#I hate hate HATE even throwing out a line like this

[mvctavish]

hesdcanosn for graves and price where the reader is pretty bossy and kind of intimidating? for graves she's sort of the co-commander of shadow co. and for price she's the 141's medic

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄 - 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐘!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐂𝐒

notes: i love this idea so so much you're a genius anon!! since the relationship wasn't specified... i just made the reader their wife... cuz it felt right to me. if u were hoping for platonic hcs or anything different don't be afraid to send in another ask and i'll do it!! anyways, happy reading <3

summary: (seperate) headcanons of graves and price with a bossy/intimidating wife

cw: wife!reader (for both), deputycommander!reader (for graves), medic!reader (for price), general war stuff idk, probably inaccuracies when it comes to the military/PMCs, reader is kind of bitchy, for price reader is mentioned to be at least smaller than him

cdr. phillip graves

౿ ۪ ݁ he's scared of you, and it's pretty obvious despite his attempts at hiding it. when you get mad, he gets all quiet and mutters a quick and respectful "yes ma'am" no matter what you request or say to him. it's rather funny seeing the commander so scared of his own wife. phillip has seen first-hand just how angry you can get when things don't go your way. the aftermath ain't pretty. while he knows you'd never actually hurt him (besides throw around a few choice words) he prefers to keep the peace at all costs. he hates seeing you upset, whether it's a mission gone sour or down to something little like him leaving the toilet seat up.

you two first met way back in the marines, fresh outta boot camp and ready to conquer the world. even then you were intimidating, a fiery attitude that could challenge the sargeant above you both. you ended up leaving the military when phillip did, and got married not long after. despite the fact that he'd much rather have you not risk your life — you were insistent on being part of shadow company when it was formed, and not behind the scenes.

as his deputy commander, you're right there by his side. the shadows are like family to both you and graves — they're your boys — but you aren't afraid to whip them into shape if necessary. some new recruits are being too rambunctious for your liking? you're giving a sharp, glaring look to your husband and he's quick to get them in line. it doesn't take long at all for them to learn to respect (and fear) you, perhaps even more than graves. you're a force to be reckoned with.

down to the more domestic aspects of your life, you're always on his ass about the upkeep of the house. when you're both home, the work is split 50/50 (which was a huge shock to graves at first since he's always been a bit more traditional) but he knows it's only fair since you both work. you like your house in pristine condition, down to the floorboards being dusted, to the lampshades being in just the right position. you're bossy about little things, like always pairing up the socks when they're taken out of the dryer or him rinsing his beard trimmings down the sink whenever he's done shaving. he knows you tend to get a little pissy when things aren't done exactly how you like them, so that's why graves makes sure he — and the shadows — always listen to your input.

capt. john price

౿ ۪ ݁ price is more impressed than anything. there's so much fire and spirit crammed into one small thing: you. it's funny to him, how most people you interact with can be so intimidated by you. you have the bossy attitude as an angry mother bear, yet can still be sweet when it's needed. price first met you when he was still a lieutenant, suffering from a bad injury on the field. you were the only combat medic on duty. he'd tried to convince you that he was fine — there were other men that needed your help, too, and that he could keep going — but you'd grabbed him by the ear and chewed him out. calling him a "damn fool with a death wish," and that if he wanted to live he'd "better listen to you and sit his ass down." he'd immediately gone quiet and did as he was told. price wasn't used to being spoken to like that, much less from someone of a lower rank. that was the moment he knew he had to have you, and the rest was history.

it took a while to gain your attention around base, and you were the reason he grew out his beard in the first place, after a passing comment that you'd made about how you thought it'd make him more rugged. it took time, but you were worth every second.

relationships in your line of work can be messy, and perhaps one of the worst aspects could be the judgment from others. in one interaction with a new face on base, you'd gotten into quite a heated argument. the guy thought you'd be easy picking, a way to make fun of you and show off in front of his new pals. your sharp tongue and quick insults resulted in the man leaving close to tears, whilst price watched round the corner with a little smirk on his face. deep down, he'd always worry about you. you were his wife, his woman, his world. it was only natural — but instances like that reminded him that you could stand up for yourself. you were strong and independent, and never let anyone walk all over you. you'd been a people pleaser in the past, but never again. you lived for yourself.

once task force 141 was formed, it's obvious that your husband recruited you to join as well. it was difficult, and he had to abuse a few loopholes in the policies to even be allowed to be your CO, but in the end, it worked. rounding back to the mama bear point, ghost, gaz, and soap quickly warm up to you. you're honestly the closest thing any of them have to a mum. a scary, bossy, picky one, but still a mum. your team's safety is your number one priority, and you certainly aren't afraid of getting your hands dirty both figuratively and literally. you keep the boys and price in line, constantly nagging about drinking water and insisting that they need to eat more than just a damn protein barn before a mission. MREs suck, but it's better than going hungry.

price lets you boss him round whenever you two are home from deployment. of course, on the battlefield, he's in charge. but home? it's a different story. the lawn needs to be mowed? you bet it'll be done by the evening. low on groceries? he's starting a list and planning to drive down to the shops. you and price never really get into any real arguments. he's seen you on the battlefield, frightening as you shout orders to anyone around as you're patching up an injured soldier — that sort of intensity is one he does everything to avoid seeing in you.

[ducktoo]

Again

IVE’s Jang Wonyoung x M!Reader

Note: I have resorted to the sacred prompt list by Anon again….this helped me so much frrr. Hope you will post your first ever fic here so I can tagged you!!

This concludes the unofficial (or official ig) IZ*ONE marathon. @hyeyulenjoyer hope this was a fun ride for you. And thank you everyone for enjoying these fics as well! Also appreciate IVE for paying respect to the recent tragedy. All the dumb haters who find ways to hate them again....just touch grass pls.

(this was the perfect picture for this fic lol)

The tickets sit on your desk, undisturbed, their glossy surface catching the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You don’t even need to read the text printed on them anymore. The details are already burned into your brain.

A fan sign.

It was supposed to be special. The kind of thing you looked forward to for weeks, marked on your calendar with a little star. You were supposed to show up, tease her about messing up choreography, make her laugh in the middle of a serious performance, see that look in her eyes that was just for you.

Now, the tickets feel like a joke.

Your phone is face-down beside them, dark screen hiding the messages you haven't opened yet—the well-meaning texts from friends, the casual work notifications. All messages except from her.

Wonyoung.

You close your eyes, but it doesn't help. The memory of your last call with her is still fresh, the words playing over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

"I just don’t have time for this anymore."

"For us, you mean?"

"Mhm."

The way she said it—calm, measured, like it was just another item to tick off on her to-do list—had made something inside you crack. There had been no anger in her voice. No hesitation.

That…hurt more than anything.

You had wanted to say something, anything to make her stop. To remind her of the nights spent whispering over the phone until she fell asleep, of the rare moments when she let herself be vulnerable with you, of the way she would light up the second she saw you waiting for her backstage to take her to eat a whole cow together.

But you couldn't mutter a voice.

You had just sat there, phone pressed to your ear, fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it threatened to tear.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

It was three days ago.

Three days of checking your phone too often. Three days of convincing yourself you were fine. Three days of staring at these damn tickets on the desk and trying to figure out why you hadn’t just thrown them away. You should sell them. Give them to someone who’d actually enjoy them.

But something stops you.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s the stupid, lingering part of you that refuses to admit that she’s really gone. Whatever the reason, you find yourself gripping them tighter instead of throwing them away.

You decided that you will go.

Not for her. Not to see her.

Just so you don’t have to sit in this room, drowning in thoughts of what used to be.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

-

The venue is packed.

Fans shuffle forward in line, their chatter buzzing in the air like static. Excited whispers, rustling light sticks, the occasional squeal when a favourite member’s name is mentioned.

Your fingers tighten around the album in your hands. (Ironically you still hold onto her album)

This is normal for them. For the fans around you, this is just another fan sign. A chance to meet their idols, to share fleeting moments, to walk away with a signature and a memory they’ll cherish for years.

You should feel the same. Instead, you’re just… tired. Who could blame you, you’re about to come face-to-face with your ex-girlfriend.

And she has no idea you’re here.

Your grip on the album tightens as the line inches forward. The first few members greet you with polite smiles, their voices light and bubbly. You do your best to respond normally, but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the inevitable moment that keeps creeping closer and closer.

You don’t need to look up to know she’s at the end of the table. You can feel her presence.

And then, suddenly, there’s no more time left.

Your album slides across the table. Long, slender fingers stop it in place.

There’s a small pause—so brief that no one else seems to notice—but you do. You feel it in the slight delay before she looks up, in the way her fingers tighten just a fraction around the album’s edge.

And then her eyes meet yours.

She looks the same. Flawless, as always. Every strand of hair perfectly in place, makeup soft and ethereal under the bright overhead lights. And those sparkly eyes that you often got lost in.

But…she’s not yours anymore. Not at all.

There was a flicker of something—recognition, surprise, something deeper—crosses her face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. Then…

“Hey.”

It’s awkward. Too awkward. You can feel the tension hanging between you, thick and suffocating.

You swallow, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens. “Hey.”

For a split second, she looks like she wants to say something else. Like she wants to break the script, ignore the rehearsed greetings and practiced smiles.

But then—

She doesn’t.

Instead, she picks up her pen, the mask slipping back into place. Her expression evens out, and in a voice so perfectly professional it almost stings, she says,

“Thanks for coming.”

Just like she would to any other fan. That made your stomach twists.

You should’ve known. Of course, she wouldn't acknowledge it. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

Still, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Would’ve been a waste of money if I didn’t.”

Something flickers across her face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. She presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “Right. Can’t have that.”

She signs her name, her handwriting as neat and practiced as always. But there’s a hesitance in the way she moves, a slight delay before she lifts the pen from the page.

When she finally pushes the album back toward you, her fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.

Then, in a voice so quiet that only you can hear…

“Take care, okay?”

She’s looking at you now. Really looking at you.

And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, she’s not the Jang Wonyoung, the IT girl, the global superstar.

She’s just…Wonyoung.

The girl who used to call you late at night just to hear your voice.

The girl who used to lace her fingers through yours under the table when no one was looking.

The girl who told you she didn’t have time for you anymore.

You stare at her.

The words stick to your throat. You genuinely don’t trust yourself to say anything.

So you just…don’t.

You just take the album, stand up, and walk away. And even as you disappear into the crowd, you can still feel her eyes on you.

-

You’ve been doing fine.

Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

It’s been a few days since the fan sign, and you’ve buried yourself in anything that keeps your mind occupied—work, games, mindless scrolling through your phone. Anything to keep yourself from replaying the look on Wonyoung’s face at the fansign. From remembering the way she hesitated before handing your album back. From thinking about the way her gaze kept flickering toward you as you walk away, as if she was looking for something.

Or someone.

But that’s not your problem anymore. You told yourself that the moment you left the venue.

Which is why, when your phone starts ringing at an ungodly hour, you almost don’t check the caller ID. Almost.

The second you see her name flashing on the screen, your stomach twists.

Jang Wonyoung.

The ringing continues, each second stretching unbearably. You should let it go. Turn off your phone. Pretend you never saw it.

But you don’t. Because deep down, you know you still want to hear her voice. So you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, followed by a soft giggle—breathy and drawn out, the kind that used to slip past her lips whenever she was feeling particularly affectionate.

"Dummmyy!" she hums, stretching your nickname like it’s some sweet, familiar melody.

“Wonyo. Are you drunk?” You sigh, ignoring the way your nickname for her easily rolled out of your tongue.

She giggles again, the sound loose and unguarded. "Mmm… maybe."

"Goddamn it." You rub your temples. "Where are you?"

A rustling noise filters through the receiver, followed by the distant hum of traffic. "Somewhere," she mumbles. "Some bar, I think. The girls took me out."

Figures.

You shift in bed, propping yourself up against the headboard. “It’s late.”

“I know,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But I wanted to call you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, there’s a soft exhale, the kind she lets out when she’s gathering her thoughts. Then, quieter…

“Because I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

"Don’t do that," you say quietly.

"Do what?"

"Say things you don’t mean."

Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier. "But I do mean it. I do miss you."

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. "Well, that’s not my problem anymore, is it?"

She goes quiet.

For a moment, all you hear is the faint sound of music in the background, the distant chatter of people. She’s probably in the back of some high-end bar or a private lounge that someone of her status often went. You can picture it too easily—her long hair falling over her shoulders, her lips painted red, the glow of the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

Your heart beat rapidly at the image.

"You came to the fansign," she says suddenly, cutting into your thoughts.

You rub at your temple. "Mhm."

"Why?"

"You already know why."

"Say it anyway."

You sigh. "Because I had the tickets. It would’ve been a waste."

She lets out a humourless laugh. "Right. Can’t have that."

Something about the way she repeats your words from that day makes your stomach twist.

There’s another long pause. Then, almost hesitantly.

"Did you feel anything?"

Your eyes widened. "Feel what?"

"When you saw me again." Her voice is quieter now. "Did you feel anything?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to lie. Want to say no, not at all. That it didn’t matter. That she doesn’t matter. But you can’t.

Because the truth is, you felt everything.

The way your heart clenched when she looked at you. The way your stomach twisted when her fingers hesitated over your name. The way your mind screamed at you to move on, to stop letting her affect you, to stop caring.

But you don’t tell her any of that.

Instead, you settle for, "Who cares anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re done, Jang Wonyoung."

She sucks in a sharp breath, and for a second, you wonder if she’s about to cry.

"You-" She stops, swallows. When she speaks again, her voice is unsteady. "You didn’t even try to fight for me."

Your grip tightens around the phone, knuckles turning white. "You were the one who ended things. On the phone, may I remind you."

"I know," she whispers. "And I thought it was the right choice. But now I just—" She breaks off, voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know anymore."

You shut your eyes.

It would be so easy to give in. To tell her that you don’t know either, that you still think about her, that you still wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But what’s the point?

She made her choice.

And you’re tired of being the one left picking up the pieces.

"You’re drunk, Jang Wonyoung," you say, voice carefully even. "Go home and go to sleep."

"Wait—"

"Goodnight."

And then, before she can say another word, you hang up.

The silence that follows is deafening.

And yet, for the first time in days, you finally let yourself breathe.

-

Or at least, it should be.

You did the right thing, you tell yourself—cut it off before it could spiral any further. Before you let yourself believe, even for a second, that anything has changed.

But still, the weight in your chest lingers.

The room feels too quiet now, the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, making it impossible to ignore the thoughts creeping into your head. You lie back down, throwing an arm over your eyes, willing yourself to sleep.

You don’t know how much time passes before you hear it.

A knock.

You freeze.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. Sleep-deprived, emotionally drained, and still reeling from that damn phone call, your brain must be conjuring things that aren’t real. But then, the knocking got more insistent. Erratic, yet insistent.

Your brows furrow. You sit up, straining your ears.

"Who the hell…?"

It’s almost 3 AM. No one in their right mind would be visiting you at this hour. Then again, you just got a call from a drunk girl not in their right mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s louder this time, clumsy and uncoordinated, like whoever’s on the other side can barely keep their balance. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach.

You begrudingly throw off your blankets and push yourself up, padding toward the door. Your hand hovers over the handle for a second before you sigh and pull it open.

And there she is.

Wonyoung.

She’s standing there in the dim, flickering hallway light, wrapped in a thin coat that does nothing to protect her from the cold. Her long hair is slightly tousled, the glossy perfection from the concert gone, strands falling loosely over her shoulders. She sways just the slightest, a delicate wobble on unsteady feet. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes glassy—not just from the alcohol but from something else. Something unreadable.

You blink.

She blinks back, like she’s just now processing that you’re standing in front of her.

Then, with absolutely no warning, she wobbles forward, collapsing against your chest.

You barely manage to catch her. “Jesus—Wonyo.” You gently hold her arms, steadying her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

"Surprise," she breathes, half-laughing, half-sniffling.

You let out a sharp breath. “Surprise? You’re seriously—” You stop yourself, jaw clenching. “How did you even get here?”

"I took a taxi," she announces, like that explains anything. Like that justifies her showing up at your door past midnight after breaking up with you.

You stare at her. “Alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

Your stomach twists. “Wonyoung, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

She just hums, leaning more of her weight onto you. Her forehead presses against your shoulder, and you can feel the slight tremble in her body.

You sigh, tightening your grip. “You’re freezing.”

“I was walking.”

“Walking where?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tilts her head back to look at you properly. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something—something serious, something she’s probably been holding in for too long. But then, she hiccups.

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smiles lazily, like she didn’t just show up at your door dead drunk in the middle of the night after breaking up with you.

"You hung up on me," she murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see her properly. “Yeah. I did.”

"That was mean," she says, pouting. "I was talking."

"You were drunk."

"Still talking."

You shake your head, adjusting your grip on her. “Come on. You need water. And sleep.”

She hums, letting you guide her inside. “Only if you let me stay.”

You pause.

For a brief second, something in her voice sounds painfully sober.

But then she giggles again, burying her face in your chest, and you decide that you’ll deal with that in the morning.

For now, you just hold her close.

You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you shift your grip on her. She’s barely standing at this point, practically melting into you like she has no bones in her body.

"Alright, come on," you mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her inside.

She stumbles slightly, her fingers gripping at your shirt as she giggles under her breath. "You smell nice," she mumbles.

You ignore that.

You close the door behind you with your foot, guiding her toward the couch. She flops onto it with zero resistance, her coat slipping off her shoulders. The moment she’s down, she tilts her head back, blinking up at you like she’s expecting something.

She doesn’t hesitate. Stumble inside like she belongs here.

And maybe that’s the problem. She did belong here.

And now? Now you don’t know.

Her eyes lazily drift across the apartment, lingering on the things she still remembers—the half-empty cup of coffee on your desk, the hoodie she used to steal draped over the chair, the faint indent in the couch where she used to curl up next to you.

Then she noticed your desk, the same desk where the fansign ticket sat just days ago. The same one she saw in your hands at the fansign days ago.

"You really came," she murmurs, not looking at you. "I didn’t think you actually would."

You shrug. "Like I said. Would’ve been a waste."

She flinches. Just the tiniest bit. But you catch it.

She exhales slowly, arms wrapping around herself. "It was weird."

"What was?"

"Seeing you there. But not... There, you know?" She fully looks at you now, and there's something raw in her expression. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to face. "You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease me like you usually do. You barely even looked at me."

"What did you expect?" you ask quietly. "You dumped me, Wonyoung. You can’t just expect me to act like nothing happened."

She presses her lips together, fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve. "I know."

You wait. Give her the space to say what she came here to say.

But she doesn’t. Not right away.

She defeatedly sighed, tucking her knees under her chin, looking smaller than she ever has before. She stares at her hands for a long moment before mumbling, "I don’t know why I came here."

You scoff. "Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you drunk-called your ex, then showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night without a plan."

She frowns. "I do have a plan."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She huffs. "Step one: get inside. Step two..." She falters, looking away. "...I didn’t think that far."

You shake your head. "Unbelievable."

Silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken.

Then, barely above a whisper, "Do you hate me?"

You freeze.

Your first instinct is to say no. Because of course you don’t hate her. You never could.

But that’s not the right answer, is it?

So instead, you tell the truth.

"I don’t know," you admit. "I want to. But I can't."

She looks up at you then, eyes searching. Hopeful and afraid all at once. "I messed up, didn’t I?"

You let out a hollow laugh. "Yea. Big time."

She swallows. Lowers her gaze again. "I thought breaking up would make things easier. For you…for both of us."

"Did it?"

She shakes her head. "No."

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling. "Then why did you do it?"

"I was scared," she says, and her voice is so small, so unlike the confident idol the world knows, that it almost hurts to hear. "I thought I was being selfish, holding onto you when I barely had time to see you. I thought you deserved more than stolen moments and rushed phone calls."

Your jaw clenches. "You didn’t even ask me what I wanted."

"I know," she whispers. "I thought I was making the right choice."

You sit down across from her, legs spread, elbows on your knees. "And now?"

She meets your gaze, vulnerability laid bare. "Now... I just miss you."

Your heart leaped a mile. This was the Wonyoung you always see. Not the glamorous and model-esque Jang Wonyoung everyone always see on TV. Not the well-spoken and powerful public figure everyone knows. Just…a gentle yet bubbly girl who snuggled up next to you on the couch at the end of the day.

But your brain should tell her to leave. To sleep it off, to sober up and think about this when her mind is clearer.

Then she reaches out—just the slightest, her fingers brushing against yours on the couch. And you don’t pull away.

"You’re drunk," you remind her, though your voice lacks conviction.

She smiles faintly. "Thanks…Mr. Obvious."

Silence. Then, tentatively, "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Another hesitation.

But just like before, you already know your answer.

You sigh. Your hand intertwined with hers.

"Go get a blanket. Wonyo."

She doesn’t move right away. Just watches you, like she’s memorizing you all over again.

Then, with a small, almost relieved nod, she gets up and stumbled into your bedroom as she dragged you along—the same bedroom she used to slip into after long schedules, the same one she used to call hers.

And just like that, the distance you tried so hard to create crumbles.

Again.

[ourfinalisation]

⟶ the 4 times teen!satoru tried to break down the walls to your heart, and the 1 time he did.

cw:: fem!reader, not proofread due to lazy xP, reader dgaf, fluff/crack, 2.1k words, i can't write long works, mild blood/injury (nosebleed, broken ankle)

Satoru Gojo has no shortage of confidence. Quips that have men clapping him on the shoulder, flirts that have girls weak in the knees. He is a boy who exudes cockiness, but for some reason that he just can't understand, it all melts away in your presence, giving way to trembling hands and a red face.

You are several grades below him. Grade Three, specifically. And it's not like you're model pretty. Sure, his eyes are always fixed on your legs or your neck or your eyes or your lips or your hair, but he's definitely prettier, he's certain.

You're not even nice to him. A biting remark here, a blatant dismissal there, and he finds himself wailing into his pillow, a half-sympathetic Suguru watching on in mild pity.

“Just start small. Say you like her hair. Or her shoes,” he says, looking down at Satoru, who's sprawled out on his dorm room floor.

Satoru sniffles, lifting his head. “You really think it'll work?”

“Dunno. But it's worth a try.”

“I like your shoes, Y/N!”

You look up from your flip-phone in surprise. Paired together on a mission, the two of you had, up until now, been sitting in silence on a train. You follow his line of sight to your new converse, laced up tight. Perfectly clean and perfectly you.

“Thanks. My mom just sent them for me,” you mumble, looking the exact opposite way of him. God forbid he sees the way your cheeks tinge very slightly pink. You'd hate for him to know the effect even a passing compliment from him clearly has on you.

He grins in self-satisfaction. He knew it was a good idea to trust Suguru! And now, like clockwork, you'll be falling at his feet in three… two… one…

“There’s seaweed in your teeth.”

Stupid Suguru!

Satoru blushes furiously, turns the other way, and starts furiously sucking at his teeth to remove the offending plant. Suguru had pawned off his seaweed snack to him earlier, and now he has to reap the consequences. Another romantic failure, and this time it wasn’t even his fault.

Still red, eyes pricking with embarrassed tears, he looks back over at you. But, much to his dismay, you've returned your attention to your phone, tapping away.

He'll get ‘em next time.

”Holy shit, Gojo!”

But not this time, apparently.

His eyes widen as he sees you staggering back, and he jogs up to lean over you.

“You okay…?”

Stupid question. Because you look up at him, blood pouring from your nose, a devastating mixture of humiliation and resentment and raw pain glinting in your eyes, as you wipe your bloodied nose on your white shirt and drag your bloodied hand over your skirt.

“No, I’m not fucking okay! You always do this, stupid!” You throw one more scornful look over your shoulder, before marching back towards the school, blood still streaming down your pretty face.

For a split second, he's torn between giving you space and running after you. He picks the latter, naturally, and is quickly stumbling after you with all the grace of a newborn fawn, yelling for you to wait, just a second!

You don't, of course, and it takes him catching up to you and slowing to match the pace of your furious stomps for him to be within your earshot.

“Come on, you know I didn't mean to—”

“You literally always do this. You beg me to come train with you, for reasons beyond my understanding considering you’re, like, three grades above me, and then every time it ends with me having to take myself to the stupid nurse’s office ‘cause you can't control yourself ever, so just leave me alone.”

He frowns, guilt tearing at his heart. “Y/N, please, just let me say sorry—”

At that, you whirl around, facing him dead on. Red mars your lower face, still steadily dripping down and collecting on your well-bitten lips, and it takes a world of strength for Satoru to tear his eyes away from your mouth and up to your own gaze boring into him.

He almost hopes for a second you won't speak. Hopes you'll just turn around and continue walking in silence, not looking at him over your shoulder but at least letting him stay with you.

Alas, he is not such a lucky man.

“I don't need you to say sorry,” you mutter, before turning on your heel and marching back into the building, leaving him standing alone on the smooth stone pathway.

He wipes flour from his eyes, sneezing once, twice, thrice.

You sigh. “I thought you said you were good at baking. You called yourself ‘wifey material’.” You’re not faring much better than him, wiping egg from your cheek with a frown.

“Hey! Even a perfect clock is wrong twice a day.”

“That’s not how the saying goes.”

He sighs, casting his eyes over what used to be the kitchen. Several bags of flour were tipped over, so much egg where egg should not be, milk steadily dripping onto the tiled floor. The two of you look like toddlers who'd broken into the pantry, covered head to toe in staple ingredients.

“Well if I can't cook… and you can't cook… who's going to make us sweet treats?” he laments.

You imperceptibly sigh, almost feeling bad for him. “We can go to the store, if you want,” you murmur, uprighting the carton of milk. You avoid making eye contact with the incredulous look he’s giving you, but can you blame him? It's been months of knowing you, and this is the first time you've proposed hanging out together without him asking first.

His eyes light up, sparkling with glee. “Sure! The store! I’ll pay!”

“Okay. Sure.” You unloop the apron from around your neck, taking his too, and hang them up. “Let's go.”

The walk to the store is pleasant. You can't help but admire the koi fish swimming through the clear-water streams, and Satoru can't help but admire you.

The warmer weather has pushed your white shirt cuffs up your arms, and unbuttoned your top button, and he can't help but trail his eyes over the few square inches of your exposed skin. So soft, and so pretty.

“Pardon?” You’re looking at him now, pushing your glasses up to your forehead and leaving tiny indents on your nose. He’d kill to kiss them away.

“Do you mean to be saying all this out loud?” And now the sun-driven flush on your cheeks climbs higher, teasing the fat under your eyes, sinking lower and falling beneath your jawline, and oh how he’d love to be the one who makes you blush, and be the only man privy to your flusteredness—

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Your rapid clicks before his face grounds him again, and with a squeak he realises how long he's been carelessly speaking his private thoughts aloud. He pouts and swats your hand away, redirecting his gaze to the right, looking away from you.

“What? Wasn’t talking about you. Just… Uh…”

In his embarrassment, he fails to notice the way you're fanning yourself, desperately trying to bring your heated cheeks to a regular temperature.

“Just… reciting poetry…”

“You may enter now.”

The nurse is barely able to finish her sentence before Satoru bursts through the doors of the ward. You’ve sat up in bed, a tiny little scowl marring your perfect features, eyes stubbornly refusing to even glance at the cast around your ankle.

“You scared me!” he whines, dropping into the plastic chair beside your bed and dragging his hands down his face. “I thought I lost you, Y/N!”

“It’s just a broken ankle,” you mutter, swatting half-heartedly at him.

“I mean, honestly, tripping down the stairs? What a lame way to die!” he laments, batting his stupidly long eyelashes at you. It takes everything in you not to snigger.

“What's a good way to die?”

“Oh, you know, getting struck by lightning, killed by a wild rhino, after killing five billion curses… But—” he pouts at you for distracting him, “—that’s not the point! You need to be more careful!”

“Aw.” You smile ever so slightly, your eyes crinkling when you look at him. “Well, you can sign my cast.”

“Really?” He immediately drops his pout, his eyes sparkling as he fumbles for the marker you're offering him. He shoots up and out of his chair, stumbling towards the end of the bed, and giggles like a schoolboy. “The first one?”

“Sure,” you hum, watching the way he delicately cradles your ankle in his hand.

He squeals, and immediately starts doodling his name along your cast. He can't help but draw hearts around his words, but you can't bring yourself to say anything when he looks so pleased with himself.

He pulls away, petting your ankle before he sets it gently back on the bed.

“Tech is sooo boring without you. All techniques, missions that!” He sits down on the bed next to you, as you gently push yourself into a sitting position, careful not to aggravate your foot.

“Yeah? Anything fun happen in the last two days?” You ask, poking his shoulder.

“Nooo…” he sighs. “Everyone loves me too much. No variety.”

“You’re in love with yourself.”

“Well, who isn't?”

You snort. “Right.”

He grins at you. The breeze from the open window gently tousles your hair, your features bare from makeup and freshly washed. You glow under the sun, and he sighs, smiling.

“Hey, when you're back—” he starts, but is quickly interrupted.

“Alright, that's enough.” The nurse enters the room, armed with a syringe. “She needs to rest.”

He sighs once more, shoulders deflating, then stands from the bed. “See you.”

You wave. “Later.”

It came as a surprise to few that you made Grade 1 so quickly. A meteoric rise in skill, resultant of over a year of hard work, practice day in, day out. You’ve found yourself scrubbing away calluses every evening, taking less and less time for yourself, but treating less and less wounds.

It was a bone-deep satisfaction when you received the news. A several second long sigh of relief, a weight floating up, up, and away.

“Woooooooo!”

As confetti hits your face, you mentally scold yourself for believing you could ever have just a few minutes of peace.

“Grade 1! Wooooooo!” Satoru sweeps you up into a bone crushing hug, his party popper abandoned on the floor.

Your facial muscles betray you and you smile. Your voice box betrays you too, and you start to laugh as he spins you around.

“I know! It’s crazy!” Who said that? Not you.

“I bought you a caaaake!” He sets you down on the ground, grabbing your hand and dragging you back towards his dorm room.

“For you or for me?”

“For you, but if you don't like it, I’ll have no choice but to eat it.”

“A necessary sacrifice, I’m sure.”

“Exactly!” He pushes you into his room and flicks on the light switch. It illuminates a banner he’d put up, reading “GRADE 1 PARTYYYYY”.

You chuckle again, flopping down on his bed. “What would you have done if I hadn't gotten it?”

He smirks as he retrieves the three-tier Victoria sponge from his mini-fridge. “Wouldn’t’ve taken you to my room.”

You huff out a laugh. “I see.”

He joins you on the bed, sitting cross legged and setting down the cake. “No cutlery.” He grabs a fistful of cake, grinning as he pushes it to your lips. “Open wiiide!”

And as every neuron fires at once, screaming at you to swat his hand away, or pull back, or even just roll your eyes and pretend to be uninterested, you open your mouth and allow him to push a handful of cake into your mouth.

Cream smears along your cheeks, jam along your lips, and you watch him with fond eyes as he finishes off the handful.

And in that moment, you realise how effectively he's worked his way into your heart, taking residence in your arteries and synchronising your best with his own.

He looks back at you, adoration swimming in his crystalline gaze, swallowing down the cake.

“I'm really proud of you,” he says, sincerity in every word, every syllable.

You mirror his smile, reaching out to wipe cream from his chin. “Thank you, Satoru.”

As your skin makes contact with his own, he melts under your touch. He realises how swiftly he's fallen in love with you, barely a year going by before you’ve had him at your feet.

He prays a silent prayer that you will let him share the rest with you.

“The cake?” You say, wiping your hand on a napkin. He realises that, again, he’s expressed his secret thoughts aloud. Oh, well. They're for you, anyway.

“Yeah. The cake.”

[parasolladyansy]

(re: plasma arm bands)

I imagine Pearl Clan is rather confused why ingo would keep an arm band he hates.

And… Emmet… is probably not having a fun time what with helping the resistance and a missing brother. Trying to keep up with the rouse. Would Ansy know about Ingo’s disappearance? Or feel as strong as she does in rewrite? (Idk how much the plasma takeover affected their relationship- but I imagine the resistance is taking up both emmet and Ansy’s attention than finding ingo)

sorry if I’m. Asking to many questions about this you just got me thinking a lot about this haha

I’m sure they would respect his judgment - it’s another clue to his past after all. When asked about it, I would imagine Ingo just saying something along the lines of “While I find it abhorrent, I cannot help but keep it on - I get the sense that it is somehow more of a risk not to wear it.”

Mizumi in particular would be initially frightened - they learned about what Team Plasma did to take over Unova, & even though most everyone & everything from Unova wears their coat of arms, what if he was one of the bad ones? Then as they traveled, seeing him behave very protectively of her (like more than usual), she starts to trust him. It’s in this more trusting space that she talks about Team Plasma, which sets off memories for Ingo…

—

Back in the present, Emmet would do his best to keep it together, hiding behind a fixed smile, but have moments when he’d “crash”. He leaned very heavily on his remaining friends & family when Ingo disappeared (& because he never got Ingo’s journal shortly after, he didn’t even have that peace of mind of where he was).

I also would say he probably became a bit of a workaholic - Emmet often talks about rules & schedules, & one big comfort in chaotic times is order. If anything, he probably would also throw himself deeper into the resistance, possibly out of revenge (Team Plasma made Ansy or other dissenters disappear - why not his brother?)

As for Ansy, she would’ve heard about it when she snuck into town - it’s not quite as strong a response as in the canon timeline, but she does feel devastated. He & his brother saved her after all, & was always very kind to her (“even though I’m weird…”). She also had a small crush on him, & while she might not feel the same way when he disappeared, it’s still bad.

TLDR: everyone is sad (this is the bad ending after all) 😢

[genoskissors]

The Hundred Line: Last Defense Academy - Initial Character Thoughts

This is going to have a lot of Danganronpa comparisons, name analysis, and just my overall thoughts on each character before the game is out. Feel free to comment your own thoughts!

Darumi Amemiya (飴宮 怠美)

"A young woman known for her mood swings and obsession with all things dark and depressing. She's a big fan of killing game stories and has no fear of death. If she has to die, all she wants is a death that's as dramatic and flamboyant as humanly possible."

Crazy thing I'm about to say, she reminds me of Genocide Jack. She sticks her tongue out a lot and seems to be completely desensitized to anything regarding death. It makes me think she's just desperate for a thrill in her life.

I don't really like her design but I think if the vibrant colors were turned down, it would be much better. I do enjoy it in a way, being able to dress however you want reveals a lot about someone's confidence. I love how she looks in her other outfit and I honestly think if her shirt was less white, I'd love her hair.

Ame means candy, miya means palace, daru means lazy, and mi means beauty. Daru is not common in names, so it definitely has a meaning. This name doesn't have any straightforward meaning to me, but I suppose Darumi is a more unique character. Her name might make sense later. I do theorize, for the lazy part, she was bored before getting into dark stuff, kinda like Junko.

Eito Aotsuki (蒼月 衛人)

"Takumi's most trusted ally. Eito cares very deeply for his friends and isn't shy about expressing those feelings, corny as they may sound. He's been weak and sickly since he was little, but his impressive intellect might be just what the team needs to guide them through the war safely."

We are all thinking about the exact same image. Anyway, I think I'll love him because it seems he has a bit of a crazy side as well (I love crazy people). He's also very forward and compassionate, so I'll enjoy seeing both sides of him.

He looks like one of Nagito's beta designs which I think tells me everything I need to know. I find him cute but his jacket being the same color as his skin kinda throws me off. I'm also curious as to why he wears gloves, he's dressed like it's winter.

Ao means blue and tsuki means moon. His first name is interesting, as the kanji for Ei is the same kanji used in the game's title, meaning defense. To means human and is also a common ending for a boy name. I find the term blue moon fitting for his appearance, and I assume his role in battle will mostly be defense.

Gaku Maruko (丸子 楽)

"A guy who's true to his personal desires (to put it delicately). He's a coward and always looking out for himself. However, there's something so refreshingly honest about his pettiness that it's hard to hate him. Gaku's also good at taking care of other people once he opens his heart to them."

I will not lie, I don't think I'm going to like him. I'm okay with a character being a coward and I'm okay with a character being selfish, but both does not seem like a mood maker to me. I think I'll find him annoying but I'll be happy to be surprised.

He's got some patchwork in his clothes, so I think he might come from a troubled past. His shirt is really stupid looking though, but it's stupid enough to circle back to being slightly cute.

Maru means round and ko means child, but together, Maruko is a type of meatball. Not exactly the same as Western ones, but very similar. Gaku means comfort. I think his first name goes well with the fact he takes good care of those close to him. In Japanese, Gaku is also a homophone for the word school. As for Maruko, I don't know.

Hiruko Shizuhara (雫原 比留子)

"Leader of the Special Defense Unit. A cold, almost heartless beauty, she always says what's on her mind, even if it means offending others. She's just as merciless on the battlefield, where she gets a twisted sense of pleasure from tearing invaders apart."

She enjoys murder, I think I'll like her. I'm very curious as to why she's considered the leader of the group. The way she's described as merciless on the battlefield makes me think she has murdered before. Maki but a little more crazy (I love crazy people).

She has a lot going on that I really enjoy, the piercings, the makeup, the hair clip. She's also 5'11, which I think will be funny next to our 5'6 protagonist.

Shizu means droplet and hara means original, but is also just a common ending for Japanese surnames, like Saihara and Gokuhara. Hi means compare, ru means remain, and ko means child. Hiruko, spelled 蛭子, is also one of the names of Ebisu, a God of fishing, wealth, and fortune. Ebisu also uses the kanji 比, which is in Hiruko's name. Her last name is also water related.

Ima Tsukumo (九十九 今馬)

"One of a set of twins - Ima is the elder by a few minutes. He acts like a carefree joker, but underneath that humor is a hint of something darker. A hardcore siscon, he thinks of nothing but protecting his sister. If anything or anyone dares to threaten Kako's safety, Ima will show them no mercy."

This might ruin people's perception of me, but I don't care that he's a siscon. Like at all. It might be an uncomfortable attribute but after four Danganronpa games, I could not be less phased. I think I'll like him since he seems silly but also a little crazy (I love crazy people).

One of the cutest characters here. I thought he was a girl at first but he just has luscious eyelashes. I love the color of his hair and the streaks in it, I think they go well with his eyes. His sprite here looks very chummy.

Tsukumo means ninety-nine, which is one less than a hundred and how many days they have left after day one. Ima by itself means now but his name only uses the “I” part of it and then uses horse for the ma part. Basically 今 = Ima and 今馬 = Ima. It would be the same with or without the last kanji, but I assume it's there to make it seem more like a name. However, I can't help but connect him to Oma.

Kako Tsukumo (九十九 過子)

"One of a set of twins - Kako is the younger by a few minutes. She's prone to spacing out, but also has a keen mind and a healthy sense of curiosity. Kako is a big fan of mystery stories and wants to be a private investigator when she grows up."

She seems like a regular teenager to be honest, but the spacing out and solving mysteries reminds me of Chiaki. I think I'll like her, but I can't really pin her personality based on this description.

I adore her hairstyle and her bow. The color of her hair looks really nice with her eye color. Funny enough, I didn't realize her and Ima were siblings until I saw the eyes. Like the uniform did not give it away for some reason.

Like her brother, Kako's last name means ninety-nine. The kanji for ka means past, contrasting the meaning of her brother's name. I like to theorize there will be a character named something including future, but that's a reach. Ko means child, it's a very common ending for female names. It might just be to make Kako seem more like a name, but perhaps it also represents childishness.

Kurara Oosuzuki (大鈴木 くらら)

"The scion of one of the most wealthy families humanity has ever known. She's proud, overbearing, and acts like she's better than anyone else. She always wears a strange tomato mask, never showing her true face."

I like the proud type of character, someone like Miu or Byakuya. She seems to be more focused on degrading others than uplifting herself though, but that's just based on her quote. I also really want to see her face but oddly if it's never shown I won't be disappointed.

I don't really care for masks that completely cover a character's face, I like to see at least some parts, but the fact the mask expresses emotions makes me content with it. I also thought it was a Jack-o-Lantern at first, but I guess it's just a scary tomato? The rest of her outfit is nice, fits the rich girl thing.

Oo means great, suzu means bell, and ki means tree. Suzuki is a very common Japanese last name, so adding great in front of it makes sense for her prideful personality. Kurara is a type of plant that is very bitter. I assume this will also relate to her personality.

Kyoshika Magadori (凶鳥 狂死香)

"A young samurai who's utterly clueless about the modern world. Has never even heard of multiplication tables, let alone learned them. She has a disturbingly close relationship with her katana, the Holy Jumonji Sword."

Kyoshika is who I think my favorite character will be. She's very Tenko like, a character I love very much. Her birthday is 11/11 which I hope is a joke about how she cut 1111 perfectly in half. While she isn't very modern, I can still see she has a reliable personality. Her name also hints she might be a little crazy (I love crazy people). Lastly, Ninja's are cool.

I love her outfit, especially the katana on her hip and the huge cape. She also has a normal ponytail, not often seen in Danganronpa. I like how her ponytail looks like a shuriken. Her face reminds me of Maki a bit, another character I love. I also love the colors. I just really love her so far.

We have a very straightforward name here. Maga means bad or unlucky and dori means bird. Unlucky bird? Crows are often associated with death, but that might not be the message it's going for. Kyoshi literally means crazy to death. Ka means scent, but is also just a common ending for a girl name.

Moko Mojiro (喪白 もこ)

"A young woman who is blowing up on the high school pro wrestling scene. Her courage and boundless energy is a source of inspiration for the entire Special Defense Unit. Whenever she has a problem, she faces it head on. She didn't choose the wrasslin' life - it chose her."

Her personality reminds me a lot of Aoi. Probably with more courage though. She seems like she'll get along better with girls than boys. The boundless energy makes me think she'll be fun to play, but we'll see.

We finally got ourselves another buff woman, Sakura fans rejoice. I like how her hair, face, and outfit are cutesy, it shows she can be physically strong while still being girly, something Sakura wanted.

Sigh... I don't get her name at all, Mo means mourning and jiro means white. Her first name is in Hiragana so I don't know the exact meaning, nor do I really have an idea on her last name. I thought about Peko and how pekopeko is an onomatopoeia. Mokomoko is an onomatopoeia for something thick and soft. Not sure if that relates to her personality. I'd say her last name is a death flag but everyone dies in this game so that doesn't mean much.

Nozomi Kirifuji (霧藤 希)

"A high schooler who combines a kindhearted nature with dogged determination in battle. She's very passionate about the Special Defense Unit's mission, but also seems to be hiding something. For some reason, Nozomi is identical in appearance to Takumi's childhood friend Karua."

I'm a sucker for characters hiding a big secret, so I'm excited for hers, I assume it's related to Karua but how so? Much to think about. She's kind and passionate, so I think she'll be very easy to like as a character.

Cute, cute, cute, cute, cute!!! She is adorable from her hair to her shoes. I really like her hair especially. Her name is cute too. I think she's my favorite design overall, it's pleasing to look at.

Kiri means fog, which, like Kirigiri, I believe represents the mysterious aspect of her. Fuji means wisteria, which are purple just like her. Nozomi means hope, which is a name I was surprised Kodaka never used. I always thought Nozomi would be a great name for Chiaki, but I'm getting off track. Overall her name is peaceful but mysterious, fitting her description.

Shouma Ginzaki (銀崎 晶馬)

"A young man who, by his own admission, has absolutely nothing going for him. On a scale of one to ten, his self-esteem's at negative five. He's constantly putting himself down."

It seems like a lack of self-worth is gonna be his whole thing. I'm not really looking forward to it. Nagito did it too, but was also a very positive person, but it seems Shouma is just depressed. I just don't want everything he says to be about how he's worthless.

His design is okay. I think I'd like it better without the hat but it's not too bad, just makes him look a little immature. I do think his face and haircut are cute. He's also very small.

Gin means silver and zaki means small peninsula, but is mostly associated with being an ending for a surname, so I doubt it changes the meaning. Shou means crystal, and like in Ima, ma means horse. The silver and crystal parts are definitely connected, maybe he's wealthy? Or maybe it symbolizes his personality instead. Not very sure.

Takemaru Yakushiji (厄師寺 猛��)

"An old-school delinquent who lives to ride and rides to live. Despite his rough-and-ready demeanor, Takemaru's really a nice guy on the inside. Impulsive, straightforward, and honorable to a fault, he's sworn to never use his strength to bully the weak."

He seems like a generally good character but I can sense there will be a lot of him yelling. Honestly, he just seems a lot like Mondo to me, so I don't have much to say. I like Mondo but I'm not sure we need another one. Also he says he doesn't hit girls, kids, or the eldery, so first thing I know is he sees girls as weak.

Give him the corn hair and he's literally Mondo. I do like Takemaru's hair though, it's kinda cute. He's got a lot of scars on his face, so I feel like he might be a little reckless. All the characters have dull skin but I feel some vibrance would do him good.

Yaku means disaster or evil, shi means master, and ji means temple. The temple part adds up with the old school aspect, like in Saionji and Shinguji. The first part likely just represents him being a delinquent. In his first name, Take means fierce and maru means round. I think this is mostly just a pun, “Takemaru Hair” is a hair style associated with delinquents.

Takumi Sumino (澄野 拓海)

"The main character of this story. A completely average high schooler from a completely average family. He can be a little indecisive and pessimistic at times, but when he has something to protect, he'll fight with everything he's got."

Classic average high schooler as our protagonist, expected for these kinds of stories. I'm in no way a hater of the archetype, I love Makoto, Hajime, and Komaru lots, so I think I'll like him too. His introduction is pretty negative, but I find pessimism to be an endearing trait, so I feel like I'll love him.

I'm not really a fan of the bright red hair, but it's not bad. I would like if the red and black in his hair switched. Also, classic ahoge. I find his eyes beautiful, they're very sharp, great for a pessimist. Not much to say about his outfit.

I don't know why but I really like his name and the kanji used in it. It just sounds and is written nice. Sumi means clear and no means field, but it's also just a common ending for surnames. Taku means opening land and mi means ocean. I think the opening land part fits the fact he's in a new place and the sea is more metaphorical for how vast it is.

Tsubasa Kawana (川奈 つばさ)

"A young woman who knows a lot about machines and what makes them tick. She had a bright, lively personality, but isn't good with stressful situations. When she gets nervous, she gets nauseous, and then..."

She is so cute I already know she'll be one of my favorite characters. She's energetic and social but gets sick when nervous, I can very much empathize with her... If this game has things like free time events, I'd like to spend some with her.

I absolutely adore her design. Her hair is beautiful, her entire outfit is cool, I like the way she carries herself. She also has the classic Danganronpa mouth mole, a need for all of Kodaka's games. Her necklace thing is odd but I'll look past it.

Kawa means river and na means doubts, however, the kanji for na isn't really known for its meaning and is mostly associated with being a part of a name. The last sentence implies she throws up when nervous, so, for lack of better phrasing, maybe the river represents that? And doubt is what fuels that nervousness? I think I'm reaching here. Tsubasa means wings, which I think is bright and lively like her personality.

Yugamu Omokage (面影 歪)

"A striking young man who's been in the business since long before the war started. Unlike the rest of his family (who are also assassins, by the way), Yugamu believes that killing should be done with love. He enjoys torture and other immoral forms of pleasure."

He's crazy like for real crazy (I love crazy people). His description makes me raise an eyebrow about what exactly "immoral forms of pleasure" are but I won't make assumptions until the game is out. He kills for love which reminds me of a character I love with all my heart. He'll never compare to her but it's okay.

The outfit is very nice but the random organs are a bit odd. That's probably the point, but it's just really random. I find him ugly and I love it. His hair is also bad and I love it. I love this ugly boy.

Omokage means face shadow, referring to imagining someone's face with your mind. Kind of like imagining someone, usually dead, is there with you. Yugamu means distorted. Another on the nose name. Remembering a face but it's distorted, could refer to his own scarred face, or perhaps forgetting what someone who has passed away looks like. He has a strong connection with love, so perhaps someone he once knew. It likely just refers to his own face.

Sirei and Nigou (ＳＩＲＥＩ) & (ＮＩＧＯＵ)

"The principal and commanding officer of Last Defense Academy. To put it another way, a weird little robot that orders the members of the Special Defense Unit around. Under his command, Takumi and the others will be working to wipe out the mysterious School Invaders." "Sirei's assistant and second in command. An odd little robot that has a gentle, caring personality, but is also prone to making careless mistakes. He's completely loyal and subservient to Sirei."

I'll keep it short and simple, if these two aren't funny I won't care for them at all.

I kinda like their designs. It's unique how you can see their brain and heart, but I think that's because those two are the most vital organs. Also, what's with Nigou's lips? I don't even know their gender so I'll just use they/them for the time being. The English description says "He" but the Japanese text doesn't explicitly use he and there no other instance to use.

Their names are romanized in Japanese as well, so they don't have an obvious meaning, but I have a theory! I believe Sirei is 司令 “Shirei” meaning in command and Nigou is 二号 “Nigou” meaning number two, as in second to Sirei. Sirei and Shirei are pronounced the same in Japanese.

Final Thoughts

I'm hyped for this game. I haven't talked about the gameplay aspects but my absolute favorite thing in games is multiple endings. A hundred endings is a paradise for me. A lot of the sneak peaks leave me curious, so I'm excited to play it. April 24th! I think I'll enjoy the cast. I also like the majority of Kodaka's characters because they're so complex, so I have no doubts about loving this new cast.

Sorry for any spelling errors, this was a lot to proofread.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

saved this for valentines day because i am so astronomically down bad for this man. anyway bodyguard! chuuya 🤍🫧❄️ gn! on the first section, nsfw f! below the divider 💌

bodyguard! chuuya, who born to do this job. who is a natural protector, who can be both rough and affectionate, fiercely loyal even to a fault, even if it seals his fate. but even statues crumble if they're made to break.

bodyguard! chuuya, who has lost everything that he's ever cared about. who is sure it's a curse- that whatever comes close to his heart is sent to fall into ruins, a product of gravity. he knows that he should have faith, but finds himself questioning the universe, if he's simply destined to be alone. who contemplates even getting close to you on this job, if he'll only end up more alone.

bodyguard! chuuya, who has the powers of a god that he didn't ask for. who sometimes wakes up in a cold sweat, dreary eyes picturing glowing red marks up and down his skin, weaving around his limbs, a monstrous form he's scared of bringing to late. who sometimes feels that his desire to be human are like the last drops of an ink pen- something that isn't going to work.

bodyguard! chuuya, who isn't sure if he should open up to you, who knows that the most singing pains of the heart come from stabs while vulnerable. who knows that by admitting his faults, he opens himself up to betrayal- the one thing he hates most in the world. who learns from you that to be hurt is to be human, and that his pain is a symbol of that humanity.

bodyguard! chuuya, who barely catches himself falling for you. who starts out his task as a simple mission- protect you, and nothing more. who fails to see you cracking the locks in his chest, crashing into you like a head on collision. who falls so hard and so fast, his feelings appear to him as a paradox. he's lost everyone, and the universe is giving him another chance to protect them.

bodyguard! chuuya, who you share a vow with, one that you'll both uphold. his is to protect you, to throw himself in front of flames and bullets to keep a smile on your face. where yours is to imagine things that haven't happened yet, keeping him grounded, teaching him that it's okay to love. that he may be dangerous, or deemed wicked, or a monster, but that you don't care. that you see him for him, and thats enough for you.

bodyguard! chuuya, who does so much more than protect you from physical threats. who holds your hand during panic attacks, stroking your hair and letting you breathe with him. who holds your hair back when you throw up, and carries you back to bed. who will kiss your hand and hug you when you need someone, when you need him. who sometimes struggles to keep his longings locked, knowing he needs to protect you, and wonders if that means protecting you from him- from the monster he knows he can be.

bodyguard! chuuya, who melts in your touch, never crossing the line, never wanting to make you uncomfortable or unsafe. who, even after learning you feel the same, hesitates. he isn't supposed to love, or care. everyone who has ever come close to him has ended up leaving. who learns that you have a funny way of surprising him, of assuring him that if this isn't forever, it'll be for as long as it lasts. a star that burns out is shines brighter than infinite darkness. given the choice between forever with someone or a night with chuuya? the choice is obvious.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

bodyguard! chuuya, who is a passionate lover. who indulges in messy kisses, setting your bedsheets ablaze with every touch. who will slowly undress you, pulling down the fabric, unlacing and undoing whatever he needs. who sees more and more skin as just more area he gets to lavish and love, gazing at every part of you- from the tip of your nose to the very depths of your soul- with nothing short of perfect adoration.

bodyguard! chuuya, who talks you through it. who asks if you like this position or if his fingers feel good. who looks up at you while he goes down on you, lips wrapped around your clit, fingers angled just right, and asks if you feel good- as if you haven't been bawling his name.

bodyguard! who does it slow and passionate. making sure his cock reaches in at your deepest parts, savoring how your pussy clamps down on him. who will take your wrists and pin them on either side of your head, forehead against yours, moaning in unison with you while he drags in and out so slow its agonizingly pleasurable. who draws out your orgasms for as long as possible, rubbing circles on your clit, kissing your tits, licking your body until you're on fire.

bodyguard! chuuya, who can just as easily be an asshole in bed. who flips you around and tosses you into positions until you find one you like. who is always open to experimentation- seeing what pet names you like, how long you can go, if you like getting worshipped or punished. who doesn't stop until your gushing, melting in pleasure or getting pounded into the sheets.

bodyguard! who grits his teeth in pleasure when he takes you from the back, feeling you wrapped around his cock like a warm, wet, vice. who lets you adjust for however long you need to, sensing your impatience and desperation to feel him deep. who holds your hands behind your back, leaning down, telling you how good you're doing before fucking you into oblivion.

bodyguard! chuuya, whose idea of a date is seeing how many times he can creampie you until you're thoroughly wrecked. who takes it like a challenge, pushing your thighs up to your chest, burying himself deep, finding the right angle before stuffing you full of his seed. who sees your teary eyes, mouth stuck in an O shape and hoarse throat, he knows he's doing something right. who, after about the 3rd or 4th time he's gotten you cumming (he's lost tracked) finally stops bullying orgasms out of you and lays you down on the bed.

bodyguard! chuuya, who has found something worth protecting, laying next to you, pulling your body close to his. whispers that he'll pick up where he left off in the morning, before kissing you goodnight. <3

[pages-and-1nk]

PLEASE IF YOURE A JILY OR JEGULUS SHIPPER READ THIS BECAUSE IT HAS TO FUCKING STOP U GUYS.

I’m done with the ridiculous conversation on Jily shippers harassing Jegulus shippers. (And vice versa, this one just covers Jily hate on Jegulus) Please read my breakdown response to the most common argument presented as to why Jegulus is bad.

🙏 PLEASE 🙏 .

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Oh okay jumping RIGHT into it. *Deep breath*

No. No it’s actually not. As a gay trans man, your take is incorrect and actually so fucking wild it astounds me you think that way. To break it down MISOGYNY is the hatred or prejudice against women. Someone taking two male characters- even if one has a canon gf- and shipping them together does not in anyway promote misogyny nor the erasure of the gf. Infact, implying that in order for Lily to be important or developed she has to date James is actually, ironically, misogynistic.

Now is that to say all jegulus shippers ARENT misogynist or have such views? NO, ofc there are bad apples everywhere- doesn’t mean the whole bag is spoiled. Misogyny is not preferring a gay pairing to a cannon heterosexual pairing. Thats frankly a stupid argument and you’re just attaching words with negative connotations to a ship you don’t like, to then make your ship seem more morally righteous and superior and discredit anyone who argues with you by labeling them as misogynistic. (That does more harm then good btw as it discredits and devalues actual misogyny in fan spaces)

As for fetishization, also not inherently. People enjoying a masc and a twink together is not fetishization inherently. Now, it’s a thin line to walk, and in order to do that you must have critical thinking and be able to understand THESE FAKE GAY MEN are not ALL REAL GAY MEN, but it being the dynamic of a ship you like is… not fetishization. Obsessing and harassing REAL gay men and being invested in their sexuality and sexual experiences is fetishization. Please understand the weight of the words you are using, and how throwing them around in such a context not only makes you look like a buffoon but also is wildly undermining to the weight those words hold.

Smh.

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Gonna go cry myself to sleep now brb.

But SERIOUSLY? Implying that Regulus is watered down to “James’ twink” tells me you have never actually engaged with Jegulus shippers before and have made broad assumptions about a ship you’ve never even given a chance.

Crimson rivers, choices, art heist baby, only the brave, teach them how to dream, whatever happened to the young young lovers, I COULD GO ON. All of them have well rounded character designs for Regulus- but because you can’t take your head out of your ass and are too focused on how bad of a ship Jegulus is, you’ll never read them!

(Which valid, you don’t have to like Jegulus Jily shippers, in fact- you can loath it as much as you want, but you can’t talk about characterization when you’ve uh… never actually read the characterization)

And those last few sentences? Oh man. James cheating on Lily is like SUCH A SMALL fraction of fanfic/works, such a small fraction. Unless you imply that James could stake a claim to Lily before Lily even agrees to them dating which uh… *cough cough*…. I smell misogyny again… *cough cough.*

Like bsffr rn. 😐

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Oh god I think I threw up in my mouth hold on-

First- yes. Jily is an amazing ship that can be wholesome and lovely, and is such a beautifully tragic form of love I will ALWAYS respect it and the people who ship it. Me personally, I don’t read fanfic with Jily, but I def engage with Jily related content bcs it’s GOOD.

But you see, people like you simply ruin it for those who are Jegulus shippers and want to Drabble in Jily because you are TOXIC.

No one is reducing Lily to a baby maker for Jegulus. In fact, I’ve seen more fics with TRANS REGULUS GETTING PREGNANT than I have with surrogate Lily. And even in the surrogate Lily fics, it’s usually well written and Lily has a personality beyond “baby maker” and is just a friend consensually agreeing to help a queer couple out with having a child.

There’s also fics where they co-parent Harry, and if that’s what you’re talking about AGAIN that’s literally normal. I’m a child of divorce, my parents co parent- that’s just how bloody divorce works it isn’t misogynist.

As for the canonical death eater bit- please tell me which part of the canon text refers to regulus being a blood purist. He joined Voldemort, correct, he also rebelled against Voldemort- correct. All of the reasons for him doing both of those things are ASSUMPTIONS MADE BY INFERENCES FROM A BIASED PERSPECTIVE.

Obviously you can have your own preferences on what regulus was like, as can I, because CANNON INFORMATION is LIMITED. Therefore, you can do what you want.

And even if it wasn’t you could still, do what you want BECAUSE ITS FICTIONAL.

Please, I am begging you, for my sanity and your own, just stop. All of it needs to stop. You get no where by tearing another ship down, it won’t stop and you just leave a bad taste in the mouths of people who want to ship Jily but are Jegulus shippers.

This applies to both sides BY THE WAY, Jegulus shippers have a problem with inserting themselves in Jily spaces, or within other ships, or feeling the need to comment on ships with Regulus or James in them and say things like “Jegulus is better” or “ew that’s so weird” (I saw this in particular with kittywater) We all need to realize that unless we just stick in our lanes and fuck off, we’re going to continue promoting toxicity in this fandom.

I love Jily, I love Jegulus, IM PROOF WE CAN LIVE IN HARMONY JUST KNOCK IT OFF, PULL YOUR PANTS UP, AND GROW TF UP!

Anyways thanks for coming to my ted talk, I’m really upset over this post and I just needed to rant. Please reblog this so it reaches more people.

(Also I have not tagged the creator of this post, because I don’t want harassment to befall them. Signed- the author)

[issues4him]

surprising rafe as his pilot on his flight!

rafe x pilot!reader

a/n: sorry if yall aren’t into this, but i’m a pilot so obviously i need to incorporate rafe into my aviation life right lol

cw : fluff! airplanes & aviation terms, one use of yn

rafe sighed against the wall, absolutely NOT wanting to be at the airport right now. his plane was delayed by an hour—“maintenance issues” or some shit. he was currently sitting inside norfolk international airport, stuck in the middle of the terminal waiting on the motherfucker 10 spots in front of him to just shove his luggage into the upper head bin.

rafe absolutely hated airports. he hated how busy they all were. he hated being in the midst of how dumb people could be. he hated the crammed seats and having to get stuck next to a big, smelly old guy. and yeah—he was a nervous flyer. he had no idea how you did it. he’d never admit it, but it was honestly intimidating to him.

“fuckin’ hell.” he grumbled, rubbing his face with his hand in frustration. finally, the line starts moving once again. rafe places his hand on the outside of the airbus a320, feelings it’s cold metal against his fingertips. it was his own superstition he had—the reason he always landed safely was because he touched the plane before he entered.

rafe made his way down the aisle, giving the prior motherfucker a glare as he sat down in C3. he fumbled with his things, shoving his carry-on bag underneath the seat in front of him. rafe was so pissed off he felt like he could kill anyone in a 1 mile radius.

he was on his way to houston, texas, to meet ward and rose for a ‘vacation’. of course, he didn’t want to travel with them, as that would’ve set him off for real.

“excuse me, i think you’re in my seat.” a deep voice was heard beside him. he turned his head, eyebrows furrowing in irritation.

“nah. ‘m not.” he said sharply to the middle aged man standing in the aisle. the mans eyes widened in shock at rafe’s bluntness.

the older, brunette flight attendant came over to the both of them, an annoyingly fake smile on her face. “excuse me, are you rafe cameron?”

he looked up at her, honestly not prepared for the definite stress she was going to throw at him. “uhuh.” he mumbled.

“we’re going to be moving your seat up to first class.” she explained, waiting for him to grab his things and get out of the tiny seat he could barely fit in.

confused, but certainly not mad about it, rafe obliges and stands up out of his seat. he follows the flight attendant up to the first class area, mumbling a ‘thank you’ as she pointed to his new spot. sitting in the wide, squishy chair, rafe couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. this whole day was stressing him out, and knowing that they were going to be airborne soon was enough to make his forehead bead with sweat and stomach turn in knots.

he laid his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes, trying to find some sort of comfort.

“good evening ladies & gentlemen,” a female voice was heard through the airplanes speakers. rafe’s eyes shot open at the instant recognition of his girlfriend’s sweet voice. he looked up at the front of the fuselage, his heart nearly stopping as he saw you standing there in your white button down and black slacks, smiling back at him.

“my name is yn and i’ll your first officer today on our flight to houston. our flight should be just under four hours, approximately 3 hours and 47 minutes. the weathers looking sunny and a high of 79 degrees down in houston,” rafe smiled up at you in adoration as he listened to you speak into the black phone on the wall.

near the end of your routine speech you smiled back at rafe, “also, if you’re a nervous flyer, don’t worry. my boyfriend is on this flight so consider him your lucky charm.” the passengers chuckled, a few noticing the way you were smiling at rafe.

with a thank you, you set the phone back on the hook. you walked down the aisle to rafe, giggling when you see the huge grin on his face.

“what the hell i had no idea you were even working today…” rafe exasperated, still in shock. he grabbed your hip, pulling you down into a hug.

“i wanted to surprise you, silly,” your laugh was muffled into his shoulder. you pulled away and planted a kiss on his lips. “wish we could talk more, but i really need to get back to work. gotta keep my baby safe.” you pinched his cheeks playfully, and walked back inside the cockpit, sealing the door shut.

rafe’s smile still hadn’t faded by the time you were lined up on the runway and the engines began roaring. rafe had honestly never felt more safe in his life. the person he trusted the most was the pilot flying his plane. he relaxed into his seat, thinking to himself,

‘maybe i don’t need that xanax in my bag after all.’

[orangez3st]

The Stars in Your Eyes

Entry to @clonexocweek - 02.13.25: Intimacy | Event Masterlist

↤ Prev | Part 4 of 5 | Next ↦

Summary: Lesiil confesses her new dream. Fox confesses what he wants. Tags & Warnings: war criminal investigation is over, fluff, kisses, comfort no hurt, wholesome interaction, soft and awkward(ish) Fox, tease and banter still going strong, referenced clone rights Pairing: Fox x Det. Lesiil Thrace (OFC Crime Investigator) Word Count: 4.6k A/N: I introduce you AGAIN to a soft Fox because we have too much rough version of him already. Also because he can't even pretend to hate Lesiil (he's so bad when he's in love). Fox getting nice things for once – I will die on this hill. Thank you for enjoying their journey so far! This won't be the end 😉 we still have one more in the next part!

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒔𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆? 𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈.

— Dark Red - Steve Lacy [X]

Fox lets out a low whistle. “Well, well.”

His grin widens in amazement as soon as Lesiil turns around at his voice. In one secluded spot on the rooftop of Coruscant Guard Headquarters that faces the luminous skyline at night, Lesiil is seen leaning back against the durasteel railing, elbows propped up. By her feet are a portable heater that provides sufficient lighting in the little spot, and a cooler box with four bottles of beer. Fox has never seen her this relaxed, with untied curly hair and knitted cardigan swaying gently in the soft breeze.

She smiles warmly at him. “I suppose this is acceptable enough as alone time for both of us.”

Fox clips his helmet to his belt. “We already have a party downstairs.”

“Unless you come about here and join me, this will still be my escape from a sea of rowdy clones.”

He lets out a small laugh, the weight on his shoulders already lifting. Breathing in the night air, Fox lets his feet carry him across the short distance and joins her, standing a shoulder brush away.

“You know,” he starts, “We have nicer drinks Stone brought in.”

Lesiil rolls her eyes. “I would appreciate it more if you say your thanks to me instead of complaining about leaving the party. It is as if you regret coming over here at all. Do you?”

“I really don't,” he asserts, shaking his head, “I'll just be here.”

“Perfectly aligned with my intention then, sir,” she cheekily remarks, bending down to pick up two bottles and the opener, “And these are, after all,  nicer beers.”

Wordlessly, Fox does the job of opening both bottles. Knocking the lips of their bottles together, they drink. He lets out a small grunt in appreciation. Nicer beer, indeed.

Nice beer and lovely company.

Fox's troopers in their downtime have decided to throw a celebratory party to commemorate Jai Brando's incarceration with property damage charges, to more of Lesiil's emotional acquiescence. The actual trial won't be held until several more months, but it's more than enough to keep him off the streets and their patrol routine. Lesiil and his Nautolan partner are invited, the latter finding immediate comfort among his men while the lead investigator had escaped from the crowded mess hall. An invitation message to Fox's commlink from her had prompted him to find her, and now here he is.

Fox mimics her pose, leaning back with his elbows on the railing.

“Thorn's looking for you,” he says, his bottle dangling from his fingers.

Lesiil nods curtly. “Message accepted.”

The lack of words and immediate action only makes him confused. “You don't wanna find him now?”

With a slight tilt of the body, she faces him, her chin an inch away from his shoulder bell. “I have found who I’m looking for.”

No, of course he knows she doesn't see Thorn like that, and vice versa. His batchmate reminds her too much of her brother. it's just about the heat creeping up his neck and cheeks, even though it wasn't an intentional pickup line – there was too much intensity in her storm grey eyes, and that's the problem.

Fox clears his throat, and subtly inches closer to her. Finally, their shoulders touch, in which Lesiil puts more weight. He immediately chugs on his beer to sober up.

“You did great on the entire case,” he finds himself muttering, unable to bring himself to look at her again for a moment without having his heart thundering nervously inside his chest. 

“Thank you, sir.”

He nudges her softly. “Just the two of us now. It's Fox.”

“I know who your name is, Fox,” Lesiil says, finally placing her head on his shoulder. She sighs. “Habits die hard, I suppose.”

A lull in the moment. Then they simultaneously drink from their bottles.

Fox clicks his tongue, savoring the bitter and rich liquid. “Just feels kinda wrong for you to call me that,” he says, eyeing the curve of the bottle, “You're not in the Coruscant Guard anymore.”

“So?” Lesiil chirps beside him, still comfortably leaning against him. “You remain Marshal Commander. I am merely being mindful and respectful of who you are and where you stand in your institution.”

Always the courteous one. Colloquialism thrown out of the airlock as if she's born without it. It sends him chuckling, the voice coming from the depths of his chest and earning her amused look.

Fox meets her gaze. “Just call me by my name, will ya?”

“Why are you so insistent?” Lesiil challenges, “Do you like it so much when I call you, Fox?”

“I do prefer it that way, Detective.”

“Unfair,” she huffs, “Call me Lesiil.”

Fox smirks. “Alright, Lesii.”

He chugs from his bottle again before finally giving in and gently laying his head on top of hers. Lesiil draws a deep breath and snuggles closer for his warmth, not meeting his eyes. What the hell is the portable heater for then?

Lesiil's hair smells like sugar. Curiosity gets the best of him, and before he knows it he's already nuzzling his nose into her curls, finding comfort in her scents – a mixture of sweets, floral, and daylong musk. It surprises him, never thinking of the courteous detective to even use hair products of such scents. Maybe something neutral like pure soap, not some desserts sold in high-end shops and that one street where the Naboo flower festival usually takes place.

As if understanding him, Lesiil wordlessly shifts closer, practically putting half of her body in front of his and leaning back against the hardness of his plastoid armor. With the littlest joy he's got inside him, Fox loosely wraps an arm around her shoulders. He allows himself to press his lips on the crown of her head, while continuously rubbing her arm up and down to keep her warm in the Coruscanti night breeze.

Funny how the landscape of our first meeting was so similar to this, save for the intimate proximity.

Gunship arrived. Helmet upon his head. Her wrist on a sling. He'd called her Inspector.

Welcome to Coruscant Guard Headquarters.

Thank you, sir.

It was just last month. Now it feels like a long time ago. Him at that time wouldn't believe this very intimate moment. It's weird. Alien, even. Fox rarely gets to blow off some steam himself no thanks to piling senatorial work, let alone–

Let alone…

Falling in lo…

Let alone letting himself fall this far into an unavoidable prospect of romance, and Lesiil is relentless as kark to get what she wants once she knows what she's after.

Not that he wants to avoid it…

He grows soft around her since that day in her office. Shouting. Butting heads. Ideals and values clashing. Crying. Kriff, he made her cry. But he was only delivering what there is – the existing truth. She was only devastated because of her overlooking and eventually forgot the non-sentient laws. But still, he made her cry worse.

But at least he got to hold her to mend for it, managing to calm her down from loud hitches to silent whimpers and steady breaths, accompanying her on the couch until her beautiful bronze-toned face was no longer showing signs of breakdown.

It was a showdown of stubborn against stubborn.

Thorn was karking right. They're so similar.

He chugs again from his bottle, the bitter liquid washing down his unprepared melancholy.

“I am resigning.”

Fox blinks, thinking probably he misheard.

“Say that again?”

Lesiil pushes herself off him and turns around to face him. “I am resigning from CSF.”

He hadn't misheard. Shock and disbelief washes over him.

“But… why?” he protests, brows deeply pulling, “It’s what you love! You've got an excellent career, and you're probably another case away from actual promotion.”

“It's not about promotion.” Lesiil shakes her head, folding her arm on top of another, her bottle dangling by the fingers. “Investigative work is what I love, true. I love my work, I love what I do. I love my colleagues and the environment. I love the fact that it is addictive and perfect to stimulate and sharpen my high-functioning mind.” She looks away, picking on a thread in her cardigan. “But after the Corrie Butcher, after such a magnificent case… I can't bring myself to continue my fight on this side.”

“What do you mean?” Fox demands.

“I wish to fight on the other side,” Lesiil answers, then replacing her gaze back to him. “Your side.”

A scoff flies out of his lips.

“Yeah, we'll get ya shock trooper armor.”

“I do not mean that,” Lesiil rebuts gently.

“Then what?”

“You know this, Fox.”

No he doesn't.

Lesiil scrutinizes him, pushing him to find the answer himself. Her storm grey orbs are bearing down on him hard, fully expecting him to just know.

My side… Clones…

No.

Realization crashes down on him like a broken down speeder just as fear of the unknown envelops him, and he then resists the urge to groan. “You’re impossible.”

She points her bottle at him. “I find your lack of faith in me disturbing.”

“It's not that,” Fox debates sharply, “We don't know when the war’s gonna be over. What you're fighting for takes time, years, before it could even be passed on to the Senate.” He sighs heavily, his head hanging to his chest. “I don't even know what you're gonna do to end up in one of my escort duties one day.”

“Don't be silly with that senatorial escort duty logic of yours, of course I will not be working from the Senate,” Lesiil lets out a small laugh, “I already have the Prince Consort of Alderaan for that.”

She tilts her head down to meet his downward gaze with a beaming smile.

“I will continue my study in law,” she declares, and hearing that, pride suddenly blossoms throughout Fox's chest replacing all of his worries. “My alma mater has been offering me a fast-track master's program since forever thanks to my notoriety, and I’m taking that chance now. Then, I will be pulling my strings.”

Fox scoffs mid-swig. “Yeah? How high up are these strings?”

“Why, Senator Organa himself, of course. Do you know the Queen is a big admirer of my work? I am practically their pride and joy.”

“Alright, Alderaan’s Pride and Joy, I see your point,” Fox chuckles fondly, before turning serious once more. “But it's still a long game to play. You'll have to play smart, Lesii.”

Lesiil nods her head thoughtfully. “No matter how long it is, I will push on through,” she mulls, shifting her weight between her feet. “This is the least I can do for Railuu… and for all of you.”

“Why?” Fox blurts out, “I know you're doing this for your twin, but… personally, why?”

“You all matter,” she answers in a beat without an ounce of hesitation. Even in the low setting of the portable light and under the dark night of Coruscant, Fox can even see determination sparking in her storm grey eyes. “You deserve the good. You deserve to live like natborns. You deserve your rights as equals to natborns. You are sentient. You have mind, you have sense. It's as simple as that. Nothing more, nothing less. And I will fight for the sheer simplicity of it.”

Stars, he doesn't deserve her. Not in the slightest bit. How could he let himself be weakened by such a headstrong force?

Fox sniffs, letting out a bitter laugh to cover his true emotions. “You're impossible.”

“You're impossible.”

At the perfect impression of his voice and pitch, dread immediately creeps down his spine. “Les, that's so creepy. Don't pull that Lorrdian thing again.”

“Don't pull that Lorrdian thing again,” she repeats, and he visibly shudders, making her grin. “I'll pull that thing again until you give me your blessing.”

“As if you need a blessing.”

“You matter, Fox.” Lesiil reaches to grab his hand and squeezes. “That is why I'm telling you this.”

Fox stares at her long, before his lips form a smile on their own. He squeezes her hand back. “You're too kind.”

Stars, even he forgets the last time he's being this nice. Like, genuinely nice and at peace, without a sliver of annoyance laced onto his tone and gait… to a kriffing girl, nonetheless. So kriffing sappy. The whole thing is so alien to him.

“I’ve been called polite for my speech and annoying for my incessant intellect rambling, but you are the first to call me that,” she says.

Fox shakes his head in mock disbelief, already getting used to her demeanor. “You sure about that?”

Lesiil grins. “Of course not. My humor never fails me in this kind of conversation and it makes you laugh.”

A picture of a night together at 79s flies across his mind. He would introduce Lesiil to his usual command batch with gruff annoyance and glaring don’t you kriffing dare at them the entire night. Cody would definitely break into a hell of laughter together with Wolffe at this revelation. Rex would throw him subtle knowing smiles the whole night as he sips on his stupid pastel-colored cocktail and Bly, that son of a droid, would tease him endlessly he might be getting a slap across the face.

And smartass Lesiil would just laugh and throw her intellectual remarks in their faces. He'd love her to make them adore her to the point of stupid like many should. He'd want nothing more than grinning smugly and beaming with pride as the display of what she really just is.

Fox looks at her fondly. “You're something else, Lesii.”

“And you are, too,” she replies easily, intertwining their hands together. It still catches him off guard on how daring she is tonight, making the first move and all. Good, because he's still stunned by all that she is and thus can't. “Among millions of clones, there is only one you, Fox.” She beams, her grey eyes shining like stars.

And Fox lets himself relish in the feeling…

Before biting back in jest, “How many hundred of us have you met anyway?”

“Under a hundred, certainly,” she shrugs, “Do you want to introduce me to your brothers?”

Stars it's like she's reading my mind.

“Your commander batch, perhaps?” Lesiil continues as he remains stunned in silence and gobsmacked as kark, “Aside from Commander Wolffe, maybe, but his presence is more than welcome. I would like to catch up with the gentleman.”

“Uh, sure,” Fox immediately sobers up, “It's been a while since we all hung out together anyway. I'll try to line up schedules when most of them are planetside.”

Lesiil hums. “I will clear mine once you drop the date and time.”

Their beer eventually runs out, and they have to break their handholding so Fox can pick up and open the last two bottles for themselves.

Lesiil settles next to him again repeating the initial position – her head on his shoulder. This time, once she does, he follows on top of her immediately.

“Have you given it a thought?” Lesiil suddenly asks beneath him, breaking the peaceful silence.

“About what?”

“About us, Marshal Commander.”

Lesiil feels the man tense next to her.

It's a huge step for both of them. Lesiil herself is no stranger to relationships, having a few of them in the past, but none lasted.

With Fox, she feels… challenged. In a good way. Stimulated. Grounded. His sense of authority matches her energy and her hidden quirks. Not that she looks to exploit his traits for her own good, but…

The first time she met the Marshal Commander, he was stoic, gruff, and quite to the point. Some of those traits she likes, finding herself constantly seeking for such anchors. Fox isn't like any clone in a war battalion based on Railuu’s tellings. Fox is different. His sense of order is much stronger and he upholds laws and regulations like faith.

In other ways, outside the extreme pressures of his imposing lifelong career, he wishes to be patient. Deep down, behind all the thick layers consisting of strict manners and gruff upbringing and his comical desperation for caf, he wishes to be gentler.

Lesiil notices how his entire demeanor almost changes compared to moments where he's with his command batch. Fox is a little rowdy himself behind closed doors with his brothers, but with her, he's a different person. At first it was merely air of strict professionalism and respect of what she's capable of, but now, now he's a…

A friend. A good company. A confidante.

She likes him however he is. His very presence grounds her. His confidence is infectious and his strictness reminds her of order.

With all he is, Lesiil can't help her blossoming feelings. For once, this time, she can't slap a logical explanation on it. For once, she isn't scared to face the unknown because she knows Fox, and the rest may feel like an adventure, and it just feels right, so…

“I would very much like to give this a try,” Lesiil starts gently, “That is, if you have no issue whatsoever. Or is there another clause in your regulations I have absolutely zero awareness about?”

Fox merely looks at her, amber eyes softening and she can even sense him thinking, weighing his options. Of course. Duty and work, against relationships.

“It… doesn't say anything about informal relationships,” he finally says, his voice lowered, slightly twinging with doubt and insecurity.

“But marriage, you can't have?”

He suddenly bursts out laughing.

“You sound like Yoda.”

Lesiil laughs along, “The Jedi Grand Master?”

“Yeah. He spoke backwards like that.” Fox then sniffs, dismissing the hilarious air altogether. “And no. We're not allowed to marry. We're not exactly created to live long.”

Realization swallows her, and it makes her… disappointed somehow. “I see,” she mulls.

Comfortable silence envelops them again. She watches Fox taking a swig, his throat bobbing as he swallows beer and the muscles of his neck strains against his black body glove. As he finishes though, she swiftly averts his gaze by chugging the beer herself.

“I'm twelve years old.”

Maker, she's fortunate enough he says that after she finishes drinking. Or is it that he was considerable enough so she wouldn't sputter onto his armor in shock?

Lesiil clutches her chest. “Would you care so kindly, in an effort to calm my poor pounding heart, to explain what you meant by that?!”

Fox looks at her in amusement. “We clones are engineered with accelerated aging,” he explains, “To put it simply; by physical appearance I'm 24 years old, but by standard years I'm 12.”

Unconvinced, Lesiil does a quick sweep across his face. Prominent eye bags. Maker how many day old stubble. Tired look on his face. Not to mention the grey hair that adorns his crown of black curls that she often finds herself internally gushing over. Whenever he blinks, even now, Lesiil finds herself afraid he'd suddenly be out of consciousness and drift to sleep on the spot.

“I mean no offense,” she begins slowly, “But you don't even look 24 years old. You look well over 30. It must be the ever stressful senate duties.”

Fox snorts. “You have no idea.”

“No, I do not,” she agrees. Railuu failed to tell her this as it never came up during conversations. But it was refreshing to know, nonetheless. “And to console you, might I say that I love your hair?”

Fox looks up at her sharply before subconsciously and nervously running a hand through his curls, a tinge of pink grazing his sharp cheekbones. “To be honest I don't even care if I'm growing more grey hair if this war keeps going on.”

You can grow as many as you'd like, but I jest.

“I speak the truth, Fox,” Lesiil smiles at him, reaching out and brushing his fallen hair away from his brows. His blush deepens and leaves her feeling smug and confident with her bold advances. “And if we’re going to talk about our hair without even returning to the main topic, I’m going to grab more beer.”

“You brought more?”

“No, but it got you. So may I believe my humor is exceptional.”

“Ha ha,” Fox laughs mockingly before it dissolves into a quiet laugh, and hers follows suit.

Both are lucky they are the type of people that can hold their liquor.

Lesiil drinks her share, leaving about a quarter as soon as she notices Fox staring. How could she ever turn away from those sparkling amber? And with a smile on his face, it makes her evening even better. It makes her evening pleasant, to learn that she probably has to be the only person to earn the privilege to see a softer Marshal Commander Fox.

“So,” he starts almost hesitatingly, “you wanna do this?”

Lesiil grabs his hand. “We don't have to progress into anything worth labeling yet if you're not comfortable,” she says, “And if you don't want it, I will be watchful of my boundaries until the moment you say the word.”

Fox scoffs in disbelief. “You kidding? I'm the one who kissed you first. What makes you think I don't want you?”

“Honestly I thought–” Lesiil does a double take, “Did you say you want me just now?”

“Uh, didn't you say that?”

“I said ‘it’, Marshal, meaning I was referring to whatever this is we have not put a label on…” she trails off when he pulls her gently onto him, one hand steadying her waist.

Fox bores into her triumphantly. “So that gets you to shut up.”

Lesiil swallows the snarky remark that sizzles on her tongue and laughs instead, placing a hand on the cool plastoid of his chest plate. “I was merely caught off guard.”

He faces away from her to drink, and Lesiil uses the chance presented on her to observe his scars up close. She reaches up, cupping his other side of the jaw once he finishes, and places a ghosty trail of kisses down the gashing scar on his left cheek.

“Are you drunk?” Fox sharply accuses in disbelief, but not pulling away, “You can't be drunk after two bottles of beer, can you?”

“You silly commander, of course I’m not drunk,” Lesiil giggles as she caresses his stubble. “I am presenting you,” she pecks the scar on the corner of his lips, “my full attention, and my capabilities to show how wanted you are to me,” she smiles against his skin, “And admit it, you like the attention.”

“I have two blasters on me right now. If you ever catch me lying,” his voice catches in his throat when Lesiil nips at his jaw, “I'd like you to use them on me.”

She meets his gaze – a glittering amber, smirking. “A sound idea.”

He suddenly grabs her shoulders and pushes her slightly away as he breathes heavily. Lesiil relishes the glimmer in the amber pools of his eyes, the charming sight sends her stomach aflutter. But then that spark dampens, the slightest shift warning her of upcoming words she never wants to hear.

“But I'm a clone.”

Lesiil bites back her mimicry ability out of kindness, lets out a dramatic loud sigh while giving him a scolding look. “That didn't stop you from actually admiring me and eventually falling in love with me.”

Fox snorts, yet Lesiil feels his cheek getting warmer underneath her touch. “What makes you think I'm falling in love with you?”

“Every single shift in your countenance and entire demeanor whenever we both are alone like this. I won't tell you since when to not make you feel ‘creeped out’,” she smugly rambles, “Now, do you want to hear the honest version?”

Fox feigns hurt. “Huh. That was a joke?”

“Of course not. That was the joke, you silly man. I have–”

“Exceptional humor yeah yeah, stars, just kriffing shut up, will you?”

Giggling and knowing too well that he never actually wants her to shut up, Lesiil finally takes another swig of her beer after all that. With her sweet scrutiny away, Fox's hand momentarily draws circles on her back. He apparently had put his bottle away, because his other hand now reaches to cup the side of her face. Lesiil catches a spark of admiration and something else in his eyes before they close just as his lips capture hers, locking in with finality.

Warmth builds up in her stomach as a shaky exhale escapes her between breaks, relishing in the feel of Fox's lips tirelessly brushing against hers in urge. It takes her another moment and his other hand to grip her waist to pull her flush against him, before she finally manages to reciprocate the tender movement.

Lesiil kisses the Marshal Commander back with newfound passion, her chest moving against his as she lets her fingers be tangled with his dark curls. Each brush of his lips sparks passion inside her. Fox tastes like the beer they just had, with an unmistakable undertone of caf – the unmistakable taste of him.

Putting more fervor into the heat, Lesiil boldly deepens the kiss, brushing the tip of her tongue against his moist lips and nipping down in request. A soft grunt escapes him when she does, his mouth dropping open but before she can make herself at home, his own tongue shoots out grazing against hers, the warm sensation causing her to involuntarily moan into his mouth.

Fox’s hands make their hasty way along her back, pulling her impossibly closer as if his very intention is to fuse her together with his body, allowing her to be overwhelmed and drunk with all that he is – caf, beer, gruffness, masked gentleness, passion, and indefinite authority she gladly would follow any time.

Without warning, he pulls away and turns them around, pining Lesiil against the wall, the edge only meeting her mid back. Fox cages her in with both arms, feverish fire burning in his gaze as his eyes map coordinates all over her face, an action where she waits patiently until he's satisfied and decides to pull her in again.

But then it softens, his gaze dropping to see her beer bottle still loosely clasped in her hand. Gently, he then pries the bottle away and places it next to his just an arm's length away.

“Oh that is very kind and gentlemanly of you,” Lesiil teases, her voice slightly hoarse from the kiss.

“Shut up, Lesii,” Fox retorts, his own raspy voice sending delightful shivers down her spine. Lesiil chuckles sweetly as he works to flush his body against hers and pinning her again. His amber gaze bores into her deeply with resumed passion. “Just kriffing put your hands in my hair and breathe the short life out of me,” he demands gruffly, his forehead meeting hers, “I want you.”

Lesiil leans away from his incoming mouth, her own lips lifting into a teasing smirk. “Or what?”

Fox tugs on her hair, keeping her in place where she's supposed to be – a mere breath away from him. “I'll just keep interrupting you in the middle of your smartass ramble,” he mumbles against her lips, “and shutting you up.”

Lesiil smiles through his relentless and passionate attacks on her lips, delightful shivers running down her spine as she throws her arms around his neck. “Then perhaps I will just keep talking.”

Taglist (Form): @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @msmeredithrose @filamentlights @heidnspeak

[amarnoban]

Why Amara insisted on taking a break when her mind was already lining up the next ten things she needed to do, she'd never know. She told herself she was relaxing, but the ever-present hum of responsibility never quite faded, even in moments like this. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to unwind —she just wasn’t sure she ever truly let herself. She’d spent so many years proving she could handle everything, balancing her own business while helping her brothers with theirs, that slowing down felt almost unnatural. There was always something to plan, someone to call, some problem waiting to be solved. And yet, sitting here, marshmallow in hand, she felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—an odd sort of ease, like maybe, just for a second, she wasn’t carrying the weight of a dozen deadlines. It was a small thing, but maybe small things were where it started.

She eyed the s'more like it was a carefully crafted masterpiece, because, honestly, it kind of was. "If Shakespeare can make up words, and you can make a perfect s’more, I think that officially makes you the Shakespeare of campfire desserts," she said, taking a careful bite. A beat later, the brunette groaned, shaking her head in exaggerated defeat. "Damn it. I hate to say this, but I might actually be impressed."

She wiped at the corner of her mouth with the napkin, throwing Shambles a knowing look. "Nicknames stick for a reason. If something’s gonna go wrong, it's usually when you start getting too confident. You just gotta live in that sweet spot —competent, but never cocky." She gestured at the s’more. "This? This is the sweet spot. Literally."

At the mention of working while relaxing, Amara let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back slightly. "Yeah, I told myself this was a break, but somehow, I still ended up answering emails between marshmallow roasts. I think my laptop just materializes if I sit still too long. Occupational hazard." She smirked before taking another bite. "Though I will say, this is the best work break I’ve had in a while. If all meetings came with s’mores, I’d be way more productive."

"Sometimes you gotta make up a word if there isn't one good enough," Shambles laughed. "If Shakespeare can do it, so can I."

Why she'd claimed to be an expert at anything around someone as accomplished and put-together as Amara, she'd never know. She was great at s'mores, but expert was pushing it, and although the other woman's smile and no pressure were teasing and reassuring, Shambles still felt a familiar tug in her gut. The desperate need to be good enough (whatever that meant) was hard to shake, even this many years removed from the pressures of her family.

She shook it off as best she could and set the marshmallows over the flame. "It's all about how much heat they can take without getting too burnt. Like people, kind of... a little makes them better, but too much... melts them," she said, losing the metaphor, and laughing at herself.

"Don't even joke about something going terribly wrong," she smiled, as she took two perfectly golden marshmallows and added them to the graham crackers and chocolate she'd set up. "You know why I have this nickname, I don't need any more of that."

She put the tops on the smores and pressed slightly. The marshmallows were pretty close to perfect, and their heat was melting the chocolate beautifully. She handed Amara's over - with a napkin. This would probably get messy. "I don't think there's any reason to be impressed or concerned, it was mostly luck," she admitted. "I worked the breakfast shift at the diner, and my shift at the bar isn't until 10pm, so I have a lovely little smores break here with you. Let me guess, you're working while relaxing?"

[see-arcane]

Open question to everyone as I continue to wrestle with being a professional starving creative. I’ve been nudged towards making a Substack a couple times now. I’m hesitant on making a new page for anything due to how little the Official Author Website seems to have mattered in the grand scheme of my teeny scribbling career, but there are a couple pros to consider. The most basic plus is that it could make for a tidier spot to leave my Big Scribbles than just piling them in a scattered Tumblr. But the key part the online 'get passive income!1!!' gurus point out about Substack is the sub(scription) bit. And how it can be a charged subscription.

“It’s an easy way for freelancers to make money!”

With at least $5 charged per month. For weekly-to-monthly updates. From me.

That means scheduled writing that's worthy of wringing more money out of the ‘Everyone is Broke’ website at least once a month. Note, I would not be pulling a Watcher; I’d still be dropping previews for my big WIPs here per usual. But a $ubstack would come with that and other original works each month. Supposing there was more than 2.5 folks out there willing to burn their bucks on that endeavor.

Anyway. Chronic indecision and fretting are attacking so I’m hot potatoing it to you:

[kacievvbbbb]

I think it’s interesting how as time goes on Zoro kind of becomes more and more like mihawk in some ways whether that’s just because if you spend time with someone for 2 years you’re bound to pick up their habits or a deliberate attempt to emulate him is a conversation for another time. And Mihawk and Zoro where already pretty similar at the start so it’s a little hard to notice now.

But yeah whether unconsciously or consciously Zoro is becoming a bit more like Mihawk and it’s interesting to think that while this means maturing in some ways (he’s swordsmanship for one but he’s also just quieter much more assured of himself) it also means deaging in some others.

Despite their significant age gap and general dispositions, when it comes down to it Zoro is just a lot more emotionally mature and developed than Mihawk is. And a big part of why is because he found something larger than himself to devote his life too, hell Mihawk himself even kind of acknowledges this when he agrees to take Zoro on as a student when Zoro begs for the sake of his captain and crew. He acknowledges that putting aside his own ego and dreams for the sake of someone else isn’t something he can do and sees it as a fault in himself and a strength in Zoro.

Mihawk may be outwardly mature and his skills defiently did not stagnant but I’d wager that Mentally Mihawk is still stuck at the same age he was when he took over the title of world’s strongest swordsman. Honestly maybe even younger. And it isn’t until training Zoro, letting Perona stay with him, for probably the first time in his life taking charge of lives outside his own did he finally unarrest his development.

If Zoro is purposely trying to emulate Hawkeyes, which it wouldn’t be a surprise if he was that’s who he’s trying to be Afterall, then it would honestly set him back emotionally because fundamentally as he is now Mihawk’s attitude doesn’t work in a crew. It’s too singular, too abrasive. And while that abrasiveness can be useful in Zoro’s role as Luffy’s first mate sometimes it makes him a little too callous a little too apathetic, like with his disregard for Luffy’s sadness over vegapunk.

But Zoro has his crew to temper that, they are honestly just too ridiculous to ever stay serious around. And try as he might to hide it Zoro is also just a silly dude who likes to be horrifically petty with his opponents. And zoro still has so much fire in him, so much he has too prove and so much he wants to protect to ever really fall into Mihawk’s apathy. Zoro has Luffy who even after they reach their dreams will probably still continue to turn the world upside down forever keeping Zoro in some kind of trouble and his life interesting.

Zoro can’t be Mihawk because even Mihawk can’t be Mihawk anymore. Being with crossguild and crossing with the Red hair pirates and the strawhats is going to change him, it has too. if Mihawk is going to live after losing his title he’s probably gonna have to become a little bit more like Zoro.

[baeshijima]

the itoshi brothers through the years ...

[cobaltfluff]

what is his deal ???

[yoonstudios]

oh my fucking godddddd i wish i could come out to my parents

[bratzboykai]

Saying this as an autistic poc but it always trips me up when white people try to autism their way out of racism towards hip hop and rap too. Like a lot of the supposed sounds that trigger sensory issues for white autistics who do this are in sooo many genres too; main thing being "I dont like repetitive beats and sounds" and yet literally almost every fucking song on earth has mostly beat and bass repetition through a majority of its structure as a core for key melodies to play on (and mind you those key melodies ALSO repeat). Like hip hop/rap is not unique in that respect. Perhaps ponder on that for more than a minute.