# Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 10

Part (10) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Sorry! I know I owe responses to that fluffy little holiday thing, but I really wanted to get this out, too! (Also... big sorry... you'll see why)

Warnings: mild suspense, vague injury descriptions, decent bit of cursing, minor character death (very minor), (is there a warning for a kid wielding a gun?)

WC: 3,403

Droids don’t need the light. Not like we do. In the darkness, only the automated sound of whirring gears and clacking metal narrate movements governed by near perfect synchrony. The silence that surrounded those movements was deafening. It was easy to forget just how dangerous those machines truly were when watching the incredible ease with which the soldiers of the GAR could tear through them. But up close, when nothing lay between us but darkness and an armor that suddenly felt far too thin, the droids were monstrous; emotionless; streamlined and refined toward a single purpose: destruction.

I tried not to think about the simple fact that the same was often said of the entirety of the clone population; how readily society at large welcomed beliefs of unthinking, unfeeling suits of armor in the stead of the very real people that armor concealed. I tried not to think about how that mentality might linger and fester into resentment and fear once the end of the war offered some hope of integration, nor of the unending hardships that were inevitable with such naïve mentality. As I sat crouched in the nook of the freezing ventilation shaft, I tried not to think about anything at all save the near impossible task of silencing my own heavy breaths, attention trained on the endless rows of automatons marching barely a handful of feet away from me.

Wrecker had made it to the maintenance closet several meters ahead, but I’d still been fighting to force the adhesive of the deceptively small explosive to seal with the chilled metal of the duct, and what few seconds that cost me proved just enough to force me to hide as the echoing orchestra of marching droids approached us. We knew they were coming. Thanks to Echo, we knew exactly when to expect every routine patrol scheduled to monitor these halls, but the sheer frequency of their presence was staggering.

Neither of us moved for several seconds after the last droid finally vanished behind the rear door.

“You alright?” Even whispered, my body tensed slightly at the suddenness of Wrecker’s voice calling through the speaker of my helm, and I had to release a quick breath before responding.

“Yeah.” I murmured, glancing back at the detonator as I carefully began easing my way out of the small shaft. “Had trouble getting this one attached, but looks fine now.” A quiet grumble reverberated around me, and I could clearly imagine the troubled frown tugging at his lips.

My eyes flashed to the timer in the corner of my HUD steadily counting down to the moment Crosshair was supposed to take out the decoy power transformer. We still had several targets to rig if we wanted to level the station in time.

Wrecker led the way forward without another word, quick strides shockingly silent. It would never cease to amaze me how easily the man before me could dance between the kind, boisterous goofball and this: lethal, efficient; movements far too quiet for the terrifying mass of his powerful form. I’d worked with astounding soldiers before, but these men were different. Boost, Comet, and Warthog were frightfully capable, but Wrecker and his brothers…

His hand flashed out, pointing to the spot he wanted the next charge placed. He didn’t pause before moving on to set his own, leaving me to my job without so much as a backward glance. Even now, after so many months of working with them, it still felt odd to be trusted so explicitly, but there wasn’t time for even a moment of self-doubt as I quickly dropped to a knee to begin working. Despite the utter simplicity of these explosives, still, Wrecker could finish two in the time it took me to prime one, but he showed no hint of impatience; merely moved on to the next spot until the room was cleared.

We both paused upon turning to the door. It was quiet. It shouldn’t be. By now, we should have been able to make out the distant chorus of the next patrol.

“Status.” Wrecker called, voice just loud enough to be picked up by the mic. My shoulders ached from how taut the muscles were. He didn’t talk like that, governed by that stark militaristic sharpness… not unless something was wrong.

“In position.” Crosshair responded coolly.

“En route.” Tech answered next.

“Wrecker, update.” Hunter’s order came in far crisper than the others, the Marauder’s comms undistorted despite the metal walls of the facility.

“Clanker’s missed a patrol. Pretty sure they haven’t noticed us, though.” He replied curtly, head pivoting behind us before turning back to the forward door as though half-expecting a troop of droids to come rushing in at any second.

“Crosshair, any change?” The Sargeant called. I could hear the growing tension in his voice and knew he was standing tensely over the intercom, hands grinding into the metal corners.

“No, but this sector isn’t supposed to have another patrol for over four more minutes.” Cross reminded him, voice low.

“Keep an eye on your escape routes,” Hunter instructed, “and report any more abnormalities.”

A series of ‘roger’s answer him in quick succession before Wrecker continued forward, heavy blaster balanced against his shoulder. My pistols felt miniscule in comparison, but I still held them at ready as he cracked open the door. Beyond was a cavernous room dotted with Separatist transports. If things went south, Wrecker and I would blow a series of bombs starting with two at either end of the massive bay, granting us an exit route while several other explosions went off at pre-set intervals to mask our escape. If it came to that, however, there was little hope in retrieving that little girl’s father…

“… don’t like this…” Wrecker muttered after muting his com.

“How many more do we have?” I asked, treading closer to him so my whispered words would reach him.

“Ten. Twelve if we wanna hit the control tower, but…” He let the thought trail off as he peaked around the corner of the doorway to stare at the massive sheets of metal suspended overhead on thick tracks.

“So, we finish those ten and re-evaluate.” I offered quietly. He didn’t respond for a long moment, the fearsome visage of that feral skull still studying the distant bay walls.

“Yeah…” He mumbled absently, but a few more tense seconds passed before he drew a quick breath and moved through the door, strides measured and quick, stance low.

Our HUD timers had been perfectly synced. I’d known that there would be no delay between that small clock striking zero and the distant rumble of an explosion preceding at least a momentary flicker of the lights. Still, my body snapped taut as the world around us trembled, even if only for a moment. And then the darkness descended in earnest.

Our visors were designed for this: to grant us clear images even in the darkest nightmares of distant worlds. Regardless, I felt myself tense, adrenaline flooding my chest as I studied every shadow of the now monochrome display before me. Already, the Separatist forces were responding, dozens of squads activating and filing across the vast expanse of the hanger in precise, unhurried movements. Several took positions at entry points about the bay, though most marched out of sight, undoubtedly en route to the now destroyed power station.

“Yuh got some fun headin’ your way, Cross.” Wrecker warned, large hand reaching into his bag for another charge, attention trained once more on the command post.

“They won’t find anything.” He responded haughtily, words only just betraying a slight breathiness as he sprinted back across the rocky outcropping surrounding the north end of the hanger.

“Imma see how many a’ these I can stick before the others get here.” There was a subtle glee in his voice, thrilled at the promise of even that simple challenge.

“I’ll keep watch.” I drawled slightly, the eyeroll audible amidst my quiet chuckle. That tension was still there; creeping across my skin and keeping the muscles stretching up my spine taut, but this was their world – our world: impossible missions with unending dangers in which we still managed to find some taste of joy.

“…Kriff.” Every wisp of that joy instantly went cold.

“Cross?” Hunter called quickly, voice full of the same sharp concern that turned my blood to ice. Wrecker had just begun setting the fourth detonator and visibly froze, waiting anxiously for a response.

“…trap… -utoff from… -ing around…” His rushed reply broke between bursts of static.

“Dammit, they’re trying to block your comms! Where are you?!” Hunter shouted. The distorted reply was too muffled for me to make out, but the pained shout that followed was nauseatingly clear. “I can’t reach you with the Marauder. En route on foot.” His words left in a growl, voice now muffled with that telltale distortion as he abandoned the protection of the ship, the sound of the ramp lowering in the background just loud enough for the mic to pick up.

I didn’t need to see Wrecker’s face to know he was struck with the same dread as me, and, with a sharp nod of his domed helm, motioned toward the rear wall of the hanger. I was already running when the first explosion erupted through the air, but the sudden scream that tore through the speakers was all I could hear.

“Crosshair!” His name shouted from me in a burst of panic, but his desperate cry didn’t stop. The natural rasp of his voice broke in choked gasps between sounds of an agony that left my skin crawling. Blasterfire shrieked behind me in rapid flurries. I didn’t bother looking back, certain that Wrecker was eagerly providing a distraction to cover my retreat, but the droids weren’t fooled.

A curse caught on my lips as I dropped into a sharp slide, just managing to dart behind a supply crate as a troop of B1s trained their sites on me, and the volley of shots that seared the metal casing left my heart racing even faster. My arm was moving before conscious thought registered what I was doing, hand snatching at one of the few remaining charges. I didn’t know if this would work, fully aware that some explosives were perfectly stable until intentionally set off with a detonator. Regardless, I launched the small device toward them, HUD automatically following my gaze to lock onto it as I raised my own weapons, standing to face down the dozen droids targeting me.

The scent of burnt plastoid filled my senses before noting the faint line of red seared into my shoulder pauldron as I pulled the trigger.

Ringing. By now, I recognized the disorientated daze of shellshock and clung to the sense of annoyance rather than any fear or pain lingering beyond that confusion. Move. There wasn’t time for this… Before the thoughts even solidified in my mind, I could feel my body struggling back to my feet, balance wavering precariously for several seconds even as I staggered forward.

“…!” A voice rang loudly around me, but it took a moment of actual concentration to truly hear him. “-oc! Wha’ happened?!” Wrecker. He was shouting. I glanced over my shoulder to see him quickly backtracking toward me and gave my head a hard shake in some vain effort to clear the lingering fog.

“…m… I’m fine!” I called out, lips sluggish. “Used a charge to… clear the path.” He looked toward me only briefly before returning his attention to the encroaching units. Still, I could see the air of hesitation in his movements, the reluctance to risk creating any additional distance between us, so I took that decision away from him, jaw set as I forced myself through the still smoldering crater blown into the thick wall.

Crosshair was still screaming, growled cries catching on choppy breaths muffled behind ground teeth.

“Hunter, do you have eyes on him?” I shouted, sprinting toward the cover of trees surrounding the station as I silently cursed the steep incline leading toward the ship.

“Not yet, there’s… - dammit -... They sent a kriffing… platoon after him.” I could hear the strain pulling at his every word, and that dread returned en force, fear spiking at the thought of how easily he could find himself incapacitated as well just from exacerbating his preexisting injuries.

“Echo and I can provide backup.” Tech offered. Even his voice held that deep worry.

“No – continue with the mission. We’ll be halfway to the Marauder by the time you’d even reach us.” He ordered. “Doc-”

“I’m already en route,” I interrupted quickly, “just send me your location.” He didn’t respond for a long moment, and I had to fight to keep from shouting my impatience.

That earlier fear was gone. I barely bothered glancing between branches in search of enemy troops, the threat of what danger my brief isolation from the others might pose forgotten in the echo of Crosshair’s pain. My entire focus was on reaching them as quickly as I could, cursing every fallen log and sleek boulder that hindered my progress.

“I’ve got him.” He was panting, pain clear in the breathy words, and my heart twisted at the endless possible reasons for that pain. The keening gasps still sounding from Crosshair’s mic were the only thing silencing some sharp rebuke demanding he stop. There was no right answer here; no way forward without the risk of a sacrifice I couldn’t begin to fathom.

“Might still be s… s’me droids… but think I got ‘m all.” His uncertainty was just as concerning as the slight slur dampening his smoky voice. That meant his focus was dwindling; that inhuman ability to feel the dance of electricity connecting the world around him was overcome by his own pain or exhaustion or something far worse.

“Dammit, Hunter! Just send me your location before you kriffing keel over!” I ordered harshly, no longer making an effort to mask that impatience.

“Tracker… tracker’s on… H… headed back.” Curses flowing unapologetically between ground teeth, I snatched the datapad from my waist, fingers stabbing at the screen far harsher than necessary as I locked in on his signal. The Marauder was just over a klick away, and Hunter’s signal was another half klick beyond that, speed frightfully slow as he made his way back.

“Talk to me, Hunter, or I’ll start using the karking pain scale questions.” I threatened, and was relieved to hear a huff of laughter. It was weak, but it was there.

“Damaged… damaged his helmet… Visor broke…” In an instant, that relief abandoned me. “Gave him… gave him what I had, but… it’s… it’s barely taking the e-edge off.” He panted.

“Burns?” I asked, straining to hide the depth of my fear at the very thought of what damage that might cause, but Hunter quickly dismissed that fear with something far worse.

“No… think it’s… There was a – a gas…” My stride nearly faltered. A gas… Chemical burns were far more difficult to treat…

“Listen to me: when you get him back to the ship, don’t try to rinse it out with water.” I instructed quickly.

“I kn- I know.” There was an unmistakable wheeze in the gasp robbing his retort of whatever annoyance he’d meant it to hold.

“What about you, Hunter? Were you exposed?” I made no effort to hide the harshness in my own voice, words quickly growing breathy as I sprinted from the base.

“N… no, my… my kit’s f-fine.” His response offered no taste of relief, the clear strain sown through each word quickly growing worse.

“Echo and I have secured a low-atmo speeder. We can reach you-”

“Ey, I think I see ‘im.” Wrecker interrupted.

“Ca- can you i-intercept?” Hunter’s vain attempt to maintain that indominable façade only further emphasized how just much he was clearly struggling.

“Uh… only if I start blowing stuff up early.” There was no glee in what should have been an overly eager plea, attention clearly torn between the task before him and worry for his brothers.

“Delay as – as long as you can.” Hunter ordered firmly. “Tech, Ech… Echo… con-continue a-approach.”

“Hunter, if you’re having trouble breathing again, you need to stop moving!” I ordered in a shout.

“Neg… neg’tive… Mar’der’s… in sight.” My lips curled into a snarl.

“I can’t carry you both, dammit!” There was a brief pause, and then,

“Roger.”

I was going to strangle him.

Sweat had long since soaked through my blacks. My muscles burned, blood like acid pounding through my veins, and I tried not to think about how loud my own breathing was, mic pointedly muted as I listened to quick bursts of communication bounce between the others illustrating the progress of a mission I struggled to find even a whisper of concern for. My own attention remained locked on the tracker beacon, noting how near to the ship Hunter and Crosshair finally were; how wretchedly slow their progress had become; how much distance yet lay between us as that accursed hill robbed my speed.

He didn’t check in when he finally stopped, their beacons stalling at the very foot of the ramp.

“Hunter, are you inside?” I asked. He didn’t respond. “Hunter, what’s your status?” I pressed, words growing harsher. Silence. “Hunter?! Cross, do either of you read me?!”

“The Marauder’s ramp appears to have lowered but hasn’t been closed since they arrived.” Tech’s voice was carefully even, but I could hear the faint rush of an anxiety that I had no doubt resonated between all of us.

“I’m almost there.” I assured them, and, mere seconds later, let out a sharp huff of relief upon finally seeing the very tip of the dorsal fin.

The first time I’d seen the complicated overlay of the HUD used by GAR equipment, it hadn’t been during my training to join the 104th. It was in the aftermath of a battle I’d only seen in the darkness of night, sneaking through ruined transports and far too much gore to ever be warranted under the guise of seeking peace. It was maybe the fourth such scene Emmy and I had visited. We didn’t even have a ship then; just us and a pair of overstuffed medbags with no thought toward secession or consequence or even what to do with those we tried to save.

We’d only found one soldier still clinging to life, and it had taken only moments to realize that nothing we did would save him from joining his brothers. He hadn’t blamed us. I think I wanted him to… but he merely got quiet when he understood… peaceful. He’d been a flirt, and I think we both fell in love with him a bit. He’d insisted we try his helmet on – had said something inappropriate about seeing his gear on a couple cute nurses. Neither of us corrected him, and I’d been shocked at the flurry of information that had bombarded me the instant it flickered to life before my eyes. He’d laughed. I’d never forget that laugh. It was free; weightless; haunting in a way that both crushed me and justified every risk we were taking in trying to offer what meager help we could. And then he'd died.

That nauseating hurricane of endless data and alerts was still just as overwhelming now as it was then, but I’d learned to filter it out, to prioritize only what was needed in that moment. When the sudden flash of a warning lit the screen, I didn’t hesitate; didn’t waste time for even a moment’s thought before my body dropped into a slide, just barely dodging the pair of blue bolts that screamed passed me as my hands instantly snatched the pistols from my hips, but then that wealth of data began to coalesce, and I quickly released my weapons, empty hands raising in surrender.

“Wait-wait-wait! It’s me!!” I shouted, wrenching the still flashing helm from my head, and my heart churned at the sight of the terrified girl cowering just inside the Marauder’s main cabin, at the horror and fear and overwhelming relief that left her near sobbing the instant recognition finally stole through her. Then I saw the two forms lying far too still at her feet. And that same terror ripped the air from my lungs in a sob of my own.

Next Chapter

Click here or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist!

Click here for my Masterlist.

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @eclec-tech @jennrosefx @echos-girlfriend @starqueensthings @manofworm @merkitty49 @idoubleswearimawriter @abigfanofstarwars @chopper-base @daftdarling222 @pb-jellybeans @bacta-the-future @rosechi @legalpadawan @drummergirl1701 @6oceansofmoons @dangraccoon @ji5hine @dathomiri-mudpuppy @mooncommlink @inneedoffanfics @totally-not-your-babe @delialeigh @callsign-denmark @blondie-bluue @ray-rook @iabrokengirl @arcsimper5 @rndmpeep @amorfista @flawsandgoodintent @passionofthesith @followthepurrgil @heidnspeak @roam-rs @foodmoneyandcats @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @9902sgirl @captainrex89 @waytoooldforthis78 @msmeredithrose @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @anythingandeveythingstarwars @littlefeatherr @thegreatpipster @melonmochii @totallyunidentified @mickeyp03 @hipwell @echos_pile_of_bones @leotawrites @Asgre_Thar @fruityfucker @babyscilence @skellymom @youreababboon @echo9821

[honeybeeboppin]

Wait hold on.

What if the reason the paprika hendl was so spicy to Johnathan is because the locals heard he was going to stay with Dracula and absolutely loaded the dish up with garlic?

[kalpeavaris]

To Be Among Stars

Find the story on AO3

(sadly, tumblr acts like like the AO3 URL itself is 'not a complete link' despite working just fine when send to other people or used as hyperlink, so this will have to do-)

Some doomed Jessa, a one-shot I wrote :] This is not canon to the other MD AUs/stories I have, so no worries- anything happening in the one-shots stay in the one-shots.

This one in particular experiments with the "What If" scenario of J not surviving her injuries aquired in the fall she took in the final battle against the Solver - and how it'll end for her.

Please heed the tags/warnings. o7

[transcendragon]

The Wanderer - wanted to draw a dragon fellow, got really into Colors

My original art made in Procreate, image description in alt text

[kana7o]

kofi sketches!

[aventurineswife]

Dear [Name],

The sound of your voice still haunts my thoughts—sharp, biting, and final. Two Augusts ago, that moment carved itself into me like the searing heat of Sigonia's sun. I told you the truth. A gamble, of course, like all things in my life, except this time I lost.

You didn’t like it, that truth. You left.

I remember standing by the gate of your home, the sharp scent of ozone from the desert storm overhead mingling with the iron tang of regret. Your car idled for a second too long. I thought—hoped—you might change your mind. But you drove off, taillights disappearing into the storm.

You in your Benz, and me, well… I stayed behind. Always behind.

Now, I fill my nights charming rooms full of people who adore my tricks and laugh at my lies. They think they know me—the dashing risk-taker, the lucky gambler. But luck had nothing to do with us. With you.

And what’s worse? I meant well, I really did. I just aimed low, didn’t I? Played my hand with all the finesse of a child at their first roulette table. I wanted to keep you, but my methods… I’ll make it known now: I failed.

Still, that’s just the way life goes, doesn’t it? Slam the door, spin the wheel, wait for fate to mock you. Trust me, I know—it’s always about me.

But I loved you.

And I’m sorry.

Two summers from now, I think we’ll be talking again, though not much. Just enough to pretend we’re “cool.” You’ll have your life, maybe someone who looks at you like I should have. I’ll be out on a boat somewhere, distracting myself with the sunset, the water, the drinks that never quite drown me.

I’ll wonder where you are—on a plane, I’d bet. Off to somewhere better, somewhere safe. Somewhere I could never take you.

And I’ll think, for just a moment, how surreal it all feels. Losing you.

Then I’ll remind myself that it’s okay, because that’s the way life goes. Push your luck until it breaks.

I wonder, do you remember the good parts of us? Because I do. And sometimes, they make the bad parts even harder to stomach. You were the best—and the worst. The way you could see through me, strip me bare with a single look, that sharp wit of yours like a scalpel. It terrified me.

As sick as it sounds, I loved you first for it.

But I was a dick, wasn’t I? It’s what I do, this age-old curse of mine. A gambler’s folly, thinking I could bluff my way through love the same way I do through life. You called me out, and I folded.

Now, when I laugh, it’s too loud. Too hollow. It’s the only way I know how to fill the silence you left behind.

Two years. That’s all it took for us to crash. And I stare at that wreckage every day, wondering what I could have done differently. But the truth? I don’t know if I’d have had the courage to be the man you deserved.

I try to make amends, sometimes. Not with you directly—I wouldn’t dare. I hurt you enough already. But with the world, in small ways. It’s a pathetic gesture, I know, but it’s all I have.

I’m wrong again.

Wrong for you, wrong for me.

And yet, when I joyride down the roads we once traveled together, I can’t help but lay on the horn, just to hear the echo. To prove, to myself more than anyone else, that the past still haunts me.

I love you.

And I’m sorry.

As I sit here now, pen in hand, this letter will likely never reach you. But maybe that’s for the best. You’ve moved on—I hope you have. You deserve peace.

Me? I’ll stay behind. Always behind. Watching the roulette wheel spin and wondering what might have been if only I’d played my cards right.

Because that’s the way life goes, isn’t it?

And in the quiet of my thoughts, in the shadows of my regrets, I’ll whisper the words you’ll never hear.

I love you, I’m sorry.

Yours Truly,

Kakavasha

[dyemelikeasunset]

(jfc 3K word count blurb about my babygirls I GUESS. This takes place between the end of you&i and t he beginning of dom&mor)

---

After all of that was taken care of, but before they moved in together, Morgan and Dom spent several months working on themselves.

Mor was doing her best not to UHaul like she did with her past relationships. Part of her was hoping Dominique didn't even know what it meant, part of her also hoped Dom would ask first. But she was patient, she had to be patient. Domi was doing physical therapy and getting back in touch with her agency, getting her life back together.

Morgan was too-- she was still juggling her mental health and work, and she knew they both had to take it slow-- but the nights alone were getting harder and harder. On the best nights, Mor would get restless and not be able to stop thinking about Domi, wondering how she was doing, if she was eating, if she was lonely, if she missed Mor the same way.

On the worst nights alone, she kept remembering everything that happened and still felt anxiety being in her apartment by herself. It was gone now-- that's what Domi told her every time she visited, and Whisper didn't hiss at the closet anymore-- but the bad memories always swirled together into an unease and emptiness that made the apartment linger with an aura.

But it was too soon to think about how they would progress their relationship. Too soon to start thinking about moving in. Truthfully, Mor didn't even know if Dom wanted to live together. She tried not to think about that possibility.

---

It took a full month after Domi's physical therapy ended before she invited Mor to come to her place. She promised she'd gotten more furniture. "There's, um, I have a couch now," Dom had told Morgan shyly on the phone. Mor couldn't help but laugh incredulously, but gently. She was proud of her and agreed to visit.

Mor hadn't been to Dom's apartment since everything had happened. It wasn't until she was pulling up to the highrise complex that she realized it was actually her first time driving there. She texted Dom if she could park in her designated parking spot. Dom texted back that she forgot she had one, and then, "Of course you can park there. You know I don't have a car, you can always park there from now on." Mor could practically hear that shy little smile in Dom's voice from her text. Before that moment, Morgan didn't know parking could feel romantic.

Domi had ordered in dinner and had it all set out on the table by the time Mor came through the door. The apartment was still abysmally empty, but there was a couch, as promised. Mor knew she was working on it, on having things to call her own, but kept trying to tell herself it was Dom's minimalist aesthetic to keep herself from worrying.

They ate, talked, updated each other on how life was going. Mor found herself rambling about her latest project while tangled up in Domi's long legs on the new couch. Dom was watching her with that fascinated and warm look in her eyes, that look that made Morgan feel incredibly shy and peter off. Dom asked her some questions to prompt her back into talking, but Mor was feeling so warm under her gaze that she couldn't find it in her anymore. She leaned in and kissed her instead, realizing she hadn't kissed Domi in months. Mor tried to pull back before she got too desperate, but Dom's eyes smiled at her in that lovedrunk way that Morgan couldn't look away from. She cupped Mor's face and lulled her into a second kiss, and a third, and the count melted together after that.

By the time they finished kissing, Mor was laying fully on top of her, face cradled in Dom's neck. Dom pet her hair gently, always careful to not tangle her fingers through it, holding her close, safely. Mor let the rise and fall of Dom's chest comfort her as she traced the scar on her neck.

Going home that night was one of the most painful things Morgan ever had to do.

---

The next time, Mor was the one who popped the question. During the last visit, she had seen how empty and weirdly clean Dom's refrigerator was while they tidied after dinner. Mor couldn't stop worrying so she texted Dom if she could come over to make her dinner. Domi was surprised but agreed enthusiastically. Morgan fed Whisper extra well that afternoon before driving over with her mountain of tupperware. She was determined to make enough to have leftovers to last Dom a week at the least.

Parking in Dom's spot again made her smile. "Mor, you're being an idiot," she hissed at herself before grabbing her bag and making her way inside.

When Dom answered the door, Mor could tell from the slightly damp hair that fell in her face that Domi had just finished getting ready. Morgan couldn't stop the huge smile that spread on her face. It was always so cute to see Dom get excited, and even though Mor tried and tried to convince herself she wasn't that special, even her bad self-esteem had to make concessions when Dom acted so obviously eager to see her. Maybe it was Dom's lack of dating experience-- lack of even understanding romantic feelings before now-- that made her so easy to read. Like she didn't even know hiding your feelings was part of the dating game. She was honest and innocent and it was somehow touching.

As Mor set up in the kitchen, Domi kept hovering, being accommodating and asking if she could help. Mor finally caved. It was hard to say no when Dom was being so sweet and fussy. Morgan found out that Domi is actually very good at cutting vegetables, but that she didn't know the difference between boiling and braising.

Mor did manage to make a pile of leftovers. As she was explaining how to best store and reheat them, she noticed Dom writing the instructions down diligently. She tried but failed not to laugh at Domi's sincerity.

After dinner, Dom showed Mor her new closet, bed and headboard-- the whole thing was really fancy actually. Mor worried about Dom's savings, but Domi insisted everything was going well.

They sat on the bed and talked about the latest novel they were both reading, and as the hours dragged on, Mor found herself tangled in Dom's legs again, found herself laying on Domi and kissing her again, found herself feeling less satisfied than last time. She stared, lost, in Domi's expressions, before realizing it was past midnight. Mor panicked and sat up abruptly, but Domi blurted out that she should stay the night. Morgan argued weakly that she didn't bring a toothbrush or change of clothes-- she didn't bring her bonnet either but she wasn't sure if she was ready to let Dom see that side of her. Domi desperately held onto Morgan's wrist and stuttered "You can wear my clothes, and-- and there's a 24/7 CVS on the corner."

"Domi, you want to buy a toothbrush at this hour? It'll be so," Mor couldn't stop her giggle, "it'd be so obvious--"

"What's wrong with that..?"

Mor stopped giggling and she let her eyes focus on Dom, taking in the quiet desperation in her eyes. It never struck her that Domi would be feeling lonely too, even though she knew Dom was a really lonely person. Mor felt a squeeze in her chest.

"Okay Baby, let's go."

It was only by a year, but when Dom smiled like that, Morgan remembered she was younger and would be overwhelmed with the desire to dote on her.

They threw their shoes on and ran downstairs into the now 2am night. Mor was shocked to see how fast Dom could run in 4-inch heels. Why didn't she put on sneakers? Dom laughed at the question and admitted between gasps of air that she doesn't own sneakers. The CVS employee stared at them tired but knowingly, just as Mor feared but somehow couldn't bring herself to care anymore. Domi's excitement melted away all her anxiety. It wasn't until they were running back to the apartment that Mor realized Dom had also bought a box of ice cream. Her breath made little white puffs in the night air as she laughed. It reminded her of the time they were almost caught by the security guard for playing on the roped-off mall piano.

Morgan never knew brushing her teeth could be fun.

As they tangled up in bed, Morgan could still feel the silly exhilaration pulsing through her body. Her legs rubbed all over Dom as they both giggled and suddenly Mor felt the months of abstinence catching up to her. She stared at Dom in the dark, wondering, but trying to suppress it. They were having such a sweet night and they were just supposed to sleep and Dom was still figuring it out and, and-- Dom's pitch black eyes pierced through the dark and Mor tried to breathe but she couldn't. As the quiet settled between them, Morgan couldn't stop herself from squeezing her legs around Dom. She swore Dom could hear her swallow.

As if reading her mind, Dom quietly asked if she could take care of her. Morgan couldn't even try to hide it, but even in the dark, her eyes had acclimated enough to see the gentle smile that melted her insecurities away. There was something about the way Domi was straight-forward, the way her low voice whispered very gently but directly, lovingly, "Let's have sex," that made Morgan's head swim and chest swell. Feeling the bed shift as Dom moved on top of her sent an ache pulsing through her hips. She missed the feeling of holding onto Dom's broad, bare shoulders, feeling her shoulder blades tense and move under her fingernails as she dug in. She missed the smell of Dom's cologne mixing with her sweat, missed the way her soft voice got heavier as she started panting. She missed her wide hands and the way they held her possessively and sunk into her deeply, missed the way Dom looked down at her like she was the most precious thing in the world. She missed her, she missed her.

The next morning, Domi took Morgan out for breakfast at a nearby cafe before seeing her off. Mor went home in a daze and tried to supress the desire to UHaul for the hundredth time.

---

Another night, Domi texted Mor out of the blue saying she was nearby after a photoshoot. Mor immediately invited her over.

It'd been a while since Domi had been to her place, but Whisper still remembered her and still had the same strange, quiet obsession with her. Domi was learning how to play with her better, even though she was still adorably awkward. Morgan made them dinner and Domi excitedly told Mor about the jobs she was picking up. They kept talking on Mor's twin bed, tangled together out of necessity this time. Mor's apartment was so much smaller and so much more cluttered, but Dom always seemed to like it. She would ask Mor about all her little trinkets and wall art, always seeming to find a new interesting thing. It reminded her of the first time Dom asked about her tattoos. After her show and tell, Mor decided to gift Dom one of the little figures on her bookshelf. If it had been anyone else, Mor would have laughed, but seeing Dom reverently hold a Sanrio figurine in her big hand made Mor so unbelievably happy. "Yes, Baby, you can keep it. Please keep it." Dom looked ready to cry.

They ended up talking too long again, so Mor invited Dom to stay over this time. Domi smiled shyly and said she actually did have a toothbrush in her purse.

"So you were planning this?"

"Maybe..."

Mor laughed. She was so happy.

They cuddled all night. Morgan wanted to sleep like that for the next five thousand years.

---

Between the visits and overnight stays, Mor noticed that Domi would sometimes forget her clothes at Morgan's apartment. She asked for permission the first time, but soon started wearing Dom's shirts without asking. It was never her buttonups, they were too tight and better for hugging as she fell asleep, but Dom had some pullovers and tees that started making a permanent residence in Mor's closet. She always giggled at seeing the brand name tags. Mor would only give them back when the smell started to fade. She couldn't bring herself to confess to Dom that she had masturbated while wearing one of them once-- surrounded by the hints of her gentle musk-- even though she somehow knew Dom wouldn't mind, she was just too guilty. She didn't know that Dom would sometimes postpone washing them because she liked having Morgan's smell on them too.

Mor also started leaving things at Dom's place. The first time was an accident, but then she started doing it on purpose. It was simple things, like one of her oversized sweaters, a throw blanket, or sauces and spices so that she didn't have to take so many things back and forth when she wanted to cook for her. She started using them as an excuse to come over more. She wanted to feed her, wanted to help fill her void of an apartment, wanted to see if Dom would wear her clothes, wanted to make love until her sweet fashion model smelled more like pomegranate and shea butter than she did of Yves Saint Laurent cologne. Really, Morgan just wanted to be together all the time. She wanted to live together, but she was struggling to ask.

Was it always this hard to ask?

---

The first time Dom spent a full weekend at Morgan's place, they ate, watched movies, and somehow ended up fucking every four hours. It always confused Mor how Dom seemed to enjoy servicing her every time-- or where she got the energy-- but she couldn't deny she felt so spoiled. It was hard to resist when Dom looked at her like that. Like she'd never seen a more beautiful woman, like she was at the mercy of her feelings spilling out of her at any moment.

Mor felt delirious from the way Dom would quietly and reverently praise how pretty her voice was, how soft her skin was, how good she felt. It made Mor feel submissive, but she knew Domi didn't mean it like that-- she knew she meant it adoring, worshipping. She never thought anyone could ever love her this way, but more than that, she never thought she could believe it.

Mor spent both nights of that weekend watching Dom sleep and wondering. When was the right time? How much longer could she take the separations and gaps? Was Dom pent up from their time apart? Even though she didn't want Domi to be lonely, there was a selfish part of her that wished she was sad when they were apart.

---

As a reward for finishing a big design project, Dom suggested that Mor bring Whisper over and spend a full week at her place. Mor agreed excitedly and made sure to get wash day out of the way before she went. She hoped she could make it through the week, but in exchange she felt she should try to protect her hair for bed around Dom this time. To her surprise, Dom didn't comment on it at all, and wrapped Mor in her arms as she fell asleep as usual. Mor couldn't quite explain how it made her feel, but it was undeniably warm.

Dom had odd work days, so Mor would be left alone in the apartment sometimes. But instead of feeling lonely, she felt a strange sense of belonging. Maybe it was the way Dom had casually given her a key, or how Mor's things had been slowly accumulating, or the fact Whisper settled in quite nicely, or that the kitchen was full of Mor's cooking.

In her mind, Morgan started redecorating the apartment and wondering where her things would go.

On the fourth day, Mor realized she forgot to refill her meds. Without thinking, she left Whisper with Dom and ran out. It wasn't until she was already back and unlocking the door that she realized the chaos she might've left Dom in. But to her relief, she opened the door to the sight of Dom playing with Whisper. Morgan wondered if this is what straight women felt when seeing their husbands taking care of their kids. She stood in the doorway and watched until Dom noticed and welcomed her home. Morgan wanted so badly to call this home.

The morning of the last day, Dom woke Morgan up with neck kisses and made love to her quietly, tangled up under the white sheets. They both lingered wordlessly, naked bodies wrapped up together. When Morgan realized she hadn't taken off her bonnet, she laughed, embarrassed, and asked why Dom hadn't removed it before having sex with her. Dom didn't understand what the problem was, and as Mor navigated out of her embarrassment, her bashful laughter faded. She stared at Dom and slipped out a hushed "I don't want to go home."

Morgan blinked several times in quick succession, realizing what she'd said and that she was already welling up from a mix of yearning and shame.

"I'm sorry, I--"

"Then stay. Move in with me."

It took a full minute for Morgan to take in what Dom had said. She finally looked up at her and was met with that same sincerity she knew Dom carried with her at all times.

"Morgan, I want to live together. I- I miss you all the time..."

Mor didn't know how much longer she could run from Domi's open, honest love. How much longer her doubt could convince her that this woman was not head over heels for her.

"Yes. Yes. of course I'll move in."

Morgan would never forget the way Dom smiled that morning.

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Welcome to "Come into the Water" by @annaizscribbling

You won't be coming back out the same person. We were paired together for the @tss-storytime and this story is an absolutely fantastic trip you should go on.

(no reposting/editing/feeding to an AI, etc. be respectful and also go read the fic, thanks! give Anais comments!)

[theanoninyourinbox]

I need to know about Brambleclaw in your Longstar au. Tell me everything about that traitor! Please.

Bramblekit was normal, as kits go. Small, maybe a little rough with Snowkit and a bit selfish, not noticing if others were affected by his misadventures or little clawed swipes, but no one save Speckletail and Goldenflower noticed anything amiss. When the fire struck camp, and Fireheart bravely saved him from the flames, he seemed starstruck. Wanted to be a brave warrior who saved everyone!

And then his Father left.

The clan seemed to turn on him all at once. They all hated him! Just him!! (He never saw Goldenflower shudder her tears away, never saw his sister flinch at the stares and whispers. He never saw Fireheart try to shield him, or Longtail glare down the elders. His greatest flaw was never seeing how others felt.) Darkstripe brought him to see Tigerclaw, who promised that HE was protecting Bramble from the horrors of a weak clan, and whispered to the malleable kit lies and half truths and just play along until I take control. So Bramble did.

Then Tawnypaw LEFT HIM TOO. How dare she, he would say to others, how dare she go to the terrible cat and his terrible clan! (How dare she go, he would say to himself, it was supposed to be me! Now I am watched, and cannot meet my fatherteacherleader!!

And in his dreams, Tigerstar came to him. For you, my true heir, the true training of a strong leader. The Miretrees welcomed him with grasping claws, and he relished it.)

(Any guilt or morals were lashed away by the thorns and the shadows of a thousand hateful cats.)

He played his part - saving Whitestorm, mourning the dead and verbally disavowing Tigerstar (he did not fail he still yet lives in the Mire of nightmares), becoming a Brawler (all the better to defend my clan, he says to Longstar) (give me Claws, he says, to redeem the naming of my father, he says), dotes on his mother, hunts and fights and returns in the night to his bloody-bellied fatherkingruler.

He becomes defined, in the secret bloodybeatingcloying spaces of his heart, in the shadows of his mind, by three things.

Pride. Envy. Wrath.

He is Proud of his prowess, of his acting, of his untouched pelt (the claws of the Dark Forest are too slow for him, only catching on his soul) and his place of honor - he is TRUSTED by the falsefoolishleader Longstar, to watch his kits and protect them from danger. HE is the danger that no one sees! HE will sink his teeth into the unprotected spines of the clan! But not yet. Brambleclaw waits. He is Proud to have a true leadershadowboundruler like Tigerstar, the cunning to Brambleclaw's battle skills. He is Proud. And that is a piece of his downfall.

He is Envious, of Longstar and Flamewish. Of Tawnypelt and Foxpaw and Swiftpaw and Darkpaw. And eventually of Hawkfrost and Mothwing and Crowfeather. He WANTS the power to command a clan to move, and be obeyed at every turn! (He does not see the elders balk, Whitestorm advising, the historians and tacticians guiding the clan as well) He WANTS the love of a mate, one who is devoted only to him (he misses the work that Longstar and Flamewish put in to their relationship, their arguments and apologies, the devotion going both ways) (He misses how his sister is loved, by her clan, truly trusted, how Rowanclaw is her FRIEND before her lover) He WANTS his father to be there, to be watching him grow effortlessly (he misses the little spats, the drama, the fears, and does not see the love that the family cultivates) (He could have been another son to the leader, or even the deputy, but it is far too late for that) (He barely recognizes that Goldenflower loves him, cherishes him, and is Proud of him. She does not matter. Mollies' opinions do not matter, his father taught him well) He WANTS a sibling relationship like Hawk and Moth, he WANTS to be cherished by many clans like TadpoleCrowfeather (He is blind to how Tawnypelt loves him, how Stormfur asks for his advice, how Feathertail flirts) (His plans for Foxpawflight are NOT ruined by her affections for ShrewpawLeg he WILL be her mate) He is Envious. And that is a piece of his downfall.

He is Wrathful, his hate of the Clan he was born into catching on his ribcage and twisting in his intestines, burrowing into his marrow. He claws the turf to pieces in fury, how DARE his father leave! He knocks eggs from their nest is rage, how could Tawnypaw leave him too!? He tears the pelts off of rogues and loners, MY FATHERLEADERKING IS NO FAILURE!!! He scatters stones on the cliffsides, why won't Foxpaw realize she's MINE!? He screeches as he drives rogues away, MY BROTHER!! MINE!! He is Wrathful, and that is one piece of his downfall.

He stands over the foolishfalseidiotLongstar, his truebrotheronlyally looking upon him and their prey. Join me finally, Brambleclaw crows, join me and we can be what we were meant to be!

(He has always missed how Hawkfrost looks at Tigerstar, looks at him. With building horror and regret)

And Hawkfrost

Says

No

Brambleclaw is Proud (he trust his battle prowess, but Hawkfrost is quick and lean and won't hoLD STILL)

Brambleclaw is Envious (you are MY BROTHER he screams, and the denial from Hawkfrost cuts through his blackening heart)

Brambleclaw is Wrathful (red tinges his vision, his father's voice in his ears stop him stOP HIM KILLHIM)

The silvery spike in his throat tastes like failure

[bayetea]

I think I would like to see people who write percy be less afraid to make him judgy especially if it's younger percy. it's one of his best personality traits like how many times in the books does he describe someone like "he was ugly like the bottom of a shoe and his voice sounded like sandpaper in my ears. also he was so annoying I was tempted to throw an egg at him. I couldn't do that though because my mom would be disappointed. anyways, I kept my mouth shut"

[crowned-phantom-official]

🩸

@wheelbarrowofstagefourcancer

🩸  to  find  my  muse  after  they've  been  in  a  fight.

*Ambrose was just lying on his stomach, waiting for the bullet holes in his back to close up. Do they have to aim for the spine every fucking time? Dick move, if you ask Amby.*

[ikkaku-of-heart]

Of Bodice Rippers and Delightful Discoveries

(Ikkaku visits an old, used bookstore while in port, hoping to hunt down some classic bodice rippers to entertain herself with on the next voyage. What she finds is a new subgenre, complete with some unexpected - and likely unsuspecting - stars.)

The scent of the used bookstore was so different from the Polar Tang. Instead of steel and salt, Ikkaku breathed in the earthy, musty smell of paper and ink. She may have been an engineer, thriving among gears and pistons, but she had found a love of more organic materials like books.

In particular, hunting down unique bodice rippers.

“Looking for something in particular, dearie?” the proprietress asked, giving her a curious smile. She didn’t seem to mind that her new customer wore a pirate’s jolly roger on her boiler suit – business was business, and all who loved books were welcome.

“Got any classic bodice rippers?” Ikkaku asked, looking around. “I’m due for a long voyage.”

“Ahhh need something to entertain on lonely nights?” she replied knowingly. “Those happen to be my favorite. The back shelves are dedicated to those. Got a lot of newer publications, but there’s just nothing like the classics.”

Ikkaku nodded enthusiastically in agreement before heading off to peruse the back shelves. She’d read everything in her expansive collection at least twice, and she was in need of something new. Something to titillate her, but also torment her nakama when they dared to tease her. Books starring Fishmen and Zoan lovers had done the job for a while, but the boys were starting to become immune. That was a sure sign it was time to switch it up.

Pulling out books at random, she shook her head in disappointment. Many of the newer books just didn’t have the lovingly painted, elaborate covers that older, classic bodice rippers had. For all people said not to judge a book by its cover, in her mind, that was half the appeal. Getting to read a book with a hunky man in an open shirt embracing a beautiful woman often got her hilariously mortified or judgmental books. Occasionally she found books that starred two women, but those beautiful covers tended to be more understated and romantic, which sadly didn’t get quite the same reaction from her friends.

She had nearly given up, ready to throw in the towel and accept she’d just have to go through her library for a third time, when she struck gold. An old paperback novel peeked out from the stacks, and she could tell right away that the cover was that classic style she so loved. Tugging it out almost reverently, her gaze greedily ate up the image.

The woman was a beautiful, buxom nun, dressed in the classic black gown and habit, clutching a cross as she attempted to resist the charms of the man embracing her. Though, by the look on her face, she was failing spectacularly, eyes shut and head thrown back in pleasure. The man on the cover was what really drew the eye, however. The artist clearly put a little extra effort into him, like he was the main draw of the book. He towered over the woman in his arms, biceps bulging as they wrapped around her petite waist, his purple shirt open to show off a tantalizing glimpse of his hard pecs. His jaw and chin were chiseled and his cheekbones could have cut glass. Long hair as black as engine oil and smoke were pulled back in a sleek ponytail that dangled over his shoulder. His lips were curved in a devilish smirk, a long cigarette dangling tantalizingly between them.

The First Mate's Dangerous Temptation the elegant cursive of the title read. The tagline was just as cheesy; She devoted herself to God, but then a devilish pirate sailed into her life.

“Ok, you’re showing some promise,” Ikkaku chuckled, cracking open the book and flipping through the pages in hopes of finding a decent sex scene. Hopefully it lived up to the cover’s hype. Quickly, she found some smut, and eagerly she began to read.

“God really blessed you in the chest department, doll,” the pirate purred, his pectorals glistening with sweat as he pulled his pretty captive against him. The smell of the sea and tobacco paired beautifully with his masculine musk, and Chastity tried not to be taken in by way his deep voice rumbled like an earthquake, shaking her resolve. He was sin incarnate, and she mustn’t give in to the Devil’s servant.

“I’m blessed by His love every day. Perhaps you’d be similarly blessed if you ceased your sinful ways,” Chastity replied primly.

“I wouldn’t be much of a pirate if I were virtuous. Anyway, sin’s more fun. More pleasurable.” Benn gave a low chuckle before taking a long drag of his cigarette. He held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling, releasing it like a dragon. It suited him, considering the virgin damsel he held in his clutches. “And I haven’t had any complaints about my chest. I’ve seen you stare plenty.”

She gasped, outraged, though liquid hellfire shot down to the secret place between her thighs. A blush bloomed across her cheeks, and Chastity’s scolding reply died on her lips as the burly first mate released her, only to drop to his knees before her. The cigarette smoldered on the ground beside them, the thin trail of smoke even headier than the church’s incense. She attempted to step back, but a big hand wrapped around her hip, keeping her in place as he hoisted up her skirts, exposing her knickers and pale thighs. “What are you doing? This is improper!”

He chuckled again before he began peppering kisses along the smooth, untouched skin. Tongue and teeth joined his sensual lips, licking, sucking, and biting the tender flesh without a shred of shame or remorse. “Showing you what a man should really be doing on his knees,” he growled, a panther that had concerned his delicious prey and was planning to take its time devouring it. “God can’t make you scream like I can.”

Gasping again, the nun buried her fingers in his jet-black hair as his mouth delved into the apex of her thighs. Her knickers had already been growing wet just from being in his presence, but now they were soaked in anticipation and the saliva from his tongue. It stoked tantalizingly against her pearl, and Chastity felt her knees wobble almost as unsteadily as her resolve to remain pure.

“Ah! Beckman!”

“Wait,” Ikkaku gasped, staring at the name, then flipping back to the front cover. The man on the front was at least a decade younger than the wanted poster she’d seen, but if she replaced the black ponytail with a silver one, added a few years and scars to that chiseled face, and a purple cape…

“Holy shit. What’s Benn Beckman doing on a romance novel cover?!”

This was utterly insane. Of course the first mate of the Red Hair Pirates was hot, both in his youth and now. He was known as a playboy, too, with admirers and lovers across the Grand Line. But the star of a bodice ripper? It wasn’t even trying to hide his identity!

Flipping the paperback over, Ikkaku scanned the back cover, looking for clues. The publication date was fifteen years ago, and it was apparently part of a series. An extensive one, from the look of things.

Pirate romance novels. Ikkaku shouldn’t have been surprised they existed. Outlaws like them weren’t exactly protected by copyright laws or could make cases against libel. And people did so love their forbidden fruit, but not everyone had the guts to actually proposition a pirate. So no wonder someone decided to make a buck off of the fantasy. The real question was, did Benn Beckman know?

Curiosity piqued, Ikkaku glanced along the shelves and quickly found another book by the same author. Once again the cover was lovingly and beautifully painted. The woman was once again beautiful, though this time her generous cleavage was on full display thanks to a low-cut blouse and cinched corset. She was being embraced by yet another muscular man. He was shirtless and his trousers hung loose, threatening to slip down his hips to expose himself. The cocky smirk and come hither expression made it clear he had nothing but impure intentions with the woman he was holding. One arm was beneath her thighs and backside, hoisting her up into the air, while the other held the ropes dangling from the sails of his ship. For a moment, the two arms threw her off, but it was soon clear by the blood red hair and three familiar scars over his left eye that this was, indeed, Red Haired Shanks.

The title was once again in fancy cursive but this time didn’t bother to hide the star’s identity. Ravished by the Red Haired Captain – She yearned for adventure on the high seas. What she got was unfathomable pleasure in the captain’s quarters.

“Damn,” Ikkaku muttered, once again seeking out a sex scene. She absolutely needed to know what the deal was with these books. “This must’ve been early in his career, but he was already building a fanbase. And probably didn’t get a single berri in royalties. Poor bastard.”

Cassandra gasped as she was bent over the bar counter, heaving chest pressed across the cool, polished wood decadently. Shanks’ left had splayed across her back, keeping her in place as he pressed his throbbing member against her pert bottom.

“That’s a good lass,” he murmured, rolling his hips so she could get the full understanding of just what her lovely curves did to him. He may have been a mighty pirate captain, but he was only a man, after all. And there was only so much a man like him could take. “You’ve been temptin’ me all day, serving drinks while shaking that ass and fluttering your lashes at all the customers. But now you’re gonna get a reminder that you’re my pretty wench.”

“I wasn’t—Ah!—tying to tempt you,” she insisted, though the mewl of pleasure at the feeling of his thick mast prodding at her most secret cavern through her skirts made that difficult to believe. The truth was, she hadn’t consciously been trying to tease him, but it was hard not to sway her hips a little more when she felt his eyes on them. Nor could she avoid lowering her neckline a bit more to relieve herself of some of the heat his presence sparked inside her.

Another gasp escaped Cassandra’s plump lips as she felt Shanks pull up her skirts to expose her wet and waiting netherlips, the cool air kissing them gently. “No knickers? Now you can’t tell me you didn’t plan this.”

“I just forgot to put them on this morning—”

Her excuse was interrupted by a firm smack to her buttock, the sting a delicious pain even as the tavern maid yelped in surprise and outrage.

“You’re lying to me. If you really want to come aboard my ship and sail with me, you’re going to have to learn to be honest with your captain,” Shanks growled sensually, trailing his fingers across the bright red welt his big, rough hand left behind. “Now let’s try again. Why aren’t you wearing knickers, Miss Cassandra?”

He squeezed the soft meat of her shapely rear end, fingers dancing dangerously close to her oh-so-wet entrance, and Cassandra knew she was done for. How could she resist the sexual magnetism of such a charming pirate?

“Because I wanted you to be able to fuck me whenever you pleased, Captain Shanks!” she cried, and was swiftly rewarded by the feeling of his thick rod plunging into her without hesitation.

“Wooooow,” Ikkaku mumbled to herself, snickering slightly at the writing, though she could admit that the scene was still fairly hot due to Red-Haired Shanks being the star. “Gods, I wonder if he knows this exists. What would he think of this? Would he and Beckman compare books?”

Another thought came to her, and once more she began looking through the books. Who else has been featured in these?

She got her answer, a surprised and delighted laugh bubbling up in her throat upon finding the next book in the series. This time, the heroine was clearly a Marine, her white uniform tastefully disheveled from a struggle as she was pinned against the wall by her opponent’s hips, though the way her long leg was wrapped around the man’s waist, it was clear this was a fight that was meant to shift into something more pleasurable. Of course, the man in question was unmistakable, even without his trademark long coat. After all, his pointed sideburns and goatee, along with those golden, piercing eyes, were nearly as iconic as the wide brimmed feathered hat on his head. Yoru was strapped to his shirtless back with a leather harness that was probably rather impractical, even if it did accent his back muscles nicely. But what was most striking was the sensual grin on his lips, curled in both arousal and amusement.

Prey of the Hawk-Eyed Hunter – Her mission was to apprehend him, but he takes her heart prisoner instead.

“He’s smiling? Well now I know this is a fantasy,” Ikkaku quipped, recalling the few times she’d seen him at the Warlord meetings. The man was grim and antisocial at best, and the few times she’d heard him speak, his comments had been bored and biting. Honestly, Ikkaku felt those made the otherwise irritating and dull meetings more entertaining.

For the third time Ikkaku cracked open a bodice ripper, eyes glittering with mischievous delight as she greedily took in the pages.

“You keep trying to fly away from me, little dove,” a deep, accented voice purred from the doorway. Calliope froze, the incriminatingly wide-open window to her bedroom making it undeniable that she had once again attempted to escape his fortress hideaway. “And dressed so indecently, too. Didn’t your superiors teach you about proper dress protocol?”

The Marine captain spun around, defiant even as she trembled a bit under his stare. Heavens above, those yellow eyes were always so intense. It didn’t matter if he was talking to her, fighting her, or staring at her in silence, they made him appear like he wished to devour her.

Calliope’s tongue darted out to wet her lips nervously, and that gaze flicked down to watch the movement. Heat shot between her legs while her nipples hardened against the thin blouse that was her only barrier between her skin and the cold air.

Golden eyes swept down her shapely figure, down to her chest, her slim torso, her bare thighs, her long legs, and then traveled back up again to meet her gaze, lingering on the comely flush that colored her cheeks. A devious smirk curled his lips as he stalked towards her. “Perhaps I should chain you to the bed, as your cage is proving insufficient.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Calliope insisted, attempting to strike him, to make an attack against the infamous Marine Hunter she had been tasked with arresting, but he deftly caught her wrist with speed only an expert swordsman could manage. He snatched her other wrist before it could even think to lash out before flinging them both onto the bed, pinning the smaller woman’s hips beneath his muscular thighs. He adjusted his grip to lock both of her narrow wrists in one palm, freeing up his right hand while keeping her trapped beneath him, helpless.

“You are my prisoner. My prize. I’ll do as I please with you.” As if to prove his point, he trailed his long, calloused fingers down the soft, delicate skin of her throat, down her collarbone, over her thundering heart, before cupping a full breast. Calliope released a shuddering breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding at his bold touch. Why did this murderer’s touch inspire such feelings of desire in her?

She attempted to buck him off of her, but he wouldn’t budge. In fact, he let out a husky moan in response. Surprised, she looked down between their bodies to find the telltale bulge of his manhood straining against his leather trousers. “Is…is that a sword in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” she quipped, attempting to hide her mortification and, worse, arousal.

Alas, Mihawk could detect her desire like a shark smells blood in the water and was not fooled. Instead, he laughed before capturing her lips in a fierce, dominating kiss. Calliope attempted to struggle, to resist, but his sensual tongue and teasing teeth coaxed her lips to part for him. His tongue delved between them, conquering her hot, moist cavern, giving no quarter and showing no mercy, leaving her gasping and flushed when he finally pulled away so she could breathe.

“Oh, I’ll be very happy to see you writhing and moaning beneath me as I make you a sheath for my most powerful sword,” he purred, nipping at her throat as he rolled his hips against her, swollen member growing harder at the friction the motion caused.

“Tonight, I’m claiming you completely, my dove. No more escape attempts – I doubt you’ll be able to walk after I’m through with you. And even then, I might just keep you impaled on my cock for good measure.”

“Ha! I don’t remember Mihawk being even half that talkative at Warlord meetings,” Ikkaku snickered, though there was a faint dusting of a blush on her cheeks.

Damn it. These books were over-the-top and flowery, but they were raunchy enough that she could completely understand the appeal and wanted to read more. Besides, weren’t over-the-top, ridiculous bodice rippers what she came in here for in the first place? Her fellow Hearts would be utterly mortified if she started reading aloud sex scenes starring a Yonko, his first mate, or the World’s Greatest Swordsman.

Plus, she needed to prove these existed. There was no way any of the guys would believe her on just her word. It was too crazy! So it was important that she buy all three books so she could prove they existed. And what if she ever ran into the stars themselves? Didn’t they deserve to know they had starred in fictional sexual encounters and weren’t paid a dime for it? Informing them was the moral thing to do in that case. She may have been a pirate, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do a good deed.

Yes. That was totally why she was buying them and not because, despite herself, they were rather titillating. She would simply be reading them for blackmail and tormenting purposes. Not because any of the three men were quite the hotties in their prime.

Or in present day, but she certainly wouldn’t admit that aloud.

“Find what you were looking for, young lady?” the shopkeeper asked as she rang up Ikkaku’s purchase. She smiled down at the books, clearly pleased with her choice. “Like I said, nothing beats the classics.”

“You’re not wrong,” Ikkaku chuckled, giving her a curious smile. “These, ah, seem to be part of a series. You don’t happen to know if there are any starring women? Like, a female protagonist and a sexy lady pirate as the lovers?” She tried not to get her hopes up, but today had been full of surprises. Perhaps her bisexual prayers would be answered.

The shopkeeper gave a knowing smile. “Come back tomorrow. I know for a fact that I have a copy of  Seduced by the Ice Witch somewhere around here. Whitey Bay does quite a good job making the heroine swoon and tremble. Not that I can blame her in the least.”

The engineer’s smile could have illuminated the darkest ocean as she nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll take it, along with any others you might dig up!” she exclaimed as she handed over her berri, already eager to start her newest book series and method of messing with her dear nakama.

Though, she had already decided that Seduced by the Ice Witch would be kept to herself.

[floortile34]

we might be cyclothymic....

these mood swings do not seem normal

like. mind-numbingly horny (this change seems like if on it's own it could be normal since postcoital dysphoria) to suicidal and doubting if anyone actually loves me to mind going at 725 wpm in like 2 hours

[ipfy-dot-tif]

have you ever wanted to be, have you ever wanted to see someone better in the mirror?

[peachybeins]

Striking a Chord at Randy's by K.C. Carmine M/M (Trans M/Cis M)

Idk gang...this one's bit unbalanced

Thoughts: If I was to describe this in terms of typical romance tropes it'll be; a (childhood) friends-to-FWBs-to-lovers bi awakening. I'm not someone who gets super into tropes but others are and might want to know.

A super exciting thing about this book is the series it's from; Diner Days. Diner Days is a multi-author contemporary trans romance "anthology" series that takes place in or involve a US 50s themed queer Diner called "Randy's", in some instalments the Diner is a more present location than others. All books in the series have at least one trans MC and a good chunk are t4t. It should be noted however that the series is weighted towards trans m/m & m/nb pairings, of the 11 books in the series only 2 are sapphic (f/f or f/nb) and there are no trans m/f pairings. Which is unfortunate for people looking for that type of representation.

EDIT: upon further research it turns out that there is one book; Aftercare at Randy's with a TF/NB/M, so there is technically on Transhet book although it's also F/Nb & M/NB

In theory this book should be (almost) everything I want in trans mlm, the tropes and kinks/sex acts, the relationship and personalities was coming up to be a cool 8-9/10 but the execution was just not it gang.

Simply put the writing wasn't good...When it comes to romance I have lowered standards for prose/writing, I don't expect lit-fic or even the average fantasy novel writing so I am lenient. Awkward phrasing in the narration, abuse of unrealistically verbose and introspective therapy speak in dialogue. And rather petty on my end misuse of the term "himbo"; the misogynistic/homophobic/toxic masculinity douchey gymbros at Trent's old gym will not be himbos! Himbos are nice! Also "muscle himbos" is redundant as himbo= buff anyhow, yeah it's petty but whatevs.

...We got strap sucking y'all!!! That alone saves this damn book lmao. So idc idc.

Which brings me to my next observation; the book was more explicit and had more kinks & fetishes in it than I was expecting. Like I went into this thinking it'll be some simple gay sex shit but Nope! Shit got wild as hell ☠ (positive).

Also massive props for the book acknowledging that vaginismus and HRT induced vaginal atrophy exist and will make frontal penetration painful and unpleasant.

A thing I apricated about the story is that both Trent and Charlie have goals outside of their relationship. From Charlie's music career to Trent getting the motivation to open his own inclusive gym. They do intersect with the romance and both are (obviously) supportive of the other's dreams. Another aspect I apricated was as positive and lowkey as this story was it didn't ignore the existence of homophobia. It's not "extreme" or hardcore and it fits with the vibe of the book...well vague spoilers but towards the end Charlie experiences something semi-based on anti queer bigotry. I do enjoy queer stories where bigotry doesn't exist or isn't acknowledged but sometimes I also like seeing the real shit. Although both their respective projects got achieved and wrapped up a bit too quickly. I won't necessarily fault the book for that, it's about novella length so there wasn't much space to go into detail, perhaps if the book was a bit longer, because there are books in this series double the length so it's not a case of wordcount restrictions.

Representation: white gay trans man MC, white bi/pan cis man MC, Lesbian Side characters, Trans woman side character

Terms Used: cock, t-dick/dick, packer, strap-on, ass/asshole, front hole

Sexual Content & Roles: Explicit sexual content. Strict top/bottom, trans top/cis bottom, size difference, Chastity kink/cock cage, orgasm denial, cum eating, felching, rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, nipple play, oral sex, light bondage, masturbation in front of partner, semi public sex, food play-kinda...lollipops were involved,

Potential dysphoric moments: N/A I guess

TW: mild references to/instances of homophobia, misogyny and toxic masculinity.

Rating: 5/10 🌟 Despite my less than glowing review, I do not dissuade others from picking up this book. It is a cute romance and those of us looking for trans men/masc tops can't be too picky.

[paper-ketch]

(headcanon)

When Phil gets out of the birdhouse, his murder of crows find themselves with a bouquet of hummingbirds (yes that is what a flock of hummingbirds is called and its adorable) joining their ranks.

However, unlike the crows that seem to have their own conscience and volition, the hummingbirds react very impulsive and explosive, because when he couldn't find the comfort provided by his telepathic connection with his crows to act as his eyes in the sky, Phil had to bond with the smaller birds as they weren't trapped or panicking in the birdhouse like him.

But, that bond was built out of sheer desperation, and in his panic, Phil forgot to leave any room for the hummingbirds to have their own conscience.

People think that the crows hovering around the winged man is terrifying and should be feared, but even among the crows, it's the hummingbirds that everyone should worry about. The crows have size as their advantage, but the hummingbirds have absolutely no hesitation if Phil is even a bit upset...

***slightly graphic description undercut***

(...and having small pinpricks of sharp needles pecking you at the speed of light over and over is something that you will want to avoid experiencing ever in your life)

-

you might be thinking, "i don't think their beaks are strong enough to do that kind of damage.".

to that i say, in worst case scenario, apparently their beaks could break through skin. also, it also goes back to the third paragraph of this headcanon where they dont have their own volition, because while they tend to avoid instead of attack, their brains have been rewired to just straight up jump at the threat.