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bluedalliances · 2 years

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Or read it on ao3, that's cool too <3

When it becomes evident that the end of the world won’t be a one night event, but a slow burn catastrophe, domesticity starts sneaking back into everyone’s lives. At first is subtle, someone sleeps in one morning, the older teenagers open a few beers under the sun, and Max’s laugh, loud as always, can be heard from the street. They need the small things, silly little pleasures that keep them from going absolutely insane while they wait for hell’s next move.

In those moments, Will realizes, the headquarters (Steve’s place) feel like an actual home for everyone.

His mom and Mrs. Henderson start knitting together on the couch. They say it’s because they’re going to need extra blankets if the situation extends into winter, but they spend most of the time talking and trying to teach anyone vaguely interested how to use the needles.

Soon after, Max decides it’s the perfect time to show more stuff to El, and Dustin jumps into it immediately. He picks a corner in the living room and makes a small but extremely organized archive with all their comics, books, movies, and tapes.

Even if everyone is leaving their favorite things there, Will is afraid there will be no place for his interests. After moving to California, he had gotten more and more into world building and fantasy, writing and illustrating all the campaigns he once would have shared with his friends. However, last time he saw any of them, they had been less than interested in games, monsters, or stories. And sure, they had been playing at Hellfire all year, but he still can't shake the memory of Mike’s bored rolls and Lucas’s amused look, like he was trying to indulge a child with his silly games even if he wanted to make fun of him, or the way they would cut every session short, never getting to finish their last campaign.

In the end, it’s Gareth who gives him the push he needed. One afternoon, the boy knocks at his bedroom door, looking nervous and rambling about how he thought maybe Will would like to put his D&D books next to his and Eddie’s ones, but of course he doesn't have to, it was just an idea because everyone said Will was a great DM and filled his books with notes and that sounds really cool, you know? They end up talking for hours while they go through whatever the others left and add Will's stuff to it.

It's an odd collection, and now there’s always someone showing something to El or fighting to be the one who does, but also going through the homemade library themselves, listening or talking about their own interests, as they realize they can share everything they love with the others. They even bring the older ones as “guests” to talk about different things. Jonathan and Eddie introduce them to punk, metal, and poetry, Nancy brings her scrapbook of “inspiring women of history”, Steve shows them his favorite romcoms and explains which things actually happen in real life and which ones they should never put up with, Argyle and Gareth go on a long discussion about the merits of Latin American music and their favorite protest songwriters, and Robin explains the use of idioms and sarcasm. At first, they extend the invitation to everyone, but have to put a quick stop to it when Joyce tries to give them the most awkward attempt of a bees and birds talk. Later that night, Will tells her that Steve made sure they knew everything they needed to a while ago, and immediately makes her swear to never do something like that again.

As the sight of small groups gathering in the living room becomes an everyday thing, Steve picks up baking again. That one involves a short talk between Hopper and Owens, where Jim ever so subtly informs him that while his kids might have lost everything, they will not be losing the joy of their hobbies, specially if they involve chocolate. After that, there’s always a “Steve” package in their government-provided supply boxes, and the house starts smelling like cinnamon and lemons all the time. Everyone loves it, especially Eddie. It doesn't matter how early you wake up, you can find him in the same spot on the counter every morning, holding a cup of coffee and smiling in silence as Steve makes breakfast for everyone.

The last thing to come is Eddie’s campaign.

What he planned to be a simple one shot to entertain everyone on a rainy day, quickly turned into a six-week adventure that now is close to its end. They finally found the BBEG, an undead wizard that’s behind decades of hardships in the reign, and are close to defeating them, but also close to death. Lucas is down, Dustin and Mike are paralyzed, and even if Will hasn't rolled below 17 all night and Erica’s Barbarian is a force to behold, they are in trouble. Gareth has been getting shitty rolls all night, and he’s the only one left before it’s the Lich’s turn. If he fails, Eddie will attack Will, it’s the logical thing to do, and facing such a dangerous monster without a cleric would inevitably end up in TPK.

“Let's face it, I can't do it, we’re all gonna die,” says Gareth as he buries his face under his hands.

Will pats him on the shoulder and tries to ignore the tingling that spreads from his fingertips when they graze on skin over the neckline of Gareth’s shirt. “We’re not gonna die, you got this,” he goes for a smile, but is pretty sure it comes out all wrong and stiff.

Gareth meets his eyes, barely leaving his hiding place, but before he can do anything else Mike interrupts.

“No, he’s right, we’re gonna die.”

Everyone turns to glare at him. There have been long talks lately about the way things are said within The Party and how they can be hurtful.

“What?” Mike looks around the table, suddenly defensive. “The highest he rolled today is an eleven! It’s okay, it happens to everyone from time to time, I’m not trying to be an asshole here.”

Gareth sighs, and Will is pretty sure he’s ripping out his own hair with the way he’s pulling at it.

“He’s right, guys. I guess I really upset the Fates this time.” Even if it starts in an overdramatic tone, playful and filled with the group's usual drama, he suddenly sits straight and turns to Eddie. “Do you think it’s because I didn’t let that Demodog eat Biscuit? Maybe his life was supposed to end that day and now they'll punish me for ruining their plans.”

He’s so serious about it that Will can't stop the laugh that escapes him, and a second later everyone follows. Even Steve, watching next to Max from the couch, lets out an amused snort. Leave it to Gareth to make a world out of a few unlucky rolls.

“Don't laugh, this is serious!” By now, Gareth actually heard himself and is fighting to keep a straight face. In his last attempt to keep himself from laughing, he goes back to his theatrics, whining and pouting. “Will, you’ve been doing great today, tell the Fates I’m a nice guy, share your luck with me.”

“You want guidance? Can I guide him for this?”

He’s looking at Eddie now, but two answers come at once, one from the DM, the other one by his side.

“This is not an ability check.”

“Sure, give me a good luck kiss.”

Even if he says it lightly, Will turns to him so fast, a twinge of pain runs up his neck. Silence falls around the table and he can feel everyone’s eyes on them. Gareth looks shocked by his own words as his face fills with red, and Will would find it cute if he wasn’t so sure he looked the same.

“You know what? I'm feeling generous.” Eddie’s stunned expression turns into a gleeful grin. Mischief takes over his eyes, and Will realizes this is the mean DM everyone talks about. The sight quickly finds its way to his top five most scary experiences and, considering their history, that's not a small achievement. “I’ll allow it as a blessing, if you actually kiss Gareth”.

As soon as he says it, hell breaks loose around them. Everyone wants to have a say in this.

Will should’ve expected that. During their first session, he discovered that, with Eddie, role-playing beats every rule in the book. Truthful to his theater kid nature, he’ll allow anything if it makes the game exciting. And exciting it is, if the fluttering of Will’s heart is something to go by.

As everyone laughs and yells and argues around them, he looks at Gareth and finds him already staring.

“You don’t have to”, the older boy says. “Eddie doesn't realize he makes people uncomfortable sometimes, but he won't press if you say no.”

Will thinks about it for a second. He could say no, and no one would give him shit for it, but he needs to know. Even if it’s not the time and everyone’s looking, even if he’s scared to death, he needs to know if he needs to rip these fluttering feelings apart before they grow too big and dangerous.

Is this a rosebush or a baobab?, he wants to ask.

But thoughts need translation sometimes, so he says, “Would it make you uncomfortable?”

“Kissing you?”

As Will nods, he sees Gareth’s eyes falling to his lips and back to his eyes. A small smile is taking over his face, hesitatingly, and Will’s not nervous anymore. He knows that smile, it’s the same one he sees before Gareth hands him a cup of tea and the last of Steve’s cookies, as he asks him about his campaign ideas or listens to his honestly annoying rant about the pros and cons of choosing the Moon Circle as a Druid.

It’s a familiar smile, kind and welcoming.

He’s already getting closer when Gareth finally says, “never”.

At some point, everyone went silent again and now they’re waiting for a show.

“Whenever I look at you, I see the fire of your bloodline, Gareth the Great.” Will cups Gareth's cheek and leans in until their noses are touching. He doesn't make his character’s voice this time. He wants Gareth to know this is all him. “When you speak, I feel the warmth that runs through your veins, and when you stand by my side, I feel invincible. I believe in your power,” his last words are said against Gareth's lips, barely above a whisper for him to breathe in, “give him hell.”

And just like that, he does it. It’s a soft kiss, gentle and sweet, filled with untold feelings, but there’s no doubt to it, Gareth is kissing back.

“I feel very lucky right now, Will the Wise.”

As they pull apart, the world regains its shape and Will can almost hear his friends’ surprise. El is slapping Max’s arm in excitement as they giggle, and Eddie gives a smug smile to Steve. Will would see it if he had half a mind to stop looking at Gareth.

Gareth, who’s smiling and reaching for his dice without taking his eyes away from Will either.

“I cast fifth level fireball.”

Only then, he turns back to the table and rolls both dice, his own and the one given by a kiss.

The rattling against the table seems to go forever, but Will can't tear his eyes from Gareth’s face to see what’s going on. He knows it’s good when the other boy turns to him with the brightest smile he’s ever seen.

“Natural twenty, for a total of twenty-seven with Will's dice”, he announces. Everyone roars again, and the air feels alive with their excitement.

“That’d be a crit hit,” says Eddie with a proud smile, the mean DM facade falling in pieces. “Add six D6 for me.”

That’s so many dices that Gareth has to borrow a few from Will and Dustin to do it in one go.

“Ohgodohgodohgod,” says Gareth as he counts, “that’s— 68 fire damage.”

Shocked voices take over the room and Holly mother of a Demogorgon gets mixed with fuck, fuck, Gareth that’s insane and that must’ve been a really good kiss.

“Children, children. Be silent for a minute.” Eddie stands up from his place at the head of the table and looks straight at Gareth, putting an immediate stop to the noise.

“I regret to inform you, Gareth the Great,” he says before a long pause that has everyone holding their breaths and at the edge of their seats, “that you’ll have to use that one brain cell of yours and tell me how you want to end this motherfucker.”

A grin spreads across Eddies face as the gleeful screaming comes back.

Gareth stands up and starts acting his character’s moves, one hand extended in front of this body. “You all see sparks surge from my face. They start right under Will’s fingers and travel down to my arm and hand, where a small spark of fire forms. It gets bigger as it travels through the air and you can see it's purple, just as Will's clothes. It fills the far side of the room, engulfing the Lith and turning him into ashes.”

“As the Lith turns into ashes”, Eddie takes over, “you, Gareth, hear his voice in your head. He promises to come back, to end you and your party, to make you regret ever crossing his way. But right now the fight is over, you can heal your companions and take a good night's rest. Is there anything you want to do before we wrap up for today?”

“I'm going to hug Gareth and whisper, ‘you made it’,” says Will.

“Only because of you.”

They're staring at eachother again, and Will realizes that, just for a moment, he feels no fear.

“Okay, love birds,” interrupts Erica in her character’s voice. “Let's heal mister can’t-do-anything-without-fainting and get out of here, I need a drink.”

Everyone laughs at that as Lucas complains. They still have to find the Lich’s phylactery and find out what waits for them in this adventure, but that’s a story for another day.

#greatwise #gareth the great #will the wise #they play dnd and are dorks #but they won't look at each other later #nerd smoothness only lasts as long as the game does

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th3-p-a1-nt3r · 3 months

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More incorrect Isekai AU quotes!!

I love making theses!!

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*The squad has just arrived in a new city. Ram looks around at the wanted posters to see if they’re on any of them.*

Cam: Ram, are you a criminal?

Ram: Not here, I’m not!

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Cam: So, everyone, what does a story NEED?

Wren: A character!

Am: A setting!

Ram, a gleam in their eyes, in a near-whisper: REVENGE.

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Ram: *About to do something incredibly stupid*

Wren: I know I can't stop you, but I won't let you go by yourself.

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Am: If it pleases the court I would like to say that my opponent is TALKING SHIT!

Ram: ...

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Am: The path to inner peace begins with four words… not my fucking problem.

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Am: Get in loser, we're going shopping.

Cam: This is a McDonald's drive thru.

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Am, after sneaking into Wren’s bedroom: Hey, wake up!

Wren, half awake: Huh!?

Am: I just murdered your entire family!

Wren: ...But I live alone.

Am: Huh? Then who are these people in your house???

Wren: There’s people in my house?

Am: Well not anymore! Dumb bitch! You could’ve died! You’re welcome!

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Wren having a meltdown: Y'know, I once knew a man who said to me: “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” He also had a pair of sideburns that would cause even Jude Law’s face to weep in forfeit. You put those lemons in a sack and beat your enemies with ‘em! And maybe if you beat ‘em hard enough the bag will split open and lemon juice will spray into their eyes, causing intense burning pains as you crush them into a citrus-y pulp!

Am: Wait, wait, wait, wait. Their heads or the lemons?

Wren: Whatever caves first!

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All of the Am's: Who hurt you?

Wren: *snorting* What, do you want a list?

All of the Am's: ...Yes, actually.

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Ram: Fun Fact! The average person will walk by 36 murderers in their lifetime.

Cam: I like how this is a "fun" fact.

Wren: It's fun because they didn't decide to murder you.

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Wren, holding an unconscious Ram: Oh no. Please don’t be dead.

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Ram, singing to the tune of I Kissed a Girl: I killed a guy, and I liked it-

Am, whispering: Should we call the exorcist?

Wren, also singing: The taste of his cherry chapstick.

Cam, appalled: Call the exorcist.

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Wren: If bees can be fish and boys can be girls, then why can't my dad love me?

Ram: I thought I was going to have to yell at you, but now I think I should hug you.

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Ram, about Wren: Can I tell them they look nice?

Am: Sure.

Ram: Can I tell them I respect them?

Am: Maybe, if they ask.

Ram: Should I show them an oil painting I made of us surrounded by our three cats and four dogs?

Am: …

Am: I’d save that for later.

-----------------------------------------------------Wren: Legend says that when you can’t sleep, it means you’re awake in someone else’s dreams.

Wren: When I find out who you are, I’m going to punch you in the face.

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*At a bank teller window*

Am, in a bad Italian accent: I'd like-a to make-a da deposit!

Ram: HEY BUDDY, WAIT, I REMEMBER YOU!

Am: *Frantically pours marinara sauce into the vacuum tube*

Ram: GODDAMMIT, IT'S THEM AGAIN!

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Wren: Here you go, Am, a nice hot cup of coffee!

Am: It's cold.

Wren: A nice cup of coffee.

Am: It's horrible!

Wren: Cup of coffee.

Am: I'm not sure if this even IS coffee.

Wren: C U P.

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Wren: You're smiling. What happened?

Am: What? Can't I smile just because I feel like it?

Ram: Cam tripped and fell down the stairs today.

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Am: Good news!

Ram: You found where I hid your phone?

Am: ...

Ram: You found your phone?

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Wren: Fight me!

The Am's, standing behind them and holding a knife: *mouths* Do not.

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Wren: I want to grow up and be like Ram!

Ram: That is called Acquiring Depression.

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Ram: Whether or not I pay income taxes is none of the government's business.

Am: No, well, actually, it is.

Ram: You don't know my name or what I look like, good luck finding me.

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Ram: It’s nice to be wanted, you know?

Wren: Not by the law!

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Am: Thanks for pulling the fire alarm, you saved me from giving an oral report about The Scarlet Web.

Cam: You were too lazy to read the book?!

Am: I was too lazy to watch the movie. <br>

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Cam: How do you sleep at night knowing people don’t like you?

Ram: With the fan on.

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Wren: Are you mad?

Cam: No.

Wren: So sharpening your knives at 3 in the morning is just a hobby?

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Cam: I regret getting dragged into your heterosexual tomfoolery.

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Wren: That was the worst throw ever. Of all time.

Am: Not my fault. Somebody put a wall in the way.

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*In a horror movie situation*

Ram: I've got no service in my phone here.

Wren: Shoot, my battery just died.

Am: Sorry guys, I just broke my phone with a hammer.

Cam: Guys, my phone is a book.

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Ram: I'm against crime, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

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Cam talking about Wren: Wow, did you hear that voice crack?

Ram: That wasn't a voice crack, that was a whole voice meth.

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Wren: I’ve been dropping them the most insanely obvious hints for like a year now. No response.

Ram: Wow. They sound stupid.

Wren: But they’re not. They’re really smart actually. Just dense.

Ram: Maybe you need to be more obvious? Like, I don’t know… “Hey! I love you!”

Wren: I guess you’re right. Hey Ram, I love you.

Ram: See! Just say that!

Wren: Holy fucking shit.

Ram: If that flies over their head then, sorry Wren, but they're too dumb for you.

Wren: Ram.

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Wren: Do you cook?

Am: I made a cake once.

Cam: Yeah, it was good.

Am: Really?

Cam: Don’t make me lie twice, Am.

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Am: Valentines Day? I'm ready. *Sprays an entire can of AXE body spray on themselves*

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*at a zoo*

Wren: What are they in for?

Ram: Wren, this isn't prison.

Wren: So they can leave?

Ram: No, but-

Wren, pointing at a meerkat: I bet that one murdered someone.

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Wren: How’s practice going?

Am: Terrible. I want to stab everybody there.

Wren: Okay, just don’t get any blood on your clothes.

Am: …you shouldn’t be condoning this.

Wren: Don’t tell me how to live my life.

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Wren, at the slightest provocation: I came into this earth screaming and covered in someone else's blood and and I'm not afraid to leave the same way.

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Ram: Guys, I have a question.

Am: kys <3

Ram: I hate you too.

Wren: Ah, yes. Siblings.

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More will be on the way!!! <3

#pastelclovds isekai au #human wren #human am #human ram #human cam #wrens journal #ram x wren #cam x wren #am x wren

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theopteryx · 10 months

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11 and 9!

9. Best month for you this year?

so obviously going to japan in the spring was up there but i've already talked about it a lot so i'm actually going to give a shout out to july, which had some of the more frustrating parts of this year (fighting with my landlord, someone hit and running my car, other stupid bullshit) but included: an absolutely incredible family beach trip that was one of our best family trips of all time, and that even includes the part where my SIL accidentally set a toaster on fire and almost burned the condo down and i had to fire extinguisher it on the floor of the kitchen and we had to throw out all the food that was out, EVEN THEN! THAT'S JUST MAKIN' MEMORIES, BAY-BEE! AND a trip to british columbia for a cousin's wedding which was a hoot n hollerin good time, AND a friend's taskmaster-themed birthday party which was. deeply unhinged.

i hate summer, and my good friend hates summer, and so this year we decided that we would NOT hate summer, we were going to become the kind of people who LOVED SUMMER, we would love summer SOOOOO much, even if it was out of spite, and we literally sat down and made a list of fun summer to-do's (we love lists. we love to check things off a list. it's fun. what is the problem here.) and by god we checked a lot of things off that list, which rolled into just having like. a ton of fucking silly fun, lmao. we ice dyed. we made spaghett (miller high life. campari. lemon juice. it's good i swear!). we sat in a creek in the woods on a hot day. we floated in a pool. we went to barbie movie opening night. we got shitty perfect drumstick ice cream cones from the gas station that melted down our arms as we walked back to her house. we went to a midsommar screening where everyone was dressed up like the may queen. we rewatched all the scream movies. i literally made and presented two powerpoint presentations about wrestling and friends listened to them WILLINGLY. i swear!! anyway sometimes it turns out that if you force yourself to have fun you will in fact have fun. fake it till you make it ☀️

11. Something you want to do again next year?

i wrote fic this year, and i'm working on another one right now that is tough but that i'm enjoying, and there's no way it's done before the end of the year but i'd definitely like to post it at some point. hopefully. who knows! 🫠

#ask meme

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koiyan-hades-kid-with-a-system · 4 months

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Camp/Underworld Quotes #8

Jinka: Where are we going? Koiyan: I'm taking you home. Jinka: This is not the way to my fucking house, Koi! Koiyan, has hoarding tendencies which include people she loves: Oh, no, not your home. My home... My home.

Koiyan: Y'know, I once knew a man who said to me: “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” He also had a pair of sideburns that would cause even Jude Law’s face to weep in forfeit. You put those lemons in a sack and beat your enemies with ‘em! And maybe if you beat ‘em hard enough the bag will split open and lemon juice will spray into their eyes, causing intense burning pains as you crush them into a citrus-y pulp! Zagreus: Wait, wait, wait, wait. Their heads or the lemons? Koiyan: Whatever caves first!

Asaki: I think we can all agree I’m the ten amongst these threes. Cory: Don't you Six: The Musical reference me, do you know who I am? Asaki: A bitch. I'm the hottest out of you flops besides Jinka

Koiyan: Why is your name Jinka? Jinka: Well mom was supposed to name me 'Kinks' and mistyped it. Koiyan:... Of course, Aphrodite will do that-

Cyrilla: What are y’all’s favorite things to wake up to? Koiyan: Breakfast in bed! Jinka: Emails from AO3! Asaki: My favorite thing to wake up to is not waking up at all. Asaki: The screams of my enemies are a close second though.

Jinka, when Asaki walks in: Oh, hey, I'm just making pizza. Jinka: accidentally smacks Koiyan in the face with the baking sheet Jinka: Omg babe I am so sorry- Koiyan, laughing their ass off: It's ok babe I'm fine there was worse-

Anderes: I can deal with vampires, I can deal with werewolves, and all sorts of other things, but clowns? Why's it gotta be clowns? Asaki: Are clowns anyone thing? Like no one likes clowns. Jinka, holding a love core clown plush: I find clowns delightful.

Thanatos, at Zagreus's funeral: I need a moment with them. Everyone: Of course. They leave Thanatos, leaning over Zagreus′s coffin: Okay, listen here you little shit. I know you’re not dead. Zagreus: Yeah, no shit.

Jinka, very tired: Can I sleep in your bed? Koiyan: half asleep Jinka, this is a queen-sized bed. That means it’s for gestures vaguely to themself the Queen. Jinka: But I am your queen though- Koiyan:... Fair point come up here babe.

Koiyan, sniffling: Calm down, I’m probably not sick. It might just be allergies. Anderes: Okay, tell me this: are you like, really tired? Koiyan: I have depression, what do you think?

#pjo oc #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percyjackson #incorrect quotes #child of hades #child of ares #child of aphrodite #child of thanatos #child of zagreus #emo boyfriends are canon

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dragonoftheunderground · 7 months

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Guys (gn), if KOSA passes I'll probably be gone from Tumblr. If you see me online, I'll likely be PurpleDragon, dragonoftheunderground, or Firethorn. Just ask the shoelace thing. If I pass, confirm it's my blog and not another user.

But I don't want to leave, so if it's not too late when you see this (or even if it is), send KOSA back to whatever hell it came from.

If you want advice for this crisis, here's some: Get Tor browser. It's slow because it's proxied, but it'll give you freedom. Also try ham radio or meshtastic. Break away from Big Tech. Don't give them power too. And don't give up.

Protest. A lot. Imposing restrictions like these are part of the road to genocide. They're trying to destroy the pride community, and there should be nobody who lets that stand.

Never forget Nex Benedict. Ever. Remember what's at stake. Remember why we're fighting this bill. These atrocities.

Recognize the threat to the first amendment, derived from censorship (which is both against freedom of speech and of the press) and restricting access to the viewing of people's free expression (is it really free speech if nobody can see it?).

And in the wise words of Cave Johnson, "When life gives you lemons, don’t make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don’t want your damn lemons, what the hell am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life’s manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give [the pride community] lemons! Do you know who I am? I’m the [group] who’s gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I’m gonna get my [members] to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!"

For the pride community (LGBA+ (orientations), trans people, enbies and queers, and allies): No matter what happens, I support you and respect you. Some of you have done braver things than I ever will. Others have sustained abuse that I can't even imagine.

But at the end of the day, we're all people. All of us. I don't know why some people can't see that. So please, don't you dare give up. We've come so far. The last part of the climb is the hardest, but if we can make it through we can succeed.

They say we have an agenda, a plan, a mission, a plot. They're not completely wrong. We do have a goal. To get everyone, regardless of gender, politics, sex, orientation, or anything else, to be recognized as a human. Not a demon. Not a monster. A human.

So stand together. Fight back. Never. Give. Up. We are the change this world needs. Some may not see it yet, but we are. No matter what. Even if we fail at first, true failure only comes when we stop trying. There will always be more of us. People will be born for as long as our species lives. And as long as our species lives, the pride community will carry on.

And I have proof, because we have lived though harder times. Through history. In the wreckage of Pompeii, a volcanic eruption hundreds of years ago, two men were found in the same bed. They were likely gay. In Shakespeare's Macbeth, from back in the Renaissance, Macbeth literally experiences disphoria. Even Romeo and Juliet has an unintentional reference to bigender people (I think that's the right term).

We are so close to checkmate. Don't. stop. now.

And tag everyone you know. Spread the word.

@bettinalevyisdetermined@itsapmseymour@pmseymourva@badjokesbyjeff@the-one-and-only-duckduckgo@firefox-official@one-time-i-dreamt@pointless-achievements@writing-prompt-s@singular-ghost-sound@your-local-non-binary-friend

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h3sp3ria · 1 year

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Obey me x my mc incorrect quotes

asmo(reading a recipe): Beat three eggs? mammon: It means like in hand-to-hand combat. asmo: Ohhhh- raven: Both of you get out of this kitchen.

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raven: I have a bad feeling about this... mammon: What do you mean? raven: Don't you ever get that little voice in your head that tells you if you're going to get into trouble? mammon: No? asmo: That actually explains so much.

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asmo: raven, what do you value about mammon? raven: They’re thoughtful. They pick flowers and bring them to me. Often they’re ones I’ve just planted, but... mammon: That’s how I know they’re fresh!

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belphie: Have you done this before? solomon: Well, belphie, it's like if you read the script, you come better prepared. raven: That's not what we do in the US, we don't read things. belphie: I don't read, solomon.

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solomon: Where's mammon? belphie: Don't worry, I'll find them. belphie, shouting: raven sucks! mammon, distantly: raven is the best person ever! Fuck you! belphie: Found them.

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*Comments under an image of a really hot knife cutting bread* solomon: Imagine stabbing someone with this knife. belphie: It would instantly cauterize the wound, so the person wouldn't bleed, so it's not very useful. raven: if you want information it is mammon: why would you STAB a person when you can have TOAST?

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solomon: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute. barbatos: No, that's not how you make cookies. raven: FLOOR IT!! solomon: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!? barbatos: yOU'RE GONNA BURN THE HOUSE DOWN- solomon:I'M GONNA HARNESS THE POWER OF THE FUCKING SUN TO MAKE COOKIES! mammon: DO IT! barbatos: NO-

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raven: When life gives you lemonades, make lemons! Life will be all like "whaAttT?" mammon: Life lessons that schools can't teach you.

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mammon: I got grounded for a whole week just because I came home late. belphie: Well, you deserved it. I mean, getting everyone's hopes up like that and then showing up again.

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mammon, on the phone: So no head? mammon: *Throws phone and breaks skateboard*

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asmo: Are you sure barbatos is even gay? They barely even looked at me.

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mammon: Thank you all for coming. solomon *wearing a hospital gown*: When I heard you couldn't get laid, I dropped everything and came straight here. mammon: Well, I couldn't imagine anyone else being part of the "Fuck mammon Task Force". raven: Yeah, I interpreted that in a different way.

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*solomon is telling a story* asmo: Wow, solomon, this story has everything! Action! Adventure! Romance! satan: Romance? asmo: I have a crush on them.

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mammon: We should get you to a doctor for a check up immediately. What if it happens again, and there isn’t anyone around to help you? What if it’s congenital? Oh my Diavolo! Was it me? Did I hurt you? raven: …You realize any other person that made their partner pass out on bed would simply feel really proud of themselves, right?

----

(drunk)mammon: Wait, what's going on? Are we all talking about how hot raven is? Because raven is a straight up sexual fox riding a red-hot nuclear bombshell right toward the yowza plaza in the heart of Babe City, Assachusetts, U S A. The last A just stands for more ass.

masterlist

#mc #obey me #the great mammon #mammon x y/n #mammon avatar of greed #mammon x oc #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me shall we date #shall we date lucifer #belphegor #lucifer morningstar #om! beelzebub #asmo #belphie #mammon #luci #beelzebub avatar of gluttony

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iamhereinthebg · 2 years

Note

is aoi in your AU? Sorry if someone already asked this

hey Anon! Really sorry for the wait I wanted to do quick doodles to illustrate ahah

Thanks for the question and no problem no one asked me already :DD

I didn't know which au you were talking about so I will talk about her in both aus I have eheh

In mysteryfamau:

She is one of the mysteryfam's neighbor living in a house in the commercial alley. She knows Akane since he went to school the first time as Tsuchi's son (in kindergarten when they were around 5), and they have been friends since then.

Aoi in this au doesn't have the same fears and traumas as in canon since her dad left her mother when she was really young. Her mom has a really cool wife now because she deserves it and Aoi has a lovely family (this au is litteraly just me giving the characters a good life and shenanigans tbh) She loves breakdance, and roller-skate. She adores to annoy Akane, like setting him ridiculous alarms or climbing his walls to wake him up early with the worst ideas ever (Akane often ends up getting her into his blanket and throws her in the stairs, they love each other a lot ♥) She still masks her true personnality but she is more the happy-go-lucky-absolutely-everyone-loves-girl at school rather than how she is in the manga, so still popular and masking a lot but not with the same personnality. She is squatting the mysteryfam's house absolutely everyday and Tsuchi isn't even surprised to see her at any meals of the day. She just goes whenever she wants. Aoi also has been Nene's internet friend since she is 13 and she is so happy her friend ends up in the same town as her. She is an absolute menace, really sweet but can say the worst thing ever with a big smile.

In after life city au

If you want more context for this au I advice cheking out this post (and this one for the info about her family)

Aoi lost her childhood friend who went missing at the age of 12 (Akane) and her best friend Nene who died at the age of 15. She is way more sad and angry than in canon and knows some stuff about her family's traditions. She also knows a little about exorcist stuff and has some powers but she never really used them, she only knows because of her grandpa who taugth her for protection. Once Nene dies, she becomes desesperate and goes deep into all those family stuff and hears that a city where the deads end up exists. Aoi gets ready to go there but doesn't know where the gates are, so she researches more about everything, especially about the Minamotos because she knows their family is more important about the relationship between the two shores. When she hears that the Minamoto's sons are going into the afterlifecity she decides to go with them, 'as protection' she says. She wants to get Nene back from the afterlifecity. Lemon is the only friend she has left and he will decide to go with her because he realizes how much she is drowning in her grief about her two friends. He goes as a lil robot (a kinda drone idk lemme be idiot about this) because he has no special blood and can't go there, and is definitely here as her voice of reason.

Aoi is in the city for her own reasons and will cause some problems to the Lords and also to the Minamotos. She hates Kyo with a burning passion.

And that's all for now :DD thanks a lot for this question Anon it made me happy to talk about her ahah ^^

I adore how the two Aoi are just exact opposite of each other in this post lol

#asks #toilet bound hanako kun fanart #tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #akane aoi #aoi akane #yashiro nene #afterifecityau #mysteryfamilyau #jibaku shonen hanako kun fanart #jibaku shonen hanako kun #jshk

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forthedancingandthethriving · 9 months

Text

Dim Quadrants Quotes (for better or for worse)

Lily: When life gives you lemons, say "I DON'T WANT YOUR DAMN LEMONS!!"

Lily: "I'M GONNA BURN YOUR HOUSE DOWN WITH COMBUSTIBLE LEMONS!!!"

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Lily: *absolutely seething in her encounter with Marcy*

Marcy: .. Am I the problem?

Lily: OF COURSE YOU ARE!

----

Lily: I feel so weird, and my mood keeps changing a lot. Am I okay??

Girlfriend: Welcome to being a teenage girl, it gets worse.

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Domain: How fucking elaborate do we have to make this fight?!

Mr L: *flips him off from atop Brobot*

Domain: GET DOWN FROM THERE!!

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Poppy: *sitting at a desk, alone, in a cold room while having tons of books in front of her*

Poppy: This is fine.

----

(Okay, so there's this scene in She-Ra where Catra is like.. infected or something. And she really creepily says "Hey Adora." That's what I'm going for with this.)

*Following Bob once against acting out against Lady Rose, in front of Marcy this time, the Lady decides to put an end to this.*

Marcy, seeing Bob stiffen and then slump: Bob?! *glares at Lady Rose* What have you done to-?!

Bob, turning around, eyes a dull red as he looks at Marcy and speaks, with Lady Rose's voice overlapping with his own: Hey Marcy.

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Diana, trapped in a tank: If not for these walls, I'd have drowned everyone.

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Lady Rose: *hears about how Lily is the Estreallas's child*

Lady Rose, slowly crossing them out on the map: Oh nooooooo...

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Mr L: How do you keep on persisting?!

Mario: Suck Mario's pingas!

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Poppy, who saw Lily on the rooftops last night: Jim I think I saw a future me.

Jim: When was the last time you slept?

Poppy: ..

Poppy: *slowly closes a book* A nap sounds good.

----

*Lily's distress induced storm hits*

Mr L: What the fuck. It's raining saltwater.

Lady Rose: *has a damn panic attack thinking Diana's gotten out*

Estrellas: *just let all the people beneath them drown*

Bowser Jr & Sage: *shares a look*

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Dr Avis, sending a message to the Estrellas, Mr L, and Lady Rose before she dies: "Dear leaders.. you're all bitches. I have no more time for your shit. The child will kill you all."

Dr Avis: "Best regards, the bitch you could never catch."

#dim quadrants au #oc: lily #marcy bobowski #usb: smg3 #mr l #oc: poppy #bob bobowski #oc: diana the storm siren #oc: lady rose #smg4 mario #jim pianta #the estrellas #bowser jr #sage robotnik #dr avis #incorrect quotes

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grelitia-fam · 2 years

Text

Things that have been said in the only in Gotham universe (with context): Hecate and Carol addition

Hecate first:

Hecate: I love the term 'partners'. Are we dating? Are we robbing a bank? Are we the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies and are members of an elite squad known as the special victims unit? Who knows.

(When discussing their friends polyamorous relationship)

Hecate: My expectations are low, but they can always go lower.

(When talking about men)

Hecate: I don’t think the therapist is supposed to say ‘wow’ that many times during their first session with a client, but here we are.

(Even Harley was surprised at all the shit Hecate went through)

Hecate: When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what the hell am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Hecate lemons! Do you know who I am? I'm the person who's gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I'm gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!

(…never… ever leave Hecate alone at a collage party.. they will somehow always eat a spiked brownie)

Hecate: I scare people a lot because I walk very softly and they don't hear me enter rooms. So when they turn around, I'm just kind of there and their fear fuels me.

(After scaring their collage roommate one too many times)

Hecate, digging their grave: Long story short, this is my grave.......Want me to make you one too?

(Hecate when they learned that their parents were still alive)

Hecate: I'm a nice person, but I'm about to start throwing rocks at people.

(Hecate after being bullied one two many times)

Hecate: I’m gonna mix a can of Red Bull with seventeen shots of espresso in a fishbowl and then chug it while Kids by MGMT plays in the background so I can perceive twenty-three spatial dimensions and fight my own soul.

(Hecate when final exams come around/they have a lot of business orders)

Hecate: Well, if you're not at least a little bit gay for your friends, then what kind of friend are you?

(This is just Hecates mood)

Carol version:

(Most of these can be described with drunk Carol, so any quotes with a ** means Carol was drunk when she said it)

Carol: Then either Sonic is a god or could kill god, and I do not care if there is a difference.

(**)

Carol: Clownery. Tomfoolery. Absolute fuckery, I am going to revoke your life privileges.

(Carol.. had a bad day at work)

Carol: Helpful grammar tip: “farther” is for physical distance, “further” is for methaphorical distance, and “father” is for emotional distance!

(Carol you’re not supposed to say this shit in therapy-)

Carol: *Takes a sip of milk and gags*

Carol: Oh my god, is this expired?

Carol: *Takes another sip of milk*

(**)

Carol: Oh, so when crows remember people who wronged them and hold grudges, its “intelligent” and “really cool”.

Carol: But when I do it, I’m “petty” and “need to let it go”.

(Carol… has many grudges)

Carol: God has let me live another day and I'm going to make it everyone's problem.

(**)

Carol: Fruits that do not live up to their names; passionfruit, grapefruit, honeydew and dragonfruit.

Carol: Fruits that do live up to their names?

Carol: Orange.

(**)

Carol: I hate when people ask me, 'What did you do today?' Buddy listen, I woke up at noon and then it was five p.m., okay? I don't KNOW!

(Carol in therapy yet again)

Carol: I’ve never smoked marijuana. I ate a brownie once at a party. It was intense. It was kind of indescribable. I felt like I was floating. Turns out there was no pot in the brownie. It was just an insanely good brownie.

(**)

Carol: Yeah I'm LGBT.

Carol: cuLt leader.

Carol: God hates me personally.

Carol: cowBoy hat.

Carol: *sniffles* Trying my best.

(**)

Now I implore you to do this with your own Only in Gotham OCs (Bonus points if Hecate, Carol, Kam, or Daxter are mentioned)

#hecate houndson #only in gotham

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

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Dream SMP Recap (March 17/2022) - Seapeekay and the Lag Demon Egg Alien Invasion Investigation

Oh hi! Hello! Are you new here?

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VOD LINKS:

Seapeekay

Foolish

BoomerNA

ErynStreams

BadBoyHalo

Michaelmcchill

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- Seapeekay logs on. Ponk logs on to tour him around. Per Ponk’s instructions, Seapeekay dies and respawns at Spawn to be “born anew”

- CPK gets a chest with items for him including clothes, rotten flesh, maps, a fish and a book. Bad, the tour supervisor, arrives

- The two realize they don’t actually know who CPK is. Ponk whispers to Bad that he must be Fundy’s second cousin or something. They’ve hidden 10 golden coins around the tour and CPK has to find them for a surprise.

- They lead him around on a llama. CPK spots a coin on the side of the road. Bad suddenly runs off, telling Ponk it’s an emergency and to keep him occupied. Bad soon comes back

- They lead him around, telling him about the Community House, tree farm and “World Hub.” As night falls, CPK has to take his shoes off, as is the rules. They tell him to read the rule book, but have accidentally given him part of the “Lore Script” instead

- Ponk whispers and asks Bad why the path looks evil. Bad says he’s in the middle of a conflict. Turning back to CPK, Ponk explains that the path was created by Dream and later named the “Prime Path” by Tommy

- Punz logs on. He notes that CPK smells weird. He gives him a cookie, shoots him and leaves. Bad disconnects and CPK notices that everyone has axes

Ponk: “Once upon a time, there was a land free of conflict, Seapeekay! Everyone lived normal lives! Including me! I had friends, I had...family, Seapeekay! I cultivated a great Lemon Tree in my name for my ancestors to be seen for generations to come. But one night, Seapeekay! George. George of the Notfound Clan, came and burned my tree down! It burned for three days and three nights, Seapeekay. It burned to ash. Nothingness was the only thing left...”

- He points out the replacement tree that Foolish built. He takes CPK down into Karl’s nightclub, telling him ghost stories. Bad logs back on

- Next, they tell him the story of L’manburg and the hot dog van/drug empire. As it starts raining, they put their fish in holes and declare that the dawgs are in the water. Bad disconnects again on the way to L’manburg

- Ponk shows CPK to Pogtopia and Bad comes back. They warn him not to push any buttons. Bad keeps lagging out. While Bad is occupied, Ponk brings CPK aside and whispers to him to not trust anyone, not even Ponk and Bad

- Bad makes it back to them and tells Ponk to leave the room. He then turns to CPK and whispers to not trust anyone, including Bad and especially not Ponk. He hands CPK an important piece of chicken

- As they walk back, CPK asks why there’s so much death in all these stories

- Bad lags out again for another “coffee break” and Ponk suggests they visit the prison. First, Ponk shows him the Oogway Shrine along the way. He also shows off the railway where Tommy ran Dream over

- They reach the prison

Ponk: “This prison held the worst of the worst, Seapeekay...we barely utter his name, but for those wondering...Dream. Because in there, it was not a Dream, but a NIGHTMARE!”

- Bad uses his magic to get them inside. They lead him through, Ponk telling CPK of Dream’s life in prison. As they make it to the final wall, Bad pauses

Bad: “Ponk, did you – did you hear that? Ponk, we need to get out of here.”

Ponk: “It’s not happening again, is it?”

- They run back, Ponk telling Seapeekay not to “listen to them.” Bad could sense something around the cell, something tainted. CPK closes his eyes and when he opens them, Bad has teleported them out. He hands CPK steak

- Next, they take CPK to Eret’s castle, claiming it’s Ponk’s. Ponk sits on the throne and places before CPK a cake. They demand CPK eat it. CPK takes a bite and Ponk pulls Bad aside

Ponk: “We haven’t even fuckin’ tested it. What the fuck’s gonna happen to him?”

Bad: “Oh fudge you’re right...(language) I don’t know!”

Ponk: “Two days and we’ll see.”

- They return to CPK and declare the end of the tour! They tell him that CPK has seven days to pay the price of the tour. Ponk disconnects and CPK walks off

- As CPK walks down the path, thinking it’s over, Bad comes up to him

Bad: “Hi! Who are you?”

- Bad doesn’t remember the tour. He hands CPK more steak. CPK asks if Bad was a supervisor of anything, but Bad says his job was just being a prison guard. Bad lags out again and rejoins

Bad: “Oh hello! Hi!”

- He shows CPK to Punz’s house, remarking that CPK looks familiar. He gives CPK more steak. Bad lags out again. Eryn joins the call sounding very low-quality. He claims that he is Dream. Bad lags out again while they’re talking and rejoins

Bad: “Hi! Have we met yet?”

- Bad lags out another time and takes a while to come back

Bad: “Hello! Hi, we haven’t met before!”

- He does this several times as he lags out. Punz logs on and asks if anyone wants to play Valorant

- Bad lags out several more times, each time rejoining and offering CPK a tour. He takes a moment to remember Ponk. He shows CPK Schlatt’s grave and warns him about Tommy

- Bad tells him about Dream, saying to avoid him as well, and mentions the revive book but doesn’t explain it. What he does explain is the ongoing Prime Path war. They pay tribute to the tunnel with the chicken. Bad lags out, comes back and returns the chicken to CPK

- Bad lags out and comes back, asking if CPK has a chicken. Then he lags out again several times. He tells CPK about how Punz got enchanted by an entity called “Val-Or-Ant,” who they call Val for short

- Bad shows CPK his vandalized mansion. He has some soul fire around the place in case he needs it. He points out the prison, which he hasn’t been inside for a couple weeks. He keeps hearing noises coming from inside it. He used to hear a lot of screaming when he worked there

- Bad starts taking him somewhere, but lags out. When he comes back, he welcomes CPK to Ponk’s tour. Foolish logs on. They continue walking. Bad says that time is running short...

- Bad asks what his favorite color is. CPK says blue. Bad was hoping he would say red. Bad shows him the mob grinder and leads him down the hall. When they get to the entrance, Bad stops. He realizes where they are and tells CPK to get out of there

- When CPK is about to step into the elevator up, Bad stops again

Bad: “Hi! Woah, why are you leaving? Come on!”

- He leads CPK back to the entrance. He was supposed to take CPK down here, that’s what they said – the one voice. They enter and start down to the Egg Room. Bad stops

Bad: “Hi! Are you new here? Wh– what are you doing down here?!”

- He tells CPK to run. They need to disinfect. He pauses again, asking why CPK is leaving. He starts leading CPK back towards the entrance when Foolish steps in front of them

- Foolish questions where Bad was taking the new guy and patches up the barrier to the Egg Room. They go back up and Bad explains to Foolish that he and Ponk took CPK on a tour, but they may have had a bit too much lemonade to drink

- They go to the summer home and Foolish is enraged by Bad’s prank on the DreamXD statue, which now has a mustache too. They bicker furiously and Bad says that he may have brought Techno over here and told him Foolish built it for him

- Bad admits that he has been stealing steak that may have been infected from an area down below that he’s not supposed to go. He and CPK have been eating it. Foolish demands they hand it over and burn it. He puts down soul fire and CPK burns himself with it

- Bad turns into TommyInnit and starts asking if CPK wants to play Among Us

- Foolish shows CPK around the summer home. CPK sees the first DreamXD statue and asks what DreamXD is. Bad hands CPK some more food, but Foolish demands CPK doesn’t eat it

- As they walk to the pyramid, Bad leaves and rejoins

Bad: “Oh hi!”

- Bad catches up to them and asks if CPK is new here. Foolish asks if he’s done this before, and CPK tells him Bad’s done this 16 times now. Foolish assures him that Bad is just really stupid

- Bad says he feels better now. He felt like a door was closed

- Foolish asks what CPK is good at. CPK doesn’t know yet, as he’s just been led around so far, but he’ll find out eventually. He isn’t sure about this whole “seven days to pay up” thing though

- Foolish questions Bad about whether he’s possessed. Bad insists he hasn’t been down to the Egg room in several weeks – months... Foolish says he’ll deal with Bad later

- CPK asks about the prison. Bad tells him not to go, but CPK points out Bad has already taken him there

- Bad and Foolish step aside and Bad whispers to Foolish that he feels like he’s seen CPK before, but he’s sure he wasn’t there before. He thinks they should keep an eye on him

- Bad accuses Foolish of seeing the Egg. He asks if Foolish has seen any more vines around. Foolish hasn’t

- Bad has an idea of where to take CPK next. He tells Foolish to stay here. As a parting gift, Foolish gives him a block of iron and tells CPK to trust no one

- Bad asks what his favorite color is. CPK loves the color red, which Bad approves of. He asks how CPK feels about eggs. CPK likes them, they’re a good shape

- He leads CPK back to the spider spawner, looking around for something first. He asks if CPK likes joining organizations, and CPK is interested. Bad starts destroying the blocks in front of the Egg room

Bad: “You see...he almost did it. But he left one little hole. That’s all it takes, Seapeekay. You leave one little opening...and that’s all it takes.”

- After breaking the entrance, Bad whips around and shouts at CPK, asking what he’s doing down here. He asks for obsidian but CPK doesn’t have any

- They frantically mine obsidian until Bad suddenly stops and looks at CPK

Bad: “Oh hi!”

- They go near the entrance again until Bad remembers again and tells CPK he needs to get out of here. They manage to block the entrance off with obsidian and Bad puts down soul fire to purify them

- As they run away, Bad tells CPK to never, under any circumstances, open that door. He doesn’t know who opened it

- They go to Tommy’s house. Eryn logs on. He’s 35,000 blocks away, so Bad uses magic to bring him here. Eryn gives CPK a block of diamond as a gift. Bad gives him some emerald blocks and Eryn gives CPK gold blocks as they try to one up each other

- Eryn and Bad show CPK the museum. CPK notices the Egg replica. Eryn asks if he’s seen the actual thing and suggests they go down there, but Bad and CPK don’t think it’s a good idea. Bad asks if Eryn went down there, and Eryn has

- It’s time for Bad to leave the two of them. Before he goes, he looks CPK in the eyes and warns him not to go down there at any cost

- Eryn leads CPK to his base to get a steed. He gives CPK a horse of his own. He also gives CPK Sapnap’s trident. From there, they part ways

- Foolish works on the Doozer HQ, removes the Technoblade face from the DreamXD statue and burns down Bad’s jungle creations at the summer home

- Later, Bad logs on and discovers that his builds have been burnt, determined to seek revenge. He also builds a Callahan face on the statue

- Antfrost logs on. He believes that aliens are invading, and they’re near the WOMENX3 sign

- Bad follows Ant to the Doozer HQ. He starts believing Ant’s theory that Foolish might be an alien

- Foolish is working at the HQ. They go up top and speak with him, asking what the build is. Foolish doesn’t answer, but what he does say is that he’s recently been attempting to communicate with someone with little success

- They ask if there’s anything they can do to help, and Foolish suggests Bad cease existing, as the person he’s trying to contact really hates Bad

- Bad wonders if the things Foolish are building are alien communication devices, and if Foolish has been mad at Bad because building on his builds nullifies the signal

- As Bad and Ant go to leave, Foolish tells them not to say a word of this to Sapnap. The two return to the summer home with the idea to plant loads of trees – only for Foolish to be standing right in front of them

- Ant tries to explain that he’s here because he recruited Bad for the catmaid services. Bad isn’t sure about this excuse

Ant: (whispering aggressively) “Put the cat ears on! Put the cat ears on!”

- They offer to help clean up the blocks left over from the jungle. When they finish cleaning, Foolish leaves to continue working. While Foolish is gone, Bad and Ant plant new trees

- Michaelmcchill logs on. He arrives at the summer home and they wonder if he’s one of the aliens. To test, they ask if he’s ever been to Ohio. Michael considers the state a natural enemy

- Ant and Bad discuss Michael’s thoughts on aliens and wonder if he’s a good alien. They tell him that they think there are aliens among us, and Foolish might be one of them

Foolish: Hey michael did you still want to borrow a copy of the book “How to Alien”

- Bad and Michael discuss alien conspiracy theories as they plant trees. They realize the Among Us bunker that Foolish built looks like a spaceship

- They head to the bunker. Michael doesn’t know what the Egg is when they discuss possible brainwashing, so they explain it

- The three enter the Among Us bunker and sneak around. They spot Foolish in one of the rooms at a computer and hide

- Foolish is attempting to call someone, frustrated that it’s not working. He tries listening to the radio and sings a bit of Heatwaves, but still no luck. He talks into the radio and Michael is indignant that he’s stealing his bit

- The three sneak away and vent. Foolish leaves the bunker. Michael has the idea to try and intercept the radio frequencies Foolish was using and listen in. He’s baffled that Ant and Bad know what Twitter is but not radio

- They run around the bunker examining the equipment. Michael notices that Foolish has violated the Geneva Conventions by using a red cross. They freak out as Foolish returns to the bunker, quickly venting. Foolish is now attempting to use email instead

- Foolish has the idea to use destructive weapons to get XD’s attention and the three panic. They need to destroy the weapons room

- They keep sneaking around as Foolish walks through the bunker to try and blow things up, randomly saying he hates BadBoyHalo. The three escape the bunker to the surface

- They hear a concerning sound and go back to confront him. Foolish is confused at them thinking he’s an alien trying to destroy Earth and says that he’s friends with a god. Bad and the others run out of the bunker in a panic

- Foolish settles them down for a talk near Spawn. They ask who he was trying to contact, why he has a space shuttle. Foolish explains that it was meant to be a bunker and he’s not an alien

- Bad starts running for the HQ with stacks of TNT

Foolish: “If you don’t drop that TNT right now, I won’t tell you where Skeppy is!”

- Bad immediately stops. The aliens took Skeppy captive! Foolish and the others start suspecting that Bad is an alien. They all start suspecting that everyone is an alien and can’t figure out who is the alien

- Finally, Foolish says that he was trying to contact DreamXD. Antfrost doesn’t know who that is, and Bad explains that XD is an old friend of his. The misunderstanding has been cleared up!

- Bad and Ant apologize to Foolish, and Foolish admits he doesn’t actually have Skeppy. Maybe all of these long lasting conflicts could be easily resolved if they just spoke to each other!

Foolish: “Do any of you know about the Death Book?”

Bad: “The Death Book? We’re not supposed to talk about that–”

Foolish: “What do you mean?”

Bad: “Uh – nothing, I-I was told not to say anything!”

Foolish: “Oh, you’re gonna tell me. You’re gonna tell me everything you know. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow...”

Bad: “I don’t want to – oh, look at the time!”

- Bad backs away slowly. Foolish decides to let him go and call it a night

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#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long post #long posts

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mandoinevarro · 4 years

Text

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun.

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose. Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga. “Who’s they?”

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you. You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames your knees with his legs “—armchair.” Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you? Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

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