free lands without the worry of a lurking Guild member aimed to either kill or capture him.

Mando parts his lips but he’s cut off before he’s even constructed a sentence in his mind; the rhythmic strums of speeder bikes nearing their quarters. He activates his sonic detectors and isolates the audio, concentrating on the alternating warbling while the Girl fists the hilt of her blaster instinctively in preparation. “There’s two,” he claims.

“Okay, wait here.”

“Wait, wait.” Mando catches her wrist as she stands to arrest her raring thoughts. He unclasps the strap across his chest and maneuvers the rifle around from his back and shoulders, gingerly pressing the wintry steel barrel into her palm. “There’s one cartridge loaded.” His hand snakes to his boot and retrieves the final cylinder, relinquishing his paramount foundation to survival.

She stares at him with wide eyes filled with wonder and questions he can’t pinpoint, hands examining the Amban-phase pulse rifle loosely clutched in her palms. A soft, genuine smile sketches into the curve of her lips and she gratefully accepts his offer, perching herself against a window to observe the vastness outside. 

Mando can’t manage to see past her, the window too high from his angle, so he entitles himself to travel her frame; monitoring—recording—her posture, alternating foot and knee flat against the duracrete and her shoulders pulled taut where the stock rests in the crevice. The posture of a Sharpshooter.

She sucks in a shallow breath and slowly exhales, her lips curling into a smile as her eyes lock onto an unguarded Klatoonian through the lens.

Mando quietly chuckles underneath his beskar and subconsciously runs his thumb along the beskar pendant once more, his eyes never tearing away from the Girl—she’s like the Child when he’s given the knob of his control throttle; devilishly grinning with a mischievous glimmer in their eye. 

He recounts how curious she had been regarding his rifle, how she used to pester him just to get a glimpse of the silver barrel. I’ll get my hands on it one day and I won’t be giving it back, she had said once and seeing that excitement in her eyes now only insisted on the claim. 

A micro pellet shoots out the fork-tipped tubing, the sound reverberating inside the structure for a moment before it settles to silence. Assessing the expression on her face, she hits her mark. A surge of pride runs underneath Mando’s muscles—the Girl utilising his sniper as if it belongs in her arms, fashioned just for her hands and fingers—followed by an unrelenting tide of arousal through his veins and to his crotch; maybe she can keep the rifle.

The Mandalorian has only ever had material possessions, so seeing her exercise his tools of survival like her own—squeezing the trigger, hugging the stock, peering through the lens—pressing her body up against the exact rifle he’d press against - fuck, if it doesn’t stimulate dark, inappropriate, disturbing thoughts and a tingling sensation at the base of his stiffening cock. 

Embarrassed from his condition—wounded and bloody and fucking horny—he droops his eyes to the opened bacta gel. It’s laughable. It seems each time he’s injured and she’s touching him, taking care of him, his arousal decides it’s time to awaken. She must think he gets off on it; that’s enough to make him cringe under his helm. 

Another blast echoes the spacious room and this time he hears the pop of the second Klatoonian, followed by a soft exhale from the Girl at her accomplishments. “That’s taken care of,” she sighs. “Sorry, Mando, I don’t think you can have this back.”

Mando rolls his eyes but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“How do you suppose you’ll use it without any more ammunition?”

She huffs and props the rifle against the wall beside him. “Oh, I’m sure you have plenty hidden away. I mean, why not gimme yours? I’m a better shot than you--”

“We don’t know that.”

“--and you did destroy mine, remember?”

Actually—he’d almost forgotten. It’s the entire circumstance that scripted their journey through the Outer Rim together, but with everything that’s happened within the past few days, he wasn’t exactly in the right mindset to be thinking about their agreed-upon reimbursement.

The Girl continues, “We should make a contest for it. Whoever's the better shot, gets to keep it. Sounds fair to me.”

Mando scoffs and reminds, “There’s no ammunition, mesh’la.”

“Come on, just admit you’re scared of losing.” She pauses to allow him to pipe up. He doesn’t. “Okay then. I’m getting you fixed up and then we’re going to the Crest to get ammunition and then I’m gonna kick your ass in this challenge.”

“I never agreed--”

“You’re not getting out of this that easily, Mando.”

He hums in feigned thought; she seems satisfied with herself and lowers to her knees beside him once more, hands uncorking a canister of water to flush the lesion of grit and administer a clump of soothing gel. She’s astonishingly fast and precise; she’s not joking about this competition—he’ll be in trouble if she proceeds. Nevertheless, having her hands so close to—fuck—he jolts abruptly and repositions himself so he’s concealing the bulge in his lap, extracting a concerned yet confused glare from her.

“It’s sensitive,” he lies through his teeth, but she nods her head with the allegation.

Her hands smooth over a bacta patch underneath his flight suit—another ripped garment alongside his cloak—and he moans as the patch pulses a soothing burst that numbs the slash and lessens the tenderness. 

“Okay, you’re all set. How’s that head of yours feeling?”

Always taking care of him; always so concerned.

Beskar is weighted in his palm and he returns his attention to the pendant, shimmering in the sunlight cascading through the windows and reflecting onto the ceiling above them. Mando’s head angles to the side as he slips the torn threads through his fingers and pries them apart, the beskar dangling in the middle of the lace, to slide his knuckles along the sides of the Girl’s neck until he’s at the rear. She gazes down at the pendant stowed against her sternum as he secures a taut knot, mindful of the strands of hair as to not entangle them together.

Pulling away, he hooks a forefinger along the thread and collects the beskar at the bottom where he rubs a thumb along the face of the skull. 

His vocoder whirrs a humming sound, “Better, mesh’la, much better. Thank you.”

“What’s this for?” she questions, examining the necklace incredulously.

“You.” It’s simple - sweet - truthful; it’s all hers. She doesn’t seem entirely content with his answer, her eyebrows stitching together as she mulls the symbolic gesture. He takes mercy on her rationalising, albeit awkwardly, “I can’t return a mutual connection. Can’t give you me - wholly. I received this necklace as part of my initiation to the Creed denoting my trust, my devotion, and it’s been with me since I was a boy.”

She lifts her eyes to the visor as he shares, her hands resting atop his still playing with the pendant. 

“It’s a part of my Creed—a part of me. I want you to have it.”

“Mando,” she gasps. “You’re sure?”

He simply nods.

She leans into his personal space until her warmth invades the confines of his undershirt that puts Tatooine’s twin suns to shame. Mando’s throat bobs when a hand tunnels through his cowl to splay across the side of his neck and her face looms near the side of his helmet. He doesn’t twist to look at her—doesn’t want to unnerve her with the leering tint—but his shoulders sag at the vague tremor through the beskar; her lips weakly compressed against the curvature on his helmet.

He’s not one for words, but it seems he succeeded on that front.

It makes his heart flatten and swell in succession as though she was kneading the organ with her hands, the contact so placid and gradual - just taking her time tenderising the muscle.

Not to mention the boost of blood that flows through his abdomen and finalises below his waist, causing a twitch in his pants and she hadn’t even touched him except for a delicate hand on his cowl. 

Mando really was like a boy—a pining, desperate, hormonal boy.

The Girl withdraws somewhat and trails the hand from his neck over the bump of his heart plate and seats it in the cushioning covering his stomach, her eyes bounce from his visor to his reviving arousal with her bottom lip clamped between rows of teeth. She softly snickers, “You don’t need to get shot at for me to touch you, Mando.”

He swallows, his helmet twisting on its axis to watch her expression—eyes darkening and tonguing crawling through her parted lips to apply a coating of saliva on them. 

“Is that what you want?” she croons. “For me to touch you?”

He’s speechless—choking on his own spit—and she doesn’t help matters when she glides the hand lower, her fingers catching on the hem of his waistband and her palm enveloping the curve of his bulge. 

Mando recollects all the instances he’d thought of the Girl like this—touching him so sweetly, pulling moans from his mouth—all the times he’s wanted more, needed more. Even with her hands down his pants he craved more, required her warmth—wanted to be buried in that warmth.

“Yes,” he musters up, his words coming out staticy through the modulator. 

It’s all she needs to continue, r hand snaking beneath the hem and she wraps slender fingers around his length, sluggishly pumping twice that has his back arching off the wall and she smiles smugly in her endeavours. 

His heart is in his throat, his stomach, his crotch—everywhere. 

The Girl tightens her grip some, her fingers catching on his skin without any form of lubricant but it reminds him of being back on the Crest in the pilot's chair and he has no criticism of that. She drags her hand to the top and gradually slides back down, her thumb following a pulsating vein back to the base. It has his muscles tensing, constricting underneath his layers, but his fingers dig into the cloak underneath him. 

He greedily whines, “Need more.”

She seems to understand his request and reaches for the hem with her other hand, scrambling to yank his trousers down and he assists by lifting his weight off the ground with his forearm until the hem rests at his mid-thigh; the beskar cuisse preventing the fabric from lowering any further but he couldn’t give a shit. It’s enough.

She hums at the sight of his cock—large, hard, and glistening with a bead of precum at the tip. Digits contract at the base, eliciting a groan from deep within his throat, and the Girl tosses a flirty smile at him as she gradually dips her head down for her lips to meet the tip. 

“Fu-ck,” he moans, his eyes widening as she flicks her tongue to collect the drop of white and it just melts into her tastebuds; brands them with his cum. She teases him, just barely making contact with a modest brush of her tongue against the head and he’s forced to restrain himself from bucking each time she spawns a coating of saliva that the hot air wipes dry in a matter of seconds.

Mando scrunches his fists against the duracrete and listens to the tinking his helmet produces each time he twitches his head against the sandstone, if it wasn’t made of beskar it'll surely be scraped to hell. He’s fortunate the bacta spray was so efficient—there’s no doubt in his mind he wouldn’t be able to enjoy this as much as he is without it working wonders on his wound. One of his hands occupies the back of her head and he unintentionally drives her downwards until her lips seal around the head of his cock and he’s gasping for air—the filters of his helmet breathing violently to supply the oxygen he’s lacking.

It’s exhilarating being inside of her mouth—albeit very little of him—and he lifts his hips to delve deeper, exploring the uncharted territory of her tongue and throat; so fucking soft, like her gums are fabricated out of clouds and her tongue a bed prepared just for him to rest on. “Gods,” he chokes. “Such a — pretty little mouth, mesh’la.”

She half-moans around his length, sending pulsations that makes his knees weak and toes curl. She bobs her head up and down rhythmically, her hand stroking what she can’t fit inside, and his gloved fingers twirl around a cluster of strands at the nape of her neck just to hold her - to feel the muscles stretch and loosen each movement she makes.

Mando is gluttonous for her—so fucking desperate to quicken the pace or attain new limits—and he experimentally sinks her head lower onto his shaft, slowly but with some level of authority that makes the Girl moan and comply with his proposal.

The curve of her nose brushes against the flock of unkempt bristles at the base—it’d been a while since he last tamed them, though he suspects the Girl doesn’t mind—and her sharp hot exhales through her nose can be felt dancing along the soft flesh of his groin, the head of his cock nudging against the back of her mouth before it slips past and eases down her throat an inch. Along with the newfound pressure around his length, the Girl flattens her tongue on his underside and sucks—generously hard, might he add. 

There’s an ache in his abdomen, a crack in his knee as it jerks, and he’s forced to gnaw on his lips to refrain from spewing out shameful noises from deep within his throat. His sonic detectors pick up the faintest of audio; the squelching of his cock slipping in and out of her throat, her short puffs of exhales, and her cut-off gagging noises she makes each time he explores a little more than she can withstand. It’s unrighteous how turned on he’s getting from the noises alone, but she makes her presence well known when her lips glue around at the base just sits there taking in his entire length in her throat; tears brew in the corners of her eyes and she swallows a heap of saliva—consuming all of his rationality as her throat tightens around his width.

“Oh, f-fuck, shit. St-sto-op.”

He reflexively yanks her head up until only the head of his cock is situated in her mouth, twitching, leaving the remainder of his length sodden with stringy pools of her saliva that streak to the brown curls.

Mando observes the mess she’s made, mouth drowning with lust. As much as he could sit there and fuck her mouth like this, he aches for more contact—requires it like the oxygen he breathes.

“I want more, pretty girl, need you.”

His hand travels from the base of her neck along the curve of her spine and rests on the soft of her rear, indicating his proposition. She reluctantly pries her lips from his tip and glances up at him with filthy eyes to murmur, “Need me?” she swallows. “Need me to take care of you?”

Fuck. “Yes.”

“Need me to ride you -- to fuck you?”

“Yes, mesh’la.” His fingers bite into the flesh of her ass and dip in the waistband at her tailbone, lazily tugging at the material but it fails to budge against the defence of her belt. 

“Fucking so needy,” she sings.

Mando is needy—dehydrated and starving for her—utterly insatiable. 

She unclasps her belt and unbuttons the two little dimes at her groin, but he beats her to the belt loops and slips either thumb on the farsides and tugs. His eyes soak in the exposed flesh; how cushiony her thighs look, how they must feel squeezing the sides of his head. There’s a rumble in his chest and it finds its exit through his filters, shooting straight to the Girl’s core.

The Girl guides a leg out from beneath her and he continues undressing her from the waist down until she’s only left in her undergarments, the length of her legs being explored by crunchy leather. She doesn’t allow him the opportunity to take initiative and remove his gloves—he wouldn’t be able to control where his hands led if he had—and tosses a leg on either side of his thighs, the underside of his cock rubbing against her clothed pelvis to evoke a muffled moan from his throat.

One of her hands rests on his side atop of the bacta patch and she gazes into his helmet, silently inquiring her concerns.

“I’m okay.” She continues eyeing him, her pupils flickering to the bottom side of the helmet his lesion laid in slumber. “Mesh’la, I’m good.” He proves it with a minor thrust of his hips that has her scooting against his lap, distributing her weight among his thighs.

She seems pleased with his condition, tearing her hands from his wound to bunch up the overhanging fabric. Mando stops her, clinging to the hem of the shirt. “No, keep - keep it on. Looks good on you.”

An imposing heat rises to her cheeks and paints them hues of reds and pinks at the implication Mando gets off on her wearing his clothing. He’s watching her, she feels the leer of his visor, and she bows her head and strokes his length in an attempt to hide away, to distract him from the mortifying blush gracing her cheeks and nose. Mando’s insistent, stubborn, refuses to look away from her ‘pretty little face’—his words, not hers—and just scouts as her features contort shyly.

He won’t look away.

Especially not when she lifts her thighs and hovers over his readying cock, the head nudging against her clothed sex; warm and damp from her secreting through the fabric. She wants this, he acknowledges, just as much as himself.

She dips her hips enough, just barely, so he’s firmly pressed against her; his twitches travelling through to her, sparking her fingers to dig into the pads of his shoulders in shock. Mando groans, powerless underneath her, and bucks his hips plenty to maintain a pleasant caress against the tip of his cock.

“You’re taunting, pretty girl.”

She smirks. “Why not do something about it?”

Oh, he will—he’ll make her applaud the ground he walks on if he has to.

With one foul swoop, Mando plunges his hand between her legs and eases the garment aside, positioning himself between her folds and collecting the slick with his head. It makes something erupt inside of him, in his abdomen, and he freezes like that; his cock scarcely pressing against her entrance - she flutters against him.

The throbbing at the back of his head pulls him out of his relishing but he’s not willing to interrupt—not when he’s waited so fucking long to feel her like this. “Sit down,” he breathes, lightly pushing on her thighs. “S-slowly.”

She abides by his commands and gradually sinks on his length—so fucking slowly. He asked for it, but she’s just torturing him at this point. His eyes tear from what lays between them back to her face, her eyes squeezed closed and her teeth latching onto the flesh of her poor hand. His muscles lack, his hands caressing her legs. “Sweet girl,” he coos, “you can do it.”

“Gods, what else are you hiding under all that beskar?” she moans and continues, stretching herself around his impressive size; Mando’s not small in the slightest.

His helmet inclines with a soft chuckle, clashing against the wall behind them—the wall he was ready to die on and now he’s fucking her against it - he hadn’t even cleaned himself of the blood soaked into his cowl and caking his hair - it’s fucking dirty.

He hums her name in reassurance. “Should’ve - should’ve prepared you with m-y fingers first.” 

“Yes,” she winces. “You should’ve.”

“Doing so well, so good. That’s it. Nice and slow-ly.”

There’s a silence that fills the air once he’s completely sheathed inside her, the both of them tardily comprehending the reality of the situation—they won’t be able to return to normal after this, won’t be able to look at each other without thinking of the other naked. This is their new normal, at least for today, and they carefully descend back to the scene with clarity. 

Her - his shirt’s hem rubs against his garbed stomach, loose and large on her, and he slithers his hands up the back of it to clamp down on her shoulders; holding her firmly against his pelvis so she’s restricted and refuses her the opportunity to move—he wants to savour the feeling of her stretched around him, the feeling of her warmth welcoming him. She hisses at the cold steel of his vambrace along the muscles of her back and arches on him.

Mando basks in her warmth, shifting his hips side-to-side to rub against the inside of her canals, and resting the peak of his helmet against her sternum above the pendant’s residence to breathe in her scent. It’s faint with the helm’s filters stripping the air of her but there’s a hint of sweetness that he jostles around among his tongue and a speck of her musk, alongside a whiff of his personal scents from his shirt—gun oil, leather, his own musk fusing together with hers.

“Mando, I got-ta move.”

The grip on her shoulders loosens, enabling her to move slightly but doesn’t allow her to take initiative this time; his ass flexes against the ground as he thrusts up into her, pulling soft gasps from her tongue. It’s so hot, so enticing, a sound he’s dreamt of hearing but actually triggering the noises from her is intoxicating. He could bury his face between her legs and listen to her all night if she’d allow it; if his Creed allowed it.

“Pretty girl.” His hips slam into hers. “Always - always taking care of me.”

“Fu--fuck, Mand-o,” she chokes, her breathing staggering each time his groin rolls into her pelvis. A delicate hand runs along the front to the back of his cowl and sweeps underneath the steely brim, never breaching his comfort zone until he imparts his consent with a faint nod. She inches her digits up till they disappear inside his helmet—there was a time he wouldn’t let anybody get within arm’s length of his helm and now the Girl was freely raiding the unexplored depths of his skull for the second time that day. 

There’s a slight pang around his lesion when she tugs on the curls and it only roams upwards when she shoves her palm up as far it’ll reach in the cramped space, her fingers working out the tight knot. He jerks at the sensations, all so foreign, so new and exciting he’s struggling to withhold himself from doing something stupid.

“Been thinking about this for so lo-ng,” he whispers, quickening his pace to drive up and nudge against her cervix that has her flinging her head back. “Thought about fucking——fucking you over the control panel ea-ch night.”

“Maker,” she purrs. “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move. Nearly crawled in your fuck-ing bunk with you.”

Mando groans. “Yeah? I’ll fuck you in my bunk whenever you want, mesh’la. Name the time.” 

“Fuckin’ hell, Mando.”

“Din,” he slips, freezes, muscles stretched and tight—he went and did something stupid. The Girl notices his wavering, his thrusts having abruptly stopped, and joins his absence of movement. A layer of nervous sweat breaks out across his forehead, his heart paced faster than a Kaadu. Everything is distanced, the Girl seemingly klicks away, thoughts clouded with analysing his psyche’s outburst; a foolish slip of the tongue in the heat of the moment. 

He hasn’t heard that name since he was a boy—hadn’t uttered it aloud since he became a foundling—so it’s a huge fucking shock when he hears the syllable trip past his lips.

And it’s an even bigger shock when the Girl repeats it back to him, “Din?” 

It does sound nice coming from her, though. He can’t deny that. Like his name is made of nectar, sweet and thick that dribbles from her tongue and down her chin—he could just lick it up from her, catch the remnants before it plummets the duracrete.

She grinds herself against him to pull him back to reality, twirling a curl around her finger curiously; cloyingly. 

“Din,” he repeats, firmer, with authority, “Say it, mesh’la, say it for me. Please.”

She tugs on his locks, forcing his helmet to tilt up to look at her and his heart misses a beat when she parts her lips and moans into his visor, “Din.”

Dank Farrik—she always knows just what to do to get his blood pumping. She doesn’t even know the significance of the word, just acknowledges how his cock quivers inside her from speaking it and then she’s a mewling mess muttering along a never-ending string of Din, Din, Din’s.

“Hold still,” he warns, a sturdy vambrace wrapping around her coccyx and propelling himself upwards and unto his knees with her below him, a gloved hand at the back of her head to protect it from slamming against the hard duracrete.

She’s even more sublime from this angle; spread out underneath him, the backs of her thighs pressed against his hip joints—purely on display for him and only him. 

Din can’t stand not being inside her, not feeling her slick walls hugging him so fucking tightly it drags pleasure through the core of his shaft, and he sheathes himself back into her quickly. Propping up his weight with a forearm beside her head, and pounding his hips into hers vigorously - the clap of their skin snapping through the air. 

She grinds her hips upwards into his lap to massage the swollen nub of her clit against him, jerking at the sensitivity - though she’s so restricted between solid flooring and a just as solid beskar figure that she more-or-less humps into Din’s body - her fingers slither behind the beskar margins of his cuisse’s to stabilise herself.

The abandoned cantina air is hot, sweltering, thick with sweat and sex—versus the dry, dusty stench prior that left his lungs ticklish. They’re fucking each other so desperately they’re emitting a skyrocketing heat, it’s dumbfounding.

Her lips are pulled invertedly to force back the whiny incoherent moans. Beads of sweat along her forehead. Eyes glued close. 

What a beautiful sight. All for him. It’s contrasting to the last time they were in a similar scenario—her hands on him, him sitting there licking every crumb off the plate of food she served him—but their positions had changed and now he’s the one working those noises out of her. A flurry of youthful pride rushes through him and he slips two fingers to touch where they connect, feeling the ridges and veins of his cock through the leather as he pulls out and slides back in - feeling what she’s feeling - memorising what she’ll memorise.

“I - I can’t…shit...Din,” she croons.

She’s close to her apex—her walls tighten around his cock even further. If she gets any tighter Din will come right here and now. He’s still not done - still needs more of her - thirsts for it.

“I know, mesh’la, I know. A - a little longer. Just a little longer.”

The digits between her thighs compile a coating of her slick seeping down the sides of her leg, applying it to her clit and drawing fast circles. She doesn’t complain about the scratchy leather on the sensitive bud, doesn’t gripe that he’s not allowing her the touch of his bare flesh—she thinks it’s fucking hot; he can’t take his hands off her for a fucking second to rid himself of the confines, can’t keep her waiting to inch his pants down past his thighs. He’s still completely clothed, permitting only his cock and thighs to spring free of his flight suit enough to fuck her into the ground—into the ground. It’s unadulterated filth through and through.

Din’s tattered and slashed cloak droops to the side of him and the Girl wads a horde of the scratchy fabric in her hand, tugging on it that brings him to meet with her hips like she’s coordinating his movements. “Oh, fu-ck. Right there, Mando, right there.”

“Din,” he growls a reminder all-while maintaining the pace and posture she’s arching into, her moaning of his name an addicting motivator, “my - my name is Din.”

If he wasn’t hitting something so unreachable—something so itchy she never knew existed—she might’ve wrapped her arm around his neck, pulled his helmet in for a kiss, and whisper sweet nothings in response to his confession. She can’t though - he doesn’t give her a second's worth of breaks. Unable to demonstrate her appreciation, she wrenches her head to the forearm beside her and administers a laden press of her lips to his leathered wrist; a small but incredibly sweet gesture that has his lungs tugging on his heartstrings.

She whispers his name as if testing it out on her tongue, this time with more sentiment. It’s a soft, short, and rounded-sounding name—everything he’s not—such a breathy syllable it doesn’t require much mouth manipulation and the Girl takes advantage of that; chorusing the word in sync with her pleasured writhing. 

Din extracts his cock from her gradually and sharply slams back into her, shoving her spine across the ground that she jumps from her position an inch, the grip on his cloak tightening.  “Fuck, Din!” Pearly whites sink into the leather surrounding his wrist and he grunts at the stimulation, his thrusts beginning to stagger as he reaches his climax. He won’t allow it - he’ll postpone his relief until she’s had hers if he has to; she deserves it.

“Come for me, pretty girl. You take care of me so-so well, let me feel you relax; come.”

She does relax, becomes nothing more than a boneless pool of flesh and blood beneath him that yelps at each smack of his hips, tingles at the squelching of his cock slipping through her lubricant and coating the base of his groin in a wet sheen of her. 

Din’s fingers continue on her nub only periodically stopping to delve deeper and amass her juices. He hits a sweet spot and she writhes into his chest, ripping her teeth from the leather to sink them in the thick padding of his shoulder where she freely moans into the fabric—deliberately putting on a show for Din that makes the head of his cock twitch.

Din increases his pace, maintaining a speed that compensates for his lack of back with the explosion—delivering a steady tempo fit for a week's worth of workouts.

She’s so close to his ear, if the beskar wasn’t there she’d be pressed right up against the cartilage, her risque whining intruding the tunnels of his eardrums. It’s too much to consider, too fucking much. 

She clamps down on his cock, tight and vice-like that he struggles to move inside of her. Her body rocks and jolts as she cums on his cock—he can feel the warmth dripping over the head and running along the sides like syrup sliding down his throat. “That’s it, pretty, do-ing so good.” She transmits a low drone from his words of praise, her bite deepening enough to leave a groove of her teeth in his muscle.

Din pinches her nub once, twice, savouring the impact of her chest against his with each jerk he pulls out of her. He aids her descent back to Tatooine, luring out the remainder of her orgasm with slow lazy circles until she politely relieves his hand from her clit—too sensitive and sore to continue.

The Girl shakes and trembles below him, feuding with the hot air that won’t stay in her lungs. She’s glazed in a gloss of sweat from her forehead all the way to her thighs; drained and overstimulated, but she extends a helping hand to the base of his cock and pumps the few inches not inside her. 

“Can’t - can’t stay there all day, Din,” she teases.

It’s on the verge of abusive how she engages him, every inch of her knowing exactly what to touch and how to touch it as if he’s just constructed of mere text on a holorecord. 

He disagrees; he could stay here for eternity.

Although, he takes her laboured breathing into consideration and rewards her with his sympathy; dragging out his own climax. Din experimentally rocks his pelvis, his cock pulling on the tightness of her channel—feeling all the grooves so distinctly, the gentle flow of warm cum trickling past his length—he’s managed his own undoing, his fingernails digging into the leather of his palm, cock rigid and violently palpitating. 

She observes his shoulders tightening, his breathing shake, his thighs flexing as he anxiously pulls out of her sex—buries it somewhere safe in her memory for later—it’s a glorious experiencing watching a Mandalorian—The Mandalorian share something so vulnerable with her; like the after-effects of a meanspirited storm, all tranquil sounds and apprehensive touches. She seizes a hand and presses the leader against her cheek, mildly gnawing on the thumb that impishly slips past her lips, her remaining picking up the pace on his cock drawing out his high.

It’s so cordial watching her tear at his thumb, pull on his length, stare into the visor knowingly; too personal, too spellbinding. He takes the bait. “Fuck, fu-ck,” he moans, staggering on his knees and firing out a sticky white that pains the insides of her thighs—trademarking her.

She’s unrelenting, milking every drop out of him until he’s lagging and softening in her palm. When she’s finally conducted his orgasm, she presses a quick peck to his thumb and retreats her skull to the duracrete, officially out of stamina for anything more than a breathy: Shit, Din. That was-fuck.

Her thighs are wet with their combined juices—a shiny translucent mixing with the softening white. He gathers it up on the tips of his fingertips and lifts it to the Girl’s mouth, wiping the sex on her tongue she’s poked out in compliance. “So good to me. So pretty,” he strums. “How’s it taste? Did we do good?”

She nods, humming and rolling her tongue around inside her mouth to blend the liquids with her saliva. 

“Sweet,” she exhales. “Salty.”

Din can only imagine the flavour they spawned together; a mouthwatering syrup that leaves a savoury aftertaste from the sweat laminating her thighs. He longs for a taste, salivating with need, but resolves. 

The Girl’s slick coating his softening cock sticks to the insides of his pants as he fixes the hem back to his hips—rubbing the remnants on his thighs and gluing the short hairs to his flesh. Din reaches behind him to detach his cloak and uses the edge to wipe away the accumulated mess he’d created between her thighs, mindful of keeping the bloody end far away from her, taking his sweet time to cherish how the flesh judders in the direction of his digits and the muscles tense when he delves closer to her sex.

She props herself up with her elbows and observes him still firmly planted between her legs, a pink blush encroaching her cheekbones at the sight of her nakedness compared to the Mandalorian. 

He notices her shyness and decides not to comment, simply places a hand on either of her knees and trails them up to her torso and across her arms where he interlocks his fingers with hers - bending down atop of her to tuck his helmet in the curve of her neck, shielding her from the prying eyes of the twin spheres peeking through the window.

She rests her cheek against the side of his helmet, murmuring soft praises. Fucked me so good, she whines, gonna leave me sore all night.

Din groans into the helm and settles his weight on her, too exhausted to move, but she welcomes his physique—invites the dense muscles to recuperate on her for as long as he requires—and she wraps an arm around the back of his helmet, cradling him into her sweat-slicked neck.

“So about that break…”

_____________

“ner” - my/mine “mesh’la” - beautiful “cin vhetin” - fresh start/clean slate “Resol’nare” - Six Actions, the tenets of Mando life “Ba’jur bal beskar’gam, ara’nov, aliit, Mando’a bal Mand’alor- An vencuyan mhi” - Education and armour, self-defense, our tribe, our language and our leader, All help us to survive” “dar’manda” - one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity

taglist: @ohhersheybars​, @greatcircle79​, @northernpunk​, @tanzthompson​, @djarrex​

[tough-girl9]

I’ve been pining over Data pretty hard this week, and there’s something I’ve been thinking about that I haven’t seen anyone post about. Just. The world would be such a nicer, better place if there were more men like Data out there.

1. He’s incredibly intelligent, but doesn’t need to constantly show it off or remind everyone around him that he has a gigantic IQ and is a literal walking fount of knowledge. Instead, when he does info-dump on his friends, it’s because it’s something that he’s genuinely interested in and he loves sharing about it.

2. He’s incredibly strong, but he uses that strength to defend the weakest and most vulnerable people around him. He never uses it to intimidate or harm, only to help his friends and those who need his strength for protection.

3. People, especially vulnerable people, seem to feel incredibly safe around him. He’s a calming, reassuring presence that draws scared, lonely, and hurting people to him.

4. He’s incredibly gentle and soft and unafraid of having deep, close friendships with both men and women, and he’s still very definitely masculine in all the best ways. Being soft and gentle in no way “hurts” his masculinity or makes him ever seem effeminate.

5. He’s curious about many different aspects of life and loves experimenting with all sorts of different hobbies and trying out new experiences, even if it’s something he might not excel at. He sees the journey of learning and growing as the important part of any experience.

6. He completely and unironically adores his cat and writes poetry to her. (And he devotes so much effort to making sure she has the best life possible - I mean, how many dozens upon dozens of different “feline supplements” does he have for her to make sure she has a balanced and interesting diet?)

7. He’s intensely loyal to his captain and crewmates and would sacrifice himself for any of them in a heartbeat *sobs* but he also exercises individual thought and doesn’t blindly follow orders that he feels are wrong.

Data is just...such a wonderful example of healthy, positive masculinity. He’s just...such a wonderful, good person, and I love him so much.