#All That Hard Glossy Armor

[miqojak]

Does your OC observe any ceremonies or festivals of remembrance? Who do they memorialise? How does your OC feel on these occasions?

Actually, there's a piece (Here!) I wrote about exactly this! (Technically, there's a second piece as well - I made it a sort of New Year's/Heaven's Turn tradition for her, after the first one I wrote about here - I wrote about the second one, but I can't find that piece atm...) However, I can talk about it a little OOC as well, though she talks about it in her own weird way in the writing. She's a person carved out by seemingly endless sorrow - it has broken her in a lot of ways, and made her a harsher person than she might have otherwise been... but she has never forgotten who it was all for: her Tribe. Her family. Her home. Her people. Ala Mhigo, yes - but the J Tribe, mostly.

And they are all gone. She is the only one left. She has a lot of trauma surrounding the types of deaths her family had, as well - how dehumanized they were as a people... little more than 'savage beastmen' to their captors. So in remembrance, she is somber. She is grave. She is quiet... she is on the edge. Family was everything to her people - tribe was what was important, and now she is utterly, and singularly alone; the only one left to light a memorial fire. It weighs on her heavily - the weight of a legacy she can see the end of - knowing she is the end of it. Every memorial fire marks one year closer to the end of the Jackal.

Speaking of the memorial fire! I can't find the right word for it, but it's effectively a funeral tradition I've come up with for the J tribe about burning the bones of the fallen, since they are a nomadic desert people - she didn't have the bones of her own fallen people, here, so she used mostly animal bones ( ...don't ask about the others). You build a sort of... small, pyramid-like structure out of the cleaned bones of the fallen, essentially weaving in flammable tinder, and light it up! Send off the fallen warrior's spirit by lighting a beacon to call the Jackal to guide them to the afterlife ( ...and you know, to keep their loved ones' bodies from being dug up to be eaten by desert wildlife). Jak has a lot of survivor's guilt - though, oddly enough, that's what has kept her alive when she really hasn't wanted to be, at times... knowing that all those dead people, all her dead loved ones? Their deaths would be for nothing, if she doesn't achieve something with her life - if she doesn't live it to the fullest, and do whatever it takes to come out on top in life... which isn't the healthiest outlook either, but it's given her a healthy will to live when she had little left.

Once a year, she gets to just go be alone and let all that sad out, all that regret and loneliness - and not be afraid to do so. Taking off her 'armor' is a rare thing.

[heartsdefine]

@hoboblaidd:

(cont'd) ⇉ ❝ i'm doing some of my best work here and you don't even have the decency to roll your eyes at me. honestly it's hurtful. ❞ Solas barked a laugh despite himself, shaking his head. “Yes, it is very impressive,” he said, dodging the sear of an energy barrage that flew slightly too close to his head. He normally didn’t take pleasure from a fight, focusing on the necessity of the battle rather than its excitement. But after crawling through hot metal and sand for the better part of a day, the unrelenting sun straining even the strongest of his sunblocking spells, Solas was just happy to see it done. Someone else could mourn these Venatori dead. His only thought was for dinner, and shaking the biting crystals of sand from his clothes. “For a Circle mage,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Which he rolled once for good measure.

        “Now, that's much better,” Rosalind said with a smirk, as she moved to stow her staff again. “I love a good back-handed compliment, even coming from an apostate.” The Hissing Wastes were not a forgiving place to travel, that much was true. Though the sunshine didn't bother her nearly so much as the sudden cold when all the light went out of the sky. Shivering slightly and clutching her clock tighter around her, she kicked over one of the Venatori corpses, wrinkling her nose. “We should make camp nearby.” A pause. “Not here, though. Too much clean-up for my tastes.” The Tevinter cultists could come and collect their own dead, as far as she was concerned.

[ii-magician]

I rewatched 3x05 A Day in The Life and then 4x05 Escape from the Happy Place back to back and I am unwell

[prettiestlovergirl]

TROUBLE

tw: MDNI; fem!reader; slytherin!reader; spoiled!reader; ditzy!reader; semi-public sex; unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it); oral fixation! reader; slight dumbification; rough sex; fingering; italian!theodore nott.

a/n: giggling and kicking my feet with this one, I LOVE ITALIAN! THEO. one of my favorite hcs. i had a grand ole time writing this one hehe. enjoy, my lovelies! 𓆩♡𓆪

theodore nott thrived on things being neat and orderly.

he was reserved, controlled, proper. his hair was always perfectly styled, his uniforms neatly pressed, every single act was planned in advance, he functioned 5 steps ahead of the world.

even when he and his friends were cruel or caused some sort of chaos, it was perfectly controlled. there was nothing that could break his focus, his drive, his desire for perfection.

well, except for you that is.

you and theo had been... acquaintances for years. you had classes together, attended the same house parties, you were incredibly hard to miss. you were his opposite in every way: you were bold, impulsive, fucking chaos personified.

he liked controlled actions, carefully planned out steps, and neat perfection and you? you liked everything but.

he should have wanted nothing to do with you, should have been appalled by you but.... it was exactly the opposite. everything about you seemed to draw him in. your charming smiles, your hissed demands, your expensive taste, everything about you fascinated him.

something about you made him want to lose control, to let you drive him insane. being around you felt messy, felt like playing with fire, he should have never been alone with you.

being alone with you meant thoughts of letting you ruin him completely and letting him ruin you ran wild, so he always made sure to have a buffer or three to keep you at arm's length.

but when snape asked if anybody could tutor you... he couldn't resist offering his services, being your knight in shining armor. you'd just looked so desperate, with your glossy pink lips sticking out in the sweetest little pout.

now, however, he was seriously regretting allowing himself to think with his dick instead of his rational brain. you were so close he could smell the fucking strawberry scented shampoo you used and the way it mixed in with your expensive perfume.

theo prided himself on his self-control, so really, it was pathetic that 40 minutes with you sitting across from him had him so tense. he tried to focus on helping you, but you consistently pulled him off course.

you hated studying, hence the need for a tutor. you could never focus, it was just so boring. especially right now, when you had the theodore nott helping you out. how could you be expected to focus on potions when you could pick the brain on the most poise and proper man in your year?

you couldn't help but tease him a bit, i mean, you figured he was indestructible. you joked around and flashed him flirty little smiles, relishing in every teasing comment or joke you pulled out of him.

eventually, theo couldn't take it anymore. he was one pink-tinted glossy smile away from grabbing you right then and there. he excused himself abruptly, lying about needing to find you another book. really, he just needed a second to breath strawberry-free air and calm himself down.

but you had to follow him, didn't you? you just had to follow him into the secluded section, hands behind your back, pouty lip caught between your teeth. "are you alright, theo?" you questioned, eyes full of concern as his name rolled off your tongue perfectly.

and that was all it took for his last shred of self-control to break.

it had taken you completely by surprise. one moment, you were afraid you'd upset him, going to follow him and apologize for your teasing. the next, he'd murmured a quick "fanculo" (fuck it) and crashed his lips onto yours.

the kiss was rough and unrestrained, not at all how you'd imagined he'd have kissed. you thought it would be chaste and sweet, all proper like him. the roughness, the desperation of it all had you moaning on impact in both surprise and delight.

theo relished in your moan, pushing his tongue past your lips and teeth to explore your mouth. his tongue moved so expertly; it made your brain go a little fuzzy. his tongue drew moan after moan out of you.

his long, nimble fingers expertly unbuttoned your shirt before tugging your bra down just enough to expose your mouthwatering tits to him. the cool library air made your nipples harden instantly.

"merda, guaio." (shit) he swore, pulling away from your lips to admire all your exposed flesh. he watched as your chest heaved while you caught your breath. "you gonna be quiet for me, mio tesoro?" (my treasure) he asked, his lips wrapping around one of your nipples while his eyes stayed on yours.

it took a moment for you to even register that he was talking to you. your mind was spinning with a million different thoughts but you still found yourself unable to come up with a coherent sentence.

it felt a little like you had whiplash. you couldn't quite believe that the perfect and oh-so-calculated theodore nott was currently swirling his tongue around your nipple in the middle of the library.

"i asked you a question, guaio." he cooed, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh and making you gasp. "yes. yes, i'll be quiet." you breathed, nodding your head rapidly as your eyes stayed trained on his. "brava ragazza." (good girl)

his words burned into your skin, the wetness between your thighs practically gushing over your panties while he continued to suck and lick both of your nipples until they were coated in his saliva.

"t-theo.." you whimpered softly, biting your lip harshly as one of his hands trailed under your skirt, fingers brushing against the wetness soaking your panties. "please..." you gasped.

the sound of you whimpering out his name drove him fucking insane, his hands quickly sliding your panties off and shoving the damp fabric into his back pocket before brushing his thumb over your swollen clit.

you mewled out in pleasure, his smooth thumb making your vision get a little hazy. "so fucking wet, guaio." he groaned quietly, continuing to rub your clit with his thumb.

you didn't see when he pushed a finger deep inside, making you cry out before his free hand smacked over your mouth. "gotta be quiet for me, or i'll have to stop." he hissed, making you whine at the idea of him stopping anytime soon.

"'m s-sorry." you moaned against his palm, hand latching onto his arm. you brought two of his fingers into your mouth, sucking them and coating them with your saliva in order to help keep you quiet while he consumed you.

he played with your body with ruthless precision while you writhed in pure bliss, free hand gripping onto the bookcase beside you as you moaned around his fingers.

he pushed a second finger into you and then a third, stretching your puffy walls out over and over with his thrusts. your knees were practically shaking when his fingers crashed into that familiar, gummy spot that made your toes curl.

he forced his fingers further down your throat once he hit the spot, keeping you from screaming out in pleasure while you came all over his hand.

theo relished in your pussy walls fluttering around his fingers, the squelching sounds of your wetness coating his hand making his trousers feel fucking unbearable at this point.

he pulled his fingers out of both your holes, letting you catch your breath for just a second before shoving his cum-soaked fingers back into your mouth. "clean them for me, will you guaio?" he cooed, a borderline deranged smirk on his face as you did just that.

"cazzo, i can't enough of you." (fuck) he huffed, pulling his fingers back out and spinning you towards the bookcase. he pressed your face lightly against the bookcase, bringing his hands down to quickly bring his cock out from his pants.

you gripped onto the bookcase for support, face pressed against some old atlas' no one ever used anymore will your nipples scraped the smooth wood.

"you're gonna be the fucking death of me, guaio." he hissed, before lifting your skirt back up and thrusting roughly into you. you gasped and moaned against the shelf, unable to help yourself before his fingers pushed back into your mouth.

you gagged and sucked on his two fingers while he thrusted roughly into you, muffling his grunts and groans of pleasure into your neck. his lips latched onto your sweet spot, teeth scraping over it repeatedly as he fucked you.

"so fucking tight, guaio. such a good fucking girl for me. you drive me fucking insane." he grunted, each word followed by a fast and rough thrust and made your whole body shake with pleasure as he fucked you.

his free hand gripped your waist tightly, keeping you from rocking the shelf as best he could while he moved roughly in and out of you. your tongue swirled around his fingers, muffled babbles about how fucking good you felt escaping your lips.

the neat and pristine man relished in turning you into a dumb, babbling mess. your own drool and saliva coated your chin as he fucked you.

it wasn't long before your legs started quivering and your pussy walls started to clench tighter around him. "'m gonna- f-fuck, 'm gonna cum!" you whined, the wet sounds of you gagging on his fingers and his cock pounding your pussy drove you insane.

theo bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing himself to stay quiet while he lost himself in your tight walls. his eyes were fixed on where you two were connected, the sight of your arousal creating a creamy white ring around his cock nearly sent him over the edge.

"cum for me, guaio. be a good girl and cum on my cock." he cooed in your ear, gripping your hip even tighter to fuck deeper into you until you coated his cock in your cum.

you had a couple tears running down your cheeks, mascara clumping as he continued to fuck you hard and fast until he reached his own high and painted your walls with his cum.

he buried his now sweat covered forehead into the crook of your neck, trying to catch his breath while you panted. he pulled his fingers back from your mouth, letting them drag over your kiss swollen lips and chin.

theodore nott had fucking ruined you and he was sure you had done exactly the same, he had the crescent shapes etched into his arm to prove it.

"what does guaio mean?" you asked suddenly, absolutely butchering the pronunciation as you blinked your doe eyes at him. you would have looked so innocent if it weren't for the saliva and streaks of black.

"it means trouble, bambola." (doll)

ᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵉʳ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵇʸ @ᵐᵘʳᵘᶠᶠⁱⁿ

[qntncldwter]

beautiful dreamer --- awake unto me

⤷ s4e10 all that hard glossy armor

[aweina]

౨ৎ. PEACHES & CREAM ( 17 + ) ; raiden

tags gn reader. caught masturbating. hand job. oral sex. food play. hair pulling. friends to lovers. + 2k words.

based on this ask

the straw basket you held was snug in your grasp, filled with assortments of glossy apples, fuzzy peaches, and ripe lychees. it was all of raiden’s favorite fruits — something you learned from tomas’s daily commutes to your family’s fruit farm.

a bad fever. you distinctly traced back to kung lao’s words, a bitter look animating his face every time he spared details about raiden’s current sickening state. a layer of cold sweat covering his skin, unusually complaining about muscle aches, and his appetite only consisting of a glass of water and some good sleep.

that was bad. raiden has never gotten sick in all the years you’ve known him. he wore his skin like armor — resilient and adaptable to any weather. but with the current heat waves passing through the condensed village, it only made sense for the hardworking farm boy to be too stubborn to miss a day in the cabbage fields.

nevertheless, you admired raiden for his work ethic, but most importantly his compassion and kindness. he shined so bright when there was a smile on his face. hearing his gentle voice made your eyes flutter shut and soothed throughout the whole day. your crush on the farm boy couldn’t be anymore obvious, but it seems your subtle flirting and wandering eyes went unnoticed for years.

you gently pad through the zen garden, minimal with white rocks and gravel that held the warmth of summer — your scandals were neatly placed by the entrance, footsteps much softer and less damaging to the wooden platform. raiden’s home, blared with midnight silence all while the vicious heat waves irritably hum in your ears, making you flush under your thin garments.

drop off the basket and make your way home. that was the plan.

but your nerves heightened at the source of warm light that bled through the sliding doors — shadows of objects inked all over the paper panel. it was raiden's room. he was awake?

slowly, you got closer, softly step towards the light with a nervous grip on the straw-woven handle. you froze in shock when you heard a strangled sound coming from the other side of the panel. one step. the sound was suppressed, lodged deep in his throat. closer. a rhythmic wetness, in sync with your racing heart. in front of the door. with a hoarse voice, your name desperately fell off his lips as a gushing sound followed after.

with a shaking hand, you curiously slid open the thin panel.

it’s raiden, he just jerked off on his bed while he moaned your name.

before slipping his strained hand past the waistband of his soiled underwear, he restlessly opens his eyes and sees you standing there.

did he come so hard that he was hallucinating?

it took an awkward second to realize you were in fact, real. immediately, raiden frantically covered his lower half with the bunched up covers beside him — his usual kind eyes filled with the fusion of embarrassment and guilt. if it weren’t across his room right now, raiden would’ve used his straw hat to avoid your unreadable eyes — preferably forever.

“i – uh – i can explain,” raiden finally sputtered with desperation. he was stressed, darting his wavering gaze over to the fallen fruit basket to your terrifyingly neutral expression.

he looked away, gazing down at his fidgeting, haphazardly wiped hands.

“i’m truly… truly sorry about this. you must have been uncomfortable hearing all that – if you wish to never see me, i’ll make sure to —“

“are you still sick, raiden?”

your tone was even as you entered the humid room and slid the panel door shut. he flinched at the sound of your footstep, even more so with your lack of response to his apology.

“i – i’ve recovered well…” his words seemed to fall into silence as he looked up and watched you slowly bend down and take a peach from the floor, peeling off the fuzz with delicate fingers.

“has any of madam bo’s remedies worked well for you?”

one side of the peach was peeled off, a bead of sweet juice running down the plush fruit. it gleamed under the warm lantern light and made raiden swallow in anticipation.

“yes… they have made great improvements to combat my sickness, although… i’m still suffering from a headache.”

thinking about his lengthy absence, away from his responsibilities in fengjian, away from the sense of community, away from you, led him to a troubling spiral that left his head pounding with an intense ache. touching himself seemed like the only solution at the time, especially when his worries about you transformed into a lustful yearning.

you nodded in acknowledgement, the peach extract now ran down your arm — tacky on your dewy skin. to his surprise, you took a generous bite from the fruit, the delicate floral flavor coating your mouth. a gush of juice ran down from the corner of your lustrous lips, prompting you to take a finger and catch the leftover juice, only to apply it over your lips like a sweet balm.

raiden concentrates on your alluring movements with wide eyes, thankful for his previous panicked behavior to hide his shameful actions, only for it now to hide another painfully confined boner.

pressing your sticky lips together, you tread towards the small bed to take a seat on the edge, far from the farm boy’s reach. but with you much closer than before, raiden’s rapid breathing was apparent. he’s nervous, yet there’s a sense of urgency coursing through his stiff body. he could crawl towards you if you wanted him to, he could even set aside every ounce of his pride to beg for your touch. but then your question made his flush pink while the sudden surge of blood pumping through his veins made his cock twitch.

“mind if i try one of my remedies?”

your voice is so sweet and intoxicating, replacing all his senses with sexual desire.

raiden nodded frantically.

“o – of course, please do.” then you smiled for the first time of the night.

you crawled towards him with need, immediately latching your mouth onto his. raiden sighs in relief, sloppily kissing you back in desperation, the taste of peach on the tip of his tongue. eagerly, he lapped his pink muscle over your sweet lips. his favorite fruit coating your lips, tasting it with his own mouth — he must be dreaming. you whimpered at his gentle licking, eyes fluttering shut to memorize each caress of his tongue.

to close any space between the two of you, raiden pulls away the covers and guides your flushed body to straddle him. your weight sealed tight against raiden, his hardened cock brushed along your own clothes wetness — a choked groan escaping his lips all while you swallow them into a searing sugary kiss.

in need of some air, the both of you were panting heavily as you pulled away, a shared dazed expression on each other’s faces. you were the first to laugh, lips swollen and glossy from raiden’s eager tongue. he joined in the break of sexual tension with a small chuckle, the essence of peach was still sweet on his palate. you smile warmly as you gently brushed threads of long black hair away from his flushed face — cradling his warm cheeks into your hands.

“is it fine if i continue?” you whispered against his lips, leaving a plethora of sweet pecks in between each word.

“i could never deny you.” he confesses with no sputter or hesitation to his words — genuine and sweet.

by the elder gods, you wanted to make him feel so good.

you smiled wickedly as you leaned back and adjusted yourself, grinding agonizingly slow and hard against his hot erection. raiden hisses, rough hands suddenly firm around your waist for leverage. the dimly lit room felt more humid than before, filled with desperate pants and heady sweat. summer’s heat waves didn’t help the fact that the both of you were burning with desire.

you began to undress from your silky robe, the patterned fabric pooled by the side of the bed. raiden fondly stares at your bare body, starstruck by your natural beauty. before he could remove his own damp clothing, your nimble fingers began to undo the buttons of his shirt — exposing his heaving chest. for as long you’ve ever known raiden, a shirt clung onto his frame. never once showing an ounce of skin further than his collarbones. but this was something new. a well-toned stomach from his training with madam bo did him wonders. but with his even, golden tan shows that he does in fact train without a shirt — maybe after all this, you can accompany madam bo’s vigorous training.

but for now, your hands and lips ache to touch raiden everywhere. eagerly, you began to leave a trail of wet kisses and love marks all over his exposed body. raiden begins to groan with every scrap of your teeth, hands clinging desperately on his bedsheets. you smile at his impressive self-restraint, pulling away occasionally to fully memorize the details of his body. to the soft moles that scatter along his dewy marked skin, the deep contours that drew his frame, and finally the trail of coarse hair running his navel. he was perfect — so perfect.

raiden notices your intense gaze over his exposed form and shyly averts his eyes away, the grip on the cloth bed sheets giving him some stability.

you placed a sweet kiss over his navel, trailing down further as your cheeks began to graze his pubic hair, erection bumping against your chin.

“nervous?”

raiden shifts at your question and cutely nods.

“i am, but … i want to continue.” he has been waiting for this after all.

you nod at his words, hooking your fingers under the elastic waistband as you carefully drag down his pants. raiden lifts his weight a bit to give you easier access — a comedic look on his face when his cock accidentally slaps your cheek when his waistband reaches down to his thighs.

“oh. i - i’m sorry.” he faintly chuckled in embarrassment, shrugging off the shirt to let it join the rest of the clothing on the floor.

you shook your head when you disgraced his pants, sitting up briefly to reach towards the nightstand.

“your excitement shouldn’t bring you shame.”

the half-bitten peach felt soft and sticky in your grasp, still supple with sweet sap.

“it just needs to be taken care of.”

raiden’s eyes perk up at the softened peach and immediately shift towards his cock. are you going to –

a sudden coldness kisses his swollen, oozing tip, dripping down on his shaft. raiden immediately moans at the foreign feeling, the delicate scent of honeyed sweetness seeping on his skin. your hands squeeze the peach a little harder, getting every ounce of sticky sap onto his twitching cock. running the fruit dry, you discarded it on the nightstand and began to run your hands down his length at an agonizingly slow pace.

your name falls prettily out of his lips with every careful pump — hips moving desperately to meet your hand. with his cock much more sensitive from the new sensation of a sticky essence and his previous orgasm, he was sure that he wouldn’t last much longer. sensing raiden’s peak, you pulled away — his hips sputter for a moment until they fell back onto the bed. raiden tried to compose himself, his shallow breaths brushing against your flushed face, progressively becoming more stable.

“don’t cum just yet, i haven’t even gotten to taste you.” you jested, shifting on your knees so that you’re at head level with his cock.

“your skill makes it hard for me not to.” raiden breathes out, a small smile on his face.

you playfully roll your eyes, brushing your hand over his fingertips — urging to guide his touch. curiously, raiden follows your gentle hold onto his long fingers until you thread them through your scalp. as he was a fast learner in combat, so was he in the bedroom. with a firm grip, raiden tugs onto the back of your head. you smiled at his new sense of confidence, the hesitation in his touch much more rough with assertiveness.

without a word, he slowly guided your mouth down onto his cock — the warm air replaced with a scorching wetness.

“shit.” raiden curses, a rarity in his usual vocabulary. his dark brows pinched together, strands of hair falling from his bun. “you are amazing.”

the small praise made your mouth water, dissolving the juice clung onto his length. raiden allows a few seconds for you to relax your mouth and begins to bob your head along his cock — careful to not let you gag just yet. the sweet taste of ripe peach and bitter precum laid deliciously over your tongue, twirling over his tip with every tug at your scalp. whimpers of your name escaped raiden’s lip as the sleek sounds of your filled mouth were in sync with one another. with your mouth adjusting to the forgiving pace, you began to suckle and moan around his cock — sending extra sensations for raiden to feel. he bites back a groan, overwhelmed by the feeling of your mouth and the perfect view of his hand gripping your messy hair and glossy eyes eagerly looking up at him.

even like this, he honestly found you to be breathtaking.

“you are so beautiful. oh. it just feels so good –“

raiden tilts his head up, his cock beginning to twitch in your mouth. the heady taste of cum and peach puts you into a mind numbing trance, intently suckling and licking down his length. suddenly, you gagged at the sudden graze of his tip, noticing how much further it is down your throat. your senses suddenly flood back into you, his low whines and groans much more clear.

“i – i’m close — so close.” raiden warns, his restraint begins to slowly chipping away as his grip begins to leave your scalp tender, his pace backing more grueling with each hard thrust of his hips, making you choke and tear up.

you grip tightly into his thighs, steadily breathing through your nose as his cock continuously plunges down throat. the coil in your gut burns with greed, ready to take his load. the fast building tension came so quick, you knew instantly that he was there. and with one final thrust, raiden calls out your name, hot cum spurting down your bruised throat — coating your mouth with a salty, peachy taste. his body jerks in overwhelming ecstasy, sweat collecting around his brow bone dripping down his neck. his cock softens in your mouth, making your breathing less restricting. the death grip on your scalp exchanged to a comforting massage, gently guiding your mouth to detach from his cock with a lewd pop.

your eyes met, his much more apologetic and filled with worry. as yours was filled with a satisfied haze.

“are you feeling okay?” raiden whispered in concern, making the effort to pat down the messy strands of your hair. “i was too rough on you, i’m sorry about that.”

you shook your head, laying your head over his stomach. raiden sighs in relief, although his brows still knit with concern.

“i’m fine. what about you? is your headache finally gone?”

raiden tilts his head in confusion, until he realizes what you mean. he lightly chuckles, continuing to caress your head adoringly.

“it is actually,” he genuinely admits, eyeing the crushed peach on the nightstand in amusement. “your remedy does work after all.”

you grinned at his teasing, slowly lifting up your whole body to grab one of the few sizable fragments of the fruit — pressing its sweet yellow flesh against your cum coated lips.

“if you ever feel sick again, i can try out other remedies.” you suggested, raising the sweet remnant towards his mouth.

his eyes light up before he gently grabs your wrist as he takes a bite, holding your unwavering gaze. he catches you off guard with a sudden short tug — locking into a tender kiss. raiden gently drags his tongue along the molars of your mouth and over your quivering lips. the taste of himself and the delicate floral sweetness surprisingly compliment each other.

he slowly pulled away, a trail of saliva between your lips gleamed under the warm light.

“then i hope my fever could last a little longer.”

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[loveandfictionforall]

I have an idea for some fluff headcanons with Astarion.

So, Asharion and Reader had met before the happenings of the game and knew each other. Maybe she never really acted on his tries to lure her in? They maybe kept secret friends? I don‘t know, who cares.

To the idea? Reader finally meets him again when the party reaches Baldurs Gate? Maybe some heartwarming headcanons of seeing him and recognizing him and wondering what happend, where he went, making sure he is alright?

Yey, my first request for Baldur's Gate 3!

Astarion meets his friend again

Astarion knows you since a while back. The first time, he tried to seduce you. The second time, he tried to suck you dry. The third time, he sat down beside you and you began to talk. After that you came ot the conclusion that you two were friends.

It didn't take you long to understand that Astarion had a burdend past and present. With everything you've got, you tried to make him smile, let him rest for few hours so he can relax before going back to his personal hell.

Of course, Astarion being the person who he ist, tried every time to seduce you - after all it was one of his most prized skills.

You two spend every other day together, as soon as the clock stroke midnight.

But soon Astarion did not appear. For weeks. You were worried out of your mind, pacing through your home, asking people about him and staying every night at the place you both shared. But he never appeared. After nearly two months you began to admit with glassy eyes that he would not appear again and so you began visiting his grave (yes, he did show it to you.)

On one fateful day, you were already too late for work, you sprinted through Baldur's Gate. Your eyes were focused on your feet mostly since you were a realy clumsy person sometimes. As thus, you tended to run against people, yelling an apology but never stopping.

That changed when you collied with a lean body, head on against a hard armor breast plate. Internally you cringed. Hopefully it was not one of the guards, sometimes they tended to be a bit mean towards you.

Stumbling you would try to keep a distance but slender fingers wrapped around your upper arms.

Startled you would look up, your moth half open as you realized who stood before you.

"Astarion?", his name would spill quietly from your lips while your eyes would get glossy. A smile graced your lips as you saw the light and playfull smirk from Astarion. How you missed that stupid arrogant bastard.

"Well, hello there, my darling.", he smirked. His fingers loosens around you and in that moment you propelled yourself forward, slinging your arms around his neck und pushing your body against his.

"Where were you? I fucking missed you!", you would cry but you weren't really angry since you knew he would have said anything if it happened willingly. Instead you focused on him and how his arms hugged your body closer to him while he buried his face against your neck. Damn, did you miss that cocky bastard.

[simpcityy]

My Little Spawn Pt.3 (Dadstarion X Child!Reader)

Summary: Astarion was finally free from Cazador after being kidnapped by a mindflayer but he was stuck with one annoying task, you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate 3 or any of its characters.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Cazador, language, violence, spoilers for those who haven't gone far in the game, mentions of blood, animal death...Uhhh...I think that is all.

Authors Note: Thank you all so much for the support! I am so glad you are all loving this series so far! As always please, like, reblog and comment if you are loving this series and hopefully others would like it as well. Also...THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 500 FOLLOWERS. YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST. Since we reached this number, I would do another father figure series because I feel I'm much better at that than a romance x reader version. Who should it be? Gale? Wyll? Rolan? Gortash? So many choices!

  Astarion leans against the rocky wall watching you get swarm by the female druids and Tieflings coddling you from how adorable you are. He lets out a small smile seeing you pout as the ladies coo at you. He thinks back to the discovery he found out 2 nights ago. Dhampir, when has Cazador ever been involved with a human. More importantly which dumb female wants to be in a relationship with Cazador. He looks at you seeing you trying to squirm away from the ladies. He sudden thinks back how protective Cazador was with you. Never letting you step out of the palace even at night….no…he wasn’t protecting you but rather himself. He’s raising you as a spawn to conceal the reality of your powers. What a bastard but then again Astarion is not surprised, it’s Cazador after all.  

 You finally had enough of this ladies and burst out crying “Astarion!” You wail feeling overwhelmed. He sighs and walks over “Excuse me Ladies, I think the little one has enough and I hate for them to get cranky.” He picks you up walking away from the pouting ladies. “Now, now, there is no need to cry” He sighs and rubs your back as you whimper clinging on to his armor. “Don’t like the attention or what?” He asked as you only kept quiet whimpering a couple times laying your head on his shoulder trying to relax. He leans his head back trying to look at you, “Are…you okay, so odd of you to be quiet.” He mutters trying to find the group in the grove. “I just miss home…I miss papa…and everyone else…” You mutter. He sighs “there, there but you have me no?” He hums walking through the grove enjoying this simple conversation with you. “I want to go home…my clothes don’t fit much…it hurts me and I miss my toys!” You whine. Astarion lets out a chuckle “Oh what a spoiled little spawn…well creature…eh, you’ll always be a little spawn to me.” He puts you down looking at you, it was true, he did notice you were an inch taller than yesterday and your clothes did look a bit tight. “Oh you weren’t kidding…” He thinks looking around “Dhampir do grow faster and mature faster….” He mutters to himself before going to a trader seeing if they have anything in stock, fabric even. 

As he was busy, you stray from him as you spotted a few tiefling children playing. You ran over smiling “Can I play!” You stood in front of them. “Sure! You’re from Baldur’s gate aren’t you by the way you talk and dress?” One of them smiles, “What games do you play at home?” One asked. You think carefully. Games, well you play ball by yourself, Cazador has you learn reading and writing. “I…um…I don’t know…usually papa has me studying and sends his people to play with me.” You held your hands behind your back and kick your feet in a shy manner. “Oh…you’re those kinds…Um….I think I heard my mom calling” They quickly left as the others give other excuses and leave you alone. You only look down and grab the ball they dropped bouncing it on your own. “What’s the matter?” Gale walks over seeing the scene. You look up, eye glossy trying not to let tears fall down. “Making friends is hard…” You whisper “Back home there is no other children playing with me…” Gale looks at you thinking back to himself as a young child. “It is isn’t it?” He smiles gently grabbing the ball from you and tossing it to you playing. You smile giggling and toss it back to him. “I don’t have any friends at home to play with, papa never lets me leave the big castle…” You catch the ball as it was tossed back. “Is that so? I know how it feels to be lonely…how about this.” He catches the ball and placed it down as he squats to your height. “(Y/N) would you like to be my friend?” He smiles as your eyes widen gasping. “You mean it!” Your little body bouncing with excitement. Gale nods waiting for your response. “Yes!” You bounce happily “ I have to tell Astarion!” You ran off to find the pale elf. Gale chuckles watching run off to bother Astarion with a big smile on your face.  

The next day You were told to stay in the grove. Shadowheart chuckles watching you pouting away eating whatever was given to you. “I want to go out too!” You look up at her. She only sighs “How do I deal with children…you want to go out you say? I guess we can outside the gates and collect some herbs. I know everyone is going to need healing after this battle.” Getting up, she held your hand and walked outside of the grove. You ran around happily collecting flowers for everyone. “What am I supposed to collect?” You asked her. She smiles fixing your hair “See this herb right there, that’s what we need.” She points as your eyes follow the direction she was pointing at. You ran over picking it up smiling and collected more. She only sits by the rock watching you over as you collected whatever caught your little eye. You hum the same tune Cazador would hum to you. Collecting flowers you stopped seeing a bunny hop around in the distance. Shadowheart was busy playing with the artifact like a rubik's cube only to look up hearing the poor bunny squeal in the distance. She panics not seeing you and gets up putting the artifact away. “(Y/N)!?” She follows the sound before going down a small path behind a rock wall seeing you drain the blood of the poor bunny. You look up at her blood soaking your shirt and your lips stained. “What…are you doing?” She slowly walks over to you and kneels by you. You look at him “I…I didn’t mean to…I wanted to play with the bunny but…” You began to wail feeling overwhelmed by these urges. “Oh please don’t cry.” Shadowheart panics looking around, not knowing what to do in this scenario. “Where is the Spawn when you need him…okay. Let’s clean you up and a nap will help” She holds your hand ignoring the blood and toss the rabbit on the side into a bush for a wolf or other animal to chow on. She walks to the river and makes you wash your hands. “Relax, everything is going to be okay.” She whispers as you whimper. She collects water into her palm and rubs off the blood from your shirt the best of her ability. She sighs seeing the shirt to be now discolored into the blood stain. “Your bag is in the grove….we can’t let them see you like this.” She wipes your cheeks clean as well. You look over hearing the bush rustle behind her. Shadowheart quickly picked you up and took out her mace. “Who goes there!” She glares. You cling to her only to tear up seeing Astarion walk out of the bush. 

“There you are, I thought I smelled blood near the gate.” He was out of breath and bruised from the battle they came back. His hair was all over the place and had a panicked look on his face. Shadowheart puts her mace away “Don’t scare me like that! I could’ve swing!” She scolds at him. He paid no attention to her as he walks over seeing your face stained in tears and a scared look. He noticed your clothes stained in blood. He took you from her arms and held you close, his hand on the back of your head. “What in the hells were you thinking?! I thought it was your blood I smelled all the way from the gates! I thought you got hurt!” He yells but not loudly knowing how much you hate it. You only laid your little head on his shoulder crying into his shoulder, your fist clinging on to him. He softens a bit feeling your little shoulders shake, you were scared. “What happened?” He looks at Shadowheart ready to pin this on her. “What did you do to them!” He glares at her. Hearing the commotion, Tav found them along with the others following. “What’s going on? Why is (Y/N) crying?” Tav walks over ready to stop Astarion seeing the murderous glare at the young woman. “What did you do!” He repeats to her, holding you close. “Their Dhampir side came out…” Shadowheart looks at him, feeling a bit speechless seeing him get this overprotective. She snaps out of it and points to the bunny in the bush. Gale walks over but turns around quickly “If you have a weak stomach…I suggest not looking” He covers his mouth. Tav walks over and looks at the bunny. “Gods…its in pieces….” They whisper. Hearing their comments made you tear up. They think your a monster, they won’t be your friends anymore…they won’t take you to see your home and papa anymore. You only hide your face more, letting out choked sobs. “Enough! Think before you speak.” Astarion held you close “We just hide the damn bunny and do our best to cheer them up…they are feeling overwhelmed and not themselves…gods do you people ever use your brain?” He walks off holding you close. 

  Night fell, you were in Astarion tent, in the corner. The pale elf walks in holding food, “Your still human…you need to eat this….we can start implementing human foods more than blood to control that urge.” He sits by you. You only look at the plate, hugging your knees and shake your head no. “(Y/N)...it was okay what you did…it’s in your nature…and I know your scared…I was too…when I first became a spawn….” He whispers softly and scoots closer only for you to scoot away. “ No…I don’t want to you…or anyone…like I did to Mr.Bunny..” You tear up. “Is that why mommy didn’t want me…am I a monster…they…probably won’t be my friends anymore” You whispers thinking back their reaction to the bunny. Astarion looks at you before grabbing your arm, you gasp and try to wiggle away, scared to hurt him only to feel a warm embrace. Astarion held you close, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “By hells, you are speaking nonsense little spawn.” He rubbed your back. “If they thought of us as monster, we wouldn’t be here now…they…are odd in their own ways you know so no one is perfect.” He grabbed the plate “Now eat up” He feed you a piece of fish and sat you on his lap, making sure you ate. You happily munched feeling slightly better. 

  After finishing your food, you laid your little head on Astarions chest as he held you close in one arm while the other was busy reading a book about Dhampir’s he found in a box. Your little doe eyes look up seeing everyone walk to Astarion’s tent. You cling to him feeling anxious only to calm down as Astarion rubs your little arm, “Relax, they come bearing gifts” He hums. Gale was the first one to talk “(Y/N), it was rude of me to…you know…having a weak stomach but you have nothing to worry about, I will always be your friend.” He smiles and leans down leaving down a purple wrapped gift on the ground for you smiling. He rubs your head “Sleep well” He whispers before being pushed back by Karlach, “Hey little soldier! Look what I got you” She smiles placing the small stuff bear in your arms which you happily accepted. “Thank you” You whisper shyly hugging the bear. Shadowheart smiles as it was her turn. “I got you some pretty flowers and made a couple of bracelets, we both have one. “ She shows off hers and place the other next to Gale’s gift. Tav walks over smiling and crouched next to you and Astarion. “Mine…you’ll have to wait because I promise…I will take you back home” They pat your head. Upon hearing this, you gasp. “You mean it! I get to see my papa soon!” You sat up. 

Astarion leans back watching you interact happily with everyone, that fear gone. He chuckles seeing you yawn and rub your eyes. “Alright little spawn time for sleep.” He looks at the others shooing them away from his tent and picks you up, fixing the bedroll and lays down, holding you close. He wasn’t going to let you go through this alone, not on his watch. You’re his little spawn after all.

[strawhatsoraya]

GOJO X FEM READER X GETO | SFW WC: 3.4k CW: suggestive language, mentions of bullying, gojo continues to be a little shit, second hand embarrassment, geto suguru just existing, rom com vibes SUMMARY: Gojo Satoru can't seem to stop annoying Y/N, and Y/N unwillingly shares a lollipop with him. Geto Suguru appears like a knight in shining armor, but he has his own feelings to sort through.

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter Two

Every time he’d see you in the halls, there was a lollipop in your mouth.

Your eyes, dull and hard to read, stare at nothing as you lean against the wall. You absentmindedly turn the stick between the tips of your fingers, swirling the sticky sweet against the inside of your cheeks.

He doesn't know why or how it started.

Maybe it began as a whim, or maybe it was an innocent token given by someone Gojo Satoru hadn’t noticed before. Someone he had long forgotten. Although he severely doubted that. He prided himself on his observational skills and on his keen ability to file away personal little tidbits he could manipulate to his favor later.

If someone had given you a lollipop, even as a mere act of kindness to breach past the invisible walls around you, Gojo would have noticed; and he would have definitely remembered. After all, whether he liked it or not, he had developed the uncanny ability to find you in any room without much effort.

You had joined a few weeks into the spring term, a surprise transfer student no one was expecting.

Your introduction to the school had sent everyone into an unnecessary tizzy, as rumors about the reason you had transferred broke out in every corner. Some mentioned bullying as to why you suddenly left your previous school; that it had been so bad you had contemplated doing something reckless. Others mentioned violence, and theft.

The more days passed, the more embellished the stories became.

“You know what I heard?” Shoko spoke out of the corner of her mouth, her voice low and drawn out. It was a habit that drove Suguru crazy. Satoru looks sidelong at him with an amused grin. “I heard she got caught in the teacher’s lounge doing,” she pauses to use her hand and turn it into a fist. Shoko tucks her tongue against her cheek until it bulges, and brings her first to her mouth rhythmically. “You know.”

Suguru sucks his teeth impassively. Gojo finds his reaction infinitely more humorous than Shoko’s far-fetched rumor. He smiles as he leans against the corridor wall, the sun reflecting off his dark sunglasses.

“That’s enough,” Suguru speaks sternly, frowning down at his short haired classmate. He turns to Satoru. “And you too, stop entertaining her!”

“I’m just saying that’s what I heard!” Shoko defends herself as she brings her hands up in defeat. “I didn’t say I believed it.”

“And you’re making it worse by repeating it,” Suguru admonishes. He shakes his head in disbelief, hands deep inside his pockets. There’s a strand of ebony hair that falls away from his bun, gently grazing one eyebrow. Satoru watches it from behind his lenses, suddenly entranced by its movement.

“Relax, Class President.”

Satoru’s voice is jovial once he manages to swallow the thick lump in his throat. His heart races when Suguru directs his frown at him next. His dark eyes, usually kind and understanding, were turning turbulent and unreadable.

“The rumors will die out soon enough. She’s not even in our class. What are you so upset about?”

“You just don’t get it,” he mumbles quietly, sharply turning his face away. Shoko elbows Gojo, and whispers in his ear before snickering–something or the other about a stick being far up where the sun doesn’t shine. Satoru smiles reflexively, he even laughs and leans in but the lump is back in his throat as he notices the flush on Suguru’s cheeks.

His eyes, always kind, and understanding have gone past unreadable. They were searching down the hall for someone that wasn’t standing right in front of him.

It is then you appear around the corner. Your glossy curls framing your face, falling around your shoulders. The sun filtering through the glass is soft when it lands on your hair, and trails down your face. Tucked to a corner of your mouth, is a lollipop that you let dangle there as you cradle books to your chest. Your gaze is distant even as you approach them. You don’t even look at them as you pass them by, and in the moment Satoru sees the beauty mark on your jaw, a memory comes in like a tidal wave, sweeping away every other thought in the current of it.

“Oh,” he exclaims softly, lost within his memories.

He remembers suddenly, the sound of rain, the smell of wet dirt. He remembers your soaked hair clinging to your cheeks, the sound of you crying. It comes in fragments, as you distort the sunlight when you pass by, leaving him in tentative darkness. He shivers remembering that day but sunlight touches his milky skin again when you’re gone.

“You alright?” he hears Suguru ask. Satoru looks away from your retreating form.

“I’m fine,” he assures Suguru. “That’s her?” When Suguru nods, Satoru turns to Ieri. “Shoko-chan. Don’t ever bring up that rumor again.”

“What?” she repeats in disbelief, amazed at Gojo’s sudden change in behavior. “Since when do you care?”

“Since now.”

You always acted like it didn’t bother you. In fact, Gojo wasn’t even sure you were aware of the rumors. Every time he saw you, in the halls, in the cafeteria, as you crossed the courtyard leading to the gated entrance of the school, you always had that distant detached stare.

And there was the lollipop, tucked safely inside a cheek.

Something about your blasé existence bothered him. It gnawed at his conscious, slowly chewing around the edges. The rippled shadow of his resolve provoked him to act impetuously. There’s a tinny voice echoing in his ears, begging him not to do it but he still does. He still reaches for you, gripping the end of your lollipop stick between index and thumb finger.

Satoru pulls it out of your mouth with a ‘pop’, leaving you stupefied as drool oozes from your bottom lip to your chin. You wipe at it slowly with the back of one hand, only to watch him push the used lollipop into his own mouth.

“That’s disgusting,” you tell him flatly, top lip curled, brows raised to better convey the message. You’re trying to bury it between his eyebrows. Maybe if it digs into his brain deep enough, he’d leave you alone for good.

“Only if you think you’re disgusting.” His quip is quick, sharp, lethal. He doesn’t hold back, as if he has no concerns for your ego. Satoru observes you as he hangs his tongue out of his mouth, twisting the lollipop over the surface of it. You watch, your eyebrows slowly drawing together, as the fleshy pink of his tongue becomes blue at the center of it. His stance is languid, the weight of his statuesque figure laying mostly on one foot. Gojo looks down at you sidelong, ivory lashes fluttering seductively.

“What’s up with you, Knee Pads?” he asks you, not bearing the silence between you. “It’s like you’ve been avoiding me or something.”

“What’s up with you?” you retort, unhappy with your bout of stupidity. You blush as you try to steal back the lollipop. Gojo holds steadfast, his neck craning as you tug with more strength. “Also, my name,” you clench your teeth as you pull one more time, freeing your lollipop from Gojo Satoru’s impressively strong lips. Just what kind of suction power a tall freak like him possessed? “Is not Knee Pads.”

He knew that.

Instead of confessing, he resorts to digging into his trouser pockets, curling long fingers around lint like well kept secrets.

“Hmm,” Gojo hums contemplatively as he watches you put the lollipop back into your mouth. The corners of his mouth twitch as he does his best to fight off a wicked grin. His best, in this case, was not even close to good enough. Even as his lips split into a mischievous smile, he sees your eyes narrow in suspicion.

For your amusive efforts, Gojo allows his own eyelids to become playfully heavy. A tapered finger reaches out to tap the end of your lollipop stick. You flinch.

“We just kissed. Did you know that?”

You blink, shake your head. You blink again, thinking it would clear the fog from your mind.

“I see,” you speak around the lollipop that’s tucked safely back into one of your cheeks. You bob your head, nod as if you had been imparted with some worldly wisdom. “You’re crazy crazy.” You wind a finger around the side of your head, and hold out your palm briefly. “Full. Alternative facts crazy.”

Gojo closes his eyes dramatically, lifting a finger to wag it in the air. You watch with the last vestiges of your patience, as his soft looking hair falls to the side when he tilts his head slightly.

How incredibly annoying of him to be so undeniably beautiful. Surely, that was illegal somewhere in the world.

“No no,” Gojo coos softly, his white eyebrows drawing together. “Indirect kisses are real. We just had one.”

He tries to bop your lollipop stick again but you dodge him by reeling back slightly.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Mister Gojo!” you mumble, your own brows drawing together. You can feel them settling there, as if that was henceforth their permanent location when Gojo Satoru was around. “Indirect kiss or not, this isn’t a free for all. You may not have boundaries, but I do.”

Guilt washes over his expression, turning his glimmering smile empty.

Whether it’s feigned, or genuine, you don’t want to bother thinking about it. His shoulders slouch as he deflates, pallid hands hiding inside his trouser pockets once more. The way he looks up at you through his lashes, behind those stupid circular glasses, reminds you of a dejected puppy.

You liked dogs, but you weren’t in the habit of picking up strays.

“Sheesh,” he exclaims after a tense moment of silence. “You’re pretty brutal with that mouth of yours. Guess it does more than just suck on a lollipop, huh?”

“Ha ha,” you laugh sarcastically, a single brow cocked high over your forehead.

You don’t seem receptive to his jokes, and he should really learn to observe and heed the lines drawn on the sand but Gojo Satoru was never one to follow the rules. He simply didn’t think they adhered to him.

“I mean,” he drawls, shifting the weight of his body to the other leg. “It makes sense why you don’t have any friends.”

There he went again, throwing words like daggers; like he didn’t care where they landed, like he didn’t care if you bled in front of him.

You open your mouth, thoughts slowing down partially because you were not expecting his brutal observation and partially because you were stunned into silence by his sheer audacity.

“That’s-that’s really none of your business,” you try to speak calmly, even as you stumble over your words. You pray your practiced stony expression saves you this time. “Also you’re one to talk. I’m surprised you even have friends.”

You, in fact, were not. He didn’t need to be told that.

Gojo Satoru loved his theatrics.

You had reached this conclusion after seeing him exert his dramatic skills at school plenty of times. Often in the company of Geto Suguru, Class President and the current star of your dreams; much to your chagrin.

You take a front row seat to Gojo’s performance as he places a hand to his chest, a trembling injured sound shooting out his throat.

“My friends love me,” he declares hotly. “I have a best friend. In fact,” he turns, swinging an arm out to point behind you. “He’s right there. SUGURU!”

You flinch at the sudden volume of his voice, shutting your eyes as one of your hands raises to pull the lollipop out from your mouth.

“SUGURU, COME HERE!”

Panic seizes in your chest, before it untangles into heated tendrils. They shoot out to your limbs, confusing your neurons. The signals are messed up, you’re sure of it, as you falter in your spot, turning and spinning to and fro. Your mind screams: run, but your legs find that extremely inconvenient. So you settle for popping the lollipop back in your mouth, and placing your hands on your hips; the epitome of teenage nonchalance.

You even lean back on a leg, as if you didn’t care about your crooked posture; scoliosis be damned.

It isn’t long before his footsteps reach you. There’s an electric chill on your fingertips, forcing you to drum them against your hips. It was all you could do to keep from screaming as Geto Suguru’s shadow fell over you.

“Oh, Suguru!” Gojo exclaims excitedly. You can’t help but notice the way his face lights up, as if the whole sun was shining down on him and only for him. An infectious smile stretches his pouty lips. “You’re here.”

Geto nods slowly, an impassive expression temporarily rippling across his features. It is quickly replaced with a more patient ambiguity.

“Mmhmm,” he admits, still nodding slowly, hands deep in the pockets of his baggy trousers. His glossy locks are tied up in his characteristic bun, bangs gently swaying against his temple with every motion. “You did flag me down.” He pauses as if to give Gojo the time to answer but the fair-haired man only stares back with a broad smile. Geto shrugs his shoulder in question. “So, what’s up?”

“Oh!” Gojo claps his hands, finding himself back on his initial train of thought. He leans over to drop an elbow on your shoulder. You try to train your expression even as you buckle slightly under the weight of your taller classmate. “Knee Pads here,” he says next, flicking a finger down at you as he continues to use you as a crutch. Your hands, still on your hips, grip tighter. “Was trying to say I didn’t have any friends. So…”

He trails off, nodding at Suguru expectingly.

You dare to finally look at Geto head on, as you feel his gaze land on your flushed face. Shiny dark marble eyes that take your breath away inspect your facade for cracks. You feel yourself small under his brief scrutiny. Fortunately for you, he flicks his gaze over at Gojo, still inconveniently close to your body.

You watch as Geto Suguru open his mouth, only to close it. You do your best to fight off a smile. It is extremely difficult when Gojo tenses slightly next to you, so you chew on the inside of a cheek for distraction. It’s like you can hear the gears inside the brunette’s head spinning, creaking, in search of some kind of answer.

“I mean…” he starts, but his voice dies out quickly. He frowns at Gojo, an overplayed sympathetic look takes over his elegant features. “First of all, her name is not Knee Pads…”

“Don’t!” Gojo interrupts, one hand going out in the air. “Change the subject.”

“Yes,” he admits with an eye roll. “We are friends. Okay?”

It was all Gojo needed, apparently. His mood shifts quickly, and he gives your shoulder up to replace you with Geto. His hands go out to his shoulders as he settles behind the dark haired young man, squeezing them repeatedly.

“See, Knee Pads? What did I say?”

Geto tries to shake him off, but gives up when he sees his attempts are futile. You laugh tensely, feeling sweat seeping into your school shirt from your armpits. It’s like your body is screaming for you to finally high tail it out of that situation but something keeps you tethered to the ground you’re standing on.

Maybe it’s the sparkle in Gojo Satoru’s shit-eating grin that pushes every button inside you, like a kid with sticky fingers. Maybe it’s the way Geto Suguru tilts his head, a quizzical expression on his face as if he is trying to read your every thought.

Maybe it’s an unknown third thing—a lonely dark thing, that still craves what it cannot have.

Friendship. Bonds.

Those were things you didn’t dare touch anymore. You’d never cross that threshold again, much less if it involved the Class President and the devoted Sunflower boy on his side.

You shift the lollipop to your other cheek with your tongue, raise a hand and vertically slice through the air with your palm.

“Good for you, Gojo Satoru,” you declare without humor. “Wonderful, even.” If there was any part of you that was envious, delirious with want, you make sure to stamp it out when you plant your feet on the ground in preparation to your exit. “I’m gonna go. Bye.”

“Wait!” Gojo stops you before you can spin and run against the wind. He reaches over Geto’s shoulder, pressing his chest against his back. Suguru starts to protest, you see him aim his elbow at Satoru’s stomach. It doesn’t stop him, however, from once more plucking the lollipop from your mouth with talented fingers.

Just as before, you watch him with a petrified expression as he crams the lollipop in his mouth, half of his body draped over Geto Suguru.

“You can go now!” he bids you adieu cheerfully. A hand wave and a smile is all you get for your mortification. “Thank for the kiss. This is my favorite flavor, actually.”

Suguru’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead.

“HUH?” he shouts, as he attempts to look over his shoulder at Gojo.

He does his best to shake him off of him, his gaze flickering from you to his friend repeatedly. Your heart freezes painfully, and there is a heat wrapping around your neck that suffocates you, that buries every excuse and explanation back into your stomach where it gets ready to fester.

You’ll feel them there later, tangling themselves into knots, as you lay in bed awake replaying this disaster of a meeting with your high school crush.

Unable to bear it anymore, you spin on your heels and speed walk away, far enough until you think you’re out of their line of sight; but the school gate seems so far away, as if the distance is never shortened and although you tell yourself to be patient, to just suck it up for a little longer, tears prickle your eyes. Your legs kick up as you start sprinting away, and take a sharp corner at the gate disappearing from Geto and Gojo’s sight.

Suguru finally shakes him off, and for his grievous affront, he makes sure to dig his pointy elbow into the apex of Satoru’s abdomen.

Gojo coughs and folds over, wheezing as he takes in a deep breath. He laughs, deeply amused by jokes Geto wasn’t privy to. Despite having been practically thrown off his body already, Satoru goes back to Suguru, this time propping his arm on one of his shoulders.

“She’s cute, right?” Gojo asks, peering closely into Suguru’s eyes.

Suguru finds that his friend is uncomfortably close, as he often was. He swallows thickly, a knot inside his throat that is indiscernible, tastes bittersweet on its way down. There’s a heat on the back of his neck that touches tenderly, turning the tips of his ears crimson.

“Leave her alone,” he argues, voice so taut he fears his vocal chords might tear. Suguru swallows again hoping that would solve the issue. He shrugs his shoulder, efficiently ridding himself of the source of his current affliction; at least for now; at least until he remembers the bright shade of blue of Satoru’s eyes in the middle of the night. “You don’t even like her.”

“Says who?”

“Says I.” Silence falls between them, a rare ordeal. Geto feels his shoulders stiffen as Gojo peers at him from behind his dark shades. He senses the questions in the way he stands, knows that Satoru is running through various scenarios in an effort to figure him out. If he doesn’t speak now, he might be asked questions he doesn’t want to answer. “Well, do you?”

He forces the words out, throws them like stones at a fragile skylight.

“I don’t know,” Satoru admits with a crooked smile, a dimple decorating one cheek. “Maybe? She’s interesting.”

The thing with throwing stones at glass ceilings, it’s that sometimes they shattered all around you. Geto pretends the shards don’t cut right through him. He pretends just like he’s done countless times before.

“Like I said,” he pauses to lick his bottom lip, mouth going dry. “Leave her alone. You’re just bored. Let’s go find something else to do.” He begins to walk, expecting Satoru to follow him closely—and he does as predicted.

“Oh, you wanna go to the arcade? Why?” he asks, bumping into Suguru playfully. Suguru allows himself to be swayed, and fights off a smile. “You lose against me every time. You’re that desperate to buy me food?”

“Shut up, Satoru.”

“I want McDonald’s.”

Suguru sighs heavily.

“Fine.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

A Kinder World

Summary: Azula wakes up from a coma to a different world than the one that she had known.

Everything has changed.

From the grander things like Caldera City and Ba Sing Se—the world as a whole to the smaller things; her friends, her family, that statue in front of the palace…

She could still hear them. And she thinks that they knew that she could. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been talking to her. Especially for such a long time. Zuko had told her about the more profound changes; how lightningbending is more widespread, how it is in the beginning stages of being used to replace candles and torches. How there is a new city called Republic City and how the buildings are shaped and crafted very differently. How there are blueprints for new means of transportation and how parts of the palace have been renovated. Apparently he has a dragon now and he has been saving it’s twin for her. 

But he never thought to tell her about how she has changed. 

For some reason she had expected to wake up exactly the same. 

Azula doesn’t exactly recognize herself at first. She looks mostly the same, but just different enough to feel a sense of detachment. A distance from herself that may take some time to bridge.

They have been kind to her though; they kept her well fed, her hair silky and glossy, and painted her nails. Nails that could use a trim. They haven’t bothered with makeup but she is nicely dressed and her skin has seen sunlight.

She is older, significantly so, she can see that much on her face—in the accentuation of her cheekbones and in the length of her hair. She isn’t much taller but she has gained some height, maybe an inch or two. 

She plucks a necklace off of her dresser, the one with the citrine dragon pendant on a golden chain. The one that looks upon her with ruby eyes. It hasn’t seen her in years. Almost a decade, according to Zuzu.

She clasps it around her neck and lets it rest against a chest that is more supple than she remembers. She grits her teeth and drums her fingers upon the dresser. She could dress those fingers in glimmering rings. Could fix a bracelet or two around her wrists. 

She feels her earlobes and deduces that she will have to get them repierced. 

She supposes that this is good enough for now. 

She doesn't bother with her old armor, she knows that it will be a size or two too small. She swallows. She is a woman now. A woman whose mind has yet to catch up.

She touches her fingers to her cheeks, if only just to confirm again that this face does belong to her. 

She takes a breath and exhales. She supposes she should go greet everyone. Zuko had said that they are all waiting. That, in light of things, there are no hard feelings. At the very least they would be putting hard feelings aside until she has a chance to reacclimate to the world.

But Azula isn't sure that she is ready to see so many faces that she had once known so well look so different. The Avatar and the earthbender will be particularly jarring. But not nearly as much as looking upon her own altered reflection.

“Are you ready yet?” Zuko asks.

He has a beard now. And his hair…its so long.

Azula nods.

It is a lie. She doesn't think that she can be ready.

She picks up her hair ribbon and curls it around her pointer. At least she has that going for her; her bangs are no longer a choppy, unsightly mess.She finds herself frowning nonetheless. 

“Am I…really awake?” 

She knows that nobody had expected her to do so. 

And she has had this dream before—a sensation of waking only to find that she had simply been walking about a dream rendition of her life. The life outside of her mind. 

Zuko nods. “You’re awake, Azula.”

“How does it feel?” TyLee appears in the doorway. TyLee looks different too. Her face isn’t as soft, she is really tall now. Perhaps taller than Mai unless Mai has grown too. She feels so small in comparison. The coma has probably stunted her growth, or maybe she was just meant to be small like Iroh. She brings her attention back to TyLee. TyLee who still wears pink but speaks with a deeper vocal quality. TyLee who still wears the smile that Azula has always known but now wears her hair down and loose. 

Azula feels dizzy.

She presses her lips together. “I’m not sure…I haven’t decided.”

.oOo.

Sometimes she misses the world in her head. That strange place that could have had some tether to the spirit world. 

She misses its strange colors that are also taste and sound. She misses its smells that also come as images flickering over the visual stimuli that exists without odor.

She misses the music. Those bizarre melodies spoken in tounges that she used to be fluent in but can possibly hope to comprehend now. She misses those soft, scintillating voices that whispered kind and reassuring things to her.

Mostly, Azula misses the sense of freedom. The lack of stress. 

People don't ask questions there. They leave her be. It isn't quite as overwhelming.

She never felt out of place nor left behind.

She hasn't been abandoned and she can't say that the world left her behind. But it did move forward and progress without her. 

Most days this leaves her feeling adrift and purposeless. Leaves her wondering where she fits into the strange but familiar land.

She is well aware that she should be further than where she is. That she should think like a grown woman. She wants to. But she hasn’t lived enough to be able to. Katara and Aang talk about their children. Toph talks about her children too and is far too open about how those children have come to exist. Mai is pregnant. Sokka talks about drinking and his job as a councilman. They all speak of adventure and memories that she doesn’t share. 

She should have a job. 

She should have achievements. 

These have been stolen from her. 

Zuko promises that she will catch up. If anyone can reclaim ten years in less time than ten years, it would be her. But Azula isn’t so sure. She hates how insecure and self-conscious it makes her feel. 

It isn’t as though she could control that she had been comatose. At least that’s what Zuko tries to insist. 

But it is her fault; she had demanded the Agni Kai that had caused her brain injury. The one that she doesn’t remember. 

She only knows that it happened via word of mouth. She gets her proof and her reminder when she brushes her hair, when she parts the strands in just the right way, to reveal the scar on her scalp. She asked Zuko if it had been bloody. His lack of answer is itself an answer. 

She had gone to visit the spot. 

They have long since torn up and replaced that pavement, taking with it any trace of her suffering. 

It is morbid anyhow, probably better that she hadn’t seen. 

.oOo.

She is still ten years behind, twenty years later. Everyone around her seems to think that this is a good thing. She has more energy, more curiosity. A zest for life that hasn’t faded with age and having experienced things already. 

So far, TyLee has been her favorite experience. The woman’s touch on her body. The woman’s taste on her tongue. These days, she finds the most pleasure in simply intertwining their fingers or letting TyLee rest her head on her chest. 

She feels as though she should have experienced love before falling into a coma. Better late than never, she supposes.

She has a job now. 

Several of them. 

She enjoys working.

She is an advisor and a council woman. A singer and a healer of sorts. Although healer might be the wrong term—she does the research and the studying so that healers can perform new methods of healing. So perhaps she should call herself a scientist. She likes studying the brain and how injuries impact it. 

She enjoys that job the most, but singing is rather charming too. 

She feels like she is ten years behind but she has caught herself up, at least where careers are concerned. 

Emotionally, she isn’t so sure. She always feels as though she is so much younger than everyone. Agitatingly naive in some ways. 

At least these days she no longer feels unsettled and disoriented when she sees her own face. It has become familiar again. And the palace has long since stopped being daunting.

She rolls onto her side and presses her forehead against TyLee’s. TyLee raises a hand and brushes her hair aside. Her finger traces the line of Azula’s scar. She has acquired more of those through the years. Mostly the product of years and years of lightningbending. 

“I’m glad that you woke up.”

TyLee says that every now and again. And it still makes Azula feel tickly and teary eyed. She had been so sure that everyone had been glad that she was gone and that she had inconvenienced them by waking up. 

TyLee kisses her forehead. 

She is also glad that she had woken up.

And that she had awoke to a kinder world.

[heartsdefine]

@dalishborne — starter call / accepting!

        “Go ahead. Be honest.” The newly crowned Inquisitor gestures to the eye-patch now adorning her face, clearly proud of the design and not at all desiring honesty. “The rhinestones. Too much?”

[chalkrevelations]

Is there wrangling about who's the framing/POV character of Ep 8 of Only Friends? Really? Because clearly, it's Boston. Yes, he's got the outro, but that only emphasizes what's evident throughout the entire ep - this is Boston's episode, because this is how he sees himself.

This episode is Boston's experience of life - surrounded by drama because everyone around him is acting completely irrationally over all of their disingenuous relationship bullshit (when he warned half of them in the first place - Sand, in fact, is experiencing precisely what Boston warned him would happen), punctuated by multiple times Cheum decides to be a heinous asshole to him while he's just trying to have a beer and enjoy his homo vibe.

This is an episode in which we're given a picture of him as fully human, as complex and layered, rather than as a "heartless slut" who doesn't care about anything but himself and fucking, and whose emotional depth doesn't extend further than smug superiority and bitchy - if not downright malevolent - sneers. I mean, all you really have to do is look at Neo's face throughout this episode, compared to the other eps. This is a Boston who's soft enough to look like a marshmallow compared to how we've seen him in previous eps - how we see him through other eyes.

He sits around day-drinking over selfies of himself and Nick. He has a completely mundane beer with Atom and shoots the shit about SOs. He looks halfway excited to get an invitation to a party that will let him interact with his estranged friends. There's his entire face journey when Nick approaches him at the party, including the deliberate attempt to snub the person who betrayed him and to look casual doing it, but with none of the sneering savagery we see him level at Ray in the aftermath of their fistfight in an earlier ep. Why do you care so much, if you don't care, Boston? We get that weird almost companionable moment when Boston zips his lip and sits there together with Top, and his reaction to Mew gearing up for his trashtalk of the sluts. And tbqh, from the look on Boston's face at the end of the ep, I don't know that he actually intends (at that point) to fuck Atom so much as scare him off by taking him home. This is a look at Boston that all his hard, glossy armor doesn't allow anyone else to see - an interior look.

We don't actually see Boston for a lot of the ep because that's also his experience of life - just like his closet darkroom closet is filled with photos of men he slept with but that never feature Boston, himself. Boston is the subject behind the camera, not the object of the gaze - in his sex life, in his life, in this ep. I don't know enough about Boston yet to know for sure whether and how much he wants to be seen, but I do know that he knows he's not supposed to be seen. To be perceived is to invite disaster.

I'm beginning to wonder, though - thanks to the look at him that this ep affords - how much he might want to be seen, and how much those selfies with Nick are a key to this. Unlike the voyeuristic recordings by both Gap and Nick, which flip the script so that Boston is (unwittingly and nonconsensually) made the object of attention, the selfies with Nick allow Boston to become both - not just the subject behind the camera, and also not just the object of attention, given that in one of those photos (I think the one on Nick's camera?) the arm positioning looks like Boston took the photo. These selfies allow him to test out an existence in which he's someone who's integrated both aspects, participating in his own life rather than holding himself apart and aloof, but also able to have the distance to observe it as well. We see that Boston places some kind of value on those selfies that he's kept on his phone, and this ep's look into him might indicate that he also places some kind of value on the experience they represent.

[raccoonfallsharder]

rocket smells nice. (headcanon whatever)

in my head, all the rockets i write for (and the ones i don't) have a scent. if you wanna make me real happy lmk your own rocket-smells-like headcanons or give me another rocket to dream up fragrances for. i'm happy to give any rocket (canonical or not) a bouquet

headcanons & imagines masterlist | main masterlist

"canon" rockets ~

eidos-rocket ~ i'm not technically writing for this guy (yet??) but i headcanon he smells like cedar & black pepper (he stole beard oil from some spartoi douche one time but it made his fur so healthy and glossy that he hasn't stopped using it), spiced caramel rum from mantlo's, iron, engine fuel, and gunpowder. burnt everbloom 'cause you know this guy smokes (i imagine it smells gingery).

universe-killer rocket ~ i don't write for this guy yet either, but i think about him way too often. burnt metal and high-iron-content meteorites. something like menthol ~ it activates your cold receptors, like you're breathing in the breeze right off a glacier. star anise & fennel. you'll be tempted to take a deep whiff of his fur but even if he decides not to kill you, you're probably still risking a lungful of toxic vibranium laser dust.

general mcu rocket ~ some kind of evergreen and foresty smell, petrichor maybe; something metallic like iron or copper, and something burnt and smoky. in the earlier years, he always smelled like some kind of cheap alcohol; in later years, a leatherlike smell from his armored-fiber uniform. i don't think this guy reads a lot of paper-books, but he definitely smells like 'em. (i use this as a template for a lot of "my" rockets)

general comics rocket (especially ewing) ~ angargal's limited batch of course (i suspect it smells like a combo of spiced bourbon and rich dark-caramel rum, once the overpowering scent of pure fuckin' alcohol has evaporated out). black-black-black coffee. dark chocolate. amber. vetiver. that burnt, gingery everbloom again.

skottie young's rocket ~ sweet almonds (see cicatrix-rocket's marzipan smell) and banana (from some kind of cousin to nitroglycerin). whatever he's using for jet fuel these days, which doubtless has a hefty dose of benzenes (sweet-smelling and actually intoxicating ~ though since we're talking about a sentient anthropomorphic raccoon i'm gonna go ahead and say the intergalactic space-faring community has figured out how to make 'em non-carcinogenic). you will get some sort of low-grade contact high if you huff his fur like you know you want to. probably also smells like some kind of alien hops, too (maybe acanti blubber ale if he's gotten any good contraband lately, though i imagine that smells like burnt tire).

"my" rockets ~

space pilot & sweatshirt girl ✩°｡⋆ rocket - campfires, strong coffee, and evergreen. amber and smoke. rich dark hot chocolate and yummy bourbon, when he's with you.

blackmail material ✩˚₊‧ ♡ rocket ~ sandalwood, oak, gunpowder. the undertones of some sort of alien citrus-fruit you've seen him eating (something between a plum and an orange), and what you think at first are mulling spices but later you realize it's just where your own Xandaran body oil has rubbed off onto his fur.

window across the galaxy *:･ﾟ✧ rocket ~ blue spruce, fallen leaves, oakmoss, ozone (or maybe that's just electricity). iron and copper, engine fuel.

florescence❀ rocket ~ campfires, wet stone, the peppery-resinous scent of the kind of machine grease he prefers (his own concoction). a faint hit of vanilla-mint-honeysuckle from groot's flowers, and the clove-like spices from your cider.

⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ rocket ~ juniper, blackberry, and something like leather. a sharp and smoky scent, like laser-carved wood. on some occasions, a hint of yaro-root wine (which is basically a peachy hard cider, with a dangerously subtle alcohol flavor).

cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ rocket ~ blue spruce, burnt wood, and a strong, rich, buttery-sweet marzipan from the broken-down components of his C4-adjacent explosives. petrichor, labdanum and camphor, and faint whiffs of engine fuel.

headcanons & imagines masterlist | main masterlist banners & dividers by @thecutestgrotto & @saradika-graphics ♡

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

Hiya! I'm glad things are better now! :3

I has some stuff, but rn, I'm just wondering what your & their fave color was.

Mine's orchid purple! :D

I am a fan of blue, all blues really! But if you want me to get specific, Royal blue has been a long time favorite since I was younger, but Mint Green and Lavender Purple are quickly rising through the ranks. Softer colors right now are just nice to look at. <3

This was just a really wholesome ask, so thank you for asking! Its been a hot minute since someone asked me what my favorite color was. <3

************************************************************************

Here’s a detailed exploration of the favorite colors of each Ganondorf and Demise, including the specific shades they prefer and the reasons behind their choices:

Wind Waker Ganondorf

Color: Deep Sea Teal (#014D4E)

Shade/Tint: A dark, rich teal that mirrors the depths of the ocean, with a hint of green that reflects the ancient waters surrounding the sunken Hyrule.

Reason: Wind Waker Ganondorf is deeply connected to the sea, both physically and emotionally. The deep sea teal represents the vast, unyielding ocean that surrounds him and the ancient history of the world he longs to reclaim. It’s a color that speaks to his enduring patience, his ability to wait beneath the surface for the right moment to rise, and the sadness of his lost homeland.

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Color: Ember Red (#D92525)

Shade/Tint: A vibrant, fiery red with a slightly orange undertone, reminiscent of glowing embers in a fire.

Reason: Ocarina of Time Ganondorf is driven by passion, power, and ambition, all of which are symbolized by the intense ember red. This color represents the fire that burns within him—the desire to dominate, the relentless pursuit of his goals, and the fierce determination to reshape the world according to his vision. The slight orange undertone adds a sense of heat and danger, reflecting his volatile nature.

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Color: Obsidian Black (#0C0C0C)

Shade/Tint: A pitch-black shade with a glossy finish, similar to the surface of polished obsidian.

Reason: Twilight Princess Ganondorf is shrouded in darkness, both literally and metaphorically. Obsidian black represents the impenetrable shadows that surround him, the darkness he commands, and the cold, hard nature of his resolve. The glossy finish of the obsidian hints at the hidden depths beneath his cold exterior—a sharpness and clarity that cuts through all illusions.

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Color: Bloodstone Crimson (#820000)

Shade/Tint: A deep, dark crimson with a slight brownish undertone, resembling the color of dried blood.

Reason: Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf is a warrior at heart, and his favorite color reflects his blood-soaked path to power. Bloodstone crimson symbolizes the countless battles he has fought, the blood of his enemies, and his unwavering commitment to his conquests. The brownish undertone adds an earthy quality, reminding him of the brutal reality of war and the weight of his legacy.

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

Color: Ancient Bronze (#4B2C20)

Shade/Tint: A dark bronze with hints of reddish-brown and gold, evoking the image of weathered, ancient armor.

Reason: Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf has a strong connection to the ancient world and its lost glory. Ancient bronze represents the timeless power and authority he seeks to reclaim, as well as the resilience and endurance required to achieve his goals. The reddish-brown hints at the blood and sacrifice along the way, while the gold adds a touch of the regal, godlike status he aspires to.

Demise

Color: Molten Lava Orange (#FF4500)

Shade/Tint: A bright, fiery orange with a glowing, almost molten quality, like freshly poured lava.

Reason: Demise embodies the raw, destructive power of fire and earth, and molten lava orange is the perfect representation of that. This color is intense, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore, much like Demise himself. The molten quality of the color speaks to his ever-present rage and his desire to consume and destroy everything in his path, leaving only scorched earth behind.

These colors are more than just favorites; they each symbolize a fundamental aspect of the character's nature and the forces that drive them.

[fixated-on-something]

Since absolutely nobody asked, magicians rankings based off of absolutely nothing but my personal opinions (1 being the best in each category)

Seasons (best to worst)

1- Season 3

2- Season 4

3- Season 2

4- Season 1

5- Season 5

Favourite Episodes

1- A Life in the Day (S3 ep5)

2- No Better to Be Safe Than Sorry (S4 ep13)

3- All That Josh (S3 ep9)

4- Escape From the Happy Place (S4 ep5)

5- All That Hard, Glossy Armor (S4 ep10)

6- The Mountain of Ghosts (S5 ep3)

7- Remedial Battle Magic (S1 ep11)

8- Plan B (S2 ep7)

9- Impractical Applications (S1 ep6)

10- Have You Brought Me Little Cakes (S1 ep13)

Characters (best to worst, main cast)

1- Eliot and Quentin (tie)

2- Penny 40

3- Margo

4- Josh

5- Fen

6- Kady

7- Penny 23

8- Julia

9- Alice

Favourite musical numbers

1- Under Pressure

2- Take On Me

3- Dont Get Me Wrong

4- Here I Go Again

5- Storm Coming

6- I Wanna Be Sedated

7- One Day More

(Honorable mention to Shake it Off)

Favourite reoccurring bits/plotlines

1- Obviously it’s anything queliot related- but specifically peaches and plums. 50 YEARS AUGHHHH

2- Singing Spell

3- Emotion Bottles

4- Eliot being a gayass theatre kid

5- Ovary Up!

I know I’m missing a few- I’ll add them if I remember them later

[scrapratsoldier]

IT'S THE FIRST DRINK they have together.

The second they have as friends. By the fourth, Cal isn’t so sure. He hasn’t had a lot of close friends or hard liquor. The way their eyes seem to hold longer with every refill could be as common as sand on Tattooine.

Greez glances at them from time to time as he polishes glasses, countertops, and bottles. He throws one or even two elbows into Monk's side vent to encourage the droid to do what you were made for, huh with a gesture. Cal and Bode are never empty, even with Monk, and Zee, too, steering themselves and their conversation clear of the two men sitting at the end of the bar closest to the back access.

None of that is inherently strange. Neither is the way they lean towards each other to hear over the three songs on replay (gotta get on Greez about that) or how the trust between them, between two survivors, makes it easier to talk about the past— they’ve already saved each other's lives and shared grief in the short time they’ve been acquainted. The first time Bode looks at Cal's mouth when Cal smiles isn’t all that exceptional. It’s by the fourth that Cal isn’t so sure.

Cal is more than a lightsaber, Greez said, but Cal isn't so sure about that either. All he knows is war. He knows how to survive. When you let loose, how loose? He has to be ready for anything. Just not this type of anything. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do with a look or even four. He doesn't know what to do about the hand on his thigh when they laugh so hard he almost chokes on his Slippery Monk (which was part of the joke, what an awful name for a cocktail). He doesn't know what it means when Bode, with something encrypted behind his stare, casually asks, "Show me your workbench?"

Cal almost doesn't want to show him his workbench. He knows how to say no, yes, and maybe, but Cal is a survivor. His instincts are sharp. He knows when he's being backed into a corner, and that's why he almost doesn't lead him down the stairs, past the storage and the kitchen, to the little room Greez had set up for him over five years ago with the hope that, someday, the Jedi would rest in it. He could take the stairs back up to the bar; he could dive down the smuggler's tunnel; or burst out the last door into the street; even with all of these exits, Cal does not have an exit strategy.

Cal is a survivor, and letting Bode back him into the corner of the room feels like it goes against everything he's ever learned.

"I'm not twice shy once bitten, Kestis," Bode's thick arms pen him, his head lulled nonthreateningly, his dark, glossy hair dusting the shoulder pad of his armor; eyes lazily closed; smile rosy from drink and anticipation. "Either way you wanna take that." He does not touch Cal, but his breath does, tickling Cal's crop of violent red hair; and his intent does. "You just let me know."

"I," Cal breathes, his eyes at half mast, the buckles tinking on his vest as his chest quietly heaves, and he fights, he fights the fight in himself. His arms are rigid at his sides, tied up as tightly as they've ever been.

"I don't know. What I'm supposed to say."

"What do you want to say?" Bode prompts. He smells like sweat, oil, and alcohol, and if any of that should be a deterrent, it is not. He smells like hot metal and hard work.

"I don't know," Cal says stiffly.

"The only wrong answer," Bode says, lifting his head and examining Cal's pink, freckled face up close. "Is the one you'll hate yourself for. Or me. I'm your friend, Cal. That can extend past the battlefield."

Cal's jaw knots. He looks down. His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. "The type of friend you're talking about. I've mixed the two before," Cal says. Merrin. Never again. "It…complicates things."

Bode chuckles. Shakes his head.

Cal looks up at him quizzically.

"It's already complicated," Bode says. His eyes shine bittersweetly. "It's always complicated. I'm just trying to survive. War…"

Bode lifts his hand from the wall, and after a short stall of hesitation, he slides it against the side of Cal's neck. A warm, heavy weight. Encouraged, when Cal's lashes flutter and his mouth parts.

"War," Bode says again, his thumb stroking the deep scar on Cal's cheek. "Hardens you. I want to stay soft. For my daughter. For Tayala's memory of me."

Cal leans in with a shiver like Bode's is the first hand that has ever touched him, his own hands reaching up to cusp the sides of Bode's face. Bode presses their foreheads together and steps closer. He turns his face in and, in a husky whisper, murmurs, "Let me soften you, Cal."

Cal is a survivor.

Bode is too.

Cal knows he's not alone, but when Bode lifts him off the floor, wraps Cal's legs around his slim waist, and carries him. When they both tuck into the tiny bed cubby and laugh because Bode bumps his head. When they shed their armor and clothes. When their hands and mouths cannot still, and Bode moves in him, and, after, they take turns talking about their scars… He really feels it.

Not alone.

And he wants to be soft, too.