#gen didn’t think this idea would get very far

[silksongeveryday]

Thank you all so much for 300!!

To celebrate, I’m hosting a dtiys on my main!

Go check it out if you’re interested!

[anundyingfidelity]

DO YOU HATE ME THAT MUCH? — Billy Butcher

Summary: Butcher gives orders for you to stay back from the fight. You hardly comply and prove differently; he starts thinking in a very improper manner about you.

Pairing: Billy Butcher x female!supe reader.

Word count: 2k.

Warnings: smut!! hate sex, unprotected sex, fingering, enemies to fuck buddies, reader can control blood and explode shit (like Victoria Neuman lol), the usual mentions of violence.

Notes: this is a request made by @thatcharmingmushroom for my 400 followers drabbles celebration. I'm sorry I took soooo damn long on this, but I hope you like it and thank you so much for the idea because I had so much fun with it! I picked the Herogasm episode for this tho hehe

☕ if you like my writing support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

taglist is here!

On the hunt for Payback, you made your way to infiltrate Herogasm along with Butcher, Hughie and the new asshole, Soldier Boy, not caring that the British dick ordered you a thousand times to stay back.

For different reasons, you were kind of forced to stay with the team, and while you didn’t really get along with any of them, Butcher was by far the one you hated the most. And, in the end, when Soldier Boy burned the whole place to the ground with a blast and Homelander arrived, you couldn’t stand there doing nothing. While the three men tried to hold down Homelander, you used your blood to create strong whips around his limbs, trying to tie him to the ground as Soldier Boy prepared to blast, yet again.

But just in seconds, Homelander recharged himself and pushed them all aside, cutting your whips, and flashing you quickly with his heat vision before storming out. Your blood blades barely made it to the hole he left in the roof as the supe just disappeared, flying away like a scared bitch.

“Well,” you started after an instant of staying silent. “I guess we fucking failed.”

Butcher shot you a dark glare as he walked straight until he stopped in front of you. “You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.

You held his eyes as he towered you with his broad figure. He looked even more intimidating now he started playing the supe, injecting himself with Compund V. “I don’t care.”

There was this smug smirk on his face as you talked back. You knew he hated you; you knew you hated him. But as fucking weird your powers were, controling blood and exploding people with their own, Butcher found you interesting and stupidly astonishing. But of course, he wasn’t going to admit it. They were just intrusive thoughts about you and how hot you were, defying his direct orders of strictly not coming to the supe-orgy. Yeah, Homelander was a fucking cunt, and he would take care of Soldier Boy soon too. Right now, he just needed something to take the stress out after another stupid failure. His hand would work later once back at the motel, he decided.

Butcher leaned down, until his lips almost brushed the shell of your ear. “We’ll see about that.”

“Why do I have to keep listening to you?” you asked as Butcher followed back to the motel.

You stopped right out of your door, because of course you weren’t going to share a room with him and the old asshole. Hughie, who went inside their room, was the only decent human being between all of them, but still, you had to take care of yourself from those fuckers. Besides, the British idiot wouldn’t stop the verbal vomiting the whole fucking trip and you were growing sick of it.

“Because, for starters, you’re a fucking newbie here,” Butcher replied, smirking hatefully. “And second, your powers are fucking out of control. You need training and keep your mouth shut.”

You rolled your eyes, showing him your wrists. “I already healed myself from the cuts I made. Perhaps I should use your blood next time?”

“No, there’s no next time for you.”

“You don’t decide that, Butcher,” you crossed your arms over your chest, tired of being treated like a stupid kid. “I’m helping on this, I want him dead. And if any of you idiots don’t kill him, then I will.”

He curved an eyebrow, not showing any signs of being taken aback at your words, but inside, he was just in awe as before. You really hated Homelander as much as he did, however, you didn’t have a fucking plan. You would attack first, ask questions later. In any way, since when could he care about that? He had no idea.

“Hey,” Soldier Boy talked behind Butcher and stepped in closer between both of you. “You fucking stay back from this, you ain’t doing shit with your blood whips.”

Furious, you motioned your hand to draw fresh blood from a wound on his cheek and created a sharp blade, cutting his skin lightly. Soldier Boy clenched his jaw before smirking at you.

“Talk to me like that ever again and I’ll blow your dick, and not the way you like it,” you warned through your teeth.

Soldier Boy wiped the blood off the fresh wound, and smiled anew before patting Butcher on the shoulder. “She’s all yours, pal.”

With that, the old supe disappeared in the next room. You just wanted this to be over, so you turned around to get inside your room, but Butcher wouldn’t leave you alone just yet, putting his foot between the door and the frame, holding it with his super strength.

“What the fuck you want now?!” you yelled at him as he made his way inside, slamming the door closed.

“Imma have to call the fucking CIA if you don’t calm down your ass,” he threatened between his teeth.

“You wouldn’t-”

“I can, and I fucking will,” he insisted, taking slow strides, making you step back from him until your back met the wall.

His eyes were getting dangerously dark and you could smell the sweat and dry blood coming from him. You noticed his pulse was increasing, and you grinned. Your mind jumped to an unsafe place where you probably knew what Butcher was feeling right now. The heat and coming down the high of what could have been the end of both yours and his enemy was too much to burden. Little did he know that you were the kind of person that used to take out the stress with something, or someone. Just like him.

“From one to ten, how much do you hate me?” you asked all of the sudden, looking straight into his eyes.

Butcher’s fierceful gaze turned into confusion. “What?”

“How fucking much do you hate me?” you repeated yourself steadier.

Butcher rolled his eyes before answering in a whisper. “I’d choose a one thousand scale for that.”

“Good, I hate you too,” you replied with a smirk before pulling him for a kiss that turned heated too fast, but you didn’t care.

You needed release. Something quick, hard and hot to take it out of your system. He was perfect for the task, and by the way his tongue tasted your mouth, you found out that he wouldn’t step back. At least you hoped so. The tension between both of you was so damn sharp and it was just a matter of time for that bomb to explode, and you preferred it this way instead of fighting each other to death.

Gripping the neck of his shirt to get even closer as you kissed, Butcher’s hands roamed all over your hips, running on your sides until he met the flesh of your ass on your jeans, pressing you towards his chest. You gasped against his mouth when he started to unzip your pants, you worked immediately on the buttons of his shirt. Desperately, you discharged his shirt, the fabric being followed to his pants, and he undressed you with the same eagerness until you were only panties and bra.

Butcher lifted you up from the ground, hands on your thighs as he guided you to the mattress. He crawled on top of you, spreading your legs with his big, rough hands and leaning down to lick down at your chest and rip your bra off. His action made you gasp out loud at the same time he sucked on a nipple like a starved man.

“You're a fucking beast,” you whimpered, feeling his hands peeling off your panties and leaving you completely exposed at his mercy.

You tugged at his jeans and he pulled them down along with his boxers as quickly as he could, taking out his dick with that smug smile on his stupid face. He noticed your eyes taking the sight of his half nakedness, biting your lip slightly once you focused on his hard cock pressing on your crotch. It only made you wet.

“Well, I plan to fuck you like one,” he said, grabbing the back of your legs and rubbing the tip of his cock against your wet folds.

“Show me, don’t talk- fuck!”

You let out a rather loud moan when he rubbed your clit with his fingers, playing with your entrance until he inserted a single, thick digit in your pussy. Butcher stretched you out with a finger, then slid a second one, scissoring them to reach your deepest spots as your walls clenched around his digits. You kept whimpering and moaning as he increased the thrusts of his hand.

“Bloody fuck, these are the only sounds I like coming from your mouth, luv,” he hissed, sensing that you almost came on his fingers.

Right before you reached your high, he pulled out and you groaned in annoyance, feeling empty once again.

“Shit,” you breathed out.

He positioned between your legs anew, getting comfortable as he started to push his tip against your slit. The grip of his hands on your thighs became a little harsh once he entered you slowly, the thickness of his cock splitting you open.

“What a tight cunt I always knew you’d be,” he grunted, filling you up completely and leaning down to mark your neck with his teeth.

His mouth and thrusts earned him your sweet moans as he fucked you senseless. The burning soon turned into pleasure. Your nails scratched his back while moaning incoherent words. His hands on your thighs would leave marks on your skin, but it felt so damn good. You needed a little bit of pain to remind you that you were alive, rotting for that sweet bliss only sex could give you.

Moans escaped from your throat and mingled with his deep groans and the sound of your skin against his own, the headboard of the bed hitting the wall with every of his hard thrusts. You pulled him down for a wet kiss when you felt closer and closer to come undone.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you gasped.

Butcher increased the rhythm of his thrusts, his cock throbbing as your walls started to clench around him.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he mumbled against your mouth.

“Do you still hate me?” you asked, trying to catch your breath. You reached down to rub your clit. You were so close, almost there.

“If I keep fucking you like this then I might change my mind- holy fuck!”

In that moment, you came hard with a string of curses and clenching your walls around his cock. The pound of his hips increased and he fucked you through your orgasm to reach his own. You continued rubbing your clit, fingers finding the place where you two connected, meeting his cock coated with your juices when he pulled out just slightly to slam back inside again.

Butcher emptied his cum inside you, mumbling dirty words against your ear. His rhythm slowing down eventually, fucking his seed in your pussy. Once he came down from his high, he pulled out and rolled by your side on the bed. Your body started to ache but in the best way possible. It was the best fuck you had in a long time. After a couple of minutes in complete silence you decided to talk, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“I hope you keep hating on me…”

He turned slightly to see your blank face. “Why?”

“I love hate-fucking.”

He scoffed with a smile curving on his lips. “You bet I enjoyed this too.”

Within a second, you climbed on top of him. Thighs straddling his lap as you rubbed your cunt on his soft cock.

“Second round? You can eat me out and suck your cum out of me,” you gave him a wink, rolling your hips and leaning down for a quick kiss.

“Dirty girl,” Butcher whispered on your lips. “Perhaps put your mouth into good use.”

“I like how that sounds,” you smiled back at him.

Billy Butcher taglist

@delaynew

@thesilmarillionblog

@feyresqueen

@drasticemotions

[irisintheafterglow]

blood moonlit, must be counterfeit

summary: a guy at a party has a really good dynamight costume, and you two get to talking about your favorite heroes. (pro!bakugo x you)

wc: 1.68k

cw/tags: swearing ofc cuz it's bakugo, mentions of drinking and alcohol, halloween party, first meeting, emotionally constipated katsuki and reader is kinda oblivious lol

note: NEW HALLOWEEN HEADER BABY also this idea had me by the throat so i needed to write it down before it consumed my entire psyche. i'm back to writing for bakugo again because iykyk and halloween fics are giving me a lot of motivation right now. hope you enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“I have to admit–your costume is pretty damn good.”

“Yeah? Just ‘pretty good?’”

“Mhmm. Almost looks like the real thing,” you remark, taking another sip of the dangerously sweet jungle juice in your cup. It's an unreadable mix of bad ideas and bold flirtation, perfect for a Halloween party of barely 21 adults. The blonde guy beside you on the worn leather couch tilts his head slightly like he's re-affirming what you just said in his mind. “I think the real Dynamight would be impressed.”

“Would he, now,” he huffs under his breath, mouth curling into an unreadable smirk. He exhales a quick breath of what you think is amusement through his nose, eyes flicking over your body for the umpteenth time since he sat down with you. It makes your face heat up and you casually avert your gaze downward, catching more details of his costume that you didn’t notice before. 

The gauntlets were obviously the star of the arrangement, covered in numerous scratches, burns, and dents that attested to their “battle” usage. The boots were impressive, too, and you wondered how long it took to place every individual orange eyelet over the front of each calf. The cinder block rectangles sitting on his broad shoulders truly looked like real stone, solid like the toned muscle holding them up. It was the domino mask that threw you off the most, though. The guy must have been wearing bright red contacts, or something, because to look so similar to the actual Pro should have been considered a crime. 

“Who’d you come to the party with?”

“Just some friends,” he replies, shrugging an infuriatingly sexy shoulder. His entire look was putting the real Dynamight to shame, in your opinion. He nods upward in the direction of a guy in an equally accurate Deku costume standing with a very convincing Shoto lookalike. “They dared me to wear this and I lost the bet.”

“Must have been some bet, if you’re moping over here like a toddler.” The shrewdness of your words escapes you until they’re already past your lips; thankfully, he just smirks again and leans his head back, resting an arm on the back of the sofa.

“I’ll ignore that you said that, 'cause you're clearly intoxicated” he mutters, shooting you a brutal side-eye. Thanks to the alcohol, though, you’re far from deterred. 

“How gracious,” you chuckle and his smirk gets a little more arrogant. “What was the bet?”

“Some dumb drinking contest. That asswipe in the green can put down more shots than he looks.” He scowls and you fight down the urge to giggle at his bitter expression. He was the only guy you’ve ever seen that could make a grumpy face look hot. The only guy besides Bakugo himself, of course. “I wouldn’t have worn this shit to a party to save my life.”

“What, Dynamight isn’t your favorite Pro?”

“I’m more of an All Might guy,” he replies nonchalantly. He appreciates the classic heroes. Good sign. “If I had to choose a different one, I’d probably say Jeanist.”

“Jeanist is pretty cool. My best friend had a cardboard cutout of Eraserhead in her closet growing up.” He barks out a laugh and it startles you, but a mysterious feeling in your stomach wants to make him do it again. “What do you think of the current gen of heroes?” He hums thoughtfully, running his tongue over his top lip and you swallow back your drool.

“Red Riot’s a good guy. Deku pisses me the fuck off, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders. Same thing with Pinky and that Half-and-Half asshat. Chargebolt…” His expression turns into a frown so deep you’re worried that Chargebolt killed his family or something heinous like that. 

“What about him?”

“He’s just dumb. If given the choice between his life and a grain of sand, I’d take the sand,” he deadpans and you choke unexpectedly, wincing as your drink travels up the wrong tube and into your nose. His eyes widened in concern, reaching out to pat your back but deciding against it at the last moment. His glove-covered hands hover around you like you’re radioactive matter, carefully watching as you regain your composure. “You good, nerd?” Uses the same vocabulary as the real guy, too. Kind of weird, but I guess we all have our idols. 

“Yeah, I’m good. I just didn’t expect you to badmouth him like you two were friends from high school or something,” you joke lightheartedly and the guy blinks at you twice before computing what you said. 

“It’s whatever. They’re super fuckin’ easy to read, in any case,” he states with an air of finality and you down the rest of your drink, the dim lighting starting to blur everything around you into a single greenish-orange blob. “What about you? What are your thoughts on the new gen?”

“I can’t make such bold judgments as you, but I do think Dynamight is pretty cool,” you admit, suddenly feeling a little bashful when having the same question turned on you. The truth was, you followed the lives of the heroes a bit too closely than the average person should. It fascinated you so much that you were majoring in Quirk-specific journalism, studying the social and economic consequences of being a Pro. “I think his public persona is an interesting case when compared to other heroes.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’d like to imagine that he’s not always the loud, arrogant, obnoxious piece of shit that the press shows,” you start and narrow your eyes in confusion when he flinches at your description. You continue anyway but choose your words a little more carefully. Probably isn’t good to upset the guy who might have fashioned functioning gauntlets, if the costume truly is accurate. “There’s a side to him that I think the public doesn’t know about and doesn’t care to know about, since it’s easier to understand him as a loudmouth with no sense of manners. I just wonder who that guy is under all the yelling and testosterone.” His silence is deafening and you worry that you somehow offended him, but his tone is so gentle that your assumption becomes an impossibility.

“Seems like you’ve given this guy a great deal of thought,” he says lowly, voice barely audible over the sound of the blaring house music. 

“Well, he is my favorite,” you add quietly, not expecting him to catch what you said. He does, though, and that mischievous smirk returns to his face. Somehow, you two had inched closer together over the course of your conversation, and you were now close enough to smell his cologne. It was something deep and smoky, with a surprise note of sweetness, like caramel. “I’ve been following his hero career since I was in high school.”

“I didn’t take you for a superfan, but I do appreciate your support,” he chuckles and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You seriously haven’t figured it out?”

“Figured what out?”

“That I’m Dynamight, stupid. This is my actual costume and those are my actual friends. Hell, I'm paying for this whole shitty party,” he says incredulously, genuinely shocked that you didn’t come to that conclusion already. Your skepticism, however, rears its head and you burst out into rude laughter. 

Dynamight? Yeah, right. More like Dyna-maybe. 

“Excuse me?” He stares at you like you’d grown three heads and your heart drops into your stomach. You must have said your thoughts out loud. Fuck! “You’ve got some nerve, testing the patience of a Pro.” His words, under any other circumstances, would have cut down your pride like a knife. However, his eyes were conveying a different story, one of lust and want and holyshityouwantedhim. “Got anything to say, sweetheart? Or are you gonna just keep gaping like a fuckin’ goldfish?” You abruptly snap your jaw back into place, leaning your head into your hand and smiling in triumph when his gaze again uncontrollably rakes over your body.  

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“See what, gorgeous?”

“That a Pro kisses better than a normal person,” you murmur and his pupils blow to the size of pool balls. He wastes no time, gently but firmly grabbing your chin with two fingers and pulling your mouth onto his. His lips are ridiculously soft and you muster up the courage to bite him softly, heartbeat racing when he groans into your mouth. One arm drapes itself over the back of the couch, the other pulling you as close to him as humanly possible without practically sitting on him. Your hand combs through his hair and the other keeps him on you by the back of his neck.

Right when you run out of breath, he pulls away and swears colorfully at the phone buzzing in his pocket, answering it with one hand while his forearm is still pressed against your lower back. You absentmindedly trace his jawline with a finger while he curses out the person on the other line, eventually chucking the device over his shoulder like it was the last thing he was thinking about. “You need to go somewhere, sweetheart?” He lightly pinches your side at your mockery and you jump, flicking his forehead in defiance. 

“Nah, that was a job for Dynamight. Right now, I guess I’m still fuckin' Dyna-maybe,” he rasps and leans back in to kiss you again but you push his face away, giving him as sober of a look as possible. “What?”

“If you need to go kick ass, then go kick ass. I’m just some random makeout at a party,” you remind him, painfully aware of the sting if he was to leave you alone. His expression contorts into indignancy again but you still try to convince him to alleviate whatever situation he was called in for. “Your job is more important than a hookup.”

“I don’t do hookups, dumbass. I’m interested in you,” he states plainly and your face is set on fire. The Pro, who you just insulted to his face, was interested in you? “So, let’s get out of here, yeah? I can make you dinner that isn’t shitty pizza.” His mouth breaks into a devilish grin and you’re already grabbing onto his hand like your life depended on it. 

“If someone messes with us?”

“It’s a good thing I’m already in costume.” 

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[soullessjack]

another thing that really sucks about how the show went with jacks arc is like..he honestly did not have that good of a support system lmfao

yes the guys tried their best with very little to go off of in a LOT of areas yes I do have numerous posts and tags detailing how dean showed support but just LISTEN

the thing with characters that fall under specific archetypes (living weapon/monster-that-doesn’t-want-to-be-a-monster here) is that they usually have someone, or several other people in their life that. well. Support Them. like. shadow had maria to tell him that he could be whoever he wanted to be. the iron giant had Hogarth to say he is who he chooses to be. you get the idea. and yea, sam and dean and cas did eventually get to that point with jack — like dean even said in 13.06 that if jack is a monster for a single innocent death, so are he and the other guys for every death on their hands.

that’s fine and dandy and i wish more ppl acknowledged it but whatever but there’s also the faith part of it. Hogarth had enough faith that the giant would choose to be good and be his friend that he risked the other choice that would cost him his life. Maria (in the gens game) had faith that shadow wasn’t like black doom and wouldn’t join him. as much as tfw loved jack and genuinely saw him as their kid (which frankly makes it even more painful), when the chips were really really down they just. they didn’t fight hard enough for him honestly. i think even sam said that to dean in 14.19 or 15.03 (or whichever ep had the vampire kid) and he’s right.

bobby didn’t even consider the possibility of mary’s death being an accident. he gunned for jack like he was waiting for it to happen — waiting for the evil shoe to inevitably drop. i know cas tried to defend it, but “he may not have even realized what he did was wrong” is so flimsy I’m sorry cas it just doesn’t cut it (and it was very very wrong in the end anyways). sam and dean are still reeling from mary’s loss and don’t even know what to think, much less what to argue for or against. and I feel like.. how they really really felt, it was just littered in some dialogue here and there. Cas saying he knew something was wrong with jack and hiding it so their family didn’t fall apart, Sam saying they all knew [taking in] jack was a risk and yada yada. their general consensus was basically “yea we loved him but we always knew he might secretly have evil rabies and now that he’s evil it’s our fault for loving him so much we pretended he didn’t have evil rabies.”

and listen. i get why it went this way. i’m probably the biggest fan of Beloved Monumental Threat jack and functionally-dysfunctional TFW2.0 but like. it still hurts. and it hurts even more so when you pair it with jack’s psychotic subconscious hallucination telling him things like “stop pretending to be something you’re not, stop trying to go back where you don’t belong and you’ll feel so much better about it all.” literally looking nauseous for four days straight because he lost everything he ever had overnight and knows everybody thinks he’s Too Far Gone But He Really Isn’t So Please Let Him Come Back. eating a cactus would be significantly less painful and harrowing.

don’t make me tap the sign 👉 [JACK SUBCONSCIOUSLY THOUGHT OF HIMSELF AS THE PET MONSTER OF HIS SURROGATE FAMILY. PET MONSTER. ARE YOU HEARING ME. OEF MKNYDR]€.

im reaching incoherency here but what sucks even more than all of that is that there’s no payoff to it. never any apologies from the guys or Bobby or resolution on jacks end. They just keep putting him in saw traps and then wondering “maybe he shouldn’t have been put in there” and once he’s freed from the saw trap nobody says “sorry we put you in a saw trap buddy you never deserved it and we were wrong to put you in it” and it is so so maddening

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

How Romantic

what if a side did get forgotten? they got pushed to the side enough (maybe by the others being in a relationship, maybe by other conflicts) and the mindscape started to remove the "unnecessary" influence – doteddestroyer

Read on Ao3

Warnings: fading/ducking out, but he's fine

Pairings: none, so gen

Word Count: 4777

Romanticism emphasized the individual, the subjective, the irrational, the imaginative, the personal, the spontaneous, the emotional, the visionary, and the transcendental. When Roman is forgotten as a part of Creativity, well, what use does the Imagination have for a prince when it can simply put the Romantic into its work in other ways? Remus has a few things to say about that.

It shouldn’t be all that surprising, really, to think that if a Mind forgets something, it will no longer manifest. Or rather, to not think of it. Or, one could imagine the consequences of not imagining something.

Listen, Roman’s already mostly out the door, he doesn’t have enough cognitive function left to think his way in and out of all the contradictions that arise from the things he says.

The basic principle is this: if a thing is no longer relevant in the Mindscape, which is a consequence of people not thinking about it, then it ceases to exist. The Mindscape doesn’t put the energy into making it a thing. Think of it like a video game. The game only renders the part of the role that the player is currently in, there’s no use for it to render the secret dungeon buried in the third level of the side quest that hardly anyone knows about. It’s more efficient if it doesn’t and in the incredibly slim chance that the player does end up there, then the game can render it and it’ll be fine and it’ll de-load as soon as they leave to go back to the main game.

Got it?

Great.

So, that’s where Roman is right now. In his room, waiting to be de-loaded. He has his Prince costume on, because that’s the version of him that’s going to fade last, his room is all made up in his signature red: red curtains, red comforter, red pillowcases, red notebook laid on his desk. He’s even got his sword out for a final sharpening—no, that’s not a dirty joke, he’s not that Creativity, he’s literally just taking care of the katana—as he waits for the telltale shudder of the Mindscape forgetting something.

He hums absentmindedly to himself as the whetstone sings against the blade. Really, it’s surprising it’s taking this long. Well, not really. Forgetting things is a slow process, it’s not like you can snap your fingers and poof, something’s gone. At the very least, it has to be long enough that something else has taken its place in your mind, and then when you look, you can’t even tell that something was ever missing from it.

Remus has that handled. And Roman will fight anyone who says that’s just because he’s intrusive thoughts, or whatever, no, Remus is memorable all on his own, thank you very much. He’s far cleverer than they all give him credit. And Roman wishes he was half as quick as Remus.

Again, not an innuendo. That’s not his thing, remember?

And Remus isn’t bound by the same creative limits he is! He can run wild—literally, if they let him—and come up with the most incredible things that open up all sorts of new possibilities for what they could do, what they can talk about, what sorts of things they could explore. Isn’t that so much better than just regurgitating the same story idea, over and over and over, doesn’t that get exhausting? How can you imagine something new when all you’re able to do is ricochet around the same blank boring box?

His hand shudders a little as it moves back up the blade. He never liked creative blocks.

And how nice would it be to have a Creativity that wasn’t bound to the fragility of the Ego? How much better, how much easier would it be if you didn’t have to worry about getting bruised and hurt every single time you got feedback on something you made? Making things is hard, you know, it’s vulnerable and terrifying and mortifying especially when you’re showing the end product to someone—and even if you aren’t! Even if it sits on a shelf in your room or a folder on your computer and it never, ever sees the light of day, that’s still scary! You’ve made something, it exists now because of you, and now someone could look at it and see you through it and—and—

Well. You get the idea.

Roman sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He puts the katana away and places the whetstone back in its little box. As he goes to pick it up, it falls through his hands and hits the floor with a low thud.

Ah. So it is starting after all.

He leaves the box on the floor and goes back to the bed. He lies down, not sinking very much at all into his red covers. He folds his hands on his chest and stares up at the ceiling.

It makes sense, after all, that the parts of him the others don’t know about—or have already forgotten about—are going first. The whetstone. They know he has a sword. They probably don’t know how he takes care of it. His bed is red, and he’s the color red, so it’s still here. His room, his prince costume, his desk, all things he needs to be Creativity, or at least half of Creativity, so it will probably go last too.

He lets his head loll to the side, staring at his red notebook. bits of grey begin to enter his vision, the red notebook standing out like a sore thumb. He wonders if any of the things written on its pages would still be there if he looked.

He did love that notebook. It was his friend when no one else would be his friend. It was there for him when it wasn’t okay for him to have someone there for him, when he’d messed up too much to deserve comfort from anyone else, he would go to the notebook. Mainly because the notebook didn’t have a choice.

He’s written a small thing the other day about that, actually. He wonders if it’s still there. If he closes his eyes, maybe he can remember it.

Why don’t you talk to me?; you’re unkind to me; why don’t you talk to me?; I tried and you turned it into a lecture; why don’t you talk to me?; you make fun of me when I try to express how I’m feeling; why don’t you talk to me?; I tried to ask you for help and you turned it into a game of who could mock me the most until I ran away; why don’t you talk to me?; because you were still laughing when I ran away crying; why don’t you talk to me?; because you made me feel guilty for needing help; why don’t you talk to me?; because you made me feel ashamed for wanting support and comfort; why don’t you talk to me?; I don’t want to be in trouble; why don’t you talk to me?; I want to be hurt and upset and have that be okay because I got hurt by something; why don’t you talk to me?; the loneliest time in the world is right before you tell someone else what you did wrong because you know they won’t want to comfort you anymore; why don’t you talk to me?; it’s cold here; why don’t you talk to me?; I just want to be alone now; why don’t you talk to me?; I learned my lesson already; why don’t you talk to me?; what would I have to say?; why don’t you talk to me?; tell me the right words to use so you’ll actually care about me; why don’t you talk to me?; I don’t want to; why don’t you talk to me?; I don’t trust you anymore; why don’t you talk to me?; why would I talk to you?

Ah, that’s it.

His melodrama will probably be the last thing to go too.

He sighs, rubbing his cheek half-heartedly against the pillow in search of some meager comfort. He hasn’t been forgotten enough that the pain that lingers in his chest and hands has gone away, though he’s not sure how. He doesn’t think anyone knows about that—except maybe Remus.

Oh, Remus.

Roman’s chest burns and he gasps, sudden tears coming to the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t want to leave his brother, not after everything they’ve been through, not after all the work they’ve done to get back to the place they’re at now, after all this time, not when they’re finally brothers again. He sniffles, going to wipe his nose and his hands just start to ache. He curls up on the bed, around his pained hands, weeping for himself, for his brother, for Creativity.

Enough of his mind remains to put the pieces together and realize oh, of course. In forgetting everything else, I have been left with the things that I am at my core.

Pain in his chest and hands and an undying love for his brother.

A more complete Creativity might’ve called it Romantic.

***

Thomas sighs. To say that most of these meetings go well would be a lie, but this meeting is not going well.

“Look, all I’m saying is that—“

“Well, that’s your problem right there, you’ve been doing an awful lot of ‘saying’ and not a lot of ‘listening.’”

“Your sass, as delightful as it is, kiddo, is not helpful right now.”

“Oh, really? And here I thought it was the most pivotal thing at the moment.”

“No, it’s not, because it’s taking valuable time from—“

“Sarcasm, Patton. That was sarcasm.”

“And see! That’s another thing—“

“Oh, for the love of Archimedes…”

Yeah. not going well. Thomas pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out what this conversation started with and how exactly they ended up here.

Right, okay.

He’d gotten a text from a friend about a thing they wanted to go do. The problem was, the thing cost money to do and the friend hadn’t said anything about paying for Thomas to come. His finances weren’t awful but it wasn’t like he had the amount of money to just…spare. Logan had suggested they ask and confirm who would be paying the entrance fee, Virgil had worried that it was rude to ask something like that, Janus had proposed a number of ways they could ‘surreptitiously’ ask about it, and Patton had worried about going at all if they were going to be guilt-tripped into it or if the friend had just assumed Thomas would be fine paying for it.

It had…developed from there.

“Look,” Logan says, “there is a very simple way to ask whether or not Thomas is to pay for his own entrance fee. We simply text or call them back and ask.”

“But what if they freak out about it? That’s a weird thing to ask!”

“How is it a weird thing to ask?”

“They might think we’re trying to freeload, or that we’re going to ask them to pay us back, or what if they think that we’re broke?”

“Hey!” Patton puts his hands on his hips. “You are not broken, kiddo, and I won’t stand for you saying that you are!”

“…not what I meant, but thanks, I guess.”

Janus rolls his eyes. “Well, if we’re this stressed out about a simple invitation to something we want to go to anyway, perhaps we should reconsider whether we want to be friends with them at all.”

“Now that’s a bit of an overreaction.”

“Sarcastic! I was being sarcastic!’

Yeah. That’s about where they are now. Out of sheer desperation, if nothing else, he glances over at Remus. Remus’s arms are hanging over the TV, swinging his hands as he grins at the chaos unfolding. He catches Thomas’s gaze and tilts his head in a silent question. Thomas gestures weakly around and Remus shrugs.

“I voted we just go without paying, but apparently that’s illegal or something.”

“Yeah, buddy, that’s…we’re not gonna do that.”

Remus shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

“Alright, look,” Thomas says, raising his voice enough to speak over the current argument about—you know what, he’s not even gonna ask— “this isn’t going anywhere. If we’re going to figure out what we are actually going to do, we need to think about this differently.”

“It’s a simple issue, Thomas.”

“And yet, we’ve been talking for close to an hour and we’ve made zero progress.” Thomas rubs his forehead. “Look, where’s Roman?”

There’s a pause.

“Roman?” Patton frowns. "Why would we need Roman?”

“Well, you know, he’s…also Creativty? Maybe he can help us think of something we’re not thinking of?”

“Remus is also Creativity,” Logan says, indicating Remus who gives a cheery little wave. “His suggestions have been…well, we’ve ruled them out.”

“That’s because you guys are no fun.”

“Yeah, but Roman is a different Creativity. Doesn’t it make sense that what he’d come up with would be different.”

Logan adjusts his glasses. “I suppose so.”

“Why didn’t he show up today, does anyone know?”

“Perhaps he is working on another video idea.”

“Maybe he got lost in the Imagination? Happens to me all the time.”

“Maybe he slept in. God knows he harps on about his ‘beauty sleep’ enough.”

“Janus? Remus? What about you two?”

“Why would I bother to keep track of anything Roman does?” Thomas narrows his eyes at him and Janus sighs, rolling his eyes. “No, I don’t know where he is or why he didn’t bother to show up, nor do I much care.”

“Janus!”

“What?”

Patton puts his hands on his hips. “Don’t be so dismissive, how would you like it if someone said that about you?”

”I don’t know, Virgil, how would I like it?”

“Hey, leave me out of this, I don’t have anything to do with whatever the heck this is.”

Thomas just barely suppresses a deep sigh and looks over at Remus. Remus, however, is not relishing in the argument breaking out between the three of them. Instead, he’s staring off into the corner, frowning hard.

“Remus? You okay, buddy?”

“Why can’t I remember the last time I saw Roman?”

Thomas frowns. That manages to get the attention of the others—somehow—and a hush falls over the room as they all think about it.

“Well, it can’t have been that long ago,” Patton says, “we saw him for movie night on the, um…when we watched the…”

”No, it was more recent than that,” Logan says, “he had come down to breakfast to make us those muffins.”

“Right, right, that’s right. When, uh, when was that?”

“Well, it was…”

Logan trails off into silence. Remus looks around at all of them. “Think about it: when was the last time any of us actually saw Roman? Can any of us actually remember?”

Thomas watches with muted horror as all of them slowly shake their heads.

“Fuck.”

“Language, kiddo,” Patton scolds, “anyway, I’m sure this is just a big misunderstanding.”

“That’s right,” Logan says, “after all, it’s hardly the first time Roman has been absent.”

“Yeah, but he normally tells someone where he’s going,” Virgil mutters, “especially if it’s gonna be for a while.”

“Okay, the last time I definitely saw Ro was three weeks ago when we fed Ollie.”

“He helped me put up new cat posters in my room. I think it was…it was before we did that full moon thing, so that was a month ago?”

“He—jeez, I think I passed him in the hallway at, like, stupid o’clock around a week ago, but I was…pretty out of it.”

“We had a brief meeting about the upcoming script last week. That’s the last time I remember seeing him for certain.”

“Don’t look at me,” Thomas protests when all eyes turn in his direction, “I don’t see him outside of these meetings and the last time we had one of those was like, two months ago.”

“Janny? What about you?”

Janus sighs, idly examining one of the seams on the tip of his finger. “I think you’re all being overdramatic.”

“Roman is missing, Janus,” Logan says with a bit of bite to his words, “I don’t think ‘overdramatic’ is an accurate description.”

“Yeah, especially since none of us can remember the last time we saw him.”

“Oh, please,” he sighs, “it’s Roman. Do you really think something so horrible could happen to him that he’d disappear and he wouldn’t tell anyone about it?”

A beat.

“…shit.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Roman.”

”Alright,” Virgil says, getting up, “Thomas, don’t respond yet. They’ll think you’re working or something. Remus, go check the Imagination.”

“On it!”

“Logan, go see if he’s in the library, J, check the Dark Side’s living room.” The two of them nod and sink out. “Pat?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna go to his room and see if he’s in there.”

“Okay.” Patton glances at Thomas. “Can you…can you feel anything?”

Thomas frowns, putting a hand on his chest. He moves it to the other side.

“Are you checking for your pulse or something?”

“No, normally when I think about Roman, like I’m gonna summon him or something, there’s this, like, warmth? It’s like something in my chest that just—it’s hard to explain.” He moves his hand back. “But I can’t…I can’t feel it right now.”

“Oh, that’s probably not good.”

”We should go.”

“Hey, if it ever feels like you can summon him again? Do it, then get the rest of us back.”

Thomas nods, watching as Virgil grabs Patton and they sink out. He sits slowly on the couch, staring into the middle distance as he keeps moving his hand around his chest. It’s strange; he normally doesn’t even have to put a hand to himself to feel where Roman is. He wasn’t lying before, it really is like this warmth that just lives in his chest, like a second heart almost, one that doesn’t really beat so much as just exist there. Like it’s reminding him that he’s, you know, a human with feelings and wants and desires and that’s okay.

Oh, Roman, buddy, where are you?

***

Remus steps into the Imagination and his knees almost buckle immediately.

Bluish-black storm clouds gather and bruise a dark grey sky overlooking a massive craggy cliff rising impossibly high. Vividly green grass and terribly purple flowers bloom deep inside the crevices of the rocks lining the path in front of him, the smell of fresh rain hanging so heavy that it seems it would fall any moment. In the distance he can see evergreens, smell them even though they must be miles away, and another mountain rising behind them with thin, wispy clouds stretching red fingers over its peak. The ground is warm under him, as though he were standing over an active volcano, but he can see and hear and smell the river that flows by just to the side of him, and the breeze that comes from it is cool and damp. His fingers twitch. So does his nose. He takes a deep, deep breath and takes a step forward.

With every step he takes, the more an uncertain feeling takes root at the base of his stomach. it’s too sweet to be panic, too frenzied to be melancholy, and too lonely to be wonder. He keeps walking. The Imagination is always impossibly vivid, impossibly beautiful, but something about this feels…different.

His chest feels tight.

As he moves past a larger collection of boulders, he rounds the corner as he spots a tree. A massive tree, one where the branches curl outwards and upwards like color diffusing into clear water. Some part of Remus—a part that sounds a lot like Logan, if he’s being honest—mutters how a tree like this couldn’t exist, not in these mountains, not with its roots in these rocks. And yet, here it grows all the same. He moves toward it, the tightness in his chest growing with every step.

At the base of the tree lies the hilt of a katana.

“R-Ro?” Remus collapses in front of the tree, shaking hands touching the trunk. The bark flakes away under his fingers and the smallest glimmers of gold shine up. “Roro…oh, Ro, what happened?”

“Remus? Remus!”

“Whoa, what the hell is this place?”

Remus can’t tear his eyes away from the tree long enough to see them but he can hear the others rush up behind him. He just paws weakly at the trunk and Logan’s muffled gasp is all he needs to hear before he starts sobbing.

“Oh, no,” Logan mumbles, “Roman’s…something’s happened to Roman. He’s—Remus, has he Faded? Or is this something else?”

“He’s been Forgotten,” Remus sobs, “the—the Imagination put him back where—where he wasn’t Roman anymore and he’s—he’s—“

Another sob leaves his throat.

“I want my brother back!”

“But we remember him,” Patton says, “we—we do, he’s Roman, we want him back, why—why is he here still?”

“I don’t think he knows we’re here,” Virgil says, glancing around, “I think he’s—I think he’s here sort of, but not in the Roman we know.”

“So what do we do? How do we get him back?”

Remus is still touching the tree. The clouds overhead start to rumble with distant thunder. He presses himself up against it, hugging it tightly.

“Come back, Ro-bro,” he mumbles into the bark, “came back, I want you to come back.”

“Logan? What do we do?”

“There has to be a reason he’s manifesting like this, doesn’t there?” Logan turns around, looking at the mountains, the sky, the river, the rocks, the tree. “Nature, the natural world, he’s become a tree so some kind of growth? Reincarnation? Transcendence?”

“Maybe it has more to do with Roman?” Janus’s against the bark near Remus’s head. “Creativity? Ego? Romance?”

“Romance…Romance…Romance, of course, Roman’s Romance!”

“What about this seems particularly romantic to you?”

“That’s it, it’s not romantic, it’s Romantic. The Romantic movement, the whole—oh, Roman,” Logan says softly, resting his hands on the trunk too, “I’m sorry that you didn’t feel like you could talk to us.”

“How in the hell are you getting all of that from Roman being a tree?”

”The Romantic period was in reaction to the balance and calm of the Classical. Heightened emotion, the irrational, the subjective, all of these became key themes. It was far more important to preserve the spirit and individuality of the artist rather than any sort of adherence to strict rules or traditional procedures.” Logan’s hand runs over the bark. “As well as a focus on the inner struggles of the exceptional figure.”

“And Princey’s the exceptional figure?”

”In a manner of speaking.” Logan presses his other hand to the tree too. “Roman? Are you here?”

A breeze ruffles through the leaves.

“Was that him?” Patton rushes forward and touches the tree. “Roman? Roman, kiddo, are you there?”

Another low boom of distant thunder and it starts to rain.

“Quick, everyone touch the tree.” Everyone puts their hands on it. ‘Roman? Roman, can you feel that? We’re all here, we’re all right here.”

The thunder grows louder. They wait there with bated breath as the tree rustles in the breeze, until Janus, who hadn’t clutched down with the rest of them, hears a crackle from up in the clouds.

“Get back!”

They all fling themselves away just as lightning strikes the tree, the very top of it catching fire as the trunk splits down the middle. Jagged bits of wood just into the open air like fractured ribs. And there, in the center of the splitting trunk—

—is Roman.

“Ro!” Remus howls and dives forward, wrenching his brother’s body out of the tree and dragging him to lie on the flat stone. “Ro, wake up, wake up, you have to be okay, you have to be!”

“…Re?”

Remus sobs again, throwing his arms around Roman who looks up at them with quiet confusion.

“What’s going on?”

“You left,” Janus spits, “you vanished and we didn’t know where you were so we had to come look for you.”

“J,” Virgil says lowly, before crouching down, “you went missing, Roman. We couldn’t find you. Why, uh, why were you in a tree?”

Roman frowns. “I don’t know. I…I was in my room, and you were forgetting me—“

“What do you mean, we were forgetting you?”

Roman blinks. “You were forgetting me. You were going to Remus. Remus is the Creativity that’s helping more. You weren’t thinking about me.”

“That’s not true,” Patton mumbles, horrified, even as Roman gestures around with a wordless if it wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here, “we…we love you, Roman.”

Roman just shrugs. “Maybe.”

“What do you mean, ‘maybe?’” Janus splutters. “That’s not a thing you get to say maybe about, Roman.”

Roman doesn’t even flinch, just turns slightly so he can rest his head against Remus’s.

“You don’t even have anything to say for yourself?”

“Janus,” Logan says sharply, “that’s enough.”

”Roman disappears, he turns into a tree, he says we’re forgetting him and that we don’t love him, and we’re just supposed to accept it?” Janus throws his hands up. “How are you three so calm about this?”

“I’m not calm, but I’m not going to make this about me right now!”

“Janus,” Roman says softly and they instantly fall quiet, “you’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know how I became a tree. I didn’t mean to imply you guys had forgotten me entirely. I shouldn’t have said you don’t love me.”

Janus’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He huffs a little awkwardly and folds his arms. “Well. Good.”

”Are…we done now?”

“What? No, Princey, we’re not done, we—“ Virgil runs a hand through his hair— “you turned into a tree. After you vanished. How the hell are we—what do we do now?”

Roman shrugs.

Remus, who has been lying on top of Roman for this whole thing, feels one of the hands under him begin to meld with the stone. He draws back, alarmed, only for Roman’s fingers to come free and lace with his. He squints at Roman’s face, noticing the barely-there tremble of his lip, and whips around to face the other three.

“You three. Fingers. Ears. Song. Now.”

‘What?”

“Do it!”

It takes them a second but they begrudgingly put their fingers in their ears and start mumbling things to avoid listening. Remus glares at them for a moment longer before turning back to Roman.

‘Hey,” he whispers, “what’s wrong?”

Roman’s lip trembles again. “They’re still here,” he whispers back, “I just—I just want to hurt.”

‘What do you mean?”

“They’ll be mad at me for whatever’s going on, they’ll—I don’t want them to explain or tell me how what I’m doing is bad, or anything like that. I don’t want their—I don’t want their comfort,” Roman whispers, his voice getting thick, “I just want to be hurt by myself and have that be okay.”

“Of course that’s okay, Ro.”

“Because they did forget me. It’s not your fault or anything but they did and it hurts, Re—“

“I know, I know, shh, shh, hey, hey,” he says, “let’s do this: we need to go tell good old Thomathy that we found you, so let’s you and me go do that and then we can have our own cat pile wherever you want, okay? Just you and me. The others can you suck a tree branch.”

“Won’t they be mad?”

“Tell you what: you go to Thomas right now, I’ll deal with them, and then I’ll come after.”

“…I’m sorry I left again, Re.”

“Pshh. Water under the Kraken.”

***

Thomas shoots up from the couch as Roman rises up in his normal place.

“Roman! You’re okay!” He yes the scratches as bruises from the tree. ‘Well, mostly.”

Roman rubs the back of his head. “Yeah. I’m…sorry.”

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay, buddy. As long as you’re okay.”

Roman blinks. “Wait, really?”

‘Yeah, bud. You, uh…it looks like you’ve been through some stuff.”

“…that’s one way to put it.”

“Do you, uh talk about it?”

“Not really.”

‘Okay.”

“Wait, you’re sure?”

‘Yeah. It’s your business. I, uh, I’ll be here if you do want to?”

“Thanks, Thomas.”

“Of course, buddy. You’re great.” Thomas scratches the back of his head too. ‘I know we, uh, haven’t always been the best at saying stuff out loud to each other, that’s normally what the others do, but…you know I’d never replace you for anything, right?”

Roman smiles. He really, truly smiles. And for just a moment, the entire Mindscape fades away, leaving just the two of them standing in this one little room. A man and his Ego, smiling at each other.

The setting sun peeks in through the blinds and the room glows with a rich, bright red.

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[kn-1013]

Exploratory Surgery #2

The Sally Face gang plus Travis all get high together.

Rating: T Word Count: ~1800 Pairing: None/Gen Warnings: Drug use and references to child abuse

A/N: this involves two of my very self-indulgent headcannons; that ashley has tourettes, and that sal has POTS. this doesn't change much about the characters but is some needed context.

========

“How’s it feel so far? Good?” Ashley turned her head to him and elbowed him gently, her eyes half-lidded and red. Her ear was pressed to the couch and there was a deeply inebriated grin on her face.

“I can confidently say I have never experienced this feeling before in my life.” Travis felt like he was going to start phasing through the overly soft couch he was planted on. He stared at the ceiling, his hands resting on his stomach, listening to the quiet Spice Girls song playing in the background. Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t typically listen to a lot of contemporary music, or maybe it’s the weed, but right now, Saturday Night Divas was the most beautiful song he’s ever heard.

In this moment, he could feel everything; the fabric of every piece of clothing on his body, the thick and stale air of the Addison Apartments, the softness of the couch and how his weight shifted the stuffing inside, the way Ashley’s body next to him shifted the couch even further, the sensation of his bruised and scraped skin, the weight of his own body, he could even feel the Earth’s axis. But unlike other times this happened, it wasn’t overwhelming. It felt fine. Unifying, even. He could feel the way that everything was connected.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Ashley asked, probing him for symptoms of greening out.

“I have no idea.” Travis looked back to the ceiling. Whether it was good or bad just seemed so insignificant to him right now. Right now, it just was.

Based on the way the others always acted when they were high, he was expecting more of a euphoric feeling when he tried it for the first time, but it didn’t feel quite like that to him. It felt like a relaxed, yet weighted clarity had dawned onto him. He was putting into words concepts he was acutely aware of but never consciously recognized. It was heavy, evocative, thought-provoking, stimulating.

“I think that’s a good sign.” Sal said from his spot on the floor. He’d been laying down on his back on the floor for a while now, since he took a couple of huge hits from the bong and his blood pressure dropped so badly that he nearly passed out just sitting up on the couch. Larry was digging through his kitchen for chicken broth and pickle juice right now.

“Should you even be doing this with your heart thing?” Travis asked, noting the way his heart was pounding in his chest a little bit, but Sal blew raspberries from behind his mask. “It’s fiiiiine, probably. I haven’t had a heart attack yet. I just need a little bit of salt or something, then I’ll be at least half as normal as I usually am.” He snorted.

Travis didn’t really know what that meant, but if Sal knew what he was doing, then he probably shouldn’t argue too much. Travis was acutely aware of how that was a mildly unusual thought process for him to be having, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care all that much. Right now, he just wanted to sit in the moment.

Larry walked back in with a mug of something hot with a straw in it in one hand, and a jar of pickles plus a plastic fork in the other. He kneeled down next to Sal to set them on the ground. Sal raised himself to his elbows to start getting up, but his arms and shoulders were visibly shaking from the effort, and he quickly plopped himself back down on the ground, snorting, and Ash quickly joined in.

“You have to feed me...” Sal said. “You have to feed me pickles like a baby bird.” Larry chortled highly. “Dude, I would do that for you… If you actually needed it.” He opened the jar of pickles and stabbed the fork inside uncoordinatedly a couple of times before pulling one out for Sal.

“Ew?” Ash said.

“But I do need it, Larry, I need it so badly. Feed my- my pickles, Laaaaaaaaaaryyyyyyyyyy-” His voice got progressively louder until Larry grabbed the plastic nose of his prosthetic and shook Sal’s face until he started laughing.

“Shut up, I feed you pickles. I do it every day.” Larry deadpanned, and Sal laughed. Without missing a beat, the blue-haired boy replied, “My beautiful pickle nurse saves me from the brink of death once more.”

Sal unbuckled the bottom straps of his prosthetic face so Larry could attempt to shove a pickle underneath it in what was probably not the most effective way to get this done.

Travis had a feeling that none of what they were saying was true, but he wouldn’t know. Maybe friends did pickle-nurse each other.

“This is proper procedure, right Neil?” Ashley asked, looking over to Neil on her other side. Todd was on the floor in between his knees, letting his boyfriend play with his hair.

“I taught Larry everything he knows about pickle-nursing.” Neil said, not even looking up from the little braids he’d been constructing and deconstructing repeatedly in Todd’s curly, red hair.

Todd seemed to stir for the first time in maybe thirty minutes. He wasn’t asleep, he’d just honked a little too much of that bobo and got himself a bit more blasted than he normally would’ve liked. His voice was quiet and words slurred together in a far-gone kind of fatigue as he asked, “What the fuck are we talking about?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it, baby.” Neil said, petting his head softly. “Okay, I believe you.” Todd said, leaning back into the couch. “I’ll believe anything you tell me.”

“Travis, which is gayer: pickle nursing or hair salon?” Ash asked, gesturing from Sal and Larry to Todd and Neil.

Travis continued staring straight ahead, having absorbed himself in the conversation around him. He felt perfectly content right now, listening to this.

“Hellooooo, Travis?” Ash begun waving a hand in front of his face, and Travis started to snap himself back into reality.

“Huh? Whuh?” Travis sputtered and blinked dumbly, before he processed what had just happened. “Oh my gosh.” He covered his face in embarrassment and began laughing drunkenly, all high-pitched and lacking inhibition. He fell over onto the soft armrest of the couch as his knees lifted themselves up until his feet were off the ground.

“What, whaaat?” Ash asked, grabbing his shoulder and shaking.

Travis peered at Ashley through his fingers, and she could see parts of the stupid, inebriated grin on his face, and his squinted, reddened eyes.

“I thought I was listening to the radio. For like, the past ten minutes.” Travis’s voice was strained from trying not to laugh again, and he failed this fight after he stopped trying to communicate.

Ashley burst out laughing at his stoned-up mistake, and Larry began laughing hard enough that he needed to lean over, his forehead resting his weight over onto Sal’s trunk. Sal himself had spat warm chicken broth all over the inside of his mask, and he quickly turned over on his side, laughing and sputtering wetly on the ground, with Larry on top of him.

In the middle of the childish laughter, a deep and stinging melancholy had struck Travis.

It used to be a lot like this. Him, Larry, Ashley. All wound up in laughter at Travis’s old-fashioned home, or Ashley’s contemporary one. In Larry’s musty, turpentine-smelling basement bedroom. He remembered the smell of that wooden tree house Mr. Johnson had built before he disappeared. He wondered if the some of the glitter he’d spilled in the carpet of Ashley’s bedroom that one time was still there in its minuscule, yet untouchable glory.

Does Larry still have that scar on his elbow from that time he fell down the front steps of Travis’s house?

Travis’s ankle never stopped clicking when he turned it a certain way after he fell on it wrong from falling out of the tire swing in Ashley’s back yard.

Sometimes he still heard Ashley involuntarily repeating something rather mundane he’d said so many years ago with the same tone and inflection as when he’d first said it. It was like a snapshot of that moment existed within her permanently whenever her tics made her say ‘I got peanuts!’

It used to be a lot like this. Easy, fun contentment away from their parents. Away from expectations or prying eyes.

But then they got older. Life started getting complicated. They couldn’t dismiss their parents’ expectations anymore. Grades started becoming important. They had to think about their futures.

They just changed.

…No, that’s not what happened.

Travis changed.

And he didn’t just change out of nowhere, he was made to change, molded into what he was now through closed fists and backhands. Through hair brushes and belts, buckle-side first. Empty locked closets and physical restraint.

All at the hands of his father, spitting verses of the holy book like venom.

His father took him like clay and Travis let him, until he became so deformed by that tireless anger that he couldn’t look his reflection in the eye anymore. Because when he looked into those angry brown irises, he found himself consumed wholly by his father’s.

…And now they were here, where Travis was pausing in the middle of a laugh with people who used to have reasons to care about him, letting that old, empty ache spread further within his heart.

As they continued to laugh, and as the laughter died down back into conversation, he found himself falling quiet again. The way they spoke so naturally without him intervening only served to remind him that he didn’t belong here anymore. Maybe he never did.

Travis’s eyes made their way back to the point where the ceiling met the top of the wall as he leaned back into the couch, letting the soft, old cushions absorb his weight and sink his body in.

Nothing he could say in this conversation would be as funny or as useful as something one of their actual friends had to say, and he knew that. He knew that he was incredibly out of place here, what with all of the inside jokes and referenced memories he was missing. The way that they seemed to stop trying to include him as he got quieter and quieter again.

He internally begged someone outside his head to bring him back, to want him, to even notice him, but he wouldn't ask out loud, and so it never happened.

So he sat back on the couch, feeling the weight of everything on his skin, everything in his body, the unifying feeling of his own gravity, and he tried to be content with what he could get as he quietly listened to the radio.

[vigilskeep]

wait harker what is your beef with halsin? /gen

so on my first attempt at starting the game, i played a tiefling druid, which was quite an experience as i had no idea the first conflict i was about to walk into was between tieflings and druids. i found talking to kagha very upsetting for my character; it was obvious this was a place my character would normally feel at home, were it not for the bigotry that had taken root. the first thing kagha said to my character, after she was finished hurling fantasy slurs at and threatening a tiefling child who was crying apologies and begging to go back to her parents, was to dismiss my character as a druid on account of their race: “the treefather’s words spoken with a devil’s forked tongue”. if you read what’s on the table next to kagha, there’s a diatribe against tieflings, saying their allegiance is to the hells and implying they should all be sent back there. i also played a failed save where kagha was responsible for the little tiefling girl’s death and her only immediate reaction was to cover it up, and also where i foolishly attacked her and she commanded a full attack against the tieflings where i came back into the hollow to see dozens slaughtered and the rest desperately trying to defend themselves. so i was fully aware that kagha posed an existential threat to this entire group of innocent refugees with whom i shared common ground

(i swear all this context is necessary)

after all this, obviously i was glad to discover there was a quest to investigate kagha. i felt my character’s faith in their druid beliefs was pretty shaken, and they would be hugely pleased to displace kagha, search out the rightful leader of the grove, and see justice done and balance restored. i put some quite considerable effort into investigating kagha, stealing from her chest (and boy is stealth not my strong suit) and trekking all the way down the map to the bog to discover the truth. i was pleased to learn she was some kind of evil druid. she was an anomaly. all i needed was to get rid of her, and everything would be fine again. but i made a crucial mistake: i decided to rescue halsin first, thinking everything would be much easier if i had the true, good leader of the grove at my side before i started making accusations. after all, my character still wanted to believe in the druids, and had not felt like she would be trusted in the grove herself. it was a natural choice.

and halsin... just demoted kagha to novice?

like. that’s it. he didn’t even make her leave the grove that had been willing to support her in all this. kagha was willing to kill a tiefling child. she was willing to kill all the tieflings. if you show up before you go to rescue halsin, she’s willing to attack her own people. you can even tell halsin she was involved with these evil shadow druids, and he has almost nothing to say about it. and right after that, he had the nerve to say to my druid character that in another time they would have been a welcome addition to the grove, as if it wasn’t very clear how unwelcome people like them were, as if they would be willing to be the one exception. kagha wasn’t the only one who’d gone along with it or spat the word devil. then halsin wants to join me and leave the grove to deal with his own guilt, while bringing in some stranger to resolve the grove’s problems and restore its “purity”, as if any druids seem trustworthy neutral parties right now, and as if kagha and her influence wouldn’t still be right there, just as unchecked in his absence. and he got mad at me for the extremely minor questioning of that which the game let me do!

i absolutely do not expect anyone to share these opinions as they originate from an extremely specific experience of the game lmao. in fact, different players being able to have very different opinions based on how you experienced the game is one of my favourite parts of bg3 so far. but personally i don’t seem to be able to shake this opinion despite now playing as a different character—this current one having found out that he personally taught kagha??—and i... don’t think i’m being that irrational. i don’t like him and if i get an opportunity to drop him from my camp i will take it

[mckiwi]

Christmas is Better Spent Together

Chapter Five: 1968

Read on AO3

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Rating: General Audiences

Categories: Gen, M/M

Fandom: Good Omens

Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley

Words: 789

7 times Aziraphale and Crowley spent Christmas together (and 1 time they didn't)

Kennedy Space Center, Florida, USA - December 21st, 1968

“It’s a lot bigger in person,” Aziraphale said, staring out across the horizon to the space shuttle. 

“I know! It’s great, isn’t it?” Crowley exclaimed, smiling ear to ear. Aziraphale had rarely, if ever, seen the Demon this excited. It was as endearing as it was disturbing. “First humans to ever orbit the moon! Ha! Soon enough they’ll be walking on it! Wouldn’t that be something? Oh, I can’t wait!”

“Apollo is an interesting name choice, I think. Greek god of the sun.” Aziraphale commented, noticing the ship’s name. 

“They’re trying to get to the stars, angel.” My stars went unsaid. Crowley had never told Aziraphale of his time before the Fall. He had never once mentioned his role in creation or his fascination with the cosmos. Yet, sometimes, Aziraphale would look at him the same way that Angel did all those millennia ago, and Crowley thinks his angel might already know. Might remember. 

Aziraphale looked at the Fallen Angel beside him. He looked at the sharp features highlighted in the first rays of the rising sun, just the same as it did during the very star’s creation. “Indeed they are, dear boy, and look how far they’ve come.”

Crowley’s soft smile turned prideful, “You know, this is probably my favourite project I’ve done so far. Don’t get me wrong, the whole turning a motorway into Odegra thing is fantastic. Going great. We’re finishing up the plans for it now and they’re supposed to start building it in the early 70s. But this ‘Space Race’ is… it’s fun, Aziraphale.”

The Angel raised a brow in surprise. “I didn’t realize this was some of your work. How many commendations have you gotten for having the two most powerful countries in the world compete over their research?”

“None, and there won’t be any,” Crowley admitted. “I don’t plan on reporting to Hell over this. This is a personal investment. There’s nothing evil about seeking out knowledge.”

“You told Adam and Eve the same thing and look what happened,” Aziraphale pointed out, not unkindly. 

Crowley gestured to the thousands of people around them, anxiously awaiting the Apollo 8 launch. “This happened! I may have regrets, but giving Eve that apple is not one of them.”

Aziraphale pondered the other’s words, then chuckled to himself, “Imagine that. Knowledge spread worldwide because of an apple.”

The Demon’s eyes lit up almost immediately. His formerly prideful smirk turned downright devious. “Apple. Now there’s an idea.”

Before Aziraphale could contemplate the landslide of technology developments he’d indirectly just inspired, a countdown started. 

“10… 9…”

Thousands of people gathered. 

“8… 7…” 

Thousands of backgrounds unified. 

“6… 5…”

Thousands of voices heard. 

“4… 3…”

Crowley watched something breathtaking. Aziraphale watched Crowley.

“2… 1…”

Thousands of years shared. 

“Takeoff.”

They all came together and joined in the wake of something unprecedented. 

—————

Soho, London, England - December 24th, 1968

“There we are! All set up and ready to go.” Crowley stated, standing over the bulky television set he’d brought over from his flat. He turned the television on and tuned it to NASA’s broadcast before throwing himself onto the sofa beside Aziraphale’s. 

(The TV wasn’t tuned to pick up the broadcast’s signal, but Crowley didn’t know that, and so the TV didn’t either and opened to the correct channel anyway.)

Aziraphale stared at the screen in confusion. “So they’re meant to be making an announcement?”

“Yup. Any minute now.” Crowley confirmed. “I bet it’s gonna be something cool. ‘Humanity has brought light to the dark side of the moon’ or something poetic like that.”

Aziraphale sat back in his chair, at ease. “Humanity does love their literature.”

Crowley hummed in agreement, “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Static crackled and an image appeared on the screen. Something round and pale. Crowley sat on the edge of his seat while Aziraphale gaped, “Is that–”

“Yeh!”

“The moon?”

“Yea! They did it, angel! They really did it! Ha!” Crowley barked a laugh and his hands flew to the back of his head. “They made it!” 

“We are now approaching lunar sunrise,” a voice sounded through the static. “And uh, for all the people back on Earth, the crew of Apollo 8 has a message that we would like to send to you.” 

Crowley leaned in eagerly. 

“In the Beginning, God created the Hea–”

“What kind of bollocks is this?!” Crowley snapped in disbelief, much to Aziraphale’s amusement. Despite the harsh words, Crowley couldn’t find it in himself to quite hate the Book of Genesis, not with its third chapter.

“–And from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, Merry Christmas, and God bless all of you on the good Earth.”

[cecekeating]

My 614 Jordayla Analysis/Commentary pt.3

Now let’s go back to the housing situation. After Layla has a brief chat with Preach, she realizes that what she and Jordan need is a home, not a house. I am happy to be wrong but so far, the writing is pointing to Jordayla taking over the Baker home. If you recall in 401 when she tells her father that “it is not about the house, it is about the home”. The next time we see Layla after that scene with her father, she is moving into the Baker house. The Baker house has been Layla's residence since S4 until she married Jordan. This house is also where she grew up with Jordan and Olivia since middle school. We even have a laylivia childhood flashback in that house. So home for Layla is the Baker house.

For Jordan, obviously, this is his childhood home but also in 517, he tells Spencer that the Baker house still feels like home even though Coop is now in his room. While there was an undertone of Layla who he considers his home living in the house, I still believe that Jordan always knows that the Baker house is where he will always call home. So I am expecting Jordayla to take over the Baker home and I will be very surprised if NK and Oby go a different route in 615 with this housing arrangement.

Jordayla pregnancy theories!  I feel this episode dropped major pregnancy hints through the writing. Between Jordan cooking for Layla, him patting her tummy and Layla wearing pink in this episode, I feel it is very clear that Jordayla will be getting a parenting arc. In the worst case scenario, the audience would likely find out about Layla being pregnant in the early episodes of S7. This is the worst case scenario. I am also sure of Jordayla having a daughter, I am not so sure of a son yet.

Now this brings me to the wild theory I am about to share with you.

I don’t know if it is me but have you noticed the writing sort of building up Amina and Layla? Starting from 611. I am beginning to think Amina might be the new gen character or at least one of the new gen characters. When we heard of the new gen stuff, I think a lot of us assumed it would be a coach Baker and Spencer type situation. I don’t know why we didn’t consider the fact that the new gen character will likely be a female character from Crenshaw being mentored by a new gen Baker who is female. It is definitely Billy and Spencer all over again but it is also different because we are looking at female characters. If this is the route NK is going, I am here for it because it will keep things fresh and allow the writers to be more creative. So I can see Amina likely being the new ‘Spencer’ that gets mentored by a Baker only that the Baker is Layla. 

From a storytelling perspective, this makes a lot of sense. Amina has quite a bit in common with Layla. Just like Layla she lost her mother at a very young age. Remember Amina’s mother is Mo (the main antagonist in season 3) and her uncle is Tyrone. Both her uncle and mother are/were gang members and her father Preach used to be a gang member. Preach, her father fired the shot that killed Mo, her mother. I don’t think Amina is fully aware of this yet. Amina had a pretty fleshed out arc in seasons 4 and 5 that showed her curiosity to know the truth about what happened to her mother. From season 4, you can see she sort of had an idea of what was going on. She was also involved in a custody battle between Preach and her grandparents. So just like Layla, she had a pretty tough background as a kid. So you can see there is already so much material with Amina’s character that the writers can pull from to bring in high stakes drama. 

There are also some hints in the writing that she is already in a ‘teen phase’ with Preach. Preach grounded her in this episode. I can see her having tensions with her dad which is similar to teen Layla in seasons 1 and 2 and a bit of season 3 and  the tensions she had with JP Keating. This tension can become something else if Amina eventually understands/finds out more about the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death and the role her father played in it. If the writers play their cards right, the Amina arc is already brewing to be a really messy drama on AA. For more complexity, the writing can have Amina struggle with grief, depression or for a change, become a wild rebellious teen that Preach struggles to handle and we have our hands full. 

With other characters, Amina fits in very well too. She knows Patience very well and since she did/does some drama in high school(611), I can see Patience step in here as Patience is a musician and also has broadway experience. Coop blends in so well here too. Coop was front and center in the custody battle, Coop knew her mother very well and other than Preach, Coop is likely the only other character that has a full picture on the lives of her uncle and mother. Again, another source of drama. 

Going back to Layla, the storyline has been strongly hinting on her being the mother of a little girl. Having Layla mentor Amina makes loads of sense as Layla can begin to process motherhood or prep for motherhood through the lens of supporting Amina. I can see her relationship with Amina force her to really think about what type of mother she wants to be for her daughter. This will land better if it happens while Layla is pregnant or if she has a newborn daughter. Both Amina and Layla being young women that lost mothers at a very young age, in quite tragic circumstances (murder and suicide)  takes the Layla/Amina dynamic to a deeper level. I can see the writing continue to flesh out Monica/Layla a little bit more too, especially as Monica Keating was a huge part of Layla’s arc this season.

So Amina being the new gen character that the show decides to focus on will not come as a shock to me. Again this is what I have seen from the writing. I don’t know NK’s plan and which actors she plans to bring back  but this is likely where I can see the writing on All American heading. If all the stuff I have written makes no sense, please throw it out. This is my writer brain, fan theory brain here and I just wanted to yap all about it. If you also have some extra theories, I would love to hear! DM on Twitter or on here and let us yap away!

This episode also sort of dropped clues on the vibe S7 will likely have. I am thinking the vibe shifts into a more lighter, feel-good, wholesome vibe with maybe a strong family vibe lean. There was just something very light about this episode because even the writing for Spelivia (who normally have their writing lean into more serious, angsty stuff) were written to be pretty light and comedic. The next episode seems pretty emotional too. I am thinking this will likely be the vibe next season and I expect the audience to change a little bit because of this shift.

So that is all the yappings for this episode. There are still some loose ends to tie up with Jordayla so I will surely be back next week with more yappings. I personally loved this episode and I am looking forward to seeing how NK closes season 6 for us. 

[midnightshard06]

Fictober Day 25: "It consumes me"

You can check it out on ao3 here if you prefer.

Summary: Shadow's first moments on the Ark are confusing and full of panic. He can't really blame people for how he's treated afterwards, but there seems to be at least one person willing to treat him differently.

AN: Early today cause I'm getting my copy of Sonic x Shadow Gens today and am very excited to play it lol

Set in my Lost and Found AU

Warnings: Nothing

Word Count: ~1050 words

The first emotion that Shadow experienced when he woke up for the first time was panic. Everything was too loud, too bright, and he felt a deep ache. Something was missing but he couldn’t tell what. With his clouded mind he did what had felt natural at the time, he lashed out. Whatever was around him was surely causing his misfortune so if he got rid of it he’d feel better. Maybe he’d even be able to figure out the sense of wrongness that seemed to settle over him. There were yells, talking he thought. Not that he understood what was being said at the time. Then there was a prick of pain in his arm and he could feel himself starting to go limp. He fought it of course but whatever had been done to him he couldn’t fight for long.

His vision seemed to clear a bit as he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. Several people were cautiously approaching him and several more were being taken out of the room he was in. He was so confused.

It didn’t take long for Shadow to understand his situation. As well as understand how much worse he’d made it for himself with how he acted initially. Everyone around him seemed scared of him. Treated him as if he would go off again at the slightest provocation. Shadow didn’t quite think they were in the wrong either. Even he felt like he was constantly on the edge of wanting to lash out even when there was no clear cause. He was mindful to not dig his own claws into his arms as he grabbed them. What was wrong with him? Why was he like this? He’d started to understand what some of the scientists were saying. Things like “ultimate lifeform” “cure” “weapon” but the way that they said them had him doubting they were saying it positively. As far as he could tell they believed him to be a failure or at the very least a dangerous success. He overheard someone comparing him to a “biolizard” once. A prototype they’d called it. If his behavior was being compared to it he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to meet this biolizard.

For a while everyone gave him a wide berth. He couldn’t blame them. As much as he tried to keep himself under control it felt so hard. Not that he knew why. He could tell something was missing but any time he thought too hard about it he started to get a massive headache. That did not improve his moods at all. The unexplainable rage and wrongness, it consumed him. He just wished he knew the cause. Wished he could tell the people around him what was happening but his voice felt stuck in his throat. Of course he’d only just started to understand what they were saying, but he had no idea how to communicate back. Any time he tried to do it how it felt natural the headache came back. Eventually he stopped trying all together.

One night though things changed. It was late, presumably anyway based on how everyone was gone and the lights were out. He struggled to get comfortable in the small space he was being kept in but he didn’t dare try to complain. His ear twitched as the door to the lab opened. He didn’t expect whoever this was to approach him so he simply ignored it, pushing the part of himself that longed to reach out to the back of his mind.

“Hello?” A voice he’d never heard before called out. Shadow continued to ignore it, they were probably looking for one of the scientists. Not that they were here. Footsteps gradually got closer to him and he stiffened at the small gasp that came after they stopped. “Oh my goodness…” Whoever it was seemed to approach where he was being held. “You must be the one grandfather was talking about…” Her voice trailed off. Maybe if Shadow continued to ignore her, she’d go away. “I can’t believe they keep you like this.” She sounded… sad. That alone had Shadow twitching an ear in her direction. “So you can understand me.” She sounded pleased at the slight reaction. “I knew it. Can you look at me?”

Hesitantly Shadow turned around. Perhaps if he cooperated this whole exchange would go better. “My name’s Maria.” Maria smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you…” She trailed off. “I don’t know your name. Sorry.” The scientists referred to him as “Project Shadow” so he’d taken to calling himself just Shadow. He didn’t like how it felt to be referred to by his “full” name. Not that he had any way of communicating this to Maria though. He just watched her as she looked at him patiently. After a few moments of silence Maria blinked. “Can’t talk?” Shadow looked down and shook his head. She nodded. “That’s ok. We can figure that out later.” Later? Was she implying they’d continue to see each other? Some part of him felt happy about that. Maria treated him far differently than any other person he’d encountered in his short life so far. It was refreshing and for a brief moment he felt he could ignore the consuming feeling of wrongness that seemed to permeate his being. He nodded at her and she smiled.

Of course this moment of calm was broken when the doors opened again. “Maria!” There was a tint of panic to the all too familiar voice. Gerald Robotnik, the head scientist as far as Shadow could gather, stepped into the room. “Get away from there! It’s dangerous.”

Maria looked between Shadow and Gerald, a frown on her face. “He’s not dangerous grandfather. I was just talking with him.”

“My dear it isn’t capable of holding a conversation with you. Now come here. I do not want to risk provoking Project Shadow’s wrath. Especially not with you here. I know you saw the aftermath of the first time.” Gerald took a step closer and Shadow did his best to stay as still and non threatening as possible. 

“Project Shadow…” Maria glanced at Shadow. “I’ll see you later… Shadow.” She said quietly, before going to her grandfather. Despite the cold that settled over the room once the two were gone, part of Shadow couldn’t help but feel some sort of warmth. Hopefully he’d see her again.

[anundyingfidelity]

WHAT IF...? — Soldier Boy/Ben (2)

Summary: Ben, now as your husband, gives up Vought for good and retires along with you far away from the spotlight and the big cities once you're pregnant with your first child. He knows better than to make the same mistakes his father did.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader

Word count: 900ish.

Warnings: none, soft Ben, OOC!Ben? idk, this is sweet.

GEN MASTERLIST! — DRABBLES MASTERLIST!

taglist is here!

PART 2

1990

The way back home was tiring to say the least. You and Ben had a weekend shopping schedule. It wasn’t the best idea John had for a funny Saturday, but you could tell he enjoyed being at the mall. He was six already, full of energy, joy, and eager to discover the wonders of the world.

From the passenger seat you moved slightly just to check on your son. He was already snoring in the back seat, drooling and sleeping peacefully as if it was his own bed. The sight of him just made you smile.

“He had a great time, huh?” Ben asked, giving you a side glance. He got better at driving after you gave birth, which you were so thankful for.

“Yeah, I mean, he’d definitely pick a baseball game instead but this is good for him,” you said back. “He’s been at home too much, don’t you think?”

“Hey, it's school break! Do you really love your kid?” Ben teased with a playful smile, you rolled your eyes.

“Shut up. All I mean is that I’d just like him to have friends and talk to other kids, do the normal kindergarten stuff… That’s all.”

Ben nodded more for himself. There have been a couple of weeks already, and he was more than happy to spend time with the little brat, but he got your point. You didn’t want him to be alone and the teacher at kindergarten had told both of you John was having some trouble with making friends and socializing in general. He was shy, but smart and creative, but even the teacher had some issues when talking to him at first. John wasn’t like that at home and it hurted you just a bit.

“Probably we should call Janine and some of the parents that were there in the last parent conference, you still have their numbers. We can do something for our kids to meet outside school,” you suggested.

“I think those moms were hitting on me,” your husband said, taking a last turn on the highway before heading home. He chuckled as low as he could when you patted his arm. You got pretty jealous at the last meeting when those ladies approached him, almost swooning. Even John’s teacher looked like she’d faint anytime. “What? I’m Soldier Boy anyway.”

“You’re an idiot.”

He parked the car outside your house after an hour of driving. There were some cons of living in the outskirts of the city, but as long as his family got the calm and green life around, driving for so long was not a problem.

You took John between your arms, careful of not waking him up. He weighed more and more each year, reminding you he wasn’t a baby anymore. He was taller, a good talker at least with you and Ben, he liked seeing the squirrels in the trees that surrounded the house, and he was very, very smart.

It felt like a day ago you gave birth to him, that he started babbling nonsense, and mere seconds that he started walking little baby steps… Now, his eyes were bright blue, his hair long and blonde, his cheeks sprinkled with freckles just like his dad…

Most of his factions were just like Ben’s mother, and she was beautiful from the old pictures he’d show you before. You were happy John was like an exact copy of her, you knew how much Ben loved her and how much her death hurted for him. John was like a reincarnation of her spirit, now sleeping in your arms.

Ben started to take out the grocery bags and some other stuff you had gotten yourself from the city, most of them puzzles, board games, and teddies John picked back there. As much as you tried to get him to reason to not buy unnecessary things, he would just spoil John a lot. But you understood why he did it. He was nothing like his father, he had time to learn how to be a better man, how to manage his own feelings and slowly, teach John to be a good man, even at his young age. You felt so proud of him, watching him discharge the bags on the kitchen counter with John clinging to you, deep in slumber, his little arms now wrapped around your neck to not let go.

When finished, Ben looked at you with a soft look on his eyes. You, holding his son, was a picture he’d never grown tired of. He would hit himself to confirm it wasn’t just a beautiful dream; it was real. You and John were very real, and he was thankful for giving up the superhero shit already. This could never compare to anything Vought offered to him before; what he built in there with you was everything he ever needed.

“I’m gonna take him to his room,” you mumbled, but before you could walk up the stairs, Ben approached you.

“I’ll do,” he announced in an equally low voice.

“You sure? I don’t want him to wake up-”

“John sleeps like a trunk, trust me,” Ben said, taking the kid softly away from your arms. John immediately wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck, hiding his face on the crook of his neck. He was so exhausted after the trip.

“Right,” you nodded. “Thanks, I love you.”

Ben gave you a charming smile, one that you never could grow tired of. He leaned down to kiss your lips softly, his new and trimmed beard tickling your skin a little.

“I’ll be here in a couple of minutes to help you,” he said.

You watched him disappear on the stairs to the second floor, John deeply sleeping in his strong arms, hugging each other.

Weekend trips like this were monotonous sometimes, but it was okay because you always came back home with your boys after all.

Soldier Boy taglist:

@delaynew @k-slla @thesilmarillionblog @onlyangel-444 @mrsjenniferwinchester

@daisy-the-quake @jackles010378 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-spinster-witch @drasticemotions

@stoneyggirl2 @sapnaploves

@believeinthefireflies95 @demodemo909

[luc1dvisual]

Could you write something for After Schools Nana? She’s coming home from a long day of practice so you decide to help her relax by giving her a massage which turns into something “more”. Thank you:)

only you - nana (im jin-ah) x reader

𝜗୧ in where the love of your life has a long day and you would do anything to help her relax

cw: smut (obvi), 18+, soft s*x, fwb, edging, top!nana, bottom!reader, homophobia (brief), idol!au, both idolxreader are 30+

word count: 1.9k

When somebody asked you what Nana were, you would laugh and play it down, making them look stupid for even asking. You and Nana were both in After School, a largely-successful 2nd generation kpop group. She was definitely the most popular but you definitely weren’t far behind, being the main rapper. You guys been friends since your trainee days and have been very close as the years went by. You both joined around the same time and many of your fans would gush over how perfect of a friendship you two had. Even when your group was falling apart due to lack of promotions and lack of comebacks, you two were seen together everywhere. When a new age of kpop stans from all over and many years passed, some new-gen fans started shipping you two which disgusted k-netizens. You had liked her for your entire careers and always got sad when another dating scandal between her and some guy popped up. You two never really talked about romance because you both never had the time for it. It was almost like this unspoken thing, your conversations were never too deep and was always fun and light-hearted. That’s why you were shocked that Jin-ah felt the same about you.

She felt the exact same about you and actually seemed to fall harder. You could not be happier but you both agreed to take it slow. The most intimate you got were some cuddling and kissing, nothing more. It surprised you a lot that it was her idea, you both were over 30 so you felt almost like a teenager. In interviews now, interviewers still mention Nana to you which you would speak about how you two are still friends and miss each other dearly. You and her live in the same apartment so you can’t afford to say anything out of turn. The reason being that you both feel safe around one another (and the dangers of korean society don’t help.)

Nowadays, you are not too active, almost on break even. Your company doesn’t mind as Nana is very active and is earning them plenty of money. She was always out filming for projects or even photoshoots. You would always stay at home and do all the chores there, always wanting to be useful for the woman you love. She wouldn’t mind and would always appreciate your help, saying that you ‘keep the place alive’. One night, you were cooking dinner for yourself as you expected Nana to be working. You didn’t wear much, just a silk pajama set with no bra underneath. You were thinking about sleeping early, your getting older, until you heard the door open and shut. You were confused at first until you heard the clicking of heels and your ‘friend’

“Sweetie?” Her sultry voice echoes in your almost silent apartment. You always liked her voice, she didn’t think it was anything important due to lack of lines in After School songs, but you always loved to hear her talk and sing. Your heart raced as you realise she is back and paced over to her, happy your best friend is home. “Jin-ah” You wrap your arms around and bury your face into her neck. You can’t see her but you can tell she is smiling as she perks up and says “How are you baby? How has your day been?” she asked. You gave your usual bubbly smile and said in a happy tone “It’s been boring! But your back..! I’m happy you are but you told me you wouldn’t be home until I was fast asleep..” You looked up at her face and saw her tired expression, her usual features clearly less expressive and a exhausted look on her face. “Photoshoot finished early.. but with the less time, they made it up work. Did you know I had to iron my own clothes?” You give her a sympathetic expression, most of the time in the past when she was tired was after a promotion schedule and you would technically be tired then too which gave you a sense of comfort.

“They aren’t supposed to do that, they should be thanking the gods for having the opportunity to do a shoot with somebody like you!” You were nervous with this, she was normally the one comforting you and going out her way to make you comfortable. You were very grateful for all her care throughout the years but since she was prone to not showing weakness, when she occasionally did, you didn’t know how to react. The nerves of this all gets to you and ideas swirl through your mind, trying to figure out a way to help your ‘friend’ out. “Well.. I’m getting older, not many brands would wanna work with me in a year or two.. Sweetie? You okay?” She started her anxious rant but stopped when she saw you so deep in thought. You internally cursed her for this, always so concerned for you without caring about herself. You finally blurt out “What if I cook for you then give you a massage? ..How would that sound?” You thought it was something casual, just helping your friend out after a long day. You then realised she hated people touching her, having bad experiences with male fans getting too comfortable. You were about to take back your words until she says with a candid look on her face “Sure.. as long as that’s okay with you?” 

You laugh, trying to ease the tension “‘Course, that’s why I offered. Sit and put on whatever you want, even one of your dramatic dramas is okay!” Before she could say anything back, you walk off with to the kitchen and make sure to make the portions big enough for you both. You turn your head as you finish up the meal and see Nana watching her show. Your face goes a subtle shade of pink as you find her stunning. Dinner goes by with plenty of conversation, you melting under her gaze and just generally being happy she is back. 

You notice her gaze on you as you massage her. You get some flower-scented lotion and work on her shoulders. Your features become intense as you try your best to concentrate. You feel her smirk on you as she caresses the side of your face “What would I do without you, my love?” she says quietly which is probably one of the hottest things you heard. She then cranes her neck up and kisses you on the cheek, a few butterfly kisses on your face as she moves up to reach, more kisses scatter your neck as you let out a quiet pleased noise. You want to melt in that instance, surrender to that pleasure as Nana takes the lead. 

You then stop her and move forward, pulling her down onto the bed and trapping her with your body and your hands on either side. “No… you had a long day” you manage to verbalize despite being a blushing mess. She was surprised by these nervous words, forgetting all your boldness from a few seconds ago. A innocent-like yet knowing smile appears on her face as she says between kisses “Then give me a reward..” her hands start wandering. You finally succumb and looking down at her with doe eyes. Nana looks up with a small smile as she reached up, her hand going up your chest and cupping your right breast. She sits up and uses her hands on your thoughts to reposition you. “You wear this all the time? I need to come home early more often then..” She sucked on your peak through your thin satin singlet. You let out a gasp and ran your hands through Nana’s hair. She stops to look up at you with a smug smile, a small wet patch on where she sucked. Her hands went up your shirt again but caressed your back “Tell me to stop now if you don’t want it.” she said, clearly hot and bothered. You look down at her with a love struck expression “Anything for you, Jin-ah” and you kiss her softly on the lips. No tongue, no lust, just pure love.

Her self-control snaps and she flips you two so she is hovering over you. She doesn’t take off your top completely, trecking it up over your breasts. She started getting annoyed as it wouldn’t stay so held it up to your mouth. “Hold this for me?” she asks in a innocent tone. You understand what she is saying and bite down onto the fabric to keep it up. She practically lavishes you, starting with kisses and small licks all over your breasts, giving one individual attention. You give a few whines which give her more confidence, sucking on the peak of the right and caressing the left, alternating once you started to whine louder. She feels movement of your legs against hers and she looks down, your breasts covered in love marks. You started  to grind up for any friction. She smirks as she runs her thumb up and down your parted lips. “Can’t wait can you?” she says, almost teasingly, yet loving every second of this. “Na..na.. please..” you manage to let out, your mind blurred with list and a sense of bliss. You are happy this happened and honestly thought you were sleeping when you see the woman of your dreams between your legs, her attention only on you.

“Lift.” she softly orders you, giving a kiss on your cheek as she then moves back to help you shuffle off your pajama shorts. Your white underwear with a wet patch in the middle is revealed to her. You aren’t thinking straight so you just subconsciously open your legs which if you looked close enough, Nana’s face had a tint of red pretty obvious. Out of nowhere, she practically yanks down your underwear which causes you to gasp at the sudden coldness, making your lower half to shake a bit. You stop shaking when you feel kisses up your thighs which make you feel a odd sense of bliss. You can feel Nana’s eyes on you and being so bare while being so seen makes a pink flush come across your face. You then let out a gasp as she licks your clit which turn into a moan. More escape as Nana starts to suck your bud and you throw your head back. You angle your hips up so her tongue goes deeper. She eats you out like she is starving and you are nearing the edge. It’s really making you wonder “How is she so good at this?”. You grip a handful of her hair as you finish inside her mouth. She smirks as she cleans you up with her tongue and she lays next to you. You are laying there panting from the immense pleasure she gave you and you turn your head “I was supposed to spoil you.” you unknowingly pout at her. She smiles after she wipes her mouth “I’ve been wanting to do that for awhile, trust me, this is the best reward I could think of.” Your pupils dilate “A while? With me?” you were a bit irritated by this. You have been trying to drop hints and she played dumb to your face but you could tell there was something else in her eye.. “ Not only with you, only you ”

note . . .

AHHHH FINALLY FINISHED!! I kept procrastinating as it was almost done + was not in the mood for smut, just been reading angst all week. I literally love Nana and After School so I am so happy that I not only have one but two Nana requests!! I absolutely love getting requests so they are still open. i am also planning fic series so stay tuned!! ALSO THANK YOU SM FOR 300+ NOTES ON MY KARINA FIC I LOVE YOU ALL :))

navigation: kpop masterlist , after school masterlist

[misqnon]

Royal Blue

A gen Sanji fic, around 6K words. also on ao3, here

“Hey, guys? The News Coo just dropped off a letter with the paper, but I think it was a mistake. It’s not addressed to any of us.”

“Who’s it addressed to?” Robin asks. 

“Vinsmoke.” Nami says simply, and Sanji actually staggers in his place on the deck. 

-----

Five times Sanji’s secret past as a Vinsmoke almost got revealed to the crew, and one time he can’t help but tell them.  

AKA I love dramatic character revelations and I’m bitter not everyone was there to react to Whole Cake Island. 

Disclaimer- I’ve never actually written for an active fandom before, nor have I finished reading/watching One Piece. Please forgive any blatant errors. I’m currently in the middle of Water 7 and I skip around a lot. 90% of my knowledge comes from secondary sources.

pls enjoy!

The first time it happened, it was less of a danger to his cover, and more a painful reminder that he had anything to hide at all.

After all, he’d left that history behind him so long ago that by now, more than 10 years later, he was sure he wouldn’t ever have to reveal that history. Hell, not even Zeff knew. As far as he was concerned, Sanji was just an orphan boy who’d ended up in that unlucky cruise ship kitchen, and he didn’t need to know how he’d gotten there. 

So when they’d all been traveling through the Alabasta desert, Luffy and Nami and Vivi and all the rest of the crew, Sanji hadn’t been thinking about it much at all. When they’d found out Vivi was a princess, well, it had put a little ping into his mind. That little, “You’re technically a prince, too, remember?” But he had quickly squashed it. Not anymore, and never again, so he didn’t need to dwell on the commonality between them.

That was, until weeks later, during that boundless desert trip, when they’d all been sitting around the campfire, resting up for the night on the cool desert sand. It was so much more pleasant than the heat that’d been oppressive over their heads all day. Everyone was chatting, idly enjoying the soup he’d made for everyone. Luffy had downed two bowls of it, and was now snoozing with his hat over his head to the right of them all. Zoro seemed to have a similar idea, though it wasn’t clear if he was actually asleep, or just leaning back with his eyes closed in his usual introverted manner. 

Nami and Vivi were sharing stories over the meal, shawls pulled over their shoulders, and Usopp and Chopper were messing around beside them, occasionally joining the conversation to interject one of Usopp’s grand adventures or Chopper’s impressed gasps. 

He decided to stroll over to the two women, now with his own bowl carefully balanced in his hand. The chef always ate last, after all.

“Hello, Vivi my sweet! And Nami, my swan! How is the soup?” He asked, practically floating through the air to slide in beside them both. Usopp silently rolled his eyes.

Vivi just smiled, answering for both of them. “It’s delicious, Sanji! Thank you for making dinner again.”

“Why of course! It’s my job as the chef, after all!” He sang, still balancing the soup in his hands that he has yet to even touch, now distracted. 

Then, he continued, “You know, this recipe is sometimes called ‘Marry Me Soup.’ They say it’s so good that it’ll convince you to marry the chef.” He said, wiggling his already swirling eyebrow.

Vivi just giggled. “I’m flattered, Sanji, but I don’t think my father would appreciate me getting married right now. Besides, I’ve always been told I’m expected to marry a prince.” She didn’t seem particularly happy about this, nor did she seem very enthusiastic about marriage, period- but Sanji still deflated at the undercut of a rejection. For multiple reasons.

The hopeless flirt within him almost blurted out, ‘Well, it’s your lucky day then, Princess Vivi!’

Except it didn’t, at all, because even for Vivi’s hand in marriage he wouldn’t let that secret slip. 

Instead, he just clamped his jaw shut, sat down beside them, and took a sad sip of his soup. Usopp and Chopper laughed, unaware of the true reason for his melancholy. Nami reassured Vivi he’d be fine after she momentarily worried she’d offended him, before scooching closer to inquire further if she really had to marry a prince someday, against her will. They began chatting again, Nami looking fiercely protective all of a sudden.

Sanji only had a couple more spoonfuls before he stood, silently, and walked off a few feet away from the group for a smoke.

A certain green-haired swordsman poked an eye open to glance over at him as he walked by.

That was odd. Sanji didn’t usually smoke while people were still eating. Especially the ladies. It was inconsiderate, he said, cigarette smoke wafting into people’s faces while they tried to eat, tainting the taste with the smell of nicotine.

But there he was, huffing away at the cigarette a bit too fast, in Zoro’s opinion. Then again, he didn’t really know anything about smoking. Nor did he care. He shrugged, shut his eye again, and went back to resting.

Now that Sanji thought about it, looking back, maybe it’d been on his mind more than he thought. After all, why else had he used the codename “Mr. Prince” while he impersonated Mr. 3?

—

“Liar Noland?”

“You know it, Sanji?” Nami asks, peering at this book that she’s never heard of. “But it says it was published in the North Blue.” 

“I was born in the North Blue.” He says, and actually smiles, wide and true. His memories of back then are anything but good, but…

“Didn’t I tell you?” He tries to play off, though he knows he’s done no such thing. “It’s where I grew up.”

“No, I thought you were from the East like the rest of us.” She muses, and Usopp agrees. 

Sanji continues. And a smile comes to his face again, for the same reason. “My mom used to read me that book when I was a kid.”

For a moment Nami and Usopp both think this is the first Sanji’s told them much of anything about his childhood- they know he had a pretty rough going when he met Zeff, but that’s about it. They’re too focused on the task at hand, though.

Nami opens it and begins to read, the rest of the conversation forgotten.

—

The seven of them stood around the ancient stone door as if peering at it would do anything.

“WHY WON’T THIS STUPID DOOR OPEN!?” Luffy yelled eventually, stomping his feet with impatience.

Robin stepped forward, looking closer at the intricate carvings of winged creatures and giant serpents. Most compelling was the small bowl that seemed to be carved into the center, right below a sharpened bit of rock in the enclave. 

“I’ve never seen anything like this before…” She said, hand to her chin in thought. Unlike Luffy, she wasn’t upset, only engulfed in academic curiosity. She stepped back then, walking away to inspect the other parts of the carvings, further down the wall. 

“Can’t we just break it down?” Zoro asked, poking at the old stone with little regard for its value. Nami frowned at him, slapping his hand away. 

Robin didn’t waste any emotion at his comment, still looking at the newfound bit of text she’d found behind some ivy. 

“This stuff is ancient, you idiot! It’s irreplaceable!” Nami growled, scowling as Zoro narrowed his eyes back at her. For a moment, Robin felt a bit of appreciation for the navigator. She was definitely the most levelheaded of this group so far.

“It could be booby-trapped! Besides, it’s probably worth a ton of Berry.” She said, eye’s suddenly aglow with a mischievous shine.

Nevermind, Robin thought with a sigh. 

Sanji, Usopp, and Chopper stood back with little to contribute. Usopp seemed to be trying to think of a way to get them over the impossibly tall wall, while Chopper distracted Luffy with the sighting of a big beetle.

Sanji just stood there, a lit cigarette lazily lilting smoke between his teeth. They’d probably figure it out between Usopp, Robin, and Nami. Meanwhile, he could continue to plan out what to make for the rest of the week with the meager rations of fruit and meat they’d gathered.

That was, until Robin finally stood, hand still on her chin but a look of accomplishment dancing on her features.

“Here. It says that to open the door, we must provide a drop of royal blood.” She explained, pointing to the ancient language inscribed on the ivy-covered wall.

Everyone rose their eyebrows at that, including (and especially) Sanji.

“Royal blood?” Usopp asked, confused. “Like a king or something?”

“Aw, man!” Luffy cried. “If only Vivi was still with us!”

“That doesn’t make any damn sense.” Zoro said. “How does the wall know whether the blood is royal or not?”

Robin shrugged. She was an archaeologist, not a scientist. “Who knows.” She said simply.

“I’ll just try it.” Luffy said, rolling up his sleeves and stomping over to the little enclave that held the bowl and the piercing rock. 

“Wait!!” Chopper yelled. “You can’t just go stabbing yourself with ancient rocks! Especially ones that have already had other people’s blood on it!” He cried, now trying to pull Luffy away from the wall. He continued to drone on about bacteria and blood-borne diseases as Sanji began sucking a little harder on his cigarette.

Honestly, he didn’t really see the need to get into the old temple anyway. He was starting to think they should just leave. For completely unselfish reasons.

“For once, I agree with the marimo. Let’s just break the damn thing open.” He said, stretching his leg. 

“No, damnit!” Nami said, stomping over to him. “You could set off a trap!”

He frowned at that, putting his leg down obediently. 

Usopp was next to Robin now, looking between the inscription she’d found and the spot where Chopper was still frantically pulling Luffy away from. “I don’t get it.” He decided finally. “Besides, what do they mean by ‘royal blood,’ exactly? Will any royal blood work, or only the royal blood of whoever ruled this nation?”

Robin found it to be a very good question coming from the teen. She nodded in agreement. “True. The inscription doesn’t clarify.”

As soon as Usopp said it, he began to wonder the same thing. And it made him more nervous. His poor cigarette was almost spent now. 

Would his blood work? If it did, would they suspect anything? Should he put it in now, and claim the door was just stupid, like Zoro had claimed earlier? If so, he’d better do it before Luffy, in case the rubber man’s didn’t work-

“HAHA!” Luffy exclaimed, finally pricking the tip of a rubbery outstretched finger on the rock. Chopper deflated in resignation, now joining the rest of them in peering at the bowl as Luffy’s blood fell into it. 

The drop of blood fell into the bowl, sat momentarily on the bottom, then was suddenly absorbed by the porous stone as if it was dying of thirst. Everyone looked on in various states of amazement and fear as they waited, one second, two seconds, three seconds, five, ten-

“...I don’t think it’s doing anything.” Nami finally grumbled.

“Well, the good news is, it doesn’t look like it set off any traps.” Replied Usopp, looking around anxiously for any sign of movement in the jungle around them.

Robin was peering at the bowl with curious blue eyes. “Intriguing…”

“Aw, man!” Luffy huffed. He turned suddenly to Usopp. “Usopp, you try.”

“WHAAA? WHY ME?”

“You like Kaya. And Kaya’s kinda royalty. That’s close enough, right?”

“KAYA ISN’T A PRINCESS, LUFFY! SHE’S JUST RICH! AND I’M NOT EVEN HER! THAT’S TOO MUCH OF A STRETCH.” Usopp yelled in frustration. 

Zoro, Chopper, and Nami were various degrees of frustrated and fed up listening to the two of them bicker. Sanji was still anxiously tapping his foot, hoping the captain wouldn’t systematically make them all try. And if he did, hoping that his didn’t do shit.

That is, until they heard the familiar call of Marines from up the path behind them. 

Sanji turned, eyes wide with panic. “Shit-” He said, lighting another cigarette. 

“Marines? All the way up here? How?” Someone said. Sanji wasn’t even paying attention anymore.

“HURRY USOPP! C’MON, GO!”

“NO, LUFFY! MINE WON’T BE ANY DIFFERENT!”

Zoro started unsheathing Wado, ready for a fight, though even he seemed to realize that that was far too many Marines and they were far too close to be able to run.

As the group devolved into arguing, panic, and frantic attempts to prepare for a fight, Sanji looked back one last time at that stupid door and its stupid little blood-sacrifice bowl. 

The Marines were visible now, charging from the bottom of the hill and quickly approaching- the path they’d used to get here- the only path out- now blocked. 

Sanji cursed, pushing through the mess of the crew and jabbing his thumb onto the rock. 

The group went quiet as the giant stone doors began to shake, then pulled slowly open into a dark, but open, temple. 

They all looked in surprise to Sanji, who bit down on his cigarette and began running through the opening. 

“C’mon, idiots! The Marines are right behind us!”

The group took one look back and followed, sighing in relief as the giant stone doors began to pull shut again just as they’d all made it through. 

Everyone was still running, unsure if the Marines would be able to power through, though Luffy had bound up beside him to ask,

“WOOOAH, SANJI! ARE YOU ROYALTY OR SOMETHING?”

“No, idiot. The door’s just stupid. It probably just didn’t work for you ‘cause your blood’s all rubbery and shit.”

Luffy frowned at that, though he seemed satisfied with that answer. 

Sanji didn’t turn around after that, but by the feeling of several pairs of eyes boring into the back of his head, he got the feeling the rest of the crew wasn’t quite as convinced.

—

Luckily for him, (and quite unluckily for everyone else), the temple was indeed filled with booby-traps. No one had any time to ask him why the hell his blood had worked because they’d spent the next hour or so of their lives trying not to die.

When they finally made it out the other side, sweaty and beat-up and a few crewmates still a little bit on fire, it was the last thing on everyone’s minds. Especially considering the map they’d found as spoils for their trouble.

Later that night, though, when they’d made it back to the Going Merry and everyone had feasted on grilled pork and pineapple and rice, Zoro stayed behind after dinner, arms crossed and leaning broodily against the doorframe, all despite the drinking that was now taking place out on the deck. 

“What do you want, Marimo?” Sanji spit, though he had a feeling he might already know what it was.

“Why did your blood open up that door?”

“Like I said, I don’t think that hunk of rock can actually differentiate between royal blood and not. We just got lucky.”

“Luffy’s blood didn’t work.”

“Yea, and like I said, it’s probably because his blood’s all fucked up and made of rubber.” Sanji bit back, emphasizing the fact that he’d already explained this.

“He’s still human. And I’m pretty sure I heard the Marines trying to prick themselves on it too after we got through.”

Sanji shrugged. “I guess I got some royalty in my family line somewhere, then. Like I said, lucky for us.”

Zoro glared at him. ‘Like I said, like I said.’ It was suspicious. 

“Whatever, shit-cook.” He finally replied, shoving off the wall and heading back out to deck to join the party. 

Sanji bitterly lit another cigarette.

—

“Newspaper’s here!” Someone calls from the front deck of the Sunny. Sanji’s already walking around with a tray of drinks, currently stopped at Zoro, who takes it without much of a thank you aside from a glance.

He rolls his eyes and moves on, wanting to take a peek at the paper anyway. Nami has it at the moment, so he heads over, even though he’s already given her her drink- first, as always.

“Anything interesting, Nami?” He asks, forgoing the swan~ that got him an eyeroll earlier. He’s also just genuinely curious, which has him distracted just enough to act normal around women.

She skims it and frowns. “Nah, not much. Unless you consider Buggy interesting news.” She says, throwing the stack of parchment to the nearby table without a care. She takes her drink and leaves, presumably to go work at her desk.

Sanji does not find Buggy the Clown to be worthy of his attention, but the damn weirdo happens to pop up way more than he or any of the crew seems to think reasonable. 

Regardless, he takes a peek at the newspaper anyway, since he’s already there. Nami’s right, nothing’s of interest- save for the stupid comic strip they’ve included on the last page.

Sora, Warrior of the Sea.

Sanji frowns, his face twisting up into the kind of gangster-like grimace he reserves for Zoro when he’s most exceptionally pissed him off. 

He’s not nearly as bothered about it as he should be, but the comic is included in almost every issue of the paper they’ve received since they hit the Grand Line. The first time he’d spotted the Vinsmoke name he’d nearly had a stroke, but apparently, the few crew members who actually read that bit of the paper seemed convinced it was all fictional, the villainous Germa 66 army included.

Sanji was quite fine with leaving it that way.

It’s just a shitty attempt at Marine propaganda, and the fact his family’s been written in as villains as if they aren’t a real royal family kinda does make him laugh. They’ve become so synonymous with evil that they’re written as cartoon villains by the same news company that works with them in the crime underworld. Sanji’s surprised they don’t see it as a slap in the face- maybe they do, but the strips continue to come out unchanged.

On the best days he laughs acridly at the insult it does his biological father, on the worst he bites his lip in anger that he and his crew have to be exposed to their existence.

Though…

He reads the title over again.

Even if it’s just some bullshit marine propaganda, the way they’ve named the main character who beats the evil Germa family again and again brings a small grin to his lips.

—

All in all, the various times his past had almost come out had been relatively easy to cover up.

The closest call, however, had been when they’d landed on an unsuspecting Spring island, a little too close to the North Blue for his liking.

Franky had stayed behind to work on the ship, but the rest of them had gone ahead and went inland to restock supplies, stretch their legs, and find what this island had to offer. 

And for once, they'd decided to stick together instead of splitting up. Mainly because some signs around town had said something about a big festival taking place in the square, and Nami, Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper had convinced the last few less sociable crewmates to come along. 

Despite the proximity to North Blue, Sanji wasn't actually that worried. He'd never heard of this island before, and he doubted his father would be anywhere near it either. Germa may be a wandering country, but it hadn't left the North Blue in a while as far as he knew, and at the moment they were still in the Grand Line.

So when they all walked up the brick path to the town square, finding before them a wonderful spread of tents, stages, and food stalls, he actually found himself a little excited. Good food, good entertainment, and- he squinted his eyes at the closest stage, where a group of women in traditional garb were performing a folk dance.

Beautiful women? Hell yea, maybe this pit stop would be worth it after all.

“Wow, this looks amazing!” Nami cried, clapping her hands together. “I wonder what it’s all for?”

Usopp jutted a hand over his shoulder. “I think one of the signs we passed said it’s somebody’s birthday. Probably one of the kingdom’s rulers, if I had to guess.”

“Usopp, look!” Chopper interjected, pulling lightly on the leg of the sharpshooter’s pants. “They have cotton candy!”

“Cotton Candy!?” Luffy grinned, patting his hat. He ran off like a cartoon character, leaving a trail of smoke and guffaws of laughter behind him. Usopp and Chopper followed behind.

“Wait! You guys don’t have any money!” Nami said, jogging after them with her Berry pouch already half-opened to loan some out (with interest).

Eventually, she’d caught them, and handed out a bit of Berry to the rest of the crew, too. She sent Zoro back to the ship to grab Franky, both so he wouldn’t miss out and so that Zoro wouldn’t get lost on his own. (If he could even make it back to the ship, anyway).

Then she and Robin began making rounds to all the shops and stalls while they waited, leaving Sanji to do whatever he liked by his lonesome. 

And he had absolutely no problem with that. 

Obviously, he went straight over to the dancers, making obnoxious heart-eyes in the audience while he watched. 

Soon enough, though, he calmed down and ended up wandering the food stalls, trading recipes with the vendors and even picking up some local produce from others. 

He'd spent nearly an hour doing so, occasionally running into another Strawhat or two, when a man stopped him near one of the textile stalls. 

Sanji had been about to head back to the ship, looking over one last fancy gourd with a scrutable eye, when someone called out his name. Well, a name.

"Young Master Vinsmoke?"

Sanji felt his blood run cold. He snapped his head up, his eyes meeting a man he didn't recognize. 

He looked friendly enough- actually, he looked quite pleased to see him. He was posed nervously, as if he couldn't believe what was before him. 

Now that Sanji thought about it, he did look somewhat familiar- the frilly outfit and the pins, bobs, and needles stuck into his pin-cushion bottoms. Some measuring tape hung loosely from a pack on his side, and bifocal glasses sat atop his head. 

Not familiar enough, though. And Sanji didn't care who the hell he was, not after calling him that. 

"Are you talking to me?" Sanji asked, cold anger already growing, though at the moment he was trying to keep his cool. 

The man shook his head in amazement. "It is you, isn't it? Young Master Sanji? Why, they told me you'd died!"

Sanji just gaped at him, his latest cigarette falling gracelessly out of his mouth. 

He suddenly grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and dragged the two of them behind the nearest stall, to an unoccupied alleyway nearby. The man squeaked in surprise, which Sanji ignored.

"Who the hell are you?" He gritted out, suddenly realizing his friends could be nearby. He prayed nobody had heard them. After last time, there'd be no way he'd be able to sweep it under the rug again. 

"O-Oh, you don't remember me! My apologies, sir. I'm Taloose. I work as a royal tailor. I worked for your family when you were young, Mr. Vinsmoke.”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT.” Sanji growled, resisting the urge to pull the man up by the lapels of his frilly suit. He knew the other man didn’t know any better, but it still pissed him off. 

Taloose squeaked again. “I’m sorry, sir!”

Sanji let out an irritated breath. “And stop calling me sir.” He grumbled, though with considerably less bite. 

“I don’t answer to that name anymore, and I’m not a prince either. So just Sanji is fine.”

The tailor seemed hesitant to comply, but he nodded, silently. 

There was a long and uncomfortable silence then. Sanji did recognize him, now that he thought about it. He barely saw the guy- maybe every couple months when he was really young, coming in to fix up little suits for special events for him and his siblings. At that age Sanji was still quite friendly, despite the abuse, but he didn’t form close bonds with the various workers at the beck and call of the Vinsmokes. If anything, he was too focused on his mother’s health and his failings in training. Any memories of this guy were quick snippets and stills of standing on a platform with measuring tape around his waist, and little else.

Realizing the silence had stretched a bit too far, Sanji figured he should probably say something. He had dragged the guy back here, after all.

“Tell me…If you worked for my family, then what are you doing here?” He tried not to let his anxiety seep into his question.

“Well, I’m a traveling tailor. I serve many royal families, including the family here. I helped craft the princess’s dress for this party, as well as some of the other family members. Once I was done, I decided I’d stop by and peruse the textile booths around the market- quite a fine selection if I do say so myself-!” He watched Sanji’s face become irritated and decided to shut up. “But, yes. Just here for the event, really.”

Sanji eyed him carefully. “Do you…still work for my family?” 

Taloose shook his head. “No, actually. I don’t mean to flatter you, but you were always my favorite of the Vinsmoke children. Miss Reiju was alright, but the other three boys were quite rude, and with age they only got worse.” He made an unsettled face, as if to imply ‘rude’ wasn’t the full extent of it. 

“It became increasingly difficult to work with them, and my work reflected that. I was on the verge of quitting anyway when your father fired me. I wasn’t qualified to be sewing raid suits anyway.” He scoffed.  

“So you don’t have contact with them any more? You won’t tell them that you met me here?” Now his voice was betraying his anxiety, but he didn’t care.

Taloose just shook his head, smiling kindly. “No sir. I wouldn’t go back even if they paid me a million berries!” He said, standing tall and adjusting his frilly collar with pride. 

Sanji felt himself relax a bit. He nevertheless pulled a new cigarette from the pack in his front pocket. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know where they are nowadays, would you?” He asked after a drag. His fingers twitched ever so slightly despite the coolness he now desperately attempted to front.

Taloose was luckily a man without judgement. He shook his head gently. “No, I don’t have a clue. Hard to tell with the place always on the move.” He paused then, looking over Sanji with keen eyes. 

“...I can tell you don’t wish to see them again. I apologize if my presence here made you uncomfortable. I assure you, I haven’t had contact with the Vinsmoke family in years. Should for whatever reason I come into contact with them again, I will not reveal your presence.” He says, bowing. “I promise.” A smile graces his face within the bow.

Sanji grumbles as he grabs Taloose by his collar, yanking him up to stand again. “Ya don’t gotta bow to me, idiot.” 

“...But I appreciate that. Thanks.”

—

Sanji and Taloose part ways after that. 

He’s glad to be rid of the reminder of his past, glad to have the reassurance the Vinsmokes aren’t actively searching for him or anything- but still troubled to have these memories brought back yet again. Running from your past is easy until you’re traveling the world with infamy, and suddenly the spotlight seems to put you back on the radar of harm long thought dead.

Make no mistake, Sanji didn’t regret his choice to join the Strawhats in the slightest. But he was beginning to wonder how much longer he could conceivably keep this secret.

It’s two years before it finally comes back to bite him in the ass.

—

“Hey, guys? The News Coo just dropped off a letter with the paper, but I think it was a mistake. It’s not addressed to any of us.”

Everyone’s heads pop up from their respective locations around the ship, peeking at Nami and the stack of papers now held in her hand. Luffy swings over from his spot on the figurehead. 

“What’s it say!? Open it!” He yells excitedly, now looking down over her shoulder at it himself. 

“You can’t open someone else’s mail, Luffy, it’s against the law.”

“We’re pirates!” He retorts, and for once Nami feels silly, realizing he’s right in this matter. She purses her lips and eyeballs it again, some recognition starting to come to her face. 

Sanji has come down from the galley by now, hands in his pocket as he and most of the rest of the crew approaches the only entertainment they’ve had so far on an unusually boring day of sailing.

“Who’s it addressed to?” Robin asks. 

“Vinsmoke.” Nami says simply, and Sanji actually staggers in his place on the deck. 

“Strangely enough, isn’t that the villain from that popular comic in the newspaper sometime? Why on Earth would someone try to send a fake character a letter? And how’d we end up with it?” Nami continues, though Sanji doesn’t hear her. He’s too busy falling into the depths of a panic attack here and now.

He’d say that his stomach dropped when he heard her say the name, that his blood ran cold, but with his worst trauma suddenly cropping up in front of him in real life, truly occurring and unable to be stopped, right before the gaze of his crew, his family- he just feels nothing. A switch flips in him and all he feels his nothingness, and then pure hot fear.

“...Sanji? Are you okay?” Chopper asks from beside him, his kind face full of worry at the cook’s near instant reaction. He looks pale, his face is staring straight down at the deck like if he doesn’t look up it isn’t real, and from this angle Chopper can actually see both of his eyes for once, and they’re both blown wide and full of fear. 

But he doesn’t answer, because as Chopper asks this Nami slips her thumb under the fold of the envelope and is about to rip it open, and Sanji lurches forward and has to stop himself from Diable Jambe-ing Nami’s hands and burning the letter to ash. He still does something quite out of character for him when it comes to the redheaded woman- which is that he actually yells at her to stop.

Nami, and everyone else, for that matter, freezes.

“Sanji?” Nami asks, incredulous, and a little worried.

He settles for taking it from her hands, as gently as he can manage, which is not at all.

“Don’t.” He says darkly, even though he already has the letter safely in his own hands.

Everyone is silent. They all expect someone to break the silence and yell about not being rude to Nami, but the person they expect to do so is standing right in front of them, doing exactly that. Sanji sighs, and without looking at his crew, slowly rips open the letter.

He looks it over, eyeing it as if he’s in his own pocket dimension at the moment, and no one else is there. Then, when he’s read the contents, he pauses, folds the letter, and sticks it in the pocket of his slacks. 

Everyone is waiting with a question on their lips when he finally looks up again, but no one says anything, even Luffy.

Then Sanji sighs, and crosses his arms. He looks all of a sudden more nervous and unsure of himself than they’ve seen him since before Saboady, maybe even since they’ve met him.

“Do you guys remember…back in Skypiea, when we found the book Liar Noland?”

It seems an odd place to start, but they all give various sorts of a nod.

“And I told you all how I was actually born in the North Blue.” He says, reaching an arm up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. He really wished he had a cigarette right now, but he didn’t want to interrupt by lighting one.

They nod again, aside from Franky and Brook, who hadn’t been on the crew yet at that time.

“Well…” He can’t help it anymore. Quicker than they’ve ever seen him do it before, he slips a cig from his pack and lights it with ease, pulling some smoke out of it like he’s thirsty for it. They’ve all started to put pieces together by now, or at the very least, realize he’s about to open up to them about something quite big.

“My real name…No. My birth name is Vinsmoke Sanji.” He says, wincing at the words put together outloud. “And I’m…I was a prince.” 

Everyone’s eyebrows raise at that, eyes widening; save for Zoro and Luffy, who stay relatively straight-faced, listening intently.

“I left when I was 8. I snuck onto a cruise ship, and then Zeff found me.” He continues, mincing the more ugly details that he doesn’t quite feel ready to tell them yet. He doesn’t want this to become a sob story.

“Basically, I’m a runaway prince. Though my father told everyone I was dead anyway…” He sucks in another breath full of smoke. He keeps stuttering and trailing off in his words in a way that so isn’t like him, it’s making him sick. He just wants to get this over with.

“The point is, this letter…It’s for me. I’ve been invited back…”

For a moment, Sanji considers not telling them the truth. He doesn’t want to put them in danger, he doesn’t want them to pity him, he doesn’t want them to feel the need to help him, to do so because he’s too weak to do it himself.

But he also trusts them. More than anyone else in the world, save for his father. His real father.

“For an arranged marriage to one of Big Mom’s daughters.” He grits out, biting down on his cigarette with distaste.

Usopp looks ready to burst with questions, Nami and Robin are incredulous, and even Zoro looks vaguely emotive. Franky and Chopper and Brook are just waiting for someone else to say something first.

But Luffy is, strangely enough, smiling. He adjusts the position of the straw hat on his head, ensuring it’s nice and tight. Then he gives Sanji a grin.

“I’ve been waiting for a reason to pick a fight with Big Mom.” He says. 

And somehow, that’s the most reassuring thing he could have heard Luffy say to all of that.

[ya-zz]

Ramattra meeting a literal mage who control forces of nature? (No techs, no phone, no AI, just pure...medieval potential s/o who lives a very simple life close to nature)

Apologies this one took awhile to get to, but here we go! The moment I saw this I had an idea but didn't know how to get the ball rolling... Plus a lil bit of research had to happen to get this right, so hopefully it's ok!

Ramattra x Reader (gen)

Word count: 1793

He didn’t think anything of it at first - the way the vines moved across the trees and the flowers avoiding his feet, but the more he walked through the forest, the more he noticed the movement. Something was watching him, and despite his sensors scanning every possible shadow, he couldn’t pick anything up that was out of the ordinary. 

A small deer crossed his path, seeming unfazed by the omnic. Instead of running, it stood there, looking at Ramattra. They both cocked their head to side before a twig snapped and the deer ran, the omnic looking into the darkness after it. Peculiar…

He kept going further and further into the forest, watching the movements of the leaves. It was getting dark, but that didn’t matter to him, only when a flutter of fireflies hovered around his face did he stop once more. He cocked his head to the side again, lifting a finger in hopes that one would sit on the cold metal, and when one did, a soft sigh escaped his chassis. 

“Curious little thing.” He speaks out, watching the tiny movements on his finger, the soft glow illuminating the black metal. He twists his finger along with the firefly, watching the buzz of light dim and relight.

The lights on his forehead flickered, almost mimicking the rhythm of the bug. His sensors flashed slightly, causing a sudden movement with his head as he turned to look up, the firefly instantly leaving his finger. The sensors had finally picked something up, a heat signature not far from where he was currently standing. It wasn’t an animal, no, something more human but the sensors couldn’t identify if it was actually human. 

He stepped forward, the fireflies buzzing around him, almost pushing him forward. There was a small chirp of crickets behind him as he walked, and he swore he could hear the ivy vines moving, creaking slightly against the trees.

The foliage only got thicker the closer he got to the heat signature, the trees and flowers illuminated by the orb within his staff, humming an almost soothing frequency. 

Ramattra kept walking towards the entity, the grass beneath his feet silencing his movement. He truly wondered who else would be out this far into the woods, especially as the coldness of the night rolled in. 

As he took one more step forward, he stopped, the ivy vines holding onto his legs with force he had never seen, especially from a plant. He looked down, watching the vines weave around his legs, rising higher with each passing second. The staff in his hand hummed loudly as he went to move it only to be stopped by another set of vines as a figure approached. 

His eyes narrow, optics focussing against the darkness, but he did not speak. The heat signature was coming from the approaching entity, the one he had been searching for since it appeared. 

“You have wandered too far.” A voice calls out. “It would be wise for you to leave.” 

“I am merely passing through.” He replies, his body almost frozen in place as he feels the pressure tighten around his legs. 

“Nobody has ever strayed this far from the path.” The figure stops, still within the shadows, hidden from the moonlight. 

“Is this your doing?” He moves his free hand, gesturing to the vined restraints. 

“Yes.” 

“You have been watching me for some time now.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement. 

“I have,” You take another step forward, still hidden. “I have been watching you since you left the path.”

“Why?” There was a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

Ramattra imitates the sound of a scoff, head tilting slightly. 

There was a silence in the air as the restraints around his staff and legs get weak before leaving his body completely. He stands there, staring into the shadows, only the heat signature being his guidance as to where you were. 

“I thought your kind were destroyed.” You finally say, breaking the silence.

“Not all of them.” The omnic replies.

Your eyes don’t leave his body, watching for any signs of hostility. “I can see that. Why are you out here?” 

“That does not concern you.” 

“You are trespassing. It’s very much my concern.”

A moment passes and eventually you appear from the shadows, looking at the omnic before you. A plain deep green shawl was wrapped around your torso and shoulders, ripped jeans that were scuffed at the ankles while your shoes with caked with dried mud. You weren’t exactly a pretty sight, but considering you were meant to be alone out here, you didn’t care.

Ramattra looks back, face expressionless as always, the red lights on his forehead flickering. You could hear the soft whirring of fans as you took one more step forward.

“You are different from the others.” You say, lifting your hand in front of you as you speak. “You are the same model, but you look nothing like them.” 

“Upgrades do that.” His gaze goes to your hand then back up to your face. “May I ask what you are doing all the way out here?” 

“I live here.” 

“You live here?” Ramattra looks around. 

“It’s away from everyone else. It’s… Peaceful.” You pause. “Until there’s trespassers.” 

He turns back and faces you. “My apologies. If I had known-”

You shake your head, closing the distance between the pair of you. “Most people turn away the moment they see movement within the trees. You did not. Curiosity could have you killed.”

“Yet you did not attack.” 

“No.” With a slight hesitation, you place your hands on his chest, fingers gently touching the metal framework. “I didn’t because you were different. You’re curious. Peculiar.” 

Ramattra watches you as he silently dismisses a warning. He watches your hands roam his chest before you walk around him, hand gently holding his arm, analysing him. 

“If you are just passing through, keep going west and you will eventually leave the forest.”

“I am not lost.” 

“Never said you were.” Your fingers dipped into his back, causing him to shudder. 

“What are you doing?” He dismisses another warning.

“Looking.” You walk back around, facing him once more before moving your hands to his head, pulling him down to look at his faceplate close up. 

He lets out an audible gasp at your pull, dismissing three more warnings. Your hands are gentle on his cheeks, the purple metal cool to the touch. A thumb gently rubs a speck of dirt away before you turn his head to the side, hand gently grasping one of his hair cables, thumb brushing over the black and red strip of wires. 

Ramattra notices how gentle you were being, a red sparkle in your eye, the reflections of his own lights. He notices how calm you look, how curious you were being. 

“Curiosity could have you killed.” He repeats your phrase from earlier, voice low. 

“You do not show hostility.” Your hands turn him back to face you before you lift his head up, fingers tracing the purple metal as you look at his neck underneath the cloth. He knew you were right. Just as you were curious about him, he was curious about you. 

You don’t say anything as you move away from him, letting him stand up straight. 

Ramattra looks at you, head tilting slightly. 

“You have heard of our kind, yet you have never seen one, is that correct?” He asks.

“I left before the crisis started. Being out here surrounded by nature is far more peaceful than the war out there.” You shrug, keeping your eyes on the omnic. “I left everything behind.”

“Everything? What about friends? Family?”

You shake your head, clearly a subject you’re not willing to talk about. 

“I see.” 

“Keep going west.” You repeat your directions. “You won’t get lost.” 

Ramattra nods, although a part of him wanted to stay longer, something inside of him wanted to get to know you more. He watches you as you move your hand, swaying it gently, a small light appearing, dancing between your fingers. 

“They will guide you during the night.” 

“They?” 

“Yes.” You move your hand down, holding it open to him, the small light flickering as it flies away from your hand and a few more suddenly appear behind it. 

“That was you, from before?” He remembered the fireflies from earlier, the way they danced around him as he walked. 

You nod in response. “If you’re friendly with nature, it’s friendly with you.” For the first time since your encounter, you smile at him. “You won’t get lost. I will be watching you on your travels.” 

He’s almost taken aback by the sudden kindness. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” 

“It is nothing.” You step back. “If you will excuse me, there is a matter I need to attend to.”

Ramattra nods as he watches you turn and leave, the heat signature slowly fading from his sensors. A thought suddenly comes to his mind, he never got your name. His optics flash to your last location, but he shakes his head, the fireflies buzzing around him. 

“Maybe another time…” He speaks to himself and starts walking. He dismisses another error, setting his navigator due west, the little lights almost navigating him also. 

As he walks, he notices the movement again, the way the flowers sway in the passing breeze, the leaves rustling above him. It isn’t you, he thought. His sensors picked up the movement of animals, an owl that flew above him, foxes that scurried past him. You were right - it was peaceful. It brought him back to his time at the Monastery. 

He was that deep in thought that when something grabbed at his arm, he almost didn’t see the warning. He stopped walking, watching a small vine wrapping itself delicately around his wrist. His gaze trailed along the vines length but there was nothing but darkness, no heat signatures. 

When he turned to start walking again, he was greeted by a branch, dangling just above his head. He felt the vine release it’s grip, and he knew that it was a distraction. This was you, he thought. In the branch’s grasp was a small purple flower, clearly picked from somewhere other than here. 

Ramattra reaches up and takes the flower, analysing it in his fingers. His scanners pop up with a name “lisianthus” before giving him a small information dump on it. He dismisses it, threading the flower through a small gap in his staff. 

He lets out a content sigh. “Thank you.” He speaks out, a warmth spreading through his chassis before he continues his journey through the forest.

Maybe I should trespass here again sometime…

[baeglbites]

Would you mind sharing your thoughts on Kaiju no 8? (I feel like I might highly agree with you lol)

Oo, I’m assuming you read my tags hahah, yeah I’ll try to expand! 

(Be warned, I didn’t reread or rewatch the series, so I’m just going off my impression. It’s going to be rambly haha)

I started with watching the anime, and the first season was anime solid! Animation, art, and soundtrack, all enjoyed (although RIP Gen’s debut lolol, I’m sure he’ll get an upgrade next season lol)

The premise was interesting, a 32 year old protagonist who essentially switches career, said protagonist also becomes the very “monster” that the Kaiju Defense Force eliminates 

Bullet point of Thoughts

what happens in the aftermath of battles (esp after shounen fights)? Who deals with that, so in this world there is a specialized cleanup crew disposing big ass several story monster with toxic innards -> yay world building! Cool! 

Kafka isn’t “strong” like a typical recruit (without his Kaiju form), but the way he helps is his knowledge from his previous jobs. I’m like ooo that’s neat!

I thought about people with prior job experience switching career, a lot of their soft skills and also previous experience carries over which is a unique advantage

But he doesn’t really fight like that anymore… 

Female characters are cooler than I initially thought! (Kikoru grew on me haha)

Scratching my head and I’m like huh thoughts: 

Many people’s motivation to joining is to protect the people for the future of the people (a little vague and almost nationalistic?)

Defense force seems to be a difficult job, seems you die early in that kind of career, but it seemed to be glorify… 

I’m wondering if there’s anyone who’s like "that’s messed up man"

characters: clearly people care about each other alot, maybe too much. But I love most of them (except for director…side eyeing him….) 

I thought that the series was going to expand on the elements and themes in the beginning of the series…but now it’s more like hey there’s a dangerous Kaiju and we need to defeat them for the sake of countries safety…punch punch smack

Also, we don’t even know where Kaiju comes from, like barely any hints or maybe there are crumbs and I missed it?? Like what’s their motivation? Why are they attacking people? Kaiju’s seemed to exist back then too? 

Also like are Kaiju creatures? Like do they eat? Do they poop?? Do they have babies?? Do they sleep anywhere?? 

Also it looks like there’s a whole industry of Kaiju weapon and armor production, like I’d like more details pls...like who thought of the idea of using the skin of a toxic,dangerous creature?

Are there any drawbacks (besides the limitation of using the suit to its fullest potential). 

Also with special Kaiju suits, implies that the Kaiju’s memories and consciousness is vaguely imprinted in the suits, and I’m like interesting, please expand, but it’s not expanded (yet?)

Anyways! I just think there’s potential, but so far…I see alot of missed opportunity of ideas and themes

[fangirlism-for-life]

I don't have a title yet but it's inspired by the twttr post i made on this official art:

Post ref

It's Incubus!Gen x Human Senku

Its a modern au but i changed how some of the Incubus/Succubus mechanics work so its a little diff than the usual Incubus fic.

• Unlike usual sexual demons, the ones in my au don't need to have sex to feed.

• They feed off any sort of sexual energy that person has towards them. Meaning they cannot absorb the energy if the person is thinking of someone else.

• They can absorb that energy and depend on that as their own life energy. They don't solely depend on it though, especially not half-demons.

• They do need to eat actual food to live but without sexual energy they become weak, like they're ill

• When they absorb that energy the human they're extracting from, gets that sexual energy drained from out of them.

• Meaning the sexual feelings would lessen in that moment.

• They can feed off scent, proximity, and small acts of sensuality or intimacy.

• Those are like appetizers they can get by depending on how strong the persons emotions are.

• The same goes for the levels of sexual activities.

• Incubi and Succubi that aren't pure bloods can last longer without feeding and the least likely it is for them to die from this.

• So the more human they are the less prone they are to starving.

• Full-on demons typically die within a week of no energy whatsoever.

I did however stay faithful to what i've heard abt irl Incubi somewhat bcs i do find info abt them quite interesting.

○ They only target humans with deep pent up sexual energy. Or simply humans with the most sexual energy.

● And you can summon a sex demon in your sleep if those feelings of desire are intense enough.

Character info (so far)

✴︎ They're college students, i havent decided ages yet tbh but i think i might make them the same age (20)

✴︎ Senku meets Gen through a mutual friend and Gen begins to target Senku based on his very strong sexual attraction towards him. (not me predicting freaky Senku)

✴︎ After a couple attempts at subtly seducing him, Senku catches onto Gen's 'strange behavior' and questions his intentions.

✴︎ Gen manages to get out of it w a lie, but Senku's actions didn’t match how he felt whatsoever, it piqued his interest.

I have more ideas but im trying to figure out how to post it wo fic spoilers 😋

Im almost done w the idea in my head tho