#even though I mostly just asked more questions

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ me & my husband ]❜

ft. the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you don’t need your husband to be perfect, you just want him to be honest┊3.3k words

contains: written before s2 came out!! probably ooc or inaccurate, angst with spots of fluff & a bittersweet ending? reader’s pov mostly, suspicions of cheating, lack of communication, mentioned age gap, random inaccurate lore for the salesman

➤ author's note: yeah, i saw the sudden uptick in notes on that gong yoo post i made and realized season 2 came out which i completely forgot about. i intend to watch it soon as possible and write fics for it as well as (probably) add new characters to my writing list, but for now, please be content with this!!

₊˚ʚ 💌₊˚✧ this fic was heavily inspired by “emotionally intoxicated” by aurasaurora!

gong ji-cheol is the poster image for the ideal husband. he’s always been like that from the moment you met him, and you can’t help but feel like you’re the luckiest woman in the world when he calls himself yours. he’s tall and handsome, someone who catches everyone’s eye despite his only being focused on you. he’s wealthy and hard-working, able to call a luxurious mansion your home, and willing to buy you anything your heart desires as long as you ask for it. he spoils you rotten with that money, gifting you expensive things even if you didn’t ask if it reminded him of you. he’s doting, always sure to smother you in affection with kisses and cuddles whenever together to make it known how much he adores you. the sex is great too, he makes you feel wanted and desirable without ever leaving you unsatisfied. 

most importantly though, you love him, and he loves you. the last two years of marriage have been so blissful, and there isn’t a single thing you would change.

at least that’s what you believe most of the time.

you like to think you know a lot about him, and in a way, you do. you know his favorite color, how he likes his coffee, what he usually orders at restaurants, the type of wine he prefers over beer, the exaggerated shocked fasces he likes to make, how his favorite chore is folding the laundry, how his least favorite is doing the dishes because he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, the name of his childhood pet, what positions he likes to cuddle or fuck in, the names he’s thinking of giving to your child when they are finally born— there are so many little details you know about him, yet at times you feel like you don't know anything at all.

you don’t really know much about his childhood aside from a few random stories, he claims there’s nothing really notable and that it was as standard as can be. you don’t know who his parents were or what they were like because he said they died when he was young, but surely that’s an important loss which must have impacted him and made youth difficult in some way? you don’t know about his past partners if he even had any, but you doubt you were his first as he was yours with a face like his. you don’t know any of his secrets, like an embarrassing moment or something sinful he might have committed in the past. 

he knew all of these things about you and the little details of your life, so why don’t you know any of the most basic things regarding your own husband?

these periods of uncertainty are few and far, but once the icy tendrils of doubt creep in, it’s difficult to shake them off when you realize you only know these things through observations and not him actually telling you. it’s a miracle your stupidity allowed you to make it this far in falling head over heels for him, getting married, and carrying his child (not that you completely regret it, you still love him, but you wish you had given it more time).

they say there are no such things as stupid questions, yet the main question you have is exactly that as it’s something every wife should know even before the marriage. it would be impressive how long you’ve been clueless about this matter if it weren’t for how often and how skilled he is in managing to evade your curiosity and steer the conversation elsewhere. you didn’t want to press on it since he seems to shut it down every time the topic is brought up and you don’t want to fight over something you technically didn’t need to know, but it weighs on you and presses into your chest with the knowledge you were being kept in the dark. 

what did your husband do for a living, exactly?

his schedule is always unpredictably changing with little rhyme or reason and it confuses you. sometimes you’ll go an entire few days without seeing him, sensing him wake up in the morning before the sun is even up, feeling him kiss you on the cheek before getting ready, and not coming back until long after you fall asleep with no communication aside from a note on the table telling you he’ll be gone for the day along with a wad of cash for you to treat yourself while he’s gone. other times he’ll be chilling at home for an entire week, waking you up with aggressive cuddles (or morning sex), making you breakfast with the morning news on in the background, and taking you out to wherever you want to go on his card in his rare casual clothing and messy wavy hair rather than the typical fancy suits and hair styled with gel. 

as far as you’re concerned, he’s a businessman of sorts, although you don’t know what company he works for or what position he has in terms of hierarchy or how an occupation of that type allows such flexibility in hours or anything at all. 

“what if he’s having an affair?”

you paused for a second before continuing the motion of slicing the cheesecake with a fork and savoring the taste in your mouth. “that’s ridiculous,” you stated simply after swallowing. “he loves me very much, and it doesn’t explain his weird schedule either.”

today was spent with some friends you met back in high school, but honestly, you were only attending out of politeness and tradition since you honestly feel like you’ve disconnected from these girls long before the current. still, you treasure the memories shared in your more formative years and wouldn’t ever say no to them if they wanted to hang out like old times. ji-cheol doesn’t bother to hide his distaste for them, calling them a miserable lot who try to drag you down at every opportunity out of jealousy for your happiness. you laugh it off, but you know deep down he’s right and yet you’re still sitting here at the cafe with them with bright smiles like their words don’t cut deep. 

“maybe he’s dating the boss— a sexy office siren type— she gives him plenty of days off and he stays with her at her beach house at jeju island or something to keep her company, and then she gives him lots of money in exchange.”

“oh my god, could you imagine?”

“can you be realistic? it sounds like you’re just writing a plot for a new drama,” you giggled, not allowing the feeling of a twisting blade in your abdomen to show on your face or the venom to drip from your words at the mere thought of the man you loved being stolen away a faceless woman who was everything you wished you were more of: more beautiful, more wealthy, more experienced, more intelligent—

“you don’t know because he’s your first love or whatever— and you’re so lucky to have been able to marry him— but men are dogs, and i don’t see why he would be the exception.”

“but he treats me so well—”

“maybe he only treats you well because you’re pregnant— he probably just feels guilty. i mean, when i was pregnant and had my first, my husband wasn’t attracted to me anymore and demanded a divorce unless i lost the baby weight.” she shrugged like it was so simple, so common, like the notion of marriage wasn’t something so deeply important and could be thrown away so easily.

“we aren’t suggesting you get a divorce, but we’re just saying you should keep an eye on him— you know? a handsome guy like him was always bound to get a lot of attention…” her laugh was shrill and high-pitched, making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“right… thanks guys…”

that night, you couldn’t stop twisting and turning on the large sectional couch with thoughts rushing through your head of your husband with some other woman. the jealousy from these fictional scenarios without evidence of existence plagued you. it made you want to vomit up the negative feelings and go back to the person you were a few hours ago without the images of him cheating planted in your mind, which didn’t go unnoticed by him and caused him to ask what was bothering you as it wouldn't be good for the baby.

you hesitated for a moment, “could you tell me about your exes?”

“why are you suddenly curious about that?” he chuckled, knowing damn well that it was because of those stupid snakes masquerading as people (it truly takes one to know one) running their mouths again, but still feigning obliviousness for your sake. 

“just wondering,” you muttered. “i mean, you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, but you’re a bit older than me so…”

“and i hope to be the only one too,” he smirked confidently, making you laugh as he plopped down on the ground and rested his head on the cushion next to yours. 

it was such a casual setting in such a vast space, bringing you back to the days in your little apartment inviting him over for chicken and beer before you knew about your immense wealth and got embarrassed over your cheap dates when he was so used to expensive restaurants. he found it very endearing though, knowing you liked him for him and not his money.

“well, if you’re so curious…” he trailed off, but you weren’t quite sure if it was because of hesitation or because he simply didn’t know where to start. you can’t remember the last time a conversation like this was held to learn more about him since it was usually about you, maybe back when you first started dating and briefly discussed his late parents.

he started with his crush when he was in middle school since that was his earliest recollection of feeling love, who didn’t really count as a girlfriend or love because nothing was established and because of their age, but she was his first kiss that he ran away from right after because of how nervous he was, and it was never addressed again. apparently it was his second girlfriend who taught him everything he knew before he met you, saying she basically “trained him like a dog” to create a gentleman out of an inexperienced boy who still wasn’t quite sure how to treat a woman like a queen. she was a bit mean though, and he didn’t realize he dodged a bullet until later after realizing she was unnecessarily cruel to him for no reason multiple times if he didn’t do things exactly her way.

you suppose you always knew your husband wasn’t always the suave charmer you know him to be, but the image of younger him being clueless on matters of romance made you burst out laughing because of how you could hardly picture it.

he reached over to pinch your cheek affectionately, “are you of all people really making fun of me when you were too scared to hold my hand for me to escort you out of my car?”

“oh my god, that was on our first date, i can’t be blamed! i was shaking like crazy on that day— you had to tell me that you didn’t bite.”

“i was actually thinking about calling off our date last minute because of an emergency at work,” he confessed, “but i’m glad i didn’t and met the love of my life instead.”

“aw, you flirt.” the memory made you smile and feel all giggly inside, all the fears you had about him possibly having an affair falling away, yet there were still some lingering at the back of your mind with the mention of his job. “what happened at work?”

“nothing that important,” he said instantly like clockwork. “just some boring business things.”

you didn’t push it, not wanting to ruin the mood, but once again, your curiosity was just itching to ask more questions about his work life even if it was truly as boring as he says. you wanted to know every mundane detail whether it was what his office looked like or what the annoying co-worker did on a daily basis, anything to satiate your need to know more about this mysterious man you had made life-long vows with.

it all came to a head one night while you were cooking dinner, you heard the doorbell ring a dozen times in quick succession and answered it to find an older man with fiery red hair that seemed to match his temper. when he addressed your husband by name and verified your relationship with him, he began spewing all kinds of insults about the blood he had on his hands by luring innocent people to their deaths and you felt your heart drop. you tried to reason with him that there must have been some sort of mistake, barely able to get your words out in a fit of confusion and surprise at the absurd accusation, but he wouldn’t hear you out and pointed a finger in your face, asking if you had any idea what gong ji-cheol was doing behind your back. 

at that very moment, he was suddenly seized by two anonymous men in all black, causing him to yell out in panic as they dragged him away and stuffed him in the back of a car before quickly driving off into the night without a trace. it all happened so fast, you just stood there with your mouth open in shock, wondering if you should call the police on what looked like an abduction. 

then your husband comes running up the steps with his locked briefcase in hand, shouting out your name, asking you if you’re okay, pulling you back inside the comfort of your shared home, and checking you all over to make sure you aren’t harmed in any way. when you ask about who that man was and what he was talking about, he simply told you he was some crazy customer who was dissatisfied with the company, was looking for someone to blame, and promised to tell you the details later. 

you didn’t tell him that you didn’t believe him, just pursed your lips and furrowed your brow for a second then let go of the topic like you always do, taking his coat off his shoulders with a peck on the lips asking how his day was. he reciprocated the kiss, said it was fine without anything special, and that he would shower before having dinner, something he didn’t really need to say since you already knew but stated anyway as per evening routine. 

as he headed up the stairs and disappeared from sight, you stared at the locked briefcase resting crookedly on the little entryway table and paused for a moment. if you did this, it would be a breach of privacy and a sign of growing distrust in your husband, but it could also answer all of the questions that never cease. 

your hands wouldn’t stop shaking involuntarily as you felt the cold black metal underneath your fingertips, marveling at the smooth material clean of any scratches or dents. fidgeting with the built-in combination lock, six number sequences started rushing through your mind as you started to hastily run through your options with a focus on dates. you were determined to only do this three times since you had no idea if an alarm would be set off or if it would close off permanently.

his birthday?

an electronic beep went off indicating you were incorrect, making you nervous.

your birthday?

wrong again, you only had one attempt left. you swallowed, shaking the accumulating sweat off your hands.

the date of your wedding?

you gasped as the locks suddenly flipped open and lightly knocked against the briefcase. it was undone, you could open it at any moment now and see it all.

and yet you still hesitated during this golden opportunity. was it the fact that the passcode to his most secret possession was the day you got married? was it guilt for going behind your husband’s back for answers instead of directly asking him? was it because you were afraid of what you would find if you discovered the red-haired man was telling the truth?

whatever it was, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and locked it again, leaving it looking untouched and went back to playing dinner.

there was a heavy tension present at the dinner table that night, the only conversation present being him interrogating you about what the red-haired man talked about word-for-word. not really interrogating since his tone of voice was still calm and gentle as he asked questions, but you could see him fidgeting with his fork and not leaving much room for any other topic until he was sure you told him everything. he then sighed and claimed the man was insane, a gambling addict who was too deep in debt to afford treatment and was trying to drag him into his misery after meeting at the subway station. 

“ji-cheol?”

he froze for a second, not used to hearing you use his real name rather than a pet name. “yes?”

“what do you do for a living, exactly?”

a pause, you watched him fidget with his chopsticks and shift the grains of rice around. “you know, business stuff— nothing you need to concern yourself about—“

“but i don’t know! that’s the thing!” you felt tears starting to well up behind your eyes, letting two years of frustration trickle through. “i know it doesn’t seem that important for me to know, but is it really so important that you leave me in the dark about it for the three years we’ve been lovers? and now some guy comes to our doorstep and tells me about how your job is playing games with people at the subway station to make them participate in death games?!” you took a deep breath, calming yourself down, “please, be honest with me, that’s all i want…”

“i-i…” that was the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter, and if the situation wasn’t so tense, you would be proud you finally got one-up on him. “i can’t say… it’s for your own safety and mine.”

“so he was right?”

he remained silent, trying to think of some way to counter what seong gi-hun had told you, but if you didn’t believe the elaborate lie he already told you and wanted to learn more, then he knew this was the end of the road. 

“i-i need some time to think…” you looked defeated and it broke his heart. “i’m going to my mom’s house tonight, i’ll be back tomorrow—“ you got up, not bothering to pack anything aside from your phone and your wallet.

he had prepared for you to start screaming and crying (not that he would blame you, i mean, who would willingly stay with a man who was complicit in mass murder), demanding a divorce and packing your things to shut the door for him never to be seen again with your unborn child. the strangely calm reaction was both a relief and extremely unsettling to him.

“i won’t be mad if you decide not to come back” he stated plainly, defeated in a state you’ve never seen him in before. “whatever choice you make, i’ll support you, just know i love you— more than anything else in this world.”

you stared at him blankly through the open doorway. perhaps your husband isn’t the perfect man you believed him to be, but he was as honest as he possibly could have been with you regarding the matter, and that’s enough. 

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning.” that’s how you feel at the moment, but you don’t know if you’ll feel the same way tomorrow morning when it sinks in.

[mandalhoerian]

forced proximity | baking | wild west au ❅ Leon Secret Santa ( @leonsecretsanta ) ❅ gift for @bonesnplywood !!

summary: When a wagon mishap in the middle of a snowstorm leaves the new sheriff Leon Kennedy stranded at the local bakery, he’s reluctantly pulled into a lighthearted afternoon of decorating gingerbread cookies with the town’s spirited baker, you.

word count: close to 5K, read on ao3

note: AMBER ITS ME!! YOUR SECRET SANTA!!! THE WORST PERSON THESE TROPES COULD POSSIBLY FALL INTO THE LAP OF!!!! I've never in my life joined an event like this or written about christmas (jingle halal everyone), and i was doomed from the start because wild west is something i know absolutely nothing about 😞 so i had to make insane research on the topic for this, and i mean, "insane" research <2 me>, because i've had to look up things such as sugar, icing (did it exist? what about hot chocolate. plot twist, IT DOES), what they baked, how non-commercialized christmas was like back then, and overall about frontier towns, and i swear i was on the verge of tears about to drop out THIS 👌 CLOSE 😭😭😭 I hope I was at least able to catch the vibes and it's enjoyable, please excuse any mistakes or weird stuff overall that doesn't fit, i tried.... merry christmas!

Christmas around these parts was a quiet affair, mostly celebrated by children and the devout few who filled the pews of the old church on the hill. There were no garlands or ribbons strung up, no carolers wandering door to door. Folks didn’t have the time or money for all that fuss.

Instead, Christmas was something simpler. Something humbler. A rare pie cooling on a windowsill, the smell of woodsmoke mingling with fresh bread if a family could spare the flour and sugar, stockings, little more than patched-up socks, hung over fireplaces with faint hope... Sometimes, if the weather allowed, neighbors gathered for a pot of stew or shared biscuits, squeezing together at too-small tables and swapping stories to warm the room better than the fire ever could.

And yet, you, neither a dutiful churchgoer nor a small child any longer, cared more about this holiday than most. Actually, scratch that. “Cared” didn’t begin to cover it.

You lived for Christmas.

Always had. Ever since you were small, the holidays had lit something in you. All of them mattered, but Christmas? That was special. It wasn’t just the crisp air or the smell of pine needles in the bakery where you grew up. It was the whole season, the way December turned the world into something softer, kinder. Your father had seen to that.

Every year, he’d throw open the bakery doors to the orphanage down the lane, baking for the children who had no family to celebrate with. The evenings were loud with laughter, warm with the smell of bread and cakes, and rich with your father’s tall tales spun at the dinner table. He’d send those kids home with free loaves to last them through the winter, and no matter how much the townspeople complained about the expense, they’d show up to help--eventually. Even the grumps couldn’t resist the sight of those kids, faces bright with joy, or the way the bakery felt like the heart of the town in those fleeting weeks.

Of course, none of that magic happened on its own. The ingredients alone were a fortune, especially now, and it had taken some creative wheeling and dealing to keep things running smoothly. Mayor Irons had been easy enough to bribe, an extra haul of your famous sweets for his office, a special stash of sugar sticks just for him. The old sleazeball had learned long ago not to ask questions, especially when the end-of-month "bonus" arrived. It was a necessary evil, one you barely had to think about anymore.

This year, though, was different. The snowstorm had rolled in fast, blanketing the town in thick, sparkling drifts that clung to rooftops and piled high in the streets. It was beautiful in the way all fresh snow is, softening the edges of a hard world. But this wasn’t the gentle, picturesque snowfall from a child's drawing. This storm had teeth. Roads were already impassable, and while the bakery’s ovens burned bright and warm, you couldn’t help but worry about what would happen if the storm kept on. Business had slowed to a crawl, but you weren’t about to close the shop, not with so much left to do before the Christmas festival. The Mayor needed his payment. 

Your gaze drifted to the empty shelf behind the counter where sacks of flour and sugar were meant to sit. Supplies that should have arrived hours ago. Supplies you needed for the dozens of gingerbread cookies and other desserts.

Your father had thrown in the towel hours back, muttering that it was pointless to keep the place open when there was nothing left to sell. You, stubborn as always, refused to leave. The wagon train will come, you’d insisted. You weren’t about to trek home in this snowstorm, anyway, and someone needed to mind the fire. But as the wind howled against the windows and the blizzard thickened to a near whiteout, you were beginning to think your father might’ve had a point.

Then, the bell above the door jingled.

You jolted, spinning around.

"Finally," you muttered, brushing flour-dusted hands on your apron as you turned. "Come on in! You're lettin—"

The words caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the deliveryman standing there, but the sheriff—Leon Kennedy—silhouetted in the doorway like a figure out of legend. His wide-brimmed hat, damp and battered, was barely clinging to his head thanks to the string knotted beneath his chin. On his shoulders, six sacks of supplies were stacked so high it made him look almost absurd in the middle of your little bakery. Snow clung to his coat like he’d wrestled a blizzard and won, but that didn’t stop him from nudging the door shut with the heel of his boot and stepping further inside. The quiet thud of those sacks hitting the wooden floor sent a plume of cold air swirling around the room.

You blinked at him, dumbfounded.

“Sheriff?”

Leon straightened, dusting snow from his coat with broad, deliberate swipes. “Sorry I’m late.” He nodded to the sacks, as though hauling half a wagon’s worth of supplies on his back through a blizzard was the most normal thing in the world.

“Where’s the wagon?” you managed, trying to peer through the frosted window before turning back to him.

“Broke down a mile back,” he said, his voice roughened by the cold. “Axle snapped.”

Your stomach dropped. “A mile? In this weather?”

“Figured I’d at least bring what I could carry.” He kicked the snow from his boots, each thud matching the quickening of your heartbeat. “Rest will have to wait.”

You stared at him, then the sacks of flour and sugar piled on the floor. He’d walked through a goddamn blizzard. A mile, uphill, no less—you didn’t even need to ask to know that was the case. You opened your mouth to say something, but all that came out was a breath of air. Finally, you croaked, “I… Thank you.”

Leon just nodded, like gratitude was something he shrugged off the same way he shook snow from his coat. “What needs doin’?” he asked, glancing toward the empty shelves. “Looks like you’re behind.”

You’d just watched the man shoulder a blizzard and a mile of snowbanks, and now he wanted to help you restock?

Your gaze flickered to him—to his reddened cheeks and the tips of his nose, glowing like embers from the cold. The dark leather of his duster was soaked through, clinging to him like a second skin, and the snow gathered on the brim of his hat had begun to melt and drip onto the floorboards.

“Hold on a second,” you said, recovering your wits as you marched around the counter. “You’re half-frozen, Sheriff. Give me that coat before you catch your death.”

Leon’s brow quirked faintly, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. “I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.” You grabbed the hem of his coat, already tugging it off his shoulders before he could protest. The leather was heavier than it looked, soaked through and frigid to the touch. Jesus.

Leon let out a small, huffed laugh, raising his arms in surrender as you worked the coat free. Cedar, you thought absently, catching the scent that clung to him, warm and woodsy even beneath the chill.

“Sit down and warm up,” you ordered, pointing toward the small table near the fire. “You're not going anywhere in this weather.”

“And the shelves?” he asked, ever the dutiful sheriff.

“None of your damn business. You just carried half the territory’s worth of flour through a blizzard—I’d say you’ve earned five minutes.”

Leon’s smile turned genuine then, soft around the edges, and for the first time since he’d walked in, you saw the faintest hint of color return to his face. He nodded, boots thudding against the floor as he made his way to the chair.

As you turned back toward the sacks of supplies, already mentally calculating how much work lay ahead, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder. Leon was sitting by the fire now, elbows resting on his knees, hat in one hand and gloves dangling from the other, his gaze distant as he watched the flames. He looked tired. More tired than any man who’d just hauled a mile of flour and sugar should look, but there was something steady in the way he sat there, unshakable, like no storm could ever touch him.

You exhaled softly, shaking your head as you rolled up your sleeves. Christmas was comin’ whether the snow liked it or not.

You busied yourself at the counter, half-focused on the dough you were rolling out and half on the quiet presence of the man. After a while, the silence stretched like the dough underneath your hands, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire and the soft thud of your movements against your work surface.

He wasn't very talkative in the first place, you knew as much, thinking that perhaps you could have accomodated him better instead of throwing yourself immediately into work the moment you'd gotten what you'd been waiting for the whole morning. The awkwardness that stifled the bakery was bothersome enough that you chanced another glance at Leon, and caught him watching you, eyes briefly darting to the counter before returning to the oven. 

“You decorating all those yourself?” he asked finally, nodding toward the trays of fresh-out-the-oven, undecorated gingerbread men to the side that were cooling off.

You blinked, pausing mid-roll. “I was planning to, yeah.”

He stood, rolling his shoulders as if testing how much energy he had left after the trek. “You’ve got a lot of work left. Might as well make myself useful.”

Your brows rose in mild surprise, but you quickly recovered. “You’ve already done more than enough.”

“Storm’s not letting up anytime soon,” he said simply, moving closer to the counter. “Might as well pass the time doing something.”

He put as much intensity into the staring match that followed as he would into a gunfight. It was inevitable that you'd lose. 

Finally, you reluctantly handed him an icing bag, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, Sheriff. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Leon took the bag, turning it over in his hands like it was a tool he needed to get a feel for. “Fair warning,” he said, “I’m better with a six-shooter than whatever this is.”

“It’s just icing. Start slow and gentle. No sharpshooting required.”

“Good,” he replied dryly. “Would hate to accidentally take out a gingerbread man.”

Was that... a joke? Did he just make a joke? 

You stepped closer to him, catching the way his hands dwarfed the small icing tube as he held it. His brow furrowed in concentration, the usual stoic expression on his face betraying just a smidge of uncertainty. There was something endearing about seeing him like this, someone so strong and sure reduced to puzzling over frosting.

“Here,” you said softly, placing your hands over his fingers, which twitched beneath yours, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he stilled, letting you guide him. The warmth of his skin seeped into your palms, and you found yourself acutely aware of how close the two of you were.

“Hold it steady,” you murmured, your voice dipping low and deliberate, as if sharing a secret. “The trick is even pressure. Like this.”

You shifted your grip slightly, your thumbs brushing against his knuckles with a deliberate slowness. His hands, so large and steady, seemed to falter beneath your touch, the tiniest twitch betraying his awkwardness. You caught the faint hitch in his breath and felt the way his shoulders stiffened, as though unsure whether to lean into your guidance or escape it entirely, yet together with you, he squeezed the tube gently, a neat line of icing trailing onto the cookie below. He wasn’t focused on the cookie, though—not really. The way his hands followed your movements made it clear he was hyper-aware of the closeness, unsure but not resisting. Feeling the heat rise to your face, you quickly changed tack, pulling your hands away with a light laugh.

"You’ve got it from here," you said, stepping back slightly and gesturing to the cookie in front of him, your tone bright and easy.

Leon exhaled slowly, his breath brushing the side of your face. “Guess I was pressing too hard.”

“Most people do,” you replied, glancing up at him briefly. His focus was in front of him, but his jaw was tight. You could feel the tension in his shoulders despite him admitting what he'd been doing wrong. “Relax your grip a little.”

You adjusted his hold, guiding his hand through another clean line of icing, your bodies aligned as if the two of you had done this a hundred times before. When you finally released his hands, the absence of contact felt oddly stark... Thanks to the cold weather, no doubt. 

“Think you’ve got it now?” you asked, stepping back slightly, though your heartbeat had yet to slow.

“Think I’ll need a little more practice.”

That sounded suave at the time, but he was right, in the end. Leon’s first attempt at decorating was, to put it kindly, a disaster.

The icing tube seemed to have a mind of its own, spilling a shaky, jagged line across the gingerbread man’s torso. His frown was growing deeper by each passing minute, and he was constantly adjusting his grip, but it only got worse. By the time he set the tube down, the poor cookie looked more like a battlefield casualty than a festive treat.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter. It bubbled up, light and genuine, as you reached over to inspect his handiwork. “Well,” you said, biting back a grin, “it’s… unique.”

“It’s terrible,” Leon muttered, a touch of color rising in his cheeks as he glanced at your much neater designs. “Maybe I should stick to chasing outlaws.”

“Aw, come on,” you teased, nudging his arm. “You’re just gettin' started. Besides, this is supposed to be fun, not perfect.”

He gave a skeptical huff but picked up the tube again, determined to try. How earnest. You leaned closer, pointing out how to apply even pressure, your hands brushing his as you demonstrated even though you didn't really need to do all of that. Something about enjoying a skilled grown man being awkward about something you were good at and wanting to enjoy moments of making him fumble. 

“There you go,” you encouraged as his next attempt turned out… well, marginally better. “See? Not bad for a first-timer.”

"I feel bad for whoever this will be eaten by," he muttered, referring to the misshapen abomination in his hand that could hardly qualify as a 'person.'

"It's the Mayor," you blurted out without thinking, causing a choked laugh escape past his lips, surprise lighting up his handsome features.

"Really?"

"Yep," you grinned, winking conspiratorially at him. "You're helping me bribe the man to invest more on Christmas. Gotta throw in some of your... specialties in there for good luck."

"You're trying to get me fired," he deadpanned, as dry as the wood stacked by the hearth. "And blacklisted."

A loud laugh tore itself out of your throat, warm and melodious in nature. He looked oddly pleased at having brought it out of you, the corners of his lips twitching up minutely before returning to its neutral position. God, how cute! You wondered what other expressions you could draw out of him if you tried. It wasn't fair how handsome he was when he smiled like that, a real smile, with actual emotion. That tiny change softened the harsh line of his mouth and eased the shadow of exhaustion from his face, making him look like a completely different person, like another version of himself who existed behind closed doors. The image stayed burned into your mind's retina as you resumed decorating the cookies with your nimble fingers, sneaking glances every so often, studying him from beneath your lashes.

You wanted to know more about this man. In a way, this snowstorm had been a good thing. 

“So,” you started, reaching for another cookie to decorate, “what made you take the sheriff’s job? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t strike me as the type who’d want to babysit a town like this.”

Leon glanced at you, his hand pausing mid-squeeze. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, ya know.” You gestured vaguely at him, smirking. “That look. Like you’ve seen too much of the world already and don’t trust any of it.”

He let out a soft, humorless laugh. “You’re not wrong.” For a moment, he focused on his cookie again, the silence stretching between you both. Then, quietly, he added, “I figured it was time to slow down. Maybe try something simpler.”

You arched a brow. “Simpler? Sheriff in a town like this? You must not have heard about all the trouble this place sees.”

“I’ve heard,” he said, glancing your way with the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Still beats the alternative.”

The weight in his voice gave you pause. You didn’t press, sensing there were things he wasn’t ready to share, and not your place to know in the first place. Instead, you held up one of your finished cookies. “Well, here’s to slowing down. Even if it means spending your days wrestling with icing.”

“I’ll take it over the wrestling I’m used to,” he said, his lips twitching into a soft smile as he picked up another cookie. "Already like this better. It's nice working with someone like this. Having a calm evening instead of the usual shit I'm doing. Christmas cookie decorating. Who'd've thought, right?"

"That sounds lonely, Sheriff."

A strange, distant look crossed over his face momentarily, something melancholic and longing flitting across his face before it vanished again under the cool mask you were familiar with.

He let out a small, sad sigh. "...Yeah. S'pose it is."

"You know... Christmas is all about coming together. Starting fresh. And sometimes taking a little break from reality to enjoy yourself," you added thoughtfully, trying not to be too on the nose about what you were trying to convey. "We all need a little grace. Especially around this time of year."

He snorted softly at that, amused.

Your hand moved quicker than your mind could react, bringing the piping tip dangerously close to his mouth. "Care to repeat that?"

Leon blinked, momentarily stunned. "Christmas suits you," he repeated, more brazenly this time, daring you to follow through with the implicit threat. "All warm and welcoming." He leaned forward, almost challenging in nature. "Like this bakery of yours."

"Oh, well—" your ears burned hotter at the implications. If anyone saw you like this now, you would've been done for.

You cleared your throat, attempting to keep yourself composed even as Leon's stare bore a hole through your skull. The damn man was just teasing you, looking smug as fuck for figuring out how to make you flustered for once.

"You better watch your pretty mouth, or else I'll decorate it shut instead."

Leon threw you his most innocent, butter-wouldn't-melt smile, and oh—was he laying it on thick just to rile you up. He seemed to have recovered from earlier, all broody and cold-shouldered as he usually was. This new, playful side of him was going to kill you before the day was over, you were absolutely certain of it.

"Maybe next time," he said simply with a nonchalant shrug. 

The man had some nerve. Just the mere implication made your head spin. Did he mean it? Was he flirting? What did that mean for him? For you? You thought back to the few times you'd seen him around town—the polite smiles and nods exchanged at a distance; the brief conversation when your order went missing; the sudden appearance this afternoon that saved your day—and wondered why things were so easy between you despite how limited the interactions. Maybe because you knew each other well enough in name only, without the addition of many personal details beyond those spoken on a passing basis. Or maybe there was something deeper and unspoken that existed between you two ever since that first interaction at the saloon several weeks ago. Maybe you weren't imagining the subtle, shy looks, the hidden smiles, the way he tended to linger by the doorway to watch you work long after he ran out of excuses to be there anymore.

You shook away such thoughts and returned to decorating, not sure what to say in response.

"...Do you ever get the temptation to have any while you do this?" He asked all of a sudden, changing the topic abruptly. "Or wait til the last batch gets done and then have them?"

"These are for Christmas!"

"They are for the Mayor."

You couldn't help but giggle, especially since he said that like someone else would talk about some slimy thing on the bottom of their shoe. "For Christmas's sake."

"Would you eat one? Any of these ones I did?" There was something almost like playful disappointment there, in his tone. "I think we need to do some... quality testing before deciding to send them off to my employer and risk my job while we're at it."

There were very few times Leon Kennedy was described as an optimist, even fewer times he could be considered amusing (the townsfolk seemed convinced he wasn't capable of joy), but hearing him make a joke regarding his 'employer' with you made something flip inside your tummy. It didn't take long for you to cave, popping the partially iced gingerbread man into your mouth.

And that's how both of you ended up sitting down and devouring the whole batch, with two cups of steaming hot chocolate courtesy of yours truly. In true Christmas spirit, Leon even suggested making a gingerbread house from scratch in the shape of the mayor's office (complete with a gingerbread dog) and helping you with the baking process.

At this point, neither of you cared about decorum—the sheriff's sleeves were rolled up high on his arms, and you'd shucked your apron ages ago. Between the pair of you, you had enough raw dough in your mouths to sink a ship, but it was delicious, and your stomach was full of warm gingerbread and sweet cream. All that was missing was eggnog and a roaring fire, and it really felt like Christmas. His company, too, was surprisingly pleasant. Though Leon was quiet—always quiet—he listened attentively to your chatter while you kneaded the dough and he mixed the sugar and eggs while occasionaly going in for the hot chocolate, which was quite endearing for a man you hadn't seen with any beverage other than some sort of alcohol at the saloon.

You leaned against the counter as Leon poured another mug of hot chocolate, his sleeves still rolled up and his hair slightly mussed from pushing it away too many times so it wouldn't get in his eyes while he worked. The snowstorm had calmed some, but the wind still howled outside, leaving little to do but bake another batch of cookies and fruitcakes to pass the time—and keep the shop warm.

“So, about that axle,” you started, reaching for the bowl of flour. “No one told you it was shot?”

Leon shook his head, his expression almost sheepish. “Guess I didn’t ask the right questions. Higgins just said it was ‘good enough.’”

You snorted, scooping flour into the mixing bowl. “‘Good enough’ by Higgins’ standards means it’s one bump away from falling apart. The man’s been patching that wagon together with spit and stubbornness for years.”

Leon’s lips twitched in a faint smile as he leaned against the counter across from you. “Noted for next time.”

“You’re lucky it lasted as long as it did. But you’ll get used to that around here. Everyone’s got their quirks, and most of them involve cutting corners where they shouldn’t.”

“Yeah?” Leon’s tone invited more, his eyes steady on yours as he sipped his hot chocolate.

“Oh, definitely,” you said, grabbing the sugar. “Take Mrs. Winslow, for example. Sweet old lady, bakes pies for half the town out of the goodness of her heart that it's bad for my business, but did you know she’s the reason the post office closes early every other Thursday?”

Leon blinked. “I… can’t say I did.”

You grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “She’s been having a years-long feud with the postmaster’s wife over some quilting contest back in ‘64. The poor postmaster just shuts up shop early to keep the peace whenever she’s around.”

“Jesus…”

“And then there’s Old Man Miller. Nice fella, always has a good story to share, but he’s also the same guy who thinks it’s a bright idea to milk his cows at midnight to ‘beat the rush’ at the market in the morning.” You laughed, remembering the sight of Mr. Miller stumbling bleary-eyed into the bakery, smelling distinctly of barnyard. “And let me tell you, that man’s cheese tastes like the butt crack of dawn on a Monday morning itself.”

Leon chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds charming.”

“It is. Charming and... a little crazy, to be honest. But that’s the kind of place this is. We’ve all got our stories, and we’re all a bit touched in the head. Except me, of course. I’m the picture of sanity. Why, just yesterday, I had a completely normal, rational conversation with my sourdough starter as I fed it. It agreed wholeheartedly.”

“I see the resemblance,” Leon joked, his posture relaxing as he took over the task of adding eggs to the bowl, his fingers moving deftly and confidently. “Did the sourdough give you any tips for dealing with the townsfolk, or is that a trade secret?”

"Ah, wouldn't you like to know," you teased, laughing along. "But honestly, the best advice I can offer is to roll with the punches. This place will drive you nuts if you try to understand it. Just let the weird wash over you, and eventually, you'll feel at home."

Leon paused, considering your words. "That might take a while."

“Here's some secrets to keep up... There’s old Tom over at the smithy. He’ll fix your horseshoes for half price, but only if you promise not to bring up the time he accidentally set fire to the mayor’s porch.”

You glanced up to find his eyes crinkling slightly at the edges.

“And let’s not forget about the Reverend,” you continued, emboldened by the sight. “Bless his heart, but he’s been known to sample a little too much of the communion wine. You’ll know it’s happened when he starts quoting Shakespeare in his sermons.”

Leon nodded wisely. “Duly noted. Blackmail Tom, steer clear of the reverend during happy hour. Got any other wisdom to impart, town sage?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “Well, if you ever need a favor from the schoolmarm, remember that her favorite flowers are peonies. And whatever you do, do not play poker with the Doc. The man can cheat like no one's business, and no, he's not above using his medical degree to his advantage. Also, avoid the butcher on Tuesdays—he's extra cranky after haggling prices with the ranchers. Oh, and never, ever bet against the blacksmith in an arm-wrestling match. Trust me, I learned that the hard way. Poor Billy. That boy won't learn his lesson anytime soon."

"What about the town baker?" he asked, his tone light, a hint of curiosity in his question, his focus on the dough in front of him, his fingers kneading the mound of flour, butter, and sugar. "Any secrets worth knowing?"

You quirked a brow, a sly smile playing at the corners of your mouth at him taking the first step that he'd been circling for quite some time. What would he have done if you weren't good with signals? Nevermind, though, you liked this brand of shy men. "Well, now that you mention it, there is one thing..."

Leon paused, his hands buried in the dough, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt sleeves. He looked at you expectantly, a glint of intrigue in his otherwise impassive demeanor.

"The baker," you said in a hushed tone, leaning forward as if sharing a secret, "has a weakness for a handsome, helpful sheriff who knows his way around a bag of icing. Especially one who's willing to brave a snowstorm to deliver her supplies personally."

The blush that crept up Leon's neck was immediate, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink. You couldn't help but bite your lower lip, finding his flustered state absolutely adorable. His grip on the dough tightened momentarily, and he averted his eyes, his lashes fluttering as he tried to compose himself.

"Ah," he managed, his throat bobbing in a nervous gulp.

You nodded, the grin on your face growing wider. "Mhm. She would love it if on Christmas Eve, that certain sheriff stopped by the bakery to pick up her special order. Maybe even have a drink together. To thank him for all his help, of course. If he's not busy, that is."

Leon cleared his throat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, his attention still fixed on the dough before him. "I... I'll be sure to check my schedule," he managed, a slight tremor in his deepened voice.

"Good," you replied, straightening up, satisfied with his response. "Now, enough chit-chat, Sheriff. Let's get these gingerbread men in the oven so they can rest and bake, and we can have more hot chocolate and relax in the meantime. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a plan," Leon agreed, his shoulders relaxing somewhat, though his ears still burned a rosy red.

[kk095]

Xmas in the ER

*Hello there everyone, and merry Christmas to those who celebrate! As promised, here's my latest story. I hope you all enjoy the story as much as I do, and feel free to shoot me a message, comment, or leave me asks if you have any questions! I will also be posting another story sometime on New Year's Eve.*

As the old saying goes, Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. The holiday is a great opportunity to spend time with loved ones, exchange gifts, and make lifelong memories. But for Dr Lindsay, this year’s Christmas was just another Wednesday where she was tasked with holding down the 7pm to 7am overnight shift in our ER. Naturally, Lindsay was bummed out about the idea of having to work on Christmas, but the emergency department is a 24/7 operation! Little did she know, she’d still have a holiday she’d never forget!

That night, the weather was awful. It was dark, freezing cold, and snowing heavily. Visibility was limited, and the roads were covered in a fresh coat of snow and ice. “Jeez… I bet we’ll have a couple of MVCs tonight.” Lindsay thought to herself shortly after she started driving, trying her best to carefully make her way to work through the frozen, wintery landscape. Fortunately for Lindsay, the roads were mostly empty, most people in the area opting to stay indoors. Even though the roads were empty, the conditions were less than ideal, so she felt the best move was to drive slowly.

Despite Lindsay doing everything in her power to arrive safely at the emergency department, fate had other plans for the cute, sporty tomboy doctor! On the highway about 10 minutes or so from her destination, Lindsay’s car slipped on a patch of ice on the road. The car almost immediately lost control, redirecting the doctor’s vehicle towards a cement barrier in the median of the highway. Lindsay’s heart raced as she white-knuckled the steering wheel, frantically attempting to regain control of the errant vehicle. But it all happened so fast! There was only so much Lindsay could do in those few seconds. Lindsay was unable to stop or change the trajectory of her car and slammed head on into the cement median.

CRUNCH! The windshield shattered, glass fragments flying everywhere inside the vehicle acting almost as little bits of shrapnel. Lindsay raised one arm to attempt to cover her face from the glass shards, but a few nicked her face and neck. The steering column was forced inwards, slamming Lindsay in her chest with tremendous force before being blown back a second or so later when the airbag deployed. “AHHH!” Dr Lindsay yelped, feeling something pop inside her chest. Even with the vehicle stopped after the impact, the momentum generated from the accident caused Lindsay to be thrown around a bit. Just like that, the roles were reversed, and now Lindsay found herself in need of assistance in the ER.

Upon arrival at the emergency department, Lindsay was awake, alert, and doing anything and everything she could to fight through the pain. While being wheeled in through the main entryway of the ER, she was laid out on a backboard atop a gurney with a c-collar around her neck. Lindsay was stripped barefoot, down to just her black sports bra and scrub pants. EKG electrodes and wires were stuck onto her torso, while IV lines were set up in each arm. A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around her left bicep, and a pulse oximeter was on her left index finger. The ER doc’s body was in relatively good shape, but she had some cuts and scrapes on her face and neck from the glass shards.

While being wheeled in, Dr Lindsay was experiencing a weird déjà vu of sorts. She’s walked through those same entryway doors more times than she could count, but she never saw the emergency department from that angle. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea of being brought in as a patient. Her pretty blue eyes scanned her surroundings, attempting to make sense of the nonsense. “33 year old female, blunt chest trauma, single car MVC. BP 60 over palp, heart rate’s 140 and climbing, pulse ox down to 90. Got IVs going on scene and started fluids, but her vitals aren’t looking too good.” Lindsay heard a female medic rattle off while wheeling the stretcher down the hall towards trauma room one. “Ok, thank you. Let’s get her over to trauma one. I’m gonna start her on the MTP and get a chest x ray.” A familiar voice replied to the medic. “who is that?” Lindsay thought to herself. “Dr Sarah maybe? I know she was supposed to work the day shift today.” Lindsay answered, still thinking to herself.

The gurney was still being wheeled towards the trauma bay. Dr Sarah leaned over, coming into Lindsay’s line of sight and lowered a stethoscope onto her chest. Sarah didn’t look down at Lindsay’s face, so she didn’t immediately realize who her next patient was. “Diminished breath sounds on the left side, we might need a chest tube.” Sarah observed, pulling her stethoscope away after a brief listen. Dr Sarah then looked down at the gurney, her eyes locking with Lindsay’s. Sarah’s eyes could be seen widening behind her glasses, absolutely stunned at what she was looking at. Sarah gasped, unable to get a word out. “Sarah….?” Lindsay whimpered, her voice weak and breathy. “OHMYGOD, Linds?! What happened?” Marveled Dr Sarah, still processing the concept of Dr Lindsay- a friend and coworker, being her next patient. Lindsay’s lip quivered, her eyes started to moisten. “my car… it just slipped… I don’t know what happened…” Lindsay explained to Sarah, her voice wobbly, now on the verge of tears. “It’s ok Linds, it’s gonna be ok! We’re gonna take a good look at you!” Consoled Sarah, gently grabbing Lindsay’s right hand, her voice a bit panicked.

Once in the trauma room, the stretcher was lined up parallel to the table, where Nurses Heather and Nancy waited. “LINDSAY?!” Heather exclaimed the instant she recognized who the patient was. “Hunny?! What happened?!” Nurse Nancy chimed in, equally surprised. Lindsay didn’t answer, but the familiar voices certainly comforted her through the terrifying uncertainty she was experiencing. “Let’s get her on the table on my count! One… Two… THREE!” Sarah barked out. The trio of beautiful ladies picked up the backboard and carefully moved their coworker onto the table while the paramedics took their stretcher back and exited the room. “Ah….” Winced Lindsay, feeling some pain inside her chest while being placed down on the table. Dr Lindsay squinted, the bright, fluorescent overhead light practically blinding her. “BPs 60 over palp and dropping. Hang 4 units of O-neg and prep Lindsay for a chest tube.” Ordered Dr Sarah, her voice urgent. “Linds? I have to put in a left chest tube. You know how bad they hurt, but be strong for me, ok? I promise I’ll be fast.” Dr Sarah kept Lindsay in the loop about her treatment. Lindsay hesitated for a moment, trying to mentally prepare for the pain she was about to endure. But the logical, doctor side of her took over, realizing that the brutal, painful procedure had to be done. Dr Lindsay’s eyes looked up at Sarah, and she nodded. “Go ahead.” Permitted Lindsay, giving Sarah the green light to begin chest tube placement.

Lindsay laid on the table in the supine position, her left arm raised above along her head. The normally calm and collected Dr Lindsay had a nervous expression on her face. The doctor turned patient’s lips were pinched tight, her forehead puckered, her icy blue-grey eyes looking in the direction of her left ribcage where the tube was to be inserted. She watched Dr Sarah insert a needle full of lidocaine to numb the skin. Lindsay felt a quick pinch, but nothing too worrisome. Sarah then sterilized the incision area with an alcohol wipe. “Ok Linds… Here we go…” The cute, nerdy redhead doctor told Lindsay, reaching for a 10 blade scalpel that sat on an equipment tray beside the trauma room table. Sarah took the scalpel and made a 1 inch cut at the intersection of the 4th intercostal space and anterior axillary line. Lindsay could feel the cold, sharp blade’s every move as it effortlessly slashed her skin apart. Lindsay saw stars, her eyes rolling back in pain. After the cut was made, Sarah attached a Kelly clamp to the proximal end of the chest tube, then bluntly inserted it into Lindsay’s chest cavity. “YAHHH!!!!” Yelped Lindsay, her eyes shooting wide open. Dr Sarah continued the procedure, guiding the tube further into Lindsay’s chest cavity into the pleural space. “AHHHH!!!” Lindsay let out a blood curdling scream, in absolute agony, her eyes tearing up, both her hands making tight fists, feeling the plastic tube forcing its way deeper inside her chest. There was a hiss of air once the tube reached the correct location from trapped air vacating Lindsay’s chest cavity. Lindsay gasped loudly and dramatically, then attempted to sit up. “whoawhoawhoa!” Nurse Heather stepped in, gently laying Lindsay back down on the table. “Stay still for us Linds. So far so good hunny.” Nancy chimed in, gently stroking Lindsay’s hair. Sarah lowered her stethoscope onto Lindsay’s chest and had a listen. “Tube’s in.” Sarah nodded.

Although Lindsay’s breathing improved following the chest tube placement, her vital signs continued to drop. Dr Sarah started another round of blood products and upped Lindsay’s meds, but that didn’t seem to be doing the trick. Lindsay began to shiver dramatically. Her long legs trembled and shook, and at the far end of the bed, her toes were scrunched up hard, showing off the white and red candy cane themed nail polish on her toes, along with the thin, wavy, prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of the big, size 12 feet Lindsay was always so self conscious of. “Mmmmm…” Lindsay moaned. Dr Lindsay began taking rapid, shallow breaths, continuing to moan. “Shhh. It’s ok Linds. Hang in there a little longer for me…” Nurse Nancy’s calm, soothing voice told Lindsay. “I…I…” Lindsay babbled. “You what sweetie?” asked Nancy. “I just… I can’t believe I’m gonna die on Christmas…” Replied Lindsay, an impending sense of doom consuming her. The trio of caretakers in the room stood there frozen for a second, taken aback by Lindsay’s response. Nobody could believe that words like that were coming from Lindsay’s mouth. “You’re not dying hunny! We need you here New Year’s Eve! You know how we get slammed every year!” Nancy tried to encourage, her tone of voice upbeat and positive. “New Year’s Eve? Pshhh…” Lindsay scoffed, continuing to shiver. “I’m gonna be toe tagged and under a sheet in a little while…. Forget New year’s…” continued Lindsay. “No hunny, don’t say that! We’re gonna fix you up!” Nancy reassured, her voice getting a bit wobbly, upset by how Lindsay was talking about her own fate.

Before Lindsay could even answer, she started gasping loudly, taking deep, dramatic gasps. The heart monitors began beeping louder and faster, playing an almost ominous tone. “She’s crashing…” Heather announced. “linds? Stay with us hunny!” Nurse Nancy said to Lindsay, holding her right hand for a second. Again, Lindsay didn’t answer. Her frantic hyperventilating continued, her eyes WIDE open. “We need to intubate. 8.0 ET and a laryngoscope!.” Ordered Sarah, her voice roaring through the room. “Lindsay? I’m gonna intubate you, ok?” Sarah told Lindsay, moving to the head of the bed. Dr Lindsay looked up at Dr Sarah, their eyes locking for a moment. Lindsay looked like she was trying to mouth something, but couldn’t get the words out. “What’s up Linds?” asked Sarah. Lindsay didn’t answer. Her eyes shifted away from Sarah’s. Lindsay’s eyes remained wide open, but became locked at the ceiling. It was like a switch was flipped. Lindsay’s shivering and gasping came to an abrupt stop. The monitors began to alarm at that point. “V-fib! Starting compressions!!!” Nurse Heather shouted out. Heather immediately began chest compressions, pushing down on Lindsay’s chest hard and fast. Nancy swooped in, snipping off Lindsay’s sports bra, exposing her small breasts and hard nipples. At the head of the bed, Sarah got right to it, beginning rapid sequence intubation. The nerdy redheaded doctor carefully navigated the flexible plastic tube into her friend’s airway. Lindsay’s head bobbed and lolled around from the residual force of Heather’s hearty compressions, creating a moving target for Sarah- nothing that Sarah couldn’t handle! The breathing tube was navigated further into Lindsay’s airway, ending up in the correct depth and location in a matter of seconds. “I’m in!” Sarah confidently announced, taping the tube in place.

Post-intubation, the trauma team decided to shock Lindsay. The defibrillator paddles were charged to 200 joules, gelled, and pressed up against Lindsay’s bare, flat chest. “Alright! Everyone…CLEAR!” Sarah shouted, sending the first shock into the patient once everyone backed away. “MMMPH!” Lindsay moaned, as if she felt the shock. The first defibrillation didn’t do the trick, onto the second one! The defibs were recharged to 250 joules, and shock #2 was promptly delivered. “Mmm….” Moaned Lindsay, again, almost as if she knew what was being done to her. Shocks one and two didn’t do the trick, but third time’s the charm, right? The paddles were charged up to 300, and Lindsay was shocked. Her chest shot up and her back arched. She held that position for a second or two before plopping down onto the orange backboard. “Damn it, no change! Shocking again at 360. Everyone… CLEAR!” Barked Dr Sarah. KA-THUNK! Lindsay’s 6’1 frame was tossed around effortlessly by the stronger shock, but like before, v-fib persisted. With the paddles still pressed up against Lindsay’s bare chest, Sarah shocked Dr Lindsay again at 360 joules. At the far end of the table, Lindsay’s feet kicked up, slamming back down hard half a second later, wrinkling the soles of her big feet once again.

Following the fifth shock, the trauma team switched gears, giving CPR and ambu bagging another try. Heather placed the heel of her gloved hand on the middle of Lindsay’s chest and began pumping away hard and fast. Lindsay’s chest caved in, and her toned belly with abs rippled and jiggled out from the sheer force of the chest compressions. Heather felt Lindsay’s ribs break, but nonetheless, she kept up her life saving efforts. At the head of the bed, Nurse Nancy attached the ambu bag to the ET tube, puffing the light blue bag every few seconds or so, sending critically needed oxygen directly into the coding doctor’s lungs. Dr Sarah stood off to the side of the table injecting the first doses of epinephrine and atropine into Lindsay’s IV line in hopes of stimulating positive cardiac activity. While waiting for the meds to kick in, Heather kept at it, brutally going to town on her coworker (now patient’s) chest. Heather looked down at Lindsay’s face while continuing CPR. Lindsay’s head bobbed and bounced around in sync with each individual compression. Her eyes were WIDE open, her face locked in a full-blown death stare. The ET tube hung out the side of Lindsay’s mouth, taped in place, hugging her pale lips. Heather couldn’t believe a familiar face was in such dire shape. “The ones with their eyes open never make it…” Heather thought to herself. Back at the head of the table, Nancy continued ambu bagging. “You’ve got a long life ahead of you… We all love you and need you here Linds…” Nancy whispered into Lindsay’s ear, as if she was trying to convince Lindsay to not die.

Over the coming minutes, Lindsay’s chest began to take an absolute beating. A nasty bruise started to form in the center of her chest on top of the breastbone. Mid code, Lindsay’s chest tube began to drain a substantial amount of blood seemingly out of nowhere. “What the hell?...” A surprised Dr Sarah thought out loud. In the blink of an eye, a couple liters of blood drained through the tube. “She’s bleeding somewhere in her chest. Maybe a cardiac chamber or great vessel injury.” Speculated Sarah, trying to explain away what she was seeing. “I’m gonna do an echo. Let’s see what her heart’s doing. Maybe that’ll give me something to work with.” Sarah went on. With CPR ongoing, Sarah squirted a little bit of clear, conductive ultrasound gel onto Lindsay’s bare chest. She turned on the ultrasound monitor screen and lowered the wand onto the portion of Lindsay’s chest where the gel was and began moving it around for a second or two to spread it out a bit. Sarah then moved the ultrasound wand over Lindsay’s heart and eyes the monitor screen. “….oh Lord…what a mess in there…” Uttered Sarah. “Hmm?” Heather overheard. “Massive tamponade.” Sarah shook her head. “Pericardiocentesis?” asked Heather, wondering what the next step was. “I don’t think that’ll do the trick. We need to crack her chest and see what’s really going on in there. I’m gonna set up a thoracotomy tray.” Sarah explained to Nurse Heather. Nurse Heather’s eyes went wide once she heard the word “thoracotomy.” That was a last ditch effort, hail Mary procedure used in the most critical patients. Heather has seen many patients get their chest cracked during her time as a nurse in our ER, but the idea of a friend, coworker, and familiar face being the recipient of such a procedure really bothered Heather at a deeper level.

Betadine was splashed across the left half of Lindsay’s chest. The strong, chemical scent of antiseptic hit everyone’s nostrils in less than a second. Sarah picked up the scalpel, making a crude, but decisive incision. The cut started just to the left of Lindsay’s sternum, extended laterally across her chest, underneath her left nipple, and concluding just shy of her left armpit. Heather halted CPR while Sarah worked to separate the underlying tissue and muscle to make way for the rib spreader. With an adequate space created, the metal rib retractor was placed, and Lindsay’s chest was forcefully pried open. A loud popping and cracking sound echoed around the room while Sarah turned the knobs on the spreader. Upon entry to Lindsay’s chest cavity, there was a massive rush of blood. “Suction! SUCTION!” Shouted Sarah, packing handfuls of surgical sponges into the fresh incision area. Heather lowered a suction tube into Lindsay’s chest cavity and began removing the excess blood to create a good line of sight for Sarah. The suction tube made a wet slurping sound as it removed the blood. Meanwhile, Sarah incised the fibrous lining of the pericardium to relieve the tamponade and placed a vascular clamp on the descending aorta in order to redirect blood flow and quell any arterial bleeding- at least temporarily. Heather continued to apply suction every few seconds or so, the line of sight clogging up with blood like clockwork. “Starting cardiac massage.” Announced Sarah, reaching into Lindsay’s chest, beginning to vigorously massage away at Lindsay’s strong, athletic heart. Sarah’s gloved hands were wrapped firmly around the beautiful tomboy doctor’s heart, squeezing much needed blood to the rest of her body. A wet, rhythmic squishing sound was produced from Dr Sarah’s internal resus efforts. “Come on… come on Linds…” uttered Sarah under her breath.

Sarah squeezed and squeezed, but her multiple cycles of cardiac massage failed to restart Dr Lindsay’s heart. Next up, the team opted to give the internal paddles a try. The internal paddles were charged to 20 joules and lowered into Lindsay’s chest around her erratically twitching heart. THWACK! Lindsay’s heart tensed up for a second before going right back to v-fib. Sarah sighed. “No change, going again at 30. Everyone… CLEAR!” Sarah shocked again. Lindsay’s torso jolted sharply in response to the shock, but v-fib remained. “Hitting her again at 40!..... CLEAR!” Sarah’s voice surged. “Mmm….” Lindsay moaned in reaction to the shock. “she’s still in v-fib, let’s go again…. CLEAR!” Sarah yelled out passionately. A dull, wet thump was heard, however, Lindsay’s heart still couldn’t be shocked out of v-fib. “AGAIN!... CLEAR!” Yelled Sarah, lowering the blood soaked internal paddles back onto Lindsay’s cracked open chest. “Still nothing. Recharging the internal paddles to 40!” Sarah announced, her tone of voice growing more and panicked. The high pitched, electrical whirring sound of the paddles recharging bounced around the room. “Ok…. CLEAR!” Sarah defibbed Lindsay again. Almost instantly after the shock, the heart monitors flatlined. Lindsay’s heart sat completely motionless in plain sight. Dr Sarah removed the large, spoon shaped paddles and gently set them back on the crash cart. Sarah began removing her gloves and eyeing the clock on the wall. “It’s over. Time of death, 19:35.” Sarah called out, abruptly terminating the code.

The trio of caretakers stood there shell shocked for a moment while the high pitched hum of the flatlined monitors droned around the room. Nancy removed the ambu bag, a small amount of air quietly hissing out. Heather switched off the monitors, making the once loud, chaotic room eerily silent. Nobody said a word, but knew exactly what to do next. The IV lines were taken out of each arm. The EKG electrodes were disconnected. The BP cuff was taken off Lindsay’s left bicep. The pulse oximeter was taken off her left index finger. A blue surgical drape was hastily tossed on top of the thoracotomy site. Lindsay’s eyes remained wide open as her body was covered, appearing as if she watched the sheet get pulled over her head. Last but not least, a toe tag was filled out and placed on the big toe of Lindsay’s left foot. The tag dangled in front of Lindsay’s hot, wrinkly soles, serving as a harsh reminder that no Christmas miracles would be taking place that night. In this alternate reality, Lindsay was now the latest beauty who found herself toe tagged and under a sheet in our emergency department.

[rnadett]

@transsweets Sorry, Guys u clearly missed a LOT from my analysis.

1. It was never just Caitlyn. It was Vi’s and Jayce’s agreement too. Vi knew exactly what The Grey was, and Jayce specifically designed her weapon for a strike mission. Loris’s, Steb’s, and Maddie’s weapons were all built for the same purpose—to strike.

Do you really think Jayce was like, "Yeah, I have no idea why you need these weapons designed like this, but sure, I’ll do it—no questions asked"?

Second: Margot and Chross, with their "Game of Thrones" in the undercity, harmed more civilians than the gas itself ever did. If it had continued, it would’ve been a full-blown catastrophe for the people living there. Margot’s clients were mostly high-influence figures in Zaun—primarily criminals and other gang members—because they were the only ones who could afford her services. Also, Zaun is HUGE. Pls look at the map! And yes, that ties directly to the meaning of my first sentence. >>

Ekko didn’t intervene or say anything against the gas, even though he was still there when they started using it. The Firelights knew everything happening in Zaun, especially something as big as clearing out Zaun’s (Ekko's) number one issue—the Chem Barons’ turf war, which caused the massive influx of refugees. That's an agreement because:

Ekko would’ve been the first to storm out, especially on Vi, if he didn’t agree with it.

I broke down every point, and now you’re just bringing it back up without actually reading. Every single character interaction (even if it didn't happened directly but you have a feeling for it) in Arcane has meaning—even if you "miss" it. Also, if the gas was the worst thing in Zaun, then why wasn’t it in any other part of in the whole later? Why didn’t it linger in other areas? Pls, just rewatch the episodes.

Also, why didn’t Sevika bring it up again beyond Vander’s statue? She doesn’t mention a word about it. If this had been Caitlyn’s greatest crime against Zaun, she would’ve used it to rally the Zaunites to her side. Instead, the central point of her speech was that there were Noxian soldiers in Zaun—something, yes, Caitlyn allowed.

Also, I never excused the use of the gas, nor did I ever say it was the best thing that could happen or that they should be thankful for it.

All I'm saying: It prevented a bloody war that would have been far more violent and brutal than the one that killed Vi and Jinx’s parents.

Sometimes I feel like people have more sympathy for the Chem Barons because of the whole "what they’ve been through made them like this" narrative, but you completely ignore the fact that they hurt and kill civilians along the way, becoming oppressors to innocent people. This completely misses the point of the series—that there is always a choice in what kind of person you become, (even if you're in an oppressed group) and it’s never too late to change for the better.

It’s okay if ppl can’t forgive Caitlyn’s actions, even though she was willing to die for them. But I smell hypocrisy, especially when they say things like "Jinx never killed civilians." No, she just stood by Silco’s side and helped maintain his power while he got half of Zaun addicted to Shimmer, causing quicker and longer suffering. Good souls can only be exploited and driven to desperation for so long. (also with my slides, I never made Jinx dirty - My slides didn't meant to be a Pro Cait and Anti Jinx post... )

I lost my father to drug addiction—he ended up like the people in Zaun, just skin and bones. We fell into debt trying to get him from one therapy to another, (or what is the right word in english..) so I can relate to that aspect. And yet, I can still sympathize with Jinx and even Silco, despite the fact that they likely ruined countless families forever I can completely see every part of it, even the parts of Silco’s rule that weren’t shown—like how Silco might have sent his goons to collect money from families because, for example, the father was so addicted to Shimmer that he bought it on credit. Later, they’d try to collect the debt from a 10-year-old child who opened the door for them. You can imagine the rest.

Because everyone who upholds that system shares the guilt.

As Ekko and Vi said, under Silco’s rule, it was the worst for civilians. But at least Silco had a brain. The Chem Barons’ power war, like the one after Vander died, would’ve lasted so much longer and caused even more devastation.

How interesting that the strike team never targeted Ekko who didn't exploited civilians?

Also, what do you think who gave them the info that they should strike Margot's place?

It was most likely Vi's suggestion since the topside - thanks to Marcus- still didn't anything specific about the Chem Barons.

Ekko AGREED to use The GREY to neutralize the Chem-Barons.

Here's the analysis:

False, one-page or one-sentence ragebait posts always spread faster than detailed content, even though, to get an accurate picture, it's important to examine the details, not just take something out of context without meaning. If you're interested, you can find more in-depth analyses on my profile, such as why it was Heimerdinger, whose 200 years of neglect and inaction created the entire conflict between Zaun and Piltover.

Thank you for reading it!

[ink-stainedkiss]

Graying Skies - Megumi Fushiguro

Synopsis: A ceaseless thunderstorm broods over Jujutsu Tech and it makes you begin to loose sleep. Thankfully a just as restless Megumi is here to provide company.

Since it was raining today, I decided to incorporate it into my work. I am so happy to finally create a work about my favorite grumpy boy🫶. Feel free to request more Oneshots like this if you enjoyed it!

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, but it’s just making out

Word Count: 1.2k

Thunder clapped violently above head, shaking the entire building, and making the raging thunderstorm outside worse. Bolts of lightning came crashing down, their natural light flashing through the crack of your curtain. It had been raining all day, so you had to go to classes with the continuous pattering of droplets hitting the roof to complete it. The atmosphere made everyone at Jujutsu Tech tired. Gojo Sensei even turned on a movie because he was too sleepy to teach, which was understandable. You couldn’t train because the workspaces were slick and Principal Yaga was weary his students would catch a cold if they were outside for too long.

Classes had ended and everyone was in their assigned dorms. Some people like Yuji and Nobara had already passed out, unfazed by the weather, but you found yourself on the opposite side of the scale. You sat on your bed, knees tucked into your chest as your eyes stared at the darkened sky. Usually, you were fine about going to sleep in the rain, but something was nagging you tonight. You decided to wait it out since tomorrow would be the weekend and you could sleep in forever how long you wanted. A few candles scattered in your dorm created a soft glow and even with the occasional cracks of light and booming thunder, it was calming.

Your eyes felt heavy and you wondered if you should try to go to bed, but just as that thought appeared, there was a soft knock at your door. You turned, brow raised. Who would be knocking at this time? “Come in.” The person on the other side of the door pushed it slowly open and when they came into view, you were a bit stunned,” Megumi?” He stood in your doorway, looking away from your curious gaze, almost like he was embarrassed. He was in his sleep clothes, a black long-sleeve and simple grey sweatpants.

“Sorry if I woke you,” he mumbled. You giggled softly, motioning to the lit candles,” You’re alright, I’ve been up for a while.” He nodded,” You couldn’t sleep?” You shook your head to his question,” No and it looks like you can’t either.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly,” Yeah, I was trying to find someone else who I could stay up with…” The fact that Megumi had gone to your door first without question was something he was going to keep to himself.

You watched in amusement as he shifted on the balls of his feet, clearly struggling to sound his thoughts. You scooted to the wall side of your bed,” Well, I am in the mood for some company.” Even in the darkly lit room, you could see him exhale out of relief and he walked over. When he was sitting next to you, you noticed his tense position and tried to make it less unpleasant.

“Do you like the rain?” Your question was barely audible and if the boy wasn’t right next to you, Megumi probably would have never heard it. He thought for a second, noting how you weren’t looking for an answer right away,” Not that much,” facing him, there was no unintelligible expression on your face. Nothing that agreed or disagreed with his claim, but you were clearly telling him to continue.

Megumi shifted on your mattress, sinking further into the cushions,” It mostly annoys me. It makes everything soggy and it can drench you if you were ever caught in it.” He smiled a bit as he kept saying,” When I was a kid, I would ask my dad to stop the rain since I wanted to play outside.” Though a tiny grin was on his face, you could feel the bittersweetness of the memory.

Instinctively, you scooted closer, your shoulders touching, and continued to listen to the boy,” But I don’t despise it. I think the older I got the more I learned how relaxing it can be.” Your eyes caught onto the window again as it lit up in a blue-grayish color,” I think I like it more than some people.” Though you didn’t know, Megumi turned to you, his eyes scanning your calm face as you watched the rain pour down.

“Most call it gloomily and I can understand why they don’t like it, but rain can bring people together.” In the moment it was as if a bubble was formed around the two of you and anything outside of it didn’t matter,” If someone forgets their umbrella, one of their friends, or a stranger offers to share theirs. Kids enjoy it because of the large puddles, but even some adults can’t resist the urge to jump into the water.” Megumi wasn’t sure what was in the air, but you sounded so beautiful even if you were just talking about rain.

A warm smile spread onto your lips as you recalled classic movies,” And I would kill to share a kiss in the rain. There’s something so intimate about not caring if your clothes or hair are ruined and only focusing on the love of their life.” There was a beat of silence and you let out a tiny giggle,” Sorry, I think I’ve been watching too many romance-“

You were cut off by warm lips pressing into yours. Coincidentally, a strike of lightning came down once you realized what was happening. Megumi was kissing you. Megumi Fushiguro was kissing you. You instantly brought your hands to his face, pulling him closer. Your lips moved in synchronization as if you’ve done this a thousand times before. Little pants pushed past your lips as you backed away for only a second for air, then moved right back to each other. You tangled your hand into his raven hair and he easily lifted you to sit on his lap.

Your room was filled with breathless gasps and muffled grunts as you moved as one. The tension grew as Megumi moved to your neck, craving your skin against his lips. Allowing him more access, you craned your neck back and let out a faint moan as he suckled on your skin.

Sadly, a rather loud and disruptive Thunder echoed across the campus, making both you and Megumi jolt in surprise. You made eye contact with the boy and then began to giggle. Megumi thought I was the prettiest noise he’d ever heard and couldn’t help but chuckle. When your laughs died down, you stared down at Megumi, noting how the orange glow in your room decorated his face beautifully. He was so gorgeous like this. Messy hair, flushed cheeks, and bruised lips. So caught up in his appearance, you leaned in, planting another sweet kiss on his lips.

Pulling away, you rested your head against his own, continuing to play with the back of his hair. A thought crossed Megumi’s mind that had him smirking. His eyes examined your face,” Ya know, I don’t think I mind the rain anymore.” A hearty giggle left your lips and you nodded in glee,” Yeah? You’re not wishing it would go away?” He shook his head, sultry eyes landing on your plump lips once again.

You leaned in, interlocking your mouth with his once again. Unexpectedly, he flipped you over, making a squeal leave your lips. The shock was quick to pass as you felt Megumi wrap his arms around your body. You rested on your side and the boy held you close, his face nuzzled into your neck. You smiled at his clinginess, which he would never show in public, and placed a peck on his cheek,” Goodnight Megs.” He gave a muffled response that was filled with sleep.

Megumi had come to your room to hopefully wind up cuddling with you, but he ended up with something ten times better.

[max-the-many]

When I saw this pic I didn't think twice. We were sending guys back and forth that we liked. With this one, I was hooked. Sometomes it just is like that.After a quick google, I got more and more curious.

So Felix Dolci it was, a gymnast! I didn't have one of those in a while, let alone someone like him. And when I found out that he would have a competition just the following weekend it felt like destiny. Or in other words, I couldn't think of a better way to spend the following days but to get on with this.

I booked a flight within minutes. More wasn't necessary as I would find my ways when I was there even though it would be several days before the competition. To put it quick - I simply arranged some hookup, sporting a good hunk I gathered a while ago to have a bit of excitement bdfore I switched into the guy I met, having his flat to stay in for now.

When it was time for the competition I got in to get to know the situation. Seeing aall of those gymnasts really got me going, allthough Felix was nowhere to be seen.

After a while I decided to look around a bit more, getting out of the facility at some point, circling the for some opportunities.

At a back door it seemed like I found exactly what I needed when a guy came out, carrying a bag to through into some bins.

As no one else was to be seen, I got closer, asking that middleaged guy in jeans and shirt some silly questions before I found a moment to place my pointy friend into his neck.

Now it was just a matter of moments for him to get ready between the bins. It wasn't exactly fully covered, but I didn't mind getting naked while waiting, making sure to shut the backdoor with his keys no have no unnecessary risk.

He was rather average in build, even cute in a way, exciting as always, when I stepped into his empty hull until I let out a first grunt when my voice adjusted.

Cloth back on I got inside the building, roaming around to get a sense of the situation until I got a glimpse of a blonde guy some feet away. There he was, Felix Dolci, wearing a training suit, probably on his way to do his routine.

I followed, making sure not to get too mich attention, watching him on the sides of the competition area.

It would take quite a while until he was finished, until he even got started. So I had time. And as I saw another participand head away from the area, I decided to see, what he was up to.

I ended up following him until he entered what seemed like some kind of locker room. So without thinking too long I just entered aswell.

The room wasn't that big, surrouded with benches as you would expect with some other dudes besides the one I followed, dressed in similar attire.

I just left when I saw that as there was nothing to be done for me. But with this I figured, I might find something more useful than this guy I slipped in which was most likely some kind of janitor.

So I continued entering random rooms, mostly locker rooms, some empty, most of them used bye several athletes. More and more my itch to become one of them rose, those well built guys, not few of them quite handsome.

Eventually I entered another empty room. But just as I wanted to leave, a guy aqueezed himself passed me, causing a big smile to grow on my face.

So I entered right after him, reaching into my pocket to pull out another syringe before placing it onto his spandex-covered hips, pushing him across the room while he sank into my grip to get him sitting at the end of an area connecting the lockers to the showers.

I was quite pumped while waiting, not only because I craved for that change as there could be someone coming in at any point.

But I was lucky, eventually getting undressed, slipping out of the janitor to step into this young, well built athlete, admittedly sporting quite some excitement on the way, hot for some nice release in the showers.

But it was not the moment for that as the hollowed out janitor wouldn't make for a good company to be found with.

So I fiddled him back into his clothes to leave him after inserting the antidote just to enter the next best room besides him.

It wasn't empty, but I really didn't care, undressed myself to get into the showers despite several guys obvious beeing irritated to have me in there room.

But mobidy said anything so I made sure to have a good welcome session in the showers, hardly covering my pleasures.

When I got out, i felt a bit nervous. What, if my delay was too much, what if I wouldn't have an opportunity to get, what I was here for? I felt a bit guilty, but in the end. It wasn't like I owed anything to anybody but myself. Even the guy that started all this had no idea as I didn't tell him anything about my plans.

Luckily Felix still was where he was before although it looked like he maybe would soon do his routines or maybe had done them already as he had put off the training suit.

But this was quickly answered when he approached the parallel bars to get ready.

It was perfect to see him like that, to see him doing those impressive excercises! And there were quite some good ones to be seen. Those muscles at play, his determined looks.

When he returned to the side if the area I wandered close to him, eventually starting a chat to find out, what he would be doing further to find out, when he would be finished.

As we spoke of that I wondered what the guy I slipped in would be supposed to do, gerting a bit nervous as I really wasn't in the mood to give anything like that a shot, ready to switch into another one if necessary.

Turned out, though, he wasn't even participating when a trainer approached to have a chat, making sure that he did well, not able to perform due to some recovery issues. Of cause I was more than happy to tell that everything was fine. Everything indeed.

What a nice guy. So caring. And to be honest, quite a candidate for me aswell. But I retained myself, despite several thoughts of me playing wuth the trainer in some backroom. I really would have loved to fool around woth him a bit. But I had other plans.

And they would soon to get on going when finally Felix put on his training suit again, heading off with another athlete and a trainer. I followed with some distance, watched as they talked a bit infront of the lockers before they split, the athletes heading along the lockers until eventually entering one of them.

So did I, causing a bit of irritation.

"Randy, isn't it" the guy with Felix said which I anserwed with a smile, excusing my intrusion with some heavy compliments towards Felix, starting a chat about his routine while the other guy opened a dufflebag before making himself ready for the showers.

It wasn't exactly easy to keep up conversation especially as I got more and more excited. Then finally the guy went off to the showers, the room still empty otherwise so I decudedvto just go for it, pulling out the syringe I fiddled with in my pocket, rushing it towards Felix neck in plain sight. And it worked, giving him no chance to react before the serum got to work, making his eyes go blank and his body go limb before I dragged him to the same corner as the guy before.

But then I hesitated, wondered what next before I turned towards the showers, getting in without a second thought before approaching the other guy, having his face towards the gushing water so I pearced his hips without any issues at all.

Another thought went bye before I dragged him to join Felix, looked around before I gathered spme towels to cover them. I really didn't want this to go downhill now, stepping from one foot to the other, looking back and fprth between the door and this suspicious pile of towels until I figured, it was time.

Gosh, was I lucky, pulling out the naked, still wet hull of that secobd guy to get him into the showers, change into him before I placed Felix neatly into one of the duffle bags, bursting with a sense of accomplishment until I left.

"Your up for a date" I texted to @axeeglitter, sending a nice selfie on the side. I really wanted to keep the contend of my bag a secret up to the last moment...

[tubbytarchia]

I know your main is smallidarity but what are your thoughts on smalletho? Asking because I'm smalletho main but all the stuff you smallidarity fans create is so lovely that I know ship them too. Wondering what it's like for you guys. Have a nice day!

HIII I like Smalletho!! But you might not be a fan of how I regard it personally haha. To be honest I'm a little bit terrified of smalletho fans because of the specimens I have encountered and heard of so please don't burn me at stake...

I primarily view it as mostly one-sided. This makes more sense if you know of my thoughts about Joel being closeted and combative/troubled at the idea of being into men. He's been weird about Jimmy for a damn long time but he's never enacted on those feelings past jokes he proclaims not to be taken seriously. And then he's put together with this Etho guy in DL, soulbound to him, and because he's all weird he develops a crush and acts more questionably around him and more impulsively in general. And I think Etho would have picked up on it but he's. Etho. His response to everything is oh snap

Etho did do a callback during SL as if he were reminiscing, and he engaged with the "neck kisses" bit and some other less egregious ones, but Joel draws much more attention to Etho and the obsession claims. In fact the neck kisses thing started with Jimmy and yet Joel attached it entirely to Etho and comments on it either to make Etho sound weird or to make a slightly more rowdy joke than usual (Joel is plenty weird with his homoerotic jokes but this one is notably more intimate in a physical sense, as opposed to emotional. Not even the babymaking in ESMP2 compares because he acted like a clown who's never heard of sex before for those). Hmm strange behavior to have chosen to do that... I think Joel's become less insane and mostly gotten over his crush but clearly still likes Etho and Etho likes him too, but in a less weird way. His regard for their relationship to me is so well exemplified by the interaction where Jimmy went "Joel called me babe earlier" to try and prod him and Etho gives the most nonchalant "oh snap" known to man in response. He loves a little tomfoolery though so he entertains the banter

Joel just imo acts so weird about him half the time and then completely deadpan the rest of the time, compared to Jimmy who he has also been really weird about but also grown more comfortable with (but only very slightly because he is a loser) in regards to his feelings. I just think contrasting them brings out my reasoning better haha. I like smalletho as a ship in general and I really like their dynamic, but Etho in more of a mentor role (not that he's teaching much of anything but the experience Joel had with him has probably helped Joel become less homophobic about himself). It's similar to what I also really like about Bdubs and Joel, where I'm not sure I really see it as a romantic dynamic but they're definitely not normal about each other by any stretch of the imagination

[fatuismooches]

I found your Dottore w playable reader stuff and it's been taking over my brain. nf!!but if you could give us a few more silly headcanons? Love ur writing btw 🥹

Dream Chaser's Blight: An ancient weapon that was once used to protect a certain scholar from ages past and to forge a path towards their shared dreams. He has carefully preserved it so that the wielder can use it once more... even though they can no longer perform that duty.

Fly or Fall: HP is increased by X%. When an Elemental Skill hits opponents or heals allies for the first time, the next character that is swapped to will have their CRIT Rate increased by X% and CRIT DMG increased by X%.

Weapon Description: The sound of his fellow peer's humming had become commonplace to the youth. In particular, it always happened when they were carefully cleaning their weapon after a battle, mostly with Ruin Machines that needed to be dismantled with minimal damage... occasionally other unscrupulous people. At the beginning of their budding relationship, the grumpy scholar paid little attention to their fiddling, but as of late, he had taken notice of how his partner's usually tender hands glided along the weapon with ease. The lovely scholar quickly noticed with a smile and inquired of him:

"What, are you interested in my expert skills now? Or- don't tell me, you wish to learn?"

The man clicked his tongue in false disinterest, to which his companion chuckled. They beckoned him further, agreeing that teaching him some basic combat would be wise. After all, despite his high intelligence getting him out of ninety-nine percent of situations, the one percent was certainly something he should plan for. However, unbeknownst to the young man's lover, perhaps he felt a twinge in his chest at the sight of their occasional cuts and bruises. Regardless, before he could finish his thought, something was hurled at him and he had mere moments to catch it.

His so-called beloved had thrown their weapon at him out of nowhere and he could hardly hold it up, all while they were laughing. They just wanted to test his reaction time, they reasoned, sauntering up to him and then relieving him of the weapon's weight, easily maneuvering it to their will.

"Why, you can hardly hold it up, can you? Too heavy, eh? Unsurprising, I know there's a reason I have to haul your items around... but don't worry too much. Until you obtain the powers of the Gods... anyone who hurts my ███ will have to answer to me. But even after, they still will!"

However, an unlived eternity came with nearly insurmountable change for the man's once cheery classmate. Having not picked up a weapon in centuries, the promise was lost to time.

But one day the tired soul questioned their darling, surprised that he had held on to their centuries-old weapon, which had somehow not decayed by now. In turn, he responded that he had preserved all of their belongings from long ago as best as he could. Their weapon in particular was kept in pristine condition, remembering all the opportunities it provided for him. A glimmer of excitement appeared in his love's eyes as they asked if they could hold the weapon once more, to which he hesitantly agreed. But it had hardly made it into his beloved's hands before they nearly toppled over with the weight.

"W-Was it always that heavy...?"

The patient's question was only met with silent sadness and fury from the doctor.

[hatchet-boy]

Happy Wincest Wednesday!

A normal person would ask a Christmas question, but I hate Christmas. So instead: what's a kink that one brother is really into and the other isn't? Do they indulge it to make their brother happy or shut it right down? Feel free to answer for both Sam and Dean's unreciprocated kinks!

... And yes, if you must you can also add Christmas headcanons.

- schizosamwincester

Lol don't worry, I'm more than happy to answer a non-christmas themed ask. Weirdly enough I have thought about this exact thing before,, so the answers are maybe too obvious but nonetheless:

Kink that Sam is into but Dean isnt- serial killers. And yes, Dean does indulge him in this. (Once he finally gets Sam to admit that memorising all the serial killer stat's you can and reciting them out loud to yourself while you jerk it in the bunker shower at midnight is not /just/ a hobby sam what the fuck-). But he does not especially enjoy it. It weirds him out. Are their lives not terrifying enough? What the hell is it about some nerdy psychos who inject people with brain melting acid and shoot kids with air guns that gets Sam off? What do they have that Dean doesn't??? But even with all his reservations Dean does it, he play acts the cold and emotionless wackjob that has stalked Sam for years, choosing him, and ONLY him out of thousands. Who has killed dozens of other lookalikes, just preparing for the real prize. And maybe he even likes it when Sam is tied down to the radiator, naked and flushed and completely helpless and looking at him like there's nobody else in the world...

Ok so that got away from me. Moving on to Dean,

It cowboys. Obviously.

Now Sam has well and truly been around the block. So he's not weirded out, or grossed out, or shocked at all that assless chaps and cowboy hats and macho heroes and dashingly rugged smiles and the cool hard metal of a revolver strapped down next to the cooler harder metal of a well carved belt buckle sitting above a bulging denim wrapped dick turn his brother on. But, he just doesn't care. It does absolutely sweet fuck-all nothing for him. And the constant 'riding' innuendos annoy the crap outta him. So mostly, to save himself from stupid ridiculous older brother antics, he shuts that shit RIGHT DOWN.

(Except, maybe, on special suprise occasions like Dean's birthday. Where he dresses up in a cowboy getup even though there's no horses around for a hundred miles and the only place Dean is riding is into sweet intoxicating leather-scented sweaty orgasmic bliss on Sam's cock for hours and hours-)

So in conclusion, do I think they have some incompatible, unreciprocated kinks? Oh yes absolutely, and more than just these two examples. But, they indulge each other anyway, because sex isn't always sexy but seeing their brother get off gets them off, and when you've gone to hell for each other, a bit of non-sexy sexy-time doesn't seem like a big deal in comparison.

Happy Wincest Wednesday!

[slimybeth69]

Touch: Part 5

Rating: explicit (smut, language)

Summary: So... it's after you and Din talk...

tags: Angst, slight dub-con (I never know bc I would always fuck Din?), being mad as fuck at Din, how could he?, Din/Mando being a dumb stupid idiot, reader also being a dumb stupid idiot. Idiots in LOVE, mutual pining, then normal smut things (without spoilers to the chapter, sorry) SPOILERS TO The Book of Boba Fett and The Mandalorian.

a/n: I've said it before and I'll say it again. If you read this on ao3, no you fucking didn't. It's still unbeta'd, but proofread!! I did that this time!! I also am re-working the story slightly because I CAN.

a/n pt2: I don't know shit about Star Wars/ The Mandalorian. I did however spend an un-Makerly amount of time learning for all of us. If you're not well versed in the lore or the history of Star Wars/ The Mandalorian-- that's okay! This is Star Wars/ Mando for Beginners. (Also stating this as a warning for anyone well versed in the universe and the lore-- shhhhhhhhhhhhhh. DON'T COME FOR ME)

<- Previous Chapter Series Masterlist

The Jedi Code was taught to you. Engraved in your mind.

Harmony, serenity, peace and knowledge. The force. The lightside.

All the bad things; chaos, emotion, passion, ignorance, death.

The darkside. You learned to not fear the darkside, but instead to embrace the force.

Even though you didn’t have the maker forsaken force inside of you! Not even a litte bit! None of 'the force' had found its way into you!

Luke Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano trained you as if you did!

Why!?

They spent so much time building you from the ground up! They made sure you had muscles and could run for long distances. The pair trained you how to fight with your hands!

Your hands know how to use a lightsaber! That's not an easy feat, and it takes a long time to learn that skill.

Oh, how long? A really long time!

Two years!

Two long years without any sign of that man in the tin can outfit! He's never called, he's never come to visit!

Two. Fucking. Years.

Sometimes you hated Din for leaving you here but you very quickly remember that you asked for this. 

Wanted this more than anything.

Foolish!

You wanted so badly to make sure the child was cared for; the child was older than you are!

Much, much older! Not even a baby at all, but a toddler where he comes from. A very special toddler. A force sensitive toddler.

Coming here was a mistake! The only thing you do here is clean up the messes Grogu- that's the child's Maker forsaken name. He has a name!

Grogu makes messes, so you clean them, and get hit with sticks as some sick and twisted form of 'training'! It feels like a joke when they told you to 'block your face and important organs' and then started to pummel you with the hardest, most fast moving sticks you've ever seen!

Not having any amount of the force inside of you really makes training with Jedi's incredibly difficult! Grogu seemed to be having a blast training with Skywalker.

They trained differently, so unfortunately the two of you didn't see each other much, and when you did, your time with him was cut short.

The two of you grew up here a little, together while separated.

Luke and Ahsoka claimed that you babied him and it would impeed his training, so they kept you apart as much as they seemed humane. You became so very depressed without the child and Din.

All alone even though you were surrounded by so many people.

The nights that you got to spend with Grogu were usually spent laying under the stars outside the Jedi temple, speaking fondly of Din.

Mostly for the child's sake, because you only wonder if he had completely forgotten about you.

The answer to that question came when Luke came to Grogu with a gift. 

“A gift?” You say with a curled lip.

Have you not just spent all of your time here; learning the way of the Jedi? That was an attachment and you– in your two years becoming a mock Jedi– were weary. The darkside. The emotion. The attachments.

This was scary.

Luke held the gift in his hands while he spoke. You're subtlety looking for your gift but... you don't see one. Only one parcel.

Oh.

“This gift would be the end of both of your Jedi training, should he keep it. Attachments may not be had, by anyone.” Luke looks between the both of you as you stand before him.

Why is he looking at you!? You might stay at this temple and learn all the ways of the Jedi and become the most powerful non-force sensitive Jedi the galaxy has ever seen!

“You both have come so far, you have so much potential. Both of you.” Luke’s eyes fall on you. “I’ve been surprised before, but this was a pleasant one. Watching you both learn so much. I hope he both makes the choice that’s best for you.” Luke looks to Grogu and hands him the package wrapped in brown paper.

“Why couldn’t I stay if he wanted to leave?” You ask Luke. 

“You come with the child. You leave with the child.” Luke explains simply. 

Maker-- alright. You can’t argue with that. You don't have much to offer besides cleaning up the kid's messes. They're probably tired of watching you perfect the lightsaber.

You're actually pretty good.

Grogu glances up at you just as you look down at him. You kneel on one knee so you can be closer to him, and watch as his six little clawed fingers struggle with the twine wrapped around it, but he uses the Force.

“Cheater.” You whisper to him.

The gift is beskar. A piece of... Mandlaorian armor for Grogu. 

“ Mando said he can’t put it on until he sees you–” 

“M-Mando’s here?” You interrupt accidentally. Your heart begins to pound in your chest at the thought that you might actually be able to see him right now.

Luke gives you a knowing look, as if you should know better, and shakes his head from side to side.

“Ahsoka sent him away. It would interfere with your training. If you wish to stay here and train, continue to learn the Jedi way. You both have come far, but it’s nowhere near close to done. Accepting this would end that training.”

It’s a warning.

The energy in the room is so intense. You can feel electricity in the air almost. Grogu is still standing beside you, looking down at his own piece of beskar.

What’s he going to do?

Luke reaches into his robe.

Everyone here has all these hidden pockets for things in their clothes. You have a couple hidden pockets now too . For things you may need to hide and pull out in moments just like this one day. You hope. It’s so cool when they do that.

Luke hands Grogu a lightsaber. Grogu’s own lightsaber. 

“You have a choice, young padawan.” His gravelly voice rakes across your brain. 

It's so quiet for so long. 

Grogu touches the lightsaber softly. Admiring it. He did the same thing with the armor. 

So long you waited. Understandably, this was a hard choice.

Grogo picks the armor.

Grogu and yourself are on a ship to a hangar where Din is waiting for a response. Your knees are complete mudslides right now. They are not supporting you and they have two years of Jedi training behind them. They’re strong. 

The nerves got to them, though--ate away all the tendons you ever had and dissolved the muscle down to nothing.

Din had been on your mind every single day for two years, and he didn't even ask if YOU wanted to come back. Only Grogu! You feel like a fool sitting next to the tiny green toddler.

Where are you supposed to go when Din tells you that he doesn't need your services anymore!?

The ramp of the ship drops down and there is a cloud of dust. And then there he is. Standing at the base of the ramp, like he had been waiting for you two. Or apparently just Grogu. Since he’s the one who got the gift.

It’s fine. You’re fine. No attachments. Perfect. You’re basically a Jedi. 

Grogu, who is so much faster, so, so much faster than you ever remember him being, flings himself at Din, and attaches himself around his neck.

You watch in amusement, wishing you could do the same thing but you’re partially a Jedi now, so you keep your composure and walk down the ramp slowly. Your mouth is so dry, you don't even attempt to swallow because you know it'll just end in you choking.

Din hugs the child tightly. Their embrace is so sweet. So kind. It makes you smile so hard your cheeks hurt.

It makes your heart pang as well.

They hug for a long time before Grogu looks back at you, pulling away from Din’s neck. Grogu extends a curved hand to you. You suddenly feel a gentle pressure around your waist, and are being dragged forward, against your will, feet stumbling beneath you. 

You point your finger at Grogu. “Hey!” You shout. The pressure around your waist stops and you’re set back down on your feet carefully. “I told you to knock that off!"

This is Grogu’s new, fun game. Picking you up and putting you where he wants you. He hasn’t stopped doing it since he learned how.

Dropped you a couple times in the beginning. 

Din chuckles from under the helmet. “I see your relationship has changed quite a bit.” His flat rasp is the same as you remember it.  "He's the one carrying you around now,"

“It’s basically still the same. I have to yell at him for doing things he shouldn’t.” You scowl at Grogu, who hides himself behind Din's helmet.

“It’s nice to see you," Din's modulated voice is even and quiet. As if he doesn't want to say it at all.

That’s it. No hug. Nothing. Not even a handshake.

You could hit him. For several seconds you think about doing it.

Now your fist– with two years of Jedi training– and it might actually hurt him. It might hurt him a lot, and you’d feel good about it. So good.

"It's nice to see you, too."

The anger is pumping in your veins as he leads you through the hanger behind him. You look at all the ships, and look for the Crest but you don’t see it anywhere. Eventually Din stops in front of a ship much larger than the Crest. Bigger guns on it too. 

Din just stands there and looks at you with his stupid helmet shining in the bright light of the hangar. You don’t know what to do. He dropped you off on Ossus where the Jedi temple was, and didn't give you a hug. Not a pat on the shoulders. Literally nothing.

"Keep the kid out of trouble. You'll hear from me soon."

That's all Din had said before he and Grogu went to say their goodbyes!

"It's a new ship." Din points to the giant hunk of metal he’s standing in front of. His beskar looks exactly the same. Maybe a new scrape or two. A ding here or there but you’re not even looking. Not even paying attention to him. Trying not to. 

“Okay...” You resort to using your favorite word.

Why, Maker? Why can’t the man in the helmet speak? Is his helmet on mute? Always so fucking quiet. Until you don’t want him to be, then he won’t shut up.

Din leads you inside. Shows you the sleeping quarters. There are two beds. One for each of you.

There is a separate room for the child.

The dining room is nice and everything else is so nice. So much nicer than the Razor Crest. Even the cockpit you have no idea how to use. 

You look all around the hull like it's very interesting. This is so awkward. Not what you expected when you were on your way here. It's not like you expected a welcome back party. Maybe a hug. Something. 

"What happened to the Crest?" You ask, trying to avoid looking at him.

"It was destroyed."

The sleeping quarters are different from the Razor Crest. The beds are close together, but separated and welded to the floor so there is no way to move them closer together.

The mats that are nestled into the metal frames are thicker and much more plush than the one you had slept on for so long before you were banished away to the Jedi temple.

It’s fine. You’re fine. No emotion. No attachments. It’s all fine. 

The small bag that holds your very few belongings stays packed in case he doesn't plan on you staying very long. He could very well be headed right back to Cantonica to drop you back off at the Canto Bight Casino!

The three of you eat dinner in silence.

Din says not one word to you and you don't try and strike up the conversations like you used to. Things feel so different now, like the two of you are complete strangers all over again.

Grogu has changed in ways that are hard to describe. He's still a baby in your eyes even though he's older than you and Din.

The two of you play together on the floor while Din or maybe you should call him Mando again, since you barely know this man after two whole years, does something in the cockpit.

Grogu warbles and you watch all the new, fun things he can do with the Force that aren’t moving you unwillingly. It's the first real fun the two of you are able to have since being dropped off at the temple. You missed being able to play with him. You still snuggle him at the protests of Luke and Ahsoka-- how could you not when he climbs into your lap and cuddles into your arms.

Like he knew you couldn’t resist. 

Grogu can put himself to sleep now which is incredible, and that means you have time to do whatever you want.

So you’re in your bed with your nice new sheets. They’re soft. Like the ones on the Crest.

It’s dark here, too.

Maker, what in the stars?

The sun shields in this ship are no joke! There's no light at all. If you have to go to the bathroom, it’s just blind wishing that you don’t break you toes, or bump into a wall and potentially crack your skull. 

It feels like you were completely forgotten about in those two years and now, in the dark silence of your shared sleeping quarters you just want to cry...

An emotion!? After two years of strict Jedi code training---

There is a ten thousand degree warmth on your upper arm in the void, and it scares you half out of the bed. Your tops of your feet and knees are on the cool metal of the ships floor, and you're leaning against the side of the bed-frame like you are praying to Maker.

“I was going to see if you were sleeping," Din's rasping sounds-- happy to talk to you?

You're unsure. Nothing else about the way he's spoken to you, or treated you at all makes you think he wants to talk to you.

"That's not how you find out if someone's asleep!" You bark at him angrily.

"You're awake though.” A flat, unimpressed response to your outburst.

Maker, if you had your own helmet with night vision, you’d use all your new fun Jedi fighting tricks on him. You sure would, because who is he!? Who does he think he is!?

After two years he can come back and just throttle you awake in the dark like before? Nope. Not this time. 

“You’re lucky I can’t see you right now.” You say over the pounding heart in your chest. “So lucky-- What do you care if I'm awake in the night?! Let me sleep!” You’re so cold with him, mirroring him perfectly minus the emotion. “I’m tired.” You lie to him. 

In the usual Din fashion, he remains quiet. He still had his hand on your arm, and it's not like you really made an attempt to pull it away because it’s hot like you remember.. Burning you, he's so warm.

Din is also so fucking quiet! Maker! Is he okay?

“Tired?” Din’s voice rasps in the dark. "Then why aren't you sleeping?"

You realize the metal man has no grip on you whatsoever. He was just touching you very, very gently, and you easily could have pulled away at any moment.

So you you tug your arm away and you climb back into bed and face the opposite direction from him. "I was trying to sleep when you come over here-- shaking me in the darkness!"

“You…” Din trails off in the dark. “Still don't know the meaning of shake?” He questions you like a dumb idiot. 

"Get away from me!" You almost shout it. "Just leave me alone!" You humph, and pull the sheets over your shoulder.

"Are you... mad at me?"

“Are you kidding me!?” You whisper at him. “I don’t know how you could leave me out there for two years, and I get nothing!?” You sit up in your bed now and talk blindly in the dark. “Nothing. No visit. No calls. Nothing.” You cross your arms over your chest. "No gift!"

Din stays silent- which was predicted- so you carry on.

“But you get Grogu a gift, which was very sweet. Very cute armor, he is going to look very cute it in.” You think of the child dressed in the armor and it's kind of amusing and slightly distracting.

“Are you done?” Din’s stupid modulated voice rings out in the dark after a minute of you imagining an armored Grogu.

It's so dark and you still don't really know where he is, so with your accusing index finger pointing in the direction he could be in, you almost shout, “No! I’m not done!”

You are in fact, not done.

“They treated me like I had the Force in me. Do you know how hard that is when you don’t have the fucking force in you!?” You exclaim in exasperation, still pointing at him.

You start to speak again into the blinding darkness when a warm hand very gingerly moves your accusatory pointing finger eight inches to your right. 

“I figured I should at least be getting pointed at, if you’re going scold me,” Din rasps.

You die inside and wonder how dumb you look in the dark. “Why did you even bring me back? Hm? Why not just send me right back to the casino? Or is that where we’re going next? Gonna just drop me off? You even gonna land first or just let me duck and roll?” You huff, officially done with your rant. 

“Are you don-” Din starts, but you cut him off. 

“Yes!" You snap at him, and then you huff one more time for good measure. You're so angry with him.

So much for all your Jedi no emotion training. 

“I have a gift for you.” Din says flatly through the modulator. 

Oh.

“Well it’s so dark in here, so how would I know that?” You snip at him, not sure you’re fully ready to forgive him. You roll your eyes now. 

“Would you still like it? Or are you too upset with me?” Din’s modulated rasp asks you, sounding annoyed.

Why does he have a right to be annoyed? He could have given you that gift the minute you step foot of that return ship that brought you back to him.

Why wait until the darkness!? Why!?

“Yes, I would.” You hold your cupped hand out into the dark and feel something cold and hard fall into it. “It would be nice if I could –” 

The brightest beam of light you’ve ever encountered shines directly into your eyes. It’s blinding.

You jump again, out of bed because what the fuck is that!?

Is this an attack!?

What even is that light? Where is it coming from?

Thankfully, you wrapped your hand around the thing Din dropped into your hand so you didn't fling it into the abyss to never be seen again before you ever even got to look at it!

“Why are you on the floor?” Din asks, as you hold your free hand to your chest. You blink up at him, having to shield your eyes. 

“Are you the light right now!?” You question him squinting your eyes in its brightness. "Are you the one blinding me!?"

“Yes." Din dims the light tremendously somehow from within his helmet and now, it’s easier on the eyes. Like a candle flame. "Was it to bright?"

“It was too bright! I don’t think I’ll ever see again.” You snip softly, resting on the floor and putting your elbows on the bed. 

You inspect the small pink crystal in your hand. It takes you a couple seconds to realize what it is.

“Is this a kyber crystal?” You look up at Din who is knelt down on the other side of your bed.

He nods in the now pale light that's much easier on the eyes. “I got it on my travels. I thought that if you knew how to use a lightsaber, I’d get one for you. Put this crystal in it.” 

Maker. What is happening? 

“You thought of me?” You didn’t mean to say it. Part of you is still mad. 

“Everyday .” Din’s awe and amazement voice is back. “Di- Did you not think about me?” Just as quickly as that sweet familiar tone had shown up, it's gone just as fast. Din can' believe that you didn't think of him during your time apart.

“I did.” You say quietly. “I thought you had forgotten me. Without the visits or calls or gift.” You do feel silly now because this really is a sweet gift.

The sweetest gift. More sweet than the notebook and the credits and anything else he's ever given you. The small pink crystal in your hand means so much to you. The fact that he got it for you, was thinking about you while you were gone. The fact that the meaning behind the gift is so big. You own lightsaber if you wanted one. Din would get one for you. Said it himself. Your heart is racing in your chest.

“Never . I’ve been waiting to see you. Been thinking of you. Looking at your doodles every night.” He turns the light off and takes the crystal from your still outstretched hand. 

“Hey! That’s mine.” You reach for it but he leaves you kneeling next to your bed like you are praying to Maker in the dark again.

“I’m going to give it back.” Din raps . “Do you want to get back in bed or are you content on the floor?” 

You’re blinking into the dark. Wondering how dumb you look now on the floor blinking into the void. You scramble up without assistance and crawl into bed, facing the same direction as before. Away from Din. 

Secretly, you’re hoping he’s sans beskar and crawls into bed beside you and lets you hold him like he did the nights before you left. With your arm around his waist, stealing his radiating heat from him while he sleeps. You’d mill kisses softly across his shoulders and you’d listen to him sigh and make sleep sounds in the darkness.

But that doesn’t happen. It’s so quiet. It’s so still for so long. You wonder if he’s crawled in his own bed and is fast asleep. What could this all mean? The gift? The cold welcome back after two years? Everything you did before you left? What did it mean and did you accidentally fall for a potential half man- half droid that’s never going to show you his face? 

The dark is still, so quiet and unmoving. You feel like you’re alone in the room. 

“C-can I touch? Or are you still too upset with me?” Din asks quietly, the rasp of his modulator is gone. His sweet deep voice is right in your ear. It doesn’t startle you because you’ve been waiting to hear him speak for so long. 

“No.” You snap. “You couldn’t come touch me for two years! I would have let you then, any time you came to visit, I would have but you-”

His lips on yours stop you. You almost try and push him off, but Maker. I

t feels so good. His warm, soft lips on yours after all this time. You both open your mouths slightly, and as tentatively as Din touched you for the first time two years ago, his tongue slips past your lips and into your mouth just as slowly.

It’s gone as soon as it appeared. 

“I tried.” He whispers against your open mouth. “I got turned away every time. So many times I tried to see you.” He’s speaking fast, like he’s trying to explain himself to you before you beat him off of you with something hard you’ve found in the dark. “ So many times, little one." 

The words melt over your tongue as he speaks them, almost as if they were your words.

Ahsoka and Luke never told you he came to visit. Not one time. 

“I tried. I never forgot about you. Too perfect. Too beautiful to forget..." ” His bare hands cup your face as you speak. “Never forget you. Everyday I look at your doodles. I look at you, and miss you."

You're breathing in the words he's speaking into your parted lip. He kisses you again softly. You feel the bed shift next to you and he’s crawling beside you.

“Do you dislike me again?”

Maker, Din somehow got warmer. He’s running a fever all the time and his body feels like the embers in the fire pit at the end of the night. 

“Again?” You whisper as he pulls your face down to the pillows with his. 

“You didn’t care for me much before the doodles.” Din kisses your lips again, gently as his hand slips from your cheek. “I didn’t think you’d let me.” You can feel his warm breath on your chin as he speaks. 

“Let you what?” 

“Touch. Watch. The first time.” His real unmodulated voice whispers to you. “I've missed touching. Watching."

A warmth hovers over your middle, you reach for it. Tt’s Din’s hand, hovering above your stomach, under the blankets, but over your clothes. 

“Touch me.” It almost doesn’t come out of your mouth because it’s so dry. But you croak it out and swallow hard as the word leaves your lips because you hope he does. You hope this isn't like the first night all over again where he makes you do it alone.

Din obliges and lets his hand drop, you feel the heat spreading out along your nightgown starting from where his hand rests on your lower stomach. It makes you inhale sharply. It’s such a familiar touch and you missed it so much. 

Din sighs and drags his hands gently and slowly up your stomach, the fabric bunching at his wrist as he does it.

He's lifting your nightgown. 

“Din,” You whisper as his palm cups one of your fleshy tits over the nightgown.

His rough, calloused hands were so gently, touching you so sweetly until your hand rests on his, you make him squeeze you. You make him because you need to know this is real and these soft gentle touches feel like a dream.

Din grips you now. He can feel your desperation in your hand on his. Squeezing and pulling and tugging at your flesh. 

“Fuck.” He moans softly into your shoulder where his head was resting. The fiery goodness from his forehead felt like it was melting you. “Perfect. Beautiful.” He says the word like he doesn’t want to. Like he’s been forcing them back but they’re breaking free from his vocal chords.

You can almost feel his heartbeat. Or maybe it’s yours.

You don’t know. 

It’s just obvious that this is what you want and you need him. Badly. However he’s willing to give himself to you or however he wants to take you, you don’t care. You’ve been waiting and thinking about this for two years. Your body reacts to his touch like you were built for him. Your pussy is leaking and throbbing already and he’s only touched you once. 

There's a new warmth, a wetness to these sensations now. Din’s wrapped his mouth around your clothed nipple and is sucking. Biting gently over the nightgown you have on. It sends shivers down your spine.

Words come flowing out of your mouth before you can even stop them. “I've waited so long for this.” You whimper quietly.

Your hips are rolling against the bed below you because everything just feel so good, everything is just so overwhelmingly pleasurable. Din’s hands and mouth on you, the heat he's passing along through his touch. 

“Touch. I wanna hear you moan.” He murmurs against your breast. He’s still biting and sucking it through the fabric like he’s too impatient to take off the nightgown. He just can’t wait any longer. 

“I need you to touch me.” You whine quietly. “Please.” You’re begging him. “Please, Din, I need to fee-” But he doesn’t make you beg long, his free hand slides between your legs and he sighs loudly against you. 

“”Fuck. Fuck. You're s-so wet. So fucking perfect.” Din bites your nipple a little harder now, but then he pulls way. “Let me lick. P-Please. I just wanted to watch but now I need to taste you.” He’s moving down between your legs as he talks to you. Then he stops.

“Okay. Okay. Please. Do it, please.” You’re already spreading your legs but he’s getting off the bed again. “Nononononono.” You whine, reaching blindly for him in the dark. You’re on the verge of tears. “Please don’t leave me again.” 

It’s so quiet. It’s like time stopped. 

“Din?” You whisper. “Did you leave?” 

“Where would I go?” He answers but he’s further away from you now. "It's my ship."

“Well you’re obviously not here– where you were!” You exclaim quietly. You hear him chuckle in the dark. 

“Come to my bed. I want to do something. New.” 

Oh Maker what could that mean? A new stun gun? Some weird thing he found in his travels?

Does he want to make you the lightsaber and put the focus crystal inside you? That’s where you draw the line.

“What does that mean?” You ask nervously, clutching the sheets to your chest as you stare into the void. “New?” 

“Come here. You said I could lick, yes? Let me.” Din’s voice in the dark makes you drop the blankets your clutching and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. “Come, little one. Let me lick you. Let me taste you.” His voice guides you to him and you start to crawl into his bed but he stops you. “Leg.” He says into the dark.

“Leg?” You ask, confused. Din reaches for you in the dark and taps your upper thigh. 

“Leg.” He says like he’s teaching you body parts. “Swing it up here over my head.” 

“What!?” You exclaim. “You want me to do what?!” 

“I want you to sit on my face.” Din’s smiling in the dark and you can hear it in his voice. 

“And you’re going to taste me like that?” You’re exasperated. You’ve never even heard of this. What does that mean, sit on his face. “I’m going to smother you!” 

“Then I’ll die a happy man. Get up here.” Now he’s impatient. Din’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

You swing one leg over his head and straddle him, pressing both hands to the wall in front of you. The ship's metal is so cold on your clammy hands. You can feel him breathing against your inner thighs as you sit on your knees above him.

“ This is perfect.” Din whispers. You can only whimper quietly because you’re so nervous, you feel so exposed up here. “You want me to lick…” He leans up and gives the very top of your slit a quick teasing lick. “Here? Yes?” 

Your knees buckle because Din’s tongue is just as soft and just as warm as you remember and you do want him to lick there. You can’t find words for how badly you want him. All you can do is let out a breathy sound of consent. 

“Beautiful.” Din wraps his hands under your thighs and pulls you down onto his mouth, his tongue is ready. Eager. Waiting for you to be on him, for him to be inside your folds. “Just as I remember.” He whispers into your pussy, tasting that flavor he memorized before you left and thought of it often. “I touched myself, thinking of you. To your doodles. To your flavor.” Din takes the flat of his tongue and licks you from your opening all the way to your clit, slowly, he presses up against you so you feel him. 

He wants you to know he missed you. 

“ Maker, yes. ” It’s moaned softly as Din presses the flat of his tongue against your slit and lets you ride his mouth. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced. Why were you so scared? Being on top of him, this way, you were in control up here. “ Oh Din, yes.” You’re not holding back tonight. 

You’ve been waiting to do this. Dreaming about it at night and waking up in the morning having to give yourself some sort of pleasure. You slide one hand down into his thick, coarse hair, just enjoying the feeling of it between your fingers again. You hear Din moan from between your legs and his tongue moves against you faster. 

Your fingers tighten in Din’s hair as he holds you around the legs, you’re pinned down onto him. His tongue is lapping and exploring your folds. Licking at all the spots he remembers make you squirm. He memorized every inch of you before he left and he’s been thinking about you, keeping it fresh in his head for this moment so he can make you whimper and quiver like he used to.

Din is panting underneath you, he’s working for what you’re about to give him. His tongue was drifting between those big lazy circles that had you whimpering and begging him for more and tight fast spinning around your clit. That’s when his hands found your hips and started to move you on his face, his tongue flat, stroking your clit with each movement of your hips. 

“Please don’t stop.” Pushing yourself off the wall you’ve been leaning against, you hover over him now, rocking your hips on your own. You found a rhythm with Din’s help. He holds your hips tighter now–not messing with the rocking of your hips–feeling you roll yourself along his mouth. As he does that he pulls you down harder on his tongue. Your free hand finds his hair and you grip it tightly now in both fists and grind down against his flat, strong muscle. “ Oh fuck yes . Din, I’m so close.” You’re whimpering for him.

Din moans loudly from underneath you, his hands now moving to your ass. He gropes and spreads your cheeks. 

“M-moan again.” You stutter, your hips grinding harder and faster. The vibrations from Din’s moans will be enough. 

Din obliges happily and moans loudly again, over and over as your head falls back, hips never stopping their rocking motion on his tongue. 

“Oh, fuck–ing yes. Din, oh Maker!” You cry out. You don’t care if The Razor Crest is gone, you have those memories inside your head forever. You don’t have to hold back nearly as much here. You can let him know how fucking good he makes you feel. Your body is quivering as you grind against him. You can feel the prickles of his facial hair on your inner thighs and lips as you ride him.

Being on Din’s face like this was heaven. You can hear him noisily licking and sucking at the new wave of juices that are dripping from your entrance. As the warm ball of fiery goodness spreads through you, you start to shudder and tremble on top of him, his tongue never stops moving against your clit and then dipping inside of your hole to taste you as you leak out. Din laps at you until there’s nothing left. Sucking your lips into his mouth at the end to make sure he didn’t miss anything. He leaves you trembling above him for so long he has to tap your thigh again for you to swing It over his head. 

"Sorry." You pant. "That was good. I'd do that again." You go to stand off his bed and you feel him wrap his arms around your waist. 

"Don't go. Share the bed." He whispers up to you. "I waited for so long." 

"I waited too!" You exclaim as all of your anger and fear of being forgotten about returns. "I waited for just as long as you did! You sure didn't act like you missed me or waited for me. Not until the lights went off at least." You're storming to your own bed now. You move quickly, not wanting him to hear or see the tears in your eyes.

You've been keeping this in for a long time. Letting it bottle up until you can't keep it in anymore. And the fact that he confessed all those nice things just to be able to touch you.

Din doesn't say anything in the dark, letting you try and find you way back in the void. It makes you sadder that he isn't trying to comfort you. The tears come, quietly, thank Maker, as you get into your own bed and wrap yourself in the covers. It isn't until you let out a little weeping sound that you hear him shuffle and then your bed shifts under his weight. Din's pressing himself into you gently, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

"If you had reached for me, you could have felt my heart from under my beskar." He whispers in your ear. "I did miss you. I did wait for you." A small kiss along your jaw, "You didn't seem like you were happy to see me today." He sounds disappointed. "I thought you had forgotten about me. Maybe someone with a face and who didn't leave made you forget about me." Another small kiss in the same place. "I sat in the dark for so long, wondering if you were thinking of me. I had to come find out. I did't mean to scare you. Don't cry, little one. Please?" He's kissing your face gently. 

"I don't think anyone could ever make me forget about you." You whisper into the void.

tag list: @thereaperisabitch @pedrospookie @furiousmushroom @creepycorbeaux

I'm still so uncomfortable tagging people in my stories, so like I said, please tell me to fuck off if you want me to stop. My feelings won't be hurt (yes they will), and it's completely fine (I'm a big girl and can handle it).

[icey--stars]

Ty for tagging me! But uhm... I have no excuse for the number. Anyone is free to question any of these! I make NO promises on posting any though because... well... most are PURELY self-indulgent which normally equals crappy writing (because we ALL gotta crap write sometimes) and I hate editing XD

also yes, I do have descriptions in my own titles because how am I supposed to remember what the hell I wrote??? XD

Aeress Umbra (FW)

Aeress & Amethyst - Eragon

A Creature of the Sky (continental shifter)

Veritatem Dies Aperit - Eris Healing Fic

Assassin Master (Azriel x OC) - shit writing <- Yes, for some reason, I actually put "shit writing" in the title of the doc LMAO

eris period comfort - hot flash

Poly!Bat boys (subspace az)

Kingdom of Ash and Bones

Fourth Wing Rebel's Child - crappy

Narrative Gone Wrong (feyre died)

Xaden's Teacher - FIN (ish)

HTTYD My Story

Updated FW Story - Aeress Umbra

a/b/o universe <- A wide collection of OC and azris

I Could Never Forget You <- Request that wanted more that I forgot about until now omg im so sorry

Spy of Azriel's - (ANGST wings)

club cazriel (switch!az)

(7) TOG The Fourteenth

(6) TOG Maeve's Mercenary

(2) TOG Assassin

(1) TOG Whitethorn

Dad!Helion, traumatized!son!Eris

non est vivere sed valere vita est ("Life is more than just being alive")

A Third Rowaelinrys

Memento Vivere - Lucien Healing

BDSM Helion and Azriel

Tamlin's Redemption - xReader

Azris Sickfic

unnamed eris x reader fic <- if you're going to ask about a fic, ask about this one because while it remains unnamed it is SUCH a good concept

A Sister For the Ages (Eris's and Aelin's) <- Already fully explained this fic idea in detail, will link it if anyone is interested

(3) TOG Goddess

(4) TOG Multiversal

(5) TOG Galathynius

Club modern!au fics

eris angst story

Illyrian Lieutenant

Merfolk AUs

Not Free Yet

War never was pretty

HOLY SHIT. WHY IS THERE SO MANY. I DONT EVEN KNOW 39 PEOPLE. WHY DO I REFUSE TO FINISH FICS- THERE'S MORE IN OTHER FANDOMS THAT I HAVE MOSTLY ABANDONED. THE COUNT IS PROBABLY REACHING 100+ IF I COUNTED THOSE- AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

(ALSO HOW DO PEOPLE ONLY HAVE THREE WIPS??? HELLO??? ARE YOU NOT CONSUMED BY YOUR OWN MIND PALACE??? maybe that's the audhd speaking though... hmm...)

if you can't tell by now I've gone insane. but insanity brings better ideas >:)

anyway, for anyone I tag, you are free to do whatever you wish and if you're already tagged, I sincerely apologize XD

a merry crisis to all (and a late happy solstice)

@sizzlingstarlightsky @potatoplace @futurehunt @leafsandstarlight @historiaxvanserra @ladylokilaufeyson5 @iftheshoef1tz @augustinerose @fieldofdaisiies

Thanks for the tag @olenvasynyt and @sapphiresandgold

WIP FOLDER GAME:

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Tag as many people as you have wips. People send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

Lots of abandoned drafts but I'll focus on the ones I'm working on-ish:

Torpe

Wolf's Den

RomanceWeek Favorite Trope

No pressure tags!

@bonecarversbestie @sad-scarred-sassy @clarafae @sadiegirl2021 @sunshinebingo

[frownyalfred]

How much violence do you think Batman should be able to get away with and still remain a hero or vigilante while also not losing his characterization?

There are times where no lives are in immediate danger and he only needs to get information but then he just casually breaks bones, effectively torturing someone. Like in the videogames Telltale Batman or the Arkham games' verse or even the movies and comics where he dishes out way more violence than necessary. That scene where he threatens to crush a guy's head with the Batmobile and actually has the car start rolling over his head, cracking it slightly. Or the interrogation of Eli in the Telltale game where Batman can pretty much brutalize and torture an already frightened criminel if the player so chooses. Or the comics, where he sometimes says he enjoys hurting criminals and sends them to the ER without a second thought.

Also, do his kids know just how brutal Bruce can be on a Tuesday just cause he feels like a criminel deserves it? After a patrol, he'll reprimand them for breaking someone's collarbone or if he thinks they took it too far even though he does that all the time. It's not like the Batkids never do it themselves, but when they do, they're mostly in extremely emotional states and not a cold clinical mindset. One could argue Jason and Cass are exessively violent too but, well, Jason is an anti-hero (or villain) and Cass is still learning how far is too far.

And if the kids didn't know/realise, what would happen if they saw a recording of Batman absolutely dismantling a criminal in a detached sort of way (maybe a rogue maybe not, whatever would be worse ig) and then having to reconcile that that's the man who's like a father to them.

It's a very interesting question, and I suspect you'll get a different answer from everyone you ask.

My take is that it comes down to two things: intention and likelihood. Bruce's line for injury/torture/death sits somewhere between probably won't kill them or cause grievous injury and could cause death or grievous injury.

Throwing a guy off a high-up roof isn't just likely to kill someone, it was likely intended to do so. As we see in Batman Begins, you can throw someone off a (low) roof and not kill them, without the intention of killing them, and without the high likelihood of the act killing them.

Breaking a man's leg for information probably won't kill him, but it could! The break could be done wrong, or heal wrong, and cause a blood clot that killed the man. But was breaking the man's leg intended to kill him? Was it done with full knowledge that the break would likely result in death? Is that something a reasonable individual can even evaluate on their own?

The argument can be made that hitting someone in the head could result in death. So is Bruce risking his no-kill rule on a technicality when he punches people into walls? Does dying from a complicated TBI years later count?

I find the branding example in BVS a fascinating discussion of this point. Bruce doesn't kill the men he brands, but he effectively sets the men up to be killed in prison. Is it the same? Does he intend for the brand to kill the men? Does he have knowledge of the likelihood of death as a result of his brand? Does Lex's meddling actually change any of that when it's revealed later?

The third thing I haven't brought up but that you did is Bruce's enjoyment/active participation in all of this. Does he hurt people because it's effective? Is it ever gratuitous? Is he detached from the suffering he causes, viewing it as a means to an end? Does Gotham play by different rules -- i.e., is torture and grievous bodily injury ever acceptable in Gotham when it wouldn't be in other cities? Is Bruce a man willing to do what it takes at the end of his rope, or is he a man who resorts to violence when there are still other viable options? Somewhere in between?

I do agree that, with the addition of Robins and other family members, the violence likely tones down unless absolutely necessary. Hurting people shouldn't be enjoyable, but it is downright painful for some people (not Bruce) to witness firsthand.

[deoidesign]

I’m a trans man that recently got diagnosed with hyper mobile eds, so now seeing Steve makes me extra happy, because cool disabled ftm rep. Thanks for making the radical dude bro, he’s funky.

same disability (waving hand emoji)

Always extremely fulfilling to know my work makes people happy in some small way, it means a lot. Thank you for sharing with me

[razzledazzletrassh]

no major fic updates just yet guys TAKE MY WOY OC I MADE LIKE. April of last year IM PLUGGING SOME INFO ABOUT THIS GUY IN THE TAGS.

I may also redesign her soon or something. Make her more bug-like with some stuff. I can cook guys let me cook !!!

[eventheodds]

She knows a burger won’t be enough for him. She’s seen his appetite—not just for doughnuts, but for pretty much any food he was able to get his hands on. Having done more research into Plants and Independents, it would make sense for Vash to consume more than a normal human could given his ability to dispel that much energy.

But she doesn’t have an everflowing stream of money she can dip into whenever she feels like, and these days payments are made by bartering goods and services. 

Maurice looks up at the order for a banana sundae and even though no one can see his face behind the cloud of steam while he’s cooking away a never-ending line of meals for people coming and going, he smiles as he recognizes that order being placed—at least for whom.

Just so, Maurice’s replacement comes in to pick up the slack before the main cook goes home—but not before he leaves the kitchen and, before Meryl can answer Vash’s question about condiments and toppings, he wedges himself in front of their table.

“Order anything you want on the menu, Miss Stryfe. You an’ Miss Thompson really helped me out an’ it’s the least I can do. But I’ll get you that burger and sundae he ordered for ya. ‘S’on the house, buddy,” he says as he turns to Vash. “Any friend o’ Miss Stryfe is a friend o’ mine.”

It’s not a big diner and the other patrons look behind them, one even asking, in a mocking tone, where his free food is, and Maurice, as he’s turning to go back into the kitchen, makes a gesture like he’s about to whack the guy on the back of the head with his hand. Others share a quick laugh before the atmosphere resumes its usual ambiance.

“Yeah…we helped him set this place up. Rather, Milly did. I think it was because she wanted someplace to eat that could make her favourite foods that weren’t just pastries.” She looks down at the menu again and tries to think what Vash will order now that he’s been given free reign over everything—at least related to food.

“We shouldn’t get too carried away because—” Someone she doesn’t recognize approaches their table with a giant circular tray laden with plates of food and drinks—and two banada sundaes with all the trimmings—and Meryl looks around the dinette as others also look at them and their full table. It starts off with feeling a bit embarrassed, but that soon turns into apprehension as multiple pairs of eyes are focused on them and the last thing she needs is for someone to recognize Vash.

A few tense moments play out where she is holding her breath, but nothing comes of it and as the ambiance settles once more, Meryl deflates with a sigh of relief.

None of this stuff looks like it would keep for an extended period of time. Still, she’s able to put the tunnels out of her mind when she eyes the sundae and pulls the dish towards her. There’s at least seven other plates, their portions way more than she could ever eat, but Meryl suspects that this is completely fine for Vash.

“I’ll have this and one of the burgers. You…can have the rest,” she says and scoops a bite of banana and ice cream onto a spoon and eats it. It’s been a while since she’s had something this delectable and this sweet. Rations that were mostly tomas jerky were what she lived on during those weeks looking for him. 

The fries are cut evenly and fried to a perfect golden; she picks one up and dips one end into the ice cream and takes a bite. “Try this,” she says with more enthusiasm than would be necessary, like she’s discovered something entirely novel. She holds a fry with a dollop of ice cream at the end to Vash, urging him to take it before the ice cream melts and makes a mess everywhere.

Lately he’s grown tired of being the center of attention. Cramped into a motor carriage for hours, it feels like they can’t escape the topic. His dinner plans, his bounty, his future plans, his ‘get your boots off my dashboard!!!’  Meryl didn’t seem to much like his joke about photosynthesis either. Plants. Photosynthesis. He thought it was funny.

They’re overdue for a change of pace, at any rate.

“You’ve been driving all day,” Vash remarks, wise enough not to push the discussion further after Meryl invites herself along for his planned excursion into the network of tunnels that stretched out below their feet. Lucky for Zazie, they get to see two familiar faces on the same day.

Vash does not realize how truly ravenous for food he was until they’ve seated themselves and really started looking at the menus laid out beneath the protective layer of plastic. Interlocking his fingers and placing his hands primly over the mouthwatering thumbnails of chicken-fried steaks, burgers, and malted shakes of various flavors, Vash nods dutifully. Only little granules of sand live in his wallet now. To open and gaze upon the emptiness would fill him with unspeakable despair. 

No waiter comes up to greet them, but Vash can see the cook bustling back and forth behind a curtain of steam between the window of the counter and a hanging ribbon of tickets. The counter itself isn’t even really a counter so much as a series of randomly assorted crates stacked on top of each other.

Their fellow patrons yell out their orders to an affirming grunt from the chef. Food is bussed out quickly and shoveled down waiting gullets just as quickly. 

People file in, order, eat, and file out in charmingly efficient rotations.

Much to do about a growing town. He and Meryl have a moment to enjoy themselves without worrying about the local gossip stirring up trouble.

 “Both. Both are good. And the burger too.” He dare not ask for more. Before Meryl has the opportunity to place her coin purse under further duress, Vash slings an arm around the back of his chair and waves at the cook. “A banana sundae, please! With caramel and fudge sauce! Oh, and a burger platter too, if you don’t mind!”

Vash quickly turns back to Meryl. “I forgot! Do you want everything on it? Pickles? Onions? I could take or leave mustard…”

[theultimatekamehamehavoc]

Back from playing some Chapter 2 of THH and my gooooosh. I'm trying so hard to take Byakuya seriously and I have at some moments. At the same time though, it's so haaaard! He's so dweeby looking and I know the narrative is trying to make me be intrigued and like "OOooOOO look at this mysterious guy being all mysterious and sinister." But, I just can't! At least not now. Feel I might feel something else once I actually get to the trial (even though I know exactly what's going to happen). For now though, he's just too stupid looking for me to be intimidated in any way. It doesn't help that any messed up stuff he's said so far isn't like, bad?? Sure, making Chihiro cry isn't exactly something one should be proud of him for. How dare he make Chihiro cry! Shame on him! At the same time though, it's more of just like "We be in a killing game" and "Friendship isn't magic, gang". In some ways, he does have a point despite how awful it sounds too. Additionally, sometimes I feel he could just be a lot meaner and he's oddly tame despite this being the doomsday chapter for any Byakuya fan. Maybe it's because with all the fan works I've seen where he's honestly way worse than in canon, anything he says that might've been remotely extreme just feels null to me. Also, again, most stuff is more or less just him affirming the situation their in, how much he's not planning on being buddy-buddy with everyone, and how he sees himself as superior. It also doesn't help with how dramatic the music is (which I am so down for ngl. I'd head bang if I could) which is signaling how "super awful" he's being. Though it just seems a bit too much when he's not being horrendously despicable. And, don't get me wrong! I'm not happy with him! Just shaking my head as he drags Makoto along while being all annoying whenever I click something that isn't the thing he wants me to look at. Like, don't yap at me when I'm looking around in the library that YOU dragged me to, Mister! Half of the extension cord is CLEARLY missing!! And, damn. He just seems like some whiny petulant brat bossing Makoto around honestly. So goofily though cus I know what happens in the chapter and I know what he knows and the way he's pulling Makoto along like he's so proud of his handiwork. He's such a nerd. Such a dweeb. Like, that scene when the group are worried about where the hell he is when he was just chilling in the library. For one, man sounded so damn calm talking to Makoto. Not even a hint of being pissed or anything at the beginning. Just kinda matter-of-fact with a slight bit of sass. But also, once he really started being shitty like, it just felt so DUMB! Like how everyone around him was like "Damn. He's smiling so creepy" but, for one, how am I do judge something I'm not allowed to see? Not like they gave him a CG of that said sinister smile. Also, every time I attempt to visualize it it just gets worse. Cus I KNOW he can be cool to me and kinda bad ass and even a bit sinister too! I know he's capable of it! But it's just not clicking with this dialogue for me. Every attempt my brain makes to think of him with a sinister smile just makes me laugh from how dumb and uncool he looks even though he probably thinks he's hot shit while being all pompous like that. Another thing I want to mention, and I have no way to segue into this, but when Byakuya said he was "having fun" with the killing game DAMN IT! It so goofy of him to say he's having fun while his sprite screams constipated energy. And, to top it all off, he's not going to get any better in the sense of "Byakuya being so cool and calculating" once Chapter 2 ends. And, in a way, I like that. If only Mondo and Aoi were allowed by the narrative to beat him up more. Such a shame u_u