#I wrote up some of my canon for the beginning fight

[ghoulphile]

sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position. 

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.” 

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

[wannabespacesmuggler]

L.H. | Like a Moth to a Flame

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Logan Howlett is a dangerous man; at least, that's what he wants you to think when he first meets you during your shift at Lucky's. However, he only seems to prove the opposite as he becomes a more constant presence in your life. After learning his true identity in a dark back alley, he's certain you want nothing to do with him. But against your better judgment, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Logan Howlett x Bartender!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, men being creepy in an alley, canon divergent (because fuck the timelines), mutual pining, miscommunication

Word Count: 3.4K

Author’s Note: I am overwhelmed with the love and support for my first Logan fic. This man has taken over my ever waking thought. I wrote this while picturing lumberjack Logan from X-Men Origins: Wolverine and listening to Hozier (this man is so "Too Sweet" and "NFWMB" coded). Super proud of how this turned out, hope you enjoy it.

You’re used to a rough-and-tumble, rough-around-the-edges kind of crowd — blue-collar workers, committed hunters, down-on-their-luck drifters. Maybe that’s why you don’t think twice when he enters the tiny dive bar. He’s clad in a deep maroon flannel tucked into a tattered pair of jeans. You don’t even look in his direction as he sidles into a seat at the end of the bar. He looks like any other patron you’ve met while bartending at Lucky’s. 

“Hey there, what can I get for you?”

He leans forward, forearms flexing against the counter. A shiver runs down your spine as your eyes linger on the deep scars etched in between his knuckles before traveling up his broad frame. It’s as if your fight or flight response kicks in, and suddenly, a voice in your head tells you to run. But as you finally meet his hazel eyes, you freeze. There’s a hollowness in how he looks at you — a profound sadness that makes your heart ache for the man sitting before you.

“Whiskey, neat.”

You simply nod at his request before turning to pour him a glass. As you place the drink before him, a flash of metal across his chest grabs your attention. The man follows your gaze, and his features harden at the realization of what caught your interest. He quickly shoves the dog tags hanging loosely around his neck under his shirt — out of your line of sight. Your cheeks instantly flush, humiliation washing over your body. You begin to apologize, but the man downs his glass of whiskey and slaps some cash on the table.

“Thanks for the drink.”

With that, he grabs his leather jacket off the back of his chair and stalks out of the bar. You watch him leave in stunned silence. You hadn’t meant to invade his privacy in any way. You’re used to the anonymity that some men around here need to survive — hell, you don’t even know the names of some of your regulars. Before you can get swallowed up by embarrassment, one of your other patrons calls for another drink. Shaking off your previous interaction, you return your attention to your job.

After work, you couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter. With a deep sigh, you pour yourself a drink and collapse into your couch. You don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it. In reality, you probably won’t ever see the man again, which should relieve you; however, the thought only disappoints you.

To your surprise, he walks back into the bar three days later during your shift. You try to ignore his presence as he moves to sit at the same spot at the end of the bar. To make amends, you pour a glass of whiskey and set it in front of him.

“This one’s on the house.”

The man looks up, giving you a confused expression. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“Don’t. It’s just an apology for the other night.”

He gives you a nod before grabbing the glass and taking a long drink. You turn away from him, but his deep voice cuts through the rowdy Friday night crowd before you can take a step.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I still expect a tip, though.”

A chuckle reverberates in his chest. The sound of it causes your face to light up. The man’s lips pull up into a small, gentle smile. You force yourself to return to work before you get further drawn into him. Unlike the other night, he sits at the bar for the rest of your shift, ordering several glasses of whiskey and keeping his eyes trained on the television above your head.

“It’s the end of my shift. Ready to close out with me?”

Logan nods, downing the rest of his whiskey and then placing several bills on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

“Wow, thank you…” 

You trail off, realizing you still haven’t learned his name. Looking down at the money he placed before you, you notice he’s tipped you at least fifty percent. You don’t want to invade his privacy again, but a part of you wishes you knew his name so that you could thank him properly.

“Logan.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

He stands up from his seat before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“You working tomorrow?”

You bite your lip at his words, trying to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot. Trying to ground yourself back into reality, you remind yourself that you don’t fraternize with your clientele. While working at Lucky’s, you’ve learned one thing about the men who frequent the establishment — they’re bad news. But then you look back up at him. He’s got to be over six feet tall; his simple white t-shirt accentuates just how broad his body is, and yet this sturdy, well-built man looks almost nervous standing before you. Your body responds before your brain can catch up.

“My shift starts at 6:00.”

Logan slides his leather jacket on, and a slight smirk spreads across his features. He’s a devastatingly handsome man, and you’re no better than a moth to a flame — irresistibly attracted to that which you know will hurt you. 

“See you then.”

And you do see him during your shift the next day, and your shift after that, and the one after that. Logan’s there in his seat at the end of the bar during all of your shifts, ordering whiskeys and making polite conversation until he’s become a constant presence in your life. 

Today is no different. You have a glass of whiskey ready for Logan when he enters the bar. His schedule with the town’s logging company is pretty consistent. Logan accepts the glass graciously as you slide it in front of him. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You ignore how nonchalantly the term of endearment slips past his lips — and how your heart lurches as he says it. Instead, you focus on his features, which somehow look more exhausted than usual today. His work is hard, long, and labor-intensive; however, throughout your conversations with the hardened lumberjack, you’ve also learned that Logan’s sleep schedule is abysmal.  He’s a grown man; he can decide what he wants to do — or doesn’t want to do — but a part of you can’t help but want to care for him.

“You gotta get some sleep, Logan.”

He scoffs in response, looking up at you with tired eyes. You know he isn’t angry at your suggestion, but the pointed look he gives you is a warning. He’s opened up quite a bit throughout his frequent visits to the bar, but there is still an air of mystery about the man sitting before you. You know better than to push him, so you raise your hands defeatedly.

“All I’m saying is that those dark circles do nothing for that handsome face.”

A warm laugh reverberates in Logan’s chest. He takes a long drink from his glass before responding, downing a considerable amount of whiskey with absolutely no reaction.

“You think I’m handsome?”

You roll your eyes at the man, trying to keep your cool. Logan is an enigma to you — simultaneously socially awkward and overly flirtatious. It’s as if he has two personalities — two completely different sides of himself — fighting for dominance at all times. And yet, it works because he’s catastrophically charming. 

“Shut up.”

A smug smirk spreads across Logan’s face, and you decide it’s getting a little too stuffy in the small dive bar. You grab the pack of cigarettes you keep stashed under the bar and turn back to Logan. He already knows what you’re about to ask. It’s become routine for Logan to join you during your fifteen-minute break, sharing cigarettes in the secluded alley behind the bar.

“I’m going for a smoke. You coming?”

“Let me finish my drink. I’ll be right out.”

You nod at him before moving towards the back door. As you step out into the alley, you’re met with a much-appreciated, cool breeze. It causes a shiver to run down your spine as your body adjusts to the sudden difference in temperature. After placing a cigarette between your lips, you pull a small silver lighter out of your back pocket. You slide your thumb over the engraving on the side: L.H. Logan had given you the lighter after yours burnt out about a month ago. You tried to give it back, but he insisted you keep it. You bring the lighter up to your face, but a voice surprises you before you can light your cigarette. 

“Those things’ll kill you, sweetheart.”

A man you’ve never seen before emerges from the darkness and approaches you with an uncomfortable air of familiarity. The way this man says Logan’s term of endearment makes you sick to your stomach. It sounds sweet coming from Logan’s lips — grounded in a deep respect and laced with affection. 

You were simply going to ignore him, knowing Logan’s presence would deter him in a matter of minutes; however, your body bristles as two more figures join him from the darkness of the alley. Your body moves on its own accord, seeking the comfort and safety of the bar — of Logan. But the man closest to you grabs your arm before you can step out of their reach.

“Where you going, sweetheart? The party’s out here.”

His voice is sickly sweet and dripping with venom — a stark contrast to Logan’s low, warm timbre. The two men behind him laugh at his words. Your fight or flight response kicks in, and you struggle against the man’s hold as you’re hit with the gravity of your situation.

“Just let me go.”

Your voice is stern as you rip your arm away from the man’s grip. You rush to get away, but he’s quicker. He places both hands on the brick wall behind you, caging you in. Now you’re panicking. A threatening growl interrupts the encounter before the man in front of you can say anything else, and Logan emerges from the darkness. His features are menacing in the dim light of the alley, but you’re met with a sense of relief rather than fear.

“You heard her. Let her go.”

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck raise at the sound of his voice; however, the stranger in front of you doesn’t seem to find him as frightening. Instead of backing down, the man lets out a dry, unamused laugh at Logan’s words.

“We’re just having some fun here.”

Bile rises in your throat at the insinuation in his tone. Logan seems equally displeased by his response as another animalistic growl rips through his body. He takes an intimidating step forward before speaking.

“You don’t want to do this, bub.”

It’s almost as if he’s pleading with them — begging them to stop so that he doesn’t have to act first. Your eyes find those dog tags hanging around his neck again. Your heart breaks as you realize Logan doesn’t want to fight, but he will — for you. Based on the look in his eyes, he’ll rip these men apart limb from limb if they lay a hand on you. 

“No, buddy, you don’t want to do this. You’re outnumbered — three to one. You don’t stand a chance.”

The man’s tone is amused but impatient. He’s itching for Logan to either leave them be or throw the first punch, but he does neither. Instead, Logan squares his shoulders and extends his arms out at his sides.

“You sure about that?”

Your brow furrows at an unfamiliar sound — a strange, metallic snikt. You’re surprised when the man’s arms fall from either side of your shoulders. You take the opportunity to create distance between yourself and the group of men who are all staring at Logan. Not understanding what caused their sudden hesitation, you also look over at Logan. Your body tenses at the sight of him standing in the middle of the alley with long, metal claws protruding from his fists. He takes another step forward, and the men scatter, running for their lives. 

Logan waits a few moments, ensuring that the men are actually gone. Then he lets out a deep sigh as his metal claws retract back into his hands. Your hands meet the cool brick behind you, grounding you in this incredibly unreal moment. You blink, expecting to wake up from whatever dream you’re having right now — but you’re not dreaming.

Logan finally turns to face you, and his features soften. His eyes scan your body, checking you over for injuries. He takes a step toward you but stops as you take a step toward the bar's back door. You can’t seem to look away from his hands — at those deep, pronounced scars between his knuckles. His eyes follow yours, and you’re met with instant regret as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You finally look up at his face and are anguished at the sight of his hardened features.

You want to tell him a million things. Your body moved on its own accord. You didn’t mean to stare at his scars. You’re just confused. You’re grateful for his help. You’re not afraid of him.

But you don’t mutter a single word. It’s as if you’re frozen in place. 

“Alright.”

Your heart almost breaks in two at the pained sound of his voice. Logan meets your eyes one last time, disappointment evident in his gaze. Finally, your body shakes out of its paralysis, but it’s too late — the damage has already been done. You watch helplessly as he begins walking away from you. 

“Logan, wait.”

But he doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking until he vanishes into the darkness. Tears begin rolling down your cheeks as you slide down against the brick wall — partly because of what could have happened and partly because of what did happen. And just like the first day you met Logan, you fear you may never see him again. 

But once again, you were wrong. 

Eight unbearably long days later, Logan enters Lucky’s again. You watch his bated breath as he approaches, hoping he’ll sit at his usual spot at the end of the bar. Instead, Logan places a few bills on the counter before meeting your gaze. You draw in a shaky breath as you look into his hazel eyes — the hollowness is back, and our heart aches as you realize you’re now the reason behind that sadness. 

“Didn’t feel right not closing out last time.”

You almost laugh at his words — the free glass of whiskey was the last thing on your mind. He rolls his shoulders back nervously, his muscles flexing under his black t-shirt. You reach out and grab his hand before he can pull it away from the counter. His eyes instantly widen, but the physical contact seems to make him relax ever so slightly.

“Can we talk, please?”

Your hand tightens around his, physically begging him to just stay. Logan nods in silent agreement. You pull your hand away from his and try to push down the sudden disappointment caused by the loss of his touch. You move toward the back door, and Logan follows you into the alley from a safe distance. For a moment, you’re lost in a bout of deja vu as you lean against the brick wall, and Logan stands before you. Your hands nervously find Logan’s lighter in your pocket, looking for something to occupy yourself with. The movement catches Logan’s eyes, and you swear the corners of his lips twitch up into a small smile at the sight of his lighter in your hands. 

“I’m sorry.”

The words tumble out of you clumsily. Logan’s brow furrows, and you watch as his head tilts slightly to the side. 

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

Logan’s lips pull into a small frown as he considers your apology. He takes a cautious step forward, watching you intently. He’s waiting for you to pull away, but you stand your ground.

“Why are you apologizing, sweetheart?” 

You can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face. Hearing him say that name — the word that’s been keeping you up at night — you realize just how much you missed the sound of his voice.

“I made you think I’m afraid of you.”

Logan takes another step forward, testing you. You know what he’s trying to do — he’s giving you an out. Pull away, and he’ll stop, but you lock eyes with the man before you. His movements might be cautious, but his eyes are wild with unspoken emotion.

“Well, are you?”

“No.”

Another step forward. He’s now standing within arm’s length. You could reach out and touch him. God, you want to reach out and touch him. Logan looks down at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. No man has ever looked at you like this, but then again, Logan certainly isn’t like any other man. 

“You should be.”

That voice from the first day you met him appears yet again, telling you to run. But you stay put. You don’t need to run from him. You don’t need to fear him. He protected you from those men. He was prepared to fight for you. He revealed his true identity to keep you safe. And once again, you’re like a moth to his flame — gravitating towards him.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s a breath away, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze moves from your eyes to your lips. His hand covers yours, stopping your anxious fidgeting with his lighter. You watch in awe as he takes it from your grasp and places it into your jacket pocket. He moves his hand out of your pocket; his fingers leave a scorching sensation behind in their absence as they slide across your skin until they reach your waist. His other hand comes up and tenderly caresses the side of your face.

“Say it again.”

Your breath hitches at his request, but you do what he asks — hell, you’d do anything for him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan shakes his head. His hand moves to take hold of the other side of your waist. The grip he has on you is secure but gentle.

“No, sweetheart. Not that part.”

Oh. Oh.

You could cry at the realization — at his need to feel wanted and appreciated. You move your hands to either side of his face. He melts into your touch before meeting your eyes again. A part of you wonders if anyone has ever touched Logan like this — if he’s ever known what physical contact feels like outside of a fight.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. I trust you.”

And suddenly, Logan is pulling you into him. His lips desperately find yours. Your fingers thread through his hair as his body pushes you into the brick wall. His movements are rooted in a deep hunger — not driven by lust, but in a need to be known and loved and touched. So that’s just what you do. Your hands move through his hair, down his neck, across his chest, over his back. You attempt to touch every bit of Logan to prove that you want this — that you want him. 

A low growl reverberates in his chest as he pulls away from your lips. Unlike the night before, this growl isn’t rooted in anger but, instead, the result of a deep desire. His hands move away from your body and find the wall behind you. Your brow furrows at the loss of his touch until you hear a familiar sound on either side of you — a sharp, metallic snikt. He leans down, forehead resting against yours as his short, rapid breaths fan over your face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t control it sometimes.”

You shake your head at his admission. He did control himself — he purposely removed his hands from your body before his claws extended. He protects you as if it’s just his second nature — something he doesn’t even need to take the time to consider. You run your hands up his chest, feeling the tense muscles under his t-shirt, before gently grabbing his face.

“Hey. Hey.”

You pull away slightly so you can look him in the eye. Your words grab his attention, grounding him.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I trust you.”

His breaths gradually even out, and eventually, you hear his claws retract and feel the familiar warmth of his touch against your skin again. As Logan maintains eye contact, looking at you as if you’re the answer to some unspoken prayer, you begin to think you’ve gotten this all wrong: maybe you’re not the moth, but the flame.

[i-yap]

Hi, I saw you wrote about Jason, could you tell me how Jason would behave with someone who loves him unconditionally? but it wasn't even a batgirl or middle , What would happen? Would it be a lot of fights or...? for your past

I wanted you to write so much 😭 please

Yess i do write for jason, ik i show a lot of love to dick(he's my baby) and tim( also my baby) but jason is also my baby( my indian parents are very disappointed in me)

Jason x Superloving! y/n

You are his dream girl!! the perfect match!! a normal girl who loves him no matter what he has to deal with, someone safe, warm and kind to come to after living a life he hates.

You need to be incredibly patient, caring and observant when it comes to jason. Bro can not communicate his feelings nor does he knows how to show them. He wants to , if he could he would bring the stars and moon and make them into pretty beads to have the honor to be a part of your necklace collection. Infact just ask him to and he will find a way. But with you, aka someone who loves him no matter what- he doesn't feel as guilty and insecure about not being able to be as open and romantic as you deserve.

Also jason would really be best off with a non vigilante/hero/powers girlfriend. Some comics mention how much Jason hates this sort of life but has been living it cause he has no other outlet for his trauma and pain and feels like he has no out anymore. So a sweet, kind girl who allows him to see what a normal life could be like. Who helps him overcome his trauma in a healthy way .

Jason also loves simple domestic things, he never grew up with them. Never had anything close to a "home" not a house, a "home. You give that to him. Someplace where he can breathe, be happy and in love.

Fight? haha no way. I mean yes jason explodes sometimes and runs away from expressing himself. And ofcourse you worry for him . He also is super jealous and insecure. So misunderstandings happen. But since you are so loving, patient and openly infatuated with Jason, its really rare that you actually fight. Maybe in the beginning of the relationship but after that almost never fight

Jason could never hurt you, he wont. its his biggest fear . And the moment a single tear comes to your eyes or u get really upset , he drops everything and then you're the priority. Noone hurts you, not even him .

I think you and Jason after a couple years will just leave all that vigilante stuff behind and jason becomes a nice literature professor and you pursue your own dreams. also start a nice way of helping out homeless kids and rehabilitation of substance abusers . ( I will forever push jason literature teacher canon) In the end, you guys will probably the first of the batfam to get married and maybe even get kids. You are everything Jason needs and once he gets over his issues, he'll be sure to tell you that.

I hope this was what you were looking for, I didn't fully understand the request. Thanks for asking so nicely , it really motivates me to write when I see such nice requests.

[carooosa]

Enchanting Distractions

Summary: Tav (reader) has ADHD/is bad at setting boundaries when it comes to their party members. Astarion comforts them.

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: Semi-canon compliant, takes place after the tiefling party and literally right before entering Act 2. I barely proofread it so sorry in advance. I was feeling particularly upset at myself today and so this is what I wrote up.

The days had been starting to blur together as you made your way through the mountain pass. Tomorrow your party would step into the shadow-cursed lands, so it was decided to set up camp early for the night to ensure that everyone was well-rested and prepared. Tension ran through the camp, everyone on edge with the possibility of finding the cause of the tadpoles. Whatever happens tomorrow could very well be the end of your journey.

As everyone set up their tents, you began to look through your supplies, separating potions, arrows, and scrolls into piles to give to your companions. While organizing everything, the sound of Lae’zel and Shadowheart bickering caused you to lift your head. They had never gotten along since the beginning of this tadpole mess but after the Githyanki Creche their hatred for each other seemed to amplify.

“I would say that I’m surprised that machine was unable to get rid of the tadpoles, but then again, I wouldn’t expect gith to know what they were doing,” Shadowheart had taunted Lae’zel.

“The zaith'isk was tampered with! Githyanki technology is far beyond your understanding, and if you had something other than a tadpole in your brain, you would realize the mistake in your words,” Lae’zel shot back. She turned to herself before saying, “Useless istik, mindlessly following a false god”

“What did you just say?” Shadowheart said as she readied herself to attack.

“Your ‘goddess’ ordered you to steal a precious artifact from my people, and yet knowing that does not change your unwavering belief. A goblin has more integrity than you,” Lae’zel said as she continued to walk away.

“Shar is a real goddess, unlike the githyanki’s petty attempt at a goddess, Vlaakith,” Shadowheart yells as she begins to sprint toward Lae’zel. The fighter had already pulled out her sword and the clashing of metal rang through the air. You sighed, standing up from the mess that laid out before you, and ran towards the fight. Before you could intervene, Karlach had taken her great axe and held it out in between the two aggressors before berating them.

“For fuck’s sake guys, the whole point of setting up camp early was to rest for tomorrow, not argue and waste our energy on dumb fights.” As Karlach said this, Shadowheart cast gust of wind to push her opponent back, accidentally hitting Karlach in the crossfire. She had succeeded at causing Lae’zel to lose her grip on her sword but had caused that sword to slash into Karlach’s leg. The tiefling groaned as she kneeled to the ground, clutching her thigh.

You ran back to your bag and turned it upside down, dumping all the contents onto the piles you had started to make earlier, and rummaged through your items until you found a healing potion and some fire-resistant bandages. When you ran over to Karlach to heal her, Wyll was already yelling at the two women who had caused an unnecessary injury.

“Your recklessness has caused this bloodshed!” he sounded exasperated as you handed Karlach the potion, unraveling the bandages and starting to dress her wound, careful to not burn yourself in the process. “You both are distracted by your own prejudices and disdain for each other that the thought you may be hurting others in the process never crossed your minds. So caught up in yourselves, you have yet to see the irony of the words you throw at each other.”

Wyll continued his lecture as you focus on Karlach, watching her toss aside the empty potion bottle. “Thanks, soldier,” she says with a weak smile. She pushes herself off of the ground, causing Wyll to pause his lecture and rush to her side. “I’m fine, just gonna head to bed early,” she says while sidestepping past him.

You take a breath and start to think of how to address the situation that just happened when suddenly, Gale is by your side, anxiously fumbling with his hands. Realization overcame you and you tried to recall the last time you had given the wizard an enchanted item to consume the magic from. 

“I know now might not be the best time,” he starts, “but there really never is a good time nowadays, is there?” he finishes with a chuckle to himself.

“I should have an enchanted ring in my bag—“ you stop when you glance back at your backpack, contents strewn across the ground.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Gale says quickly. “Dinner isn’t going to cook itself!” He makes his way to his tent and you drag your feet back to your backpack, dreading the mess you’ll have to clean up. Sifting through the items, you create another pile of the things you already looked through. Focused on organizing, you don’t hear Astarion sneak up on you.

“My my, these are quite the… piles you have here,” he says while crouching down across from you. “What’s with all these arrows and grenades? Have you decided to try your hand in ranged combat? Because if so,” he pauses, crimson red eyes staring into your soul, “I’d be more than happy to give you some private lessons.” He bares his teeth, his fangs glistening. You’re tempted to take him up on the offer before you remember why you got those items in the first place.

“Oh, those aren’t for me. I’ve been picking up stuff here and there, and I figured before heading out tomorrow I’d give some to everyone. I was actually organizing everything,” you say, completely forgetting that you were looking for a ring, “and I was going to try and figure out what would be best for everyone to have, but since you’re here, you can pick whatever you want.”

“I can choose anything here?” Astarion asks with a smirk. You nod your head and he responds by picking up your hand and giving it a kiss on the palm, “Then I pick you, my dear.”

Your cheeks flush red as you stutter out a response. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Astarion had been teasing you a lot more lately, and while you didn’t mind, it had proven to be an extra distraction. 

He chuckled at your pout, caressing your face with his other hand, his thumb pressing down on your lower lip. You both stare at each other for a moment, before he sighs and brings his hands back to his side. “Well, if I can’t have you I guess I need to figure something else out.” He scans over the pile and picks up a necklace.

“Wait, not that,” you say while snatching the jewelry away from him. “That can restore one of Shadowheart’s spells, I should go give that to her.” You stand up and run off to find the cleric, not noticing the disgruntled look Astarion has on his face. He sighs and looks down at the clutter, beginning to sift through the items.

While making your way to Shadowheart’s tent, you hear Halsin comfort a whining Scratch. “There, there, I’m sure we will retreive it soon enough,” the druid says while gently petting the dog. “Ah, Tav, could I bother you for a moment? Scratch seems to have lost his ball in a burrow and neither of us can reach it. Would mind seeing if you can grab it?”

Scratch runs up to you and paces around you in circles before you lean down to him, “Of course I’ll help you out, buddy.” Without thinking, you set the necklace on a nearby rock, crouching down to the burrow and searching for the ball. In the shadows you spot it, deep inside the tunnel, and you reach your arm in. 

Your fingers are barely able to reach the toy, and you’re about to maneuver the ball out when Gale speaks. “Tav, I’m terribly sorry to ask again, but were you able to find the enchanted ring perchance?” The ball rolls out of your grasp, and you let out a long sigh before retracting your arm.

“Sorry, Gale, I got distracted. As soon as I get this ball out for Scratch I’ll go and get it for you.” Content with that answer he nods and walks off. Reaching your hand back into the hole, you push yourself against the ground, the extra leverage closing the distance between your hand and the toy. You let out a breath before throwing the ball, Scratch bounding after it.

“Thank you, Tav!” Halsin says as he runs after the dog.

Walking back to where Astarion sits rummaging through your things, Wyll interrupts you. “Tav, do you by chance have a fire resistance potion? I was wanting to give Karlach these flowers to cheer her up,” he says, holding the bouquet in front of him sheepishly. Although Wyll and Karlach had been foes in Avernus, they’re relationship was slowly blossoming into a gentle romance.

“That’s very sweet of you, Wyll. I should have one in my stuff.” You both head over to the piles of items that Astarion had started to organize. It would be nice to have someone think about me like Wyll thinks about Karlach, you ponder as you bend down next to Astarion, grabbing the fire resistance potion that sat buried within the clutter. “Here you go,” you hand Wyll the potion, “I think those will make her very happy.”

Wyll says a quick thanks as he opens the potion with his teeth, hastily pouring the contents over the bouquet and heading off to Karlach’s tent. Clearing his throat, Astarion asks “Did Shadowheart enjoy your gift?” he says with a slight frown and a twinge of annoyance in his voice.

“My what?”

He stares at you for a second, before elaborating, “The necklace? The one that you oh so rudely snatched from my hands.” He watches as your face scrunches up tightly trying to remember what he’s talking about before you gasp.

“The necklace!”

“Yes, the necklace,” he sighs.

“Where did I put it?” you say as you frantically pat down your pockets.

Astarion starts to tease you again, “Really, darling, how could you misplace something like that? I thought that necklace was important after you had yanked it out of my hand and ran off to Shadowheart.” He’s chuckling to himself when he notices the genuine frustration that is starting to seep off of you.

“I just had it. I was holding it in my hand. Where could I have put it?” you mutter to yourself, your breath starting to quicken. Dread creeps through your chest as you begin to mentally retrace your steps. “Think, dammit, think!” Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes, a lump taking place in the back of your throat. Astarion stood up and reached his hand tentatively towards yours, squeezing it gently to try and bring you back to the present.

Gale had made his way back over to you, seeing that you were near your things. “I hate to interrupt this touching moment, but I really do need that ring if you have it,” He says while clutching his chest. Astarion glares daggers at the wizard who is either oblivious or purposely ignoring your stress, but you don’t notice as your mind has drifted off.

Right, you think to yourself, I came over here to look for the ring. Without saying a word, you push away Astarion’s hand and sink to the ground, aimlessly pushing around everything trying to find the ring. Astarion studies you, the way your hands seem to be searching for the relic while your eyes glaze over and stare at nothing, until your hand brushes over the small golden circle and you grasp it firmly. You sigh and recollect yourself before turning around and jumping up to Gale, handing him the ring with a forced smile and laugh. “Sorry for the delay! I’ve been so forgetful lately.”

He takes the ring from your hand, clutching it tightly while absorbing the magic into his chest. When he opens his hand, the ring is broken into two. “Ah, apologies. Dinner should be finished soon. Thanks again,” he says with a bow before leaving.

You sigh before returning to the pile, starting to organize it once again. From the outside, people would assume that you’re just forgetful and easily distracted, most even finding your frantic and hectic demeanor cute. You can’t help but feel like a burden, requiring constant reminders to stay on task, feeling like you need to rely on others instead of yourself. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, either, but no matter how many times you repeated tasks to yourself, how many times you had written down what needs to be done, how many times you had try to will focus into your mind, nothing changed. It's always been like this, and now with the stress of the unknown ahead, you’ve been getting distracted more.

Astarion watches you, determined to organize the mess on the ground. When he first met you, you had brushed off your forgetfulness and laughed along with anyone who had made a joke at your expense. It had annoyed him to no end when you would walk into the same room, multiple times, that you had just looted. This aloofness only seemed to grow after you both had come to an agreement that Astarion could drink your blood in order to satiate his thirst, the only side affect being your increased mind-wandering.

After another 30 minutes of watching you return to the same room over and over to loot, he had decided that you both would search the rooms together, if nothing else to lessen the time it took at each town. He didn’t expect that during the extra, private time you both were now spending together he would begin to grow fond of you. While he would be working on a lock of a chest, you would grab a book and immediately become immersed in it. At first, he would use this time to pocket the most valuable items found in whatever container he had just opened, but as time went on, he had started to ask you questions about what you were reading.

It had caught him off guard when you looked up at him with excitement in your eyes as you explained the gossip in the diary you found, and he couldn’t help but become intrigued himself. Quickly, a new routine had started: while Astarion would loot and lockpick whatever he could get his hands on, you would find diaries, notes, and books to read outloud. He would respond to the especially vulgar and outlandish things you would recite with theatrical gasps and awes. One time, you had stumbled across a particularly sad letter from a person who begged their lover to wait for them, only for their lover to respond that they had never returned. A choked sob had escaped your lips when you finished the letter, and Astarion had quickly called you over to distract you.

“It’s about time that you learn how to use one of these,” he said while he pushed a lockpick into your hands. “If you’re going to stare at me while I do all the work, you may as well get something out of it.” He had been joking, but you hadn’t taken it that way. A wave a guilt and embarrassment had washed over you as you resolved to force yourself to learn what he was teaching you. It was all in vain, however, as every ten minutes when he would ask you to demonstrate, your hands would clam up and your mind would go blank.

“Darling, is it really that hard to focus? Or am I just that distracting, hm?” he had joked.

You wouldn’t look into his eyes, instead you had begun to fumble with the lockpick in your hands. “I’m sorry,” you had whispered, “I’m really trying.”

You had expected him to berate you or to even make a joke about how useless you were, but instead he had sighed and positioned himself behind you, placing his hands over yours as he talked you through the steps, yet again, of lockpicking. When you had heard the final click of the lock, you quickly turned to look at the man who had helped you. Inches away from each other’s faces, he smiled softly and brought one of his hands up to your cheek as he placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

“See? You can focus,” he had said while giving you a tight squeeze.

The sound of your sigh brought him back to the present, and he stared at you for a moment before asking, “Do you want me to go and look for the necklace while you do this?” You stop moving things around and just sit there, defeated. The necklace had completely slipped your mind, just like the ring. Your body begins to shake as tears run down your cheek. Astarion slowly kneels next to you, grabbing the potions and arrows from your hand and setting them off to the side. “Hey, it’s alright. Shh-shh-shh, there’s no need to ruin that beautiful face of yours.”

You start to sob quietly. Why was this so difficult for you? You were able to talk your way out of situations, fight enemies with ease, and coordinate a fighting strategy that used everyone to the best of their abilities, yet you were unable to do such simple things. You draw your hands to your eyes, pressing harshly into them to try and stop the tears that fall out. Astarion gingerly moves his arms around you in a hug, as gentle as he can muster as to not startle you. He squeezes you tightly and you stay like that for a while, before you’re able to croak out a simple question that leaves a pain in his chest.

“What’s wrong with me?” You move your hands away from your face and turn your head to look at him, expecting to see frustration in his eyes but instead finding something softer. It looks as if he’s genuinely concerned. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Tav,” he says quietly, barely above a whisper.

“Then why,” you say with trembling words, “why can’t I do such simple things? Why is it so difficult for me to remember what I’m doing, to not get distracted?”

Astarion sighs as he looks at you with his big, round eyes. “You are capable of much more than you know, my sweet. You were designated the leader for a reason. You’re brave, witty, and above all else, kind. You are so sickenly kind and patient with everyone, yet you don’t afford yourself the same grace,” he says as he rubs circles into your back. “You’ve been kind to those that don’t deserve it, but you’re never kind to yourself.”

“Thank you,” you reply meekly. You hated crying in front of your companions, but you found that you didn’t mind being comforted by Astarion.

“Besides, darling,” the vampire joked,” It’s hardly your fault that you keep getting distracted when there are six adult children who need constant supervision.”

“Don’t you mean seven?”

He pulled away from you with a gasp. “I think I am more than capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much.”

“Oh, if that’s the case, you don’t need to see me for blood anymore then, right?” you teased.

Astarion squinted at you before his eyes softened and he pulled you into his arms again. You both sat like that for a while before he spoke, barely above a whisper, “I don’t only need you for blood.” Before you can respond, Gale’s call to dinner causes Astarion to push you up. “Go on, enjoy dinner.” You start to protest and gesture to the mess that still needs to be cleaned up before he cuts you off, “I’ll take care of it.” As he begins to sort through the items, he catches your eye before you leave. 

“I hope you know that I’m still expecting to see you tonight,” he says with a sultry voice. If you hadn’t gotten closer recently, you would take what he says at face value, a meaningless flirt to rile you up. But beneath his smirk you can see a hint of sadness in his eyes.

It will need to wait for another time as your stomach grumbles, and you remember that you had forgotten to eat lunch that day. You say a quick thank-you before running off to join the rest of the party, feeling more at ease about the adventure that lay before you.

[y-rhywbeth2]

D&D Vampire Lore Dump #1

Feeding and Diet It's actually more complicated than just "they bite you and eat your blood." Plus what they're able to eat; how often they need to eat; what happens to you if they bite you and what happens to them if they don't feed- spoiler: it's unpleasant. Incidentally, you should reload and kill Cazador again.

(I was comparing stuff across editions and compiling it into something more coherent and then figured I'd info dump about it in case my fixations are useful to somebody out there.)

DISCLAIMER: There are two things to note about the lore presented here: First, while the standard stat block in the monster manual is the default, in terms of lore vampires have this annoying tendency to be incredibly, stupidly varied. They are magical monstrosities ruled by the power of symbolism and superstition above anything else.

The next is that D&D is decades old, spans five editions, several settings and hundreds of writers. One guy establishes a piece of lore, and then the next picks it up goes "nah" and writes something else. I collected info from four different source books, all from different editions, which naturally don't entirely agree on how vampires work. Lore never stays consistent and may contradict itself. You may see information somewhere else from a source I don't have that contradicts what I wrote here. If you read this and like some of this stuff but not other bits, take the good and ditch the rest.

Basically, in D&D, canon is what you decide it is.

Feeding | "Biology" | Hierarchy | Weaknesses and Cures | Psychology

They only need to feed once in a 24 hour period. Vampires can survive between 3-9 months of starvation, but it's a terrible idea. -

There are three different categories of "Undead Hunger." Vampires have two of them and actually need to consume more than one thing to stay "healthy": Blood and life force. -

The blood is obvious. This is categorised as a "diet dependency." It's required to preserve their bodies and powers, and without it their powers* are suppressed as their bodies begin to shut down. *This refers to the powers a vampire gains with age; they cannot lose power they had as a newborn (the base stat blocks given for vampires and spawn given in the monster manual) A vampire requires the equivalent of 12 hit points of blood a day, or it begins to revert into a corpse-like state. Mentally they slowly regress into a desperate, mindless animal frenzy where they'll kill and drain anything containing blood they can get their hands on. Ultimately, if they don't get any blood then they revert into a corpse and they're trapped in their own body as it begins to wither and mummify. They're trapped in a coma, vaguely aware of the passing of time in flashes of awareness until somehow they are fed blood. If they ever wake up again, they will probably wake up feral and absolutely ravenous. -

Vampires rely on the victim's blood pressure to expel blood from the wound they create, lapping and mouthing at the wound rather than actually sucking on it. Being bitten is a highly pleasurable experience that victims can't help but desire, even when they know they shouldn't. -

While the damage done remains, the wounds from a Vampire bite closes itself quickly after the feeding (assuming you're still alive). It does however leave a mark. The bite mark itself is often "less than half an inch in length", and leaves behind a significant bruise that causes no pain or sensitivity to touch. Other side effects include fatigue and a weakened immune system. -

Vampires typically target sleeping victims (less likely to fight back) and favour the blood of their own race above others. So theoretically, Astarion finds elf blood tastes best. -

Drinking animal blood tastes bland and is health-wise akin to drinking tainted water: yes it might keep you alive in desperate times, but it's ultimately bad for you and will probably make you ill. That said, it has no mechanical detriments and a vampire that's forced to live on animal blood will be just as strong as its kin, but considerably bad tempered about it. -

A vampire's secondary feeding requirement is called an "inescapable craving", which means that if a vampire doesn't get that fix then their hunger begins to devour them instead. The pain is described as a spike boring into the vampire's brain, obscuring their awareness. They begin to obsess over feeding to the exclusion of everything else, they become willing to take ridiculous levels of risk to stop the hunger as they become more and more desperate. As they are consumed they become progressively more feral until they're just a rampaging mindless horror driven only by horrific hunger. For vampires, their inescapable craving is life force, which a vampire leeches from their prey through touch leaving the victim weak. Direct skin contact isn't required, if you're wearing full plate and/or the vampire is wearing gloves and they lay a hand on you they can still drain you. Mechanically these were combat abilities, energy/level draining occurred when a vampire struck a target with their own body (usually their hands). Before 5e hit them with a nerf bat, vampires could permanently weaken you this way (you could lose character levels from this). 5e also seems to have rolled life drain into the biting, so a vampire can consume your blood and energy at the same time. -

Post feeding, a vampire starts to look alive. Their skin is flushed and warm and they feel elated and energetic. In contrast, a vampire that hasn't been feeding properly becomes more corpse like and feels "sluggish" (I'm interpreting that as flu-like symptoms). It's purely emotional however, the vampire is no less capable and dangerous and suffers no mechanical penalties. -

Vampires can feed on other vampires, which is actually more filling than living humanoid blood and gives them the ability to communicate telepathically for a few hours. They don't like it though. If a vampire drinks from another vampire then they can be controlled by that vampire and the link forces them to feel affection for each other against their will until it wears off. The results of both vampires in question feeding on each other is described as "debilitating" since they both paradoxically become enslaved to the other's will and forced to "love" each other creating an absolute dysfunctional mess of control, obsession and resentment. The good news is that it only lasts a few hours. -

Some vampires can eat regular food (no nutritional value in it for them) while others would regurgitate it if they tried. As they retain their tongues, vampires can also taste food. That said, it's a bad idea for them to eat garlic, even if they can eat solid food. -

Some kinds of vampires don't drink blood. There's all kinds of weird and wonderful stuff a vampire might be required to consume instead. Spinal fluid stands out. Or the bit about ones who drain the ocular fluid from your eyes. Gale might find interesting things to talk about with the magic eating ones who prey on mages. They're much less common, probably something to do with most people not finding that very sexy. I don't think any of them exist on Toril.

[hvlcy0n]

CURLS . choji tomiyama x fem! reader

+ initially, your concern is choji’s ability to commit, but after discovering that he uses two-in-one in the shower, you realize that you have much bigger problems to worry about.

+ SFW (account is still +18). UNEDITED. fluff. themes of insecurity. a couple headcanons included at the bottom.

+ i had this idea when i found out that choji’s hair was described as “curly” by one source and “wavy” by another and decided to just run with it. this is simply my own little idea and is not canon. as someone with curly hair, i wrote this with curly-haired girls in mind, but i also left it vague enough to where it can be applied to whoever.

when you first started dating choji, you were skeptical of his intentions. graced with an infectious smile and a pair of the warmest puppy–dog eyes you’ve ever seen, juxtaposed by a small body composed of hard-packed, wiry muscle, you found it difficult to believe that he didn’t have some kind of roster lined up. sure, he had a remarkably large ego, but he also had the ability and achievements to back it up, which made him even more attractive in your eyes. you just couldn’t fathom that all of his boundless affection was truly for you. the leader of shishitoren? receiving zero attention from girls? yeah, no.

yet, his behavior never made you question otherwise. he demonstrated a strong desire to be with you whenever possible and to include you in whatever he did, he’d casually ask you to check who texted him whenever his phone would trill, and he’d unashamedly launch himself into your arms and publicly make his feelings for you known. if you were to take his actions at face value, you would believe that he only had eyes for you.

your dubiety made your stomach twist every time you searched choji’s eyes and found nothing but untamed adoration and reverence, as if you were the one who scattered the stars in the sky and carved out a slice of the moon just for him. you felt guilty for doubting him, but you just found it odd.

to try to remedy your suspicions, the first time you step foot inside his home, you excuse yourself to his bathroom and immediately begin scanning the small room for any trace of a feminine presence. however, the longer you search, the closer your eyebrows draw together—but out of surprise rather than realization. his bathroom is whittled down to the absolute bare necessities, and your astonishment crests when you brush aside the shower curtain and are promptly greeted with a single bottle of two–in–one staring back at you.

your boyfriend is out here voluntarily using shampoo and conditioner combined? you fall still as everything finally clicks into place in your brain, granting you a moment of clarity that makes you huff in irritation. suddenly, this all makes sense. you’ve never been one to pester choji about hygiene because you’ve never felt the need to. he always showered, especially after fights, and it was actually the pearliness of his teeth that first snagged your attention upon meeting him. 

but, he’s always complained about knots in his hair, and although you both knew it was a ploy to beguile you into running your fingers through it, you had to admit that he was right. plus, as you did so, you would notice that his hair was actually a mosaic of different curl patterns, varying from straight to awkwardly wavy to frizzy, dry corkscrews. you’d known early on that he never did anything with his hair, but this was . . . as you mulled over the sight, you idly wound a strand of his hair around your index finger, and he quickly took note of your silence.

“what is it? something wrong?” he’d hummed.

“nope,” you’d told him at the time. “i’m just thinking.”

a flash of agitation crosses your face as you remember explicitly asking if he at least used shampoo and conditioner on his hair and how he’d offered you an enthusiastic thumbs up without batting an eye. of course, you’d trusted him and decided to credit his misfortune to simply having drawn the genetic short straw. after all, it wasn’t as if having unruly hair was going to shift your feelings for him. that would be insane. you’d sat there, patient and trying to detangle his hair, while he griped about his hair feeling brittle and being uncooperative with him.

“choji!” your shout reverberates off the tile walls, and you reach out to take the bottle off the ledge. “ch–” it slips from your fingers and skids across the bathtub floor with a hollow thump, and you bend over to snatch it back up. “motherf—choji!”

forget the acrylic nail your paranoia claimed you’d find hidden under his bathmat. you have bigger problems now.

“are you–oh, my god!” upon swinging open the bathroom door, you’re promptly startled by the reveal of your boyfriend standing directly in front of you, one fist raised and clearly poised to knock.

he didn’t even flinch when the door fell away beneath his touch, his lips parting into a small “o” of surprise and round eyes glimmering with an innocuous curiosity as he stares up at you. his arm falls to dangle limply at his side, hand swallowed up by the sleeve of the oversized sweatshirt he must’ve thrown on while you were busy practically excavating his bathroom. his eyes flicker over your expression before his lips settle back into that stupidly endearing, contented smile you’ve grown accustomed to.

“what’s the matter? you look spooked. is it a spider?” he questions earnestly, craning his neck to peer around you. “want me to kill it? i can do it.”

“what? no, you should take it outside—” having been thrown for a loop by his assumption, your brain stalls for a moment before remembering why you were calling him to begin with. “that’s not the point!” you hold the bottle out to him, and he stares at it for a moment before slowly taking it. “you use two–in–one?”

“mhm,” your jaw plummets when he confirms your accusations with a simple nod. he tilts his head to the side inquisitively, eyebrows creased as he tries to understand the frustration rolling off you in waves. “why do you ask?”

“why do i—choji, this is the whole reason why you’re having issues with your hair.” you point to the label.

“what do you mean?” his eyebrows shoot up. “i’ve always used this brand. it gets me pretty clean.”

you shake your head. “there’s no way that something can properly clean and condition your hair. it’s one liquid. it can’t really do both since they have opposite purposes. from what i know, you’ll either be sacrificing a deep clean that gets rid of all the build–up or your hair’s moisture.” you explain. “that’s why your hair is always so tangled and dry and you can never brush it without ripping some out. it also might explain why your curls are so uneven.”

“huh . . .” the tip of his tongue flicks thoughtfully over his bottom lip as he flips the bottle over in his hands.  “i guess that makes sense.”

“we need to get you some proper shampoo and conditioner.” he returns his attention to you when you take a step closer, and he lets you analytically curl a single strand of his hair around your finger. “maybe try out some other products while we’re at it. your hair should be much more manageable then, and you shouldn’t have as much trouble.”

he groans, and you can’t help the chuckle that bubbles in your throat when he theatrically lolls his head forward to thump pitifully against your chest. “but that’s such a hassle!” he whines. you click your tongue when his arms wind around your waist to pull you flush against him. “can’t we just stay in? ‘m tired. using it for another night isn't gonna kill me."

“we could,” you muse. “or, if you come with me tonight, i’ll wash your hair for you.”

that captures his attention immediately, and you smile at the way he visibly perks up. he’s mentioned it a couple times in the past, noting how you’d always take great care of your hair and wondering what it’d be like if you washed his hair—just once, he always rushed to add, as if it would increase your chances of agreeing. unfortunately, with your approaching exams and his increasing participation in fights with smaller gangs, neither of you could find time for such an opportunity. but now is as good a time as any, you suppose.

“really?” his eyes shine. “you mean it?” he releases you and bounces backward.

“i mean, i guess if i have to,” you tease. your feigned exasperation slips a moment later when he pumps his fist in the air and you snort at his childlike antics.

but, you’d better be ready for the following:

once you first expose choji to all of the products you use, expect him to take his time unscrewing and uncapping all of them to try to get a whiff of whatever makes you smell so edible, only to then take twice as long trying to pair the correct lids and caps with the products once he's finished.

choji swearing that he's paying attention when you sit him down and stand between his parted legs so that you can explain what to use and when while you apply it to his hair in real time. but in actuality, his attention keeps drifting to other areas of your body other than your hands, and coincidentally enough, so do his hands.

choji turning every brief grocery trip into an extended stay in the hair care section, searching for something new to try and constantly seeking your input

him trying to line his wash schedule up with yours if possible, or at least fixing his hair when you do because he's excited for something new to be able to bond over and do together

him leaving hair products and tools in random places around both your place and his. sometimes, he really does misplace them, but sometimes, he simply leaves them there because he figures you could try it if you wanted and if not, he'll be back later

choji being perfectly capable of washing his own hair but occasionally asking you to do it because you're "better at it." he's full of shit, don't worry, he just likes the feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp and the meticulous care you lavish him with as you work through his tangles as painlessly as possible. he often watches you while you do this, staring up at you through damp curls with an unmistakable fondness in his gaze. there's something intimate and domestic about it that makes him feel warm on the inside, and he can't get enough of it.

choji rejoining his gang with a spring in his step the day after you help him get his hair in order. he's so obnoxious, bouncing around togame and asking him if he notices anything different, only to then interrupt him mid-sentence and ramble about what you did.

choji becoming confident enough to ask you if he can help you with your hair from time to time. at first, he's a bit clumsy and has a tendency to tap out. but after a while, he perseveres, a determined gleam in his eye and clothes spattered with water and sleeves rolled up to his armpits and the tip of his tongue poking between his lips in concentration.

[licorice-tea]

Don’t Fall In Love With Me (Yet)

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: strawhat!reader, gender neutral reader, feelings and fluff (my faves🤞🏽), so much tension, no resolution of that tension… yet😏, lowkey “i hate everyone but you” trope, very brief mention of some canon typical violence, but no actual violence <3

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: lalalalala i love law😇 i actually wrote about twice as much as what’s here to begin with, but i felt like it was too long for one post, so i might upload it as a second part later if anyone wants that! as always ty for the love, and i hope you enjoy! (did i write this instead of finishing part 3 of my Zoro mini series? perchance. (that will be up soon though!))

Part 2

It’s a day like any other on board the Thousand Sunny- calm waters, music, occasional shouting, and just one abnormality. Law, captain of the Heart Pirates, is a guest on board the Strawhat Crew’s ship in the aftermath of Dressrosa. And despite their hospitality, he finds practically everything about life on board their ship to be draining…

Every potentially quiet moment is interrupted by the crew’s shenanigans.

For starters: the cook and swordsman argue over every little thing, and most of their arguments escalate into fights. The navigator is actually a petty thief or a con-artist at best, and her double, the sniper, takes it upon himself to cause dangerous explosions at least once a day. The musician is an incredibly loud pervert, though the shipwright is somehow even louder and more dramatic. The archeologist is alright- she’s quiet, but Law finds her constant observation more eery than comforting. And the captain is still somehow convinced that his doctor could be used as a source of “emergency food.” Then there’s you; the one who brings whatever you’re working on at the time up to the deck so you can work in the sunlight, wears your weapons like they’re accessories, who only takes breaks from working to visit with your nakama, and always offers a charming smile when you catch Law staring… which happens multiple times in the course of the day.

Law is often irritated, rigid, and cold- so different from your own optimistic and nonchalant demeanor. At breakfast, he doesn’t talk much. Just eats his meal and thanks Sanji before excusing himself to go pour over anatomy books from the ship’s library. He does so for hours, not once joining the Strawhat Crew on deck or even taking time to explore the ship on his own. Nami frequents the library, as well, but she’s taken to drawing maps in her room or on deck since their guests arrival. When night begins to settle overhead, he may return to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, before going right back to his work.

At first, one might have been inclined to think Law didn’t like y/n at all. They can often see his gaze trained on them form from the corner of their eye, but chooses to ignore it sometimes and address it with a smile others. He almost never speaks to them if possible, only offering a nod or a mumbled response to whatever they says. But, he goes out of his way to sit by them at mealtimes and to find himself in the same narrow hallways as them, so that their arms brush. Those are the moments he obsesses over in his mind while he dozes off from his textbooks- the feel of their skin against his, and their kind acknowledgements- always void of harsh judgment.

It’s not just the lack of cruelty in essentially eveything they do, to Law; it’s the presence of love. Love for their nakama, their work, people and places they barely know, even him. He doesn’t recall ever having met someone so full of love that goes beyond superficial kindness- because they can be sarcastic and moody at times- besides perhaps Corazon.

And to y/n, there’s just something about Law that peaks their interests. Maybe it’s the feeling of having someone new around, or something even more indescribable and foreign to the pirate.

Zoro is asleep in the men’s cabin tonight, so y/n is keeping watch. It’s the usual arrangement for the 2 night owls of the crew- when Zoro has truly exhausted his body, he sleeps below deck with the others, and y/n has no trouble staying up through the night.

They turn on some quiet music on their speaker, a must have for any music lover. For a while, they just watch the sea and sky. Nights at sea are like a blackout. But, there is no need for light with strong eyesight and the even stronger moon and starlight.

So it’s no surprise that they see, just out of the corner of their peripheral vision, the top of a white and black speckled hat bobbing up and down as it moves toward the kitchen. Y/n’s eyes widen ever so slightly and their breath catches in their throat. The guest makes them feel silly, in a way, for not being able to discern their own feelings toward him, nor his toward them. They get so caught up in their thoughts about him that eventually they give up. Y/n shakes their head, mentally chastising themself for even being embarrassed or flustered in the first place. And with that confidence boost, they decide to go talk to him.

Next thing they know, y/n is standing before the kitchen door with no plan in mind for what they’re going to say to their crew’s ally. They open the door, but he doesn’t look up from the coffee brewing on the stove.

Y/n clears their throat to announce their presence, and Law whips his head around to see who it is. They offer a friendly smile and a little wave.

“Hi.” They speak softly, as if afraid to break the peace of the night.

A beat passes with no response from Law. Internally, he wishes they hadn’t walked in on him at this moment. The light from the overhead lamp catches in their eyes, and he feels entirely too seen. Not in the way he feels seen by someone like Robin, though, whose constant observation makes him feel uncomfortable; like one wrong move and he’ll have hell to pay for. No; y/n sees him and he’s scared that he might start spewing nonsense to avoid revealing his feelings. And suddenly his cheeks are on fire, and everything is quiet, and all he can focus on is the stars in their eyes that he tries so desperately to look away from.

They tilt their head, likely in concern, and he pulls himself out of his thoughts to mumble, “Hey.”

“Cant sleep?” y/n questions, their starry eyes (as described by Law) flickering over the coffee pot on the counter and back to him.

Law shrugs, then pulls his hat lower over his eyes to hopefully hide his warm face. “I wasn’t trying to sleep.”

“Hm…” they hum in response, “Want to keep watch with me then? If you aren’t busy.”

He thinks they’re just being friendly, like always. When they first met, Law was confused. It made no sense for someone so mild mannered to have a bounty of well over 500 million (now almost double that amount in the time that’s passed), though he didn’t doubt that looks could be deceiving. But even in the midst of battle, of which the two had been in several together, they refused to take kill shots or anything of the sort. So he was still unsure of how they had earned such an impressive reward for their capture. Still, they clearly had a high regard for life, and he had come to learn that they truly were just that kind hearted, not to mention witty and generous. And judging by the “Sora: Warrior of The Sea” sticker he’d noticed on small a journal they carried, which was one amongst many; a bit of a nerd, too. All of these things and more had made Law secretly impartial to them. Or at least, those were the reasons he has listed in his mind to make sense of these feelings.

So he nodded, much to their surprise, and mumbled again “Sure.”

The curve of their smile opens up into a grin, and y/n leaves while fully expecting Law to follow (whenever his coffee was ready.) Which, he does.

[dehemetera]

Omg I can’t believe I am actually posting her. Pls enjoy my precious oc and her wardrobe

Below you can find all the head canons I wrote so far about her, the relationship she has with her squad and with the other significant captains/lieutenants of the Gotei 13

Mira Komamura

General head canons

‌originally from the 4th squad ( vet section) on her own request as she doesn't really like to throw hands.

was assigned to captain Komamura strict medical crew when almost no one knew about his real appearance; specifically, she was tasked with providing emotional support for Sajin's social anxiety.

‌”Captain!? How did you dare to hide that lovely snoot for such a long time?! "

yes, she was basically his emotional support puppy.

as it happens very often, Sajin grew fond for his emotional support puppy and decided to adopt her ( literally) as his brand new sister, then insisted to move her to the 7th.

western origins ( abuses this 🤌🏼 while talking ).

fav animal: humpback whale.

fav food: eats almost everything, watch your hands. Really, this girl is a few snacks away from being your best friend. But if she had to pick one, it'll probably be french fries, no dressing, just salt.

‌fav colour : cold hues in general, blue/green/ purple.

likes stars. Like a whole lot. You give her something with stars on, she's gonna love it. She hoards things with stars on it. She doodles them on everything at hand. When friends are sad, she scribbles a star on the palm of their hand.

‌" you're now under the sign of the good vibes star. You can now enjoy the rest of your day. You're welcome."

now imagine her doing this on Captain Zaraki's hand and Iba's cold sweats thinking how to tell the poor Sajin about his adopted sister's premature departure.

the good vibes star must work thou, cause Kenpachi just patted her head like she was a puppy and walked away. Iba thanked whatever god was listening at that moment.

sassy AF

sarcasm native speaker.

cracks 2.000.000 dirty jokes in between three regular words.

must focus not to drop inconvenient comments during each Captains/ lieutenant meetings.

looks like a black cat personality at the beginning.

turns into a weird dancing parrot when comfortable around someone.

has a ridiculous attention span.

world of the living connoisseur ( western side). Spent several decades studying it by living among living people.

terrible traditional swordsmanship skills.

got Jedi Lightsaber classes on Earth and actually developed a pretty efficient fighting style; ‌Iba is genuinely confused and slightly concerned about that but as long as it works...

likes to sing, not very good at that but still on the average ( usually makes silly dances while singing to underline the lyrics).

pretty skilled belly dancer ( which at some extent she uses in controlling her shikai) but definitely won't dance in public cause she's too shy for that .

very body positive about other people, excessively critic about her own body.

very good painter. She mostly paint with her hands (" advanced kindergarten art skills") but could also use sponges, pieces or paper or rags, leaves, basically everything but a brush;‌most of the times she just likes to make little silly doodles.

then she turns those doodles into stickers and spread them across the seireitei.

Byakuya Kuchiki knows the Shinigami women's association held a secret meeting in his mansion when he finds small stickers with sassy quotes around the house.

take her to the water park; She just loves it.

beach girl

just loves to hang out in the water

‌of course this is the perfect excuse for captain Hirako to make jokes about her liking to be wet

she never denied the statement. 👍🏼

excellent resistence to alcohol. Hard to get drunk.

when that does happen though, she just unleashes all the power or her sass/ sarcasm/ unhinged comments

this usually leads to pretty amusing express stand up comedy shows where she eventually ends up oversharing something she would've preferred to keep for herself

pretends not to remember anything if the topic is pointed out the day after

About the 7th squad

she was gladly welcomed as lieutenant by almost all the soldiers due to her sincere support towards former Captain Komamura

Those affectionate soldiers appreciate her chill attitude prone to jokes and fun as a good balance to Iba’s serious demeanour

She introduced music during workouts and trainings. Music from the west, of course

Now witness the fierce 7th brigade soldiers casually humming Bad Romance while doing their daily chores.

Since Mira’s office is the coziest and most decorated once, Iba started throwing Shinigami Men’s Association meetings inthere

For Iba’s birthday, Mira decided to gift him a new HQ for his meetings by renovating an old, unused warehouse in the barracks, asking Ikkaku some help to edible and renovate the old furniture

Connections

Sajin Komamura : regardless of his full on canine appearance he is still officially her brother by previous adoption. Mira still takes good care of him, she has the most luxurious dog bed in her office for him to stop by. She also got him one of those speaking buttons board humans give their dogs to communicate.

Tetsuzaemon Iba : is definitely like a dad. All of their interactions have the warm yet bickering feeling of a father/daughter dynamic, including: communication issues, dad being jealous and over protective of his precious daughter when men buzz around, not understanding slangs. Mira signed up for Iba’s fan club to show support to her dad.

Shunsui Kyoraku : calls her Mira-chan and likes to invite her to drink together. He pays great attention to her drunken monologues as they’re usually pretty straightforward and accurate analysis of the current state of the Seireitei. He definitely trusts her guts and intuition in picking up the overall morale of the squads. Mira also signed up for his fan club ‘cause he’s the big boss and deserves support. Nanao Ise firmly oppose this.

Rose Otoribashi: is the only one whom has ever seen Mira dance. They sometime shares music afternoons with Rose playing music and her using it to practice her dance. They have a very respectful and delicate bond revolving on mutual arts appreciation.

Izuru Kira: it took them some time to get along due to Kira being really private person. Now they’re kinda cool about each other and Mira often tries to cheer him up telling him the whole hole in the chest thing is metal AF.

Shinji Hirako: this man bribed Mira in joining his fan club by offering her a bag of weed infused gummy bears. It worked. They operate at the highest level of shenanigans and communicate almost exclusively by flirting. Bombastic side eyes darting across the captain’s council room during meetings when they know the other one would be just about dropping the sassiest sh*t that would cost them the career. Regularly hangs out together both in the Soul Society and on Earth. Part of their flirt jokes revolves around the fact they would gladly date each other (but never actually did that).

Momo Hinamori: was the first to show Mira support when she was promoted to lieutenant. Therefore, Mira loves this girl and brings her gifts, treats and loves spending time together for a tea time. They share a heavy betrayal trauma and do their best to support each other in their healing journey.

Renji & Rukia: if Iba is her dad, Renji is her bro and Rukia is the sister in law you actually like more than your own brother. The three of them have a weekly “world of the living pop culture” themed night to binge watch series and movie marathons. Burping competitions between Mira and Renji are mandatory and Rukia is the judge.

Matsumoto Ranjiku: these two can love and hate each other depending on the mood and the topic. Sometimes they look like besties laughing together and mutually complimenting , ten minutes later they’re fighting over something, usually Matsumoto habit of exploiting men using her beauty.

Kenpachi Zaraki: these two really get along for reasons. Mira actually feels safe around him cause who would ever dare to fuck around close to him? She also thinks he’s illegally hot but never dared to voice that, not she would ever try to approach him with intentions. She just likes to fantasize about that amazing mass of wonder. On Kenpachi’s side, he likes to have a new brat messing around him without being scared, it feels heartwarming and nostalgic, sometimes feeds her the same candies he used to buy for Yachiru. Since Mira’s birthday is right after Kenpachi’s, she usually shows up at the 11th barracks with a cake to share to celebrate both their birthdays.

Ikkaku Madarame: for the better time they’ve been knowing each other, he just passively tolerated her, enjoying her little shows from time to time but never payed too much attention to the new lieutenant of the 7th squad. Then Mira came to ask his help in renovating the warehouse for Iba’s birthday gift and since the process took quite some time, they had the chance to spend time together, getting to know each other during those long crafty nights of recycling furniture. He is now heavily crushing on her and gets a little shaky and mildly flustered when she’s around, with Yumichika largest amusement. Mira has always appreciated her fellow colleague and was glad to have the chance to build up some kind of relationship with him but she’s genuinely confused by his friendly yet shifty and sometimes awkward behaviour towards her (she’s not good in getting the hint).

Yumichika Ayasegawa: oh the tea they spill. They don’t meet very often but when they do the amount of information they share can compete with the finest Seieitei’s intelligence. Sometimes they go shopping together. Yumichika tries his best to create opportunities for Ikkaku to be there when Mira comes over.

If you managed to read this far, thank you 💕

Some captains/ lieutenants are missing to the list but I already have them written, maybe I will add them in some future post.

Definitely expect more drawings about Mira’s adventures. I have more on the making (like about her zampakuto and other stuff.

I hope you enjoyed this little piece of my imagination,

✨comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated ✨

[sim0nril3y]

Hi ! I really like the series you wrote ! Can I request something? If not thats fine! If yes thank you! so.. what if civilian is a sleep deprived person?

Note: thank youuuuuu for your require, love. I hope this was the type of thing that you were looking for <3 Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, talk of sleep struggles, canon-typical swearing.

There were just times when sleep wouldn’t come. No matter how hard that you tried. No matter how many home remedies you attempted. Whether you listened to relaxing music, or white noise, or rain sounds, or really anything sleep just seemed to evade you. It was like this endless cycle of laying on bed wishing to sleep, then become anxious that you couldn’t sleep, then reminding yourself that morning would soon come and you needed to sleep and then back around to wishing for sleep again.

It certainly didn’t help that from beside you Simon seemed to sleep like a log, snoring, drooling and all the good stuff, if you didn’t love him so much, you’d hate him for how easily he seemed to sleep. Simon had once explained that he caught up on most of his sleep when he was home with you. Similar to you sleep evaded him when he was away from home.

Raising up from the bed as you were unable to take another moment of overthinking your position of not being able to sleep. Entering the lounge, you turned on the TV and set the volume low, watching endless JML adverts for surprising useful useless products. Honestly, you’d seen the mop advertised so many times now you were half convinced to buy it so that they would maybe show it less…

“Couldn’t sleep again?” The tired voice of Simon asked then, stepping into the lounge whilst rubbing his eyes tiredly. “No, but you go to bed…” You assured him and frowned a little as he moved to sit down beside you. “Do you want me to heat you up some milk, love?” Simon quizzed, placing an arm around your shoulders to tug you into his side.

“No.” You replied. “I just want to sleep.” You let out a sad noise of frustration and Simon frowned to himself. “I know.” He whispered, gently trailing his fingers up and down your arm, trying to coax you to relax. “What do you need me to do?” For a moment or two you just remained quiet. “Do me a favour, babe… close your eyes for me.”

You huffed. “It isn’t going to work.” There was clear frustration to your voice. “Oi, just… close your eyes. Yeah? It doesn’t matter if it don’t work, just you closing your eyes with a clear mind is enough for now…” Allowing your eyes to flutter closed Simon manoeuvred you so that he was laying across the sofa and you were placed between his legs with your back against him. “Your eyes closed?”

“Yes.” You answered shortly. “Good.” Gently his coarse fingers began to trail over your body, gently kissing the shell of your ear. “Clear your mind, babe… Just focus on right now… Just focus on right here. Me and you.” The feel of his fingers trailing up your arms, the feel of the steady beat of his heart. “You need to stop putting so much pressure on yourself to sleep. Alright?” Pressing another kiss to your temple. “Sleep is something you need. Sleep is something you deserve.”

It was weird because Simon’s words were making you feel heavy, they were making you feel sleepy, but what if… what if he didn’t work and what if he got mad? Oh shit, you were overthinking things again. “Oi.” His voice was soft, as if sensing you beginning to grow anxious again. “Stop thinking. Clear your pretty head.” Simon coaxed, pressing another kiss to the side of your head.

A few more moments passed and you really tried your best to clear your mind, trying your best to follow his quiet commands and a second later you opened your eyes in surprise, looking at the clock to see that 20 minutes had passed. “Fuck…” You muttered under your breath. “S’okay.” Simon whispered from behind you, fighting sleep himself. “Close your eyes f’me. Let’s try again.”

Masterlist | Ask | 10-12-2023

[asphodeline-lutea]

I might get hated for saying this, but to be 100% honest, I am not excited about the new series at all.

I am almost dreading it, for I fear that Cressida may be inserting movie features into the following books… which is really, really not good.

But I saw that illustration at the end of the new story… and I am afraid that is what is happening. ​(The book has not arrived yet, but I have seen photos of it many times)

Seeing book Hiccup wearing movie Hiccup’s armor and prosthetic was like a nightmare come to life to me.

I fear for my dear Hiccup, whom I deeply respect for his personality, and who has taught me almost everything I believe in in this world. I truly hope that Cressida will not go as far as to change him into someone like movie!Hiccup—whom he is not

And I believe— no, I have done analyses and I know— that old Hiccup intended for his memoirs to end there, at How to Fight a Dragon’s Fury, when he became King and ended the war. He circled it back to the beginning (“In my beginning is my end… There were dragons when I was a boy.”), and said that it was complete,that his own life and his role as narrator was complete, and he could rest now (in the sense that he would soon die: “When Toothless flies to me next time, it will be for the last time.”)

An entire sequel series (not just short stories) would, break a considerable amount of symbolism here, even possibly rendering some of the messages and themes in the books as no longer true— especially if it starts to take after the movies. The books and movies are so vastly different that, to me, it seems disrespectful to mix them together.

A sequel might damage the books. An attempt to mix httyd movie elements into it will almost definitely destroy it.

I can’t bear to see it happen.

These books, written by Cressida, and by Hiccup the Third, have shaped me so greatly and made me who I am today, and have been one of the brightest and steadiest lights in my life. If this, my haven, my mental home, becomes ruined, it will be like tearing my vital heart out of my chest.

I cannot and will not leave. But if the worst does happen, especially if Hiccup becomes out of character, then I will be ready to disregard any sequel as canon.

I did not say this earlier, partly because I secretly hoped that it wouldn’t be true, and partly because I did not want to upset those in the fandom who are being so joyful about all of it.

Unfortunately I really cannot share that attitude.

And I also glimpsed a few others, who might have been thinking along similar lines as I did.

Eventually I decided that someone had to speak up and address the issue floating huge in front of us. That is why I wrote this.

I do not want to upset or anger anyone. I just wanted more people in this fandom to realize and know this.

[stxrvel]

i don't wanna live forever (5)

summary: the time had come to destroy HYDRA and collect for all that had been taken from them...

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: 6k

warnings: descriptions of: blood, wounds, fights and weapons. probably gonna wake a lot of sadness since the begining. mentiones of suicide thoughts. heartbreak. stubborn characters. mentions of character deaths (canon). remember i'm not that good at writing action scenes and that English is not my first language!

note: hi guys! i didn't rest today at work. instead, i wrote 6k words for my actual hyperfixation and i'm actually exhausted. sometimes i write first in spanish and then in english, when my head is not up for the double translate, and leave the conversion to future me. this is future me talking and i hate myself for that. but i'm kind of proud how this one came out, so i hope you guys like it the same! feedback and reactions are always appreciated! see u guys next time &lt;3

part 1

It was already getting dark when the small cellar you were in with your friends filled with applause and singing, a joy bouncing off the walls as you walked in Steve's direction with a grin from ear to ear. Your blond friend watched the small cake Peggy had gotten him that afternoon head towards him between your hands, setting it down on an upturned wooden barrel, a little damp, that they would use as a table.

Peggy and Bucky were off to the side, their faces matching your excitement as Steve reached down and shook his head.

“I don't even want to imagine how you got that cake in,” was the first thing Steve said when the happy birthday song ended, shooting you a grateful look. His eyes sparkled like you hadn't seen in many days and you felt Peggy's squeeze on your forearm as she came over to form a little circle just like Bucky.

“Trust me, you don't want to know,” Peggy shook her head, her smile matching the blond's.

You watched Steve split a piece of the cake with a spoon you had no idea where Peggy had gotten it from, your friend bursting out laughing when Steve raised his head and she smeared white cream all over his nose. At that moment you felt Bucky's body heat behind you, all your senses turning on at once.

“No candle, but you can make a wish before you take the first bite.”

Steve shared a look with his friend, still with that twinkle in his eye and the most relaxed expression he'd had in days. He was still wearing his uniform, having caught him by surprise to bring him into the warehouse after a long day of planning strategies for the next mission against HYDRA. You and Peggy had been thinking for several days about doing something, and being that it was rather difficult to throw a small party in the camp you were in, you decided to opt for something a little more ordinary and familiar. You couldn't say, however, that Steve didn't like it, not when you saw him smiling at everyone so openly, shoulders down and spreading laughter to everyone around him.

With the spoon halfway to his mouth, Steve closed his eyes and made a wish.

You smiled indulgently, watching two of your friends share a small moment as Steve took some more cake to give Peggy. With your hands behind your back, you suddenly felt Bucky's left hand make its way through your fingers, intertwining your hands very carefully.

“How's the taste?”

Steve shook his head nodding at your words, his brow furrowing in pleasure as he enjoyed the large bites he was taking of the cake. At that moment, all you could think about was how much you would sacrifice to stay in that bubble forever, even without knowing what was coming next.

-

“Are you okay?”

You heard his footsteps before you saw him, his body leaning against the second to last step where you had sat and turned away from the others. The routine you had had to get used to over the past few months, after believing you were going to change the world, had become a constant burden that was hard to shake off. Still, you took and cherished moments like those when you could go out and sit and just watch the vast sky stretching for miles. The stars shone so brightly there, in the middle of the forest, that they seemed like little beacons seeking to guide you to a better future; perhaps to a future that you did deserve. Steve also sometimes accompanied you in silence, having learned that he couldn't always argue with you about the meaning of life and the purpose for which you two had to carry out the unjust orders of superiors. You once saw one of his drawings, a woman sitting at the top of a flight of stairs and a starry night giving her a message of hope. Maybe he saw it the same way too after a while.

“Yeah,” you replied to Bucky with a tight-lipped little smile.

Bucky didn't know much about you now. As the weeks went by you realized it was true what he had once told you, when the America's couple shows and his platoon's stay coincided for the first time in months. You had changed a lot since the serum injection. And, well, who wouldn't, after all? That's why when you were together after so long he spent time very close to you, very aware of you, checking with his excellent senses that nothing was out of place. That you were okay.

You didn't know if he had believed you, by the way his face remained expressionless, barely a slight twitch of his eyebrows, but he didn't repeat the question.

“Do you think there's anything else for us, besides this?”

Bucky turned his gaze to look at the sky and you watched his profile, the curve of his eyelashes and his half-opened lips. Situations like that had become commonplace, too. Since you no longer spent so much time together and you had changed so much because somehow you had to adapt to the harsh reality against which you had crashed, Bucky constantly wondered many things about life that ended up being his own fears materialized in existential crises. For him his world was shaking. Since you told him that you had been invited to the Super Soldier project with Steve, everything had become uncertainty for him. Uncertainty about his life, about your life, about the life you wanted to have together, uncertainty about the future, uncertainty about life.

You had the conception that Bucky could never fully adapt to the abrupt change that meant his two best friends were involved in a private experiment that gave them heightened senses and more strength and speed than an average human. Now he seemed to looked at himself like the mere mortal who walked shoulder to shoulder with two gods. He seemed to feel that death would knock faster at his door and it drove him mad.

“Yeah, I don't think this is it,” you shook your head in assent, watching out of the corner of your eye as Bucky rested his forearms on his knees and leaned forward a bit. His hands interlocked and parted, his fingertips met and parted, his fists opened and closed.

“But you'll outlive me,” Bucky looked down, his blue eyes glittering focused on yours under the moonlight. You could barely hear movement in the back of the hold where Peggy and Steve were still talking. Your heart flipped at the vulnerability you saw through his eyes, lately more common than you'd like. You didn't like not being able to quell those thoughts that dominated his head; the insecurities and fears that made him doubt so many things in the middle of the night.

“We'd live the same amount of time,” you assured him shaking your head, your own mind refusing to accept that Bucky's fears could take more power over him. Whatever you could do to calm him, you would do, always.

“You have the serum. You and Steve will live for many more years. Hell, maybe you'll even be immortals,” Bucky tried to smile, but a grimace settled on his face and made his words bitter. He was subtly trying to untwist his shoulders, barely moving to your side trying not to show too much that he was kind of nervous.

“Why are you telling me that now?” you shifted on the wooden step, moving a little closer towards him. Bucky tensed visibly, not because of the closeness, but because he knew the moment was coming when you would stop following his lead and start asking him what was really plaguing his mind. For some reason, Bucky couldn't approach those topics of conversation naturally, letting his mind and words wander a bit before daring to take his fears by the horns.

“I don't know… I guess. It's a truth I have to accept,” he confessed, his voice so fragile and soft that had it not been for the extreme hearing the serum had granted you, you surely wouldn't have understood him. You felt your heart crumple and moved your hand from your lap to cradle his hands that he still could not let still.

“But it is a truth that is still a long way from being fulfilled.”

“And first we have to get through the war,” Bucky turned his hands to lace them with yours, his fingers intertwining with yours and giving them a squeeze.

“We will. I have no doubt about it. In fact, I have a plan to persuade Phillips,” you smiled at him trying to lighten the weight on his shoulders a bit.

Little surprised, Bucky let out a laugh, his free shoulders shaking in sync with his chest. A beautiful smile spread across his face, and you would've enjoyed it except you could still notice his tired eyes and the dark traces beneath them. It seemed that the moonlight intensified the reality of his emotions.

“You always have a plan for everything.”

“What can I say? I'm an optimist,” you lifted your shoulders, leaning against Bucky's side. His head dropped to rest on the crown of your head, his breathing synchronizing with yours for a moment.

“Between the two of us, you definitely are,” he murmured, taking a deep breath, enjoying the moment for several seconds. “Sorry for… coming to bring up those topics of conversation.”

“No, it's okay. I like to listen. And you tend to do that sometimes,” you shook your head over his shoulder trying to dispel the topic, Bucky's hands tightening around yours.

“What?”

“You suddenly talk about things you don't want to tell me too much about and then put a little light-hearted attitude on it so it doesn't sound so serious.”

Bucky lifted his head, causing you to move in time to meet his surprised expression as well. His lips were trying to twitch into a smile, but he didn't seem to know if he wanted to laugh or frown.

“Do I really do it that often?”

“A little, yes.”

“Ah, I'm pretty bad at dissembling I guess,” Bucky looked up, finally succumbing to the smile. The gesture satisfied you enough to delve into the emotion with him, taking a moment to further enjoy that scenario you could no longer be a part of lately; to enjoy those everyday moments where you could feel love materially spark around you, as if it was a novel written solely to satisfy human romantic desires and whims.

You shook your head, returning to the subject.

“But you don't have to worry about my supposed immortality. I know we'll live the same,” you assured him once more, your arms wrapping around his right arm and squeezing it securely, hugging him, trying to send him some of the confidence you felt inside.

“How are you so sure?”

The truth was, you weren't, but you couldn't let him know that, much less let him know that you didn't expect his life expectancy to be as extensive as yours was now either. But how were you going to tell him that? He must've been martyred enough by his own thoughts during every moment of the day when they drowned him, and it wasn't as if you expected too much of a life after him either. You could have immortality served on a silver platter, but what would be the point if you had to spend it on your own? Bucky was thinking about not wanting to leave you alone, and you were thinking about the impossibility of finding a reason to live after him.

“Because I know I don't want to live forever if I'm not with you.”

Bucky stopped his light, ghost-like caresses on your fingers. He turned his face to look at you, his nostalgic expression disappearing in a matter of seconds. His blue eyes looked contrite, as if there was a storm inside them. You had never hesitated in your answer, no matter when he had asked. And yet you seemed to have taken him by surprise; it seemed that such a thing would never have crossed his mind even by accident.

“Y/N…”

“I'd be living in vain. Stolen time,” you shook your head, averting your gaze from the depths of his, an unknown kind of longing or fear furrowing across his features that you couldn't bear to see a second longer. You were there at that moment and you would see each other again later, why did you have to think about it too much?

Bucky sighed. Only when you felt his body relax against your side did you know he understood that it would do no good for him to try to antagonize you.

“Still, you deserve a life like this. After all you've been through,” his voice was barely a whisper that tore through the silent chill that surrounded you, but the implication of his words furrowed against your chest like a dagger. You shook your head before the memories could reach you.

“We all deserve it, especially in this world consumed by the greed of power and hatred.”

You saw him nod out of the corner of your eye, his hands wrapping around one of your hands, the one closest to his side and bringing it up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. His eyes were fixed on your profile, you could feel it, but you were afraid to turn to look at him and allow your emotions to come out. You were too sweet to succumb to strong feelings when you were with Bucky.

“Hey!” was Steve's voice, like a beacon in the middle of the ocean, making you both turn at the same time. “Peggy's just leaving.”

“Want a ride, Barnes?”

“Ah, it would be my pleasure, Agent Carter.”

Peggy moved, after saying goodbye to Steve and you, and walked in the direction of the huge forest that stretched into the distance where she had parked her car. Or Howard's car, you couldn't quite make out through the darkness.

“See you later, Miss I-don't-want-to-live-forever,” Bucky approached you with a half smile, having said goodbye to Steve, meeting him halfway to melt you in his arms. The tension in your shoulders eased considerably, a sigh making its way into your chest.

“Take care, Bucky,” you squeezed his waist, because you weren't tall enough to reach his shoulders in a hug, and he squeezed you back in response.

“Sure thing. I got to see my girl again, after all.”

You laughed between the hollow of his neck and shoulder, feeling your cheeks burn. Bucky broke away just barely to look at you with his own huge grin.

“Don't overdo it, Barnes.”

“Come on!” Peggy insisted, glancing at the watch on her wrist.

You broke away from Bucky, trying to push him to get into the car with his affianced friend, but he had other plans. In the midst of your struggle to push him away, he grabbed one of your wrists, using very little force to pull you close to his chest, his lips crashing against yours in a fleeting action, but not at all rough, barely a brush. Before you knew what happened he had already pulled away from you.

“When I get back, we have a lot to talk about.”

He never came back. He left in the next couple of days for the mission on the train and all you got back was a shattered Steve, his face dirty and sticky from all the tears he'd shed, his pleading eyes crystallizing on you the moment he had to tell you that Bucky had died. You could still remember how his voice cracked as he begged your forgiveness, repeating it over and over as if it would ease the burden he felt on his shoulders, the guilt for not being able to get him in time. You never blamed Steve for what happened, but it seemed like he did for a long time.

Reliving those memories was always a constant martyrdom. After Bucky's funeral you didn't think you could move on, but carrying all his pain in a sack of rocks, Steve assured you that they would avenge the reason Bucky had died. HYDRA. So you did and were able to carry on for a while until Steve was also declared KIA.

Peggy and Howard were a great help when you realized that you couldn't die on your own, because you healed faster than normal and could spend more time than humanly possible underwater. To say that you didn't try to leave the earthly world would be a lie, but your friends tried to help you in every way they could until you had to leave the United States. When you thought you would have to spend years hiding in Europe, Howard told you that wasn't necessary. Just staying under the radar and out of the feds' jurisdiction would be fine and he would take care of it. And one day, after spending a week in the apartment you were renting without getting out of bed for almost any reason, a knock on the door startled you.

“Correspondence,” rang through the silence of the apartment.

You only got up because you knew the mailman was wrong. You had given your address to absolutely no one and there was no way any person knew of your existence in that country. You thought you took pity on the man, when he handed you the letter and it did indeed have your name on it.

It was an acceptance letter from some university. Apparently you had enrolled to study mathematics.

You had a suspicion of what was going on, but something in your chest asked you to ignore it. The letter asked for an interview before classes started in exactly three days, and after that interview you received a letter from Peggy.

When Howard died you knew you couldn't go back to Europe. Largely because you had to find out who his killer was, but also because you wanted to watch over Peggy's life as you couldn't do for your other three friends. You were often terrified for your friend's life, especially having the job she had and dealing with all those powerful people who wouldn't hesitate for the blink of an eye to order her death.

Steve was right. You stayed with Peggy to investigate Howard's death. But you also stayed because she was the only thing you had left and you had to take care of her; you had to preserve her, to do everything you could to prevent another tragic and unnecessary death. You would've sacrificed anything in life just to allow Peggy to have the life she deserved. And so you did. You cared for her for many years, you were so attentive to her that her children called you aunt and then her grandchildren called you grandma; you were at all her family gatherings, giving gifts to her children at Christmas and celebrating each new year as you watched time pass through her eyes. Every January 1st you saw it as a win, a whole year in which so much sacrifice had been worth it.

Now… well, now everything was a bit more complicated.

Natasha had left the abandoned dam first after going over the plan one last time. You were supposed to go with Steve and Sam, even though Steve was reluctant to have you near the Winter Soldier again, as if you didn't have the same strength and agility as he did. Of course, his fear was rooted in something completely different than that, something he and Natasha had discovered with Zola.

“HYDRA spent years searching for you to recreate the super-soldier serum after the war. If not for the excellent work Peggy and Howard did, they probably would've found you more easily.”

Now, having such a palpable possibility of destroying HYDRA, you didn't think there was the slightest chance that they were still thinking about it, although Natasha stressed that it seemed to be that the soldier had two different missions when he found them in the middle of the city, one of them being that he was to keep you alive. Zhivoy, you recalled bitterly. Alive.

Steve didn't want to risk finding something else waiting for them when they reached the helicarriers, something that might lead you away from him. And yes, you understood his concern because it was the same one you'd felt for years and was more latent recently since Steve returned. But you weren't going to stand by like a fucking statue while they did all the work. You would take it upon yourself to destroy HYDRA completely and deprive them of any chance they might have to get close to Steve, you or Bucky again. Whatever you had to do, you'd do it.

“He's not the same,” you had told Steve, as you walked to the Triskelion in the company of Sam and Maria.

“But he'll remember us,” Steve assured, his hand tightly gripping the strap with which he held the shield. Steve had been repeating that to himself all day, even in front of Sam. You couldn't believe you were the one trying to maintain an objective demeanor in that situation.

“Yeah, maybe at some point. But right now it's not him, Steve,” you turned to look at him, his face fixed on the expanse of water surrounding the large building he used to work for. “He's not the Bucky we knew.”

Steve looked back at you, pausing for a moment. You knew he was mindful of it, you knew Steve was aware of how dangerous he was now; that there was a good chance he really didn't remember them and you wanted to make sure that wouldn't cloud his judgment; that he would still fight for his life.

But the resolve in his eyes didn't convince you. His lack of response fanned a hollow in your chest, your hands breaking out in a cold sweat as you stared at the empty space he left in front of you.

Steve was willing to bring him back and you were afraid of losing him.

For some reason, you felt it had to be different.

-

You heard Steve's voice over the speakers, running so you could find the helicarriers exit before they took off. Steve and Sam were supposed to meet you halfway, but you were already halfway there, fighting off a few agents, and you still didn't hear them nearby. Your breath caught in your throat as one of the STRIKE agents grabbed you by the throat while another plunged an electric baton into your side, the sensation of volts coursing through your entire nervous system sending you into a momentary state of shock.

You dropped your hands to stop struggling with the agent behind you and grabbed the wrist holding the baton with an overly strong grip, snapping the bone in place and jerking your head to strike the face of the man behind you as his grip wobbled for a second. Both agents fell to the ground, two bones broken in less than a minute. You grabbed the baton before departing, hitting them both in the head barely using half your strength, knocking them unconscious instantly.

As you exited the Triskelion facility to meet the gap you would have to jump over to intercept the first helicarrier, you heard Steve and Sam's voices closer. Oh, right, you forgot to use the communicator.

“Where were you?” Steve exclaimed, running alongside Sam closer to the chasm.

“You've got blood on your neck,” Sam pointed out, before spreading his metal wings and flying off into the sky.

“Put on your communicator,” Steve asked you just before you both jumped at the same time, a feeling of emptiness planting itself in the pit of your stomach.

You landed with your legs bent and leaned forward for a spin before getting up and continuing to run alongside Steve. You rummaged in one of your pants pockets, praying that the small devices hadn't been shattered during the fights you had inside the Triskelion.

Only one was spared.

Steve barely sent you a reproachful glance, shaking his head, as you approached a horde of HYDRA agents. You barely finished putting the small communicator to your ear when the hail of bullets came in their direction. Steve grabbed your arm to pull you behind his shield until he managed to hide behind two large containers. The fight was immediate.

The group of agents split up and you jumped right in front of two of them, sliding on the ground to use the baton from below to disarm them. You knocked one of them out with the high volts of the baton and the other tried to stab you from behind, but you stopped his hand midway and flipped his arm over, a shriek of pain escaping him as his shoulder dislocated. The man fell to his knees and, lifting one leg, you half-turned to strike his face with your full tibia.

“Cap, I found the bad guys you were talking about,” you heard Sam's voice, noting that, although that communicator was working, the voice you perceived sounded distant.

“Are you okay?” you heard Steve, as he came closer and you stepped on the handle of the staff, lifting it in a single stroke so that it landed in your hand.

“Not dead yet.”

Steve nodded, though he knew Sam couldn't see him and gave you a questioning look.

“Works?” he pointed to your ear, starting to pace.

“A little bruised, but does the job.”

Your friend shook his head, starting to run inside the helicarrier.

“Cap?” you smirked.

“Don't start,” the blond spoke through his teeth, moving toward his target. “Report location.”

You nodded in his direction, heading for the first agents who appeared to obstruct his path, clearing Steve's way in the direction of the helicarrier hub.

When you were done with the agents and Steve was finally able to enter the control center, you turned your attention to the voices ringing through the communicator.

“Ah, shit,” was Sam's voice, and the next thing you heard was gunfire around the helicarrier next to it.

“Fine, but you're going with me. I don't want to let you out of my sight,” Steve had said a few hours before they left the dam, leaving no room for argument in his haughty voice.

“That's unnecessary, Steve. We'd waste too much time,” you shook your head, trying to match his stoic, stern expression.

“She's right,” Maria nodded in your direction. “There are three helicarriers and three of you.”

“No,” Steve began to rise, your eyes following the movement of his body and his blue eyes fixed on yours. “Fury delegated orders to me, and that's an order.”

You indulged Steve until you lost sight of him, understanding he had said that out of pent-up fear. You grabbed one of the weapons that had been left on the ground and passed the strap over your head. The third helicarrier was a considerable distance away at a jump. You had to pick up too much speed to even make it to the tip, but you weren't going to stand there waiting for Steve when you could be doing something more; something necessary.

So that's what you did. Steve still hadn't reported state when you started running from tip to tip, your steps getting bigger with every second until you reached the gap and picked up momentum at the tip. That was insane. You felt the emptiness in your stomach again and out of the corner of your eye you could see a couple of explosions occurring in the harbor where the helicarriers had departed from. You stretched your arms out, counting on having propelled your body far enough, fearing a deadly fall as the other edge began to look higher and higher.

“Y/N, status,” you heard Hill, your heart in your mouth.

Your mind went blank for a second, when in the midst of the adrenaline you almost didn't even feel the moment when your left hand gripped the edge of the helicarrier tightly, the aircraft moving a little farther with each passing second. You had jumped at just the right moment.

Breathing hard, you propelled yourself upward until you could plant your feet back on the runway floor and replied to Maria, “Waiting.”

Steve must've thought you were still on the helicarrier with him.

As you ran, Sam reported that he had intercepted the second helicarrier after Steve, barely recognizing their voices amidst the tussle you were having with the agents who had appeared before you could reach the control room door.

“Y/N, where are you?” the voice of Steve came over the comm, a few minutes after you took down the last agent, moving in the direction of the metal door. You felt heavily for the programming card you had taken from Steve when he had pulled you close to get behind his shield, as you heard him ask Sam if he could see you.

You were about to reach the door when the scenery abruptly changed, a body appearing out of nowhere colliding into your left side sending you crashing to the ground hard.

“Shit.”

“Y/N?”

You ignored Steve's voice, moving to push off the heavy body on top of yours. Amidst the struggle you crawled away across the floor, a hand clutching at your ankle before you could move any further.

You recognized him by the coldness that ran through your body at the contact. You could almost be sure it had burned you.

This time he wasn't wearing the mask, those blue eyes boring deep into your head, the angry expression very different from how you had seen him last time. Although you would've liked to stay longer just watching, after spending so many years suffering his death, you pulled the leg he had held captive and tried to hit him in the face, his metal arm moving faster neutralizing the hit.

At that moment you stood up arching your back, planting your feet hard and running towards the soldier before he could catch you off guard.

You tried to strike his face, but he nimbly dodged every blow, just as you dodged his. He let out a grunt of frustration as you sent him to the ground with a kick to the chest, pulling a weapon from his side that he didn't hesitate a second to point in your direction. Feeling the air caught in your throat, you moved quickly on the ground, trying to escape his bullets while managing to find a place to hide.

You heard his footsteps approaching, as you hid behind a container, stopping just on the other side, and you moved to the right side of the container when you knew he was going to jump out and surprise you from above.

His body froze for a second, which you took advantage of to jump over the dumpster and grab him from behind, the baton you had on your belt wrapped around his neck, cutting off his breathing. You tried to hold him tight as he tried to push away your grip with his metal arm, almost as strong as your push to keep him in place.

The soldier began to slow his movements, but if you hadn't been so torn between he's the Winter Soldier and he's Bucky, you would've noticed one of his hands move over his vest, grabbing the handle of a knife and burying it in your right leg hard, all the way in, causing you to gasp.

Clearly your grip wobbled, the soldier taking possession of your staff and turning around as he pulled the blade out of your leg to direct his foot towards your chest, pushing you back to the ground where you fell with a loud thud.

The wound was deep. You could feel and hear the blood pouring out of it, but you didn't just stand there as you saw him leap down from the container, raising his arms to parry his attack as he directed the knife towards your face. His face contorted and scrunched up in concentration was all you could focus on, remembering that you couldn't let him win, but you also couldn't hurt him like he wanted to hurt you. You had to be objective, yes, but the thought of hurting him once more was heartbreaking.

You struggled with his hand until he let go of the knife, using your strength and trying to ignore the sharp pain in your leg from the effort to push him to the ground beside you with your hand on his neck and your leg around his waist, lying on top of him with one leg on each side.

At that moment, as you tried to keep your arm over his neck and he tried to weaken you by hitting your sides, you heard Steve and Sam's voices again. A small panic ran through your body which was enough for the soldier to push your arm away, grabbing you by the neck with his metal arm and bringing a gun close to your face as he rose up, taking you with him, until he slammed you into a wall with great force.

You raised your hand between your bodies to move the tip of the gun, the shot falling a short distance above your head, your exorbitant eyes watching his furious expression. His metal hand closed tighter and tighter around your neck, your breath hitching, but you didn't relinquish your grip on the hand still holding the gun.

In the midst of the struggle, you brought your knee up to strike his crotch. The soldier jerked away, a whimper dying in his mouth as you moved toward him again, pushing his arm away as he pointed the gun at you again and the shot landed somewhere behind you again.

You hit him in the face with your own head, one of your hands holding his right arm with the gun and the other trying to keep his metal arm that held the knife dripping with your blood at bay. You hit him full in the nose again, but even though the blood was starting to drip down, the soldier didn't budge one bit.

“Go!” you shouted to Steve and Sam, the soldier averting his attention for a tiny moment before struggling against your grip again.

You had to break free somehow to get the card to Steve. Your body began to give way with the soldier's thrust, your boots sliding on the floor like it was marble. The soldier began to close his arms and you tried to match his strength, but the blood leaking from the wound in your leg was slowly weakening you. And it was a vibranium knife again.

Suddenly you noticed Steve running towards you, the fleeting glance costing you restraint, as the soldier raised your arms and turned you roughly, his back crashing against your chest and his metal hand burying in your chest the knife hard, moving it from side to side as he did that cold night in Siberia.

In the midst of the pain and weakness from the blood loss, you laid your head on his shoulder, the adrenaline slowly draining from your body.

“Bucky,” you whispered like a prayer, your strangled voice barely making its way out of your mouth and the soldier tensing behind you. The struggling stopped for a second.

Then his body heat disappeared. Steve must've reached and tackled the soldier without missing a beat.

“Hey, hey,” you heard Sam approaching you, kneeling beside you and taking your hand that wanted to pull the knife out of your chest. Right through the center, near the heart. That pain was no match for the disappointment that was tearing you apart inside. Maybe that time you could actually die. “Don't touch that.”

“Give the card to Steve…” you barely muttered breathlessly, one of your hands moving to pull the card out of one of your lower pants pockets. “Run.”

Sam hesitated for a few seconds, looking between your knife and the fight that was still picking up steam in the background, until he clicked his tongue and stood up.

“Don't take that knife out!”

You saw him run in the direction of Steve and the soldier, his metal wings rising in the midst of the struggle. Steve and Sam began to get the upper hand, and at some point, Steve took off in the direction of the helicarrier control center.

You dropped to the ground, watching helplessly as the soldier overpowered Sam, dislodging his wings with the force of his metal arm. The pain was too much, but Sam was completely helpless. No matter how much training he might've had, fighting the Winter Soldier was disproportionate.

So in a matter of seconds you stood up, grasping between gasps the handle of the knife and pulling it out of your chest without a second thought.

The electric current of pain that coursed through your body was unbearable, feeling as if the hollowness you constantly felt in your chest from emotions had suddenly materialized, a constant pang that coursed through you from head to toe at every microsecond, with every movement. Sam didn't even have time to react when you grabbed the soldier by the throat, burying the knife in his leg and trying to wave him off.

You could consider yourself well served if at that moment that was your death.

The soldier grabbed the arm around your neck and leaned forward, lifting you up and flipping you over onto your back, falling hard and painfully to the ground. You looked at the knife in his leg before looking at his face again. He had a couple of cuts, his expression still angry, but he seemed to hesitate as he pulled the knife out like it was nothing and watched you lying on the ground, completely at his mercy.

His hesitation brought unease to your chest.

“Bucky,” you called again, tears welling in your eyes.

The soldier only frowned, his anger momentarily fading until he seemed to remember something.

He turned to look at the control center. Before running off, he sent you another disgruntled look, just like that time on the road.

Whatever had happened after that, death or not, was extremely painful.

-

tag: @samodivaa @rubyxx16

[xovalentinewritesxo]

Care [Miguel O'hara]

✿ - You assumed no one cared about you anymore after losing your universe, turns out, the person that did was right beside you.

✿ -Light Angst and comfort.

✿ - 1k words!

A/N: Heres my second fic for the day/night! It's a little thing I wrote a while ago but never go around finishing it, but now that I have a blog here ya go!

If you want to support me: Here's My Kofi! <3

I appreciate everything and everyone who comes across my works! Enjoy!

“I’m going to have to tell Alexander to keep her Universe under control!!”

You yell out as you swing through the city chasing after the Doc Oct that escaped from Earth-229. 

You are one of the many SpiderWomen that are a part of the Spider Society. You’ve been a part of the society since it’s beginning, being a close friend of Miguel’s.

You had him to think for you being here.

Speaking of which, You zip past him, determined to get the Doc Oc and return them back to their universe. You were alongside Miguel when you noticed something being hurdled in his direction.

Without a second thought, you swung up and shoved him out of the way, taking the brunt of the hit and was sent flying, last thing you saw was Miguel’s concerned face and him shouting your name.

Before you knew of anomalies or anything strange like that, you were just your friendly neighborhood spiderman, going about your days spending time with your family, fighting crime and enjoying life. That was until one day..

It was all just suddenly ripped away.

You can remember it like it was yesterday, you were fighting this Green Goblin that looked a little weird, like he didn't belong in your city. Then boom, your universe started looking like a glitched out computer screen, you remember the screaming, the crying as your universe evaporated around you.

Last thing you remembered was Miguel running with you in his arms, he was cursing in spanish to himself as he opened a portal and brought you back to the Spider society HQ.

And just like that, you were alone.

It changed you. 

You weren’t the same person anymore. After seeing your universe collapse in front of you, it was like a slap to your face. All your friends, family and things were all gone and you were forced to start all over.

You had Miguel by your side, who explained that it wasn’t your fault, that everything that happened to you was a canon event, that it was something that was going to happen, that you couldn’t have done anything to stop it.

That didn’t stop you from crying nonstop, some nights were better than others. But as you stayed with Miguel, you would wake up with vivid nightmares, seeing the images of your friends evaporating in front of your eyes.

It was hard, and Miguel was there, but you knew you couldn’t depend on him always.

You felt like a burden whenever you woke him up in the middle of the night after having a bad dream, following him around because you didn’t really know anyone else in the spider society and you were afraid of making new friends in fear of losing them again.

It causes you to get in your own head. You started to doubt yourself. 

You started thinking of yourself as a problem, you felt like an outsider as you couldn’t go home like everyone else. You thought everyone was annoyed by you being around 24/7. You would feel awful whenever you would go to Miguel in his office when he was busy or stressed from a mission gone wrong. 

He would yell at you, tell you to get out and find somewhere else to go, but then immediately took it back when he saw the hurt look on your face. 

You often get reckless on missions, risking your life for others who had places to return to when the day was over. And that tended to get you scolded by Miguel.

But did you care? Not really.

You saw it as trading your life for someone who deserved to live on, you saw yourself as a burden and you saw what you did as good.

But apparently someone didn’t appreciate it, and he would make it very clear.

“Y/N”

You didn’t have time to react before you were slammed into a building by a large piece of debris, you felt yourself go through several walls before landing on your back and falling forward, landing with a thud.

You groaned as you tried to move but your back felt awful. Your vision was blurry as you made out a figure coming into the hole that you were knocked through and running up to you.

“Dios, por favor déjala estar bien…por favor..”

It was Miguel and you heard his footsteps land near you and you felt him pick you up and cradle you in his arms. 

“Idiot..what did i tell you about doing foolish stunts like that!?” He yelled as he held you, assessing your injuries. Your spider suit was torn in several places and he could see a deep gash on your back. He curses as he opened a portal and walked through with you in it. 

The two of you entered the apartment that you shared together and he placed you down on the bed, not caring that your blood was getting on his sheets. You watched as he moved around and you were about to speak but was cut off.

“Migu-”

“¡Callarse la boca! (Shut Up!) Why do you still do this!?” He yelled as he prepared bandages and medicine for you. His back was turned to you as he was yelling and you frowned.

“Do what?..”

“No juegues estúpido. (Don’t play stupid) You know what I mean. Why do you continue to risk your life out there like you have nothing to go home to.”

You look at him as you slowly sit up, being careful not to make your injury even worse. You avert your gaze as you feel him turn around to look at you.

“You know why Miguel..everyone else has something to live for..a home..I don’t have one.” You answer softly. You then jump as in a blink of an eye he grabs your shoulders, being mindful of your injuries but still gripping tightly.

“¡Cállate!(Be Quiet!), Do you not understand how much that hurts me when you say that?! I am your home! You have me! Am I not enough for you!?”

His words hit deep and you stare blankly at him before you feel tears well up in your eyes before they eventually spill over. Your quiet cries evolve into sobs as he gently pulls you into his chest, allowing you to cry.

He cant rub your back due to your injury, but he reaches up to pet your head as you cry. He soothes your cries, rocking slightly.

“I’m here for you, Y/n..don’t you ever forget that, you’re never alone. Not anymore.” He says gently as he maneuvers so he is sitting on the bed and you’re in his lap. He cradles you gentle as he looks down at you.

In his arms, you realized that you weren’t alone.

And you definitely have someone who cares.

© xovalentinewritesxo 2023 <3

Please feel free to put a request in!

[padfootswhiskers]

With all respect, I think u guys give jkr's writing skill too much credit . Ik she said she planned everything abt hp books from the beginning( I don't believeit tbh), but she wrote some of the weirdest dumb stuff ever for the sake of the plot that don't make any sense ... Remus's life and even his name, for example.The fact that Remus hasn't visited Harry for almost 12yrs is ridiculous . "He thought Harry was safe - he felt worthless. He was a coward. " wtf?! No he didn't do it bc Harry shouldn't know abt his parents and wizarding world the End. srslyWheree were lily's friends? Oh they all passed away...Harry's grandparents THEY ALL PASSED AWAY ...problem solved (jkr is so good at this) and plus imo that also happened simply bc if Remus checked on Harry, he would be a father figure to him 100% (the role given to Sirius), and jkr didn't want Harry to have the same close connection with Remus as he did with Sirius. It would make harry -Sirius's relationship unimportant... Take Sirius's other relationships, for example. When he escaped Azkaban, he had no family, no lover, no one. Initially, I was like, "Yeah, okay," and that seemed fine. But later, it occurred to me that maybe he was written that way because he had to be solely for Harry. Like, he shouldn't care about anyone but Harry. Sirius isn't allowed to prioritize anyone over his godson.

to be fair, anon, i think two things can be true at the same time. a lot of stuff does happen in the hp universe for plot reasons---this doesn't necessarily mean it's always bad writing.

the plot required harry to be unaware of the wizarding world, alright. i don't see how this means remus would've taken, like, custody of harry or something if it hadn't! remus IS a coward. he IS extremely self flagellating. it IS completely plausible that he knew petunia wasn't a great person and left harry there anyway!

(take DH for example. he says tonks will be safe with her parents right after he tells them that her parents have been tortured for information. he isn't a stupid man, he's being deliberately cowardly.)

i understand that you probably really like remus, or at least the good bits of him, but character traits you dislike do not equal bad writing. remus consistently shows himself to be extremely passive-aggressive, conflict avoidant and unable to actually follow through on his conscience. i don't know about you, anon, but i can definitely see a man who convinced himself that withholding information about a wanted murderer was OK, convincing himself that harry is safe and better off without him.

jkr didn't have to use plot reasons to thwart remus and harry's budding relationship so that sirius could step in because...there isn't a scenario that exists wherein canon remus would step in to be an orphaned harry's father figure. i'm genuinely curious as to why you think he might. THAT, if anything, is what seems ooc to me.

as for lily, that seems to be pattern with jkr's 'popular girls'. i can't name five of ginny's friends if my life depended on it. it was also obviously done so that the snape reveal would have a greater effect. but lily isn't an established character the same way remus is.

as for sirius? i don't think it's unrealistic that he didn't have a lover/anyone waiting for him. i think people tend to forget he was only barely 22 when he got locked up; plenty of people haven't begun sorting out their lives at that age. lest we forget, he was also fighting a war pretty much the second he left hogwarts. not great for the dating scene, that. i don't think it's unrealistic at all that he hadn't thought about girls (or boys) or settling down at that time in his life.

but even if he had, i can't fathom a world in which he wouldn't transfer the love and devotion he had for james to james' son.

[oroontheheels]

Venom 3 spoilers!!

(I know I know I’m making like 5th post already)

Interesting question people brought up is “Is Venom movies queerbait or queer subtext”.

Honey. I’m an old bisexual person from a very homophobic country. I’ll share a wisdom with you: it is always queerbait. No matter what happens on the screen, It queerbait until the moment straight people in the audience are feeling uncomfortable. Then it’s gay representation.

The only time it is “queer subtext” is if you live in a times when they put you in prison for being gay. Or if it’s modern days but you live in a country where they put you in prison for making positive gay representation in media. And as far as I know it is not illegal to be gay in USA.

So.

Venom movies. Is it queerbait or queer context? Queerbait. 100%

Good old monetised machine.

It is bad that corps use queerbait tactics? Yes.

Is it so bad you should boycott the movies and never ever interact with Venom media again? No.

After all we are just “small people”. We want to enjoy things. And symbrock is very enjoyable and nice. In comics and in movies. And times we spent creating fan content for each other is priceless. 🖤

But what is my complaint then? My complaint is that Venom 3 didn’t do enough. There was so much opportunity and possibilities. They didn’t even use 10% of those.

They did some good old queerbait but even compared to Venom 2 they did too little. Venom 2 was gayer. It was bolder. It was more.

They should’ve go all out in Venom 3 to top that but they didn’t.

I can live with corporations using queer audiences for monetary gain. But it is humiliating when they won’t even give us bare minimum in return.

No joke about wedding in Vegas. No head boop. Not even “love you man, bye”. Believe me, when it comes to queerbait you can put SO. MUCH. MORE. and get away with it. (Remember fucking Naruto or Evangelion for example)

It’s not even half-asses effort. It’s quarter-pubic hair effort. Barely any noticeable effort.

Oh and I also do not believe in “studio meddling probably played a role”. C’mon. “Studio meddling” didn’t remove kiss from the first movie. Didn’t remove “IM OUT OF THE EDDIE’S CLOSET” in second movie. But for some reason it removed something from third movie?? Yeah, I’m not buying it. I don’t believe that third movie had some martyr writer who tried their best but failed to make symbrock canon but failed.

To end it on positive note and not to be complete salty person: Venom dancing to ABBA was indeed very gay. And him wanting to see browday musical was also very gay.

I just wish we also had some symbrock moments too.

P.S. I wrote this before but I repeat myself this movie would’ve benefited greatly if Eddie and Venom had a very big and very bad fight about The Codex reveal at the beginning. Without it Eddie coldness feels incredibly OOC and uncalled for.

[bizarre-blues]

Curious about your shoumob thoughts 👀👀

Apologies for the essay I am about to write you. Genuinely it's a self indulgent ship for me- I don't particularly see it ever happening in canon, but the potential for their dynamic is so severely underexplored that it drives me insane- not even romantically, just in general. I honestly get why at a glance it doesn't seem like there'd be much between them, but this is fanon and I'm allowed to pour my heart and thoughts into my favorite characters. Lemme break it up into two sections. Platonic Shoumob (something I could see as more canon based):

Even being platonic, I do think this dynamic would only show up post canon. Like there's a long period of time where they're vaguely in each other's circles but don't directly interact. On Mob's end, I think this is purely because he's got his own life and own concerns. Sure, his younger brother's friend hangs around sometimes, but it's not his business to meddle around in Ritsu's business. This is really well stated in August's post. But to add on a bit:

Mob is a good big brother + trusts Ritsu

I don't see Mob holding a grudge against Shou for the house being burnt down. Did Shou aim to stir Mob's emotions a bit? Yeah, it wasn't right. It was ALSO to protect Mob's family since Shou knew Claw was sending folks after them. With the bodies of the remaining Kageyama family burnt, Claw would not longer be after the Kageyamas. I think after fully understanding this, even if there are bitter feelings Mob would let em fade over time

What about the seventh claw division? Saying he's disappointed in Mob? Beating up Ritsu to lure Mob in so they can both be captured? First off Shou's insult pretty easily rolls off of Mob's back. Secondly, I think it would be very interesting to explore the dynamic of Mob discovering Shou's part in the seventh division. Again, I don't think this would really come up for a long time, long enough that Mob wouldn't really be a bitter mess about it.

If Mob can find in his heart of hearts that Toichiro is someone worth saving, I really struggle to think he dislikes Shou in anyway.

On the other hand you have Shou. I already talked about how I think Shou would feel a bit in the tags of August's post above. Also, I really like to keep this post in mind too when thinking of Shou's view of Mob.

Shou entirely wrote Mob off in their initial interaction. He saw he had power and was unwilling to use it- therefore was taking the side of a bystander. He saw that as genuinely a crime to waste such protentional. Shou was raised by Toichiro, and even without agreeing with how Toichiro used his power, Shou does agree that power is power and must be used in some way. For him, he needs to use it for justice. That's why, in my mind, Shou was so quick to like Ritsu. Ritsu wasn't afraid to use his powers for what was needed to be done to protect people, even if it was an uphill battle he couldn't win.

Cut to their second interaction. Shou's fighting his dad, Shou's losing the fight- it's barely even a fight with how bad he's losing. In waltzes Mob who's entirely different from the last time they interacted. He's prepared to fight, to protect everyone else since he's the only one capable of doing so. Hell, he even told everyone else to stay away since they'll only hinder what he has to do. Suddenly Mob is aligning with the moral code Shou WANTED to see in him to begin with.

That entire interaction is so short, but it's genuinely so important to me. Mob stands up for Shou, he gets angry on his behalf. Who knows the last time someone did that for Shou, and it's someone Shou had entirely written off.

Last time they interact is the confession arc. Shou sees the power Mob is capable of, how his dad is no match for him when he's like this without it being fatal. It even convinces Shou to lay off using his powers (though idk how closely he sticks to that post canon)

Basically you have this development of complete dismissal > admiration for his moral code? > a warning sign to how dangerous psychic powers can be. Which is insane given that Shou's SEEN how dangerous they can be his entire childhood

I feel like it leaves us in post canon with a LOT of potential for how they might see each other or interact. Here's some of the thoughts that have been plaguing my mind.

I really feel like Shou would have this torn admiration / uncertainty about Mob. Mob is powerful, more powerful than his dad, and I don't feel like Shou fully knows Mob's strict moral code yet. I think that subconsciously he might be a lil cautious around him to begin with even if he doesn't outwardly acknowledge that in anyway

They get to know each other and now there's potential to actually chat about some of this stuff. One thing in particular I like to think about is the power level they both have. Idk the exact power scaling of all the Mob Psycho espers, but I'm under the impression that Shou is pretty up there and will likely only get more powerful with age. Shou and Mob, having this kinda power, have taken such opposite views to it growing up. Mob believing it can never be used while Shou thinking it MUST be used. This is what's inspired the comic I'm currently working on that I'm SO excited to finish up

Also??? this might be ooc but the potential jealousy Shou might have of how easily Mob and Ritsu appear to get along once it's all said and done. Meanwhile his family dynamic is... complex. Shou obviously cares about his dad, but Toichiro will probably not see life outside of prison and I'm certain there's just some oddness between them. Between Toichiro calling Shou a failure and using his powers to straight up fight him, I just feel like it would be complex for Shou. It could really lead to some interesting conflict, especially given Shou and Ritsu being besties

IDK !!! OTHER STUFF TOO!!! Between em I just see a lot that could be said between the two of em.

I feel like when I first joined the fandom I didn't really see much between Shou and Mob. Of the four main esper boys, obvious it's easy to see how much dynamic there is between Mob and Ritsu (the entire show hinders on the trauma they share) and between Teru and Mob. There's also plenty of interactions between Teru and Ritsu. Same to say with Shou and Ritsu since the majority of Shou's interactions are Ritsu centered. But honestly post canon I really do feel like Shou and Mob's dynamic ought to be explored a lot more, even if I must do it myself.

Romantic Shoumob (way more fanon based but hey what can ya do, we have fun out here):

As a disclaimer, I honestly prefer platonic shoumob. HOWEVER I absolutely think romantic shoumob is adorable so I will happily ramble about it. Take most of what I've said above and apply it down here.

In my mind I think it would be Shou who ends up with a crush on Mob. Mostly cause of the amount of emotions Shou has towards Mob post canon, I feel like it could easily develop into a real curiosity towards Mob. Thinks about him a lot and oops, now it's a crush

Also hilarious to me cause I don't think Shou would know how to handle a crush no matter who it was. The classic "writes you a letter that says 'get out of my school' in attempt to flirt" dynamic

Except I really don't think that would work on Mob?? Mob isn't dumb but I really just. Don't think he'd get the hint that Shou likes him. Just knows for Some Reason Shou acts a certain way around him. He'd probably assume he did something to offend or upset Shou somehow tbh

Cue Mob attempting to do things to make it up / even directly trying to ask Shou about it which would only lead to Shou getting flustered or trying, yet again, to keep playing it off

Whenever Mob DOES realize Shou likes him back I imagine he'd get equally as flustered in the beginning. Mostly cause we know Mob is such a lover who is super easily flustered in most scenarios. Very much just! Cute to me

Outside of just the puppy love phase I really do think there's potential for such sweet or dramatic interactions. Again there's all the complex parts of the platonic parts of their relationship, but something significant would be the way that both Mob and Toichiro have this insane amount of power and yet opposite approaches to it.

I think Shou would find a lot of comfort in seeing how gentle Mob could be. I'm also a HUGE softy for the idea of like- we KNOW Shou isn't super soft. He wasn't raised that way, it's not his ideals, there's not many situations where I think he'd feel comfortable having his guard down, even post canon. But I like the idea that Shou lets himself be soft when it's just him and Mob.

No pressure to be anything he isn't, no need to be snarky or guarded, he KNOWS Mob ain't gonna judge him, hell Shou is probably the safest he ever could be by hanging out with Mob. It's all so SICKENINGLY sweet to me.

On Mob's end, I can see him enjoying having someone who understands him in some ways yet has such a different approach to life? Mob craves human connection throughout the entire series, and by the end he has plenty of it, but to have someone who he can have deeper convos about psychic powers in particular with I think would be a huge relief. Obviously there's other folks in his life, but Shou's just from a unique background.

Even more, Shou is blunt and upfront about everything. Communication would come so naturally to them. As someone with autism, nothing is a bigger relief to me than a person who just says what they're thinking straight up.

I can really see a fun balance between them as one person who's calm and kind vs someone who's energetic and chaotic. I feel like there'd be a constant push and pull between Mob's side of simple and sickeningly sweetness and Shou's side of outrageous acts and mayhem.

Hope this all makes sense. Sorry for any typos, I didn't proof read anything. Thank you sm for the ask!

[parvalunaskitty]

I've seen a few posts talking about how messed up it was that the qsmp put the players in the position where they bonded with a digital egg child, then risked suddenly losing their egg child (and contact with their roleplay buddy) if the egg died. Not to mention suddenly being forced to roleplay unexpected child death live in front of thousands of people. I agree, that was messed up.

This lead to me thinking back on a tumblr post I saw a while back, while the qsmp was still running, about alternatives to the egg life system, since people were starting to realize that the system kind of sucked. The post mentioned an idea for some sort of CPS system where the parents had to take parenting classes if their egg died. If you wrote that post and see this, please let me know so I can credit you for the inspiration.

EDIT: The creator of the tumblr post with the idea for egg CPS is anonymous-dentist. Thank you for inspiring me to create this!

I liked this idea, and decided to flesh it out a bit, since I've seen that some people are making their own minecraft servers with eggs. The way I see it, the egg life system as it was on the qsmp isn't great for the reasons mentioned above, but having the eggs be just as immortal as players takes away from the dependency the eggs have on their parents and the need to protect/take care of the eggs outside of their role as designated children. Why not let your egg go fight the warden, if there aren't any consequences for doing so?

Thus, I have created my own system for egg 'death' which I call the EPS (Egg Protective Services), which people can use on their own servers if they find it interesting or appealing.

I haven't actually played minecraft in a long time, but I do play a lot of D&D and spend way too much of my free time thinking about minecraft eggs, so I feel like this is a pretty good system for roleplaying.

The EPS (Egg Protective Services)

The EPS operates with the standard 2-life system for eggs. If an egg loses one life, well, accidents happen, but the parent receives an admonishment of some sort from the EPS. This can be a strongly-worded letter, a visit from an EPS agent, or a required meeting with an EPS agent at the EPS office at a specified date and time, depending on whatever works best for your server.

If an egg loses two lives, however, this is where the fun begins. The egg in question is deemed ‘critically injured’ and has to stay at the egg hospital for a week in order to recover from their injuries, during which time the egg isn’t able to interact with any other players.

Note: this can be a way to add additional ‘stakes’ to specific plot-specific encounters. For example. XYZ plot-relevant threat is SO dangerous, that if an egg loses their second life to it, they have to spend additional time in the egg hospital to recover. Or the threat hurts the egg in a specific way that they have to be in the egg hospital until the appropriate macguffin can be retrieved to heal them, or until the threat that killed them has been dealt with, or any number of other things to raise the stakes of any specific enemy or threat.

Note: this can also be a way to deal with deaths that were ruled ‘unfair.’ Instead of having to roll back time, or declare what happened to be non-canon, just say that the egg made a miraculously quick recovery and EPS has investigated and decided that the parent is an acceptable caregiver for their egg and can retrieve their egg immediately.

If a parent does not retrieve their egg from the egg hospital after more than four weeks from when the egg has recovered from their injuries, the egg can be transferred to the egg adoption center and become open for adoption by other players. This can be a way to deal with players who are too busy to be parents, or have decided this whole ‘minecraft parenthood’ thing isn’t for them.

However, the egg hospital isn’t the only ‘punishment’ for an egg losing both of their lives. If an egg’s parent(s) are sufficiently negligent that their egg loses both of their lives, the EPS must intervene to ensure that the egg is being raised in a safe and loving environment. That means the parent(s) have to take parenting classes from the EPS before they can retrieve their egg from the egg hospital.

These classes will take different forms depending on how the egg lost their second life. Note that this is entirely based around the death message in the chat, and is not depending on the surrounding circumstances. Meaning, for example, if an egg dies in lava while running away from mobs, the parent(s) will have to take the safety class, and if an egg is killed by their own parent due to a misclick, the parent will have to take the PVP class. The EPS is not a perfect system.

Feel free to have the players take as many classes as are deemed necessary (or funny/dramatic), but unless you have an extremely active server, I personally wouldn’t recommend requiring more than one class before the egg can be retrieved.

The types of classes are as follows: safety classes, caretaking classes, and PVP classes. Safety classes are for if an egg dies to a safety hazard, such as lava, drowning, or fall damage. Caretaking classes are for if an egg dies of neglect (assuming you’re using some kind of task system for the eggs), and PVP classes are if the egg dies to a mob or player.

For safety classes, the parent(s) must either completely safety-proof their egg’s home, or build an entirely new home that meets the safety standards of the EPS agent. These standards should be intentionally somewhat ridiculous. Try to have fun with it!

For caretaking classes, the parent(s) must perform a standard set of egg tasks for an inanimate object (an actual dragon egg, a block of white wool, a custom egg dummy, whatever you feel is most appropriate), under the supervision of the EPS agent. They need to be able to prove that they can take care of an egg. Once again, this should intentionally be somewhat ridiculous. If one of the tasks involves giving the egg a specific food, throw the food on the ground next to the fake egg. If one of the tasks involves taking the egg to a dungeon, bring the fake egg to the dungeon and set it on the ground for a little while. The EPS agent can be as nitpicky as is desired to make the scenario more interesting/dramatic/funny. If the parent(s) fail to complete the tasks in a way that meets the standards of the EPS agent, make them do the tasks again.

For PVP classes, it’s exactly what it says on the tin. Teach the parent(s) the basics of PVP, have them fight some mobs, then have them fight the EPS agent. This one’s pretty basic. Where it gets interesting, is that if the egg died to a player instead of a mob, then the parent(s) and the player who killed the egg must have a ‘counseling session’ lead by the EPS agent, to resolve any conflicts and ensure that the egg won’t be killed again. If the egg was killed by a parent, this may mean a counseling session with the other parent(s) or it might mean a personal therapy session. These can be as messy/dramatic as is desired, or they can just be silly.

Note: if your server doesn’t have people on hand to roleplay as NPCs to serve as the EPS agent, maybe have the currently recovering egg play the EPS agent, since they’re in the hospital and don’t have anything else to do.

Note: before actually having the parenting classes, discuss with the parent(s) what tone you all want out of the scenario. The class can be a sad scene, where the parent(s) mourn their injured egg and lament what terrible parent(s) they were, while the EPS agent is harshly critical of their failure as a parent, or it can be a goofy scene where increasingly frustrated parent(s) desperately try to meet the increasingly ridiculous demands of the EPS agent, or anything in between. Make sure everyone involved is on the same page about the tone before the class is held.

Once the parent(s) have completed their parenting class and a week has passed, the egg can be retrieved from the egg hospital and is restored to two lives. If an egg frequently ends up in the egg hospital, feel free to increase the amount of time the egg spends in the hospital or the number of required parenting classes as desired. While I do use the word ‘punish’ a few times when describing the EPS, the point here is not to be serious punishment for the players/eggs. If people aren’t enjoying the EPS system, feel free to adjust it or just stop using it. The purpose of the EPS system is to create an opportunity for dramatic/funny/interesting roleplay moments and add stakes to egg deaths without permanently killing off eggs.

If you decide you want to use this system, you don't need to slap a big "created by parvalunaskitty" on it, but I would appreciate if you at least told people you got the idea from a tumblr post, and I'd really appreciate it if you told me about your adventures with the EPS system, since I'd love to find out how this system works in practice.

Happy egg parenting!