#guild: the five commanders

[ohpollenpowder]

I work...better with direction. Otherwise my thoughts end up staying locked up in the brain-pan because brain won't let me put it anywhere. I think I'm also going to start working on the Commander week prompts from a few years ago for them. A slow process to be sure.

[commanderyes]

The Commander Says Goodbye

I’m not going to lie, I’m extremely anxious as i’m writing this, out of what these news could mean to a lot of people, and my heart feels heavy enough it could drop down my ribcage any minute from now and squish all my other organs. But I’ve been dancing around this topic for a long time now, and I think i’ve finally reached a point where i can’t ignore it anymore, for my own sake.

I hereby announce Commander Yes has come to an end.

As I’ve mentioned plenty of times before, here and to many other people, when I began this comic all the way back in 2018 I was in a really bad, really low place in my life in every sense of the word, and it was a spur-of-the moment decision to cheer myself up, because Path of Fire had just released and my enjoyment of the game had reached fever pitch and I had been playing Guild Wars 2 alone since as far as launch, and none of my other friends had ever really gotten into it. I guess I just, dunno, cried out into the big maelstrom of the community, one voice amidst millions, because i wanted SOMEBODY to look at what i did and revel in the nerdery with me.

And somehow the snowball began to roll and people wanted more and more of what I could do, and I was being actively reached out to, and, well, some time after that I landed my first ever job, I discovered a lot of things about myself, and I found myself in communities that welcomed me with open arms, and many of the people in there have since become among the best friends I could’ve possibly encountered, kindred souls who i’ve shared joys and sorrows for many years and who I can’t imagine living without anymore.

And all the while I kept making the comics, and with every entry posted every week I’d keep having people stopping to comment on them, and whether they were dumb jokes or personal takes on the story, they’d all share how much what I do kept hitting them in the kokoro, and to this day whenever I play anywhere in the game I still get people who recognize me and thank me for doing what I do. It was wonderful, it IS wonderful, and seeing that response motivated me to keep going, because what did still mattered to people, out there.

But I did always say I planned to keep doing these comics until I ran out of energy for them, and I think i’ve finally reached that point.

Because ever since I actually landed that job I’m exhausted and sleep-deprived every other day, so much so that I only have time to work on the comic on saturdays and sundays, and it gets harder and harder to just sit and draw, and at that point it was just more work, and while I still enjoy and play Guild Wars 2 a lot, it no longer consumes my time and attention like I’ve used to and i’ve been having fun with more personal projects, and honestly the direction the story is taking these days does not sit right with me and it’s hard to find inspiration in that, and this might be borderline selfish but every year I find people care less and less about the comics and it really takes a hit to you motivation when hardly anybody responds after you’ve spent a whole weekend trying to squeeze a five-page comic out.

And, well, I have been doing these for six years straight, and I think that’s a good run. I’m tired, and ready to move on, at long last. Let it be someone else’s turn.

But that’s the beautiful thing about this community, isn’t it? Even if I’m hanging up the hat, there are a whole lot of fantastic artists out there, as we speak, still cranking out works of art, deserving of all the attention they can get. And think of all the artists yet to come! For every story that ends, another story is just about to begin!

The world keeps on spinning, one way or another.

I’ll be closing my patreon shortly after this, but the reddit archives and tumblr blog shall remain for people to browse whenever they feel like (or until they both go in flames, i guess, what social media isn’t about to these days)

I still don’t think I ever was that much of a big deal, but all the same, to everyone who’s ever supported me and helped me be the person I am right now, to everyone who’s been there from the beginning, to all the devs of this game that has captured us for nearly a decade now, to all my fellow players and artists out there

Thank you.

See you out there, fellow commanders. Still the stars find their way.

[wordy-little-witch]

Pls im begging im on my knees what happens in crossguilds honeymoon shenanigans? - dis is pertaining to the CG wedding anser sjdjdjdjdns i love it btw the asker is so big brained and u made it even better sjdmsjxkz

OKAY so I'll divide it up between General Content and Adult Content.

General first!!!

• at first, they didn't even plan a honeymoon. It simply wasn't in the cards to then, they didn't even consider it. Then Big Mom asked, making conversation at the following party, what kind of honeymoon they had planned. They told her just an evening together in their tent, then back to work.

The men, women and enbies of the Guild swooped right in there with bright grins. "We pooled our wages together," they announce, "and booked you a trip!" It's for a weekend, just three days, and they'd be gone perhaps five at most depending on the weather and travel.

All three are trying not to cringe into the ether because they'd be leaving the island for a decent chunk of time. Who would run everything?

Their commanding officers then give them an itemized delegated list, with all the primary functions taken care of. The Guild really prepared for everything, huh?

• the honeymoon is to a resort not too terribly far for Karai Bari. The first thought is for them to just.... divide and do their own things.

Only they keep running into each other that first day. Buggy and Mihawk wind up in the library with other. Mihawk and Crocodile run into each other in the sauna. Buggy and Crocodile meet up in the casino. It's constant, and eventually it even becomes rather fun.

• then evening hits.

Adult Content below~

• Buggy's got the self awareness of a walrus on cocaine honestly, so he doesn't really think before stripping down to change into his evening wear. Crocodile and Mihawk at first ignore it until they catch sight of a pale back full of freckles and scars. Both dark haired me are suddenly fighting the urge to kiss him there, to make constellations with their touch and tongue. They look away.

• Only One Bed - Mihawk wordlessly prepares the couch for himself and Buggy makes a hammock and Crocodile is getting the bed - the first night at least.

• sleepy early mornings are so intimate and nobody discusses that enough. Buggy is the first up, hair slightly messy from the braid he slept in, curls framing his bare face. He makes coffee and starts on breakfast. Mihawk joins him not long after. Crocodile wakes to the smell of food, coffee, and murmured voices and laughter. When he inevitably wanders into the kitchen, halfasleep, he accepts a playe and mug, presses a kiss to Buggy's temple, a squeeze to Mihawk's wrist. Both clown and swordsman take a moment to process that.

• Buggy isn't exactly a contributer to Gender, so he'll wear whatever so long as he likes it. Including, it turns out, a form fitting dress in a rich green with gold accents and jewelry which shows his long leg via a high slit. He plays the part of ditzy eye candy well for Crocodile, and all seems fine - until some others begin to look at Buggy as well.

• Crocodile is possessive. And they ARE married.... so he pulls Buggy close by his hook at the other's waist and yanks the other down to one of his legs, within neck kissing range. Buggy is flustered. Crocodile is glowering. The wandering eyes ease off.

• at some point, Marines show up. The resort is neutral ground, so none of the Guild leaders make moves to react. Through a series of events, it turns out the Marines are there to apprehend the pirates and have paid off the resort owners.

There's a fight which goes.... fairly normally with Mihawk close range, sinking vessels and soldiers alike. Crocodile is lurking midrange to use his poisons and sand most effectively. Buggy has opted for more long range with his explosives and plots. The whole thing is pretty damn smooth, all considered. Until someone makes it past and grabs Buggy.

A comment is made on his outfit, a cocktail dress and blazer with matching stockings. On his decorum. On him, specifically. It's nothing he hasn't heard before, and he's already halfway through a snarky comeback along the lines of "What, angry I'm hotter than your whore at home-?" when there is a wave of pressure. Buggy blinks. The marine officer stumbles.

There is suddenly a hand on his waist, a hook around his neck, two presences flanking him. "What," the both nearly snarl, "did you say about our wife?"

• Buggy absolutely gets butterflies.

• the rest of the fight is pretty quick, Hawkeyes and Crocodile out of patience to play with their foes. Buggy isn't a slouch either, by the way, he's lobbing explosives strategically all around. Nearing the end, he herds his husband's to their ship, pushes off, and gives a theatrical count down.

• the island and nearby ships are bathed in fire. Buggy is cackling, a mess, his hair wild around a filthy, bloodied face. The dress reveals his shoulders. The torn edges reveal more of those freckles.

Something in both taller men snaps, and they converge upon Buggy with claims and lips and teeth. On the deck of their ornate ship, to the cracking ambience of fire, they have their wicked way with him, learning his body and finding unexpected but delightful facts as they go.

Crocodile could transition fully due to Iva, but Buggy is not so lucky. His top surgery was experimental, and bottom surgery was never a huge deal to him. Mihawk, luckily, enjoys all bodies and pleasures of the flesh, and he is a quick study under Crocodile's tutelage and experience with the organs he once had.

Buggy falls to pieces more than once, teary eyed and begging and so sweet for them, so cute and attractive with his grasping hands and hiccuping breaths. He is beautiful as he sinks down onto one, cradled by another and wails with the stimulation and hands and hook that break him I to pieces just to reassemble him again.

It ends with them together, indulgent and depraved, christened beneath firelight and debris and the screams of their enemies.

And none of the three had ever felt quite so seem as they did in that moment.

• back on Karai Bari, they sashay back in, mostly, as Buggy has a mild limp.

The lipstick stains and bite marks and bruises and scratches paint a clear enough picture for what happened.

"How was your trip?"

"We blew it up"

"Wha-"

"Fire. Explosives. Our beautiful chairman has quite the knack for such weapons"

"D'aww! Hawky, you'll make me blush!"

"We can make you do more than that, you little shit...~"

"Hehe~"

The poor mercenary is left rebooting.

[icaberries]

Cross Guild angst with Mihawk whump (CW: Drowning)

Karai Bari gets attacked by the Marines, but instead of docking at the island, they shoot canons from a distance, which forces Cross Guild to take to the seas. Buggy and Crocodile commandeer a ship and takes the fighting to the main ship, intending to sink their control center to cut off the communication with the rest of the ships. Mihawk is providing support from another Cross Guild ship and slicing down any Marine ship that comes close.

But as it turns out, it was all a trap. The Marines intended to take the fight to the seas to take down some of Cross Guild's Devil Fruit users. The main ship reveals itself to be empty, and before they know it, a bomb detonates and consumes the whole ship.

Crocodile and Buggy hit the water, and Mihawk dives after them with no hesitation.

The debris in the water makes it difficult to see his partners, but he spots Buggy's bright red cape and swims towards him. He's lighter, so Mihawk swims them up quickly and tosses him over the nearest floating debris before going back in for Crocodile.

This time, it's the glint of the golden hook that lets Mihawk see him. Crocodile is heavier, and his coat isn't doing him any favors as he sinks faster and faster. Mihawk pushes himself towards Crocodile, his lungs burning as he desperately closes the distance between them. It feels like ages before his hand closes around Crocodile's hook and he begins to drag them upwards.

His vision is already darkening at the edges. His chest is aching from the lack of air, but Mihawk kicks against the water with every bit of energy he has left until he breaks the surface with a gasp.

He carries Crocodile to the same debris as Buggy and reaches him just as he's stirring awake. The guild is already steering their ships towards them, with half of the Marines dead and half escaped. Mihawk lays out Crocodile next to Buggy as he tries to regain his breath. It's difficult to get air in his lungs, and his vision is spinning. His arms won't cooperate, leaving him no energy to pull himself up and over the debris.

The last thing he hears is Buggy calling his name and reaching for him before Mihawk lets go and falls in the water.

Mihawk has no qualms about dying. He's just glad he was able to assure the survival of his partners before he went and that's the last thought in his head before he passes out.

-

Mihawk coughs up water when he wakes up. Every part of him is aching, his throat, his chest, his eyes. His only comfort is the solid ground of a ship beneath his back and a hand dragging up and down his back.

It takes some time for clarity to hit him, and when it does, the first thing he notices is Crocodile and Buggy bent over him, looking relieved and teary, respectively. Buggy whacks him in the head and yells at him, while Crocodile lectures him about being reckless.

He learns that he was underwater for a dangerous five minutes and that several Guild members dove for him. He learns that Crocodile and Buggy had to be held back from going after him. He learns that it took them half and hour to resuscitate him.

The lecture and crying are well-deserved, and Mihawk takes it all with grace. It ends when Crocodile tears his eyes away from him, and there's a subtle break in his words as he says that they came dangerously close to losing Mihawk.

Mihawk may have no qualms in losing his life, but apparently Buggy and Crocodile do. So he allows himself to be fussed over and scolded and carried off to the infirmary.

But if you ask him, given the choice to do it all over again, he'll still choose the same. Some people are just worth drowning for.

[adaptacy]

The General Drow's Celebration {2/2}

Pairing: General!Minthara x Durge!AFAB!Reader

{Part 1}

Warnings/Tags: NSFW! Pure smut this time. Knifeplay, bloodplay, consensual poisoning, exhibitionism, the slightest hints of foodplay, etc.

Word Count: 2.4k

Her hand slides up your body, finding purchase around your throat, and she meets your gaze, her prideful smile meant entirely for you. “Tonight, we celebrate two deaths. The death of Late General Thorm, and the death of The Nightwarden. Indulge in the wine and feast as you deem fit – a rebirth occurs this evening. A rebirth of values. A rebirth of power. A rebirth of The Absolute.” Her gaze lifts, meeting the intrigued smiles of her soldiers. “Hear the testament of my reign – straight from the voice of darkness,” Minthara chuckles, eyes drawn once more to you. “Speak my title, dear oloth.” 

With a lustful smile, you oblige; “General Minthara.” 

“General Minthara,” she agrees, leaning over the table to meet your lips, hand tightening around your throat, robbing you of breath in the two ways she knows best. Her other hand is placed on one of your knees, fingers tracing the inside of your leg and tugging outward, creating a little more room between your leg and her waist. Her hand disappears, and it’s only sensible for you to immediately miss it, especially when she’s forced to break the kiss, leaving the two of you to catch your breaths. She stays close, her voice low and steady as she makes a command; “Swallow.”

Without question or hesitation, you do as she asks. Immediately, there is a stinging present, starting at your lips, washing over your tongue and down your throat. Some tart bitterness that you’d subtracted from her mouth – you know both from experience and from the faded glisten on her lips, a mixture of your spit and the poison, some custom concoction made only for the two of you to share. The taste fades as your mouth borders on the edge of brimming numbness, your throat tight, and before long you feel it lull you into a state of light-headedness. She’d increased the dosage for the occasion, and you were, slowly, building an immunity to it, but tonight was a test of many things. A test of her guild’s loyalty, a test of her power, and a test of your constitution. 

“Stay awake, my love. You will not want to miss what follows. You are far more entertaining to please when you are conscious. Your attentiveness shall be rewarded in full.” Her coos are accompanied by a snicker, and you nod in understanding, in a silent promise to obey her every request – her every demand. Your efforts to fight the artificial weariness in your head are pushed to the forefront of your priorities, and you keep your eyes strictly on Minthara, relying on her to be your point of focus, to keep you grounded and awake. 

The kiss is resumed, and you allow yourself to close your eyes, very quickly regretting that choice as it makes the urge to drift off significantly stronger. So, instead, you force them open just in time to catch the glint on the blade of her bloodied dagger, lifted from the table and venturing towards your thighs. The chill meets your skin with the flat length of the weapon, though her hand rises enough to slant the dagger and poke the sharp point into your skin. Had your mouth been free, you certainly would’ve been forced to give some small hiss of discomfort, but you’re thankful for her lip’s presence working as a preventative. 

The point is drawn down, and then curves inward, and then is drawn out again – soon, there’s five slightly curved lines of blood on your thigh, but she’s not yet done. Two lines in the middle are what it takes to complete it, and the pinching pain serves as an assistant in keeping you awake, making you grateful for the branding in more ways than one. Despite not being able to see her work, the web design imprinted on your thigh is a perfect recreation of the mark that she bears on her own skin. Minthara pulls out of the kiss, and you release her with a quiet whine, your mind too preoccupied with the challenge of staying awake to bother splitting your attention to prevent your own natural pleading. 

Fortunately, the general doesn’t seem to mind – in fact, she grins, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head at you, as if surprised by your minor show of desperation. “Poison caught your tongue, dark one? Oh, do indulge me; what is it that you crave?” She asks, an unusual curiosity admitted in her tone. 

Well, there’s only one answer for that question. It’s a simple one. “You.”

“Me?” She clarifies, and you nod – sleepily, thanks entirely to the effects of the barely diluted poison, though you suppose your confusion isn’t helping. “What about me? Which part of me do you desire? My hands? My tongue? My blade, perhaps?” Her hand releases some of the tension around your throat, tracing your arteries under her fingers until she cradles your jaw, angling your head upwards as she awaits her answer. Her thumb crosses your lower lip, wiping it clean of lingering poison, though it has no effect on what you already ingested. 

Again, the question isn’t a difficult one, even in your faded state. “All of you, my General,” you elaborate, your eyes trailing down towards the hand that wields the dagger, but a tug on your chin is enough for your gaze to snap back onto the drow. 

“Do not get distracted, xi’hum. I have trained you better. We have an audience tonight – do behave. You fight the poison well. It seems you are adapting to the taste,” she praises, her thumb tucking into your mouth, and you blink up at her, staying quiet as she seems to be directing. “As you have so willingly consumed my gift to you, it is only just that I feast upon you in return. After all, a banquet is only complete with a meal. And a meal, I shall have.”

It’s not entirely clear if the butterflies in your stomach are due to your excitement or the poison beginning to digest, but either way, they’re a pleasant and welcome sensation, and Minthara is quick to catch onto the smile that they bring across your lips. Her thumb pulls away from your mouth and glides down to the very bottom of your stomach, her palm located just under your belly button as it presses you into the table, earning a momentary squirm from you. Once you settle, she leans down, her other hand firmly holding your marked thigh, and once she’s close enough, her tongue sweeps over the wound, collecting the spilled blood. Her eyes close in order to truly savor the taste, and her hand squeezes, pushing out as much blood as possible. 

Perhaps due to your light-headedness, or maybe just how much she seems to be enjoying it, the feeling is strangely pleasant – despite what your short whine may lead the audience to believe, the warmth of her tongue over the cuts is oddly comforting, even if it is joined by the faintest of irritated stings. You don’t see a world in which it would be possible to not let your mind drift, anticipation and elation curling into a fantasy of what is sure to soon play out, once Minthara deems you desperate enough to earn the gift of her mouth’s company on your core. Unfortunately, that time hasn’t come, and dreaming of it only makes you squirm with expected neediness. Minthara reminds you of her plans with a soothing, yet firm, “Patience, dark one.” 

And patient you are – as patient as one can be when they’re displayed so lovingly over a table of prying eyes, teased by the expertly dangerous (and expertly attractive) General Minthara, left powerless until she permits further pleasure. Every movement of hers is a carefully planned test, either of your obedience or your control; meticulous, gentle trailing of the tip of her dagger over your underwear, enough to tease what’s beneath without so much as catching a single thread of the fabric. She trails kisses up and across your thighs, her lips claiming every inch except the place that so terribly needs her attention. 

The flat width of the blade presses against the length of your underwear, and you flinch just barely, earning a ‘tsk’ of disapproval from Minthara. You fall still once more, finally letting your eyes squeeze closed, your head tilting back as you try to divide your focus between fighting the poison and fighting your reflexes. You feel an unfamiliar, trivial chill brought on by the removal of cover, and you lift your head in time to catch Minthara pulling your underwear away from your skin with her knife, slicing it on the blade in a quick tug. Her eyes meet yours, and the point of her weapon presses against your throat, tilting your chin up towards her. “Tell me, my love. Who is it that controls you? Who is it that you belong to?”

“You, General Minthara.” 

She chuckles, drawing the edge under your chin, enough to cause a scratch without spilling any blood. “What a good girl.” Her praise is followed by the removal of the blade against your skin, and she sets it aside, instead pulling up her chair and placing her hands on the outside of your thighs, tugging you a little bit closer to the edge of the table. Your knees hang on her shoulders, and soon her hands slide up to hold your hips, thumbs pressing bruises into the soft skin they rest on. “Sing my name as I command, and pleasure shall be yours,” she promises, kissing your thigh once more. 

Your head falls back once more, and she only allows you to lay in wait for a few seconds before her tongue runs over your folds with the same meticulous precision that she exercised when tasting your mark. Your ankles lock where they rest on her back, trying to pull her in closer, but she only chuckles at your attempt, the near purr against your skin sending a shiver up your spine. Though she’s hardly even begun, you feel all of the anticipation paying off, your high standards miraculously met, and you hum out “General,” in an effort to earn further pleasure. 

Minthara obliges, letting her tongue bathe your clit, the movements nothing short of loving despite how intensely violent and unapologetically rough she could be, though that side of her is still ever-present, especially as she runs her teeth over your clit, threatening to introduce a pinch amongst the pleasure. 

Partially in an effort to avoid facing the attention of the surrounding True Souls, you close your eyes, which also causes all of your attention to be drawn to the sensations between your legs. Just in time, Minthara pulls her tongue back, drawing a long line from the lowest point of your entrance up to your clit, still teasing you before she takes it any further. Her nails aren’t quite as willing to remain on the surface, however, and an accidental squirm earns you eight pricks where her fingers hold your skin, her thumbs settling on merely pressuring their spots. It takes a lot to subdue a whine, though the pain is slight in comparison to the carving of her blade. 

Your ankles thump – gently, nearly disguised as a flinch – against her back, and she chuckles against your skin, refusing to continue just yet. At least, until you sing out a “Please, General” of desperation, to which she replies by finally moving forward, slipping her tongue into you as a form of affirmation. This is hardly the first time the two of you have been in this position, but it never fails to overwhelm you – in all the best ways, of course. 

There’s a tingle on your skin, no doubt a side-effect of the sting of poison, though the slight traces still remaining on her lips are hardly enough for any actual damage or irritation to set in. Just a tingle, enough to prick your skin without genuine danger. Of course, that’s not to say the rest of the dosage wasn’t still in effect, as your eyes felt heavy even despite them being closed. Fortunately, with Minthara lapping up everything your insides had to offer, you were far from at risk of falling asleep. 

Your hands reach down, one holding Minthara’s arm, her grip on your hips tightening in acknowledgement, and the other pushes against her head, encouraging her as best you can without being able to move your hips much. She lets go of your body with one hand, instead her fingers wrap around your arm, keeping it in place. Minthara moves with your eager pushes, and you can feel her smile against your skin, buried beneath the stimulation provided by her tongue. 

It doesn’t take much, or very long – she’s fantastic at giving speeches and winning people over with her words, but it’s hardly the only thing her tongue is gifted at – before you feel yourself approaching the very edge of pleasure itself. You do as she demanded; singing out her title, begging your General for release, and as promised, she doesn’t let up. Every swipe or curl of her tongue is a carefully planned one, completely unraveling your dignity, revealing your desperation before her, and before her devoted followers. 

Your legs tense, pulling her closer and locking her between your thighs, hips rolling as you hit your release, your pitiful whines met with a sinister chuckle from the drow. Once you settle back, you feel her stand and force your legs to unclasp, and you open your eyes to meet hers, her glare simultaneously satisfied and yet still hungry. Your hands fall to your sides, and she leans down, gripping your chin and narrowing her eyes at you. 

“You obeyed. A magnificent show, my darling. Perhaps it will not be your final performance. Certainly not for my eyes,” she praises, pulling your head up enough to capture your lips in a kiss, and your already weakened body isn’t able to do much but melt in her hold, mumbling mindlessly against her mouth. You feel a second hand on your waist once more, and you’re pulled to sit up, your legs locking around her hips. The kiss breaks, and she glances around at the audience, contemplating something before she speaks. “Finish your meal as you wish. There is excess wine in the kitchen. Your general must finish a banquet of her own.” 

Those around you either snicker or mumble understandings as Minthara moves her hand from your throat to your waist, lifting you off of the table. Immediately, you wrap your arms around her shoulders and lean into her, allowing her to carry you off, letting your high fade in the journey back up to your quarters.

[pyreo]

I know there's people who like their fantasy storytelling to take a few steps away from reality, you know. Nothing that verges on allegorical to the stuff we worry about in real life. And I think I'm on the opposite team to that and y'know, the further away we get from gw2's original core story the more I see The World Summit instance as more pivotal than it appeared.

It's the part in the middle of Season 2 where you bring the world leaders together to try and insist that they need to aid you fighting Mordremoth, a primal force who's only just now awakened and started causing disruption and deaths. Mechanically, it serves to show the various cultures being made aware of the upcoming antagonist for mostly the first time.

But there's something that grips me to this day about the realism in that segment. You know full well that this thing is beginning its warpath and will kill those around you. You and your guild know that you need to take action immediately before it gathers itself together to a point you cannot fight it any more. I don't think the scene serves much more than obligatory scaffolding in a narrative sense but it echoes the way I feel in real life all the time. It's the focal point where I've never felt more aligned with my Commander.

Smodur: They're plant creatures! How hard can they be to fight. One good flamethrower and…

Knut: Mordremoth is not yet as close as the Sons of Svanir. They press in around our homesteads. That is more important.

Phlunt: Are you saying we should put ourselves on the line to protect all of you? We are safe in Rata Sum.

Jennah: I'm not ashamed to admit that I don't see how this will work. What are you asking of us?

It's not easy to ask the Main Five Peoples to get anything done together - they do come from legitimately incompatible cultures and there's bad history between humans and charr, and sylvari and asura. But you have to present an argument to each one to convince them this is the most important thing to devote resources to.

It's been about ten years since this was written and it still feels exactly like every conversation that deflects from the reality of climate change. The 'we have bigger things to worry about', the 'it's not that bad', the denials, the giving up, the ones who have enough to feel secure individually and don't really care.

That and the way the narrative turns from 'you're the hero, slay the dragon' to a domino effect that cannot be stopped, wrenching the planet off its hinges and it was all down to you. There's a big difference in changing the threat from ancient dragons awakening to devour all life... and it being the Commander's fault that the stabilising effect those dragons had is unplugged. The allegory becomes undeniable - you doomed the world. You have to chase down that tether and pull the weave back from unravelling even if it'll tear you apart. And even if nobody realises how close their lives are to ending, even if nobody respects you for it.

You have to look the most powerful people alive in the eye and plead with them to fucking help you for god's sake knowing it's a crisis and if you don't take action right now instead of waiting for it to get worse... being able to tell them 'I told you so' will be no solace at all.

And fuckin.... if fantasy stories are there to give us hope for ourselves, nothing hits as directly as the journey from "It's not that bad, why should we put anything on the line for you?" to

That hope means something very real to me.

[bluemooncove]

@alchemistdetective from here

Gladiator? Armor Knight didn't know a gladiator. Well, she did, but he died five years ago at the siege of Flint's Fist. What a mess that had been. Whatever member had taken up the mantle, she'd never met them. Her brow furrowed as she heard the rest. Breaking conduct of Beauty & Beast was a serious issue. The guild mem were extensions of one another, the actions of one reflected on all other. What few rules of conduct they had were to maintain their image.

"Halt!"

The command was barked out, her voice far deeper than it had been earlier. Armor Knight had no qualms with the woman but she was annoyed that a fellow Meister would investigate the incident without informing her. Was she not owed more respect, third beauty or not? Entrusting a fresh faced girl on her first week but not a veteran of ten years?

"Do not diminish your duties in such a way, what you're doing is of the utmost importance."

She takes the logbook from the shelf just as quickly as it had been returned. It was tossed onto the desk with a thud. Soon she was flipping through it just as Camilla had been before.

"We'll track down this gladiator before they can damage the reputation of my guild. Understand Cammy?"

[psycho-slytherin]

The Syndicate

Jungkook doesn't understand why you've chosen to train him as a rogue. He's never been a good liar. Now, as your second-in-command at Bangtan Thieves' Syndicate, he's worried about you... with good reason.

Pairing: Rogue!Jungkook x Rogue!Reader

WC: 3.8k

A/N: That's right, folks, we're coming back with a BTS D&D AU! Enjoy~

“Um… Seokjin?”

The druid turned away from what looked like a bowl of chopped mango. Juice dripped from his chin, his fingers, and somehow down the wall. “Oh, Jungkook. What’s up?”

Jungkook fidgeted with the sleeve of his new blue cloak. You had asked him to wear Bangtan Thieves’ Syndicate colors to increase the fledgling guild’s notoriety, but he didn’t understand how he could increase the notoriety of anything. “I was wondering, can you please go ask Y/n to get some sleep? I haven’t seen her Trance in…” Jungkook began counting on his fingers, but promptly gave up. “A while now. Elves still need to rest, Seokjin! And after what happened to Yoongi, I think she’s kind of, maybe, avoiding everyone? But she’d probably see you.”

Seokjin raised a curious brow. “Clearly, she’d see you too. Why don’t you tell her yourself?”

“Oh, well, I mean, it’s Y/n,” Jungkook chuckled nervously. You’re more stubborn than a mule on the best of days, and it was not the best of days. “I don’t think she’ll listen to me.”

Seokjin raised a brow. His current male form gave him a full head of height over the young elf, who swallowed nervously. “Jungkook, have you actually tried?”

Jungkook looked down at his feet. He’s never been the confrontational type, and even at seventy-five, he was young for an elf. You, twenty years his senior, tended not to take him seriously. “Er…Kind of? I’ve sighed in exasperation at her.”

“Okay, look. Go talk to her, see if she’ll take a break. If that doesn’t work, come get me. If that doesn’t work, well, she’s a big girl, Jungkook. She can take care of-” Seokjin paused. “She can make her own choices.” With that, Seokjin turned back to his mango. The changeling rarely took on a human form; Jungkook guessed the mess of fruit juice on Seokjin’s face was a result of eating with unpracticed lips and omnivorous teeth.

“Um, yeah, okay!”Jungkook retreated past the gates of the party’s current home, a mansion that had once belonged to Seokjin’s father, and began the long walk back to the seedier side of town. He hadn’t walked all this way just for the request, of course; You had sent him to scout out new safehouses which the Bangtan Thieves’ Syndicate could acquire in case something went wrong uptown –– for example, if anyone became suspicious that the wealthy Lord Kim was nowhere to be found and came knocking. Jungkook wasn’t exactly sure what to look for in a safehouse, and when he’d asked you, you’d waved your hand and blearily mumbled a “You’ll know.” 

Well, Jungkook didn’t know. He was barely a rogue to begin with. You’ve grown up in this life, from the little he’d managed to glean of your childhood. Jungkook was nothing more than a village ranger before the party scooped him up. 

As he walked, Jungkook’s thoughts turned to the first time he’d met you. You had terrified him at first, dressed as you were in all black and so heavily armed that you could have twisted chain mail out of your daggers. All that, and you’d still managed to sneak up on him while Jungkook was out tracking down a goblin hideout. 

He crept through the woods, navigating with landmarks invisible but to expert eyes. A tree knot here, a beehive there, and the smell in the air… he was closing in. His footsteps felt lighter than feathers on the mossy forest floor. 

Then something… happened. A brush of wind in the wrong direction, the sharp scent of metal where there’d been none. He spun to find himself face-to-face with the point of a rapier borne by a hooded figure. Jungkook froze; was he going to die? He had nothing on him to entice a mugger. There had been a spate of thefts in the past weeks –– it was why he was tracking the goblin hoard. 

“Where’s the entrance to the dungeon?” The figure barked, a shining green eye all he could see of your face. Jungkook was quaking in his boots when three men approached. 

“Y/n, we talked about this,” a broad-shouldered man said, hand on the hilt of his greatsword. 

“I told you to stop giving my name out to strangers, Taehyung,” the figure hissed. 

The tallest of the group, a spellcaster of some kind, waved down your weapon as he stared closely at Jungkook, who gulped. “Why would he know anything? He’s a kid. Honestly, Y/n, he near about pissed himself. He’s not getting close to the Souls’ Map Dungeon.”

“H-Hey!” Jungkook squeaked, finally finding his voice. He was not about to piss himself. “I’m not a kid. You’re the ones that can’t find a silly dungeon, and now with all that noise you’ve let the whole forest know you’re here.” 

“He’s right,” the firbolg druid in the back chirped. “I can sense evil. Maybe we should-” 

Branches exploded above Jungkook’s head as the giant spiders dropped.

The elf shuddered at the memory. Six months ago, he never could have imagined he’d belong to an adventuring party like the ones of legend, the kind he’d only read about. And when he’d met you and learned of the horrors you’d endured… he could hardly imagine he’d find himself in the very city from which you’d fled.

He soon returned to the new headquarters of Bangtan Thieves’ Syndicate. The rest of the party tolerated your legally questionable profession and helped out where it benefited them, but they also kept their distance. Meanwhile, either you’d taken a liking to Jungkook or considered him especially disposable –– Jungkook had yet to learn which –– and you preferred to keep him around. 

Jungkook found you exactly where he had left you that morning, glued to your desk and scribbling wildly, your quill rapidly shifting between sheets of code and blueprints, letters and lists. 

“Y/n, I-”

“Next time, be quieter coming up the stairs,” the rogue replied without looking up. “The fourth step is loose, you should know that by now.”

Jungkook shrunk into the corner, pressing his lips together. “Sorry.”

“S’fine. You’re getting better. What did you need?” 

“Well, I was thinking-”

“Oh, could you send this with one of our runners?” You interrupted, throwing what looked like a rock at Jungkook’s head. He yelped in surprise, and then felt even more surprised when he actually caught the thing. It was lighter than it looked. “It’s hollow,” you continued without drawing breath, almost slurring your words together, and Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how pale you looked. “A message for the leader of Kreta’s Port. And-” 

“Y/n, slow down.”

“Let me finish. Those newcomers need training before they can start pickpocketing or we’ll lose them before we’ve finished recruiting. Right, and I need to run an errand, want to come?” “Yes- I mean, wait- I mean, Y/n!” The name came out much louder than intended, and Jungkook could feel his cheeks flush as you finally lowered the quill and looked up at him. Your green eyes never faltered in intensity, and Jungkook swallowed. “Y-You’ve been working nonstop. You need to rest. Just for a short while. I’m really worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” You stood from your desk and Jungkook’s sharp ears picked out the sound of your sore joints popping. He took a step back as your tone shifted to exasperation. “By the Nine Hells, Jungkook, the last thing I need is someone else worrying about me.”

At this, Jungkook grit his teeth, his nerve returning to him. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Your eyes flashed dangerously. For just a moment, the shadows at your feet seemed to darken. “What?” 

Oh, he was gonna die, wasn’t he? But Jungkook could hardly back down now –– he needed you to understand. “You haven’t slept,” he continued, working to keep the squeak out of his tone. “I’ve barely seen you eat. You’re the one who told me that a tired rogue is a dead rogue, and if that’s true, you’re only alive in spite of yourself. Maybe if you t-took better care of yourself, we wouldn’t have to worry about you! Maybe if you had actually slept this week, you would have had better control! Maybe you wouldn’t have-'' No. Jungkook cut himself off, blinking hard. He wouldn’t go there. Yoongi had recovered.

Unfortunately, it seemed it was too late. You were quiet, far too quiet as you crossed the room and walked right up to him. For a brief moment, Jungkook thought you might attack him. When you at last raised your hand, he flinched, only to see that you weren’t holding a knife. You were… pointing.

At the door.

“Get out,” You said quietly. 

Jungkook’s heart dropped. “Y/n, I’m sor-”

“Didn’t you hear me, Jeong?” your voice was louder now, unwavering. “I think I told you to leave.”

The pause which followed felt more like a dare. Would he stay? Would you let him?

Clenching his fist, Jungkook finally broke from your gaze to see your knees trembling slightly. Exhaustion? Anger? He could never tell with you. 

“...Fine. I’ll go.” He waited for a beat, hoping you’d call him back, but instead you simply stood there. The silence was eerie, and your expression… Jungkook shivered as he left the room, closing the heavy door behind him. What could he do for you? How could he make you see that you’d fall apart at that rate? Why didn’t-

Thump. It was a muffled sound, barely audible even to Jungkook’s keen senses. It sounded far too much like a type of thump he was quite familiar with –– that of a body hitting the floor –– and it was coming from the room he’d just left.

“Y/n?” He called out before slapping his hand over his mouth –– idiot, you were going by an alias here. You were the sister of the most thief king in the city, Jung Hoseok, and you refused to associate your guild with his. Here, you weren’t Y/n L/n. You were Ava Echosong, queen of Bangtan Thieves’ Syndicate. “I mean- are you alright?”

Silence. You could be ignoring him, or… A pit began to form in Jungkook’s stomach. Surely, you wouldn’t be so malicious as to trick him. You’d understand the severity of that thump. Jungkook approached the door, knocking lightly. “Just say something, okay? I’ll-” he swallowed. “I’ll leave you alone, but tell me you’re alright.”

The following silence was the same as it had been, but to Jungkook’s rising anxiety it seemed much more nefarious now. He tested the handle –– you had yet to lock the door.

“I’m… I’m coming in,” Jungkook announced with a touch of desperation in his tone. You couldn’t fault him, right? Any decent rogue would check on their thief king. 

Actually, you’d probably say something like the best rogues kill their kings. But he was far from a good rogue.

Except when he pushed on the door, it didn’t move. What? The door wasn’t locked, that was for certain, yet… he pushed harder, this time feeling it shift, and he was able to peek through the new gap in the doorway. His field of vision was limited, but all he needed to see was right before his eyes: Your hand, resting limply on the floor.

Jungkook’s heart dropped. “Oh, gods…”

He angled his shoulder against the door and shoved. Luckily, your lithe frame wasn’t too heavy or muscular, and he was able to push the door open without much resistance from your body. As soon as he wriggled through the gap in the door, Jungkook fell to his knees in front of the older rogue.

Your normally warm olive skin tone had been drained of blood. Your jaw, usually tightly clenched, hung slightly slack, and your shadow seemed to be leaking a particularly nefarious darkness. 

“Gods… okay. Okay, okay.” With one hand, Jungkook swung the heavy door shut again. It would do you no good for any of your new recruits to see you in a weakened state. The other hand was feeling for your carotid, searching for a pulse. Your skin was hot to the touch, and yet dry. Your pulse was faint, but Jungkook didn’t care, because at least it was there. At least it was something.

Still, you were much too warm. Jungkook hesitated for a second before unclasping the raven-feather cloak clipped around your neck, and pulling the cowl off your head. As the cloak fell away, You were left in your usual black shirt and pants. Your jet-black hair had grown down to your ears and was streaked with blood and soot. When had you last washed it? In spending half his time in a mansion in the Kim Mansion and the other half with you in the slums, Jungkook realized as he reached into his bag for a waterskin, he was in the unique position to note that both manners of living were intolerable. 

Careful to support your neck, Jungkook held your head up as he placed the waterskin to your barely open lips. He cursed on seeing the water he tipped out dribble down your chin, with hardly any entering your mouth. He didn’t want you to choke, but you needed hydration. With a firm hand pulling down on your mandible, Jungkook opened your mouth, poured in some water, and massaged your throat to help you swallow. To Jungkook’s building dread, while you did swallow down the water, you didn’t awaken. He laid your head down on his lap to keep it elevated before burying his face in his hands, heart racing. What else could he do? A healing potion? He had one left. But it wasn’t like you were injured, and if she had collapsed from fatigue, as Jungkook suspected and feared, he wasn’t certain the potion could do anything to help. It might even hinder your recovery to be forced awake. What if, though, you were ill? Then you’d need a healer, or magic, some sort of purging spell. Jungkook had nothing on hand, not even a sending stone to send for Seokjin, or Taehyung’s strength, Namjoon’s smarts –– Jungkook couldn’t do anything right, not even walk quietly, useless, useless ––

You’re spiraling again, your voice echoed in his head, so suddenly his eyes flitted to your face on the assumption you’d woken up. But no, you stayed limp on his lap, so still Jungkook could scarcely sense your heartbeat. Deep breath. What’s the first step?

The young elf swallowed. He had checked that your heart was beating, and confirmed you were still breathing. First step done.

You were clearly dehydrated. You’d gotten some water, so that was the second step. But you needed more. And a cold compress to combat that fever. Step three. 

“Y/n,” Jungkook murmured, carefully lifting the rogue’s head off his legs. “I need you to stay here- not that you can go anywhere, that is, I just meant- I’ll be right back, okay?” Jungkook was on the verge of standing when he heard a voice that made him jump.

“Need something?”

“Gah!” Jungkook whipped around, instinctively reaching for his sword. For the first time, he saw a man standing in the corner of your office. Jungkook was sure he’d never seen the human before, but at the same time he looked vaguely familiar, his features too generic to place. “Who are you?” Jungkook asked, shifting into a protective stance before your body. “How did you get in?”

“Don. Donathan?” The man shrugged. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

The whole- so when you fell unconscious, this stranger was in the room with her? What had he done?

Jungkook was nervous. But you were laying at his feet, which didn’t make him less nervous, as much as it did raise the stakes tremendously. You already know how. You’ve done it before. Jungkook worked to mold his features, let his face relax into the cold stare he often saw on your face and those of the killers you’d confronted, and with his thumb flicked his rapier barely loose of its sheath. “It’d be in your best interests to explain what exactly you’re doing here.”

The man, Donathan, didn’t move or change his neutral expression. “I was delivering a message to Echosong. Or… Y/n, I guess? Wait, Y/n, like the kid sister Jung Hoseok? She’s back?”

“Who sent you? Another guild?”

Donathan released a long-suffering sigh. “Echosong did. Jungkook, we’ve met. I’m in Bangtan.”

Jungkook’s brow’s furrowed. “I’d have remembered you. I was part of the recruitment team.”

The human then nodded at the desk, and Jungkook followed the movement. On your desk was a full roster of new BTS members and approved messengers. Fourth on the list of recruits, written in the Thieves’ Cant you’ve only just taught Jungkook to read –– Donathan Joe. Brown hair and eyes, tan skin. Nondescript. Start him as messenger - potential as spy. 

The description fit the man to a tee. “I - fine. Okay. Don’t tell anyone what’s happened here, alright?” Jungkook said tightly. Your reputation was on the line.

Donathan shrugged. “Aight. Want more water for Echosong? So you don’t have to leave?”

Jungkook paused. You had clearly thought you could at least somewhat trust the man. “Fine.” 

As Donathan left, Jungkook slid back down to the floor to sit beside you. Your cheeks were still hot to the touch, though cooler than before. And you were no closer to waking. If this wasn’t Donathan’s nefarious doing, then you must’ve collapsed from exhaustion.

“Gods and devils, Y/n,” Jungkook muttered at the elder rogue. “What are we going to do with you, hm? The one time since I’ve met you that we can relax, ‘cause for once no one’s trying to kill us, and you’re working harder than ever? You don’t have to push yourself like this, you know. Don’t you know we’re all-” he paused. “Some of us are worried about you?” He was talking quickly now, staring at his hands, his high elf ancestry making his skin far paler than your wood elf tone. “If you’re worried about spending your Trance with a bunch of thieves, I’m here. I can keep watch over you, if you’d trust me. Which… I dunno. Maybe you don’t. But your work, it’s not that much if we split it up. You’ve built this guild for a reason, right, Y/n? To be together, to have a group, to be stronger. Part of something. We can help, if you ask us. I wish you’d ask us. I’d help you. I know, I’m a mess at all the paperwork, and-” Here, Jungkook broke off and chuckled- “I really don’t understand the important facets of syndicate safe houses, but I can learn. You’re a good teacher, if a scary one. Really scary, sometimes. Anyways. Y/n, you know you’re not alone, right? I get it if, after everything, you might feel that way. But we don’t. And we need you. So, uh, wake up, okay? If you’re going to pass out, beds are way more comfortable.” With a tentative hand, Jungkook reached out and shook your shoulder gently. “C’mon, wake up.”

Nothing. It had been about ten minutes since you had lost consciousness now, and that was a dangerously long time for Jungkook’s comfort. You were still breathing, but for how much longer? He shook a bit harder, his tone lapsing into its old nervous squeak as his anxiety heightened and desperation rose in kind. Elves didn’t pass out like you had unless something was wrong - an injury, fatigue, or poison of some kind. Jungkook raised his voice. 

“Y/n, please wake up, I still have to beat you in a duel. I’ll even aim like you taught me. Seriously, please…”

And then came a voice, as raspy as he’d ever heard it, and yet it was music to his pointed ears.

“Won’ help.” 

“Y- oh, Y/n!” Jungkook almost swept the wood elf up into a hug before stopping himself. “You’re okay!” 

You blinked, your eyes not quite focused. Though you were awake, your head didn’t move from the floor. More worryingly for Jungkook, your pupils were dilated unevenly. “Mmno. Ev’rthin’s wiggly. And you look like Jungkook.”

“I am Jungkook.”

“Oh. hi.”

“Hi.” Try as he might, Jungkook couldn’t contain his un-roguelike grin. “I was really worried about you.”

“M’sorry.” You blinked hard to clear your eyes or mind, but Jungkook could see you were still having trouble. “Didn’t mean t’worry you.’

“Please, don’t apologize.” Jungkook could feel his humor returning as his lungs inflated with relief. “Apologize for working yourself half into the grave, if anything.”

“Mm.”

“That doesn’t count as a sorry.”

“Jungkook?”

“Yes, Y/n?”

“I think I could use a nap.”

Oh, thank the gods. “You have a cot in here, right?”

“S’folded by my desk. Never use it.”

Jungkook rose, located the cot, and quickly unfolded it, patting out the pillow for you. “Can you walk?”

He could see your muscles strain for a moment, almost feel you try to rise out of sheer willpower, before you collapsed back onto the old oak planks. “No. M’sorry. S’real dumb.”

“Hey, don’t-don’t worry about it.” Jungkook stooped and with one arm under your legs and the other supporting your neck, carried you ten feet to the thin cot. He could see your eyes start to flutter closed the minute your body touched the scratchy wool cover. Still, he could tell you were fighting to stay conscious. “Y/n.”

“Mm?”

“You’ve earned your rest. I’ll keep watch. I promise.”

There was a long pause, so long he thought you’d lost consciousness again, before he barely heard your quiet voice. “Okay.”

Within minutes, the room was silent save for the breathing of two elves. Jungkook’s own vague meditation as he watched you fall into a Trance was broken by a knock at the door. When he swung it open, there stood Donathan. It took a conscious effort on Jungkook’s part to remember why he was there and who the man was. Everything about this human was terrifyingly neutral. Donathan wordlessly passed an icy compress and fresh waterskin to Jungkook before nodding a goodbye. It was as if the moment he faded from view, he turned fuzzy in Jungkook’s memories. Strange man.

Back at your side, Jungkook gently wiped your face with the icy cloth. As he leaned over to daub water on your burning cheeks, he heard a whisper that made his own face flush, so faint he might well have imagined it.

“Thank you, Jungkook.”

[fanatic-writers]

Adventures in Babysitting

Chapter Four: Bad Ideas

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A/n: Thanks for hanging in there and being patient with me on this one guys! School has gotten crazy and this part feels a little all over the place to me at the end but I just wanted to get it out to y'all and do something fun for me. Hopefully part five will be out in the coming week!

Word Count: 3825

Pairing: (Eventual) Din Djarin x Mandalorian!Reader

Warnings: Canon levels of violence but it's very tame, unedited like everything cause I'm lazy lol, lil bit o' angst

Summary: Reader is the Armorer's daughter and is also a foundling. She and Din have known each other for a long time but he was never quite able to break his shell. When the Mandalorians help Din escape with the child she is ordered to go to his ship to help him care for the thing.

Tag List: @theclassicvinyldragon @yeeteth-the-raven @crowbird

Things had been slow since your last conversation with Din, the same routine of stopping every so often for food and odd jobs. He usually made you stick with the ship and the kid, knowing he’d be safer there with you than out with him. On one rare occasion, you had convinced him that you should be the one to go out and gather supplies, that he needed rest, but that seemed to be a one-and-done situation.

“Come on,” You pleaded as Din packed up a small bag to take with him on his errands. “You always get to go out and I love our little green guy but if I don’t get off this ship I’m going to shoot something.” “You don’t even like using blasters,” Din commented, fixated on his satchel. You sighed “Din…” you paused, not having used his name since you were a kid. Part of you hoped it might awaken something in him, something that you could prod at until he got tired of your company and sent you out. It seemed to work well enough because a few moments later he was tossing the satchel to you. “If you’re not back-“ He started but you interrupted him. “I’ll be fine, I think sometimes you forget we have the same training.” You chuckled lightly, giving a small wave to the child before heading out. When you had come back there were blaster marks on your suit and you were out of breath. “Don’t ask just get us the hell out of here.” You commanded, putting Din into a small panic you couldn’t see as he took off. He heard you mumbling something to yourself about people accusing you of stealing, something you promised him you didn’t do a couple of nights later when he asked about it.

The sound and feeling of the Razor Crest docking brought you from your thoughts. You looked around the hull of the ship you had landed in and frowned. The place gave you a bad feeling. Sure you’d run into plenty of criminals and places like this on Navarro where the guild had control of most things and what they didn’t’ were other small groups of criminals, but this was a different scale and you didn’t have a child to worry about back then. “You’ll stay here with the kid. I’m going to lock the ship up so no one will bother you and I should be back in a day or so.” Din spoke as if sensing your concern. “And I can’t just fly the ship away and come pick you up why?” You asked. Clearly uncomfortable with the idea. Something about the whole place just made your mind scream at you to get out. “Because you can’t fly.” Din sighed; you opened your mouth to object because he technically was wrong. You, in theory, could fly, just not well and you weren’t really the best at landing. “Fine. But if someone gets in here, I’m taking off. I don’t care if the whole place blows up because of it.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

A cry from the bunk signaled that the child was awake and also not exactly happy about the situation. Din followed you down, watching as you picked the kid up and cradled him in your arms. “It’s alright buddy, we’re still here. Mando is gonna be gone for a couple days.” You explained to the child. “Which means you’re stuck with me and next time it's his turn to babysit I’m pumping you full of sweets.” Din shook his head at your comment, a small chuckle making its way through his emulator. “You think it's funny now but I’m serious.” You spoke as he opened the door to the ship, quickly slipping out of it before closing you and the kid inside once more. You kept near the bunk, preparing a snack for the growing child. Every knock and noise from the outside had you on edge and the kid could sense it. He looked up at you with wide eyes and a frown. All you could do was sigh and be thankful that he couldn’t see the fear on your face. You’d been to a lot of places with Din, hell the most recent ones ended in shoot-outs, but this was the first time you felt unsafe. This was the first time something felt off. “It’s going to be ok Bug.” You told the child, placing him on the bunk and handing him his food.

While the child ate you busied yourself organizing things around the ship. It wasn’t possible for it to get too messy but you didn’t want to risk going into the captain's quarters and being seen so this was your next best option for keeping busy. Your plan was to feed the kid and then make something for yourself, hoping the child would go back to sleep after being fed since he hadn’t slept that long in the first place. You were moving around the rations, looking for something that would make a half decent meal when you heard tapping at the door. It sounded like the thrumming of fingers and you recognized it instantly. When you were younger Din had made a habit of making his entrance known to you. That being said he didn’t always want everyone in the commune to know that he was at your door, especially your mother who seemed intimidating to the younger Din. So instead of knocking he’d thrum his fingers against the wall, a way of letting you know he was coming without making it obvious as to what his intentions were. Of course, the others picked up on it rather quickly but to a new audience it would just seem like some sort of tick. You quickly closed the door on the sleeping quarters, ordering the child to stay put before going back to your work in hopes you’d look inconspicuous enough to whoever would make up the ships new crew. You were surprised when a droid was the one that walked in, Din standing behind him. “Take him up to the cockpit.” He told you and you could hear the annoyance in his voice. “I thought-“ you paused looking between the droid and Mando “Change of plans.” He sighed and you eyed the crew that surrounded the table behind him

You made sure everything was in its place and the child was hidden away before the rest of the group stepped on board. The droid, who had left briefly, went back to its spot in the cockpit and you frowned. “There’s another one.” The bald man spoke up “Two Mandalorians, why were you keeping this one hidden away huh?” “Because she isn’t a part of the mission,” Mando spoke firmly, his entire attitude had changed from when he’d left. He was stiffer, almost puffing his chest out like he was putting on a show. “She?” The twi’lek spoke up next, getting right up close to you and inspecting your form. You stood your ground, eyes not breaking contact with her despite the fact that she wouldn’t see it through your helm. “Is this why you left us Mando?” “No.” He spoke before moving up to the cock pit. You opted to stay down with the rest of the crew, not wanting to risk them finding the child. That and you didn’t want to seem afraid of them. You knew if they could sense even an ounce of fear they wouldn’t leave you alone. You sat opposite of the man and the twi’lek as the Devonian man paced the ship. They didn’t exactly make good company and you felt that being too talkative would ruin any reputation you had with them. You didn’t know these people, you thought that they might have introduced themselves, but you hadn’t been paying much attention. What you did know was that you didn’t trust them and you wanted to be more than ready to defend yourself, the child, and Din should it come down to it.

The trio seemed rather bored and you hadn’t moved an inch since you sat down, the demon guy must’ve thought you had fallen asleep because he started to push buttons, trying to figure out what they were for. You turned to look at him, frowning when the armory opened up. You watched as he made his way over to the wall of weapons, standing from your spot. “I wouldn’t mess around with things that aren’t yours.” You spoke up finally “She thinks she can stop me.” He spoke in a gruff voice, the other two laughing. You made a move to step forward but the door shut before you could get too far and Din pushed past you to get to him. The bald man, you think he had called himself Mayfeld at some point, quickly did what he could to dissolve the tension between the two, at least enough to stop the brewing fight. It really went all downhill from there. “Why do we even need a Mandalorian anyway?” The demon asked resulting in a short conversation about your people. A conversation that left you on edge with the mention of the slaughter of those who live on Mandalore. When the talk shifted to the fact that the both of you couldn’t show your faces you grew even more tense and agitated with the people you were forced to call guests. “What about you sweetheart?” Mayfeld asked “You wanna show us those pretty little eyes you got hiding under there.” You clenched your jaw, staying quiet as you stared the man down. “That’s alright, we don’t gotta trust you. We just gotta trust him.” He turned his attention back to Din and you notice the Devonian take another step closer to the man beside you. “You ever seen his face?” Mayfeld asked the Twi’lek, Xi’an you’d learned now that you were paying attention “A lady never tells.” She smiled, looking between the two of you and you did your best to ignore the pit in your stomach. There was some mention that they may have been close before and you had tried not to let it get to you. You couldn’t imagine Din with someone like her, someone who didn’t seem to respect him or his creed. You noticed Mayfeld nod to the Devonian who approached and made it clear he was going to remove Din’s helm. You were about to punch the man in the face but Din beat you to it, grabbing him and tossing him back behind him. His fingers must’ve hit the command center to the sleeping quarters because in an instant the door was open and the child was staring at the scene before him.

If you thought your body was tense before that was nothing compared to how you felt now as you looked into the eyes of your little bug. You wanted to reach out and grab him, pull him into your arms, and keep him safe from the people on the ship but Mayfeld had other plans. He moved past you, talking about his failed attempts at previous pets. You knew that the kid was more than that to Din but it was safer not to correct him. Instead, you watched as he took the child into his arms, pretending to drop him. “Maybe it’s hers,” Mayfeld spoke up when the crew had all decided it didn’t make sense for Din to have a pet. “Or maybe they’re going to eat it.” The Devonian spoke once more. Before you had a chance to speak you were being thrown back into the wall and then onto the floor. You were thankful for your proximity to Mayfeld and the child as the kid slipped from his grasp. You were able to dive out and catch him before he could tumble to the floor. It had caused you to roll down the open space of the ship, almost right under Din. “You alright?” he spoke softly, letting his guard slip for a brief moment only you would see. You nodded, keeping the child close to your chest before looking down at him. “He’s good too.” You practically whispered before pushing yourself up once the ship had steadied.

You took the child back to the bed and closed the door, watching as Din got to work. You weren’t exactly fond of the way Xi’an and Mayfeld looked at him, or the way you could barely hear her whisper something. At least you’d be on the ship, you could be a sort of backup should Din need it. You paced around the ship, waiting as patiently as you could for his return.

He hated this job, he knew he shouldn’t have taken it and he knew he should’ve backed out when the Crest got involved. It was clear he was pretty much on his own, just a number and someone that was expendable to the rest of his crew. That was made even more clear when he had to take down the droids on the ship on his own. He was well aware that the other three were just standing there watching him when they could have been suppressing fire or doing literally anything to help. He just had to get this over with. Then he could get back to you and the kid and the three of you would never have to see these people again. When he saw the human on the ship Din realized once again that this was a mistake. He’d stopped doing jobs like these for a reason. There was nothing honorable about them. Maybe when he was younger and trying to build a reputation there was. Back then he had convinced himself he was doing something good at least. Now he knew the likelihood of the rest of his so called team ending an innocent life was high. What had he gotten himself into, what had he gotten you into? He worried that you’d think of him differently after this, that whatever semblance of a friendship you’d started to rebuild together would crumble to the ground when you saw how checkered his past was. He just had to keep them from killing the poor man in front of them who was just trying to do his job. “Hey, hey listen to me ok.” Din spoke up while Mayfeld and Xi’an bickered. He holstered his blaster and put his hands up, the looks from the others not going unnoticed. “What’s your name.” “D-Daven.” The man answered, his fear clearly written on his face. “We’re not here for you Daven. We’re here for a prisoner. If you cooperate we’ll let you go with your life.” He tried to reason with the young man although Mayfeld had other plans. Son Din did the only thing he could think to do, he pulled his blaster on Mayfeld. In the chaos that action caused Xi’an threw her blade across the room, killing Daven. “Would you both just shut up?” She rolled her eyes as she got up and retrieved the blade. No one seemed to care about the signal that was now sent out, letting the New Republic know what they were up to.

You heard the droid give the warning to the crew from the cockpit, a frown etched onto your face. You looked down at the connection between the ships and back at the closed door that the child was behind. They had twenty minutes. You’d give him 10. You really needed to establish some form of com link between the two of you for situations like these. Granted you hadn’t exactly found yourself in this exact situation before you found yourself craving a way to make sure Din was safe more often than not. You had heard Mayfeld say something about getting them off the ship right around the ten-minute mark and decided maybe it would just be best for you to stay put. Whatever the droid had found out didn’t exactly matter if it meant Din would be back soon. And then there was the word that someone had escaped. The light below you had turned red and you were far too focused on what that meant for Din to notice that the child had escaped the spot you’d left him. You dropped yourself down into the ship, blaster in hand before you slipped behind a corner, ready to strike at whoever came down your path. You nearly jumped out of your bones when you had been waiting for what felt like hours just for Din to put a hand on your shoulder “How did you-?” You asked, a hand flying to your chest as you tried to steady your breathing. “Saw you on the cameras.” He spoke softly, he looked you over for a moment before stepping in front of you, leading you back to the entry to the ship. You hadn’t rounded the corner just yet when you heard Mando speak up again. You spotted another twi’lek, he looked somewhat similar to Xi’an and as they spoke you slowly started to piece things together in your head. “Get back to the ship.” Mando spoke to you, “Now.” He finished when you showed signs of hesitation. You waited for a moment before slipping past the Qin and up to the ladder. It was then that you saw the droid staring into bunk. You didn’t hesitate, you just aimed and shot, hitting the thing in the back and through the chest. When it crumbled to the ground you moved to the child and scooped him up, setting him in your lap as you sat in the bunk and locked yourself in. You’d had enough of the day and at the moment all you wanted to know was that the child and Din were safe. Since the Mandalorian had seemed to be fine you settled for holding the child close and curling up in the bunk. It wasn’t the most comfortable with all your armor on but you made it work and the child didn’t seem to mind.

It wasn’t until he had dropped off Qin and entered hyperspace that Din let himself move down to the hull of the ship. It was rare that he left the area while flying but he had switched on autopilot and they would be safe for the time being. He moved down to the bunk and thrummed his fingers against the door before opening it. You were still curled up on your side but you looked in his direction when the door opened. “We won't have to worry about them again.” He spoke, staying still as you slowly rolled onto your back and sat up, moving deeper into the bunk so your back was against the wall. You stayed quiet but patted the spot in front of you before curling your legs into your chest to give him more space. “You just do stuff like that all the time?” You asked finally, your voice soft. Din moved to sit in front of you, sitting with crossed legs, his back leaning against the right wall of the bunk. “Not all the time. Left it behind for a reason.” “And you and the twi’lek?” You tried not to sound as disappointed about it as you were. “I was young and stupid.” Din sighed “It was just after everything happened with my mentor,” he admitted to you “I thought it would make things better. It didn’t” “So that was where you ran off to all those years ago.” You raised a brow head tilting to the side “Those were the kinds of people you left me for, left us for?” You tried not to sound hurt or angry but it was hard. It was hard knowing that back then Din would’ve rather had been with a group of people who didn’t care if he lived or died rather than you. “You thought I left you?” Din turned to look at you, he supposed he had now that he thought about it. “I didn’t want to but I couldn’t be there anymore. I had to get out, to do something.” You shook your head “So you ran around with a bunch of criminals? At least when you’re hunting bounties they’re usually bad people.” You huffed looking away from them. “And yeah, I did. You were eighteen and you just disappeared. You didn’t say goodbye and you never talked to me again aside from a brief hello when you came back.” At this point, you had given up on trying to conceal the bite in your tone. “I spent my time wondering where in the universe you were and you were out almost getting yourself killed for reasons that aren’t even worth it. Reasons that I’m not even sure follow our creed. And then you just showed back up again and pretended like I didn’t exist.” “I didn’t want to bother you,” Din mumbled but he knew it was useless, he knew how you got when you were worked up. It had just been a while since he was on the receiving end. “I’m not done, Din!” You huffed, uncurling yourself “I waited for you, I waited and waited and you did nothing, you said nothing. I could barely get a hello out of you. You’ve spoken to me more in the past couple of weeks than you have in 20 years Din.” You had gotten so worked up you didn’t even know what you were mad about at this point, you were just plain mad and Din was the closest thing to take it out on. You’d regret it later, you knew that, but you didn’t care. “And now you just want to pretend like nothing happened. You want to go play hero for people and pretend like you didn’t abandon me for years. Like the commune hasn’t looked on me in pity for the last 20 years because as far as they were concerned you pretty much left me at the kriffen altar.” You huffed out your last breath, feeling tears well in your eyes “You said we were friends once and you were wrong. We were so much more than that and you know it but you didn’t care.” Your head sunk to your knees and your body shook with the excess emotion. “Cyar’ika…” Din mumbled, hedging his bets and getting closer to you “Don’t- Don’t call me that and think that makes everything ok.” You huffed, not daring to look up at him because you knew you’d break if you did.

Din sighed, he pressed his helmet against yours for a brief moment before moving back to the pilot's seat. He knew an apology wouldn’t matter to you now, so he thought he’d just give you space until the time was right to tell you just how sorry he was.

[etoiline]

this aching lonely place

(read with tags and characters on AO3 instead)

Maybe it’s the thunder, sounding like it’s crashing right over their heads, that makes the hand of whoever’s on the cutter slip, tilting the wing of the craft Cal and the rest of the crew are working on, so everyone’s balance is shot.

Maybe it’s the lightning that grounds itself into the now-disconnected cutter laser, burning out its power couple and causing the explosion that sends the whole crew flying, Cal included.

Maybe it’s the ozone that stings his nose when he finally inhales after his inelegant imitation of flying knocked the breath out of him, his entire chest protesting the motions of breathing.

Maybe it’s the metal that floods his mouth from his bitten tongue, worse than when the Guild tattooist had mistaken Cal’s fear of an echo from the well-used and poorly-cared-for tattoo gun for an frightened unwillingness to take the Scrapper Guild tracker and shoved a pewter bar, allover teethmarked already, into his mouth to take the screams as the tracker darkened his skin.

Maybe it’s the feeling of corrugated metal under his cheek, cold and wet and sharp, the imprints of thousands of footprints beating against his skull, none of them enough on their own to be called an echo, but together forming a chorus—that convinces Cal that he is in some pretty serious trouble.

And he’s alone. The Force is jagged here, and it slips through his grasping fingers, no living points of light nearby for him to use as an anchor, even if his connection wasn’t broken. He thinks he hears his name, shouted from above, but it’s distorted, far away, bouncing off walls and pools of water.

He’s alone.

Cal pushes himself up, leaning at a crazed angle on the wet wall behind him. He cradles his ribs with his arms and leans his pounding head against the plastoid cladding. Through bleary eyes he looks up, trying to find a path back...up, somewhere. There's no obvious egress, no handy pile of rubble leading back to where he'd been. The foreman had Cal working on the edge of the wing, and when it fell, he’d caught a few floors’ worth of metal with his chest, and the whole wing had fallen with him in it. He’s honestly sort of surprised he survived—if he’d been anywhere else he could still be falling, windmilling his way to the Ibdis Maw. He tries to tell his ribs to be grateful, but they don’t believe him.

He’s in a hallway of the scrapped Venator, crew quarters, he thinks. Pressing a hand against the wall, he stumbles forward until he can hang onto the edge of a door, peering inside. The layout of the Albedo Brave plasters itself on Cal’s eyelids. All the ships are designed the same way, so transferring from one to the other is easy, even if the ship is broken, like this one. He takes a moment to get his bearings, then nods. Definitely crew quarters: the tattered remains of blankets and mattresses lie tossed about, and the body of a clone trooper—

Before he can faint at the sight of that too-familiar armor, before he loses himself in the grief of his clone brothers turning on him, before he sinks into the memories of high-fiving Commander Cryo hard enough that the commander jokes his charge will take the yellow paint right off his pauldron—Cal blows out a breath, really looks at the armor and realizes it’s just the plastoid itself and doesn’t actually contain a body (which is good, because the position that it's in...doesn't really seem anatomically possible). He’s still alone here. No one left on this ship but ghosts.

Kark but it’s cold down here. His poncho is soaked through—he really should have spent the credits on a new waterproofing job—and one knee of his scrapper pants sprung a hole on the way down, so he stumbles into the room and sorts through the scraps, hoping to find one dry enough to use as a little cover. With one hand clamped around his ribs, it’s slow going, but finally Cal finds a not-too-fragmented piece he can swirl around his shoulders. It smells of must but doesn’t fall apart when he tugs it close over his chest, which is about all Cal feels like he can ask right now. It’s even mostly free of echoes, just soft things he can brush away like cobwebs, or dreams.

The synthweave does its job, reflecting his body heat back at him, and if Cal lets out a quiet sob—that echoes in the empty, broken space—there’s no one here to tell him not to.

He shuffles out of the room, trailing a gloved hand along the off-true wall, letting the echoes of clone troopers brush past his gloves. He has the unsettling idea that if he let himself fall into an echo here he might never come out of it, might be stuck on this broken wing, living someone else’s memory, until he starved.

So he doesn’t listen to the echoes, instead moving toward the end of the crew quarters, where he knows there will be a lift—which won’t be working, of course, but where there’s a lift, there are stairs, and stairs will get him out of here. Even if he has to climb all 70 levels, he’ll get out of here, and away from all these echoes and memories.

Cal finally finds the lift, its door helplessly fallen at an angle, counts over seven panels, and bangs on the one he ought to find the stair access behind—it’s blessedly hollow-sounding, and he finds the tab to pull to reveal the stair access. The panel doesn’t want to bend—or bend again, given its current state—but Cal manages to remove it, though it leaves him winded and panting against his bruised ribs. The sign inside informs Cal he’s on floor 57 of the Chalcene Thunder, which makes him sigh at the upcoming effort, but also that he’s not on a ship he knew. If he does come across any bodies they won’t be friends, or clones who used to be friends…

There’s hardly any light in the stairwell, only what comes through cracked plastoid and bent metal as lightning flashes outside, and his saber is tucked away in its hideyhole in his tiny apartment, so Cal climbs by feel, only pausing when his bruised ribs protest enough that he can’t catch his breath. When he reaches a tiny landing, he all but collapses against the wall, staying mostly upright because he knows that if he falls over, he’s going to pass out from the pain. Just a few breaths, then move on, he tells himself, pushing off the wall. No one is going to find him in here, so he has to keep moving. He takes a step in the darkness, only to trip over something soft, and Cal sprawls to the floor, his hands flying out to catch himself, tangling in the fabric of whatever tripped him—

“Run, Deonis! Get to the stairs, it’s the only way out—”

He stares at his Master, their lightsaber flashing, deflecting one blaster bolt, another, but it’s not enough, and one burns into the floor near his feet, setting Deonis jumping. He turns halfway, but doesn’t want to leave his Master, so he draws his saber, moving into the guard they’ve been practicing, but it’s not the right stance for this, because he misses the next bolt and it drills into the shoulder of his dominant arm and it burns, and he coughs, and his Master turns at his agonized sound, and there’s a violent orange hole through their belly and they fall—

“Go,” they whisper, and Deonis is flung through the air with his Master’s Force, fetching up against the emergency exit and there are troopers simply marching over his Master’s body, coming for him, and he scrambles for the latch and pulls at it, makes it through—

but there’s a new burn in his stomach and he stares down at the perfectly neat circle in his robes, brown at the edges, the smell of burnt fabric strong in his nose, and he goes to his knees because he’s so confused, that the troopers shouldn’t be trying to kill them and his robes shouldn’t look like that, and there’s a blaster’s whine near his head—

Cal inhales with a whoop as the echo dissipates, breathing through Deonis’ pain, trying to convince his brain that he wasn’t dead like the poor Padawan at his feet. This death could have been his, if Master Tapal hadn’t saved him, if they hadn’t trained to escape a Venator, if he hadn’t flung his measly Force at the troopers who’d just that morning been joking about the severe lack of educated conversation on the ship as he tried to join them. Cal carefully opens his senses in search of Deonis’ lightsaber, but no kyber sings nearby—either it’s fallen too far or been crushed or Cal’s jagged connection to the Force can’t listen for it anymore. The Padawan died alone and scared, so Cal keeps his hand on the decaying fabric and desiccated tissue underneath for a moment longer, breathing out a blessing in the Force for his fellow Jedi, hoping he found peace in that which binds all things.

It could have been him, here, but somehow it wasn’t. And if Cal wants to get out of this lonely aching place, he’s going to have to keep climbing, until someone can hear him, until he’s not alone, aside from the echoes.

So he climbs, one hand on the rusting railing, one hand supporting his ribs, slipping on the odd angles of the treads, until the stairs abruptly end, the wall crumpled and torn where it had ripped away from the main body of the ship. He can see waving lights above him, bobbing as folks walk the treacherous line between the sheared-off wing and the void. If he shouts, will they hear him?

He tries, though at first nothing comes out of his dry throat. How long has it been since he fell? It’s dark, but it’s always dark on Bracca in storms like this. At least the rain has let up a little, and Cal tilts his face to the sky, letting a little of the metallic droplets wet his tongue. A few drops won’t kill him, not today. Swallowing, he tries again, and this time his voice works, and one of the dancing lights turns his way.

Faintly he hears his name, in an achingly familiar tone. “Prauf!” he shouts back, waving his free arm and wincing when the stretch hits his ribs. He thinks he hears something about rope and wait and he does just that, startling at the wet slap of rope as it slithers down the stairs. Someone has already tied a loop for him to step into, and Cal gathers up some of the slack and tugs hard until he feels resistance, and the rope goes taut above him as someone pulls the rope up and up and up.

Cal looks down at the broken wing as he’s lifted into the air, fingers white against the rope. The twisted metal is a tomb, and Cal wonders if anyone else is ever going to find Deonis’ body, or if the Maw will simply devour it as a matter of course. Cal will never be able to go back there, not alone, and he’ll never be able to tell anyone why he would want to go back to it without exposing himself.

He looks above him, just able to see Prauf’s face, creased with effort and worry as the Abednedo hauls away at the rope, and tries to find comfort in knowing he won’t die alone, at least not today.

Prauf reaches down to pull at Cal’s scrapper harness when he’s close enough to the edge, and Cal finds himself suddenly on mostly level ground, engulfed in Prauf’s embrace, the rest of Cal’s squad slapping Prauf on the shoulders and laughing the slightly unhinged laughter of those who have cheated death for another day.

“Glad you’re back with us, Cal,” Prauf says. “Thought we’d lost you there for a minute.” He hugs Cal tight, smelling of metal and wet and familiar and alive.

Cal thinks of Deonis and squeezes Prauf back, ignoring his ribs. He’s not alone anymore.

[ohpollenpowder]

I really adore how Emrys' armor dyes came out. It's so "dingy" in a way. Don't ask me why I chose red for him, I dunno. He's an all teal boi. So if anyone has a better color suggestion that isn't teal (or red) lemme know!

[cabezadeperro]

cabezadeperro's year in review (fic version)

Hi, hello! It's the last day of the year, and what a year 2023 has been. I moved to a different continent in Fall 2022, but I somehow found the time to keep writing and posting Star Wars fanfiction for the fourth year in a row.

These are some of my favourite fics I posted this year. I didn't write as much or as often as I'd like, but I am pretty proud of some of my work, so. Here it is!

Also, I'm very bad at replying to comments but thanks so much to all of you who take the time and leave one. I know my stuff is very often niche and kind of weird, so if you clicked and read and enjoyed one of my fics this year: I appreciate it a lot. Thank you so much.

dead men walking | E | Commander Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi | 63k

It was supposed to be an easy job: prisoner transports are always quick money. Three years after waking up from cryo, Cody—formerly known as ICC-2224—finds himself working as a bounty hunter for one of the guilds. He has a body that doesn’t feel his, a memory full of holes, and little else. When the man he’s guarding escapes, Cody finds himself following one Obi-Wan Kenobi across a war-torn galaxy and into the most dangerous job of all: stealing a mysterious artifact from the heart of the New Republic.

This was my fic for the 2022 Codywan Big Bang. It was Very hard to write and the reason I decided to stop participating in events for the rest of 2023. I kind of hate it, but I'm also pretty proud of it (because I finished despite it all, and also I think it's pretty good).

You'll like it if: you enjoy good artwork (cowboy's illustration of Cody in bed is probably one of my favourite pieces of Cody fanart, and I love punk's cover an absurd amount), weird AUs, cyberpunk, and being depressed.

fortunate son | M | Commander Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Commander Cody/Commander Fox, Commander Cody & Captain Rex | 12k

On change.

This was one of those fics I started in 2022 and finished in 2023. It's my take of the No Order 66 trope that attempts to deal with ideas of change and growing and adapting to new places, new people, and new sides of people you've known for a while. (Gee, I wonder why I wrote this fic the year I moved across the world.)

I'm also really proud of the codyfox prequel I published the other day, secant, but I think this one is more--ambitious?

You'll like it if: you like studying Cody like the bug and complicated relationships, and would like to read a slightly different take on the Fix-It/No Order 66 trope.

sulphur and tea | M | Obi-Wan Kenobi/Jango Fett | 1.8K

They say Jango Fett fell in battle, that the thing that walks and fights and wears his beskar is something else. Obi-Wan knows better.

There are a few games I get very obsessed with every now and then, and one of them is Ghost of Tsushima. This fic is a very vague adaptation of the concept behind the main character of those games, applied to Jango. I had A Lot of fun writing it though it fought me quite a bit, and it allowed me to play with one of the most popular kenfetti tropes from a different perspective. It's one of those fics that I'd like to write a sequel/prequel/spin-off to sometime.

You'll like it if: you like whump (especifically Jango whump) and What Ifs about the Mandalorian Civil War and the first years of Anakin's padawanship.

choosing to be chosen | E | ARC Trooper Echo/ARC Trooper Fives | 6.6k

ARC troopers always work in pairs.

I wrote this as a gift for a friend who wrote what's probably my favourite Echo/Fives fic ever (which I just remembered was also a gift for me lmao). I don't write this ship as much or as often as I'd like, but I'm very happy about how this one turned out--I think I nailed why I find this relationship so compelling (the inevitable tragedy, the fact that they keep choosing each other, the fact that they cannot help but choose each other). I also had a lot of fun writing Fives! He's such a messed up, interesting little dude.

You'll like it if: you enjoy intense relationships, sexual and romantic tension, baby's first attempt at milwank, Fives being clever and in love and just that tiny bit manipulative.

the price of blood | T | Commander Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi | 13.8k

A year and a half after the beginning of Cody and Rex's rebellion, Palpatine reaches out to Kenobi: he wants to talk to him, and he doesn't want Cody to be there. It goes as well as expected.

This is one of those fics that get out of hand. I wrote it because someone left an ask saying they loved the first part of what is now a series (it's not actually a series on AO3; I was planning to make it one but I forgor. as I do.) I really love fantasy and all its subgenres and I don't write it as much as I'd like, so it was the perfect chance to go ham and do a bit of of worldbuilding for fun. I'm not super happy with the ending, but I really like everything else, so.

You'll like it if: you like low fantasy, the environmental storytelling approach to fantasy worldbuilding, complicated relationships and characters keeping secrets. Oh, and Cody whump.

five times cody and rex shared a bed and one time they wished they could | T | Commander Cody/Captain Rex | 4.7k

Cody and Rex throughout the war.

This fic is very much what it says on the tin: Cody and Rex from when they first meet each other, through the war and their slow loss of trust in each other, until they meet again after the war ends. This format of fic is very popular for a reason, what can I say. I really enjoyed writing it, and I think I did a pretty good job portraying their potential relationship as I see it through a bunch of scenes.

You'll like it if: you like bittersweet endings, canon-adjacent fic, and Cody and Rex being insane about each other.

And that's it! Thanks for reading (again), and I hope you have a great NYE and a great 2024--I think we all fucking deserve it.

[vampiricsheep]

[A small scroll wrapped in a red silk ribbon appears in your hand. You're not sure how it got there.]

"Greetings, recipient! You are invited to the Doomed by the Narrative Social, a mixer for the dead, the damned, and the really, really tired. All are welcome. This includes your other selves in the mists, so don't be surprised if you see your reflection despite the lack of mirrors!

To attend, simply eat this letter, and a shadow portal will open to whoosh you into a temporary mists pocket for the event. It should stay open long enough for up to five people to make it, so feel free to invite some friends or guild-mates along! This letter is good for...forever, really, since the portal is temporal-adjusted too!

Oh, don't forget to read the fine print at the bottom. (I didn't want to kill the formatting).

__

You found the fine print! Good job, you! alright, here's the deets. 1. Fighting is allowed in The Fight Pit only! Duke it out there so that your injuries can be looked after and nobody's drinks get spilled. 2. We're here to have fun, so keep it lighthearted! 3. This place is temporary, so you COULD trash it, but please don't! -- OH, and venue deets! Check out the tavern for dining and refreshments from far and wide. If you can think of it, we have it! Mists traversal perks 'n all."

_____________________________________

HELLO friends! I'm hosting a Mists Pocket RP event, a multiverse-style gathering where characters from all timelines and canons are welcome!

The event is January 15th, 2023 (Sunday) from 6pm to 10pm EST. NA server this time around.

We'll convene in the Lost Precipice guild hall, so you'll need to be in the squad (listed on LFG) to get in. If you don't have access to HoT maps but do have a free guild slot, you can reach out to @dasozelotvonnebenan to request an invite to the guild that he has so kindly allowed me to host in! (Please ask him well in advance if that's the case for you).

Due to the nature of this event, you are free to bring NPC clones, AU characters, commanders in their canon, and characters at any point in their stories! Just remember that if you see an npc your character would know in their canon (e.g. canach), that specific player npc might be from a timeline that wouldn't know your character! It'll be confusing, but hopefully fun.

event rules:

be respectful to one another. If you're not sure if something would cross a boundary, you can always ask OOC!

If you want to start a fight, make sure to check in ooc with those involved first - and then move it to the Pit (guild arena) if it gets too heated!

you can ALSO use the arena for friendly sparring. Go wild :)

don't actually trash up the place, please! We wanna be respectful of the space (and it's a REALLY nice one)

nobody is required to arrive on time or attend the full duration. You can always blame it on sheep's unstable portal magic and general mists instability.

[sam-glade]

Happy WBW!! I would like to ask about the ruling class in your world! What is their power based on? Is it for example military power like with warrior nobilities of some ancient societies, or land ownership like in feudal societies, or something else? How is the status inherited? For example by first born, distributed to all children, voted for by the members (like in many clan systems), something else?

Hi Karkki, Happy WBW

Let me roll up my sleeves and get on with some info dumping.

Tl;dr: it's heavily inspired, but not a 1-1 copy of the Golden Liberty system.

As of Days of Dusk, the Sunblessed Realm is ruled by the five princes - hence, it's now more often referred to as the Five Princedoms. The king is believed to be alive, but absent, residing in his Palace in the Clouds. He's more or less revered as a god, but honestly, he does jack shit, only serves as a reminder for the princes that there's a higher power. The princes of course test the limits further and further as time goes on.

The princes descend from the king's closest friends and supporters, who fought off the Primeval Darkness with him about 3000 years ago. Given the longevity of the people, it means a vastly different number of generation between the progenitor of the family and the current head of state. For example, Anthea and Ianim are grandchildren of the First Prince, the White Dragon, the King's closest friend, and they're 100-200 years old. The Prince of the North is also from the third generation, and he's just over a 1000. Other families have anywhere between 5 and 12 generations.

Upon assuming the title of the head of state, the prince names their successor, so that there's no squabble over inheritance. The successor's role is mostly representative - I like to compare it to the First Lady in the US, doing mostly charity and outreach work. They'll also attend all sort of formal events from weddings to openings of new factories. The successor can be the child of the prince, but often is the younger sibling, and in one case the spouse.

In the Southern and Western princedoms, which trade a lot across the sea and are very economy-driven, the merchants and guilds hold a lot of power, and the prince is a figurehead. In the others, the princes have a lot more direct power; e.g. the First Prince's power is nigh-absolute. If she weren't such a firm believer in the Sun King's divine rule, she'd quite likely become a dictator. Fortunately, her religious-like faith keeps her in check.

It's also worth noting that the army is separated from the government, in that it's an institution that spans all five princedoms and it's sole purpose is to kill demons, not fight against humans. However, every Sword is legally obligated to serve their 20 years while their Sword develops, and it's genetically inherited, so direct descendants of the progenitors of the princes' families who were Swords end up serving in the army and rising high in the rank (if only so that other officers gain some favour with them outside the army), thus giving them influence there as well. E.g. the White Dragon commanded the Winged Division, which evolved from his cavalry units, and now Anthea is the commander. There are questions raised about conflicts of interest.

By the end of Prodigal Children, this goes too far, and in the South, there's a revolt, which leads to that state declaring itself a republic, and being ruled by a handful of populist leaders, mostly guildmasters. The West on the other hand tries something modelled after elective monarchy, which has the nobility choosing the successor, so it's not locked to a single family, but still relies on inherited titles. Eventually, it will tend to various flavours of democracy (though 3000 years later, in The Truth Teller, it has again gone wrong, where you have basically one uncontested political party turning authoritarian.

So that's the aristocracy.

Now, for the nobility, it's modelled after the szlachta. The key characteristics are that it's a rather numerous class, and the poorer nobles are honestly not as wealthy as a homeowner in a city, as a rule of thumb, while district governors can are comparable to wealthy merchants, so there's a fair bit of spread. The noble houses usually own a village or two, so yes, it's serfdom. The poorer ones may end up co-owning a village, the wealthier - owning a handful of them. One example we see on page is the Sixth Tree, who don't own a village, but a gun making factory, and that's what pays for their taxes.

The noble titles are inherited by the firstborn or oldest adopted child, though that might be changed by a written declaration.

The nobility gathers at regular intervals for local/regional/state-wide assemblies. There, they vote on various changes to the law, resolve feuds, etc. Yes, they can vote by letter. Technically anyone can veto any resolution, and one veto is enough to send it back to the drawing board, which means the assemblies can drag on for a while. Also, there's a tonne of politicking involved, as you might expect - voting for something just to curry favour, etc. (Side note: I keep calling it assemblies, though I've seen 'parliament' used more often in English. It's based on the idea of sejmik).

The assemblies that involve the princes are the prince-wide and general assemblies, and yes, that puts another limit on the prince's power and what they can put into law. If they try taking too much power away from the nobility, they'll be vetoed. However, being too trigger happy with vetoing them is sure to put you on their naughty list ;)

Finally, if the nobility believes that the prince is really screwing them or the state over, they can call for a lawful insurrection - which is how one of the princes gets replaced in Prodigal Children. It's based on rokosz. Then, they choose the next prince from among themselves.

.

Adding Days of Dusk taglist (please message me to +/-): @acertainmoshke @another-white-void @cee-grice @cljordan-imperium @elshells

@goldxdarkness @poetinprose @sparrow-orion-writes @tisiphonewolfe

[fakescorpion]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

Thank you crow, thank you so much for giving me the chance to self-promote my more indulging stories, though I have decided to keep focus on One Piece to avoid different fandoms cross-contaminate. That being said, I have to admit being currently high on hawkcroc brain drugs, so I am very tempted to just be biased and offer all my hawkcroc fics in this. Here are my current favs ❤

IOU By Proxy

Mihawk and Crocodile as childhood friends, but with twists, Mihawk is prince and Crocodile is his servant. Yoru backstory and what Mihawk has to sacrifice to keep her, Sand-Sand Fruit origin and why Crocodile wears four rings on four very specific fingers. rating: M warnings: graphic violence, horror status: completed (3 chap)(~ 10,800 words) characters: Mihawk, Crocodile, Cross Guild

IOU Be Close / IOU Being Closer

Companion stories that explore the darker tragic side of trans identity using chronic pain as literal metaphor, and touch on heavy topics including child grooming and child sexual abuse. please heed all warning tags. rating: T / E warnings: underage kissing and sex, incest, dubious and non-consent status: completed (oneshot companion pieces)(~ 5,000 words) characters: Mihawk/Crocodile

whatever happened to the fairytale dream

Mihawk and Crocodile have sex in the cross guild treasury, while learning the secrets about each other’s most broken places. unsafe, insane, questionably consensual bdsm. inappropriate use of ability and jewelry. porn with heavy plot, please heed all warning tags. rating: E warnings: graphic violence, dubious and non-consent, necrophilia and bestiality, reference uxoricide and filicide status: completed (oneshot)(~ 9,000 words) characters: Mihawk/Crocodile

on this broken pedestal

The most important two years of Crocodile’s life, as the first pirate ever inducted into the government Warlord System. featuring Crocodile's first meeting with Doflamingo and Katakuri, Crocodile playing Davy Back Fight, and Crocodile being a cruel genius because he absolutely is. rating: M warnings: graphic violence status: completed (6 chap)(~ 28,000 words) characters: Crocodile, Doflamingo, Katakuri

As a Charlotte Child, Sweets

How and why the position of Sweet Commanders were established, this is the conclusion of my Charlotte family childhood story and the most important milestone that marked Big Mom Pirates’ true beginning as a future yonko crew. rating: T warnings: graphic violence status: completed (6th chap)(~ 4,300 words) characters: Cracker, Katakuri, Charlotte Linlin

[constantlymisspelled]

8 - The Position of Manda'lor

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i) Requirements needed to be a candidate for Manda’lor;

a) Must have a clear bill of Physical and Mental fitness. b) Must be a member of Mandalorian society. c) It is not required to have been born or raised a Mandalorian, only that you have sworn the Resol’nare. d) Must have a majority ruling in the Court of Houses and among the Major and Minor Houses and Clans – separate allocations can be made for Manda’lors that have a majority vote amongst the electoral but not amongst the Houses.

ii) Responsibilities;

a) Rule and governing over Mandalore and its cultural aspects in times of War and Peace b) Governance of the Mandalorian Military and Reserves in times of Peace. c) Control of Military Campaigns in times of War. d) Disaster Management in Emergencies, including the management of the Special Emergency Services, the Manda’yaim Reserve and Home Guard.

iii) Oversight;

a) The House Alors, Sector Governors, System Governors and Ministers of Subject can challenge the Manda’lor on individual and broad decisions when relevant to their field, and when the outcomes of decisions affect them – personally or otherwise. b) The Manda’lor can be made to take a decision to a vote if the Clan and House Alors petition to the High Command.

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iv) Commanding body;

a) High Command, the military governance of the Star Navy, the Mandalorian Mercenaries, the Hunting Guilds, the Armourer Guilds, the Emergency Services, the Home Guard, the Journeyman Protectors, the Reserve, and the Infantry. They rely on donations and stipends from the Houses, taxation, and the good will of the general populace. b) The House Alors (Major) have forty seats within a court called the Court of Houses, that can be petitioned to overturn legislation decided upon in lower levels of government. c) The House Alors (Minor) have over a few thousand seats, non-structured, and can be called upon for civil disputes that extend past the purview of one Clan Alor, or if a dispute is between more than one Clan.

[Text in image is as below]

v) Restrictions, Compliance and Declarations of Misconduct

a) Areas that the Manda’lor cannot act as ultimate authority is upon the fields of medicine, the outcome of a financial or court decision (although the Manda’lor can convey displeasure if they believe the outcome is unfair as long as they justify said displeasure) b) A Manda’lor cannot interfere or demand a recount of an election. The only times a recount of an election can be expected is if a large portion – more than five percent of an individual electorate – goes missing.

[I was not inspired by American politics in the least! WHat, how could you suggest-

Anyways, feel free to provide any criticism. I have read two conflicting opinions on this site and on most forums, that the Manda'lor was an absolute ruler, or only a cultural, or campaign symbol, and I can see points for both sides. My point is that Jaster, as a reformer, would try to marry those ideals together to create something more than the sum of its parts. A better Mandalore, if you will.]

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