#because so much of his past was taken from him and not willingly given up so his motivation for being a spy is so strong….

[otaku553]

Some more spy x family one piece crossover doodles :)

A fic may or may not be in progress…….

Edit: the fic is posted :)

[sp0o0kylights]

Eddie was all about desecrating corpses. 

Particularly, the huge ones--and nothing was larger than the burnt out husk of Starcourt. 

Yellow caution tape, muddied and ripped from its time in the weather still decorated parts of the doors. 

The place used to be crawling with security, but that had eased off now, the job returning to a local outfit rather than the smooth and swift guards who previously haunted the joint in pairs. 

It was easy as two days spent camped out in his van, watching the main entrance and a few side doors. In no time at all, Eddie had schedules memorized, points of entry selected and even three possible escape routes should things get dicey.

He didn't expect them to. 

Not when he’d already rolled his checks and came up with a number that, were this an actual D&D game, would make him a happy man. 

It was always a point of contention between him and his Pa. This perception. The natural ability he had that good ‘ol dad just didn’t seem to possess. 

The one that made him patient long enough to get a feel for a gig. 

To know instinctively how hard a job might be, and how to go about doing it safely. 

(Eddie personally doesn't believe much of it is talent. Thinks it is in fact, forcibly learned, due to the nature of his upbringing. 

Grandma and Grandpa Munson, bless their dead, departed souls, had at least given something of a shit. Tried to keep family things family and work things work, even when said work was illegal as it gets. 

They understood things like appearance and public reputation. 

How that kept the pigs off your back and food on your table.)

His Pa had never cared for any of that. 

Eddie didn’t grow up with family meals, or even food in the house let alone on the table. He grew up watchful, forced to learn or take a hit meant for an adult in the process. To weigh the risks against the benefits, and how to charm the pants off an unsuspecting target while doing so. 

It was how he’d escaped his own prison sentence when his Pa finally got eyes too big for his abilities.

Eddi had gotten lucky in that situation. 

Or rather--he’d gotten Wayne. 

Wayne, who gave up his own room, his own bed, for his nephew. Had bought him his sweetheart on his sixteenth birthday and a van on his eighteenth. Both things were used, and a little battered around the edges, and Eddie had almost thrown up the day he accidentally found out Wayne had used his life savings for the damn car, but they were above and beyond anything he had any right too. 

Eddie would be damned without him. 

But he knows his uncle needs help. 

Can't pay for himself and Eddie. Never really could, and so has been giving his nephew literally everything he has in an effort to make up for it until Eddie could help pay his way. 

Not that a singular soul would trust a teenage Munson with such a precious thing as a part time job, and so Eddie had turned to the familiar. 

The mall fire, and the resulting flood of federal agents had really put a damper on his income the past few months. Drugs were risky, and getting riskier with them sniffing about, and things were getting tight again in a way they hadn’t in a long, long time. 

(All it had taken was finding the hidden stack of bills. 

Big ol’ words stamped in red topped every one. Bold letters screaming ‘Overdue’ and ‘Payment Missed’ and ‘Late Fees.’ 

One single letter had panicked Eddie more than any other, the one that clearly said Wayne had been talking to the payday loan place down the street, and he’d be damned if his shortcomings made his Uncle willingly walk into a debt pit so few climbed out of.) 

Growing up like he had, Eddie was trusted in certain circles. Had access to places many didn't as his sole inheritance, because he was known.

 Someone who didn't rat, who could be trusted with given tasks. Who kept to the criminal code, and was good about not backstabbing you if caught.

He’d hit up a few old connections, dropped some hints. Put out “feelers” as one might say. 

Got a nibble and soon enough, Eddie was back in business, getting called up and offered a few small tasks for decent dough. 

Sometimes it was fetching information. 

Sometimes it was ferrying an item.

Today, it was a retrieval.

There was something someone wanted in the ruins of Starcourt--and they were offering an insane amount of money to get it.  

The plans hadn't made sense, not at first. The instructions Eddie had been given sounded outlandish, if not outright total bunk. 

Like the existence of a multi level basement under Starcourt? How the hell had no one caught that being built? 

Or that the security systems down there could possibly still be turned on? After four months? 

Who was even paying for it? 

Eddie had heard stupider things though, and the pay for this little jaunt was good. Too good to pass up. 

"They want a local in case something happens and the rescue squad comes running in. That way, it's just a little trespassing fun. The town deviant getting his kicks in the big scary mall, and not what they think it is." His connection had told him, meeting with Eddie in a Mcdonalds the town over. 

The place had a play palace, big enough to host a number of screaming rugrats. It made for a great cover as they pretended to be just two men in overalls, getting burgers on their lunch. 

Not a soul could hear a sound over the kids screaming, and if a blueprint sat between them then, well, if it looks like a maintenance worker, and it talks like a maintenance worker…

People never did look twice.

"And what else exactly would they think this is?" Eddie asked, munching on the food he got for free as part of even entertaining the offer. 

"A retrieval, Double D." 

Eddie hated that nickname.

"Some rich kid bit it in the fire, and his parents are paying out top dollar to get a few of his things, seein’ as the feds wouldn’t let anybody back in after they condemned the place." The guy, whose name was Mickey said. 

He idly traced a finger along the lines of the blueprint, the path he was wanting Eddie to take. 

(The path Eddie would later ignore, on grounds that it was going to get him caught.) 

 “Specifically a signet ring and car keys.”

“Car keys?” Eddie had asked, mostly in a bid for more information. Mickey was the kind of guy you could breadcrumb into giving more information than he intended to, if one played their cards right.

And Eddie was a damn good poker player. 

“Yup. Goes to a BMW--which they want you to drive to a safe place. Parents think he lost it somewhere around,” Mickey’s finger stopped, before tapping the blueprint twice. “Here.”

Something had niggled in the back of Eddie’s head. The first whispers of recognition, of a fact that he knew something about this--something he couldn’t yet recall. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to ignore it. 

“Who's the kid?” He’d asked. 

Mostly because he was curious, partially because it was a way to ease in the real questions he wanted to ask.

Like what a rich kid was doing four levels down in Starcourt the night of the fire. 

“Does it matter?” Mickey said, but dug into his pockets anyway. Retrieved a little 2 by 3 wallet photo, done in the traditional High School Picture Day style. 

He’d tossed it on the table, and Eddie didn’t react. 

Kept his face perfectly blank, even as his stomach contracted and his breath caught in his chest. 

Carefully pulled the picture to him, to make a show of examining it. 

“Don’t know him.” He lied after a moment, fighting to get his breathing back under control before Mickey figured out what was up. 

“Told you it didn’t matter. What matters is that you get the shit. And hey, while you’re down there…” 

Mickey talked a bit more, and idly, Eddie listened. He knew this little B&E was going to have more components than just retrieving a few things. Had long figured out that this entire front of retrieving “some rich kids keys” was just that--a front. 

Word on the street was that Starcourt was hiding something--something a lot of very powerful people were getting increasingly interested in. He’d rolled his eyes when he caught wind of the first little rumblings, the rumors and whispers that the thing was shrouded in Government secrets and conspiracies, but hadn’t been able to ignore the shit that had come after. 

Likely, the people who had hired him and Mickey understood they had to act now, before someone else did, to see if anything worthwhile was actually down there. 

The real question is why the hell they were using Steve Harrington’s death to do it--when Eddie knew for a fact that Steve Harrington was alive. 

Or alive as anyone could be, at two am at a Shell gas station. 

“Alright.” Eddie said finally, pulling the blueprint towards himself before rolling it up, making sure to casually roll up Harrington’s picture with it. “You got me interested. Half up front and I’m in.”

Mickey grinned at him. “Knew you would be, kid.” 

One hand shake and a hefty envelope later, and Eddie found himself on the way to Starcourt on his very first stakeout. 

It was that first initial look that confirmed it--Harrington’s prized BMW was in fact, still sitting in the parking lot.

Abandoned by rich assholes who absolutely could have paid to have it towed.

Which led to a domino effect of stakeouts, late nights and confrontations, up to and including his present position, counting down the minutes before he could break into Starcourt.

“Ready?” He murmured, and one could be forgiven for thinking he was talking to himself given how quietly he said it.

They would be wrong. 

“Yeah.” The not-so-dead rich kid drawled from the passenger seat.

Eddie tossed a grin at Harrington, who rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Come on, Stevie.” He purred. “Let’s go find out who impersonated your parents, and why they want that ring you supposedly own so badly.” 

“Honestly dude I just want my car back.” 

“That too.” 

[dlldior]

VAIN — a kuro analysis of sebastian's character and his relationship with ciel

hi! so i've been wanting to make an analysis post for SO long but didn't really know where to post it, but tumblr is always here to answer my prayers. i just want to preface this by saying this is all my personal opinion and what i've taken away from the kuroshitsuji manga. there are so many layers to sebastian's character and his relationship with ciel, so many angles to analyse it from, they are extremely complex characters so there isn't one true take of their characterisation.

i'd be happy to discuss any disagreements or even other opinions you might have with my points in a civil manner. that's the beauty of media literacy!

my take on sebastian character!

sebastian is a really interesting character. being the main protagonist of black butler, it's surprising we don't know much of his origin or past—all we have of his character is how he behaves and interacts with characters now, and i'd like to further delve into this.

but from what we do know, sebastian is a hyper narcissist. he's unable to feel shame and thinks he is above everyone else; as illustrated and stated by the creator. most of sebastian's character is revealed through his relationship with ciel—which is the main centrepiece of the story—and how he behaves with him, as ciel is the only person (aside from the obvious exceptions) aware of sebastian's true nature and intentions. despite his "caring" facade towards ciel, sebastian is simply acting on the contract for his own best interest, and even ciel is aware of this fact which is why he rarely lets his guard down around him. his great means to preserve ciel's life is to preserve his soul, after spending the last 3 years cultivating it for him to devour after fulfilling their contract.

sebastian is too wrapped up in his own affairs and self-absored nature to even consider other people's concerns. he only feigns care for ciel due to his duties as a butler and maintaining the "aesthetic". the reason why he's so comfortable being in such a subservient position is because he knows deep down that he is above all humans. the best way i can describe this is a little odd but it's like when celebrities work at minimum wage jobs just because they can, not because they need to but because they know they're above these types of jobs with their level of wealth. they willingly put themselves in these degrading positions as they're comfortable enough with their wealth to be able to for fun. that is sebastian's case. he is comfortable enough with his power and tact as a demon to be able to don a tailcoat and play as a servant to the very species he sees himself above.

on top of that, sebastian appears to believe he is above those of his own kind, claiming that such gluttony goes against his demon "aesthetics" which is why he has invested so much time into cultivating ciel's soul instead of feeding off of multiple contracts. it reveals why sebastian is so into the "butler aesthetic" and finding himself in such a degrading position for one of his own kind. he seems to prioritise elegance, not greed, when it comes to fulfilling contracts.

however, sebastian's true nature is more prominent in the flashback sequence where ciel first summons him. he is extremely cocky, trying to manipulate ciel for a quick and easy kill such as when he was eager to kill everyone who has caused him harm, which does, in fact, reveal that he is not unlike most demons. the reason why sebastian picks such an appearance all ties into his narcissism, he gets off on impressing humans with his supernatural skills and ciel is only one who seems to understand that part of him, but it's always played off for comedic effect. sebastian soaks up in the praise he is given by these "puny" humans, always hanging onto their last words of flattery which reveals his true vain nature and that he is not as elegant and collected as he seems.

the fandom's take on sebastian!

i think the reason why the fandom is so fixated on sebastian's character is due to a myriad of factors. it can be due to how well he's able to play his facade; he's charming in a way and knows how to use his words to get into people's good graces, wielding his "elegance" and "aesthetics" to his advantage. as sebastian is forced to pretend to be human for the sake of their contract, he is able to analyse the qualities in people that others would want to see and apply that to himself. he's able to feign morality and charisma—partly due to his butler aesthetics but also for his own self-serving nature and receiving praise.

another reason why i think sebastian is the most popular character amongst the fandom is, yep, you've guessed it, his appearance. sebastian's appearance is no accident—both in his character's creation and the form he chose for himself in the story—he wields his sexuality and attractiveness to his advantage. his true nature and appearance are disgusting and unsightly, which is why he covers it up with a beautiful face; making it easier to deceive and manipulate.

however, the issue is with the fandom is that i think sebastian has the epidemic of what i like to call "attractive justification syndrome" where the fandom goes to great lengths to justify sebastian's actions and refusing to acknowledge his character for what it is—a self-absorbed, predatory narcissist—because he's attractive. however, sebastian is BEYOND morality and clearly lacks any remorse of his irredeemable actions. he doesn't feel shame and doesn't care to; i feel as though just because he's attractive, fans try too hard to defend him. don't get me wrong, i enjoy sebastian's character as well and i'm no different in admitting he is attractive, but i think he's extremely interesting and does explore different ideas of morality (more so, lack thereof) but i think it's rather off base to try and defend his character.

i think the bigger issue is that people tend to think enjoying his character says something about them, instead of what it says about the story. they're too afraid of liking his character for what it is. as they're scared of what that'd say about them for liking such a terrible person of a character. on tiktok especially, i feel like many fans sometimes try a bit too hard to have a moral high ground that they refuse to acknowledge the darker side of sebastian's character as then there goes their reason for liking him.

the anime adaptation doesn't help with this issue either for why sebastian's true character has been heavily lost. i feel as though they're eager to add some sort of movement or emotional depth to his character, which defeats the purpose of it. sebastian has a very static character, he doesn't have the emotional capabilites to feel empathy, he can sure as hell pretend, but at the end of the day, he's only here for his own best interest.

this is especially evident in the translation change in the public school arc where in the anime, sebastian justifies protecting ciel instead of chasing after undertaker because "he's spend too long raising him", whereas in the manga, sebastian justifies it for the true reason, which is because he's "spent too long cultivating his soul and won't let himself be robbed of it". there is a distinct difference as in the anime, sebastian appears to care for ciel's actual wellbeing, whereas in the manga, sebastian has established the foundation of the contract and how he's only preserving ciel's life for his soul.

anime translation

manga translation

my take on sebastian and ciel's relationship!

it is no surprise to say that their relationship is extremely unhealthy. due to the imbalance of power dynamics between them, there will never reach a point that their relationship turns healthy. it may look like ciel wields the power through their master-servant dynamic, but peeling away at this layer will reveal the foundation of their dynamic, being human-demon. but these are obvious points. sebastian wields his power as a demon to subtly manipulate ciel—his suffering and misery acting as a marinade for his soul. sebastian has no interest in ciel's wellbeing and, in fact, goes out of his way to contribute to his trauma.

a good example of this would be in book of circus during ciel's ptsd attack where he relives his trauma of seeing his brother be murdered in front of him. ciel is completely vulnerable, reaching out helplessly for anyone to help him and sebastian feeds off of his misery, caressing this child's vomit-coated lip and getting him to call his name when he is unable to speak. the scene is extremely grotesque and uncomfortable to watch as we see this adult practically looming over this defenceless, traumatised child who his gripping onto him for support. i usually dislike giving yana credit as she has done a pretty bad job illustrating their relationship with the unnecessary icky fanservice and horrible attempts of incorporating psychosexual elements into the story but i believe this scene was intentionally drawn this way to reveal sebastian's predatory nature. it's supposed to make you feel disgusted as sebastian uses ciel's codependency on him as some sort of power trip, feeding off of his trauma.

i got this point from a wonderful friend who i've analysed the story with, but sebastian is indeed a predator. he is textbook definition grooming ciel. he may not be sexually as grooming falls under the definition of "preparing/training someone for a particular purpose or activity", but his relationship with ciel is for the sole purpose of being able to devour his soul at the end. when sebastian was referring to "cultivating his soul" in the public school arc, he meant spending years using subtle manipulation and grooming tactics to get the desired flavour of ciel's soul.

just because ciel was aware of the terms and conditions of the contract, aware of his impending doom, it doesn't make sebastian's actions of preparing a child for death any more morally fine. the foundation of the contract was never fair; ciel had no choice. it was either sebastian left him to die in the cage, or he was to form a contract with him to gain the power to come back. all the power ciel has is not his, and one day, that power will be stripped from him, and he will have to face the one who gave him this power. it is the reason why ciel does not choose to pursue happiness after coming back, as he knows that if he even gives into the idea, sebastian will automatically assume he's abandoning his revenge and kill him. i'm not saying ciel is devoid of faults either, everyone in this show is morally grey and he can cause his own suffering too, but this is a sebastian-focused rant so i'll go deeper into this some other time.

i think the reason why dadbastian is such a popular headcanon, especially on tumblr, is because it subverts the unhealthy, grotesque aspects of their relationship and provides ciel with a healthy parental figure which he has been needing, giving him the solace he deserves from all his trauma. not to mention, there are scenes in the series where sebastian does act as a parental figure towards ciel. don't get me wrong, i ADORE this headcanon and will go down with it but i think the darker reality of their dynamics in the manga is the reason the headcanon is even more upsetting as we know it will never happen and this child will never get the peace and happiness he deserves.

TLDR; sebastian is a hyper narcissist and is there for nobody's best interest but his own, the only reason he goes to great lengths to preserve ciel's soul is because their contract wouldn't be sustained otherwise. the fandom tries to justify and defend his actions too much due to how well he's built his facade of desired human behaviour and his attractiveness. sebastian contributes to ciel's trauma, subtly manipulating him and mocking him for being taken to his limit. their relationship is extremely unhealthy. dadbastian reigns supreme because it subverts the grotesque factors in their relationship.

thanks for taking the time to read this if you've made it this far! i'd love to hear any of your guys' opinions and takes on their characters.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 | Acceptance

Sometimes, accepting that your past is yours is the hardest thing to do.

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Jungkook, Human!Reader, dystopian AU, space/Sci-fi/cyberpunk-esque, Enemies to lovers, Angst, Violence, Drama, romance, adult, angst, potentially triggering content, mentions of prostitution, this one's a little heavy, Hurt and comfort

Length: uuuuh 3k-ish.

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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Considering he knew that you'd figure it out sooner rather than later, he's honestly a little surprised how much this is bothering him. Even years after everything happened, after all the work he's put into becoming more than just his past, it's still haunting him everywhere he goes.

Jungkook wanted to stay alone by pure choice. He doesn't want to give into some primal urges and get lost in it, to the point of morals and worth being thrown out the window. He knows that his kind- or at least, the kind his father cursed upon him with his partial genes- doesn't value emotional connections as much as other beings of the galaxy do. But still.

What that man did was unforgivable.

Jungkook doesn't remember his mother. He's sure he never met her- or maybe only as an infant, making him forget what she looked like. What he does know is that feeling of coldness he always received from his father- someone who should've raised him, or at least let the rest of the crew raise him. But that man would not let anyone care for him- Jungkook had to basically fight for his place, a place that wasn't even existing in the first place.

Nothing he could do would ever prove his worth to that man, because that man saw him as nothing but an accident. Something that should not have happened.

She was a great mother. Still is, even if Jungkook doesn't visit her much. She respects him, and his personal decisions- and that's more than he could ever ask for.

So, at the age of barely fourteen, he left the ship- with a bag of clothes and a bit of money from a crewmember, left alone on a planet near Cryon, where he met Seokjin and his mother. The young hybrid had instantly taken a liking to him, and after his mother learned of Jungkook's situation, she took him in- and willingly took on the role of a parental figure, no matter how much people looked at her oddly for her now two children that looked nothing like her.

But she cared for him.

For a long time, Jungkook had found comfort in his lifestyle. He wouldn't hurt anyone ever like he'd been hurt before, because he never attached himself to anyone or anything past friendliness. Jimin was an exception- but even he doesn't really get past his shell, never able to catch a glimpse of his heart.

And then came you.

You're nothing special. Just like his mother, you're a simple human being, cast aside with nowhere to go. And maybe that's why he wanted to shoot you so badly when he first saw you- because he took so much pity on you, that he felt like he'd be a worse person to let you live instead of giving you an end to your suffering. Humans are seen as nothing but greedy little parasites- they take and take and take and fight for nothing but their own self-worth.

And then you opened up. Every day you spent with him seemed to fuel your soul once more, charging up your will to live as you stopped trying to make him discard you at any given chance. And suddenly, he no longer saw the same victim as his mother once was in you- he saw someone. You're no longer just a being worth pity- you're you.

And he started to actually enjoy your company.

Especially after doing something like you did back with the vendor- you've proven yourself as someone that can and will decide what she wants to do. You didn't have to do this for him, and you know it, he knows that you know it. And he also knows that you didn't do it for him anyways, even if you think you did. Because you're basically defending your place in his life- on his ship.

And that's what scares him. That's what made him react like he did, yesterday.

You're not so easy to push around any longer. You're no longer someone who will just do as he says, and he wants that for you- you deserve your autonomy, you deserve to be able to make these decisions. But those things always come with a price.

And yes- maybe he's scared of you.

Because the longer you stay, the closer you get, the more it'll bug him or even hurt when you decide to move on from him. For years, Jungkook has feared hurting others- when in reality, he just got tired of being the one getting hurt. And now, with you in his life, it's already happening- because just sneaking a small glimpse at the security camera of your room shows you just quietly sitting on your bed, hugging your knees, waiting, thinking. And it hurts. He doesn't want you to be locked up like that. He wants you here, where he can see you, where you can talk, and where he can watch you knit your stupid little ball-shaped animals that you've hung everywhere at this point.

He likes them. Because they prove that you're actually here, that you're alive with him, and that you're not just wishful thinking.

His thumb runs over the little crooked horn of the goat you've knitted, that he's taken for himself now as it's attached to his keychain. He's been unkind and most of all unreasonable- but he doesn't know what to do now. You clearly want to stay, and it's also pretty obvious that you've found somewhat of an interest in him- and that terrifies him.

Because what if he does end up like him? What if he does fall into the same habits and behaviors as he did?

And how can he not, when you're already infesting his mind, without even doing anything at all?

He's forever branded as the 'accidental' son of a slave trader, a mistake that shouldn't have happened to begin with, and cost someone their life. He's no one you should associate with, let alone get involved with. You don't know who he is, what he is, and what kind of stigma he carries around. You've got no idea who you're currently traveling with, and maybe he needs to force you to face it.

Maybe if he shows you who he really is, you'll finally let him go.

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You're not too sure why you're so unable to just wait things out. He's clearly gotten upset yesterday, after you mentioned that you knew that he was partially human- but why?

There's no way he despises the entire human race- because he has been quite kind to you, even though he didn't have to be. Even his proposal of letting you stay with Seokjin instead of having to 'wait out' his whole… situation, was one of kindness. He could've just told you to stay in your room, but instead, he thought of a more comfortable alternative for you, despite the trouble of traveling and time cost.

So why did that rub him so wrongly when you mentioned it?

There's not much time to think about that however, as the door hisses open- causing you to hide under the blanket you previously had over your shoulders in a panic, the reaction almost instinctual. You can only feel the bed dip a little under his weight as he sits down on the edge of it, and when you peek out, you can see that he's not even looking at you. Instead, his hands are holding his keychain with your knitted little goat attached- fingers playing around with it in a nervous manner.

"My mother was a prostitute." He starts, voice low and without much emotion to it. "My father… enjoyed her services so much, that he bought her." He explains, and you slowly sit up, blanket falling from your head to rest on your shoulders instead. "Chances of.. pregnancy were low- considering she was human, and my father was not." Jungkook says, while you just watch him, not moving much.

"But it happened anyways."

You're watching him, staying right where you are- his back still turned towards you, while he continues to occupy himself with the little yarn toy you made. "I don't remember her. I only know that she died, at some point." He shrugs to himself. "Not like it matters. Neither of them thought of me as something other than an accident." He scoffs, and you feel the need to comfort him-

but you don't know how.

"So.. that's why you hate your human side?" You wonder, but he shakes his head.

"I don't hate it." He denies. "I just.. hate being reminded of what I am, I guess." Jungkook tries to explain. "I'm known as the son of a guy who knocked up a human prostitute. I'm a bastard who never lived up to his father's expectations." He growls mostly. "I'm nothing but a joke to most people who know my father. And you'll be nothing but a joke either, if you continue to travel with me." He turns towards you, looking over his shoulder at your knees- unable to quite face you fully.

"You're Jungkook." You say, and he freezes- before he slowly let's his eyes travel upwards to your face, eyes swirling colors, emotions unsure.

"..what?" He breathes out, genuinely unsure. He knows who he is. What the hell do you mean by that?

"You're Jungkook." You repeat, shrugging. "You're a shipcaptain. A vendor. Traveler." You start to count, and his irises start to change- slowly seemingly settling into a soft, warm hazel- timid, but appreciative almost.

Looking up the meanings of colors in your free time is really starting to pay off.

"You're not your father. Or your mother." You shake your head. "Neither will you be like your children, if you ever have some. I'm not like my parents either, and neither is anyone else." You explain. "We're all just in control of ourselves. The only life I have any control over is my own, and the only life you have control over is yours." You tell him, slowly moving a bit closer as he leans his head down to look at the floor again. "You can't change your past. You can't erase it either."

"So I'm just cursed with it." He scoffs at no one.

"Just as long as you don't accept it." You shrug next to him, your legs now dangling off the edge of the bed, bare feet swinging back and forth next to his boots which are firmly planted on the floor. "The moment you accept that that's a part of you, you can move on. Because you maybe can't change your past-" You say, bumping your shoulder into his side to lift the mood a little. "-but you can control your future."

"What's the point if no one cares about anything but that?" He argues, eyes a grim grey color. "It doesn't matter. I don't want you to be stuck with.. a label like that too." He shakes his head.

"I'm not like you though." You huff, crossing your arms, making him look at you. "I don't care."

"You don't care that people will think I'm just doing the same thing he did?" He challenges, looking at you with a fiery gaze. This is not going according to his plan. "You're telling me you don't give a shit about the fact that everyone who knows him, will see you and immediately think of you as nothing but a sex slave?" he argues, standing up to instead stand in front of you, hands pushing into the mattress right next to your thighs, face only inches from yours. "You don't get to lie to me and say that you don't care about that." He growls. "I don't accept you sitting here, trying to convince me that you won't mind being known as the human plaything of the bastard who couldn't even earn his spot in the crew of a slave trader." He growls.

"I don't mind." You answer, summoning all of your confidence not to flinch, even with his angry red gaze on you, noses almost touching.

"Why." He quietly sneers, clearly agitated. "How can you not care?!" He barks at you, and you do lean back a tiny bit at that- heart beating a bit faster from the sheer force of his emotions.

"If a tree falls down in the woods and no one's around to hear it, does it make a sound?" you ask, and it's almost comical how his eyes flash a surprised white, entire body flinching back in confusion. "It's a saying on earth." You explain. "If you don't take a picture of a sunset, was it really as pretty as you remember?" You ask, and he seems entirely caught off guard.

"I don't.. understand." He admits. You giggle.

"Me calling you a bird doesn't make you one." You explain with a smile. And that, seems to click with him, as he looks at you with what you can only describe as genuine surprise. As if he's never really.. thought about it like that.

And then, you lean forward- arms pulling him closer, as you rest your head against his shoulder, holding him for a good moment.

Something he simply lets happen, because you're right.

He is in control of his life.

"I'm scared of you." He confesses, and you're a bit surprised, letting go of him as he stands upright again, arms crossed, eyes a pinkish hue.

"huh?" You ask, unsure what he's talking about.

"I.. enjoy your company." He admits. "I want you to stay. But at the same time, I want you to stay away from me." He tells you.

"..why?" You wonder, his words not making any sense.

"Because you can hurt me." He explains. "Maybe not physically- but emotionally."

"…oh." You realize what he's talking about, and now it's you who's looking away. "I mean.. uh.. I mean you're really handsome, don't get me wrong! But-" You stammer, a little bashful now. And the worst thing is that now, he seems oddly confident again- as if that was all he needed to connect the dots that you're not the only one developing deeper interest in the other.

"Handsome, huh?" He comments, arms crossed, gaze playfully pink.

"I uh- yeah? But uhm.. I mean, you know.. we're kind of just starting to really talk, so.." You mumble, looking away now. What the hell? Since when are you this shy? And how have you not noticed him not even wearing his usual uniform jacket? Those tattoos fill up his entire arm-

"That we do." He nods, feeling oddly light now that he's.. talked about this, to anyone. "And I'd.. like to continue to talk to you." He offers, making you look up at him again.

And somehow, you can read the message he's actually trying to tell you, between the lines of those words.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──👽── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

You're putting a bag on the free spot near his control station, causing him to look at you with a questioning gaze.

You've both agreed on a few rules now that you're staying during his.. well, mating season issue. One of them is to keep physical contact to a minimum, and other general rules are to leave him alone if he asks you to, or to take some time to wake up before walking into the command central- though you're not sure what that one's about. It's all stuff you can follow easily though- especially if it makes him more comfortable being around you. "what's this?" He wonders, opening the bag, finding multiple, small yarn animals inside.

"I'm being productive!" You exclaim proudly. "Maybe we could sell them at our next stop? I'm sure someone has like.. maybe a currency or two left over to pay for one of them." You propose, but much to your surprise, he seems rather conflicted over it, pulling one out to inspect. It's a mouse, black bead eyes staring at him. "You don't think so?" You wonder, and he shrugs.

"No, it's not that.." He mumbles. "But.. you don't have to earn money." He tells you.

"I know. But I want to." You explain yourself. "And, the ship is already full of them. We can sell those too-" You say, reaching for a short snake hanging from a screw slightly poking out the metal casing of the control screen, when he reaches out first, snatching it almost protectively away from you first.

"No-!" He barks, looking around with a sharp, cautiously yellow gaze. "…those can stay." He clears his throat, hanging the little knitted animal back where it was, adjusting it's position so it faces him. "We're not going to land anywhere within the next few weeks anyways. We'll fuel at outposts instead." He tries to justify.

"Jungkook.. we can't hoard all of them here." You giggle, and he looks to the side at that, clearly feeling called out.

"..I'm not hoarding them. I'm just saying you don't have to.. work, or anything like that." He argues back, trying to occupy himself with the control panel.

"I know. But, with the money I get from maybe selling them, I could buy more yarn or something." You shrug, sitting on one of the nearby server boxes.

"..what's wrong with me buying it for you?" He growls a bit offended, jaw clenched. You know this is probably just his hormones making him act like that, but it's still a little funny to tease him.

"Nothing!" You laugh. "I just wanna be independent. Earn my spot." You explain.

"You don't have to earn shit." He denies, tapping away on the touch panel in front of him. "...but I guess if you want to. Don't need my permission anyways." He huffs annoyed, making you laugh as you look at him almost pout to himself, trying to appear all busy when in reality, you know that the course he's flying is a safe route the autopilot has flown numerous times before.

"Hey Jungkook?" You ask, and he looks up at that, showing you his attention has been caught. "I like you." You say, and the look on his face is quite literally the most hilarious and wholesome thing you've ever seen -

Eyes wide open, round and filled with a shy blue, before it melts into pink, seconds until he closes them, and holds a hand in front of them to shield himself.

"Timeout, you demon!" He barks out, opening the main door for you. "Get out!" He yells, though it's clear that he doesn't mean it in an evil or genuinely upset manner.

Because even though you do as he says, laughing on your way to your room, he does later check in to make sure he's not actually mad at you- though it's rather sent as a text message on the control screen in your room, instead of spoken words.

Small steps, you think to yourself. Small steps.

[ghcstao3]

If I were to portray someone unbelievably pathetic and without any hope, would you give me another part of your #anyway mildly supernatural au?

I'll get down on my knees and pray to any god you want.

Just please give me more please.

do not even Fret i would have written more for absolutely nothing in return anyway because i just love writing AUs so much (if you could not already tell)

fun fact this is version 2.0 of what i wanted to write because tumblr didn’t save a draft and i lost everything 🫶 not edited

-

So much and so little time feel like they’ve passed simultaneously as John waits out the rain with Simon—and oddly enough, not once has he seen the bottom of his styrofoam cup of coffee in spite of the plentiful sips he’s certain he’s taken.

In any case.

He and Simon chat aimlessly to fill the minutes, hours, whatever it’s been—something just beyond small talk, though not by much. Not until Simon decides to face John with a rather puzzling question.

“So, then, what brings you here?”

John furrows his brow. “My car broke down,” he says slowly. He can’t help the confusion and tinge of curiosity that melt into his voice, nor can he help wondering why Simon would ask for an answer he already knows.

Yet Simon shakes his head. “No—what brings you here?”

A frown tugs at John’s lips, his eyebrows drawing ever closer. “Dinnae ken.” He shrugs helplessly, tries a different reply, “A road trip?”

Simon hums only as acknowledgment. It’s clear in the way he narrows his eyes and scrutinizes John’s face that it’s still not the answer he’s looking for.

“You’re lost,” Simon concludes.

John scoffs. “Am no’!” He exclaims, frustration laced in his tone as he folds his arms almost defensively across his chest. “I was followin’ a GPS!”

“You are,” Simon insists. “Just not in the way you think.”

With a huff, John drops his arms, instead reaching to curl his fingers back around the still-warm cup of coffee. His frown deepens. “How do you mean?”

Simon tilts his head, gaze ever-analytic. “You’re lucky,” he replies cryptically. “Or unlucky, depending on how you choose to look at it. Not many humans manage to get here.”

Now John is beyond confused. Of course, Simon had been all sorts of vague and avoidant throughout their interactions, but this? John is beginning to think this man might not be all… there.

“Human…?” John swallows. He shifts his weight between weary feet. “Why would I be anything but?”

Simon takes a step away from the counter, rounds past John only to stop at the large window looking out into a small, crumbling lot and the forest beyond the road, all blurred by heavy rain. John realizes with a start that he hadn’t really seen Simon move before that—hadn’t seen deliberate steps, the way he almost glides across the space; graceful, soundless.

It’s almost—dare John say—supernatural.

“Well, you see, Johnny,” Simon says with a mild air of amusement, and John has barely any time to process that Simon knows his name despite it never having been given as he continues, “there’s often a lot more than meets the eye in this world we live in. It just appears you’ve looked in the right place for once.”

“I don’t understand.”

Simon turns back to him, then, the glint in his eyes that same hint of unnatural as his movements. They flash, a glare almost like that of a cat’s in the dark of night.

“I don’t expect you to.”

Simon looks away from John again, a broad figure against the pale grey light that filters inside. John’s heart stutters even as he willingly brings himself closer to Simon.

“The rain will stop soon,” Simon states disinterestedly. It hardly appears like the storm would let up any time soon—the sky is still stained with dark and angry clouds—but Simon says it with such unimpressed, unwavering confidence that John thinks he may as well believe him.

“Will it?” John challenges anyway.

Simon shrugs. “Not unless you don’t want it to.”

John huffs out a quiet laugh. As strange as Simon and everything he’s said is, and as much as John has questioned everything else, he decides he’ll humour the man.

“Maybe just a bit longer, then.”

After all, John hasn’t hated lingering in the store. No harm in indulging in such silly thoughts as controlling the weather.

Simon nods. The corners of his eyes pull upward as if he’s smiling beneath the mask he’s still refused to remove. Briefly, John wonders what other things Simon may be hiding beneath it.

Simon concurs, “Then so it is.”

[a-confused-spoon]

TDP s6: Soren, Viren and missing the point (1/2)

I’ve seen some discussion surrounding the topic of whether or not book 6 of The Dragon Prince did justice to the complicated relationship between the male components of the mage fam, and as someone who fell in love with the writing of the show (in the first three seasons), as well as someone who relates to Soren’s struggle with Viren, I wanted to share my two cents. Of course, those are filtered through my very own lens, so none of what I’m going to say is ill intended or means to be disrespectful to the writers, cast, crew or fans that enjoyed what we got in book 6. I just really want to share my own thoughts because the direction this show has been taking these past few years is eating me up alive😊

*clears throat*

SPOILERS FOR THE DRAGON PRINCE SEASON 6!

What I find really frustrating and unsatisfying is that the scenes of confrontation between father and son that we got in s6 are done in a way that seemingly wants to punish Viren more than it wants to empower Soren- even though the scenes taken singularly are extremely well done, from the voice acting to the animation to the mood of it all... the problem arises only when looking at things according to the very principles the series tries to convey.

Just so that we’re all on the same boat here: the core theme of the series is the difference between power and true strength, and more specifically how the latter comes in the shape of only apparent weaknesses, such as love, vulnerability and forgiveness- all things that ultimately aim at connection.

Here’s the thing:

While yes, acting or not acting this way is a personal choice, Soren doesn’t really seem to choose to not to forgive Viren; rather he’s portrayed as uncapable of doing the opposite, meaning that he isn't really given the chance to be ‘strong’ according to the series’ values. It's one thing to say that Soren doesn't forgive his dad despite the change Viren went through because Soren doesn't owe him that, but it's a whole other thing to say that Soren doesn't forgive his dad because he refuses to believe said change happened in the first place (which by the time they meet again in s6 it’s just plainly untrue, but I’ll talk about Viren in part 2).

Now, since Soren is pretty much fine whenever Viren isn’t around, and since forgiveness is a part of the core theme of the series, what one could assume that Soren already forgave him and went on with his life for 2 years with no problem because he was at peace with what happened (which is the point of the act of forgiving, not only here but in real life too). Then Viren shows up again, and there’s a state of shock…the first time. Soren meets Viren in the Drakewood and we got no interaction between them, and whatever, that’s fine. Maybe he was processing it all.

The scenario in which they meet here however it’s very different: Soren is told ahead of time and he willingly goes to see his father despite no one forcing him to, as if he couldn't help it (at least up to a certain point).

This, unlike the state of shock that may or may have not been the reason they didn’t face one another sooner, isn’t a situation that should take away Soren’s capacity to stand up to his abuser with pride that he displayed all the way back in s3: does anybody remember that? How in the finale Soren was super ready for a confrontation right then and there, not as a hurt kid but as a confident and secure young man?

Yet this time, Soren isn’t depicted as capable of proudly facing the source of his pain to begin with, for whatever reason. Here he’s either numb, mad or sad, framed as a broken boy who can only live happily if he full on ignores what hurt him, which is far from the idea of moving on. Even in the optic where this is a form of stepping up for himself, considering that (as I mentioned) he was already capable of it and we already know how deeply hurt he was by Viren, the interactions we get in s6 give us nothing that we didn’t already know.

Since this is (probably) the last chance the two will have at conversation, there should've been more to it this time around. Some kind of proper conclusion before parting ways: that would be closure.

If Soren couldn’t forgive Viren when the latter was believed dead and didn’t have to face him at all once, it was probably due to the lack of closure (or by principle, I’ll get to that in a second), which could be the reason why he kept going back to the dungeon, though unaware of it; at this point it’s easy to see that, in order for the relationship to center the point the overall story is trying to make (or to barely allow a character that has suffered as much as Soren to finally heal), having closure here was a must, especially if they intended for him to go through the same thing twice.

As someone who has lived a similar situation as Soren has with Viren I say this with all the bitterness possible: for better or worse, forgiveness it’s something you do for your own sake of moving forward. I think that a lot of people, in general, mistake forgiveness for reconciliation.

The issue isn't that these two characters don’t reconcile, if anything, that's something that I liked and actually hoped for; the issue is that if closure and forgiveness are about inner peace (and they are), and not about reconciliation (and they're not), both things being denied now is unfair at best, and cruel at worst.

For anyone who claims that the entire thing was "realistic", please keep in mind that this is a fictional story where the characters are either rewarded or punished at the mercy of the writers, not to mention that said fictional story also wants to deliver a very clear moral message, meaning that most of the big character moments should bare minimum lean towards said message.

Even assuming this wasn’t the case, that forgiveness not being granted here is for the best and it doesn’t ruin the overall message of the story, Soren still deserved closure; he could have then decided to not forgive his father.

But okay- let's say that all of what I’ve been typing so far here isn't true and that Soren not believing his father was perfect: it could have, admittedly, somewhat worked if they had Soren, an emotionally smart and open-minded guy, actually hear his father out before… I don’t know, calling him out on his hypocrisy perhaps, for apologizing for mistreatment when there’s so much more he did, or for claiming to be a changed man when he puts the responsibility of fixing what he caused onto others by asking to serve someone else and that’s because he doesn't know how to be good man on his own, or how he chose to not pick up the pieces of what he left behind and brings up Viren's decision to leave behind his sister, who will likely fall into Aaravos's arms out of desperation… something.

What I'm getting at is that anything would have been satisfying if at least they allowed the characters to truly communicate with one another, regardless of the outcome, instead the possibility of real confrontation being denied to them so a spectacle can be made of Viren's guilt and unaccepted apologies.

‘Cause no, if one of the characters actively chooses not to listen to what the other one is saying, it’s not an actual confrontation, it’s barely a conversation. It’s just dialogue.

Aside from the logistics of it all, I've rewatched book 1, 2 and 3 about a hundred times during the hiatus, and I confidently believe (though this is 100% my own reading of the character) that among other things, everything that happens between Soren and Viren here fails to consider the kind of person Soren is at heart: he would never say something like "I want to see you suffer"; he would never angrily punch a wall (or, in this case, the dungeon’s bars). Those obviously aren’t unreasonable reactions, they are just out of character. To make a real-life example, if you were to go outside and a random man started screaming at you, it’d be understandable for you to scream back, just like it would be for you to freeze or run away; it all depends on who you are as a person.

Soren isn’t the type who’d get physically violent as a result of emotional outbursts* against a person he loves (if he isn't completely apathetic it's because he still cares, despite everything), nor the one who’d deliberately be mean to said someone, even when hurt, angry and would have all the right to be mean. What the hell happened to “he's cruel, but you don’t have to be” or whatever he said in s5?

He just isn’t that kind of person at all. If anything, Soren would very likely find it in him to be happy for his father while still not wanting him in his life anymore.

[*edit: this one specifically isn't just a matter of character, but also a matter of discipline: Soren is literally a trained soldier. I get why Callum would punch someone in the face during an adrenaline rush due to feeling intense anger and stress, but Soren was able to keep his cool not only when the pain of seeing Viren's "true colors" was fresh, but when at the very same time the man was being a threat to Ezran's life (so even according to Crownguard code he would have had a pass to immediately react)... maybe that's why it strikes me as odd]

Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed this season far more than what it might seem, but since Soren is the only reason I stuck around after the massive disappointment that was s4, I really really wanted this moment to be the absolute best, and at least personally I feel like this was just not it… but I’m crossing my fingers, hoping that maybe, in one way or another, they will give Soren his moment of acceptance and allow him to truly move on.

Something that I can’t hope anymore for Viren…

[ariundercovers]

Withholding (Din Djarin x Reader)

Summary:��Din has been holding something back from you. He finally willingly gives it.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader (one female gender descriptor used @ the end)

Word count: ~2k

Warnings: fluff, marshmallows, and feely good feelings. A flagon of angst at the very beginning if you squint with some reading glasses on.

A/n: This is very dialogue heavy - not my usual style of writing! It's super plotty for being a fluffy fic so, idk. we'll just try it out. As always - let me know what you think!

It was just about a week since the three of you settled in the small cabin on Nevarro. You and Din were happily seated outside under the small awning, Grogu off playing with the other school-aged students for the time being. There was a comfortable silence between you for some time when Din finally broke it unceremoniously.

“I commed Bo Katan yesterday.”

You turn to look at him, surprised. “Oh? And?”

“She asked me if I had taken you as my riduur yet, and then she told me I was a kriffing moron. Her words.” You’re surprised at the response, assuming it would have been something regarding Mandalore, but then you chuckle. 

“Sounds about right.”

He nods his head almost imperceptively. “She made me realize many things. I owe you a lot.”

You turn fully to him, eyebrows scrunched together in concern. “What? No, you don’t owe me anything.”

He sits up a little straighter and it feels like his visor is burrowing into your very soul with the intensity he is giving off. “I do though. I owe you much. I know you were disappointed when I took Grogu as my own in the mines, in front of all the other Mandalorians, but I did not offer the same to you. It wasn’t fair.”

“No, no… It’s okay. I understand. I know I’m not Mandalorian, and, well, honestly I’m just happy with whatever you can give me. I don’t need more.” 

He sighs, always overwhelmed by the selflessness you exhibit to a fault, especially when it comes to him and the kid. 

“But it’s not okay. I have been withholding things from you, and that’s not right. You have given me everything, you have shared all of yourself with me, but I have not offered you the same. I can give you more than this.”

He pauses briefly before continuing. “It never felt like the right time. I’ve had nothing to offer you - no home, no stability. Just running into the abyss and a wizard of a tiny green child.”

You laugh at his description of your lives over the past few years. “I love running into the abyss with you. And I love your tiny green child.”

He leans into you abruptly. “Ours, cyare. Our tiny green child.” 

You hum in response. You know he’s right, even if it’s hard to admit to yourself. “I don’t need anything from you, Din. Just you. I don’t need a home, or a ship. I don’t need stability. I just need you and Grogu. I’ll run into the abyss for the rest of my life if it means I get to have the two of you.”

He leans back in the chair a little bit, looking out over the fields that sprawl in front of your little home. “I know that now. But I wanted so badly to be able to provide for you in some way. I was starting to think the Crest was enough of a home for us, but just as I was coming to terms with that, Gideon showed up and we lost the kid. I needed to have something for you. You deserve something. You are an amazing mother, and an even better partner. You are… everything to me. You are the planets, the suns, and all the stars in my galaxy.”

“Din…” You can feel yourself blushing as he overwhelms you with compliments. It’s too much to wrap your brain around.

“I mean it. We finally have a moment here - a small slice of normal. Something… real, maybe even permanent. But it’s still not complete because I have one thing more I need to offer you, to let you choose.”

You turn your head toward him, brows scrunching in confusion. You’re curious, unsure exactly where he’s going with it.

“Cyar’ika, I want nothing more than to have you as my riduur, my kin. You are already part of my clan but I want you to be mine and I yours, completely. I… would you make a riduurok with me? Be my riduur?”

You knew what a riduur was - at least a little bit. The first time you had met her, Bo-Katan mistakenly assumed you already made a riduurok. She explained it to you a bit then. The first time you met Paz, he huffed about letting an aruetii in - that Din needed to be a real Mandalorian and choose his riduur already.

“I’ve been wondering if you would ever ask. I was starting to think you couldn’t ask me… Or wouldn’t, maybe.” Your eyes dart down to your lap, where you’re fiddling with your hands.

“I know. I never should have made you wait this long.”

You look up to him, meeting his visor. “Surely you must know I would have said yes, right? If you had asked me before.”

He nods back at you. “I know. This wasn’t about you, it was all me. And I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you many cycles ago.” 

You smile softly and pull on of his hands into your lap, craving the friction of his skin against yours. “How does it work? Is there a ceremony?”

You slowly unlatch the buckle of his glove, loosening each finger. “No. It’s always done in private. You exchange a set of vows in Mando’a.”

You pause, to look at him with a concerned expression. “I’m gonna fuck them up.”

He puffs out a chuckle and turns his hand over so you have easy access to the alm. “Doesn’t matter. It’s about the intention behind them.” 

You nod your head in agreement, pulling his glove the rest of the way off and tucking it off to the side. “Will you let me? Let me take you as my riduur?”

You revel in the feeling of his bare skin upon your own as you contemplate how you’ll answer - of course you know the answer you’ll give him already, but you have to figure out how you’ll actually say it. You lace your fingers in his own. “Yes, Din. Of course, I will.”

He stares, unmoving.

“Just like that, you say yes to marrying a person you’ve never even seen before?”

You sigh, immediately understanding where this line of questioning was going. Din was always a self-deprecating soul - someone who didn’t understand how he could deserve, or earn, happiness in his life. Someone who saw himself as a means to an end more than as anything else. 

“Din… I’ve seen enough of you to know you’re human. That’s good enough for me. I don’t need to see you to know I love you.”

His helmet droops, looking away. “You’ve never wondered?”

You shake your head no. “Not really. I try not to let myself. I respect you and your Creed far too much to allow my thoughts to go down that road.”

“What if I’m ugly? Beneath all the beskar?”

You tilt your head to the side and smile genuinely at him. There’s that self-deprecation creeping in again. “A man as good as you could never be. I see you, Din Djarin, through all the beskar. And Din Djarin the man - not Din Djarin the Mandalorian - is a kind and compassionate soul. He’s an honorable and righteous man, a great father, and a very worthy romantic partner. You could never be ugly to me, because that is how I see you, helmet or not.”

He doesn’t move, only speaks lowly, nearly a whisper.“What if I’m… disfigured? Or horrifying? Or something else?”

You smile again, rubbing the back of his hand as you hope to settle his nerves. You can tell he has built all this up into something major in his mind. “Then I’d learn to love that, too. But it doesn’t matter, because I will never, ever, ask you to break your Creed for me.”

The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, pleasant as you stare into his visor, hoping that any change might alert you to his current mental state. He’s the first one to break the silence.

“I know you wouldn’t ask it. It’s part of the vows.”

You blink a few times, not understanding. “What’s part of the vows?”

He responds quickly. “I have to show you my face.”

You’ll feel badly about it later, but in the moment you’re so taken aback by it that your voice raises and comes out like a blaster shot. “You what?”

You can hear a audible deep sigh through the modulator, his tone exasperated. “We vow to share all with one another. I have to share this, too. There are no secrets between riduurs. It’s why they’re always done in private.”

You squeak out an “oh”, but that’a all you can manage.

“Do you… still want to? If you don’t, I wouldn’t…”

You shift quickly, gathering both of his hands in your own as you pull yourself closer to him. You want him to see that you are serious about this. “Yes. Kriff, yes, of course I do.”

“Even if…” You shake your head and cut him off before he can start.

“No. Din. Even if I could never see your face. Even if you were the most conventionally ugly human in the entire galaxy. I. Want. To. Marry. You.” He nods a little bit in acceptance. “How soon can we do it?”

Shifting in his seat, he squeezes your hands back in his own. “Whenever you want, cyar’ika. It’s just us.”

You look toward the barren lands in front of you and then back to him. “Can we do it now? Here?”

He sighs again, and you can tell how baadly this conversation must have been wearing on his soul. “If that’s what you want, yes.”

“Then tell me the vows.”

He’s visibly taken aback by your sudden response, floored by the way you’ve been responding to him since he first brought this all up. “You… really? Right now?”

You sit up in the chair a little more, smiling, waiting, hopeful “I’ve waited long enough, Din - I’m not wasting another moment without you being mine. What are the vows, Din?”

He stutters out a response. Even though he knows these vows by heart, sharing them with you sends him spiraling into a nervousnss that he’s never felt before.“I, uh… T-There are four of them: Mhi solus tome. We are one when together. Mhi solus dar’tome. We are one when parted. Mhi me’dinui an. We share all. Mhi bajuri verde. We will raise warriors.”

You smile. The vows - like all things Mandalorian - are short and sweet. But that means that every vow - every word - every letter - means that much more. Din tells you each vow again, this time addressing you directly. He goes slowly, and helps you through each vowel that feels foreign on your tongue. You stumble the most over the last one - the heavy-handed language is like a sticky substance stuck to the roof of your mouth, but you make it through to the other side and you look at him, hopeful. 

There’s a lightness to your heart that you don’t recognize when Din tells you, “Then it is written in song, my riduur.”

Your face erupts into a wild grin, never having thought youd see the day that he would can you mine. “Riduur…” You test out the word on your tongue, feeling like you could have been floating on clouds.

His hands squeeze yours, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment.

“Yes. My riduur, Lady Djarin.”  Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much for so long, but you just cant make yourself stop. You can’t help the expression that forms on your face at his words. 

“Lady Djarin. I like it.” He chuckles, smoothing one ungloved hand over your cheek. He grabs your hands in his and places them on either side of his helmet. 

“Help me fulfill the rest of my vows to you?” 

You nod your head, yes, knowing that this moment would be emblazoned in your memory forever. This evening would change everything. In a new house, on a new planet, with a newly christened relationship, and a tiny wizard of a green child, this is where you and Din finally became one. One clan, one partnership, one shared bond - forever.

And it turns out, you couldn’t wait.

riduur - spouse

riduurok - marriage/love bond

aruetii - outsider

cyare/cyar'ika - beloved one; term of endearment

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 8

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 4.8k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag List: @melancholicmelanin , @yvy1s, @honethatty12 A/N: Are yall mad at me 🙁🙁 Your outfit & Finnick's outfit.

Past (ix) - You

[19 & 20] - THE CAPITOL

You like Johanna, you decide after only a few minutes of talking to her. She’s clever and somehow always simmering with rage. With her stature and how meek she seemed in her interviews, even you were surprised by the 180 she did in the arena. It's easy to see how she won. 

It's admirable. Admittedly, your games were more animalistic than strategic. The careers had turned on each other pretty early on, leaving behind those who were desperate to stay alive. There was even a boy who resorted to cannibalism, eating the heart of any tribute he killed. His name was Titus. He was only thirteen. When they airlifted you out, it felt like you were taken out of the wilderness and brought into captivity.

You also note that despite her permanent scowl, or maybe because of it, she’s pretty. And that thought plants dread in your chest. You know the future for pretty, young victors.

Is this how Finnick felt when he first met you?

There are certainly ways around it. Though the consequences are pretty grim. Enobaria comes to mind. She won her games by ripping another tribute’s throat out with her teeth. An act of desperation turned into her main selling point. She was smart. Went to an extreme and sharpened her teeth to garner more Capitol appeal while simultaneously dissuading Snow from selling her body. She’s pretty, but no one’s jumping to get into bed with teeth like that.

And Haymitch…well, Haymitch wasn’t given much of a choice, considering Snow killed any leverage he might have had over him.

You make your rounds, jumping from group to group, barely being able to pull away from those who want your attention. Obviously, you aren’t mingling because you want to. There isn’t a single client you’d willingly interact with, ever. However, what you want doesn’t really matter at the end of the day. This is a fact made all the more apparent when you get cornered by a particularly tenacious Capitol.

Ursa Lowvale—a notable actress old enough to be your mother, with a surprising amount of political influence—has one hand caressing your cheek and the other holding your waist. Her makeup, in Capitol fashion, is cakey and clashing. The impulse to move away gets squashed down because no matter how long you’ve done this, it never ceases to amaze you how uncomfortable it is to be touched.

“Did you get the care package I sent you, dearest?" She asks, rubbing a thumb over your cheekbone. You take her hand from your face and move it to rest over your heart, just above your breast. Her touch makes you nauseous, but you play it off as if you’re showing your sincerity and not your disgust.

“I did. And I must say, your kindness knows no bounds.” You threw the package away immediately. You didn’t even bother looking inside. “You’re so giving.”

“Oh, I’m giving in all aspects. As I’m sure you know.” She moves her hand down to rest on the crest of your cleavage, and you play none the wiser to what she’s insinuating. That’s the personality you’ve cultivated over the past four years: shy, docile, naive—if not a bit ditzy. It’s that very image that ropes them in. Corrupting the ‘innocence’ of a victor sells well.

“I’ll be sure to set up another meeting sometime soon. It’s been far too long.” She leans down and places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “I’ll be waiting.” 

You wait until she’s out of sight to drop your smile. You take a sip of champagne out of the flute, and then you take another. You’ll never drink enough at one of these events to lose your wits, but it doesn’t hurt to be a little tipsy. If more encounters like that happen, you’ll need it.

You stick to the outskirts of the party, savoring the limited solitude while it lasts. You watch on as Johanna turns another person down. You don’t know how they even work up the nerve to ask her to dance; she's far from welcoming. She seems to tolerate victors well enough, but anyone else—well, they should know better than to approach her.

You jump when toned arms slide around your waist, champagne sloshing out of your glass.

“Stunning as always, Star. ” He whispers, voice husky in your ear. You relax in his hold.

“Finnick Ewan Odair, I swear if you had made me drop this glass—” 

“I know, I know,” he smirks against your cheek and you can’t tamp down your smile. “Missed you.” He kisses your temple and moves back. It wouldn’t be perceived as strange for Finnick, of all people, to hang off of you, but you keep it to a minimum as a self-imposed rule. No one would blink twice at innocent affection in public, but you both know how easy it would be for the two of you to get carried away. There’s flirting, and then there’s flirting. 

“Mhm, I’m sure you did.” You chuckle into your drink, playing at being aloof, and he sighs dramatically.

“You see, now, normally, when somebody says they miss you, you’re supposed to say…?” He prompts with his hands and trails off. “C’mon, Star. I know you know this one.” You blink up at him, silent. He scoffs in faux offense, turning to walk away, and you drop the act.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” you laugh, pulling him back by one of his billowy sleeves to hook a finger in one of his belt loops, “I’m sorry. I missed you too.” In the past six months since Johanna’s games, you’ve only seen each other seven times. Odd, since you’ve both come to the Capitol at least twenty times combined, and usually, the two of you are brought in to work at the same time.

“Now, was that so hard?” He teases, and you poke him in his stomach, where he’s ticklish. The muscles in his abdomen twitch as he snorts unattractively. Or, it would have been if anyone other than Finnick did it. “You’ll catch a cold in that.” He points out with a quirk of his eyebrow and looks you up and down for longer than what’s strictly necessary. He’s referring to the newest dress your stylist stuffed you into. It seems like she gets more and more daring with each outfit. This time, you’re in a thin-strapped evening gown with an almost see-through corset bodice. There’s a slit up your left thigh reaching your hip. You try not to toddle in red heels that are too high.

One of his hands goes to your waist and moves you to sway with him to the music of the live orchestra. Your free hand trails up his strong shoulder to play with the hairs at his nape.

“I can say the same for you.” You tug on the shark tooth necklace that definitely isn’t his. He’s in a loose, khaki-colored wrap shirt with a deep v-neck. Deeper than deep, honestly. It’s sheer like yours and tucked into the front of his white slacks. The sleeves cinch at his wrists, and the whole thing offers very little coverage to his bare chest and stomach, which is probably the point.

“I guess we’ll have to find a way to keep each other warm then.” He bites his bottom lip with a grin that spells nothing good for your patience.

You pinch his side.

“Ow! I’m kidding.” He raises his hands placatingly, grinning broadly.

“Behave.” You scold through your teeth, and your cheeks hurt with the stretch of your smile. 

“You gonna punish me if I don—”

That earns him a smack to the bare skin of his chest. 

“You are so irritating,” you chide, and he laughs loudly and unrestrained, his head thrown back. A sight that never ceases to leave you breathless. Finnick usually never lets himself be this carefree in public, but maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s your presence. He catches his breath, ruddy cheeks dimpling. He looks awfully pretty under the soft yellow lights, hair shining like gold. A possessive thought sinks its claws into you. You don’t want anyone to see him like this. No one else deserves it. You aren’t even sure if you do.

“You love it.” He’s still letting out breathy little giggles as he beams down at you, big doe eyes twinkling.

You shake your head with an insurmountable fondness. “I love you.”

He wrinkles his nose, and your eyes are drawn to the faint freckles dotting the bridge of it. “See, that’s not fair.”

“Oh?” You cross your arms, balancing your glass precariously while playfully sizing him up as one would before a sparring match. But that train of thought makes you think. Could you take Finnick in a fight? You snort. Can anyone? “Please, Mr. Odair. Please tell me all about how unfair it is that I love you.”

“Mr. Odair? Ouch.” He huffs at your expectant stare. “You use it for evil.” He mirrors your stance by crossing his arms and drawing your attention to his biceps. His loose-fitting sleeves are doing a horrible job of hiding their shape and size as they flex with his movement. Hmm. You bring back that thought of fighting Finnick, but now it’s not that funny. You picture you and Finnick, spent and sweaty, as you wrestle on a mat. He would be red in the face and grinning from exertion as he pinned you down and—

You take a sip of champagne. 

“Well, I guess I’ll just stop saying it all together then if it’s such a hardship.” You shrug.

He raises his hands like he’s fending off an attack. “Woah! Alright, alright. I’m willing to come to a truce.”

The pair of you are still joking and giggling together when you get approached by a couple. Edgar, one of Finnick’s regulars, and Karlo, his husband, whom you’ve had many meetings with yourself. Anyone else in your position would have jumped apart and put as much space and plausible deniability between you as possible—and maybe you would have done that when you were younger, but you both know now that the best way to squash any suspicion is to act like there’s nothing to be suspicious of.

You and Finnick share a glance. Breathe and endure, you mouth to him while your back is still turned to the encroaching couple. You welcome the wry twist of his lips.

“What are you two drinking that’s making you so smiley?” They ask, and you both sober up. Well, not literally. You don’t know about him, but you’re still a little fuzzy. You shiver as the silk of Finnick’s shirt brushes your bare back as he wraps his hand around yours and takes a sip from your glass.

“Champagne.” He supplies, with that charming smile that you don’t even have to turn around to know is there. “It hits quicker than you’d think.” This is partially true, but, really, the only thing you’re drunk on is Finnick.

You lean back into the heat of Finnick’s chest, and his hand goes to your hip to steady you, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip.

“Looks like someone’s drunk more than her fair share.” Karlo laughs as they crowd in on you both, and if you really had been as drunk as you’re pretending to be, you would have thrown up from the smell of their strong perfumes clashing. Both sickeningly sweet and fighting to clog your lungs. “Don’t tell me you’re drunk already.”

“Honestly, I barely drank any. I must be a lightweight.” You laugh, fake to your own ears, and you’re sure to Finnick’s, too.

“Really? That’s quite surprising. You know. With your rough background and all.” Edgar says with genuine confusion. It’s odd to be insulted so sincerely. Finnick scoffs behind you in what could be mistaken for amusement, but the grip on your hip says otherwise.

You stay quiet for the rest of the conversation. You chime in here and there, but Finnick carries the bulk of it. It isn’t normally like this. Many people usually fall over themselves trying to be the first person you talk to. But there are a select few who prefer you to stand there and look pretty. You can essentially dumb your way out of a conversation. Finnick isn’t so lucky.

“You’ll have to show us some of your poetry sometime, Nick,” Edgar says while walking his fingers up Finnick’s arm, and you almost wince for him. He hates that nickname. Writing, specifically poetry, is the hobby Finnick was forced to take up after his games. Something that’s supposed to give a layer of complexity to his playboy image. Though, unlike most victors, it’s actually something he enjoys and is quite good at. 

You, on the other hand, wished you were given any other skill to hone. If your fingers hadn’t already been callused, the violin strings would’ve left them mangled. 

“He always forgets to ask that, but I’m sure it’s because you have him suitably distracted.” Karlo laughs, and Edgar cackles along with him. You don’t know what’s tighter, your grip on the glass or your smile. Which one will shatter first?

“Ah, anyway. We must be off.” Edgar, thankfully, pulls away.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you.” Karlo takes your unattended hand and kisses the back of it, and you instantly regret talking your stylist out of giving you elbow-length gloves.

“Likewise.” 

You hold your breath and release it when they’re out of sight. You feel Finnick’s chest expand with his own sigh of relief.

“Alright,” he plucks the champagne from your hand, handing it to a passing server. You’re tempted to complain. “Let’s go. We’ve shown our faces long enough that Snow shouldn’t care.” You’re hesitant for a moment, but you can’t act like the idea of being alone with Finnick isn’t more than enough to convince you. 

-

Other than the constant security and monitoring, the Training Center isn’t a terrible place to stay. As you and Finnick walk hand in hand down the hall, you can take comfort in the fact that you won’t run into anyone you’ll have to hide this from. The soles of your feet ache with each step. You yelp when you almost trip for the third time, your ankle turning inwards. Maybe you really are a lightweight.

Wordlessly, Finnick squats down and pats his thigh. You're confused before he taps your ankle. And he waits patiently like it’s the most natural thing in the world to take your shoes off for you. Your chest warms from something other than alcohol. You place your foot on his thigh, and he takes off your heel and does the same with the other. He keeps the strap of your shoes looped over his finger as he stands.

“C’mon,” he puts one arm under your knees, another behind your back, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing. You really do try your best not to gawk at his strength, but from Finnick’s flustered giggles, you’re failing miserably. You wrap your arm around his neck.

“My hero,” you put the back of your hand to your forehead and his chest vibrates with his laughter. 

“My star, light of my life,” you laugh as he spins you. “The least I can do is save you from a broken ankle.” He presses a featherlight kiss to your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, smiling against his lips.

You and Finnick have unintentionally established a pattern. More often than not, you both would be in the Capitol at the same time for the same reason, and one of you would always end up in the other’s room. But the elevator doesn’t stop on either of your floors.

The elevator opens on the rooftop and he’s yet to put you down. You’re amazed at how long he’s been able to carry you without any strain.  

The gardens are sprawling and well-maintained, a surprising amount of care for something unprofitable. There was a kid, a tribute from one of the early games, who jumped off the roof. They claimed he fell by accident and the force field was put in place as a safety measure. But you all know what really happened—the districts know what happened. And you suspect he’s the reason the garden was implemented. A poorly planned distraction on the Capitol’s behalf. 

Finnick sits on one of the garden benches behind a tall hedge of roses with you on his lap. You rest your head on top of his, tracing random letters on the back of his neck.

Finnick clears his throat. “There were kids at the reception. Running around—chasing each other. They asked me to play tag with them.” He laughs. You conjure up an image of Finnick chasing a gaggle of children that don’t even come up to his waist because, of course, he would, and suddenly, you can think of nothing else. “Have you ever thought about having any?”

“I did when I was younger.” You hum. You thought of a lot of things when you were a kid. When you were young enough to be shielded by your parents from the brutality of your district, young enough to dream. That period didn’t last, and you haven’t been a kid for a long time.

“But?”

“But, I didn’t think I’d live long enough to have any.” You didn’t even think you were capable of that kind of love. You didn't think it was in your capacity. It was bred and beaten out of you, especially after your games. But Finnick’s in the business of proving you wrong. “And to bring them into this world, into Eleven, seems cruel.” 

The chirp of crickets fills the silence. Fireflies dot the sky and blend with the stars.

His fingers tap on your thigh. “I always thought I’d have two. They’d be close in age so—”

“—They’d be friends.” You finish, and he gives a slow nod that picks up speed.

“Yeah, a boy and a girl.” You want to picture it. You want to imagine a world where it’s possible to have that life together. But you fear the fate of a child that would look like you and Finnick.

Your eyes drift from constellation to constellation. Perseus, Pegasus, Pisces. The stars are clearer here than at the Marquis, but not by much. It’s times like this that you miss your dad the most.

“If you’re comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear some more of your poetry.” You mutter into his hair. What Edgar said got you thinking. You don’t want Finnick to associate his talent with those people. Everything he writes is a piece of him. It amounts to more than that, more than them. 

“I would think you’d be tired of it by now, considering how much I write in my letters.” 

“Mmm, I’ll never be tired of anything you do. You really do have a gift, Finn, and you shouldn’t waste it on them.” The words were out of your mouth before you even had time to comprehend them. You lift your head when he moves to look at you. “...what? It’s true.” You say, somewhat embarrassed. You aren’t really the emotionally forthcoming one in this relationship, but you don't think you said anything that surprising.

He places a kiss on the shell of your bracelet. You shiver as he trails his lips down to the tip of your fingers, your heart speeding up in anticipation. He presses his cheek to the back of your hand, and he sits there with his eyes closed before speaking.

“My heart, who am I to deprive you of what's yours by right? The air in my lungs, I breathe for you. The blood in my veins pumps for you.” He laces your fingers together, eyes still closed. “A leaf can’t stop itself from falling, and neither could I.” When he opens his eyes back up, you’re swept away by the sheer adoration. That’s something you should get used to, right? You don’t think you’ve seen Finnick look at you any differently. And you don’t think you ever will.

He shakes his head with a smile as bright as the sun. “Everything I do, I do for you.” He whispers, and just when you catch your breath, it’s gone again.

You’re not sure who leans in first, not that it matters. No, all that matters is this moment—just the two of you.

He pulls back, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

“So,” he speaks, lips twitching into a smirk, and you brace yourself for the sheer strength of the eye roll that’s certain to follow whatever he says next, “your room or mine?” Your eyes truly come close to rolling out of your head, but you snort despite yourself, and his smirk becomes a full-blown smile.

Present (VIII) - You

[23 & 24 ] - TRAINING CENTER

You inhale through your nose and release the breath through your teeth. Your arms burn from your fingers to your biceps and you try to adjust your grip on the bar, but the strain in your shoulders convinces you to tap out. You drop to the ground, and the screen next to you reads four minutes and eight seconds, but you know you can make it to five. 

You bounce on your toes and shake out your hands. Just as you’re about to jump back up, you notice a crowd forming around the archery station. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you’re able to slip to the front and see what the commotion is about. Inside, Katniss shoots down the hologram opponents with deadly proficiency, seemingly sensing the enemies before they’re even there. The arm strength involved with shooting a bow and arrow is nothing to scoff at. Especially with the fluidity and speed she’s going.

After she hits the last hologram and the exercise shuts off, everyone else stands impressed—yourself included. You're starting to understand why Haymitch is putting so much stock into her.

-

In terms of basic survival, there’s nothing for you to improve on. Shelter making, fire starting, weapons, hand-to-hand—there isn’t much for you to learn within the day you have left. You think about stopping at the camouflage station, but think better of it. As long as there’s something to climb, you’ll have camouflage. Mags hovers by the fish hooks station, but you worry if you go near her, Finnick won’t be far behind. You don’t know what he wants from you, why he even wants to speak to you. It’s not like he responded to any of your letters, so why now? Why now, when you’ve finally come to terms with the way he wanted things to be?

On the topic of avoiding Finnick, you also steer clear of the knot-tying station. He’s there now, teaching Katniss how to tie what looks like a noose. You’d run out of fingers if you tried to count the number of knots he’s taught you. You never thought you’d ever have to use any of them, but there’s no telling what will happen in the arena.

Edible insects are much easier to distinguish than plants, but you’re more than adept at both. The same can’t be said for Peeta. You must have been watching him for nearly thirty minutes, and he’s gotten close to nothing right.

He still has the paint that the female Morphling—Megan, you’re pretty sure—painted on his arm. Swirls of the orange, yellow, and purple trail from his wrist to his shoulder.

The screen flashes red as he organizes the plants incorrectly.

“You are terrible at this.” You walk forward to lean against the control panel, “Like, extraordinarily.” 

Peeta looks up from the buttons. It’s technically the first time the two of you have talked, not counting that meeting after the chariots where Chaff kissed Katniss.

“I just,” he scratches at the back of his head and frowns, discouraged, “I can’t remember the names. I know nightlock, obviously. But not much else.”

“Well, you’re able to recognize where you fall short. That’s good. You’re trying to match the names to the plant, but you don’t have enough time to remember all of that. It’s pointless anyway.” What good is remembering the name of a berry if he doesn’t know if he can eat it or not?

“Then, what am I supposed to do?”

“Instead of figuring out the names, try to focus on what they look like and whether or not they’re edible. That’s all that matters, honestly.” You restart the exercise, changing the parameters so he’ll have to organize the plants into categories by picture.

“You’re helping me?”

“I can’t, in good conscience, let you die because you decided to tussle with the wrong berry.” Hundreds of kids have died in Eleven from eating something they shouldn’t have. Not because they didn’t know it was poisonous but because they were so hungry that they didn't care. “Trust me, that’s not a fight you wanna pick.”

It’s touch and go for a second, but it’s not long before Peeta starts catching on. He’s a quick learner, and it’s much easier—more beneficial—to memorize what an edible plant looks like rather than what it’s called.

While Peeta is distracted with a timed matching game, your eyes trail to where Finnick goes through different motions with a trident while Katniss watches with laser-like focus. He stops to say something to her and glances your way. You’re quick to look back down to the task at hand.

How are you supposed to work with him in the arena if you can’t even handle being in the same room as him?

“I’m just not good at this.” Peeta laughs with a hint of self-deprecation. The screen shows he was only able to get half of the plants organized before the timer went off. For somebody starting from scratch, he’s selling himself pretty short. He just needs a little more time, and you’re confident he’ll be able to recognize what can and can’t be eaten within an hour.

“I watched your games. You could definitely be better.” Poisonous berries are the leading cause of death in the arena. Followed closely by being killed, either by another tribute or the arena itself. This will help protect him from the former. He doesn't need to master this. He just needs to know enough to get by.

”Yeah, Katniss is definitely better at this kind of stuff.” He looks over his shoulder to where Katniss and Finnick are still training. This time, Katniss holds the trident, and her movements are nowhere near as polished as his were. Despite that, Peeta’s eyes shine.

You look at Peeta—really look at him—and realize something.

"You actually love her, don't you?" You marvel. It hadn't even crossed your mind that their feelings could be genuine. He looks at you surprised before whatever persona he's embodying slides into place. 

"What, do you think it's an act or something?" He laughs.

"I did. But your eyes gave you away. They hold this kind of—softness whenever you look at her, whenever you talk about her," you turn back to the screen but don't restart the exercise, "I'd recognize that anywhere." Of course, you would. It's how Finnick used to look at you.

You're both quiet. He looks from you to his hands on the controls.

"I do." He breathes, and it's hard to hear over the cacophony of sounds in the room. "I really do."

You take a breath and let it out in a sigh.

"I'm sorry then."

"For what?" His brows furrow with confusion.

"You shouldn't have to go into the arena with someone you love. It's cruel." Your heart aches for him. You don't know how much Katniss reciprocates his feelings—you're starting to think she doesn't at all. For that, you can't help but feel sorry for him—can't help but see yourself in him. 

Haymitch was right, after all. Peeta's a good kid. He doesn't deserve this.

"Then, I'm sorry too." You glance at him from the corner of your eye. "You're right. We shouldn't have to." You don't say anything for a second, and he doesn't press you to. You doubt anyone told him about you and Finnick, so maybe he's just that observant. And smarter than anyone notices. An oversight you're sure he takes advantage of.

You don't bother denying it. Instead, you nod. He nods back. A sense of comradery is shared between the two of you, but it doesn't last long. You still have training to do. You press on a random square, and a creepy-looking plant appears. A red stalk with shiny, white berries spins in a slow circle on the screen.

"White baneberry, poisonous or not poisonous?"

He contemplates it.

"Poisonous?" He asks more than tells you.

"Just to eat?" You prompt, and he shakes his head.

"You can't touch it either," he answers far more confidently, and you smile. There might be hope for him yet.

"Good. Next."

-

A/N: SMUT NEXT CHAPTER!!!!! PEW PEW PEW!!!!

[kromaticglass]

I've been sitting on this for a while because I'm not usually one for writing out my thoughts on characters in media that I like but honestly I need to yell about just how much I love Wriothesley as a character and how his story is written.

Don't get me wrong, I love Scaramouche, and I love his story arc, but there's something about this absolutely horrific past that Wriothesley grew up in and despite everything that should have made him a bitter person, he's so selfless. Selfless to the point of completely overturning a system that had been working in it's own horrific manner for hundreds of years as a teenager/young adult in order to make it better and actively work on fixing people, not just let them fall between the cracks of a society that sent them away to be forgotten.

Putting this under a read more because I'm going to yell about this a lot.

When we're first learning about Wriothesley we're introduced to the fact that he was an orphan. This brings up questions to start with; how was he first orphaned? By the sounds of things he wasn't willingly given away to the foster family that he ended up living with, he was on the streets or at the very least was on his own for a time before he ended up there. The first thing that my mind goes to is that this means either his parents abandoned him or they died/were killed, which may also be the reason he seemingly was desensitized to death as a kid - I'll get to that point later, it's important.

Just how long he was on the streets before he was taken in by his foster family isn't mentioned, but I'd expect it was at least a year or so, just from some context clues we got from both his story quest and his character stories that you unlock with friendship. When in his foster home, things were supposedly a picture perfect family, a dollhouse where people looking in would only see the perfect picture but as soon as curtains closed it was something very different.

Households like that are traumatising, it's no wonder that Wriothesley's ability to trust in people is shot. The people who were supposed to care for him after promising a good life were nothing but a front and in his eyes he once more was on his own. For a child to decide to willingly orphan themselves a second time is so taxing on the mind, I could only imagine the stress he would've been under.

But what really gets me is the fact that he eventually came to the conclusion that in order to stop the cycle of picking up kids and selling them off to the highest bidder and killing the ones that didn't sell, Wriothesley didn't think about contacting gardes, didn't go to anyone else about it, he took matters into his own hands.

Not just that, but that he had to kill them.

It takes a lot for someone to work themselves up into killing another person. If you've never taken a life before, most people will hesitate, they'll be sick, or they'll completely shut down and remove themselves mentally from the situation, there's a very visceral reaction that happens in the human brain when you're pushed so far into stress responses that you'll take another life, and this was a teenager. This is why I feel like he would've been desensitized to death or at the very least gruesome scenes like this from a much younger age.

One can only wonder just what was going through his mind during the time he was away, taking the odd jobs to create that first prototype of his gauntlets that he used to shoot nails at his parents. It may not be as personal as taking a knife to someone, but using a nailgun is a bloody affair, the wounds needed to make that fatal are grievous if done by an inexperienced hand. And from what we're told in the character story, it sounds like his parents fought back, hard enough that it very nearly killed Wriothesley as well.

It makes me wonder just what he was thinking, or feeling in that moment, was it fear? Anger? A mix of many things? Or was he simply numb to it until he woke up in the hospital bed later? From what we hear in his tone during the story quest, he sounds apathetic about retelling the story, but that could be a result of trying to compartmentalize the renewed trauma that was rekindled thanks to the gem he touched.

And the trial, lets not forget that. On the day he wakes up from his injuries, he's served papers to face in court, and given a timeline for his recovery. The character story says the trial went with little fanfare and that he accepted the charges with little to no protest, it makes me think about just what could've gone through his head during the time he was recovering.

Wriothesley states that he knew he was guilty in the eyes of the law, and that his methods were extreme and he knows that. Because he survived his injuries when he expected to die from them, it makes me think that he knew he would be going to the Fortress of Meropide once he got to the trial. Given how much of a lawless land the Fortress was back then, I wonder if this was Wriothesley's own way of putting himself back into the hands of fate again, or maybe in some way, taking it back into his own hands.

Character Story 2 and his Vision story tells us more about his time in Meropide before taking it over, and how chaotic it sounded. He arrived in the Fortress and found his Vision in his pockets when being processed, and the first thing he's told is "hide it well". This was the only warning he got from anyone about how life in the Fortress was at that time, and he took that to heart in order to not lose anything precious to him.

Meropide was a place you could pay for someone to die in back then, among other things like drugs and probably far more things that Hoyoverse wouldn't mention for the sake of keeping things PG. It certainly doesn't seem like a place a teenager would be safe in and yet despite all odds, Wriothesley thrived and amassed a massive collection of credit coupons in order to make his name known.

It doesn't say much about what a feat that is, especially the line where it mentions that he amassed more coupons than anyone else in the Fortress combined. He figured out how the place ticked and made it sing to his own tempo instead of simply falling in line, that's such an impressive feat for anyone to do, let alone someone who would've had to fight tooth and nail to even get the respect needed for people to see him with as much power as he seemed to gain by the time he took over.

When he challenged the former administrator to a duel, the story mentions how Wriothesley was saved from having to get another person’s blood on his hands because he fled from the Fortress instead of showing up. And sure we could gloss over this as he was glad about not needing to fight him in the end, but this also implies that if the fight had've gone on instead of what happened, Wriothesley would've either beaten that man within an inch of his life or taken it. He would've taken another life for the sake of other people, once again.

This is something I've noticed is a theme with Wriothesley. He has either little regard for or at the very least places his own safety below others, so long as it's doing what he thinks is right or protects other people. During his story quest when he's being shot at, Wriothesley does little to protect himself aside from some minimal protection with his cryo vision against the bullets shot at him, but the moment that the gun is turned to the Traveler, he spent absolutely no time in very nearly killing Dougier (if the Traveler hadn't been there, I think there would've been a 75%-85% chance that he would've killed Dougier) and putting him in his place.

We see this again with the Archon quest where Wriothesley and Clorinde fight back the Primordial Sea. He spend his own safety and energy icing over the doors in order to save people in the Fortress from the Primordial Sea until Neuvillette could get there, at the risk of his own safety and very nearly getting trapped and dissolved by the waters.

That's not even taking into consideration the work he did on the Wingalet. We saw so little of it in the 4.2 Archon Quest, I was almost disappointed, but the fact that instead of staying idle about the prophecy, he spent so much time and energy making a ship like that and keeping it a secret from most parties until the time came all for the reason of saving as many Fontainians as possible just kills me.

Wriothesley has been through so much, and instead of that horrible backstory and all that trauma turning him into a bitter and hateful person, he instead uses it to give others a better life than he had just crushes me. He took over Meropide and reformed it into a place where not only does it help people now, but is such a nice place to be that inmates want to stay afterwards warms my heart. Like, for sure there's the fact that people staying down there reintegrating into society would be a challenge but I love the fact that there's even the choice to stay down there after the term is over instead of simply turning people lose and risking them returning back down after repeating crimes.

Anyway what I'm trying to get at here is that Wriothesley is such a well written character and I want Hoyoverse to give us more characters like this. I'm rambling way too much and I'm sure like 80% is incoherent bullshit but I needed to get my feelings off my chest about this lol.

If you made it this far thanks for putting up with my rambling LMAO.

[zoroara]

It's a bit hard to introduce this post without a little background here, So, I'm currently writing an alternate universe story, called What could have been. While these designs are a long way off as of writing this post(we are still so far in the past right now) different circumstances lead to them having different designs.

I also had so much fun making these designs and challenging myself to keep within the characters looks and making them unique against the old and each other. Making the future versions a more proper evolution. Anyway! Design notes below! Also spoilers for the fic of course.

All Varia uniforms are darkened in this version from their normal colours, this is as an overall so they feel like they can hide in the darkness better. Small accessory exceptions exist however.

Future arc designs have light whitish silver stripes, and colours changed based on rank. Leader - red, captain - blue, executives - purple, regular grunts have no additional colour

For Xanxus Past

Mostly the same, has no scarring due to not being frozen

Based on headcanons for him he's bulkier than canon Xanxus, especially since he was never frozen, thus within headcanon didn't lose the weight while in there

New addition of actual holsters, or at least moving them from being on his uniform's goddamn ass, amano why there of all places

Future

Similar, to both previous design and canon design to meld it better while giving him a bit more unique flourish

Deep wracking guilt causes him to avoid people and purposely ignore his own needs, lost a lot of weight

Scarring from being frozen exists, but does not go up to his face, gloves added to hide it mostly

addition of a slight beard because of regular headcanon of him growing one out when he's TYL, this one is rougher though than usual

For Squalo Past

Firstly sword is not part of his arm, lessons from Tyr(OC version of the previous Varia leader) taught him the importance of not limiting himself in his combat options(Tyr noting while he's a great swordsman having only one hand leaves a massive blind spot for himself that he has to protect constantly. He does not willingly lose his hand here either.)

Carries his own sword as well as Tyr's now, but rarely uses the latter, it's for special occasions

styled his Varia uniform mostly after Tyr, rolling up his sleeves, adding additional straps at the top, leaving it open, and keeping a black in-lining with it.

additional note, he puts his hair up for battle.

Future

Diverges and settles more into his style but keeps some parts of the previous coat, inside is now a deep blue to match with the rest of his coat and the previous version

the length and opening is actually taken from his first appearance in canon

now uses belted boots like Tyr

For Belphegor Past

most of it is the same, made the armbands(?) into Belts

Turned base belt white as well to match the rest

added two belts to his leg to add to his asymmetrical look

added a spiked collar

added small little black inserts where he keeps his knives that line his sleeves and inner coat

added a gem to his tiara

given fangs as per headcanon

Future

the above is carried over

changed thigh high boots to knee high in order to fit with his belts(made them have a clear zipper too)

turned fluffy collar to look more like the ones royals have

slightly edited spike collar to have a matching gem to the now 3 on his tiara, and make the spikes into studs

added more to the collar going down his coat to give more royal feel

For Lussuria

Past

Turning feather boa into a feather collar

gives two metal knees with no intention for hiding, allowing the skirt to be slightly shorter for decorative purposes

Adds a pair of gloves that go up his biceps, they have metal knuckles and elbow pads attached.

Boots have a mixed material of tougher rubber and metal at the soles of the boots though a decorative decal has been added to the front

Future

Fur collar more fluffed up

Coat has fluff at the bottom, and is asymmetrical shorter on the side with his skirt

Given thigh high boots where metal knees are attached, and similar decals to past version are dded

Gloves now have proper "brass knuckles" as part of them

Tank top replaces shirt and tie

as per headcanons I removed the Mohawk and added tattoos on him

To fit better with the purple i changed the colour of his hair to a more teal to purple gradient, a bit more reminiscent of pastel peacock colours too

Added lipstick

For Levi A Than Past

Turned all Belts to white as they were in the manga

changed cross straps into regular tactical military straps + little storage for him(Made them black because the design was too busy as anything else)

Kept his boots and gloves from early varia arc appearance as main stay

Changed middle belts to little button places

added two more parabolas so he's not defenceless while using Levi Volta(A lesson he learns much earlier due to not being prevented from field work for the 8 years of Xanxus being frozen! Since that doesn't happen here.)

Future

Above is transferred onto the design

Colours inverted on the gloves with the belts, same with the boots

added lightning insignia to cuffs of coat

Split coat tail into 3 sections

kept piercings as per head canons

Now the last two, who share a page due to the fact they each only have one relevant design that I needed to redesign

For Mammon

Changed their cloak into a cape, the chain they always wear now is the clip for the cape

gave them a long sleeve tunic under the cape

changed their gloves to reach their elbows and are tied with bandages

actually gave them a varia belt to help break up their shapes

gave them calf high boots with bandages to match their gloves

gave them longer hair as per headcanon

their smaller form wears this outfit too but smaller

Also gave them varia emblems on their cape

For Fran

made hat smaller with eyes that will react to surroundings, I also gave it purple cheeks

changed the collar of his coat to the more pointed design, but gave him a turtle neck to replace it

gave him white gloves, but also put little black finger pads on them

removed the four big clunky pouches on his design

added a belt to break up shapes better

added a few more stripes on the lower half of the coat

made boots knee high instead of ankle height

If you read all of this, thank you! I had so much fun with them and became very enamoured with them. They're definitely more to my tastes but hey that's how it is.

[nekohime19]

Heart behind the lie # 55 : welcome back

They escape Heaven

Macaque was used to sudden change of plans. When you lived with an impulsive monkey (especially if said monkey was your King), it was necessary to be flexible. As such, Macaque learned long ago that sometimes one just had to throw themselves in the midst of chaos and give up on the perfect plan they took hours to think of. 

Now was such a moment. 

Macaque leaped after the dragon-girl without a second thought and left the heavenly guest room, Wukong immediately ran after him, not wanting to be separated for even one second. MK was broken out of his stupor and followed after them, the rest of the team followed the tide after a bit, even if they were still baffled by the sudden change of tactics. Mei was leading the charge, pulling them in a frenetic run rhythmed by the sounds of clatters and alarms. 

The whole palace was taken over by a sudden frenzy. Armor cladded soldiers run around, shouting at the top of their lungs that the guests escaped. They swarmed every corner of the place, hoping to stop them from advancing any further. If they wanted to escape, they needed to be fast. Everything from now on was a race against time itself. 

“Take left!” Shouted Macaque, they needed to get to the armory first, then they'll pave their way towards the ship and escape Heaven's tight clutches. Of course, Macaque couldn't use his magic to fight, his state was still too unstable, and he didn’t have any weapons on hand, but it didn’t mean he wasn't able to defend himself. 

One soldier jumped in front of him, his sharp spear in hand. 

“Macaque-” MK, who wanted to warn Macaque of the danger, cut himself when he saw the black-furred monkey lunge forward and knock out the guard with a well placed punch. 

“You were saying?” Asked Macaque with a raised eyebrow. 

“.. No, nothing.” Snorted MK, he didn't have to worry too much, a warrior stayed a warrior no matter the state. 

Macaque teared off the glamors veiling his ears. The palace was in a blare of shouts and clatters, it was impossible to hear everything correctly if he didn't remove the magic blanketing the side of his head. His ears flared like one eagle's proud wings, their shine was duller than in the past, and they were full of cuts and nips, nonetheless they worked perfectly well. Of course, Macaque didn't dare touch the glamors recovering the rest of his face. Especially the one hiding the ugly sight of his milky-white marred eye. This was a sight he wasn't ready to show. He'll hide it for as long as his battered heart desires. 

He was broken out of his musing by the cry of a soldier charging towards them, he hissed, not liking the shrill voice of the heavenly guard. Wukong most likely noticed his discomfort. He growled and pounced forward, knocking out the guard with one single jump. Then, the great sage ran to Macaque's side again, looking up at him expectantly. 

“Thanks, bud.” Snorted Macaque as he patted Wukong's head, he patted Sock (who was on Wukong's back) in passage, because truly the lil sage was too cute not to pat. The golden-furred monkey leaned in his touch greedily and chirped in delight. 

They resumed their run, pushing forward despite the waves of heavenly guards coming their way. 

“There! That's the door!” Shouted Macaque as he pointed forward. Mei didn't even know where he was guiding them but she truly didn't need to. She trusted him to pave their way. It was odd, in a way, to be given so much trust. Macaque never thought that after everything he did to those people, they'd trust him so readily, so willingly, yet here they were. It was something to cherish. In his overly long life, Macaque didn't treasure these sorts of things very well. More often than not, the trust weaved between Wukong and him had felt too natural, so much that he took it for granted. People said you'll miss something the day it'll be lost. They were right. It was in the thrall of loneliness, when no-one trusted him, when he didn't trust anything either, that he learned to long for the bond he discarded. 

He vowed to never take trust for granted ever again. 

Mei kicked the door open and they stumbled inside of the armory. Sandy and Pigsy quickly got to their feet and closed the heavy door, sealing it with a wooden bar they pushed in specific slots made for this usage. They heard soldiers, on the other side, knock themselves on the door. The wood cracked under the sheer pressure, but it stood still and strong. They all breathed a common sigh of relief. 

The armory was vast. It was lightened by the wavering flames of a chandelier, the metal candleholder swayed above their head like a pendulum, going back and forth as if it was pushed around by ghosts. Macaque grimaced at the sight, truly an ominous sign. They found their weapons pretty quickly, they were neatly piled atop each other in one corner. Macaque picked up his spear and shield, it felt good to hold them, it was familiar, safe. He carefully tucked the liu'si and turned towards the others. 

Mei was crying all over her sword, vowing to never let it go again. Pigsy and Sandy hummed in delight and swung their weapons around before properly tucking them. Tang clutched his staff as if it was a precious treasure. 

“So what do we do know? Soldiers are gathering on the other side of the door.” Sighed Red Son, he threw a look at the heavy door, eyeing the creaking wood with caution. 

“I cannot believe I was dragged along.”Muttered Nezha as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The lotus prince looked up and walked towards the only window of the armory. “Which of you can make a cloud?”

MK raised his hand as if he was in the middle of a class. “Me sir!”

“Then we'll need to make an extra large one.” Sighed Nezha as he opened the window. 

“You don't mean…” Muttered Tang with a green face. 

“Yes, now we're talking! Let's jump out of the window!” Cheered Mei. 

Despite never bothering to call upon his own cloud, Macaque was well-aware of wind magic intresicaties. Calling a larger cloud, like Erlang did earlier that day, demanded more effort. But if one allied his power with another, it was possible to call upon a large cloud more easily. Of course, you could also reshape your cloud once it was in your hand, but it was difficult to do so for those who didn't have nimble fingers, and who didn't dwell well in wind magic. After all, one wrong press, one wrong push, and the clouds could fade away in your very hands. Clouds were fickle. They came and went as they wished. When one used wind magic to call a cloud, they merely projected their wishes through the sky via the wind itself, letting it carry the voices or gestures to the ever high clouds. The clouds would then either hear your voice or feel the vibration of your gesture and decide if they want to reply. Except for Nimbus, Wukong's ever so loyal companion, Macaque had never seen clouds be that loyal to living beings. 

Wukong's relationship with his cloud was something entirely unique to him. Macaque speculated that the thunder who struck Wukong's stone egg, making it hatch, blessed him with some sort of affinity with the sky itself. Elemental blessing wasn't unheard of. It was rather common to be blessed by the wind or the foam. Macaque himself could be considered blessed by the shadows. But no one had ever been blessed by thunder. Simply because the power of bolts were too strong, too lethal, for ordinary people to bear. But Wukong was by no means ordinary. 

Or maybe Nimbus was just a Wukong groopie, that was a possibility too. 

Nezha and MK joined hands and closed their eyes. Dual casting was always tricky the first few times, especially because it required to harmonize with another's magic, but Macaque was certain MK could pull it off. The boy had more resources than most thought. After a few minutes, they called upon a cloud, pushing their voices in the wind. They waited for any sign of response and breathed a sigh of relief when a plump cloud descended, heeding their call. 

The whole team hurried and jumped on the cloud, escaping the palace. Soldiers bursted in the armory soon after and cursed at the open window, the guests escaped! MK hopped off the cloud once they neared the place entrance. The boy hurriedly took his staff back. The magic weapon hummed in delight at being picked by a familiar hand, sparks of gold traveled through the red metal, greeting MK in glee. 

“We need to go!” Reminded Red Son, MK chuckled nervously and hopped on the cloud again. Macaque guided them towards the ship. 

Mei turned back when she heard the whizzing sound of something piercing the winds. Erlang Shen and some heavenly soldiers were following them with their own clouds. “Faster!” Shouted the dragon girl. But their cloud was larger and thus slower. Red Son launched fireballs to slow their pursuers down. It was well-known that clouds weren't fond of heat. It worked well for a few seconds but it couldn't hold the swarm of heavenly soldiers off for too long. 

The team stumbled on the ground, the ship was only a few meters ahead. Erlang Shen and the soldiers also stepped off of their clouds. The three-eyed god narrowed his eyes and shouted :

“Stop right this instance! You are not allowed to retrieve your weapons and ship.” 

Of course, they ignored him and rushed forward. Erlang eyebrow twitched angrily at the blatant disrespect. The god lifted his spear, his muscles bustling like an old machine, and hurled it at the team. Macaque immediately reacted, he pushed the others behind him and lifted his shield. The spear collided with Macaque's shield, the shock reverberated throughout the warrior's skin, like the echo of an earthquake. Macaque was pushed back for a few seconds, the sheer force of the spear enough to almost make him lose grip on the shield but he held on. After a bit, he managed to throw it off with a roar. 

“I'm too old for this.” Winced the warrior as he massaged his shoulders. Gods it hurt. Erlang Shen wasn't considered one of Heaven's best warriors for nothing. Wukong trotted towards him and pawed at his pants in worry. Macaque sighed fondly. He crouched down and patted the great sage. “Don't worry about lil old me.” Chuckled Macaque. “You don't need to protect me, I'm a warrior aren’t I ?” Wukong perked up at his words and looked at him with something akin to awe, sparks of gold slithered in his eyes, hints of familiar magic. Macaque raised an eyebrow at the peculiar reaction but he didn't have time to question it. Erlang was approaching. 

Erlang Shen stepped towards them, soldiers in his back, ready to fight. But Nezha jumped forward before he could approach anymore. 

“Please, Erlang. They want to leave the Heavens. We don't need to monitor them anymore.” Informed the lotus prince. The three-eyed god narrowed his gaze, searching for the truth. 

“And how do you know they're not lying?”

Nezha gritted his teeth. “I know they're not.” Erlang didn't seem convinced, he ordered the soldiers to be ready with a flick of wrist. The whole team clutched their weapons, the ship was so near, but soldiers were all around it, making it impossible to have enough space to take flight safely. They needed to clear the way. 

Macaque didn't know who exactly gave the first order, it didn't truly matter, the place turned into a large-scale brawl. Nezha was fighting Erlang at the center of it, the two gods crossing weapons. The lotus prince seemed to talk while fighting, still hoping to reason with the three-eyed god, and the more he listened, the more Erlang features softened into something akin to understanding. 

Macaque was twirling his spear, he wasn't used to this fighting style yet but he did great nonetheless. He parried with his shield with one arm, and hurled the sharp edge of his spear with another. He quite liked that combo. When a soldier approached his side, Macaque swung his shield and hit him square in the face. The soldier stumbled back and winced. Oh, Macaque quite liked that move, he smirked. It was thrilling in a way to discover new ways to fight. Macaque had always preferred peace over war, but to be a warrior, one had to find some sort of charm in the battlefield. Macaque found beauty in the way weapons clashed, in the way your body pushed past its limits, melting with blades and breaths, becoming one with the battlefield. He almost forgot how addictive it was to feel blades collide against blades, to see sparks dancing when metal clashed. Perhaps because he was so distracted, Macaque didn't notice Wukong slip away. 

In one moment, the battlefield was as chaotic as a storm, blades and fists colliding, in another everything was rendered static, all eyes turned towards the eye of the storm. Macaque wiped away the sweat falling in his eyes and turned towards the center of the brawl, where Nezha and Erlang were exchanging blows. His eyes widened at the sight. 

Wukong was in-between those two, on his own two feet, blocking Erlang's spear with one hand and holding Nezha off with another. Sock, who was perched on his head, looked down at the two gods and lowered the edge of Erlang's spear (who was dangerously near her) with one pawe. She had a look of contempt on her face. It was probably one of the funniest things Macaque ever saw. 

“Let's stop here.” Sighed Wukong. “We're leaving.” Macaque held his breath. Wukong was back? He didn't even notice him slipping away. When did he break free of the feral state? So many questions brewed in his head. 

Erlang thinned his lips, he took a step back and dusted himself off. It was easy to start a fight when the great sage wasn't in his right mind, now that he was back, provoking him was dangerous. Sun Wukong wasn't one to be taken lightly. He was a Buddha. The Victorious Fighting Buddha. Starting a brawl with one as mighty as him was no light decision. Erlang glanced at Nezha and his face softened. 

“In light of what the lotus prince told me, I am willing to let you all off the hook this time. But the next time you come here without prior notice, I will carry my duties.” All soldiers stepped back the second Erlang talked. Macaque breathed a sigh of relief. At last they'll be able to leave this place. 

Wukong nodded gratefully at Erlang and patted Nezha's shoulders to thank him, then he turned towards the team and smiled. 

“Monkey King!” Shouted MK as he rushed towards his mentor and hugged him. Wukong oofed, surprised by the sudden hug, and patted MK's head. 

“You're alright, bud?” He asked, he then added after a bit. “You're, huh, squeezing me a bit too tight there, oof.” MK stepped back and sheepishly rubbed his head, apologizing for the tight squeeze. 

“About time you came back.” Huffed Pigsy with crossed arms. 

“Monkey King! We're so glad.” Sobbed Tang, probably relieved the brawl was over. 

“Welcome back, Mister King.” Nodded Sandy. 

“Monkeyman is back in the place!” Cheered Mei, she grabbed Red Son and put one arm over his shoulder. Red Son sighed but let her do as she pleased, he then nodded towards Wukong to welcome him back. 

The great sage beamed, he then walked towards Macaque, his tail swaying nervously. 

“Your, huh, new fighting style suits you?” Tentatively praised Wukong, unsure of how to begin this conversation. Macaque snorted at his awkwardness. This moron. 

The black-furred monkey tucked his weapon away and tugged Wukong in a hug, the golden monkey tensed for a few seconds before melting in his arms. “Welcome back.” Mumbled the warrior with a smile. Wukong tightened the embrace and nuzzled his neck. 

“Yeah, I'm here now.”

Ch1 / Previous / Next

[an-au-blog]

hello! a different anon interested in the unclenapped au here! (and other aus where buggy is with the strawhats i guess)

not to bring PLOT into a mostly character-focused au, but with extra strawhat crew aus i'm always curious where the author would have kuma send the new guy(s) post-sabaody. basically, where would you send your au buggy to learn & grow over the time skip? is he learning new skills somewhere, or landing on the red force (or wherever luffy & rayleigh ended up) and learning about his past?

thanks!

Hello other anon! Can I call you Difan (get it? because different anon (I'm so funny ik))

And no, no, no, don't worry, I LOVE plot! And I was actually recently thinking about the whole Kuma situation. Because he sent each one either to a friend/somewhere to make connections with the revolution, or to help them train/help with personal growth.

At first I thought maybe I should make up an island that would fit this version of him. Something that would maybe make him conquer his fear of being trapped and claustrophobia, or maybe something to better help him use his powers.

Maybe something like an island where everything is small and all the inhabitants live in dark holes in the walls (picture something like the kindergarten from Steven Universe). And Buggy is freaking out because he can't live in the whole in the wall, he just can't! Not again! Not to mention the food, there's so little food for the small people there, what would he eat - as someone probably two times their size?

He just wasn't ready to go back to not having anything. So he starts helping them grow their farms and defend themselves from wild beasts and in return they help him reach inner peace and face his trauma. Maybe he'd even have a Sanji moment where he finds out that the people can teach him fighting skills he didn't know they had?

idk...

But I also started looking into places or different arcs and two specific ones actually seem pretty fitting. (can you tell I've actually given this quite a bit of thought hahaha ':))

The first place I thought of was Impel down. It would also cross with the canon timeline and events. Think about it: he'll get over his fear of imprisonment, make connections with the revolutionaries living in the walls. It would be just like in canon for the exception that Buggy is willingly helping Luffy and he's been in there for a shorter time.

Not to mention that on the ship when they tell everyone that he used to sail with Roger, he would be finding out something new about himself. Maybe even remember something.

(And here I go pushing my shuggy agenda again) And that way Shanks's return would be have more weight as well. It would impact both of them so much because 1. Shanks not only lost Ace but now he finally found Buggy and 2. Buggy went through so much trauma and then some greasy redhead claims to know him??? And what's more, he doesn't have this spike of anxiety upon meeting him?? (but maybe I'll make a separate post about that specifically)

Although I don't know if after that I'd want him to go back to Amazon Lily with Luffy and meet Rayleigh (because again: revealing past and all that fun stuff), or if i want him to be taken in by Shanks and his crew instead of Law (and he'd still have the reveal of the past but differently that with Silver...)(idk just food for thought)

Anyway though,

The second place I thought of is a bit of a stretch. I thought of Arabasta. It's a bit of a stretch because, why would he be there?

Well they're alleys of the straw hats and had recently gotten out from under Crocodile. Also if I'm not mistaken the revolution army had it's foot in there as well right? Also I'd absolutely love seeing Vivi and Buggy interactions. I feel like she could teach him a lot in just general. Also he'd love the sun so much.

I'm also thinking maybe he could train and learn quite a bit history there. But I hadn't had that much time to think about this option to be honest...

[sonicasura]

It had taken everything Kafka had to protect everyone.

To stop the Wyvern Kaiju's suicidal bomb attack from laying waste to the land.

Though now.....

Kafka looked over to his friends....

Reno's face full of despair over not being able to protect his friend, Kikoru feeling intense fear over her friend's fate, Hoshina who looked to be a strange mix of shock and grief and the revelation, Mina who seemingly couldn't believe that her childhood friend the same one she made a promise too wipe out all the Kaiju together had been the very thing she sought to destroy, and the rest of the soldiers where also a mix of disbelief and utter shock that there friend was Kaiju No.8

A lot of Defense Force soldiers had raised there guns towards him. It was only Mina who began to walk forward only to be stopped by the beat of wings.

Rider: KAFKA!!!

Came the terrifiyed cry of the Rider. Ratha who descended and placed themselves between Kafka and the Troopers as Rider got off and headed over to Kafka.

Rider: Kafka come on we have to get out of here now-

Kafka: Rider

Rider: Ratha or Nergigante can carry you if your to injured it just that

Kafka: Rider

Rider: We have to leave now before more Defense Force Troopers arrive and take you aw-

Kafka: Rider, I'm not going

Rider: Wha- What? What do you mean your not going, you have too it's to dangerous to stay!?!?!

Kafka: Rider, they deserve to know, after all I wasn't honest with them and causing them more stress and worry isn't something I wish to do.

Rider: NO KAFKA YOU CAN'T THey'l- the- * starts crying* they'll hurt you.....

It was at this point Kafka's maternal instincts kicked from the utter despair in their voice, along with seeing there face crying through the visor, it was too much for Kafka to bear witness to.

So he did the only that came natural to him

Taking them into a tight hug as they sobbed from the terror of eventually having to leave there friend that had cemented there place as the Rider's parental figure.

Kafka looking past them while he hugged them saw that the other Monsties had shown up forming a blockade from any Defense Force Troopers getting past them. Thankfully Mina had given a strict order of not firing at any of them. Turning his attention back to Rider Kafka gave them his final words of reassurance they for awhile from him.

Kafka: Rider, I'm sorry I have to go with them, it would just cause more anguish if I don't.

Rider: Kaf- * hiccup* ka it-it's too dangerous for you though.

Kafka: Hey have a bit more faith in me I'll be fine I know it, but you can't be captyred just yet after all you still have too look after the Monsties especially the one's back at the house.

Knowing that Kafka was refering to Houdini and the eggs that had yet to hatch, Rider simply gave a soft ya towards Kafka.

Kafka pulling himself back a bit to look at Rider gave one of his trademark goofy grins which got a half hiccup half laugh from Rider.

Kafka: Rider you make me realize how lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.

Rider: * Hiccup/Laugh* Heh that sounds way to profund for that to be something you came up with.

Kafka: Hehe well your right, I read it in a book once, now go and make sure you and the Monsties stay safe.

Rider: * Hugs Kafka one last time* Goodbye * Whispers* Dad

That last word caused Kafka's eyes to widen and cause the human turned Kaiju to let out a tear of both happiness and saddness

Kafka: * Whispers* Goodbye my little welp

As Rider flew away on Ratha, followed by the other rapidly disappearing Monsters, Kafka was taken into custody of the Defense Force hopefull that he would see his family and friends again.

This is definitely the most painful capture for Mina and Hoshina because of this scene alone. Both kept their troops from going after Rider alongside their Monsties especially since Kafka gave up willingly. His surrender and cooperation during the small impromptu interrogation amid transport gives them hope that he won't be executed.

Sadly Rider's gut feeling is about to be proven right if Kikoru's flashback in episode 4 is enough foreshadowing.

[edenslittlecow]

Eden x Culver(My PC) Added things after knowing more about Eden

CW a lot of non con, and some physical abuse

Eden and Culver are two very traumatised people, licking each others’ wounds, healing them but also hurting each other because of flaws of their personalities and their trauma.

Culver started out “falling in love” with Eden very quickly as a trauma response. He was kidnapped and forced upon after all. So he just blamed himself that he tempted Eden, this lonely man in the woods. He should endure the pain this man forced onto him because he seduced him, even though in reality he hadn’t done anything. Culver just convinced himself he should just make the best of the situation. He should just nuzzle up to his kidnapper and r*pist so Eden would be nicer to him. He should just fell in love with this man because there is no way he could leave anyway. That was his thought at the time. Satisfying Eden was always very painful for him but he endured it. He also would like to take care of Eden to please him. Though this time it was mainly stemmed out of him escaping from his thoughts instead of actual love. He just convinced himself he did this out of love. Just like how he rationalised and convinced he was okay with this treatment. He did like taking care of others after all. But since Eden was not someone easy to read Culver just thought he was such a failure to appease him.

Eventually their relationship will change for the better. Eden enjoy the boy’s company. Culver would realise Eden actually liked him in some way and Culver was not a failure he thought he was. Through each tender interactions Culver would slowly falling in love with Eden, genuinely this time. He enjoyed feeling Eden’s gaze on him when he was doing household chores naked. He thought Eden getting flustered because of romantic but sexual scenes in the books were amusing. He adore the fact this man had done so much things to him but he never held hands before. And Culver chose to hold his hands. It felt wonderful and sweet. He appreciated how Eden would protect him if the hunter was nearby.

Eden wanted sex of course. But I feel he also wanted to be loved and wanted. He was starved of human interactions as much as he hate people. He could always force Culver. It would satiate him at that moment but he will always be hungry for more. Things what he truly craved, what really could calm and sooth him needed to be given to him willingly. It felt exceptionally good when Culver wanted him, even worshiping his body with such adoration.

Culver would always be aware of Eden’s boundaries when he was with Eden. He always made eden feel safe, calm and loved. Culver was not just a hole he indulge himself with or the maid that did his chores. Culver was special. Culver was so gentle and patient with him. Even after all the bad things Eden did to him. But again they are both flawed, affected by their past trauma deeply. Eden would hurt Culver all the time, intentionally or not.

They also really feed into the flaws of each other’s personality. Eden already had the notion that PC need to be taken care of because they are not able to protect themselves. And they had to stay at the cabin. Culver very much fed into this, not even intentionally. He was very small and he never fight back. Even he was forced he would just take it because of his trauma. I like to think, just as much as Eden could be rubbing off on culver, and making culver more confident and more in touch with his sexuality, Culver in a way could influence Eden to be more abusive.

I felt he would be even more insecure because he deep down thought he didn’t deserve it. It felt good to be loved and he wanted more when Culver was away but he also felt he didn’t deserve it after what he had done, no matter how much he rationalise it. So he would hold onto Culver even tighter which would only hurt Culver. Again, this is just something he could talk to Culver about. But the hunter is stubborn and they are just so terrible together. Eden will never talk about it with Culver. He probably didn’t even want to think about what he was feeling most of the time. So he usually just lashed out instead. And Culver would often just forgive him like usual, no matter how bad Culver felt. Eden already thought PC had so much trauma and probably that was the reason they would not accept what he did for them. He thought what he did was always for PC's own interest and it was always beneficial to them. I like him being so delusional. I felt it would just going to be worse if Culver never pushed back, because either he was too traumatised or too scared. Culver kind of tend to land himself into situation that was very bad for him because he was very naive about his way of helping people.

I do like their dynamics. They are kind of right about the other person. but also not really. They are only partly correct. Even with them being together for so long, they could still discover new things about the other person. They are kind of blind to certain things because of their issues or they perceived it but failed to do anything to make it better. They had no idea how much they were loved by each other. So in a weird way it felt like. they are their downfall and their salvation.

I always thought it was funny that I made Culver for Eden. But they are just so terrible together. They are both so delulu. They have the potential to be very cute but very dumpster-fire-bad at the same time. And the terrifying thing is it can really go either way very easily. There is no way of knowing what path they will end up on but since the day Eden brought Culver into his life, they would be bound together forever. Eden would not let Culver go even in death.

[priffi]

loss is nothing new to grian. every single time he's watched his closest partners fall like dominoes, and every single time it's his hand holding the sword.

and yet look at how quickly he's turned his back. scar hadn't even died yet but he'd already started saying his apologies. he hadn't hesitated to kill jimmy and mumbo even after they had pleaded for mercy and a chance at negotiating. he hadn't even said much of a hello to scar before he off and found a secret soulmate, then followed it by leaving scar alone when he caused their permadeath. joel hadn't even died yet but he'd already went and called himself a nosy neighbor.

then you compare his tragic story to joel's and jimmy's curses. both of them have rarely or never experienced loss.

joel, for the first time, chose his partners. unknowingly, he also fell into the trap of choosing someone, which has repeatedly shown devastating consequences in past season (3l desert duo, ll ethubs, arguably dl cleo&scott). because he finally wasn't on his own or forced with someone, losing them hit him so much worse. it being a new feeling didn't help with his panic and desperation he was feeling from his own timer. joel didn't die entirely alone, but at that point grian had already given up on saving him. (not willingly, of course; he only gave up because he knew it would be too hard to save joel and he'd already sacrificed an hour. also, he didn't want to deal with losing another person close to him.)

the loss that joel did experience was jimmy. after doing everything on his red madness spree, he still couldn't save him. part of his spiral could definitely be attributed to him feeling like he failed to protect jimmy.

then there's jimmy. canary call, first to fall.

never once has he known permadeath of a partner. never once has he known permadeath other than his own.

out first, again and again and again and again. this time, to a fellow bad boys' hand: grian.

had he not coaxed jimmy into trying to get the kill, then jim wouldn't've taken the risk. then jim might get to experience loss (which might as well be an accomplishment for him at this point.)

it's quite interesting to see how loss (or in jimmy's case, the lack of it) affects the bad boys. or the sad boys. or the bad boy (singular). or the bad-boy-turned-nosy-neighbor.

[domoz]

An attempt at a Hikaku/Itama thing that I just can't seem to get past a block on. so i'm turning it over to you.

The Uchiha clan has every right not to trust outsiders with their health. Unfortunately, the Senju have healing techniques worth risking it for. Even more unfortunately, the injury Hikaku had taken to his left arm had been noticed, and even worse than that, the Hokage had suggested it would be a show of good faith for him to go to the hospital that his clan has taken charge of running. And Madara had agreed.

So now here he is, tense and nervous in a waiting room chair because just the act of being here is a signal of weakness that no shinobi should ever willingly send. The long stares and flustered glances of the people manning the intake desk haven't helped improve his mood

"Ah, Uchiha-san?" A vaguely familiar voice calls.

Hikaku looks up and locks eyes with one Senju Itama, who is one of the most immediately recognizable people in the entire village despite the fact that his reputation is entirely shadowed by his brothers'. Dual colored hair is swept up in a high bun, though some fly-aways have started to pull loose, and a few larger strands dangle loose around his ears. He's in a doctor's coat, but there's nothing on him to indicate that he pretty much runs the building.

The head of the hospital probably doesn't need to see him for a broken arm and dislocated shoulder, but perhaps this is just the good faith he's supposed to be offering being returned.

The Senju gives him a small smile, "If you're ready, I can see you now."

Hikaku nods, hiding a grimace of pain in the collar of his battle coat as he pushes himself to his feet and follows. Instinct has him examining the back so easily offered to him. There are no obvious weapons, but there's no way Itama doesn't have something on him. Medic types tend to go for senbon, which are easy to hide -- besides that, the Senju may be the shortest in his family, but he still has a good few centimeters on Hikaku and a not insignificant amount of muscle. With his broken arm, Hikaku would be at a significant disadvantage if they got into a brawl.

…Which is not going to happen, Hikaku tiredly reminds himself. Because it would cause a political incident, which would negate the whole point of him coming here. And because Senju Itama, from everything he has seen and heard, is as mild mannered as they come, and is also holding the door to an exam open for him. The look on his face is somewhere between the compassion Hashirama might wear and Tobirama's analytical gaze. Hikaku ignores it and walks into the room, arm twinging in pain as his muscles reflexively tighten as he hears the door close behind him.

"You can sit on the table there, Uchiha-san." Itama says softly. He's gotten a clipboard from somewhere and is already marking down notes on it. "Is there anything else besides the break and dislocation?"

Hikaku seriously considers lying for a moment, because he wants to be out of here as soon as possible, but good medics always seem to be able to tell that sort of thing and make your life hell for trying.

"Just some minor bruises and scrapes." Hikaku grits out, hoping that wont extend the time he's kept here even longer.

Itama hums and makes another note before looking up to make eye contact again -- which Hikaku only now registers as unusual. Most Senju still don't.

"Well, we'll deal with the worst first. Are you alright with me using a medical technique to examine your arm?"

Hikaku blinks, and Itama waits expectantly. He had been assuming thats was where this was going -- after all, what was the point of coming here if not to experience those techniques. He's not sure if he's actually being given a choice, but the illusion of one still feels kind enough to unwind some of the tension that had been building and making his shoulder ache even worse. He exhales.

"What exactly would that entail?"

The corner of Itama's eyes crinkle. Rather than upset at being questioned, he looks pleased.

"I would use my chakra in a series of specific highly compact sensory bursts to determine the severity and nature of the damage, which is painless and non-invasive. After that, if you're willing, I would use another technique to directly stimulate the regrowth and repair of injured cells. I can also temporarily reduce the pain your nerves are transmitting as well."

Hikaku mostly knows the words he's just heard, but that all seems very…

Well it seems like it's something that no one should casually admit to being able to do, which is to say that it seems very Senju.

"…How does the recovery time compare to letting it heal the natural way?"

Itama smiles at him, one cheek dimpling.

"I'd have to see the damage more specifically, but for bone breaks full recovery tends to take about half the time, and for minor fractures most people leave clear to go back to light duty."

Which means that it's way too useful to pass up on, no matter how dubious Hikaku feels about the matter.

"Alright." Hikaku agrees, "That sounds… Good."

Itama only nods. "I have to touch you for this as well. Are you alright with that?"

Hikaku can't decide if he's thankful or annoyed that he keeps asking. He thins his lips and nods.

"You can tell me to stop at any time." Itama says. He steps closer, telegraphing his movements like he knows the proximity has set Hikaku's heart thundering. If he'd had time to rest before coming here, perhaps he wouldn't be so paranoid, but he hadn't, so Hikaku watches warily and braces as Itama's hands light up a soft mind green and reach towards him.

…It doesn't hurt.

Izuna has been through this before, and he had described the feeling as being overwhelming. Like drowning in someone else's chakra, and hideously painful and uncomfortable. Granted, his wound had been far more severe, but it had set Hikaku up with a certain expectation that's not being met.

The foreign chakra brushes across his senses feather-light and almost cooling. The pain of the break fades to a dull ache, and then, slowly, to nothing at all.

"This may be a bit unpleasant." Itama warns him, and Hikaku braces for what is mostly nothing. The cool sensation grows until it's mildly uncomfortable, but not more than that. It's like a chilly winter wind that saps away all the warmth, but it never starts hurting, not even when Itama slowly lifts his arm to pop the joint back into place. The longer it goes on the more Hikaku feels the tension leech out of his shoulders. Pain relief so instant and without any apparent side effects is… Nice.

Itama steps back, looking Hikaku over with a critical eye.

"Take care to watch for inflammation and take it easy for the next few days, but you should be fine. The break was clean. Do you want me to heal the smaller things as well? Or I can bandage them up to heal the slow way."

"I…" Hikaku almost rejects the offer on reflex, but now that what is presumably the worst is over he feels a little silly over how worried he was. If he's already taking the easy way, why should he stop now? "Yes, if you don't mind."

Itama nods and reaches out again, seemingly already aware of where the worst of the cuts and bruises are.

"Thank you." Hikaku finds himself blurting, "For -- this. I've been impolite, but you've been very accommodating."

Itama smiles again, but he doesn't look up from where he's focused on Hikaku's other hand -- numbing the sting of a scrape so minor Hikaku hadn't even realized it was there until the pain was gone.

"You're welcome, Uchiha-san. And don't worry, you've been a model patient. You wouldn't believe how hard it can be to get people to just sit still sometimes."

Maybe that's not surprising; shinobi are a jumpy bunch at the best of times and being injured only makes it worse. He can use himself, today, as the perfect example of that. He resists the urge to duck his head.

"Well… I'm sure that once people know how useful this is it'll get easier." Hikaku honestly means it, too. Because he's fine -- coming off one of the worse missions he's ever had --certainly the worst in recent memory-- and he's going to go home tired and fine.

"…You'd think that, but sometimes I have trouble convincing people who have grown up with the option to use it." Itama sighs, resigned or amused, Hikaku doesn't know him well enough to tell, and continues his work, chakra easing the strain in his muscles and fading bruises to pale yellow.

"…Actually." Itama says after a moment, pulling his hands away, "Do you think if we taught more people how these techniques work, it would make them more willing to use them? I don't really know how else to encourage it short of forcing it."

…Like Hikaku basically had been, though he's not certain if Itama knows that or not. That aside --

"Oh, I...I think so, yes. I men, it's a trust thing right now, isn't it? And the more people who know how to heal like that, the more likely it is that someone who needs help will know someone who can do it."

More practically, Hikaku is pretty sure that the number of Uchiha who have managed to get that technique to work for them in all of the history he knows is in the single digits. There's clearly some secret to it that the sharingan can't copy. If Itama is willing to share even a fraction of it, the clan needs to know. Or-- the village does. Both, since that's the same thing, now.

"That is…" Itama steps back, "A good point. And I think I'm all done here, so you're free to go, Uchiha-san."

"Oh. Thank you." Hikaku slides off the table, rolls his shoulders and test his muscles. There's the burn of exhaustion, but compared to how he'd come in, it's like a miracle.

"Of course." Itama smiles at him again, "Come back any time."