#junkyard pirates

[kittym0th]

Twila! your favorite hitman❤️

[grapejuicestyless]

What If I Don’t Know?

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: In an alternate universe where the pogues gave up the hunt after their win with El Dorado, Y/n breaks free of the island dream and runs off the college. Only to find that maybe, being away isn’t what she wanted after all.

My boots danced across the thick yellow lines on the deep black pavement. The traffic lights were flickering yellow, reflecting off of the void and rippling across the building puddles by the clogged sewer drains. An intersection at midnight, no dead stop and no definite go. Just the trust that the other cars wouldn’t blow past the warning signs. The trust that metal was made to bend, to rupture to save a life.

I didn’t have a car, I couldn’t afford one, and I never needed one. Everything I ever wanted was always just a few steps away. Laughter used to echo through the halls and cold rings hit the doors repeatedly. You grow used to people that way. Used to the sound of their footsteps, of their breath. You know who’s on the other side of the door always when you memorize the pattern of their movement.

JJ promised me once that we’d make one. We would run our way down to the junkyard and pick out old parts of cars and Frankenstein them together into a piece of shit that would run like a dream.

That was something I missed. The smell of gasoline. Maybe that’s why I stumbled down through the college town, balancing between the thin stripe of black between yellow and twirling in the center where road met road. Maybe I was looking for that bitter smell to remind me of home. The image of JJ bent under the hood of a truck. The same Ford that sat broken in the front yard for years, the sound of metal twisting and the breathy grunts with each violent twist of the wrench. It would run like new one day, he swore. I never doubted him, and I still don’t. One day, we’ll run down to that junkyard, a graveyard for cars, and we’ll find that missing piece.

Rain dripped from the bridge of my nose, falling on my soaked shoes and flattening out my fuzzy socks. Everything up North was colder. Maybe it was because of how bitter people were. The semi-warm summers and the sweltering months of autumn, only for the two week beach bliss to be swiftly replaced with a harsh winter that didn’t let up until the next summer. Cold nipped at my nose. I felt bitter the longer I was here, which was weird because when I was sixteen, I could have sworn this place was home.

Then again, I had never really been anywhere long enough to know what home really was. Everywhere I went became rushed by the sweet adventure that was chasing riches. Maybe it was the idea of settling down that intrigued me. To be sat in one place for a while and to slow down, to increase my chances of living through my twenties without some pirate knocking on my front door, a gun to my head. But this wasn’t home, this wasn’t settling. This was restlessness mixed with a deep urge to find something like home. An emptiness emotionally that I just couldn’t understand.

Like a dog chasing its own tail, I felt stupid, and I myst have looked drunk dancing among the silence of my college town. I should have been happy, this should have been home. I got out, I got what Kiara always dreamed of, I sought out a higher education, a dream that Pope had thrown away. My record was clean and my future had meaning. I should have been ecstatic to receive this opportunity, after all the grief and death and scandals of my childhood, a stage in my life that was stripped away by all the realities that unraveled with each new treasure found. But, I wasn’t. Even then, sick, dirty, and cold, I wasn’t happier than then now.

I don’t recognize myself in the mirror. In the dormitories, in the bathrooms, in the halls. It’s me, or, a version of that girl. She has my hair, and we share the same eyes, same curve of our lips too. But she’s hollowed out, gutted, and so indescribably not me. Different, not greater, but worse. I think of packing my bags quite often. Going quietly and without a fuss. To swallow my pride and withdraw my debt I would surely acquire if I stay any longer here at some institution I knew I couldn’t afford the moment I sent in my letter.

My roommate would be disappointed, but she’d move on. She doesn’t know me, she understands the concept of me, but she doesn’t know me. She’s nice enough, keeps her room clean, which inspires me to do the same. She brushes her hair regularly, almost obsessively, and is really pretty. We get along fine. We are friends, to a degree, but we are sure to find other roommates and never speak again. Still, I wonder if she would be mad if I left without telling her.

JJ was mad when I told him. He didn’t like the idea of abandonment. Though, I promised I would return in just a few months, and then a week after, and a few months later. It would feel like I am forever home, only with short intermissions where he gets to enjoy all the things that the island could offer with the others to hang off of his arm. He didn’t even indulge in that idea. He thought even an hour apart was too much.

I promised him it wasn’t abandonment, and swore to call him every night. I do. Sometimes I call him in the morning, and I almost always call him in the afternoon. I like to hear his voice. It sounds like home, it makes me feel warm. I forget about the redness of my nose and the tingling numbness in my fingers. He sounds like the waves crashing against the shore and the sound of wet spaghetti hitting the walls during dinners at midnight. He is laughter and the summer sun, the swells that ripple in mid July and the best seashells on the beach.

My knees bend beneath me, kneeling against the wet cement beneath me. I feel the wetness soaking through my jeans. It’s cold. Like it could be snow if it were a degree cooler. I kneel in the middle of the intersection, and I look up at the sky. It’s dark. I check my watch, it’s nearly morning again. The yellow light flickers against my skin, illuminating my face and leaving me in pitch black again. Everyone is sleeping in my college town. All is quiet.

My neck stretches out, upwards and I open my mouth. My tongue touches my chin, and I can taste the dirt in the droplets that swallow down my throat. My eyes are closed, because I have nothing to fear but loneliness itself, and whether my eyes are opened or closed, the feeling will still be there, and the fact will be too. I am alone, in this journey. I have nothing friends to lean on and no campfire to light. Nobody here knows about the existence of Kildare, of the marsh, and the restaurants that line the cut. They wouldn’t care, they don’t care about an environment they are not accustomed to. They only have so much space to consume what they need to know. To drink up their studies, they have no space for empty thoughts of a life they never lived.

I have my old phone in my pocket. The keypad is burned into the screen because it’s all I use it for now. My life revolves around nothing but the stress of failure and the relief of my best friend’s voice at the end of the day to ease my stress. The truth is, I understand the void in my passion now better than I did when it first appeared, the black hole that seemed to swallow up all my excitement for the new beginnings. I understand the bitter feelings I have for my new house, because I refuse to call this place home. Home is not a place you reside, though, familiarity breeds contempt, home is a connection to the people who reside in respect of you, who stand by you. So though the people I surround myself with here are perfectly friendly, they are not my friends, and they will never come close to the feeling of home I feel with them.

“Hello?” His voice is thick with sleep. He has that rasp men get early in the morning, a rich deepness I rarely hear anymore, but something I once bathed in with his arms wrapped around me through the night.

Theres a soft rhythmic ticking that comes with the flickers of light, and the soft patters of rain drenching the pavement create solemn acoustics around me.

“Hey, JJ.” It comes out in one breath. A sigh of relief that he even heard the buzzing of his phone in his usual dead-to-the-world like sleep cycle. My fingers slip on my phone case and I have to catch it, the rustling on my end of the line echoing back through the speaks to me. I can hear the playback of my breathing through a short delay that spans over a vast distance.

“Is everything alright? It’s…three in the morning. I don’t know a lot about time zones but, I think we’re both on the east coast.”

“No, it’s the same time zone, Jay.” My cheeks already hurt with how big my smile was. He just had that effect on me. His goofy, unknowing attitude always managed to make me laugh, especially because deep down I knew he was a lot smarter than he led on to be. When he let that mask slip to reveal his true self, it was always a wonder the ideas that spewed from his lips. He had one of the greatest minds I’d ever known, only to be undermined by the tragedy of his last name.

“Is it a crime to miss my best friend?” My eyes found a home on my wet knees, and my free hand began to play around in the water. Dragging my nail through the small puddle forming around my body.

“At this time? Yes.” He chuckled softly. “Somethings up, what are you speculating? Whats the word? Observations? Because I can’t help you with that.” He made himself clear, smiling through his sentences.

“What? No! Why would I call you of all people if I was Ob-ovulating?” I corrected myself with a laugh.

“Don’t knock it until you try it. I happen to be irresistible.” JJ defended himself with a teasing tone. Our conversation was light like it always was, even though my homesickness ran deep, and the sadness I felt was heavy, he made it feel like even the rain pouring down around the city I lived in was letting up.

“Lord knows John B’s walls are too thin for me to not have some kind of clue.” I snickered, pushing back the wet strands of hair that had fallen down upon my face.

Rain clung to me in every crevice, drenching me completely until I felt nothing but cold wash over me. It was a shower I didn’t need, one that did not cleanse me but instead poisoned me with the reminder that this was reality, I was miles away from the voice that was soothing my hearts ache momentarily. I would mull over it later.

“Nah, you got off on that shit.”

“Don’t be a pig, I’ll hang up.” I threatened half-heartedly. We both knew I never would. I could never cut the calls first, so the responsibility fell to JJ, who suffered the same inability to let go. Our calls usually stretched for hours, and the voicemails left in my inbox from the few times I would pass out with my cheek pressed firmly against some dusty book in the library took up all remaining storage in my phone. Right along side the folders of photos of us that collected by the thousands.

“So why’d you call?” He asked finally. I had no real answer. I used up all my excuses. Could he check for a sweater I left behind, the very same one I had on, or if he could just catch me up on what the others were up to. As if I didn’t call to hear all their stories daily, hourly if possible. What was I to tell him? What excuse could serve as something plausible without bearing a burden on his wide shoulders.

“You’re my best friend. I love you, I don’t need a reason.”

“You always have a reason.” He argued softly.

“Well, tonight I don’t.” I hummed. He hummed too, and silence filled the line.

The homely yellow flicked was accompanied by the blinding lights that came in pairs, growing brighter and wider with each passing second. Like a deer, I stood quickly, tall in my path but frozen in fear. I couldn’t meet the eyes of the man behind the wheel, recklessly racing across the intersection with no caution. Yellow meant slow, yet in the night, it only called for feet hitting the floor.

Puddles splashed violently, wheels screeching against the wet cement, leaving trails of where wet met soaked. I could see the distance between the wheels, I could lay my chest against the ground and measure it with my wingspan. The car swerved, laying down on the horn until the sound sputtered away into the distance, and nothing but the soft ticking of the lights and the sound of rain smacking the pavement filled the silence of the line again.

“Are you outside?” JJ asked finally. The sound of sheets crinkling and shuffling of legs against the mattress told me the loud alarm had stirred him from his relaxed state. I nodded at first, forgetting he couldn’t see me, and then I cleared my throat.

“I’m standing in an intersection.” I confessed quietly.

“Why?”

To clear my mind, to escape everything that was bothering me. To find peace with the silence, to try and find comfort in a home that wasn’t mine. There were a lot of minor reasons. The smell of gasoline was high on the list. I rationalized a lot of reasons in my head. Maybe I was looking for that bitter smell to remind me of home. Still, my gut wouldn’t settle.

I had left home to find something good for myself, to do myself the favor I always promised myself I would if I ever had the chance. But now, now that my feet had carried me to a place that was usually bustling with life, life that felt dull compared to even the most calm days on the island, I felt like I could never go back. A chance, a life, a future that I craved, I was throwing away because my feet refused to lift from the ground until I was sure I would only take my next steps home.

“I miss you.”

My answer was clear. It was true. I missed the waves, I missed the concrete roads freshly paved down in figure eight and how they met the old dirt roads of the cut. I missed John B’s chicken coop, though the chickens were long gone. I missed the dying tree carved with his name, and the rusted latch on the chateau’s porch door that left a yellow stain in the crinkles of my palm. But more than anything, I missed being no more than a breath away from JJ Maybank.

“Come pick me up?” I asked with uncertainty. Not because I even doubted for a moment that JJ wouldn’t come running to me if I even for a moment doubted where I stood, but because the morning was still young and tropical paradise was far away from the whistling winds of the North. Ferries only ran during certain hours, and money was hard to come by, even when we scrape together our pennies. Thats what happens when you drink up your success, you’re left with the repercussions. So, even if he did catch the boat, where would he get a ride from? How much more would it cost to bring the Twinkie alongside hime and ride it all the way to the hills where the colleges welcome signs were illuminated by colored lights, shining in school colors and pride.

He let out a stifled breath. He was choking on emotion I couldn’t read over the phone.

“I’ll be there, yeah.” He promised.

“Okay…I’ll go pack.” I said, suddenly and awkwardly. Yes, I dreamed of this day, kissing everything goodbye and running back to my roots, but now it was real. I could hear JJ slipping on his boots already. Why waste this chance?

“Pack?” He questioned.

“I’m leaving for good, Jay. I know I tell you that this is great and all, but I hate it here. This isn’t…this isn’t what I thought it would be. It’s not what I want.”

“So, you’re coming home?” He asks even though my answer has always been obvious.

“Yes.”

The line falls quiet again. I can hear the shuffling of his feet quickening against the rotting wood floors of the old Maybank property. A broken home flipped into something good. We share a bed there, I imagine he’s already grieving the loss of his starfish sleep position now that he’ll be bound to the same mattress as me again.

“I’ll be there soon.” The line falls dead.

Water splashes around me. If I wasn’t already soaked, I would be now. I can see why John B loved having a car so much now. The cold was fine at first when it was numbing, but now that I had feeling back in my chest, it was too much for me. My feet hit the pavement in harsh slapping movements, I pump my arms for some kind of friction against the wind. My lungs burn, they taste metallic. I want to wheeze and stop running, but I don’t think I could if I tried. I should feel embarrassed how quickly I up and left the place I was once stuck in, how I turned on my heels to run far away. But I’m not. I feel nothing, actually. Nothing but cold, determination, excitement. I have the energy of a child. I am an olympic runner, I have the right motivation. Get the fuck out of here, run myself right into JJ’s arms. I pray I don’t wake my roommate up when I reach my room.

The room is empty when I get there. I open the door so slowly, not even the rusted hinges make a sound. The carpet groans under my weight, even on my highest tip-toes. But the beds are empty and neatly made like they were left this morning. Rains pelts the windows. Theres a fan running. It’s my fan. I can’t sleep in the heat, not even in the winter. My bedding consists of borrowed blankets that I buried myself in, subconsciously trying to suffocate away the homesick feelings.

I barely had any clothes to pack, anything to throw into my duffle bag and my old backpack that was once Kiara’s. I never really got around to unpacking anyway, because there was so little to fill the bags I brought. Looking back on every decision I made before even stepping foot on campus, I should have known I would never stay. This was merely a vacation from hell. I don’t get the privilege to relax, I am worked and forced to prove myself over and over again among my peers who will never know me. I can’t wait to go somewhere where I am known again.

Somewhere along the way, I begin to collect up the posters on my walls. I rip them down hazardously, crumpling them and leaving them in the empty trashcan. It’s empty because there’s nothing I’ve touched in this room. Not the books, or the pens. I have a singular pencil up on my desk that’s much shorter than it once was, only half of its once lengthy size, and a nearly full set of flashcards. I don’t need the memory of this place to follow me. I consider it a favor to my roommate. To gift her with all the supplies she will ever need. She is nice enough, and a lot smarter than me. She’s sitting here on a full ride, though, the collar of her shirt says she could afford it without a penny. I convince myself she deserves it even though I do not know her.

I check my phone repeatedly, and I sit on the bench under the old overhang by my dorms. I stay out of the rain, I stay near the warmth and huddle up. I feel anxious waiting for him. It’s only been a few hours. I swept over the room for the few things I did want to keep. Like one of JJ’s bracelets, though it never even left my wrist. Or the soap I used in the shower. It was brand new, I had just bought a new one. I wait for his call. I wait for the familiar honking of the rusted horn. I wait, and wait as the sun rises. Time ticks by. I am impatient, I wasn’t bred this way, but good things have made me this way. I cannot wait.

“Popes probably gonna kill me.” I mumbled softly.

The car was warm, but my hands still lingered with the outsides touch. I sat on that bench for hours waiting for him. I saw people rise from their beds and lean out the window, taking in the smell of the dewey morning. A few gave me puzzled glances. A drenched girl, dripping down on the bench, wetting everything she touched.

But then, he came. I could see the rusted van before he even put it in park. Just between the brick lined buildings and the paths decorated in dying shrubbery. There was a small gap between the campus lawn and the visitors parking lot. A small slice of the outside world creeping into the sheltered space that was college.

I ran. I ran faster than I ever had in my life. Faster than when I used to race for desert back when Big John used to ruffle my hair and let me sleep over if I wanted, faster than when Ward held a gun to my head and made me pray for some kind of miracle. I ran until my feet couldn’t keep up, and I fell into JJ with a gasp.

He held me back, lifting my feet from the ground they stood on. I swore I heard him mumble something sappy under his breath, but he quickly shrugged it away when he saw the look in my eyes. I never felt love until I felt the desperation in the way he wrapped his arms around me. The way he squeezed the air from my lungs and only let me breathe when he was sure that the feeling between his elbows and his chest was really real, until he knew that this was for good.

He had slung my bags into the back seat and laughed as he told me to get in the Twinkie. When he started driving, he played the old CD we burned together in middle school filled with soft rock and Bob Marley. Occasionally, a song I had written into the playlist without him knowing would play. He always acted angry that I’d done that, but his fingers tapped the wheel and he couldn’t help but hum along. He would never admit to liking trashy pop songs, but the pink on his cheeks gave him away.

When the CD was spun to an end, we debated playing it again. We fell into silence, into the comfort of company. We both took the time to process the fact that this was real now, this was the decision I had decided to make. The thoughts that ran through my mind, what if I took off? What if I packed my bags, what if we moved back home? Let’s adventure down the coast, let’s live our youthful dreams that are unrealistic. Let’s make a home. They were real now, in this car, in him. We sat comfortably knowing that there was no limit on our company now, no restrictions on how much time there was left to borrow.

My socks tapped against the dashboard, my toes tracing the outline of the stickers scattered along the interior. Wet residue was left over, soggy folds gathered at my ankles. My body folded into itself slightly. I let the warn air from the dusty vents dance across my skin. Goosebumps faded like the sinking feeling in my gut. The smell of gasoline filled my nose once more, the smell of his deodorant reminded me that he was close.

“No doubt about it. Don’t know how you’re gonna talk your way out of this one.” JJ sighed contently.

“Well, you’re pretty good at sweet talking.” I buttered him up. Compliments were his weakness, I knew it all too well.

“I love you, but no.” JJ laughed.

“What! Oh, come on, please!”

My hands wrapped around his right bicep. My chin sat perched on his shoulder, batting my eyelashes at him and tickling the peach fuzz on his jaw that he had missed while shaving. I wanted to rub my palm over it, tease him for it with a smile. He had a toothy grin that I could see reflecting back in the rearview mirror.

“I get shit done, but I’m not a miracle worker, ‘kay?” He lifted his arm out of my grasp reluctantly, waving his finger to make his point.

“I thought Papa J was a miracle worker?” I teased with a raised brow. My arms crossed over my chest with a huff. My back fell gently against door. I turned to face him, a pout on my face and lines between my furrowed brows.

JJ let out a breathy laugh, his resolve quickly breaking at my endless begging. He had soft spots and I knew just where to aim.

“No, no! Don’t use my ego against me!” He laughed. I held my stomach this time, trying to keep my ribs together while I struggled to contain the fits of giggles bubbling up my throat and fighting past my lips. If love was a sanctuary, I was certain I had both feet in it. If it was a fire, I was burning up, and if it was the waves, they had crashed down relentlessly against my shivering body, bringing relief with each blow.

I bit the inside of my cheek and chewed at the skin. Laughter faded into even breathing, and my limbs curled up against the wrinkling fabric of the passenger seat. It had just barely started to rain again, a soft pattern of droplets hitting the windshield every so often. The closer we got to the dock, the more it lightened up. Though, the storm came in waves in the shape of the clouds that covered the blue skies. With each opening with sun peaking through, the tapping on glass stopped. When the grey swallowed us whole, it resumed. I didn’t mind it again. Not for the reasons that I wallowed in just hours ago, not to seek comfort in my homesick nature that cane purely from the soul of a homebody. But this time, because the swelling my my heart made me want to pull over to the side of the highway and spin around until my half-dried socks were coated in mud and my skin didn’t recall what the dryness felt like.

“Can I tell you something?” I murmured, my eyes locked in to the passing view that was the trees speeding past the windows.

“Yeah.” JJ hummed.

“I only came back for you.”

JJ hesitated on what he thought he wanted to say. He was biting his tongue. I shook my head.

“That sounds bad.” I laughed. “I only decided to leave because of you. I guess…just sitting in the middle of the road, I already felt really far away from everyone. I missed everyone more than I’ve ever missed anything in my life, but I was convinced that maybe I could suffer through it. But…just being with my thoughts, and hearing your voice after thinking for a while…kinda just convinced me.”

JJ took it all in. I saw the whites of his knuckles deepen the harder he pressed his fingertips to the wheel, the vast expanse of road ahead daunting now. This was beyond quality time together, and he knew it now that the newness began to settle and he began to realize it was the same old me. This was my future, and I had tossed it all away.

“I just…I guess I always thought you’d be the one to make it out. To really go for it. Kildare’s big enough for me, but I always kinda thought you’d go somewhere…more.” JJ spoke softly, eyes glued to the road.

“Maybe I already did get out. I got out and I tried to change everything about me to be that girl who wanted to get out, but she’s dead. Getting out sounded so freeing when we were younger, but now…now that we’ve seen the world and…and done so much in such little time, I’ve already lived a whole life, I’ve seen the world and I still feel like I don’t know who I am yet. But I know what I love, and I know that I hate every second that I’m away from it.”

JJ hummed again, raising his brows.

“You don’t need to explore every single corner of the earth to be something or-or someone. And maybe I didn’t realize it when I sent my letter in but I know now and I know that, I feel only half as good when I’m anywhere but where I should be. I’m sorry if that’s disappointing or if Pope is going to lecture me for days and you have to listen to it, but I know I have such a better chance of being who I want to be where I can be her than in some Northern University where people wear coats year round.” I rambled. My hands moved quickly. I cut through the air with each slice of my palms, and my eyes ran wild across the landscapes and the curve of his nose down to the bend of his jawline.

“I’m just trying to make sure this is what you want.” He finally cracked a smile. His head turned for a moment to meet my eyes, and I could see the flickers of light brightening up his affectionate gaze.

“Jay, I sat in the pouring rain in the middle of the road and begged you to come get me.” I deadpanned, but a small smile still graced my face.

Truthfully, I couldn’t wait to stick my toes back in the warm sand back home. To look down at my boots and dance along the gravel roads instead of balancing between two yellow lines that shot straight down the neat pavement.

Home was a foreign concept for a long time. The idea that it was something that could be bought. Through a mortgage, monthly rent, out of pocket. I never had those kinds of expenses. What was pocket change for some felt like gold to me, so maybe when people sat around talking about how they craved a big house to reside in, I never fully understood. Then again, I was never anywhere long enough to know.

I wouldn’t change a thing, how I ran around with my friends for years looking for gold that seemed to become buried under more and more stories, leading us to an even greater prize. I wouldn’t change the way I threw it all away to be with them. Subconsciously, I was smarter than I thought. Pope talked about packing up his bags, skipping town and moving to Idaho. Somewhere where he meant nothing to nobody and could start over. But I never indulged in it, or the fantasies of having a little more money. Being stable out be nice, but I always knew I had what I needed. I had a home and it was built on the structure of my four best friends that soon grew in size to six, and they had toothy smiles and stupid jokes.

“Do you think they’ll be mad?” I asked suddenly. Sure, this was right and it was what was true, but this was a dream that nobody else ever got to experience.

JJ pulled his lip between his teeth.

“Nah.” He sighed. “Pope will have your head, but Pope gets wound up easily. Could use him as a fishing pole.” JJ joked. It made me laugh and I felt any stress melting away. It was funny that he could do that anytime he pleased. I didn’t know if he ever knew he could do it, but he had a smart mouth, and a funny bone that always seemed to tickle me just right.

“But not you?” I asked once again.

“Not me what?”

“You wouldn’t? Be disappointed in me, that is.” I clarified softly, the roads becoming softer the more me drove along them. It was only moments until we’d soon roll onto the metal bridge connecting us to the boat that would send us home.

JJ breathed out through his nose.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” I responded plainly.

“And it makes you happy?”

“Yes.” JJ sighed, his eyes flickering from the wheel, to the road, and back to me. But only for a moment.

“Then no.” He answered just as plainly as I did, but there was a twinge of happiness itching at the corners of his lips. Selfishly, he wanted me to come home, and selfishly, I did too.

“Well, are you mad at me?” I continued to press him.

He laughed. “I could never be mad at you.”

“Not even if this is the wrong choice?” I picked at the skin by my fingers. My skin hurt a lot less now that it was shedding the smell of foreign land and letting the faint smell of the Twinkie stick.

“Who am I to tell you if it’s wrong?”

“Well, Pope would tell me it’s wrong.” I argued weakly.

“And am I Pope?”

I shook my head silently, and my eyes glued to my fingers. Blood stained my cuticles, where skin met nail. It stung, but it hurt a lot less than what I felt before.

“Y/n/n, you could send me into bankruptcy and act like we’re rich and I don’t think I’d even have it in me to blame you.” JJ smiled. I focused on the slopes and curls of his hair.

We sat in silence for a moment. It wasn’t like he was Shakespeare, but it wasn’t often JJ said something truly sappy. Usually, his philosophies revolved around excuses for his own stupid actions, which, now that he had explained his view on me, I had come to realize I never fully saw the extent of his behavior because I had never had the courage to blame him. I never would.

“So, you’ll talk me out of trouble when we get back?” I smiled sweetly, leaning my head on his shoulder and batting my eyelashes desperately.

JJ let out a laugh from deep in his stomach, his cheeks turning pink from his gasps of oxygen.

“I love you, but no.”

“I thought JJ was the reckless one, but holy shit, Y/n/n!” Pope ran a hand over his hat, pulling it off by the brim in one quick motion. The hard fabric hit the wooden counter of the bait and charter shop, the slap echoing through the homely space.

“Can you blame me? It’s so far away, and we just got back! I haven’t been in one place for more than a month in years, and I’m so god damn tired of feeling homesick all the time!” I tried to argue against the growing rally against me. I pleaded my case, but they all looked at me like I was brain dead.

“You had a chance, Y/n. A really good one too and you blew it, for what? To sell bait? To slum it in the cut? You can do that when you’re done earning your other options!” He scolded me like I was a kid. But I’m not a kid, and the worry lines slowly creeping up onto my once vibrant face are only evidence of the ever growing number attached to my bones.

“Yes, but a chance I didn’t ever really want! I mean, how could I even know if I ever wanted it, I don’t know who I am!”

“Thats what growing up is for! Not growing down. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re not a kid anymore, Y/n. And you never will be again!”

Silence fell over the small room. Even the waves rolling against the dirt didn’t dare to whisper through the large windows and gaps for doors.

“I sacrificed that for you.” I spoke softly, bitterly. For so long, I’s bitten my tongue for everyone. Hidden my resentment for chasing after a gold, I never really wanted because in my eyes, I already had it. But it was what they wanted, so I let myself age out of the period of my life I had dreamed of since I was a kid.

“I gave up my childhood so that you could figure out yours! You got to know who you are, I never got that because no one ever stopped to ask me what I wanted! Nobody! You were all too caught up in your greedy treasure hunt to ever look around and think about if everyone wanted to do this!”

“No one made you come along.” Kiara stepped forward, the same disapproving look in her eyes. She was only defending her wordless friend, but my feet felt heavy and my joints were warm. I felt myself creating sentences I should have never admitted out loud.

“Well I did! I did, and it’s too late to change that, and I did it because that’s what friends do. But what do we have to show for it? Nothing! We didn’t get the cross, we didn’t get the gold, hell, we already spent all of the nuggets John B managed to grab!” It fell silent again, and suddenly, I was standing in the center of a circle I didn’t want to be a part of.

“So what? Because we failed, it condemns you to leave college?” Kiara always had a smarter mouth than me. She was quick witted and observant. Yet, she failed to understand that my choice to come home wasn’t something merely because of the way the treasures slipped through our fingers. It was a homesickness she never had to feel because she had plenty of homes where she was consistently welcomed.

“Why is it so wrong for me to be unhappy with something that everyone else enjoys? Just because my dreams do not inspire yours does not make them any less important. A-and honestly I’m sick of standing here and listening to all of you yell at me for getting out of there instead of letting myself waste away! I’d be dead if I didn’t leave, I’d be dead because you all mean a lot too much to me for me to be away from you guys for so long. In four years I might be rich, but I would be unhappy. I would be bored. But you guys—us; we will be interesting, and funny, and bold, and unpredictable forever.”

I swallowed hard, and my eyes met the blues of the boy who had the courage to go against the majorities better judgement and bring me home. He had the same wild look on his face.

I hadn’t expected JJ to speak for me, to try and mellow out the anger I knew I would receive and backtrack against the backlash I would surely face. But out of everyone, I thought I could count on him to have my back.

And he just, didn’t.

I decided then I wouldn’t stay in the eye of the hurricane when I knew what it was capable of. I wouldn’t let myself become part of its destruction if I knew I could separate myself from it for just a moment, to remove myself from all the disappointed stares.

My feet hit the wood of the long dock, the bottoms of my shoes echoing through each plank of wood, all borrowed from the destruction of a past home.

I thought of packing up, leaving, heading over to some other place I could call home temporarily, but my fingers hesitated to reach under the bed, and my knuckles curled away from the zipper that connected to the duffle bag that was squished between dirty clothes and shoe boxes filled with memories.

A hand spun me around, pulling me from the daze I had put myself in the second I walked into the new bedroom that was mine to keep in the newly fixed home. It was calloused and warm, yet the coolness of the rings decorated on each finger revealed who the strong hold belonged to.

“Why couldn’t you say something?” I asked bitterly before my eyes even met his. It was just JJ and I in the confinement of our bedroom. The door shut without a crack and the windows sealed off from the outside.

“I told you I wouldn’t.” He smiled. I didn’t find it funny.

“No, but you could have defended me. I would have done it for you.” My lip wobbled. My throat stung, and JJ’s eyes softened. He must have believed it was because he hurt me, but it wasn’t his fault. It was just the idea that nobody would ever deal with what I felt because they hadn’t been burdened with the feeling of it ever before. And therefore, nobody would ever get it, nor have an inkling of an understanding of why I had to come home.

“Y/n/n, come on. It’ll blow over. They’ll be happy to have you back as soon as they get over it.” He tried to comfort me.

When his hands found my shoulders, it felt belittling, condescending, though I knew it wasn’t the case. I convinced myself it was because I was angry. Spiteful, maybe.

“No, JJ, stop. Stop touching me like you care, I can’t…I can’t stand it right now.” I stepped away, throwing his hands off of me like they were poison, or fire, or both.

“Everyone is looking at me like I’m a failure! Like…like I’m something to be embarrassed about. But who are they to say that I failed? Right? I spent my whole life, the years when I’m supposed to be finding myself licking the dirt off of other peoples shoes! And I took it and I didn’t complain because I thought that maybe my day would come, and it hasn’t! How is that fair? And to think I was stupid enough to think that something good would happen to me. But the truth is I hate being out of this stupid town, and this stupid town hates me. I-it’s like they’re all spitting on me and blaming it on the wind. And don’t look at me like I’m crazy because I love you too damn hard to be looked at like that by a boy I would give my whole life for!”

I breathed heavily through my teeth, and my chest raised with so much vigor in my voice, I shook the air with a desperate anger I had felt marinating for decades beneath my skin. Yet, the manhunting and the blaming had pushed it down, and the failure and the fear had only boiled it back up. But it was always there, simmering. JJ just laughed.

“I’m only looking at you like you’re crazy because I think you’re too good to care what anyone has to say about you.” He explained with a smile.

“To you, maybe. But that doesn’t make it true. Whats true is that they all had some image of me painted for them the second I made the decision to go to college, and it was wrong. Because I’m not nearly smart enough to be as interesting or independent as they want me to be. I can’t do organic chemistry, I’ve never passed a calculus test, I’m not a doctor. Nobody ever supported those dreams anyways, not even me, because as amazing as it would be to become those versions of myself, it’s not me.” My face crumpled in defeat finally.

“I’m not…good enough for anything outside of this town.”

For the first time in my life, I saw something in JJ’s eyes as I confessed how I saw myself, how I let my friends—no, my families anger affect how I saw my decisions. I saw dapples of disappointment flickering in the sea of his eyes.

“Do you really think thats true?” He asked calmly, softly. He ran a hand through his hair. He wanted to reach out for me, but he too shared that feeling of uncertainty that had consumed me in the past months.

“Good god, maybe they were right. Maybe you are a failure.” JJ sighed, and my breathing halted. “How can you for one second believe that anything they have to say is true? How can you believe that these things you think about yourself are true?”

“Well what am I supposed to believe? We were all raised to believe the same things, right? The engineers and the scientists are necessary but nobody needs the family man or-or the artists to carry on, right? So why should my dreams of just simple living be tolerated when everyone else craves so much more?” I cried.

“Do you even hear yourself? It’s contradictory in every sentence!” JJ yelled furiously back at me. But his anger wasn’t placed at me, but at the things that led me to believe what I thought.

“Just a few hours ago you were excited to come home. You were certain that this is what you wanted because it was your dream and your life! You wanted to find yourself, to know who you are. And you were right! More dead on than anyone had ever been in my life, and hearing you speak about what you knew inspired me to think more for myself than for the benefit of everyone else! College, or some fancy job, or money won’t make any of us know who we are, that’s your job!” JJ’s eyes were wide. He had decided now, and his hands found a home on my arms, squeezing hard and passionately.

“Anyone can be those things they want you to be, but I promise you, if you stick with what you know you want, everyone you touch will remember you for centuries.” He promised me softly.

“And how do I know if I even know myself? What if I’ve never been home enough long enough to know?”

“Then you’ll find it. You’ll find it, and I’ll find it too. We can find it together.”

My eyes searched his. I could no longer blink away my tears. The liquid was much warmer than the rain that had pelted against my skin, that had slipped down my back and under my shirt to touch the most painful and terrifying parts of myself that I had refused to acknowledge or recover for some time. It was hard to recognize it all, to know exactly who I wanted to be, so, I did what I did know.

I wrapped my arms around JJ tightly, burying my head in the wrinkles of his shirt and let the patterns his arms rubbed circles in my back guide the way I swayed. I let him hold me, because if anything could be uncertain then he was nothing. He was the one thing I’d always known, and maybe that was why I had called him that night. Because in every memory I ever had, he was the one defining memory of home. He was home.

“Will you be mad at me if I never find it?” I asked pathetically against his chest.

“No.” He responded softly, muffled by the way his lips pressed into the top of my head affectionately.

“I could never be mad at you.”

[denkilightning]

one thing i think would elevate a skybound rewrite to godhood in my mind is like even a single scene that shows off jays natural charisma and how people naturally flock to him and follow him AFTER hes kidnapped on the misfortunes keep. chained in vengestone, forced to lowest class physical labour on the ship, he doesnt just disrespect the captain in front of his crew, he does something simple, like hum a tune or start singing an old pirate song theyve found the lyrics to on the bounty or cracks a joke and the crew around him joins in or he suggests a better solution to a problem he overhears, all on autopilot. something that he sees as 'maybe its just nadakhan thats evil and the rest arent that bad' and nadakhan sees that without even trying, the junkyard boy can be a threat to his power on his ship and that if the kid did try hard enough, he could start a mutiny. a little win for jay so the losses can hit that much harder

[tinytablepodcast]

Tiny Table Rules Breakdown: Raccoon Sky Pirates

Smallest Salutations and Happy Holidays! Skyler's here to introduce you to wondrous world of Raccoon Sky Pirates! This breakout game from Hectic Electron Games is chaotic, cartoonish, and easy to learn. An original roll-for-action d12 system puts you in the paws of an ingenious trash animal; together with your critter companions, you’ll take to the skies in a makeshift flying machine and steal all the trash you can carry. Whether you’re learning how to create and pilot your own junk jet, or you just want to hear Skyler's sonorous voice, enjoy this rules breakdown for this delightful system! We'll see you next week in the junkyard!

Check it out here!

[humornaut]

An Analysis of Foreshadowing in Omori's Prologue

Hey everyone!

With the Omori manga's first chapter's release, one thing has been made clear: They are FLYING through the game. Unless they are doing something weird, the entire prologue segment has been moved to right after the Aubrey fight, a move I can only believe has been made so that the real world characters appear in the first chapter. I won't be making any judgements until I see how it all fits together (and maybe I won't make many judgments in general, I don't really consider myself a judgmental person for better or for worse), but it did get me thinking about how well Omori's prologue works in general! So today, I'd like to take some time to talk about that!

The Sidequests

The first things I want to mention are the side quests! I've mentioned it before (or maybe I haven't, I don't remember everything I've said), but nearly all the side quests in Headspace are symbolic on a meta level. A lot of people dismiss this as boring repetitiveness (perhaps true), but the vast majority of the side quests are about finding a lost item or individual. This is, of course, echoing the larger Headspace plot of Basil going missing. However, there is something about this concept that I'd like to point out using one of the sidequests!

In the quest "Whereabouts of Duckie Jr.", you are tasked with determining the whereabouts of Duckie Jr! Crazy, I know. Remember how I said that most of the sidequests are reminiscent of the quest to find Basil? Like 2 seconds ago? Well, this one is good for actually illuminating what is going on with that questline overall! Duckie Jr. and his family are references to a famous optical illusion in which a person can see either a duck or a bunny. Take a look at the house that the family lives in:

They live in a present! Now take a look at this!

"SUNNY won't leave the box, so KEL put a food bowl inside. I guess this box will be SUNNY and MEWO's new home."

So that's interesting! Add in the distant demeanor of Duckie Jr's father, as well as Mari's statements about Duckie having his head in the clouds and comparing Duckie to Omori, it becomes clear that Duckie in this situation is a reference to Sunny, not Basil. What does this mean? Well, it means that we should rethink the Headspace quest all together! The quest to find Basil is much more a quest for Sunny to re-find himself.

Now this (as well as the quest for the character Daisy that I have mentioned previously) is interesting, but it isn't exactly foreshadowing. For that, I would like to draw your attention to the sidequest Stick in the Mud.

In this quest, you must go around Cattail fields to find Mr. Scarecrows three crow friends, and have them return to him. In order to do this, you have to use Hero when interacting with the three crows.

I personally believe that this is a bit of foreshadowing to the Sunny route. Hero's maturity is necessary to bringing Sunny, Kel, and Aubrey back together and bringing them to Basil. I also choose to see Mr. Scarecrow as an analogue for Basil rather than Sunny due to the coloring of Mr. Scarecrow's sprite (Blond hair, blue eyes, green clothes), and Hero doesn't actually bring Basil specifically to anyone (heck, Hero doesn't actually ever talk to Basil in the real world segments of the game)

I also want to make clear: I'm not trying to imply that this is symbolism on the part of Sunny's mind, like a lot of the things that I talk about on this account, rather that this is a bit of meta storytelling foreshadowing how the real world plot will turn out. This will go for everything else that I talk about here as well.

Captain of the Space Pirates

Now that we've talked about the sidequests, I'd like to draw your attention to the main questline of Otherworld. As a reminder, once the gang gets into Otherworld, we are introduced to Captain Spaceboy, who is bedridden and depressed following his break-up with Sweetheart. In order to solve this problem, we have to go through the junkyard to find his mixtape. We aren't the only ones looking for it, and while there, we meet Rosa, a Sweetheart super-fan.

We get the mixtape back, bring it to Spaceboy, at which point Kel plays it, triggering Spaceboy to start his boss fight.

The argument for this all being one large bit of foreshadowing goes like this:

Spaceboy would be Basil (purely from a narrative perspective, not in any kind of character-sense). We go to the junkyard and dig through the trash to find the mixtape, just like we eventually get the photo album by digging through Aubrey's trash. Rosa in this case represents Aubrey, attempting to take care of the mixtape due to her personal connection to the item, revealing that Spaceboy is the one that threw it out in the first place, echoing how in the real world, Aubrey takes care of the photo album for four years due to what it means to her, despite how Basil (from her perspective) destroyed it originally.

We bring the mixtape back to Spaceboy, and just as Kel is the one that kicks off going through the photo album with Basil, he is the one that rushes to put the mixtape into the boombox, triggering the memories that set off Spaceboy, causing the fight.

Admittedly, things get a little cloudy here, as the fight between Sunny and Basil isn't directly caused by the photo album. You could even say that the Spaceboy fight represents the fight with Omori (or even both the Basil fight AND the Omori fight) due to Omori's fight being due to Sunny's mind reacting to memories of the past, better mirroring the Spaceboy fight. But hey! Spaceboy's hair turns green and his eyes turn red so who can say. :P

Then, after the fight, we get a few things! We get an eyepatch (goes without saying), a train pass (representing how Sunny will be moving after the conclusion of the game), and a sno-cone ticket (yeah I don't think this one represents anything).

And, just like the Sunny route, the prologue ends with an early look at Memory Lane, and the dream ends, with Sunny waking up.

There's probably a lot more I could talk about regarding Omori's prologue, so I might update this later! I hope you enjoyed reading this! Within the game, I feel like the prologue is one of the strongest bits of Headspace, and I've always wanted to talk about how I believe it foreshadows the rest of the game! This is a topic that I'd love to hear more people's opinion on!

[kindaasrikal]

Jay’s the only one who had the most jobs out of all of the ninja.

A pizza delivery man, a show host, an agent for the administration, and if you want you can include how he must’ve worked with his parents at the junkyard, and the whole ninja thing. He’s also been a pirate, if that counts. He also worked for Wu at his teahouse.

Ofc he’s the only one who was able to get so many good jobs remember when he listed off all his hobbies and skills, he’s the one guy to be capable of getting a job, let alone multiple.

[alltheirdamn]

A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!Reader)

CHAPTER 1

Summary: when you discover a bounty has been put on your head, your future and freedom are on the line. Warnings: mentions of death, drugs, weapons, angst, language (future smut, don't worry) Word Count: 6.5k A/N/: this is my first time dropping any sort of writing into the world, so pls be kind & i hope you'll stick around for the rest of the fic <3

Swiping greased hands over your work smock, you looked towards the horizon to see the Twin Suns dipping below the rolling sand dunes. The work day was over, yet you felt you barely made a dent in the new land speeder your parents had bought. You were accustomed to working with older models of land speeders, preferring the engine types over the newer models. The new models were made for looks rather than efficiency, and you didn’t understand how the citizens of Mos Eisley could afford them.

Composed of a ship hangar and various piles of scrap parts, the junkyard overlooked the southern border of the city, your own home barren and abysmal due to years of decline in business. It was rare your parents got business, and if it was… it usually wasn’t the best clientele. You had your run-ins with smugglers, pirates, and crime bosses, and every time, you worried for your family’s safety. It was only you and your parents, after all— you had no one else to call home.

As you tidied your workbench, stowing away the tools, scrap metals, and loose wires, you heard an unfamiliar buzz of speed bikes approaching the junkyard. It was unusual to get clients this late, let alone any visitors. Your family was nearly invisible to the citygoers, barely knowing one or two vendors on the streets that sold food. 

In a haze of dust and dirt, the men made laps around the junkyard, their voices loud and violent as they called out for your parents. Heart thudding in your throat, you rushed to the small home tucked in the dunes, frantic to find your parents. 

You hadn’t realized your father was already at the front entrance, sniper rifle in his grasp. 

“Kono Halcard!” One of the front men yelled, his speeder coming to a halt in front of your father.

You watched from afar as your father stood tall and strong, his suntanned skin glowing in the golden hour of the falling suns. Time had aged his skin whitened his hair, but he was still a force of nature. He had lived in Tatooine his whole life, as had you, and he was no stranger to the scum that roamed the planet. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted your mother, Mana, peering behind the windows of your home. She was not so much the fighter as your father. 

But you were your father's daughter. 

Grabbing the hidden blade on your work belt, you followed the trail up to the front entrance, watching the wind kick the billows of dust into tornados of sand as the men’s bikes stopped behind their very vocal leader. 

“We want nothing to do with you, Jissard,” your father’s voice was stern. 

Jissard, which you assumed was his last name, was a hateful-looking man. He was human, at least from what you could discern, as he stood several feet taller than your father, wearing a tattered tunic and worn leather coat. Most of his face was covered by a low-brimmed hat, the same color beige as the sand surrounding you, but you could still glimpse his piercing yellow eyes. The look of them alone forced your spine straight, nerves electrifying within every inch of your body. 

The men behind him wore the same type of clothes– all worn, all dirty. It was obvious from the looks of them that they were a band of spice traders, the residual of the drugs lingering on their fingers and skin. They dismounted their speeders, flanking Jissard on either side, their hands resting carefully on their concealed blasters. You shifted your weight, your grip tightening around the handle of your blade. 

“Oh, Kono,” Jissard drawled, a thick accent falling off his tongue. “You’re a few payments behind, aren’t you?”

“I owe you nothing. I paid the Pyke’s back in full nearly three months ago.” Your father straightened his spine; the rifle still lifted at eye level towards the traders. 

“If you had, I wouldn’t be here, my friend,” Jissard grinned, revealing a row of rotting teeth. It was a menacing grin, one meant to elicit fear. 

It didn’t elicit it from your father, but it did from you.

“Ah, and I take it this is your daughter, no?” Jissard continued, glancing in your direction. 

The handle of your blade was cutting into your palm now, your pulse thudding in your ears. You stepped forward, aligning yourself with your father, exchanging a weary glance between one another. He wasn’t shocked you were beside him, but you caught a glimpse of regret in his eyes. A fading sentiment of, I’m sorry, as you gathered the unspoken secrets of your family’s business. You had an inkling that crime would one day touch your family, yet you hadn’t expected it to be already seeping into the foundations around you. How long had your father been mixed up with the Pyke’s? Had this been the reason for the junkyard's business to decline? Either way, you were seeing the truth come to light, but you wouldn’t back away from a fight. 

Not when it came to family. 

“She does not concern you,” he was firm, words gritted through clenched teeth. 

Jissard smiled again, dipping his hat towards you as a gesture of hello. 

“Kesi Jissard,” he smiled, “ I’m a friend of your father's here.”

“I wouldn’t exactly label us friends,” your father sneered. 

He cocked the rifle back, the sound of it echoing around you. He was done playing Kesi’s games, yet Kesi hadn’t had his fill. The men behind him drew their blasters, your father becoming the target for every weapon. You exposed the blade behind your back, a minor threat you knew wouldn’t do much. Kesi noticed the slight reflection of metal in the fading suns, a small smirk pointed in your direction. It made your stomach churn, seeing the way he welcomed the threat. He wasn’t afraid of you, and you had yet to understand why you were so afraid of him.

You just were. 

“I’m not here to collect bodies,” Kesi tossed his attention back to your father, “I would like to settle this as civil as possible. Unless you force my hand, Kono.”

“I don’t think you people know what civil means,” your father bit. 

Kessi stepped forward, cocking his head to the side to gesture his men forward. The look of ‘civility’ shot past his eyes, replaced by something far more menacing. His hand grazed over his own blaster, eyes flickering between you and your father. In the distance, you could hear a familiar voice shouting, this one of your mother.

“Ah, Mana,” Kesi smiled, rotting teeth exposed across dirtied skin, “So kind of you to join us. We were just discussing some matters of business.”

Your mother joined your father, her hands twisting together in an anxious manner. There was an expression of fear on her face…yet she held her breath as if she anticipated the worst.

“We have no business with you traders,” she spewed. 

It was the first time you had ever seen your mother speak in such a violent manner. She was always coolheaded, kind, and extremely closed off to strangers. She made no part of any business deals the junkyard had and kept herself in the shadows where she felt safest. But now, it was your family against him, his men, and ultimately… the Pykes.

Kesi slanted his head to the side, watching your mother and father with silent regard. The men behind him were growing agitated as they swayed from side to side, their weapons still raised towards your parents. The knife you bared down in your grip was feeling all too heavy; the concept of having to defend yourself grew more likely. You silently begged your father just to comply, to give Kesi whatever he wanted, and to move on as usual. If they were to go broke, they would still be alive. 

Maybe. 

“Listen, Kono,” Kesi sighed heavily, tightening the brim of his hat over his eyes, “I don’t like wasting my time. So, either you pay up, or we can take payment in a different form.”

His gaze shot to you, shadowed eyes tracing the outline of your body until your skin crawled from disgust. Every vile and unnameable thing washed over your mind– the countless things he could do to you. You pleaded internally to your father, hoping he would just give in and do as Kesi asked. 

But your father, like you, was stubborn to the end. 

“Fuck you,” your father spat.

Without another word, his gun was aimed at Kesi’s head, the rifle shooting forward yet somehow suspending itself in time. The sequence of events grew hazy as you watched from the ground on which you fell. You didn’t register that your father had pushed you back or that Kesi’s men struck down your mom in several shots; her body lay lifeless on the sands of Tatooine. The sound of your father's cries delayed in your mind as you watched him crumple over, a gaping shot tearing apart his chest. They were gone. Both of them. And you had been too dazed to react, the knife having been lost from your hand in the midst of the attack. 

All you could see were the remnants of your parents in the wreckage of brutality Kesi had left them in. Broken sobs erupted from your chest, screams that did not make it past your lips, and yet the world continued moving. Kesi’s men grabbed you, yanking you to your feet as you struggled to breathe. Your eyes couldn’t tear away from your parents, their eyes staring absently at the sky as it faded to darkness. Everything in your world had gone dark. 

Everything was gone. 

“I guess I’ll settle for you as my payment,” Kesi smirked. 

___________________________________________________

Eyes slamming open, the nightmare jarred you enough to catapult you upwards from your sleeping position. This had been the third night in a row you had dreamt of that night, the third night you were reminded of all you had lost. Rubbing your eyes aggressively, you felt the start of tears pooling over your knuckles as you dug into the skin of your eyelids. Sounds of airspeeders and taxis whizzed by in hushed vibrations, the windows of your hotel room shaking ever so slightly. It wouldn’t be very noticeable to anyone else, but you were acutely aware of every sound around you. You were always holding your breath as if the past lurked in the shadows, waiting for the moment to strike and kill. 

It had been four standard months since you arrived in the lower levels of Coruscant– four months since you had found an escape route from Kesi. It had taken nearly a year to arrange a meticulous plan that stripped you from his grasp, and you had pulled it off. Gathering—stealing—enough credits to buy your way off world, you took refuge in a hidden identity and made a new life in the capital. The hotel room was temporary, at least until you ran out of credits—or luck. But getting credits was easy now that you learned the ways of the underground. Rich men traveled to the lower levels looking for drugs or prostitutes, and you knew the best spots in the city to track them down. Some small talk, maybe a few drinks, and it was easy for you to card your hand into their pockets and stash away credits while they remained distracted. 

Eager to leave the darkness— and the past— you gathered yourself and threw on your heavy jacket, tossing the hood over your head. Strapped to your thigh, you kept your vibroblade, the last thing you kept from all the years under Kesi’s hold. It had been your protection against aggressive clients, yet you never had the courage to use it. They were aggressive, but there was never enough strength or freedom to fight back. Freedom was something you never knew. 

Finding your way through the streets, you ventured into one of the run-down playrooms in the center of town. Through a cloud of smoke, you found small groups of men hunched over drinks as they played sabacc fervently. Some turned to scrutinize you as you walked in, but you kept your head low, finding your way toward the bar. Nerves didn’t get to you, but a drink could help suffocate the lingering memories. Nursing your drink, you felt the warmth of someone sliding beside you, their hand tracing your arm. It was enough to tense all the muscles in your body, your free hand coasting down to graze the blade on your thigh.

“Are you the entertainment for the night?” The voice asked.

Concealing your amusement, you turned to him, pushing down the hood of your coat. The man had a devilish grin that was both unwelcoming and horrendous. You had no interest in entertaining him. Downing the rest of your drink, you shoved away from the bar, walking towards an open booth to watch the games. 

And he followed. 

“C’mon princess,” he crooned, sitting across from you, “Don’t gotta be stubborn.”

“I suggest you leave me alone before I slice open your stomach.” You spat.

He leaned back, clearly alarmed, and stood without another word. But it was as he left something else caught your eye.

A shadow, but reflective, tore your focus away from the games. Whatever it was, the shine alone was enough to stall every player, their motions slowing as they observed the stranger. Walking in the entrance was a bounty hunter clad in shiny armor, his helmet trained on you. 

Your initial reaction was to run, but as you took in his silhouette, you narrowed your gaze on the blaster at his hip. Returning your gaze back to his helmet, he cocked his head to the side and slid a hand down to rest on the handle of the blaster.

An invitation to run.

A warning if you did.

Neither sounded appealing.

You sunk further into the cushions of the booth, pulling your hood up over your head. It wasn’t lost on you that he had already scoped you out, but to your wishful thinking, you hoped he was in the playroom looking for a bounty. Why would he be looking for you? A better question: who wanted you? A chill ran up your spine as you considered all the possibilities of why he’d be after you: theft, assault, spice smuggling. Worse of them all… Kesi had placed a high price on your head. 

But you would never return to him. 

You would fight for freedom, even if it cost you everything.

The bounty hunter stalked towards you, his steps calculated and slow as if he expected you to run. Your fingers twitched against the blade on your thigh, assessing your options.

You could run, fight, or die, and none of them sounded appealing as he grew closer, but you had to make a decision. 

And option one it was. 

You shoved out of the booth, booking past the game tables and towards the back door. The hood on your coat fell down onto your shoulders as you pushed your body into a full sprint, weaving through the smoke and crowds. The back door opened into a hazy alleyway, and you took off to the left. People stared at you strangely as you belined through the throng of citygoers, shoving through the crowds with curses falling off your lips.

“Fucking move!” You huffed, your feet padding against the asphalt. 

Distance sounds of running caught your attention, and you made the mistake of looking back to see the hunter closing the gap between crowded bodies. You pushed yourself harder, your body aching but persistent from the adrenaline rush. You’d had your fair share of spice before, but nothing compared to the rush of being hunted down. Never did you think your freedom would come to this.

A wall of bodies formed before you, onlookers enraptured in a daze of street performers. Their blissful unawareness would cost you your life, and you reached for your blade at the same moment a gloved hand wound around your bicep in a vice. You swiveled to meet the hunter face to face—well, face to helmet— and slashed the blade against the armor. It did nothing to the metal, not even a single scrape. The bounty hunter huffed, amused, and caught your wrist with his free hand. Your skin pinched between his leathered fingers, and you winced as his grip tightened. 

“Let me fucking go!” You yelled, jostling against his hold.

But he was firm, and the sounds of the crowd began to flood your ears as you attempted to break away.

“…a Mandalorian…”

“Look at the beskar…”

“Have you ever… seen one?”

A Mandalorian? 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This wasn’t just an average bounty hunter. This was a skilled and deadly one, and you just happened to be in his grasp. You had heard stories of them while under Kesi’s control; some spice traders talked about how ruthless and dangerous they were. They were sworn to Mandalore, and they had no moral duty to anything but. 

The Mandalorian drew your body closer, his helmet dipping close to your ear.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.” His voice was warm and smooth and threatened to buckle your legs under you. “Your choice.”

Reeling back, you slammed a foot into the center of his boot, only for him to spin you around and pin you against his body. 

“Wrong choice,” he growled.

He twisted your arms back, clasping cold binders around your wrists. Shoving you forward, he guided you through the crowds of bodies, his hand tight around your elbow. You twisted your head to look back, seeing his helmet set in a firm line and his fingers wrapped around the handle of your blade. 

Fuck, this wasn’t how you expected your night to go.

The Mandalorian’s gunship sat on the city's outskirts, parked in a docking bay surrounded by other speeders and racers. A few docking employees strolled about the platforms, barely paying attention to your struggle against the beskar-clad body behind you. You had attempted several times to rip yourself from his grasp, only to be met by a hard shove forward and a few sharp words. 

(Words that flooded your bloodstream like a liquid drug.)

The ramp lowered with a hiss, and your feet stumbled up the metal flooring as the Mandalorian pushed you into the dark cargo hold of his ship. You barely had time to register your surroundings as he led you toward a carbonite chamber. Your heart sputtered erratically the closer you got, and you fought against him harder.

“Please,” you begged, dragging your feet as far as he’d let you.

“Enough,” he barked. 

Pressing you against the wall with one hand, the Mandalorian used the other to punch in a code to the freezing chamber. The metal doors opened with an expulsion of cold gas, the air sending shockwaves over your skin. As he reached for your shirt to drag you towards the chamber, you let out a series of pleas in hopes of stopping him.

“You can’t!” You cried, tears stinging your eyes as you pulled away from his grasp. “Please, I swear I’ll do anything! Just don’t put me in there. Maker, please.”

He hesitated a moment, his helmet assessing you. 

“I’ll do anything, okay?” You heaved in a breath. “I don’t know who wants me, but please!”

A beat of silence passed as he considered your confession. Tears flowed freely over your face, the shiny beskar blurring as you tried to blink them away. Everything was becoming too hazy, too much. Maker, how did you end up here?

Your body ached from the chase, your wrists burned under the friction of the binders, and the cold air from the chamber beside you was enough to fog your mind. You were teetering on the edge of passing out or dropping dead. It was becoming all too hard to breathe, and you began to gasp for air, sucking lung-fulls in to help ease the pain vibrating through your nerves.

“Just…” You panted. “…Please.”

Your body slumped against the wall, your head hitting the metal sharply, and the world around you blackened.

**

Mando had his fair share of interesting bounties, but an unconscious girl on the floor of his ship had never been one of them. Her head lulled to the side; her body crumpled against the metal ground. He had checked for a pulse, thankful there was one, and let her lay comfortably on the ground. He couldn’t just toss her into the carbonite chamber when she was unconscious. The gas would be all too powerful on weak lungs, and she would die instantly once the metal encased her. And it wasn’t a part of the bounty to bring her in dead. Nor did he particularly relish in killing women— beautiful ones at that. 

It had struck him curious that someone as beautiful as her would wind up in the hands of a bounty hunter. Her face on the holopuck had initially been a shock, and he wondered if he had received the right bounty to begin with. But Greef Karga had assured him it was correct, and the bounty price on her head was high. Too high not to pass it up.

Mando wasn't ‘soft’ by any means. He was used to the brutality and violence that surrounded his lifestyle. He welcomed the silence after a kill and the isolation of the Razor Crest between hunts. Alone. That’s all he had ever known, and nothing would make him give that up. 

But, maker, her soft breathing wasn’t helping his cause. 

He forfeited all options and made the decision to leave her sleeping on the floor. He’d set the nav to Tatooine and reassess later. Once in hyperspace, she would have nowhere to go, and when she finally woke up, then he’d put her into the chamber. That was his plan.

At least for now.

Mando sat in the cockpit alone, his hand flipping her blade in fluid motions. She was a fighter, he knew that much, and cunning. Her first instinct was to run, but she put up just as much of a fight. Usually, he’d be annoyed by a bounty that fought, but for her to fight that hard… It gave him a pause. And her pleading for help? Maker, he wondered what made her into a big enough criminal for a bounty puck. But she had to have done something to catch the eye of a hunter, let alone a hunter like him. 

He tossed her blade up in the air, catching it and flipping it back up for several minutes. Her face danced around his mind the longer he thought about her, and he gave in to climbing down into the cargo hold to check on her. 

As he climbed the ladder, he heard rustling between the cargo crates in the corner. She had tucked herself between them, making her body look smaller and more frail than before. She looked utterly helpless— like a scared child—  and something in his chest tightened. 

“Are you going to kill me?” She whispered, her eyes barely visible in the dim lighting.

His helmet moved side to side slowly as he approached her. Her arms were still bound behind her back, tightly cuffed in bindings, but her small frame fit snugly into the corner against the metal walls. Crouching down, Mando held out a hand to her.

“I’ll take the restraints off,” he offered. “But only if you promise not to cause a problem. I’m not opposed to putting you in carbonite for the rest of the flight.”

She nodded fiercely, twisting her body so that her hands were toward him. Rough hands clicked the lock open on the bindings, and Mando watched as she rubbed the skin of her wrists fervently. Still, she shrunk away from him, pulling her knees to her chest. Her slender arms wrapped around her legs, tucking them closer to her body as she shivered against the bitter cold from traveling hyperspace. 

She stared at him wide-eyed and afraid. Every bounty feared him; his beskar was a telltale sign of danger. But something about her fear didn’t sit quite right with him. 

Only a few more hours, he told himself. Then she’d be off his hands, and he’d be a few credits richer. 

“Do you know who put the bounty on me?” She asked, her voice small. She had been so fierce and loud earlier, but it was apparent she had accepted defeat.

“No,” he said truthfully. He didn’t offer much, but it was enough. 

She exhaled, eyes floating around the cargo hold and avoiding the heavy stare from behind his visor. 

“I’m afraid,” she whispered.

Fuck. He didn’t want to hear that. 

Mando had nothing to respond with, nothing that could console her. He turned from her crouched body and turned back towards the cockpit. The further a distance he could put between them, the better.

She was dangerous. 

**

“No.”

His statement was final, not allowing you to seek answers that you could cling to. The unknown was worse than knowing because there were endless outcomes you could face. You had wronged so many people, a trace of your selfishness scattered across the galaxy. You allowed yourself to lose control of the greed– finding comfort in taking from those undeserving. Too many people had taken what they wanted from you, leaving an emptiness inside you that was insatiable and never fulfilled; you only wanted to do the same to them in return. You could spend eternity trying to find ways to fill the void within you, but you wondered if it was ever enough.

“I’m afraid,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

 The Mandalorian remained motionless and then turned suddenly back towards the cockpit, silence filling the space between you. A sigh left your lips, and you closed your eyes, hoping to slip away from the moments that pulled you closer to an unknown fate. 

You awoke to a distant beeping from the cockpit; you were nearing the coordinates the Mandalorian had punched in hours ago. Unsure of your actions, you climbed the ladder up, peeking into the cockpit to see where he was taking you. It wasn’t until your eyes adjusted to the dimness around you that you realized what planet you were flying towards. Tatooine. 

The last place you expected to be taken to, and certainly the worst possible outcome of being captured. You knew exactly what– no, who– awaited you on Tatooine. If you had given up on pleading before, you regained the strength now, taking this as your last chance to save yourself. 

“I can’t go back to Tatooine,” you blurted out. The Mandalorian whipped his head around, glaring at you through the visor of his helmet. 

Without a response, he leaned forward in the chair, guiding the ship into a descent into the atmosphere of the desert planet. The lower it descended, the higher fear crept up inside you until it clouded all senses. He wouldn’t care what became of you; you were a pile of credits waiting to be collected. If he knew your name, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the reward and the allegiance to his creed. You may not know him well, but you knew enough about the Mandalorian creed to know everything now was hopeless. 

The endless expanse of beige sand came into view, the winds drawing it into waves amongst the dunes. The ship flew further into the terrain, coming to a halt on the outskirts of Mos Eisley. It had been only a few standard years since you had been taken from your home, vowing never to return. Now you were back, existing among the ghosts and regrets of the past. 

The gunship touched down onto the rolling sands of Mos Eisley, the ramp opening slowly, giving way to the heat from outside. It flooded through the ship, a light sweat breaking out on the nape of your neck. The Mandalorian rose to his feet, his armored body turning your way. He reached down, grabbing your wrists, easing your body down the ladder. There was no inclination of emotions from his body, the rise and fall of his breastplate the only evidence that he was indeed a living creature. 

Creature he was as he pulled you down the stairs, leading you through the cargo hold that was littered with mindless tokens he had picked up along his trails of bounties. The ramp exposed you to the brightness of the sand, your eyes quickly squinting against the landscape. You drug your feet against the metal, hoping to stall your exile from all human existence. If you were certain of anything, your fate was not too far off. 

Below the binary suns stood two dark figures, their faces hidden by brimmed hats. The hats were enough of a giveaway to know who they were… and exactly why you dreaded stepping foot on the planet. Your body halted, feet firmly set against the sand, body paralyzed. The Mandalorian slid his hand under the crook of your elbow, urging you forward in silence. He didn’t flinch when you tried to hit him, wrists falling against hard beskar. 

“Please,” you begged, tears brimming your eyes. “You can’t give me to them.”

He remained wordless, only nudging your body forward once more. You mustered up enough energy to fight his hold, spinning to face him fully. His helmet slowly rolled to the side, studying your face as tears fell onto your cheeks. Desperation kicked in, your mind reeling with any offer you could give him. 

“Please,” your voice was weak, “Kill me.”

He made no reaction to your words, so you tried again. 

“Keep me. I’ll do anything you ask. Just keep me from them. You can have me!”

The Mandalorian hesitated a moment, a beat passing before he reacted. The reaction was the exact opposite of what you had hoped; your body pulled further away from the ship… and closer to the figures standing firm within the sand. Tears dried against your cheeks as the warmth of the air burned your skin, leaving your eyes red and dry. The faces of the men came into view as they lifted their heads and exposed their dirtied faces. 

“Mando!” One exclaimed. He was the taller of the two, yellow skin nearly blending into the background behind him, purple eyes piercing you below his hat. You knew him as Jado, an employee of your former employer. “Your efficiency is commendable. She is precious cargo for our boss, and he thanks you for your work.”

The other man, whom you knew as Gaff, tossed a satchel of credits at the Mandalorian’s feet. He didn’t break his gaze from the two men, caring very little of the reward now in his possession. 

“Please,” you spoke once more. His helmet turned to you slowly, and you hoped he could see life fading from your irises. 

“Alright, come on,” Jado spit out your name, ripping you from the Mandalorian’s hold. The bounty hunter freed your wrists from his grasp, only for them to be tugged forward by Jado’s dirt-covered hands. His hands were caked in dirt, traces of spice crusted under his fingernails. The metal restraints you had worn only a few hours ago were now replaced by their own bindings, ones made from rough rope that scratched your skin enough to bleed. 

“Kesi will be very happy to see you,” Jado said sarcastically. 

Your head turned back to watch the Mandalorian– now understood as Mando– fade into the distance. The shine of his beskar glinted in the harsh sun, splintering into fractures of metal and weapons. The nerves within your body sparked in anger, anger from knowing he brought you to your ultimate fate. You knew it was his job; you were merely a bounty fit for a large reward, but you wanted to believe he was still a man under the layers of armor. A man who battled empathy far beyond the bounds of his creed. 

Jado situated your body on the speeder, hauling his own body behind yours. You were all too aware of his body pressed against your back. The heat radiating from his mouth and onto your neck began to nauseate you. Glancing over, you saw Gaff straddle his own speeder, nodding once at Jado– an urge to begin moving. Gaff followed behind Jado’s speeder, the sound of its engine muffling your ears until they grew deaf. Mos Eisley was exactly as you had left it: crawling with slimy criminals and reeking of sour booze. As your heart pounded heavier against your ribs, you watched as each cantina and spaceport drifted out of view. With each passing moment, you grew dreadfully close to Kesi’s junkyard and closer to your death.

The junkyard was littered with newer ship parts; bolts and metal plates scattered the ground. The familiar workstation that sat vacant in the corner caught your eye. It had been your workstation, at least back when your family owned the yard. Now, it was in the possession of Kesi Jissard, one of the most feared spice traders in the galaxy. The same man that forced you into the trading world, baiting you to sell and trade on the promise of freedom. But freedom never came. Not until you found a way to buy it. 

The slow rhythm of hands clapping echoed around the empty ship hanger. Your head was on a  swivel, eyes wildly searching for the origin of the sound. Emerging from the shadows, Kesi continued to clap, an evil smirk creasing his yellow-tinted skin. 

Kesi spoke your name, his thick accent cutting the silence. “I’ve missed you.”

You bit your tongue, suppressing the urge to talk back, knowing it would only lead to more suffering. Kesi had a short temper, usually satiated by bruising skin and smoking blasters. But when you didn’t respond, he stepped forward, reaching for your jaw. His grip was bruising as he wagged your head back and forth. 

“You’ve caused me a lot of damage,” he spoke slowly as if every syllable was a drop of poison on your skin. “I’m in debt for thousands of credits, and because you decided to run, I had to spend even more just to hunt you down.”

“You could have let me keep running,” you said, words muffled from his hold on your chin.

Kesi’s dark eyes widened, glistening with premeditated thoughts of harm. He squeezed your chin and pulled away with such force that it left your head falling backward. 

“You’ve missed out on a lot of work,” he mused, pacing between you and the workstation aside from you. “There will be a lot of clients happy to see your return.”

“I’d rather die,” you spat, stepping forward. Where you found the courage, you don’t know. 

“Trust me,” Kesi chuckled, “I would love to kill you. But you’re far more valuable alive than dead. You’re of more use to me when you’re breathing and working.”

Kesi turned away from you, searching through the remnants of the workstation. With his large body blocking the view of what he found, your heart lurched with uncertainty. He clicked his tongue in satisfaction, holding a black bag up to the dim light of the station lamp. Your heart plummeted into your stomach, nausea coursing up through your esophagus. Turning to you, Kesi donned a broad grin, evil basking in the stretch of his lips against his cheeks. 

“We’ve got a new product on the market now,” he began, walking towards you again. 

You stumbled as you took a step back, knowing you wouldn’t be able to go much further without someone snatching you and dragging you right back. 

Kesi continued, “Since you’re going to sell it for me, you might as well try it.”

You watched as he unraveled the string of the bag, a smaller wrapped bag falling into his hands. The spice was an unusual color compared to the rest; its pigment was closer to black than the usual beige-brown you had been used to selling. Your pulse was rising alarmingly, and you wondered if Kesi could see the fear seeping from your eyes. The fear fell in waves of quiet tears, your lips wavering but never making a noise. 

“Why don’t you sit?” he insisted, yanking you by the elbow to the workman's chair by the desk. 

All you could do was comply, regardless of the nagging that pricked your brain in sharp pinpoints. You wished you had the strength to fight him. You wished you had the words to beg for a different outcome. 

You wished the Mandalorian had listened to your pleas. 

But the Mandalorian was gone and a richer man now, too. And here you were, helpless once more and three steps back from freedom. 

The second your ass hit the seat of the chair, Kesi was wrapping a hand around your wrists, pinning you against the wooden material. With the free hand he had, Kesi dipped a finger into the powdered substance, lifting it to your lips. 

“C’mon princess,” he hissed, “Open that pretty mouth of yours.”

You made no effort to open your mouth, your jaw locked and refusing to fall slack. Kesi’s mood changed into a slow-burning anger, his fingers bruising your skin. You squirmed against the seat, looking around the workstation for anything capable of substantial harm. The desk was nearly clean, sans a few miscellaneous tokens and scrap spice containers. 

“Open. Your. Mouth.” 

Kesi’s removed his hand from your wrists, only to deliver the most jarring slap across your cheek. It sent your head reeling, leaving you little time to recover. Your mouth fell open, groaning at the severity of the hit, and the surmounting pain replaced every emotion stirring within you. He took your vulnerability as an opportunity, his spice-covered finger slipping onto your tongue. 

You hadn’t tasted spice in years. It was not something you enjoyed recreationally, nor did you enjoy selling. In a professional setting, spice was seen as a delicacy for some of the richer citizens in the lower rim. Spice was well sought out, and if you had access to the right employers, spice production would be endless. 

But as the product dissolved on your tongue, it didn’t take long for the effects to begin to form. Words from Kesi’s lips grew into jumbles, falling on deaf ears. Your vision began blurring, too, and soon enough, all of your senses were paralyzed. It was as if you were watching from the furthest part of your brain, floating away from the controls inside your body. Becoming all too aware of the heaviness of your body, you slowly felt your shoulders slump over, your body weight no longer supported in the chair. Eyes fluttering shut, you wondered if another side effect of the spice was hallucinations. 

Because you could have sworn you saw a glimpse of shiny metal walking into the junkyard.

[mo-the-gremlin-dandelion]

Sengoku's Reaction

Happy Coradrag AU Masterlist

Context: https://www.tumblr.com/mo-the-gremlin-dandelion/769492672262062080/happy-coradrag-au-garps-exploits

Sengoku: You slept with Roger, Rayleigh, AND Whitebeard!?

Garp: Give me a break, it was my early twenties!

Sengoku: And your late twenties! Then just on and off until they died!

Garp: Oh like you're any better! Didn't you sleep with Xebec a couple months before God's Valley?

Sengoku: ... I was drunk.

Garp: OoOh I wAs DrUnK! Please, you were head over heels!

Sengoku: Well at least I didn't have a child with a pirate!

Garp: No you just found yours in a junkyard.

Tsuru: Ladies, ladies calm down, you both have poor taste in men.

Garp & Sengoku: Oh shush Mrs. "I had a wonderful and happy marriage!"

[crocodilenjoyer]

op fic recs 3

personal favorites bolded!!

G

what's another night on mars? by genesis_frog | post-canon | | gen, straw hats-centric | 5.1k | complete

“Marriage, to many, is a sacred, romantic vow. A promise between lovers to live together and die together. Whoever said that that love had to be romantic? There are so many kinds of love that exist, and surely, can’t the bond between friends be celebrated eternally?”

Luffy has An Idea, or: Five Times the Straw Hats Discussed Getting Married and the One Time They Actually Did

In the Belly of the Junkyard by alpha_hydra | pre-canon | gen, kid & killer | 2.5k | complete

Kid isn't very good at making friends. He's been told by adults and children alike that he's rude, or else that he's too hot-headed, or that if he keeps holding grudges like he does, no one is going to stick around for long. Until one day, he meets a boy with a mean right hook, and everything changes.

Somewhere I Have (Never) Travelled by alpha_hydra | marineford | gen, ace-centric | 7.2k | complete

Now: the sun rises, and Ace lives.

AKA, Ace lives, but it takes a while to get us there.

and yet we keep walking by freckledshoulderblades | post-marineford, some information from luffy's flashback | gen, deuce-centric | 4.2k | complete

Three years after Marineford, Deuce arrives on Dawn Island to ask after Dadan and learn more about the man Ace was.

Like Ink Through Her Veins by grainjew | during timeskip | vivi-centric, background namivivi | 5.6k | complete

Vivi manages, away from her crew. Usually, managing means ruling a country, reading the newspaper, and checking up on her father.

Sometimes, though, it means sneaking out of the palace at midnight and getting drunk with passing pirates.

across ocean tides and snow-covered hills by nevermordor | post-canon | gen, ace & luffy | 3.6k | complete

After two whole years, after everything that’s happened, he wants Luffy to look different. But he still has the same scrawny arms and narrow shoulders, still wears the same ratty old flip flops and hat. The only real change is the scar across his chest, to match Ace’s own.

“Everyone’s been saying you beat me here by like a whole day or something,” Ace remarks. Luffy starts in surprise, his head swiveling around, eyes wide. “I say, so what. Try beating me at something that actually matters, like wrestling, see if I don’t still win.”

--

Ace and Luffy come home for the winter.

all's fair in love and war by guiltylights | ambiguous setting, post-timeskip | gen, hancock-centric | 3.7k | complete

This far from the lights and sounds of the party the only thing Hancock can hear is the crashing of the waves, close to their feet—and the calming sound of Luffy, snoring loudly and contently, his chest rising and receding with each breath, just slightly out of sync with the sea. There’s just a little light, reflecting from the moon over the silvery dark waters, to see by, but enough to see clearly. And maybe it’s the combination of all these factors at once, of both safety and ambiguity, that makes Hancock even deign to consider answering the sniper seriously.

‘You love him,’ she says, staring out to the sea. She has one long leg crossed elegantly over the other, is reclining back with one arm draped over a knee, ‘and thus, I will compete with you for his affections.’

The sniper frowns. ‘When I said I loved him, I meant that as a friend, or a crew-member does. Like—a brother?’

For the first time in her life, Hancock confronts what it all really means—to love, and be loved, with her beauty.

nothing to do (with you) by guiltylights | post-wano | gen, zeff-centric | 4.3k | complete

The man who just entered moves, slowly and purposefully, as though demanding everybody’s attention be on him, until he stops right in the middle of the restaurant, in front of where Zeff is.

Zeff eyes him over his food. ‘To what do I owe this visit,’ Zeff says mildly, ‘Vinsmoke Judge?’

Across from him, the militant monarch of the Germa Kingdom takes a seat.

Judge thinks that Sanji is a failure of a son. Zeff doesn't think that much of Judge at all.

children of the damned by guiltylights | during alabasta | gen | 2k | complete

A finger traces almost carelessly around the rim of the wine glass, but Ace watches from the corner of his eye how that finger never wavers from its steady trajectory, the line of the glass always pressed exactly in the middle of that finger, and knows this woman is anything but relaxed. Confident, perhaps, but not relaxed; the bow of her spine is stiff and unyielding, taut like a too-tight string under the loose soft layers of her fur coat, and Ace wonders briefly whether that’s why she wears it in this fucking sauna-like desert country – to hide the stiffness of her back, her smile – before pushing the thought away to the recesses of his brain. It’s absolutely none of his goddamn business.

Devil child, Ace remembers.

T

how could oceans come between us by merikai | post-wano | gen, monster trio-centric | 4.2k | complete

Zoro really has no idea how they ended up here in the first place.

or: monster trio in a marine base what will they do

all summer on bloody knees by ghostwit | pre-canon | kidkiller | 3.1k | complete

"Kiss me, asshole," he says.

(Partially based on SBS87. They're maybe mid-late teens here.)

Gold-Tinted Days by needchocolatenow | ambiguous setting, post-timeskip | zolu | 4.3k | complete

Luffy had Zoro—always.

there is thunder in our hearts by taizi | marineford, information from dressrosa | gen, asl brothers | 6.7k | complete

He’s not close enough. He’s not going to make it. Even if he managed to shake off the soldiers in front of him and just threw his whole body at full-speed between Luffy and Akainu to take the blow, he wouldn’t get there fast enough. He doesn’t have enough time. He’s going to lose another brother, only this time it’s going to happen right in front of his eyes, from seven—five—three feet away.

He’s ten years old again and learning what grief is. He’s ten years old and all that’s left of Sabo is the letter in his hand and a shared dream and the promise that Ace will look after their silly baby brother while he’s gone. 

“DON’T TOUCH HIM!” Ace screams. It’s pure desperation. It’s the last human thing he’ll ever say if Luffy dies here. 

A Different Father by LPSunnyBunny | marineford | gen, buggy-centric | 1.2k | complete

Before they get to Marineford, Buggy finds out about Ace's parentage- and fuck, he can't just let his captain's son die. Time to improvise.

toragara by Origamidragons | pre-canon, information from luffy's flashback | gen, zoro & luffy | 5.1k | complete

There's a tiger on Mount Colubo.

(Luffy makes a friend.)

it burns a hole through everyone by taizi | post-dressrosa | gen, luffy & sabo | 3.4k | complete

“I bet that some people, who fought in that war for Ace, who loved him and didn’t even know me, wish that it had happened differently.” Luffy still doesn’t look up, expression unreadable when he adds, “Sabo loves us both, but he loved Ace longer.”

If Sabo had been stabbed with sea stone, it would have hurt less. If he had burned with the Grey Terminal, or drowned at sea in front of the Celestial Dragons, it would have hurt less than this.

He’s on his feet before he’s aware of moving, seat tipping over and rolling away behind him. He can feel the steam start to lift off his super-heated skin as Ace’s fire inside him reacts to the way his heart is racing.

“Don’t say that,” he says, too loud, almost a shout.

to cut your teeth on love by freckledshoulderblades | shells town through post-timeskip | zolu | 10.6k | complete

Zoro meets Luffy and gives himself over wholeheartedly the instant Wadō is placed between his teeth again. Luffy meets Zoro and decides in a heartbeat that Zoro is his.

waters of the wild by LadyCrimsonAndBlack | post-whiskey peak through post-punk hazard | gen, straw hats-centric | 4k | complete

Even to his nakama, Luffy sometimes appears just a little bit too odd.

(Or: Five times a Straw Hat notices something strange about Luffy, and the one time someone knows what's going on.)

Singing, When You Don't Know How to Pray by ghostwriterofthemachine | pre-canon through post-timeskip | gen, straw hats-centric | 12.7k | complete

So why was Luffy so determined to get a musician for his crew?

Or: Song, singing, and shanties on the high seas.

Before the Storm by orphan account | post-timeskip, pre-wano | kidkiller | 2.3k | complete

"Under the light of the sun, so similar to that of the South Blue, and the silhouettes of dying men, they dig a big fire pit into the sand and gather around it. The only order Kid gives that day is to celebrate their victory over the Marine vessels now littering the ocean floor. It had been an easy fight, looking back, but it keeps the crew happy and Kid isn’t one to dismiss a chance for drinking."

triskelion by razbliuto | pre-canon | boa sisters-centric | 5k | complete

Sink your fangs in, sister, and don't let go. — The Boa Sisters, still breathing despite all odds.

M

Squash and Stretch by LPSunnyBunny | marineford, information from wano | gen, ace & luffy | 3.3k | complete | TEMPORARY MCD

In one world, Ace takes the blow for Luffy and dies in his arms.

In this one, Luffy reacts just fast enough to push Ace aside and save him, taking the blow himself.

and its companion,

Kiki and Boba by LPSunnyBunny | marineford, information from wano | gen, ace & luffy | 5.3k | complete | TEMPORARY MCD

Ace's perspective of Squash and Stretch in which he is terrified for his little brother because what the FUCK IS THAT.

life's yard full of rakes by ghostwit | pre-canon | gen, crocodile-centric | 3k | complete

It's crude work, cudgel and bolt and human flesh; Crocodile can feel the bone splintering, the little shards embedding in the tissue around the shattering when they drive the great, rusted stake through his hand.

day 24: self induced injuries to escape

E

Axiomatic by KBstories | post-wano | kidkiller | 5.3k | complete

ax·i·om·at·ic (adj.) Self-evident; unquestionable.

*

The best part of battle is the afterparty.

[kittym0th]

They swear. They’re really trying.

🤢Yucky Valentine’s Day oc post with Will Wood lyrics🤢

[haveyouplayedthisttrpg]

Have you played RACCOON SKY PIRATES ?

By Chris Sellers

Raccoon Sky Pirates is a narrative, GM-less role-playing game for 3 to 6 players that takes about three hours to play. Take to the skies, loot a suburban home of all the trash you can carry, and try to keep your ship from exploding.

You and your friends play raccoons: chittering, baggy-pants, ring-tailed burglars. One day in the junkyard, after inventing an improbable antigravity device, you hatch a scheme to build a ship out of trash and fly to the suburbs in search of better trash. There, you'll find a beautiful, free-standing house with a four-car garage and cable internet. While trying not to wake up the residents or the dog, loot the house of all its valuables, like Roombas, PlayStations and other trash. Finally, loaded down, escape back to the junkyard while fending off the Neighborhood Watch.

[smiley-mcdoggington]

im in agony over your last post because I can’t stop thinking about how, when ford comes back, he will stare at Stanley’s older, wrinkled face and it will be the first time he gets to see an older Stanley and it will be HIS Stanley …. but by that time, how may times will he have fallen in love with another version of his brother’s face? Meanwhile Stanley will be looking at his twins face that he will have only been able to see in the mirror for the past 30 years. I AM SICK!!!!! im sorry this probably doesn’t make any sense but i really need you to know that i am genuinely in tears and gagging over this au. your brain is both beautiful but also kind of evil.

Ehehehehehehehe

1 thing kinda for context I have ideas for all the stans Ford loved before, and while he did love them and does mourn them his relationships were built on the foundation that he cannot get to his own Stan and they cannot get to their own Ford but they can get to eachother and if they squint its almost the same, it's close enough.

First live Stan he meets seven months after the junkyard: Stan calls himself a pirate but he and his crew (run by ghost Jimmy Snakes) are more like ship scrappers, everyone's got at least a little mechanical know-how, they find dead ships and salvage what they can. They stick together because they're all homeless wanderers that can't get home, but in Ford's perspective they're intimidating - other than Stan. Their Stan seems put together, like he knows what he's doing, but they're the same age and Stan's only been out of his dimension 3 weeks longer. They both project the twin they lost onto the other and are in a sexual plus a bit of cuddling relationship for a while. Ford is fond of him, Stan's the only reason Ford was allowed to join the crew instead of getting shot for stealing from them, and this Stan looks healthier, had a similar experience with Bill in the junkyard, and Ford feels like he can relax around him. Then they find a trap ship, one that looks dead but is just waiting for scrappers to connect their ships to kill the crew and take both ships. Stan was trying to negotiate because he was a stupid 26 year old with a gun to his head but then someone grabbed Ford and Stan got himself shot trying to get to him.

The next Stan Ford meets and has more than a one night stand with is nine years after that, a whole decade since the junkyard. The Stan is a decade younger than him, blind and feverish and and won't let anyone touch him until he has a six-fingered hand in his. That one wasn't a dimensional traveller, he was just dealing with Rico and Ford happened to be in the dimension and wanted a few chemicals from Rico to test as bill-destroying material that happened to be very illegal. He found Stan seizing in a hotel room and Ford decided he was only going to stay until Stan was alright. But Stan took to the bare minimum like a stray dog, doing what Ford wanted, begging him to stay, promising him he'll be better this time around. Ford can't stay, doesn't want to take away this Stan with a perfectly good Ford already so he dragged Stan up to Oregon to try to shove at his brother. But Ford opens the door with a crossbow and Stan gets shot in the neck and Ford beats the other Ford to death in his entryway. Ford had hoped that Stan's being pushed through the portals by Fords were almost always accidents and Ford's would never hurt Stans because He would never hurt Stan (not again) but no, this just proves him and all Fords are a disease. He leaves the dimension quickly after that.

The third Stan he met 25 years after Ford fell through the portal and it was in the junkyard. Ford had gone there with a plan to die trying to kill Bill, it was a bad few years before then and Ford had most of his gun working, enough it might injure Bill. But before he could find him, he looked in a sea of bodies and one looked back. He immediately quit his suicide mission, grabbed the half-frozen Stan and took him somewhere safe. Stan asked why Ford hated him, Ford said Fords never hated Stans, because Stan couldn't prove him wrong. Ford tried to leave him behind a few times, but Stan was determined, he did more and more reckless things trying to follow Ford until Ford just let him follow because maybe he would stop almost dying to try to keep up if Ford made it easier. Ford was old enough to be his dad, he was old enough to be all the multiverse Stanleys' dads at this point, but when Stan tried sleeping with him, Ford went along with it. It was mostly just sex and company, he didn't notice Stan was fawning because he was new and terrified. Didn't notice Stan only seemed to come onto him when he was in a bad mood and needed the distraction. Didn't notice Stan did whatever Ford wanted and shrank whenever Ford raised his voice. Eventually Ford did figure it out, and he was so horrified with himself he dropped Stan off with some interdimensional refugees and left as fast as possible. A month later he tried to visit to apologize properly, but Stan was gone, put a gun in his mouth the week before, his ashes were already space dust. Ford resolved himself to never take advantage of a Stan again. His last 5 years mostly celibate though made him cranky and more determined to finish his gun.

Then he had Bill in his crosshairs, and his Stanley decided to open the portal, and he came through the portal mad, he really did. But then he saw his brother with gray hair and crows feet - his brother, his Stanley, the one he'd spent 30 years wondering about, the one he was almost certain would be dead long before he could get gray hair just like every other Stan. His Stanley looked so happy to see him, arms outstretched and a huge smile on his face and Ford fell into his arms because he was so so happy. But after that he grew distant because every time Ford got close, every time Ford tried to do what was best for Stanley, every time Ford trusted Stanley, Stanley died.

[choccy-zefirka]

16 for Abelard and lumen 👀👀👀

16) accidental i love you’s during sex 

***

There are two children holding hands. Small, malnourished whelps that someone underhive junkyard has spat out, with awkward knobby limbs that are still strong enough to keep them balanced when they dance precariously across a wobbling, groaning beam of something that, on it better days, might pretend to be rockcrete. The children pretend too — they throw back their heads to gaze as far up as they can, into the distant pallid slit between the piles and piles and piles of box-like buildings. And holding hands, they tell each other that somewhere out there, past the roiling slimy clouds, they can just see the stars. Their ultimate destination; their realm to rule, once they are big and strong and armed to the teeth, as two pirate queens that will surely strike fear into man and xenos alike.

"I will have a sword this big!" grins the shorter, stockier child, who they say might have some ratling in her, for her blond curls remain thick and stubborn even when corpse starch is scarce, and she is unafraid to walk barefoot on broken glass. "And I will name it after you! Because I love you!"

The lankier child is all see-through gossamer, no matter how many stolen rations the blond piles in front of her (corpse starch may be scarce, but not for your most special someone). She blushes a greyish-purple hue, casting down her pale blue eyes. The same eyes that, a few years later, will look into the blond's tearful honey-brown from under steel plating edges. Pressed down into lumpy servitor flesh like pebbles into wet sand, on some alien shore both of them imagined but never visited. Enormous. Clear. Aware. Terrified.

"I love you," the blond, child no more, will choke, driving a crude, lopsided shiv again and again into whichever parts of unaugmented flesh she will be able to reach. Committing the very first count of Imperial property damage to go on her long, long file. And the servitor will rasp something back before slumping into the mud, unsalvageable.

***

There are two children holding hands. Clutching them as tightly as they can, to seal their grand and terrible secret. They are not supposed to be out here; running amok through the meadows like wild grox! She is supposed to be learning her fundamentals of High Gothic, taking the first steps in the long and illustrious career her parents have planned for her — and he is supposed to be at the shooting range with his father, for not a moment is to be wasted when the great voidships of the Navis Imperialis hunger for new cadets.

Yet, here they are, crisscrossing the great heaving waves of grass till their carefully ironed clothes are soggy-green from the knee down, stray petals clinging to them like completely unauthorized decor. And when they finally stop, tiny sweaty palms still holding on, it is to look up at the stars.

"When I go out there," the boy declares boldly, his eyes shimmering, "I will find every flower ever and bring it back to you! Because I love you!"

The girl snorts and rolls her eyes.

"Oh, you are full of it!"

"Am not!" the boy insists, face turning pink.

And he means it. In the many, many years that will follow, the many years over which their hands will find each other again and again, this mischievous little girl — then the clever, elegant young woman, and then the stately matriarch of a burgeoning new house — will keep receiving flowers from distant planets. Sometimes the last ever specimens to be whisked away before the grand machines if advancing mankind flatten their native meadows (just as this very meadow, where the boy made his promise) into endless agriworld flats.

She will keep burying her face deep in the tender petal-froth, inhaling the myriad of scents — fresh as the first sigh of soil after rain, tangy as the first swallow of amasec, sweet as the first whisper of his name on her lips... And despite herself, she'll keep rolling her eyes at this ridiculous man she married. Going grey now, covered in scars, but still determined to bring her "every flower ever".

She will even try to roll her eyes at him in between heaving bouts of fetching, rupturing cough. Look at him being so fussy for no reason, keeping watch by her bedside like she is a ship he's convoying!

The words will freeze on her twisted, purple lips, unformed. And the final "I love you" will likewise stick in his throat, twisting and ploughing off flesh like a rusty shiv. And all the massive tidal waves of memorial wreaths that his sons will keep carrying into their home, with promises of comfort and eternal light in the Emperor's glory, might as well be clumps of cheap plastic.

***

There are two adults, tossed by impossible star currents into each other's arms. The golden-eyed blond woman, raised from the gutter to carry His will to the darkest edges of the galaxy; and the scarred grey-haired man sworn to guide her, to shield her, to lend her his sword arm and his steady shoulder should her border prove too overwhelming.

Two adults, fingers locked together. Her hands, pinning down his wrists. Pulse meeting frantic pulse, after such a long time — months in standard Terra measurements, aeons in their fevered minds — spent wondering, yearning, reaching through the silent gaps between rank and protocol and inklings of simple human friendship, like through bars in a cage.

Upon his very first touch against her skin — a firm hand, deftly stilling the pulsating darkness of her warp-cursed stab wound — something began to wake inside him. Something that is now fully alert, thrumming in a giddy, ravenous rhythm... Which completely drowns out any notion of the possibly heretical origins behind the contraption that his Lord Captain has strapped to her hips, and is now thrusting within him, chasing him towards a supernova burst.

"I... I..."

Heaving and arching underneath her, he gasps for the words that his tongue forgot when his wife was laid to rest.

The Lord Captain kisses the underside of his jaw, licks off a rivulet of sweat.

"You are doing so well, oh my wonderful, wonderful Seneschal," she purrs. "Perfect in every way. Oh, how I love you!"

Thank the Throne that the warmth of her breath against his flushed skin has unraveled his last remnants of reason. When he thinks back on this, he will assume that, in his blissful delirium, he imagined her say that.

He will never know how her heart dropped the instant the last syllable left her lips.

He will never see the reflection of pallid servitor blue in her suddenly widened eyes.

[astroenthusiasts]

Dear J*mmy, Jambalaya/Jimbalaya, Jimbo, Jimbortion/Jabortion, Jimbotron, James, Jamaica, J*m, Jimmistake, John, Jalifornia, Jingle balls, Jimothy, Jimmothy, Jerald, Jeraldine, Jamal, Jeezer, Jiddy, Jingo, Japarty, Jumbo, Jumbotron, , JCPenney, Jacuzzi, Juxtaposition, Jenga, Jiabortion, Jeopardy, Jumper Cable, Jump Rope, Jehovah's Witness, Judicial System, Jurassic Park, Jerusalem, Jackass, Jujutsu Kaisen, Janice, Jimberly, Jumanji, Jingle Bell(s), Jingle Ball(s), Jimonolophonigrams, Jary, Jamarld, Jarlod, Jisappointment, Jameson, Juray, Jury Duty, Jerry, Brony, Brony Jimmy, Horse Fucker, Stinkrat, Stinkhorse, Whore/Hoe/Slut, Jhore/Joe/Jlut, Prick, Prick Jimmy, Yimpy, Jurisdiction, Jurisdiction of the United States Supreme Court, Jingle Bingle, Johnny, Jurly, Jimstraining Order, Restraining Jorder, Jimstraining Jorder, Jail Time, Dickface, Jickface, Jojo Siwa/Jimjim Siwa, Jo-Pop, Joke, John Egbert, Jane Crocker, Joystick, Jeronicus Jangle, Javelin, Jack-o'-Lantern, Jart, Fart-Face, Fart-Jace, Jace, Jimbob, Jimboob, Jizz/Jiss, Jiss Stain/Jizz Stain, Jerome, Jeremiah, Jugatti, Jlorbo, Jaundice, Jorbinshlosch, Jimster, Juju On That Beat, Jake English, MiseryStick, Josh, Jimbruh, "I hate this man so much that I don't even wanna call him Jimmy. Jimmy is a nickname. Nicknames are reserved for friends, and James is no friend of mine.", Jolly Golly/Golly Jolly, Jolly Rancher, Gee Jummy Gumdrops, Jumbo Josh, Jimmy Neutron, Mr. Neutron, Jack Noir, Jetlag, Jimbob Squarepants, Jimbo Georgepants, Junkyard, Jingle, Jorts, Jam, Janga, Jenga, Jelly Bean, Jorbinshlosch, No Responsibility, He Who Shall Not Be Named, Chris McLean, Jimmerella, J. Jonah Jameson, That Fucker, MLP Fan, MLP Jan, Jim Cosby, Mr. Jands, Jreaky, Jill Yourself, Jake and the Neverland Pirates, Jammy, Jessie, Joshua, Jessily, Jake English, Joey Claire, Jury System, Jim Co-Pilot, Juancho, Jimbobtim Jiggle, Jailbird, Jrilly Jrease, Grilly Grease, Jrease, Jilly, Jirelly/Jrelly, Jimper, Jimmy Case/Jurly Case, Rapist/Japist, Responsibility J*m, Responsibility Denier, Responsibility Hour, Grease Man, Grease Jim, Grease Brony, Jimmy Jar, Jar, January, June, July, JimLy/Jimly, “Hero”, Jiggle my balls, Jungle Jim, Hawk Tuah on That Jang, Jeanits, Jemima, Junited Jates of Jamerica, The Joviet Union, The Rise and Fall of Jizzy Jardust and the Jiders from Jars, Julius, Julius Caesar, Jeaser, Jimborg, Jimmyjonga, Judge, Jimjams, Jorts, Jort Storm, Judy, Judge Judy, Judy Hopps Abortion Comic, Jneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, The Jay Jarbor Jutcher, Jinsenberd, Jay, JSSR Jussia, Jorth Jorea, JGeometry JDash, JMy JLittle JPony, Jy Jittle Jony, It's JTimmy Time, Little JTimmy, Yawning, Jawny, Jimstewpit, Jimtopher, Jebastian, Jolin, Jiblet Neutron, Jill Jourself, Jasshole, Jurethra, Jalm Jree, Jojack, Jucking Jill Jourself, He Who Shall Not Be Named, Je Jho Jhall Jot Je Jamed, Clopper, Jlopper, Juicy Lucy, Juicy Jucy, Jopsticks, Jip Jalm, Jeyboard, Jmart Jreen JV, Jultraviolet Jays, Stupid Big Back, Jtupid Jig Jack, No Mewing Streak, Jo Jewing Jreak, Jhai Jestraunt, He Who Has No Gyatt, Je Jho Jas Jo Jyatt, Jyatt, Janum Jax, Jizzler, Johio, that ugly warty toad, Juber,, Jimdere Dev, Jeil Jaiman, Jinglebottom-Jiggedly, Joney, Jenitalia, Jatch, Jandals, Junglasses, Jirt, Jowtie, Jemininomenon, Jama a Jirl Jehind Jou, Jress to Jimpress, Jondom, Jirty Jisgusting, Jeroy Jenkins, HIS Name, Jigglydiggly, Jimamabob, Jebron James, John Jacob Jinglehimer Schmidt, Jershys Jocolate, Jimbabwe, Jujuju Jaisen, Jamaica, Jidonculous Jace, Jimmy Timmy, Jimmy Timm,

i hope you are having a beautiful day 😊

Go fuck yourself.

[tinytablepodcast]

Raccoon Sky Pirates Episode 1: 'Twas the Flight Before Christmas

Check it out now!

Ahoy Mateys and Happy Holidays! Welcome to the junkyard, home to the Raccoon trio of TJ (Skyler), Ranch (Holly), and Krinkle (Neo), accompanied by Rad the Roach (Julian)! They’ve got themselves a new flying machine and dreams of a Junkyard Christmas, so these trash critters are ready for their maiden voyage. Watch out suburbia, this naughty crew of Raccoon Sky Pirates is about to steal Christmas! TJ embarks again. Ranch learns a shocking truth. Rad gives a boost. Krinkle gets a snack.

[aboutcharactervariantblog]

About Yelena Belova Variants Masterlist

Firefighter Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Serial Killer Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Police Officer Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Vampire Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Camp Director Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Race Car Driver Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Ringmaster Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Security Guard Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Chemist Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Priest Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Coastguard Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Chiropractor Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Acupuncturist Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Paramedic Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Djinn Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Butcher Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Sculptor Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Fashion Designer Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Pilot Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Marine Biologist Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Architect Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Engineer Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Gymnastics Coach Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Jeweler Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Personal Trainer Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Psychologist Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Psychiatrist Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Photographer Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

First Responder Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Park/Forest Ranger Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Junkyard Owner Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Inventor Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Werewolf Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Movie Director Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Miner Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Pirate Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Ship Captain Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Fire/Lightning Bender Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Goddess Of The Sky Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Necromancer Yelena: About Her/Dating Her

Thunder Hashira/Demon Slayer Yelena: About Her/Dating Her