#i have to stop here i have to make another post.

[maxisodenoth]

Oops, forgot to block.

But anyways, it seems like you don't understand.

Let me put it like this for you.

You have been provided links with proof [that I'm sure you didn't even touch.] And instead of bringing up any point related to them you stick to your same arguments.

I asked you a simple yes or no question, and you seem to have taken it personally. It doesn't matter to me what you think the answer is, because the answer is always no. An infertile woman is just as much of a woman as any other. We are what we want to be. Your words mean nothing to me, and other peoples identity. [which let me remind you *again* that you've been provided links in the comments which explain this stuff better than I ever could]

[And let me tell you something. Just because we can't have kids right now doesn't mean it'll remain that way in the future. I believe that something will be figured out later in the future that will allow trans-people to be able to reproduce with their new reproductive apparatuses. Whether that takes years or decades doesn't matter. It'll happen.]

You used word meanings as "arguments". May I remind you that, words were created far before any research was done on this matter? [Not exaclty sure when or how much words change but I'm almost sure it's a pretty slow process, so they might be a bit or alot outdated. Not sure though.] And that maybe instead of etymology, you should be looking at psychology, and biology? [Links in the comments~] Trying to use words meanings as arguments doesn't really work out that well when we're not talking about words but people.

[And by the way. Where is your evidence? You've been provided links explaining this stuff, yet when pressed, you only choose to go to ... a dictionary? Really?]

[Also, since you've stooped into insults let me get in on that action.]

Why do you care so much? Like really. Why does this matter that much to you? Are you that miserable that the only joy you get is by hating on other people being themselves and happy?

Look, I know it's hard to find a purpose in life, or a job, but it'd be alot easier if you stopped being a prick and just let people be themselves. There's no reason to hate people who literally don't affect you in any shape or form. They're just being themselves. Cope. [Your final reminder that there are links in the comments!~]

Or do you just refuse to grow up and understand that it doesn't matter what you say. People will be themselves and happier than you will ever be?

I am not a debator. I'm just some angry penguin on the internet. I have left my piece here. And I won't forget to block this time. May this be the last time I see your miserable blog on my feed.

And for everyone else who comes across this post, trans or otherwise. Your identity is Valid. You know yourselves better than some stranger on the internet. Or anyone who's not you. Because it's Your Identity. Not these peoples.

Do not let the hateful words of bigots make you feel bad about youself. You are the only one who can choose your identity. Not some idiots on the internet. You. And let me say this again Your identity is always valid. No matter what others say. ❤️

Goodbye. 👋

[Even if you reply to this, I'm not wasting anymore of my time on you John. You've been given links, read them. The same goes for any asshole who wants to start another argument. I do not care for you. Find someone else to deal with your bullshit.]

Facts matter. #VoteBlue

[scribblesofagoonerr]

Blue for a while | Buddy & Monkey: Double The Trouble

summary: monkey's loan spell in the 2022/23 season.

double the trouble masterlist

The Manchester rain felt different. It wasn’t just that it was heavier, colder, or lingered in the air longer than it did in London.

It was lonelier.

And you hated it.

You hated the city. The constant rain, the grey skies, the way it was always cold. You hated how the wind cut through you even when you wore three layers. London was cold too, but it never felt this miserable.

You hated the shirt. You especially hated how the blue felt wrong against your skin, and how every time you pulled it on, it made your stomach churn.

You had grown up in red. Arsenal was your home, your family. 

This? This was nothing but a punishment.

Or at least it felt like it was.

And more than anything, you hated Jonas for sending you here.

You had been absolutely fuming when you found out about the loan.

“You’re joking? I’m not going there!” You exclaimed, outraged even at the thought of it.

“You don’t have a choice, kid,” Jonas had said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“You… You can’t make me! Leah–” You turned to her, desperate, “Le, can’t you stop this? You can’t let this happen!”

Leah’s jaw had been tight, her fingers flexing at her sides. She was just as frustrated as you were, but the fight had already been lost before it even began, “It’s out of my hands I’m afraid, my girl,” Her voice was strained, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to go,” You had pleaded.

“I know,” Leah exhaled a sigh, running her hand through her hair, “But you’re going to be fine. Kei, G, and Lucy are there. Just think of it like an adventure.”

Of course, Leah tried to make it sound like it was better than it was, but it wouldn’t be.

You scoffed, shaking your head in protest, “But I don’t want an adventure, I want to stay here.”

Jonas, however, didn’t look the slightest bit phased, “You’ll be expected to arrive in Manchester for your medical tomorrow. The club is sorting your transport out.”

Your stomach had twisted at that. It was happening, whether you wanted it or not.

“Where am I even gonna stay?” You asked, confused as your voice was small.

“Don’t worry, Monkey. I’ll speak to Kei and Luce, and I’m sure you can stay with them,” Leah said, she was trying to be reassuring but you saw the way she was struggling with the idea of this herself.

And then, just like that, the club’s announcement post dropped the following morning after you found out.

It was official.

“Remember, it’s going to be an adventure,” Leah said, forcing a faint smile.

You scowled, “A terrible adventure. Why do I have to go?”

Leah sighed, barely managing to get a spoonful of porridge into Buddy’s mouth, “It was the club’s decision, Monkey. I can’t do anything about it.”

But you didn’t want to hear that. You wanted her to fix it.

You hated it here. And you were vocal about your feelings.

“I hate it here. It’s so shit,” You grumbled, collapsing onto the bed in Lucy and Keira’s spare bedroom after another miserable training session.

“Stop swearing,” Leah chided through the phone, “It’s only for this season. You’re going to be fine, and you have Kei, G, and Lucy, remember? It’s going to be alright.”

You huffed, rolling onto your stomach, “You’ve sent me to live with a crazy woman, Le!”

Leah sighed, “You’re being dramatic, Monkey,”

“Am I? Lucy tried to shove pineapple on my pizza yesterday. I barely made it out alive,” You protested, dramatically.

“Relax, squirt. Auntie Kei is here to keep you safe,” Keira popped her head around the bedroom door with a cheesy grin, “Don’t yer’ worry, Le. She’s safe with us!”

You wrinkled your nose, “Did you seriously just refer to yourself in the third person? So lame.”

Keira cackled, “You’re just mad ‘cause I scored that banger past you in training.”

You groaned. You hated that too.

You hated how Keira and Lucy had been given orders from Leah before you even arrived. 

Don’t let her spend too much money.

Don’t let her stay up late.

Make sure she eats properly–no sweets, no energy drinks.

You weren’t a child.

Okay, sure, you were only seventeen, but still. You could take care of yourself.

Except… you were currently banned from Uber Eats because Keira caught you trying to order a McFlurry for breakfast. Lucy had physically taken a pack of Haribo Goldbears out of your hand at training. And when you tried to sneak an energy drink before the match, Keira snatched it and took a sip right in front of you–just to be annoying.

“You’re the worst,” You grumbled, arms crossed.

“You’re predictable,” Keira had shot back, grinning.

You just wanted to throw something at her.

But the worst part?

It wasn’t just that you hated Manchester. 

You hated City. 

Their football was different, it wasn’t Arsenal’s football, and you felt it in every training session, every match. The movement was different, the patterns weren’t the ones burned into your brain from Hale End. Even when you did well, it didn’t feel right.

And the dressing room? It wasn’t the same. Sure, everyone was nice, but they weren’t your people. You missed Katie’s loud, chaotic energy. You missed Lia trying to make sure you ate before training. You even missed Kim’s usual Captain’s mannerisms and stern words.

You missed Leah. You missed Jordan.

And most of all, you missed your favourite little buddy.

The Arsenal group chat was still very much active on your phone, but it didn’t feel like yours anymore. The first few days, the girls had kept you included – talking about training, sending memes– but then the messages started to feel different. The jokes weren’t ones you were in on anymore. You saw pictures from team dinners–moments that you weren’t a part of.

You tried to pretend it didn’t sting.

Jordan and Leah, of course, always checked in.

Jordy: How’s City treating you, little one?

Your answer was always the same.

You: Shit.

Jordan sent a laughing emoji. That bad?

You didn’t hesitate to show how much disinterest you had for the city or the club.

You: Yes. I hate it. I fuckin’ Jonas. I hate the shitty weather. I hate the stupid fuckin’ football. I hate everything.

Followed by a phone call from Leah, usually to scold you about your vibrant language.

“Stop swearing will you,” Leah chastised in her usual manner, “Jord told me about the text you sent her. I know it’s hard, but…”

You didn’t say the worst part.

You didn’t say how much you missed home.

You didn’t say how much you missed your family.

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter, “I want to come home,” You muttered, quieter this time, “What if Buddy forgets who I am? I can’t let that happen.”

“Monkey,” Leah’s voice softened instantly, “She’s not going to forget who you are. She’ll still remember her big sister.”

“She’s just a baby,” Your voice cracked, “Babies forget things.”

Silence stretched between you. Then, the call flickered into a FaceTime request. You accepted it without hesitation, and the screen filled with Buddy’s tiny face. She was clutching your old stuffed monkey, babbling your name like it was the only word she knew.

Leah smiled, tilting the camera, “Someone’s missing their big sister. She won’t let go of it,” She teased, her voice warm, “Does this look like’s forgetting you anytime soon?”

Your throat tightened, eyes burning as you fought back tears, “That’s not fair,” You mumbled, voice thick, “You can’t just make me cry like this.”

Leah’s smile softened, “It’s just this season, my girl. You’ll be back home in London before you know it.”

That season felt like an eternity.

© scribblesofagooonerr

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

wake up call

Summary: Joel was looking forward to a blissfuly at least 10 hours of sleep after being on patrol non stop for a week. Confused after waking up after only a couple of hours he is beyond pissed once he finds out it's a lawnmower of all things that woke him up twenty years into the apocalypse. And he sure as hell is gonna let his neighbour know how he feels about that, no matter how good she looks in those leggings.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.2k

Raiting: T

Warnings: lawnmowers at 7 am, a very sleep deprived Joel Miller, yelling, yelling while naked, Joel being kind of a dick but making up for it, tension, flirting, one or two inappropriate thoughts, it's pretty tame tbh

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Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

Joel was beyond exhausted. 

With a group of raiders getting a little too close to Jackson than they liked, the last week had been non stop patrol with only little sleep. 

But yesterday, finally, they had gotten the group taken care off and Joel had gotten home at 3 am, intending to not leave his bed until at least noon. He had checked on Ellie who was passed out asleep in her bed, the book she had been reading fallen out of her hands, now laying on the floor. He had picked it up, tucked her in and turned off the lamp on her bed side table, releasing a long, tired sigh as he made his way towards his room afterwards. 

Within fifteen minutes he had taken a quick shower, making sure to use the blackout curtains he had found in the basement a month earlier, before he passed out in his bed, in a blissful, dreamless sleep. 

A sleep that ended way earlier than he anticipated. With his eyes still closed, he turned from his belly on his back, eyes slowly blinking open with a frown. 

The red digits of the clock on his bedside table glaring at him at 6:58 am (or whatever time it actually was. The satellite to the clock probably having died a long time ago)

He threw an arm over his eyes, slivers of light coming though his curtains, the day outside slowly starting while he wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep. 

Why did he wake up?

Eyes dropping back closed, he was about to turn to his side, pulling his blanket up when he heard it. 

A noise. 

A low hum that he couldn’t place at first. 

He searched his brain, the noise somehow familiar much like the annoyance that came with it. 

A sound from another time. 

A time where he also tried to sleep in, only for his little girl to climb into his bed, equally grumpy about being woken up by the same noise he was hearing now. 

Back then it was the Adlers impeccable timing of mowing their lawn precisely at 7 am every Saturday morning, even though the could have done it any other day of the week. Still, instead of using the time they were at home all week while the rest of the population went to work, like clockwork, they would mow their lawn every Saturday at 7 am sharp. 

„What the fuck?“ He whispered to himself, turning his head towards the window as if he could see through the curtain what was going on outside. 

It was twenty fucking years into the end of the world, who was mowing their lawn at 7 am on his day off?

With a mood worse than when Tommy had crashed Joel’s first car before the outbreak he got out of the bed, naked as he had fallen asleep with a groan, stomping towards his window. He ripped the curtains apart, eyes squinting from how bright it was on this summer morning already when his eyes finally fell on who was the culprit in his sleepy plans. 

You. 

His new neighbour. 

He had seen you in passing a couple of times since you got here. 

Maria had told him you had fled from a year long capture of some slavers, urging him to take it easy on you and not be his usual asshole self with being new neighbours and all. 

He had scowled all the way back home.

It had not been his fault that the men who had lived in your house before had been a fucking creep. He had to punch him in the face. Really. 

Taking a deep calming breath he looked down towards your backyard now, his bedroom window facing it, giving him the perfect view on whatever the hell you were doing. 

He noticed that the garden looked well taken care off now, not like the jungle like garden he had in the back of his house. You had cut down some trees, getting rid of some bushes. There were some flowers blooming close to the fence, but in the middle was you. 

Wearing what looked like leggings and a baby pink tank top, pushing a fucking lawnmower through the knee high grass. 

The picture was so foreign to him, he forgot why he was mad for a second. 

It was the lawnmower throwing him off, of course. Or the way you seemed to have no idea how to mow the lawn in the first place, going through your garden in pure chaos. 

It wasn’t you in that outfit that hugged every curve of your body like a second skin. It wasn’t the way he could see the sweat running down your neck even from how far away he was standing as you pushed the mower through your garden. And it definitely wasn’t how your ass looked when you bend down to reach for something, his cock twitching in interest he ignored. 

No.

It was the fucking lawnmower.

Before he knew what he was doing he had ripped the window open. 

„What the fuck are you doing? You want us all to get killed just to have an English fucking lawn?“ He yelled loudly, internally cringing at the way he saw you jump before your head snapped towards him. The noise of the lawnmower stopped and you brought one of your glove covered hands up to shield your eyes from the sun as you looked up. 

He didn’t see the way your eyes widened to not only see him, but to see him as naked as the day he was born standing in his bedroom window. 

„Good morning to you too!“ You yelled back and Joel felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. 

„Stop this fucking nonsense, or I will,“ he said with a huff and now he saw you roll your eyes. 

„Just so you know, I got permission to use it form the council. Fixed the lawnmower myself,“ you said almost proudly, your eyes finally drifting away from his impressive manhood, looking at his garden. 

„Think your garden could use it too,“ you said, before you looked up at him again. 

„I mean it, stop it, or I will,“ he warned before he closed his window and the curtains again. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, his breathing rapid as he tried to calm down, agitated about the audacity of the woman living next to him. 

And what if she had the permission for this nonsense? But to do it at 7 am? 

He released a long breath before he padded over to his little ensuite bathroom, doing his business before he got back into bed, intending to fall back asleep again when the noise outside started again. 

He could let this go. Turn around, hide his head under his pillow and fall asleep. 

Hell, he slept through much worse things since the outbreak started and even before. 

Instead he got up, threw the curtains and window open and yelled:

„Get that fucking thing off!“ 

This time you didn’t even look at him. But you did react, holding one of your hands up, giving him your middle finger while you continued to mow the lawn, seemingly without any plan what you were doing. 

„Fuck this,“ he hissed to himself, before he turned away from the window and searched for his clothes. 

You were getting the hang of this thing, when you saw something move beside you. Turning your head around your eyes widened when you saw your neighbour walk towards you, this time dressed, but no less handsome. 

Making sure to turn the lawnmower off you took a deep breath before you turned fully towards him, ready to argue with him some more when he held one of his hand up in surrender. 

„Let me mow the fucking lawn so I can go back to sleep. I got home from patrol at 3 am. I just wanna sleep and I can’t do this with whatever it is you think you’re doing here,“ he said and your mouth dropped open in offence, ready to argue with him when you noticed the dark circles under his eyes. 

You had heard about the group of raiders that had been threatening the town these last weeks. And you knew you neighbour Joel Miller, even though you hadn’t really talked to him before, was in charge of leading patrol. 

And yeah, maybe it was a dick move to test the lawnmower at 7 am but the last week had been so hot and you had been so excited to finally got the permission to try it out, since construction was working outside of the wall today and would be able to keep an eye on anyone who could have heard you make this noise that you wanted to take care of this before the heat got worse. 

„I’m…. It’s okay. I’ll stop. I didn’t realise….“ you stumbled over your words and Joel stepped closer, making your breath hitch as you tilted your head up to look at him. 

„Please. As an apology. Lemme mow your lawn,“ he said, head tilted as he looked down at you with those big brown eyes and you felt yourself take a step back, almost stumbling over your own feet when he gave you a small smile. 

Joel on the other side flexed his fingers as he walked past you before his hand gripped the handle of the lawnmower, knuckles almost turning white as he inhaled the soft scent of lavender you carried with you. 

„I’ll…. I’ll get you some coffee,“ you mumbled and he raised one eyebrow as he looked at you, already feeling the sweat run down his back from the way the sun was burning down at him. 

„You have coffee?“ He started the lawnmower and you nodded. 

„Might make me less of an asshole once I had one,“ he joked, winking at you and you felt yourself smile while your cheeks flushed. 

„That’s all it takes? A coffee to tame the asshole?“ You teased and his shoulders shook with a huff. 

„I said might. Guess we gonna find out once I had it,“ he said before he turned his head from you and started going in straight lines through your garden. 

And you watched him. Watched him as you walked inside. Watched him as you made the coffee. Watched him as you cut down a piece of the lemon cake you had made the day before. Watched him as he pulled at the front of his shirt to wipe away some sweat from his forehead giving you a nice view of the chest and the little trail of hair leading down towards his groin< you had seen earlier when he yelled down at you. 

You set everything up on the small table on your back porch, thankful that it sat under a tree, giving you some shade. 

Faster than you would ever been he was finished with the whole yard, rolling the lawnmower towards the little shed you had found it in before he walked towards your house and up to your back porch. He was sweating profusely and for some reason you thought about how it would taste when you liked it off of him. 

Shaking your head you smiled thankful at him when he let himself sit down across from you, reaching for the coffee. 

„Fuck, that’s good,“ he moaned after the first sip of coffee and you clenched your thighs at his tone. 

„Good enough to get rid of the asshole?“ You asked with a smirk and he shook his head with a small grin. 

„I’m sorry for yelling. I’d say I’m not usually like that but I’d be lyin’“ he said and you laughed. 

„At least you’re honest,“ you said and he sighed, reaching for the piece of cake, before he almost inhaled it. 

„Fuck, that was delicious,“ he groaned and you smiled. 

„I’m glad. It’s a sorry and a thank you,“ you said and he nodded, before he got up with a groan. 

„Just doing some neighbourly things. Don’t have the best track record with being a people person,“ he shrugged as he walked down your back porch. 

„Still, thank you. You got it done much faster than I would and now you can go back to sleep and I promise I won’t wake you,“ you smiled as you followed him. 

„Much appreciated, darlin’,“ he said. 

You sucked your bottom lip in as you looked after him. 

„Though if you feel the need to yell at me again, do it from your bedroom window again…“ You said and he turned to look at you, frowning.

„I enjoyed the view,“ you winked and it took a couple of seconds before his eyes widened, finally realising he had been completely naked and you most likely got a full view of his junk. 

He gulped, before he hummed. 

„That so?“ He asked and you nodded. 

„I’ll keep that in mind, darlin’“ he winked with a small smirk, before he made his way back to his house where he took a shower and moaned your name as he jerked off thinking about what your body looked like beneath the tight clothes you had been wearing today. 

Before he finally, finally got to bed and slept. 

[whoreforsexymen]

Hi, love! This request is for prompt #34 on your list ("That's not nearly desperate enough."). I saw a post saying how Jayce gives off major girl dad vibes, and needless to say I've been thinking about it relentlessly. Because you cannot tell me that man does not have some form of breeding kink

So I was thinking, potentially in the middle of sex or not— your choice, Jayce says one thing or another about wanting a baby. It's the reader who basically makes him beg for it. Not because they need convincing, but because they are simply a little shit. Thus comes the "That's not nearly desperate enough." Upon a fine amount of begging and those damn eyes of his

Then, depending on which route you go with how this ensues, perhaps the following smut of the reader showing Jayce some mercy. Thanks!

Beg | Jayce Talis

Pairings: Jayce Talis x Fem!Reader

Pronouns: None used, but AFAB anatomy descriptions!

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked!

Word Count: 2.2k

Tags: Breeding Kink, Sub!Jayce (kinda), Power Bottoming (kinda), Fingering

Summary: You make Jayce beg to cum inside you :)

Notes: Prompt List, (Prompts used below)!! Decided to combine these two asks!! Enjoy, my lovelies <3

1. “Stop looking at me like that or else I’m gonna cum too fast.”

9. “That’s a bold decision, considering how I’m balls deep in you right now.”

34. “That’s not nearly desperate enough.”

“Stop looking at me like that, or else I’m gonna cum too fast…” Jayce’s voice was low, trembling with strain as his hips faltered against yours. The heat of his confession spilled into the air between you, thick and heavy, like the tension that coiled in his chest and knotted in his stomach. His breaths came in shallow gasps, his control slipping with every passing second under the weight of your gaze—sharp, hungry, and devastatingly unintentional.

You smirked, slow and wicked, as though savoring the power you held over him. Leaning in, your eyes locked onto his with a deliberate, sultry focus that made his pulse thunder in his ears. The intensity in your gaze was an artful torment, a silent promise to draw him out, to unravel him completely. His admission had emboldened you, as though he had handed you the exact weapon with which to ruin him. You tilted your head ever so slightly, the subtle motion laced with playful cruelty, shaking it softly, as if to say you have no plans to ever stop.

Jayce’s breath hitched as he bit down hard on his bottom lip, his last-ditch effort to stifle the tidal wave building within him. The heat radiating from your body, the way your lips curved into that knowing smile, the way your eyes burned into his soul—all of it was too much. His hands gripped at the sheets like a lifeline, his knuckles whitening with the effort it took to hold back. But there was no sanctuary here, no reprieve from the way you looked at him.

Your eyes—Gods, your eyes—they were his damnation and his salvation. They held a power over him that was almost supernatural, stripping him of every wall, every defense, leaving him raw and exposed in their glow. They spoke volumes without uttering a word, a language of seduction that rendered him powerless.

It wasn’t just the way you looked at him—it was what you looked at him with. That simmering desire, the cruel teasing, the unspoken promise that you wouldn’t stop until he faltered, or crumbled completely. It tested him, pushed him to limits he never thought existed, made his composure feel like a delicate, fragile thing.

And as the pit in his stomach burned hotter, as his muscles tensed and his restraint frayed to the brink, Jayce realized that no matter how hard he fought it, he wasn’t losing to you—he was giving himself over willingly. Piece by piece, shudder by shudder, your gaze was swallowing him whole, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

”That’s a bold decision, considering how I’m balls deep in you right now,” he managed to groan out, his voice thick with strain as his hips stammered against yours. Each thrust was a testament to his unraveling restraint, his body caught between fervent need and the thin threads of control. He drove into you with everything he had, every ounce of strength dedicated to holding back the inevitable—keeping the essence of his soul from spilling over and claiming you completely.

“Might not have enough time to pull out,” he whined, his voice trembling with hesitation. The words were a warning, but they came coated in something deeper, something darker—a want he couldn’t quite mask. The cracks in his resolve were widening, and beneath his deceiving cadence lay a silent plea for permission to let go, to give in to the primal urge clawing at his chest.

“Then don’t,” you said simply, your voice calm, steady, as if the words were inconsequential. As if they weren’t coated in such hefty meaning. You delivered them with a quiet finality, as though their weight were nonexistent—like they weren’t a succulent worm on a hook, the chain pulling him deeper into you.

But they were. They hit him with a force that stole the very breath from his lungs, his hips sputtering for the briefest moment before resuming their feverish pace. The simplicity of your words belied their gravity, and yet, he felt it. Felt the command, the invitation, the absolution in them. You weren’t just permitting his surrender—you were demanding it, and he knew he couldn’t refuse. Not when the heat of your body surrounded him, not when the depths of your voice ignited something cardinal within him. Something fundamental.

Jayce let out a guttural sound, a jumbled mix of restraint and surrender, as his body moved on instinct, his mind clouded by the smoke of a blaze you’d set in him. There was no hesitation left, no question of what would come next—only the inevitability of his complete and outright submission in your arms.

“I… I don’t think I heard you right…” Jayce muttered, his breath ragged and uneven. He searched your eyes, desperate to confirm if he had truly heard those words—or if his mind was playing tricks on him.

“I said,” you murmured, your voice low and deliberate, leaning in until your lips nearly brushed his.

“Don’t.”

The word hung between you like a spark, igniting the air. You captured his lips in a searing kiss, neediness bleeding into every movement. Your legs tightened around his waist, the press of your bodies perfectly attuned to the rhythm you shared. Muscles flexed and tensed in harmony, a symphony of heat and tenacity that left no room for doubt.

Jayce had heard you loud and clear.

There was no mistaking your words.

“Are you sure…?” he asked, his tone laced with uncertainty. He needed to know if this was just a momentary impulse driven by desire, or if you truly meant it.

You raised a brow, curious about his sudden doubt. Why now, of all times? You had never given him a reason to question you before.

“Yes. But,” you said, a sly smile playing on your lips, “you’ll have to beg for it.”

The words stopped him in his tracks, his confidence faltering. Jayce had never once let himself slip into submission during your most intimate moments. The idea of begging was as foreign to him as Undercity culture.

“Beg…?” he repeated, his voice shaking slightly. A low, guttural moan followed as you rolled your hips to meet one of his thrusts, driving him deeper inside you, a skillful way of coaxing him further and further to the edge of his pleasure.

“Fuck—” he groaned, the sound crude and wanting as he lost his composure quicker than he had found it. His head dipped, his damp forehead pressing into the curve of your neck, seeking solace in the warmth of your skin.

“Yes. Beg,” you demand, your legs tightening their grip around his hips until they tremble under the strain. He’s reaching a depth within you that feels otherworldly, leaving your vision speckled with stars.

“Beg me to let you fuck a life into me,” you command, your voice a mix of authority and unrefined desire.

Jayce’s head snaps up, his gaze locking onto yours with a flash of realization. The unspoken challenge in your eyes—now or never—spurs him forward. Determination floods his features, transforming him into a man with the relentless resolve of someone who has just uncovered the treasure of a lifetime.

Jayce bit down on the inside of his lip, the hesitation lingering for only a cursory moment. This wasn’t a time for half-measures; it had to be all or nothing. Testing the waters now wasn’t an option—not when everything hinged on this.

The thought of you, brimming with his very essence, the force that gave life, shaped flesh, and coursed through veins, sent his mind spiraling. His muscles quivered, his hips ablaze from the unyielding drive he poured into them. Each movement was unyielding, a cycle of sharp thrusts and aching retractions, repeated with merciless precision.

“Nghh– fuck– please.” The words spilled from his lips, raw and desirous, betraying the composure he struggled to maintain.

A laugh bubbles out of you at his first attempt, the sound shaking and breaking as it’s overtaken by the relentless rhythm of his thrusts—each one harder and faster than the last.

“That’s… not nearly desperate enough,” you manage to tease, though your voice wavers, the confidence you’d mustered teetering under the intensity of his pace.

Jayce’s response is a whimper, low and raw, as his lips find your ear. He presses a kiss there, followed by a gentle nip at your earlobe, his breath warm and ragged.

“Please—fuck—please, my love,” he moans, his words trembling with need. The sound of him like this—a rare vulnerability, inherently submissive—sends a jolt through you, igniting something unfamiliar and electrifying.

“I want… No, I need to drench your cunt with my cum until it takes. Until you’re walking around our house, belly all big and round with our baby inside. The baby I put there. The baby I fucked into you.” His gasps grow louder, his chest heaving as his heart pounds, racing to keep up with the demands of his body. You feel every beat, every pulse, as he clings to you, desperate to maintain the rhythm.

“Please, my love. Please, oh please let me fuck this baby into you. Let me fuck it nice and deep into you. Let me fill you full of my cum and watch it drip out of you so I can fuck it back in over and over again.” When his cry breaks the air, it’s raw and guttural, his fingers digging into the sheets so tightly that they slip free from the mattress beneath him.

“I need it, my love. I need it so fucking bad,” he cries out again, his voice breaking as he sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder—a futile attempt to temper the overwhelming tension consuming him.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he pleads, each word punctuated by desperate whines that blend with the raw sound of skin meeting skin.

You can’t hold back your own cries anymore; the relentless rhythm of his thrusts shatters your composure. He’s undeniably desperate now—there’s no question.

“Gods! Jayce! Fuck! Yes!” you scream, your head pressing deeper into the satin pillow beneath you. Your back arches instinctively, curving to meet him as he slams into that exquisitely sensitive spot, over and over again, driving you to the edge of reason.

Jayce knew you were getting as close as he was, but he was always ever-most determined to make you cum before him, or with him.

His teeth leave your shoulder, and he lifts slightly, just enough to slip an arm between your bodies. As his fingers find their mark, Jayce’s gaze locks onto yours. His mouth hangs open, his eyes dark and blown wide, filled with raw, unfiltered desire. Pure, unadulterated lust radiates from him as his touch pushes you closer and closer to the precipice.

He brushes the pads of his fingers against your clit, quickly and effortlessly rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud. He could feel your walls clenching in response, desperate to milk his needy cock dry. Desperate to coax every drop his balls could spare.

Your breath quickens, chest rising and falling in a desperate rhythm, aching to press against his once more—but his arm remains a firm, teasing barrier. His fingers move with a slow, deliberate intent, tracing and circling your clit until pleasure borders on the unbearable.

Just as the sensation threatens to tip into numbness, release strikes like a missile—blazing, unrelenting, precise. It shatters through you, sharp and all-consuming, like a rock splintering glass. Your muscles lock, your body taut with the force of it, nails sinking deep into the firm, heated flesh of his arms.

Jayce’s thrusts grow erratic, each snap of his hips losing precision as desperation takes hold. Hisses and curses spill from his lips, laced with ragged gasps as he pounds into you with fevered urgency.

He’s close—so unbearably close—your walls gripping him like a vice, clenching and pulsing around his throbbing cock. The way you twitch and squeeze him sends his mind spiraling, pleasure coiling tight in his core, spinning his head like a top.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice breaking as he drives deep one final time. His cock pulses, spilling hot, thick cum inside you, filling you to the brim. Strands of it spurt and pool within, coating your cervix as he shudders through the intensity of his orgasm.

He stays buried inside you for a few lingering moments, your breaths falling into sync as the haze of pleasure slowly fades. His body stills, chest rising and falling as he collects himself, savoring the way you feel wrapped around him.

When you finally begin to settle, he pulls out—but before you can catch your breath, his hand drifts lower. Two fingers push deep into your slick heat, thrusting slow and deliberate, gathering every drop of his release and pushing it back inside you.

A cry escapes your lips, hands grasping blindly at the sheets as the pad of his thumb finds your clit once more, circling with torturous precision. Your head lifts, eyes locking with his—dark, hooded, full of wicked intent. A smirk tugs at his lips, lazy yet hungry, as his fingers drive deeper, curling just right, pulling another wave of pleasure from your already spent body. He opens his mouth to speak once more.

“I want a girl.”

[maxiemumdamage]

To me Azula is a tragic character specifically because while she was failed by everyone around her, it also would’ve been unreasonable to expect any of them to save her. Among those who wanted to help her, practically no one had the understanding or power to change her. They couldn’t get Azula to stop being cruel, in large part because they couldn’t change the circumstances that nurtured her worst traits.

Except Ozai obviously. Fuck him. He’s why Azula is like that to begin with. But the power and sway he has over her also made it borderline impossible for anyone else to make her change.

(MUCH more to say about this here:)

People tend to blame Ursa for Azula’s behavior first and foremost. And…yes, Ursa was pretty clearly closer with Zuko than Azula. But of course she was! Ursa’s son was constantly abused and degraded by his father — as per the comics, Ozai outright told Ursa he would do this for all of Zuko’s life in order to hurt his wife. Zuko needed Ursa’s support to have any sense of self-esteem and frankly, for his own safety.

Zuko needed his mother just to be safe and not be alone, while Azula needed her mother for moral education. Even if you don’t think Ursa’s priorities were the right ones…choosing her daughter over her son might not have been enough to change Azula anyway. It would’ve been devastating for Zuko without necessarily improving Azula in any meaningful way, because Ursa didn’t actually have the authority to meaningfully oppose her husband.

By the time it would’ve been evident that Azula had a super skewed moral compass as a result of being around Ozai so much…she still would’ve been like, eight years old max, for one thing. Little kids say and do a lot of fucked up shit, because they don’t understand morals or the world by and by large. For another, once it was obvious she was parroting horrible stuff from her father, Azula also would’ve had no respect for her mother. So what could Ursa do, by the time she realized she needed to do something?

We see in flashbacks that Ursa tried, even when her child didn’t respect her and she couldn’t enforce meaningful consequences for the bad behavior Ozai rewarded. Ursa scolded Azula for saying cruel things. She made Zuko spend time with his sister, rewarding Azula for any moments of kindness or cooperation (even when Azula was just faking it to get an opportunity to bully Zuko and Mai). She tried.

As for Ursa leaving…uh, if she hadn’t, Zuko would have died. He absolutely, 100% would have died if his mother hadn’t cut a deal with Ozai to put him on the throne in exchange for disappearing. She made Azulon and his ultimatum go away because that was necessary to protect Zuko.

Ursa did fail to morally guide her daughter. But to do otherwise would’ve been to neglect her son, then to sign Zuko’s death warrant. I’m not gonna pretend she didn’t choose one kid over the other — I just also think choosing to support the kid whom she knew her husband was mistreating wasn’t necessarily the wrong call.

And even if it was…choosing differently might not have done anything. Because Ursa could only offer affection, while Ozai wielded both the carrot and a stick. Azula would’ve likely still fawned to the more powerful abuser, still learned harmful behavior, and still internalized that her cruelty was not just necessary but acceptable. Rewarded, even.

There’s Iroh to mention as well. He admittedly had a lot more influence and ability to stand up to Ozai than Ursa did, but in fairness…that wasn’t his kid. He had his own son to worry about, and then he was grieving, and then…he chose Zuko too.

For the same reason as Ursa, I don’t quite blame him for it — Zuko needed help much more immediately. When Zuko was banished, Iroh did the right thing by going with. But I do think those in-between years in the palace were a time Iroh (still mourning, but still) had the chance to influence Azula a little. But…

…I’ve seen a post theorizing that Iroh dislikes his niece because she reminds him of who he used to be, and…I think that’s very likely. They’re the golden children of their fathers, the firebending prodigies, the conquerors of Ba Sing Se.

I also think it’s because he and Azula are so alike that he has no idea how to help her.

Iroh didn’t have a moral revelation about the Fire Nation’s conquest, not until it cost him his son’s life. His realization about war being wrong, subsequently becoming more worldly and gaining respect for other cultures, it happened only when the Fire Nation’s system stopped working for him personally. So he wouldn’t know how to make Azula see that system as wrong, to make her change for the better as he did. He can’t recreate his own reasons for changing.

Also, quite frankly — Iroh barely to not at all managed to turn Zuko off the Fire Nation’s propaganda. Zuko always had morals, sure, but he did not have any semblance of the idea that “war (of conquest) is wrong” or even “wow my father is abusive and terrible to me personally” after three years of travel with Iroh. Being an Earth Kingdom refugee and meeting the Gaang was when Zuko really changed. And I think Zuko (who got his face burned off at 13) would probably be a much easier egg to crack on the redemption front than Azula (for whom the cruel and abusive system has always worked, she’s fine with it as long as she’s the one on top).

I also am briefly going off topic here to say…I like the idea of Azula redemption. I agree that she is sometimes condemned too strongly, to harshly, given that she is just a teenage girl. But her youth doesn’t take away from her cruelty. She is someone who knowingly does wrong, because she sees it as a way to protect herself. A meaningful redemption arc for her has to acknowledge that, not just sweep it under the rug by claiming she always loved her victims.

Because yes, Azula’s loved ones who are of a similar age to her but have less power are in fact her victims. They love her, she loves them, but she does hurt them all the same. That also has to be acknowledged in the quest to redeem her.

Zuko and Mai and Ty Lee all flatly have no power over Azula — she has power over them, in fact, thanks to her status as Ozai’s favored child and just as a princess, respectively. Ursa and Iroh were adults who at least wouldn’t be hurt by trying to help Azula, but for her brother and friends? Changing her could be dangerous.

Zuko is nominally safer as the Crown Prince, but…he’s awful at politics and their infinitely more powerful Dad blatantly favors Azula. He can’t stand up to her. And the one time were shown that Ursa, trying to correct Azula’s cruelty, made her son play nice, feels cruel to Zuko. He gets hurt and humiliated for no reason but for his sister’s sake entertainment and (failed) moral education. It’s not his job to redeem his sister.

And then there’s Mai and Ty Lee, who may be nobles, but still can’t do anything to Princess Azula. In fact, even before Mai or Ty Lee have done anything, Azula is threatening their family and bodily safety, respectively, as a loyalty test. They cannot challenge Azula in any meaningful way without endangering their lives and safety. It’s not fair to expect them to fix her.

Who does that leave that Azula is even close to? The Gaang literally know nothing of her but “Zuko’s sister who keeps trying to kill us.” None of the Fire Nation Generals or Nobles will want her to change. Azulon rewarded her bad behavior almost as hard as Ozai. Lo and Li, maybe, but for all they’re the wise old ladies Azula takes advice from, Azula doesn’t actually interact with them very often.

Azula is a tragic character because, while she was a child who should have been redeemed and had better, it makes perfect sense she didn’t. No one could change her. No one could offer a sweeter carrot or bigger stick than Ozai. And by the time he was out of the picture, the story was over.

[sunsetsover]

i wish i wasn't so exhausted because i want nothing more than to sit here and properly pick apart the inherent but unconventional ways their dom/sub dynamic presents itself between kant and bison. bc it's definitely always been there esp in these last few episodes but in episode 10 it was in everything. everything.

the pool scene was obvious. i already pulled that apart. but it was also in the way kant's reaction to being told off for being distracting during the mission was so different from the way bison reacted when kant told him off - bison basically looks like he's indulging a pouting child, while kant's face drops and he gets all sad looking. and it's in how different their reactions were to the being distracted too, how kant whined about how bison had promised not to distracted while bison firmly tells kant off for even trying.

and it's in how pissed and hurt kant when he finally saw bison in that car park - imo not so much because bison had told him they needed to stay away from each other, but because bison had been sneaking around watching kant when kant had no way of seeing bison or knowing he was alright at all, and that was so unfair to him, because that's not how it was supposed to work between them. they had just found their equilibrium and here bison was knocking it off kilter by giving and receiving while simultaneously withholding kant's ability to give and receive back. and that's not how they were supposed to work.

and it's in how silly kant was. how rambly and cute when he talked about the titanic experiment he saw or when he tried to get bison to reenact the king of the world scene. but also the way kant was just a brat the entire episode - going kinda rogue while on mission and mentioning the narc thing when he knows it pisses bison off and constantly pushing and pushing and pushing bison to find where the line is where bison will stop indulging him and start reprimanding him.

and it's the way bison does reprimand him and how kant listens. and it's in the way kant's eyes got all big and pleading when bison got all pissy and asked him if he wanted another scratch - and dare i say that and the pool scene were the first real little glimpses we see of what kant's like in actual subspace. and it's in the way you see bison notice that and realise kant's reacting positively, and how he reacts to that reaction with clear desire, but also decides to store that info away as opposed to acting on it bc it's not the time or place.

and most of all it's in kant asking bison to teach him to be like him. in kant handing himself over to bison the assassin and going 'use me. please please make use of me. mould me into a weapon you can wield.' and bison refusing to do that. refusing to make a killer of the boy he loves. in bison knowing kant's limit when kant doesn't and not crossing it. of protecting him from himself. but also making use of him anyway. knowing kant well enough to know that that's what he needed. to be used. because being used is being useful, and being useful is what kant has learned will have him kept around. and bc right now they don't have the time or spare energy to start unpicking that knot, bison meets it where it is: he finds uses for kant while also doing everything he possibly can to give kant agency and control: you don't have to do this. i can take it from here. will you help me with one more thing?

i know i've missed so much that i will kick myself for later. i also know this is incoherent. i've got maybe 10 hours of sleep in the past week. but i can't stop thinking about this fucking dynamic. it's so unique and yet so well defined in what it is. and i know the people that don't get that dynamic won't get what i'm trying to point at with this post. and tbh i get it! as obvious as it is there's also something elusive about it! it reminds me of that kaveh akbar quote where he's says trying to describe god is like trying to imagine a bladeless knife with no handle. the more language you try to put to kant and bison's dynamic, the more it recedes from view.

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven’t seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter two

⭐︎ can you see right through me?

Warnings: angst, misunderstandings, post apocalypse, gore, mentions of death, grumpy!steve, grumpy x sunshine

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 5k+

Summary: You didn’t think that trying to get close to Steve would end up hurting your feelings — but you also didn’t expect to get a glimpse of who he once was, before the darkness of this world dimmed the light in his eyes.

Authors note: Buckle up for the next chapter y’all, it’s gonna be something. always a shoutout to @hellfire--cult who always takes her time to edit and write with me 🩷

⭐︎ series masterlist

⭐︎ prologue ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

On the first day of your official stay in Hawkins, Nancy took you to the greenhouse, you spent all day gardening, taking care of the crops, watering vegetables and fruit, picking the ripe ones and planting new seeds – it amazed you how well everything was growing, you didn’t think that it would be possible after seeing the effects this world had on nature but you suppose that miracles exist after all. 

By the end of the day, your knees hurt, your hands felt sore and there was too much soil and dirt under your fingernails, not that you would ever complain, you haven’t felt as much happiness as you did when Steve told you that you were allowed to stay since… well, since your college acceptance letter and that is too long ago. 

On your second you cooked french toast with leftover bread that Nancy had made the day before, using fresh eggs – you were surprised when you found out about the little stable with chickens behind the garden, you thought most animals had died. You made ratatouille for dinner, using the freshly picked vegetables from the greenhouse. Nancy and Eddie had complimented your cooking skills, though the reaction you were mostly looking forward to was Steve’s, he only hummed in approval and he got a second plate, you took that as a good sign. 

Today, you haven’t been assigned to any tasks yet and you don’t exactly know what to do when you walk down the stairs to find the house empty, well, mostly empty. There are no signs of Eddie and Nancy, you don’t hear him humming, you don’t hear her walking around in the kitchen or somewhere else, the only one around is Steve. He is in the living room, standing in front of the window, holding a cup in one hand while the other is propped against his hip. 

The smell of coffee lingers in the air, it must be his third cup, he already had one before breakfast, another during it. You wonder if he is just addicted to the bitterness of it – it certainly matches his attitude. Or if he is just tired and in need of something to keep him awake, you have a feeling that he doesn’t sleep much. 

“Where’s everyone?” 

Steve doesn’t even flinch, he heard you walking down the stairs, he felt your eyes on him. 

“Eddie is working on the RV,” he grumbles, still not fond of the idea of leaving, nothing will change his mind, he is just waiting for his friends to drop it. “Nancy is with him.”

You nod even though he can’t see you. You look around, still holding onto the railing of the stairs. The house is spotless, clean, not a single grain of dust lying around. Eddie is cooking dinner tonight, so there isn’t anything for you to do around here. 

Steve takes one last sip and then he puts the mug on the coffee table, not even glancing at you as he turns around and reaches for the gear he had left by the doorway. He puts the gun into his holster, secures the walkie into his belt and lastly he picks up his rifle before he starts making his way over to the door. 

“Wait, where are you going?” You ask, not hesitating to follow him. 

“Patrol.” 

You furrow your eyebrows at him, shaking your head, “I thought you said it’s a two man job.” 

He rolls his eyes and stops walking, turning around, he looks down at you, “Eddie and Nancy are busy–”

“I’m not,” you shrug, giving him a smug smile, knowing that he isn’t fond of your company. “I’m coming with you.”

“Can’t you find something else to do–”

“No, I cannot.” You interrupt him as you reach for the door knob and open it, “can’t let you break the rule and let you go out there by yourself, who knows what you might run into. I’m gonna keep an eye out for you, maybe you’ll get distracted with your shoelaces again!” 

Steve huffs, clenching his jaw. His eyes move up and down your body, eying your belt, the knives tucked into it, the gun in your thigh holster – he has a hard time believing that any of those things have been used by your hands, you couldn’t even kill the man that had attacked you when you had the chance to – he heard your conversation with Eddie that night, heard what happened, what almost happened to you, you could have killed that man, you should have, but you didn’t. 

People like you are not made for this world, it will get you sooner or later. 

“Like you’d be able to do anything,” he murmurs under his breath as he steps out onto the porch and shuts the door behind him. 

“What was that?” You turn around to face him. 

“Nothing.” 

Steve brushes past you, not glancing at you but motioning with his hand for you to follow him, “c’mon.” He makes big steps, fast ones too, forcing you to catch up with him when he is already past the gate and out on the road, walking down the empty street, he ignores the way your footsteps get louder as you hurry to get to his side. 

“Jesus, slow down, cowboy.” 

Steve scrunches his nose up, furrowing his eyebrows at the nickname you have just called him by. 

“Cowboy?” He scoffs as he turns to look at you to see you nodding already, a small but smug smile on your lips, though you look right ahead and not at him. “Why, cowboy?” 

“You’re so grumpy and brooding.”

He scoffs again, like you said something crazy, like you didn’t say the truth. 

“Who says that cowboys are grumpy and brooding?” 

You shrug, “there’s two types of cowboys, the flirty funny ones and the grumpy, brooding ones!”

Steve looks away from you, shaking his head a little. He can’t fight you, knowing you’re right about one thing, he is grumpy. He no longer is the guy he was before all of this, this world that has changed him, and not for the better. He was forced to kill the boy in him when he realized how much he was hurting someone he once loved dearly, he became better, he became a good guy but that guy got his heart broken – that was for the better, as much as it hurt at that time, it was for the better. He became better, he stopped caring about what other people thought of him, he found new friends, he found a best friend, his soulmate. 

Robin.

Robin made his world a better place, she fixed his broken heart, she taught him what it was like to have a real friend, an actual best friend. She taught him that love didn’t always have to be romantic, that it could be platonic and that this love could be just as strong as any other. 

They had so many plans for the future: leave Hawkins, live in a big city, get a place, figure out a future together. 

But then this happened, the world got uglier than before, evil. Their plans got crushed and they were ripped apart. She changed and he did too, and now he can’t be with her whenever he wants, too many things are in the way. 

This world had forced him to kill the person he was before all this, he was forced to kill himself a second time. 

Steve looks back at you, you don’t seem fazed by this world at all. You’ve been attacked not too long ago and not even that has fazed you, he doesn’t know you, doesn’t know half of your story and all the things you have been through since the day the world had gone to shit but from what he heard, you have seen – encountered some ugly things out there and yet there is something about you, something pure, something… good, something he didn’t think was still out there but he can see it. 

He can see it in your eyes, no ounce of hatred resides in them, only goodness, hope that should not even be a thing in this world. You are the complete opposite of him, you are bright, so bright that it almost blinds him, you are all smiles and giggles – and you are so goddamn talkative. 

Thirty minutes into patrolling and he fears his ear might fall off from listening to you jumping from one topic to another. So far you have talked about all your favorite movies, bands and books, told him of a specific cowboy character that he reminds you of before saying how much he looks like Patrick Swayze or well, how much his hair looks like Patrick Swayze’s. 

You are chattering away, not minding the huffs and sighs that keep falling from his mouth, a signal for you to just shut up. He begins to regret his decision to let you stay. 

“I think I made a grave mistake.” He murmurs as he looks around the empty neighbourhood, looking out for any signs of monsters or sick ones. 

“What?”

“Nothing. Do you ever shut up?” 

To his surprise, you do shut up and for a moment the only thing heard are yours and his footsteps and the leaves rustling from the wind. With a heavy sigh, he turns to look at you. You are pressing your lips together, looking down at the asphalt. He turns away again in satisfaction, enjoying the silence… the silence that doesn’t last long. 

“You called the monster demobat before, what does that mean?”

He restrains his eye roll, tries not to clench his jaw. 

“Uh…” He pauses, he keeps forgetting that the world doesn’t call the monsters by the names the teens have given them. “Eddie is a fan of a game and he used a name from there to name them…” He cringes at himself. 

“Oh!” You say in that voice, the one that pisses him off, the cheerful one. “What game?”

“Dungeons and Dragons.” He replies, hoping that answer is satisfying enough and you finally give him some peace. 

“Do you play?” 

Steve sighs, tightening his hold on the rifle in his hands. It was a mistake to let you come with him, he hates talking, hates answering questions, hates company. 

“No.”

You furrow your eyebrows, tilting your head at him. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t have the patience to learn all of that,” he shrugs. 

“Why?” 

Steve takes a deep breath, he is getting irritated by all your questions but he still turns to you, scrunching his face up as he shrugs again, “I-I don’t know, I don’t wanna be a nerd like him?”

You raise your eyebrows, lips parting, your head is still tilted – you look like a fucking curious puppy, he has to look away. He almost sighs in relief when he sees the house at the end of the road. 

“It’s a nerd game?”

He huffs loudly, glaring at nothing in particular, “seriously, can you keep quiet for more than two seconds!?” He snaps at you, forcing you to be quiet… for a moment. 

He counts the seconds, one… two… You are quiet, it’s almost nice to enjoy the silence again, almost. 

He hears you taking a deep breath. 

“What was your job before the world ended? Cop?” 

Three seconds. Three fucking seconds. 

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs under his breath and he finally stops walking, looking up at the sky, he places his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath before he turns to face you. 

You halt in your tracks and turn to face him as well, taking in the sight of his deep frown, of the irritation in his hazel eyes and the annoyance that radiates right off him. You almost get nervous, almost. 

“What the fuck,” he grumbles at you, “are you always this talkative?” He asks, stunned. He will be forced to get used to this. 

“You don’t ask me anything, so I have to make conversation,” you shrug, pulling your hands up in front of you, “I haven’t had a good talk in months, I have pent up words.” 

And you chose him out of… three people – that is… he doesn’t know what to think of this. 

“Yeah, Eddie is the best choice for this, not me.” 

The frown on your face says otherwise, your eyes move up and down before they stop at his face again, he doesn’t know what you are exactly looking at or searching for but he needs you to stop. He shifts and huffs again, tapping his fingers against the rifle that he holds on for dear life. 

“But I want to talk to you.” 

He blinks, staring at you like he didn’t understand what you just said, he tries not to look at anything but your eyes.

“Horrible decision.” 

You break eye contact, looking away to take in the view around you, you sigh at his words and shrug before you continue walking, making him follow you this time. 

“I don’t think so.” You pause and look back over your shoulder to see if he is following. “Don’t you have any questions for me?”

“Uh…”

He does. 

But he won’t ask. He can’t. He just can’t, the less he knows the better. 

He looks down awkwardly, clearing his throat, “how old are you?” 

This time you scoff and shake your head at him, “seriously?” 

“What?” He frowns, looking up to see you staring at him with a confused pout – jesus christ. 

You sigh and roll your eyes, of course he asks the most boring question. 

"Twenty-two."

His eyes widen and his lips part – this might be the first other expression you see on his face other than the constant frown. He stares like you have grown two heads. 

“You’re a fucking year older than me!?” 

Oh. 

Oh… 

You didn’t expect to be older than him either, though you aren’t as surprised as he is, he looks shocked even. He stops walking again, you do too. 

“So… what about it…?” You ask quietly, lifting your shoulders.

Steve notices the unsure look on your face, the way your eyes move back and forth between his own and the ground, the way you cross your arms over your chest, like you are suddenly insecure.

He clears his throat, straightening up as he blinks himself out of his stupor. 

“I… nothing. Nevermind.” He retorts, ready to drop that topic. 

“No, tell me.” 

For some reason, he can’t look at you when he opens his mouth again. 

“You don’t act your age.”

“Oh?” Your voice is suddenly higher than before, hopeful, “do I act older?” 

He pulls his brows together, not looking at you yet, finding the ground beneath him very interesting all the sudden. 

“...Sure.” 

You don’t reply this time, don’t say anything to it, don’t ask any more questions, you simply turn around after a beat of silence, you start walking again, giving him your back. 

He counts the seconds, one… two… three. You give him the silence that he wanted this whole time. You don’t look at him either. He got what he wanted but when the awkwardness fills the space between you both, he suddenly feels a sliver of guilt rising up in him, he knows he must’ve hit a sore spot and he can’t help but kick himself for it. 

A part of him wants to apologize, the other wants him to stay quiet – the stronger side wins though. 

“I uh–”

Though you don’t give him the chance to keep going, you pick up your pace when you see Nancy on the porch, walking away from him quickly, not wanting to spend another second beside him. 

He watches you basically flee from him, it makes him sigh and it makes him halt in his tracks. Frustration bubbling up inside of him, a voice in his head calling him ‘dumbass’. He sighs softly, brings his hand up to his head, he runs his fingers through it nervously. 

He hit a sore spot, one that made you stop talking to him, one that prevented him from finding out more about you. 

It’s for the better. 

Yeah, he knows it’s for the better. 

-

Eddie cooked dinner and Nancy set the table tonight, neither of them noticed the lack of attention you were giving to the man sitting across from you or how he kept looking at you, not with hatred or anger in his eyes but with guilt. 

He hates that feeling, he hates feeling guilt or regret towards someone he barely knows, towards someone he does not want to let in. He knows that he hurt you with what he said, with how he reacted, he didn’t mean to, he couldn’t have known either – he didn’t react badly, he thought, and yet it shut you up and it made you stop looking at him. 

It’s for the better. He kept telling that to himself, kept repeating it in his head, over and over again until he could no longer stand these words. 

He notices that your plate is still filled with food, you only ate half of it. The whole time you sat there and pushed around the vegetables on your plate, you looked a little lost, your eyes were troubled, you looked far gone, like you weren’t at the table. Nancy and Eddie didn’t notice as they were busy talking about some news Dustin had shared from the radio station earlier. 

“You’re gonna like Dustin,” Eddie says, nudging your shoulder. 

Steve watches the way you blink, the way you plaster a smile on your face before you look at Eddie. 

Nancy hums, nodding, “yeah, he was always my favorite out of my brother’s friends.” 

You squint your eyes, like you are trying to remember something, “your brother is… Mike, right?” 

“Yeah, hold on!” She gets up all the sudden, walking away from the table and out of the room, she comes back a moment later with a book in her hand – a photo album. She sits back down beside you and pushes away her empty plate before she slams the album on the table and opens it, flipping the pages, she furrows her eyebrows as she looks for a certain picture, “wait… there it is!” 

She points at the picture of a group of four boys, dressed in Ghostbusters costumes. A smile instantly appears on your face and your eyes light up, “aw! They’re little Ghostbusters!” 

Eddie chuckles at the picture, even Steve smiles but you don’t notice. 

“That’s Mike,” she points at her brother, before she moves her finger to the boys next to him, “that’s Will and Lucas, and lastly that is Dustin!” She points at the curly haired boy. 

“Adorable,” you smile, thinking of your own brother. “My brother loves Ghostbusters too, although he’s way older than they are.” You chuckle. 

Steve’s eyes are back on you, he didn’t know you had a brother… but then again, he doesn’t know anything about you. It’s for the better. 

“Well, that was a few years back, they’re not the tiny humans they used to be,” Nancy laughs sadly. She flips to the next page, “that’s them now – or well, that was them before the world went to shit, I’m sure Mike is even taller now and his hair is longer too.”

The picture shows them at a skatepark, Dustin is grinning into the camera, Mike’s arms are crossed, a grumpy look resting on his face, Will is smiling, Lucas is looking down at the girl leaning into his side. 

“That’s Max,” Eddie points at the redhead, “she’s kinda scary.” 

You giggle at the serious tone in his voice. 

“I have to agree with that.” Steve snorts, earning a short glance from you. He pulls his sleeves up and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Your eyes lock with his for a moment, though you quickly look back down.

There is another picture of Mike and Dustin, both of them wearing the same shirt – The Hellfire Club. 

“What’s that?” You point at their matching shirts to which Eddie straightens up in his seat, already grinning. 

Nancy and Steve groan at him, causing you to frown. 

“I’m glad you asked, sweetheart.” He pauses, looking at Steve smugly. 

“That was his nerdy game club that I told you about before,” he rolls his eyes. 

“You didn’t tell me he had a club!” 

“Shame on you, Harrington. It was the best thing to ever exist beside Corroded Coffin, of course.” 

You know all about Eddie’s band already, he told you about it on your first night here, and showed you pictures of his sweetheart. 

“I beg to differ–”

Nancy sighs loudly beside you, leaning back in her chair as she prepares herself for their banter. 

“Dustin, my buddy, was very passionate about the club.” Eddie grins. 

“Oh yeah, that little nerd you stole from me?” Steve retorts, squinting his eyes at the metalhead. 

“I didn’t steal him, I’m just cooler than you, Harrington–”

“You– You literally play a boardgame, how is that cool? I was prom king!” 

“Oh my god,” Nancy mumbles, shaking her head. 

Her reaction tells you that she is used to this, and sick of it. 

You though, you can’t help but be amused, looking back and forth between them. 

“Cry me a river, Henderson thinks I’m better, in fact, all teens do.” Eddie shrugs and reaches for his beer. 

“Except Lucas,” Steve smirks. 

Eddie nearly chokes on his beer when he straightens up in his seat, “I apologized!” 

Steve shrugs at him this time, taking a sip of the whiskey he poured himself earlier. 

“What about you, sweets?” Eddie asks, turning to look at you, “what did you do in high school?”

Nancy turns to you, as well as Steve – and suddenly all eyes are on you and you can’t help but feel a little flustered beneath their gazes. 

“I uh… I was prom queen…” You admit shyly, not looking at the hazel eyes that stare at you intensely.

Eddie’s eyes widen, “oh, we have royalty up in here, Wheeler.” 

Nancy giggles at his reaction, more so at the look on your face. She’s not surprised, you’re beautiful and sweet. 

“You were prom queen?” 

Out of the three people around you, you least expected him to ask you anything, but just like before, the tone in his voice, his reaction leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You slowly look up at him. 

“You sound surprised and I’m kinda offended. Am I that ugly?” you joke but he notices how your shoulders fall a little. 

His cheeks heat up and he wants nothing more than to roll his eyes at Nancy’s and Eddie’s judging faces towards him. He shakes his head at you, “I– no, I didn’t mean that… I mean it’s not all about looks anyways.” 

You purse your lips and furrow your eyebrows at his words, taking a deep breath, “...so I am ugly?”

Nancy huffs beside you, glaring daggers into Steve. 

“I didn’t say that, I’m just saying that apart from looks… people vote for nice people,” he mumbles, shifting in his seat and under your gaze. 

Nancy is back to pinching the bridge of her nose, begging him with her eyes to just shut up. 

If only you looked to your right, you would have seen the stunned and comical look on Eddie’s face. 

“So you’re saying I’m nice?” You tilt your head at Steve, growing a little satisfied with the way he is squirming around. 

He sighs, clenching his jaw and turns away from you, “I’m done with this conversation.” 

“...You were a fucking asshole in high school. You got prom king because Billy was a bigger asshole.” 

“Were?” You blurt out, making him look back at you stunned. 

Nancy hides her giggle with a cough, earning a glare from him. 

“He redeemed himself at Scoops Ahoy,” Eddie smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Scoops Ahoy?” 

Steve shakes his head at him, if looks could kill, Eddie would be lying on the floor, right now. 

“Mhmm,” Eddie nods. “He was an ice cream man, and wore a sailor outfit too.” 

“Wait, what?” You ask, stunned. You can’t even imagine that. “I refuse to picture him in a silly sailor outfit, I need proof or else I won’t believe it.” 

“Too bad. Every picture of me in that outfit is burned.” Steve declares, looking very convinced until he sees the smirk on Nancy’s face.

He clears his throat before he leans closer to the table, “Nancy Wheeler… do you have a fucking picture–”

“No, I was just smiling,” she shrugs but pulls out two pictures from the album and hands them to you, giving him a smug smile.

“No way,” you mumble as you take a good look at them. There he is, the man you thought had a serious job before all of this actually worked at an ice cream shop, wearing a sailor outfit, in the first picture he even wears a silly hat as he serves ice cream to someone not part of the picture. His hair was much shorter back then, so different from the mullet he now has. His eyes are crinkled, his smile so big and bright, his cheeks slightly pink, unlike the pale color in them now. He looked so different, he looked happy, he looked like a different person. 

You glance over at him to find him staring at you already, watching you. His hazel eyes are cold, the frown on his face so deep you are surprised there aren’t any lines on his skin yet, the light in his eyes has faded. There is nothing left of the guy he was before, at least at first glance. 

You look back down and focus on the second picture, placing it on top of the other – it turns out to be a mistake because for some reason, your eyes like what they see, a little too much. With his hands behind his back, he stands against a brick wall, wearing the same sailor outfit, though this time without the hat, his hair styled yet messy, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. You don’t know what it is about that picture, perhaps it’s his broad shoulders, the blonde highlights in his hair, the tanned skin or the way the golden light shines on him but he looks handsome – it’s something you haven’t noticed before, you aren’t blind, he is a good looking man but you couldn’t really see it before, not this clearly at least. His rude and mean attitude made it impossible to see, you couldn’t look past it. 

Your cheeks heat up a little, your ears do too, you sink deeper into your seat, hoping that none of them notice how flustered you feel. 

But Eddie does, he notices the way your eyes are basically glued to that picture, Nancy notices as well – they both glance at each other, amused. And Steve, he notices too, of course he does… The Steve from back then would have loved it, the flustered look on your face. 

As you hold the picture, you notice that the sides are frazzled, like a part is missing, like something or someone was cut out of both pictures. You look over them, taking a look at all the pictures lying around, of the teenagers, of other people you haven’t anything about yet, of Nancy’s family, of Eddie and Dustin and it only now dawns on you, that you stepped into something, that these people haven’t found each other in this world but in the one before – a tight circle, a family. 

A family you don’t belong in, you intruded – and now even more than before, you understand why Steve didn’t want you here, it wasn’t only about him not trusting you, it was about you stepping into something he didn’t want you to be a part of. 

This is his place of comfort that he didn’t want to share with a stranger. 

You hand the picture back to Nancy and reach for the wine Eddie had poured for you earlier, you take a big sip. 

Maybe you should have left when he told you to, maybe you should have done him a favor, you shouldn’t have broken into someone else’s home. 

“Is your brother older or younger?”

It wasn’t Nancy’s voice, nor was it Eddie’s.

It’s Steve’s. 

Not only do you look at him in surprise but also Nancy and Eddie. He ignores them though, keeping his eyes on you. 

You blink, putting the wine glass back down, you lick your lips. 

“Uh… he is older, he’s twenty four.” 

“Is he with your parents?” Nancy asks. 

You nod. 

“Yeah, he was home from college when it all… started. That idiot broke his leg during lacrosse, I don’t know why he kept trying with it, he was never the most athletic,” you chuckle. 

“Yeah, me neither. I always hated anything sport related,” Eddie says with wide eyes, earning a snort from Steve. 

“You’d get along well, he’s a major nerd.”

“Are you calling me a nerd, sweetheart?” Eddie pretends to be offended. 

“Uh,” you look him up and down, “yeah, major nerd just like my brother.”  

He nudges your side with his elbow, chuckling at the look on your face. 

Steve hides the smile on his face, looking down at his hands. 

“I’m hoping to get home, see a big gate surrounding my house, and I bet that asshole has a semi-automatic somewhere and is pretending to be in a zombie movie or something,” you chuckle. “He always dragged dad and me to the theater and forced us to watch the goriest shit. I used to hate it, now I want it back more than anything.” 

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, smiling at you. “Maybe you’ll do it again someday, maybe not at the theater but you could do movie nights with your family.” 

And his smile slowly fades again, he doubts that you will see your family again, he doubts that you’ll find them how you want to. He thinks it’s wrong of Eddie to fuel your hope, he is doing more damage than anything else and it’s gonna hurt even more when you find your family dead. 

There is no hope for anything or anyone in this world, it’s a foolish thing to have. 

You shrug, a smile on your face as you get up from the table to rush upstairs. Everyone just sits there wide eyed, looking at each other, hearing how there’s some stumping and then, something falling, and then you are cursing. Two seconds later you are coming back downstairs with something in your hands.

“This is my family.” You put the polaroids on the table, the ones you took back to camp so you would not miss your family so much. “That’s my mom, my dad, and the idiot of my brother.” 

They all grab a picture each. Eddie’s picture was of the four of you smiling while camping. Nancy’s was a picture of a family trip to the grand canyon, but Steve’s picture was something that made his heart shrink for some reason. The four of you were laughing, surrounding a christmas tree. You were younger, probably a teen, and it made him think of how now your personality made sense. 

You were never shown anything but love. Something he never experienced from his own family. He was slightly jealous at your picture, and he knew you were the only one between the four of you that had a normal and loving family. Nancy’s parents didn’t seem to love one another, Eddie’s father was an abusive asshole that ended up in jail and his mother passed away, and then there was Steve. Even with the apocalypse happening, his parents didn’t even care to find him. Find out if he was dead or not.

His eyes moved upwards to find you looking at him, and he wondered why you had a frown on your face. It wasn’t a second later that he felt his eyes burning and you could see the glistening of tears forming. He can’t cry. It’s stupid to cry about his family now. It’s stupid to cry about something he knew all along. It’s stupid to cry over people that he knew never cared for him.

“Your brother looks like Eddie.” Nancy suddenly speaks, making him look at her as well as you and Eddie. The metalhead tilts his head as he grabs Nancy’s picture and– 

“Ha, ha, very funny.” Sure, it was a picture of you four in the grand canyon, but it was your dad’s birthday, and your dad has a fear of pigs. Your brother had the greatest idea to put a pig's head over his head for the picture, and your dad was simply screaming bloody murder while you and your mom laughed.

“I mean, my brother doesn’t play that game you do, but he is a fan of star wars, and he read a lot of books! He liked one called The Hobbit?” Nancy and Steve groaned loudly at your words, which made you confused for just a few seconds and then you realized your mistake when Eddie was talking your ear off about why your brother was so cool, and the reason for that was because the plot for the hobbit was incredible.

And he explained it bit by bit and you didn’t know how to escape him. He was still talking about it like a kid on christmas as Nancy and Steve started washing the dishes, and you wanted to hit yourself for your big mouth. In all fairness, you didn’t know Eddie was gonna get as excited as he did.

“Anyways, what matters is, your brother is cool, so is Dustin and the other teens and Steve sucks.” At the sudden insult, Steve turns around with his hands covered in soap.

“What?” Eddie opened his mouth to probably repeat his words, only for Steve to shake his hands on his face, making the soap fly all around as well as water, and getting into Eddie’s mouth.

“GOD–” He screeched loudly as he got up from the table, rushing towards the sink to try to wash his tongue with the water while Nancy screamed at him to not waste it. Steve was smirking and all you could do was just stare at him. He was being playful. He was being more than the grumpy self he claimed to be with you. You started laughing loudly when Eddie insulted Steve with his tongue out, trying to not taste the soap anymore.

Steve shrugged as he wiped his hands away, turning to look at you doubling over in laughter and it made him feel less guilty for his actions of before. You weren’t immature. Your world was just always filled with love and affirmations, and you just wanted people to feel the same exact way you felt. It was a lost cause for him, but he felt good for making you laugh like this. It’s been a while since he made someone laugh.

It’s a good sound.

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry

[justcallmecj]

Humans Are STILL Weird

Another part to my very first Tumblr post where I discussed what the non-human characters would think about some odd human habits/traits. Well, here is one more!

Here's the first part for reference

Monkey See, Monkey Do:

You can’t tell me the demon brothers have no clue why Mc copies them so much. Humans are known for their mimicry, the incessant need to copy behavior and actions they see. It’s how babies learn to talk, walk and do literally everything else in life. Now, demons most likely do this too, but this extremity of copying each other likely stops once they mature. However, as they have seen with Mc, humans never actually stop doing it. 

Mc sees one of them make some kind of odd hand gesture or stand in a specific way? Well Mc is doing the exact same thing! Lucifer sits with his head in his hand propped on his desk while speaking to them? So do they! Literally any of them make some demon noise Mc has never heard? Well they try their damn best to copy it (horribly most likely). And Solomon does it too! He can often be found mimicking the way Simeon stands with his hand on his hip when they are next to each other.

And when Mc and Solomon are in the room together? It’s even worse! Both humans will take on habits of the demons and angels around them and it can easily be noticed. When speaking with each other, Mc and Solomon will often nod and shake their heads at the same time, raise their hands and make gestures that basically mirror versions of each other, even sometimes adopting the same cadence in their voice and speaking patterns. Neither of them really catch on, until they are laughing about it, somehow managing to laugh in the exact same way.

It’s odd and none of them understand. They find it a little weird at first. But when they ask you and Solomon about it and they get an answer, they later find it endearing. Solomon explained how humans copy each other as a way of forming bonds. Humans are attracted to similarities between one another and mimicry brings them together and even shows a layer of trust between the individuals. After that, the brothers never cared for Mc copying them, and would even smile fondly when they saw the habit. They now have new teasing ammo against Mc and the human doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Pls, feel free to share your own headcanons and (with permission and if you want it) I may write something for them!

[skribbledarker]

Back on my bs with another Zosan brainworm…. post Skypiea feels

—

Sanji, after having his “I needed a light” moment and getting shocked head-on by Enel, gains big lichtenberg scars that never fade. They’re darker than his usual skin tone, spiraling down the back of his neck, the entire expanse of his back, then curling around his shoulders and hips.

he hates them. Sanji thinks they make him look diseased, or like Frankenstein, sort of.. He doesn’t think scars are bad or ugly, no. It’s just the way they look on him.

He goes to so many lengths to hide them from the rest of the crew; he takes showers after everyone else is asleep, and his short-sleeved shirts get pushed to the back of the closet.

Chopper’s the only one who’s seen them. well, until Zoro. Somewhere in between when they didn’t like each other and when they suddenly did, the swordsman catches Sanji late at night in the bathroom, shirtless and twisting around himself to look at his back in the mirror.

Somehow, they end up on the floor, Sanji sitting cross-legged on the tile, hunched over with red tipped ears as Zoro sits behind him, taking his time tracing the patterns over Sanj’s skin.

“Do they hurt?” Zoro asks, grazing a calloused thumb over the back of Sanji’s neck.

“Sometimes. they sting when it gets cold.”

Zoro doesn’t say anything for a long time. Sanji feels like a bug under a microscope, just sitting there, being inspected like this. He finds himself zoning out— he doesn’t want to be here right now. This is embarassing.

“I like them.”

“Huh?”

And then Zoro’s hands are smoothing over Sanji’s shoulders, warm and careful like he’s handling a blade. “What, you don’t? It looks badass.”

no, they really don’t. “No. It looks…stupid.” Ugly, is what Sanji wants to say, but he doesn’t. The word suddenly seems a little too crass for whatever’s going on right now.

“Do mine, then?” Zoro counters, and that’s different. Zoro wears his like a collection, each mark a record of battles he’s won and lost and a testament to the shit he’s survived. Sanji hasn’t ever been blemished like that, barring the faint lines on the bridge of his nose still barely visible after eleven years. The scars just look out of place on him. Like they aren’t supposed to be there.

“No, no.” Sanji shakes his head. “Yours are— are badass.”

Zoro pauses again. “They look like vines.”

“Oh, so i’m sprouting greenery like you, now?”

That gets an exasperated huff out of Zoro, and Sanji can feel breath fanning over the back of his neck. “Stop, ‘m serious.”

It’s frightening, kind of, being laid bare under the watchful eye of someone else like this. Sanji can’t even see Zoro (well, besides his hands), but it’s almost like he can— the weight of his gaze falls heavy on Sanji’s back.

“Of course you are.”

A chill slides up Sanji’s spine when Zoro’s hands slide down to his waist, thumbing at the spots where the scars encroach onto his stomach. “ ‘s Pretty.”

Sanji’s throat suddenly feels dry, because the admission of pretty feels less like a descriptor of the lightning bolts spiraling down his back and more about him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Never thought I’d hear you call something ‘pretty,’ you brute.”

“Maybe you needed to.”

Maybe you needed to. Fuck, Maybe Sanji did.

—

gughhhh this was supposed to be a little drabble but got out of hand so fucking quickly??1!1?1?

anyways i want to shoot both of them dead lololololol

i also love projecting my self-image issues onto Sanji…. my blorbo AHHH

[tedsies]

legacy collection - next day update

i've played again this evening and can report the following:

i'm still unable to generate a single instance of pink flashing, and I'm playing my biggest lots and hopping from community lot to community lot with no issue

the game did eventually have its first crash however, when i switched between my downtown hood and main hood after all of that aforementioned household switching and community lot hopping. so, yeah... sad that it crashed, but also it would have crashed way earlier with my UC install (it was also a different kind of crash though, no error message, the game just went black and shut down)

i have also run into a couple of super annoying bugs/mod issues - i can't select custom skins in cas due to some unknown bug?? and the community lot time mod is also not working for some reason (which is an absolute must for me) 😓

i'll keep updating this post with any further updates.

edit: another thing i've been thinking about is how ea has now already said they are going to be releasing bug fixes for the legacy collection. whilst good in theory, that also really scares me because one of the reasons i stopped playing ts4 was because i was afraid they would break the game and my saves with every patch (because they always did)

edit 2: i'm now back in the ultimate collection testing the graphics rule maker file from the legacy collection (shared by @brandinotbroke)... and i'm also now not seeing pink flashing/crashing happening here either. i'm confused... thankful, but confused. i've been playing for over two hours, in which time i've taken my sims to multiple community lots, all with an increased lot view distance setting (which I can normally NEVER put any higher than small). its obviously impossible to say whether its directly linked, but its difficult not to make some assumptions. if i have this kinda choice between UC and LC, i'm gonna go UC for the reasons above.

[olderthannetfic]

I'm the anon who defended TERFs' preferences.

I am aware that TERFs do much worse than just rejecting people, but the rejection is fine. Rejecting someone for any reason is okay. It doesn't make you a bigot for rejecting someone with a micropenis or a BBL. Saying someone's feelings are bigoted implies they need to change.

A lot of language used against TERFs is sexually charged and they would sure have a lot less ammunition if people stopped using sexually charged insults.

I support trans liberation. Transgender people should have access to their genders bathroom, access to queers spaces, access to gender affirming surgery and be able to change their gender markers.

But dating is another matter. This site is full of incels/femcels who are 1 step away from taking the black pill. You don't need other people to validate your identity. Trans women are women, but being with someone attracted to women make you more of a woman than you were before. Insecure people stay insecure no matter how much validation they get.

We all need to unlearn the idea that sex and romance define us. Less normalization and more acceptance abnormality.

--

Dude...

Again, most of the discussion around "How dare you not be attracted to [body party]?" is coming from TERFs strawmanning their opposition.

People here agree that it's fine to have physical preferences. That's not even a trans issue per se since surgery exists, and plenty of cis people get stuff removed because of cancer. I'm sure there are trans people who only date other trans people and who still have preferences about exactly what medical shit their partner has or hasn't had done.

Bigots will find ammo whether we're nice to them or not. I agree that plenty of tumblr posts are self-defeating nonsense rather than effective activism, but the problem is with you or occasionally the blogger thinking that they even are activism rather than personal blog rants.

[dont-starve-scrapbook]

Let's talk about Wilson's perceived competence. Can we talk about Wilson's perceived competence, please? I've been dying to talk about Wilson's perceived competence with you all day, okay?

(Prefacing with the fact that I am aware that people just like to make jokes and be silly sometimes, nothing wrong with that, plus that that doesn't mean they believe that's his entire canon personality but I just wanted to make a post)

There seems to be this increasing general opinion/characterization that Wilson is like. an incompetent, know-nothing-know-it-all?

Yes, he does have a bit of an ego. ("Just when I thought I couldn't get any better", for the Construction Amulet.) He can be insecure about not knowing something, which isn't particularly odd, it ties into the ego thing. (The quotes for Wagstaff's tools show this though personally I feel like Klei leaned a little into some flanderization there perhaps?)

But incompetent know-nothing?? :(

(once again no-one's said that word for word, it's just the vibe)

This is the same guy who, canonically, forged his way through the entirety of adventure mode and reached the Nightmare Throne before anyone else. And then after Charlie threw him back into the Constant he (probably very likely) made those blueprints for the Jury-Rigged Portal.

He's also invented things like the Telltale Heart, three of the boating implements, (perhaps the Think Tank itself?) and the Gardeneer Hat, which can be upgraded at the Ancient Pseudoscience Station!!

To my knowledge there's only 2 other items you need pre-existing crafts to make, but this is the only one that's personally invented by one of the survivors! I think that's pretty notable!

I like how Wickerbottom puts it here, eccentric but sound.

Another thing is something from the old ARG stuff that Klei set up. One of them was a map with a bunch of formulas and equations, which he wrote! I don't think he was pretending to know what he was writing here.

Anyways bleh, it seems like Klei is getting in on it too with certain quotes and especially the overabundance of puns that just. aren't good. (Anything involving marotters, for example...) I really hope that they stop leaning into that sort of thing for his characterization in the future. He's capable and actually pretty smart even if he's not the best scientist in the world. (Most of the screenshots and images are sourced from the non-fandom.wikia don't starve wiki)

[takendruid]

Okok so, requesting some help from StephCass shippers, and maybe also TimSteph shippers/people who know decent amount of information about TimSteph’s relationship

Can you guys, StephCass shippers, explain to me the reasons why you ship them?

I don’t know nearly enough about Steph or Cass, or their relationship to each other, to make a proper judgement of the ship.

It always kind of felt weird to me, because it just felt like Batcest even though Steph isn’t actually Bruce’s kid. And then I actually started to think about why the ship makes me uncomfortable in a batcest way, before having the realisation that I simply don’t know enough about either girl or the relationship they have with each other (nor Steph’s relationship with Tim) to justify feeling that way.

I’m relatively new to the Batman fandom, so I’m still learning a lot. And this is something I feel like I need to be educated on before I can actually make a judgement of the ship.

Because I only found out today that the reason Tim and Steph broke up was apparently because Tim is bisexual?? I already knew he’s bi, I didn’t)t know that apparently that was the reason they broke up (but don’t quote me on that, and feel free to correct me).

I have started to read the comics, but there are so many comics that I just… need that shit explained to me. Tim and Steph’s relationship kind of also made me uncomfortable because Batcest, but to a bit of a lesser degree, before I had the same realisation about TimSteph that I did with StephCass; that I know basically fuck all about their relationship to each other because I’m a newbie, and very uneducated.

The way I have always perceived Steph and Cass has just been as sisters, and Steph and Tim as exes who are still close and have a very sibling-like relationship. Before realising, obviously, that I just know fuck all.

This post, and request for an explanation comes from a place of genuine confusion and curiosity, not any hate. I do just need the StephCass ship explaining to me because I genuinely don’t know very much about either girl, or their relationship to each other.

Sorry I keep repeating myself ✌️ (under the cut isn’t anything really relevant to what I’ve talked about here, it’s just an explanation of what I have seen comics-wise)

Idk if anyone is going to ask, but when it comes to the comics, I have started actively reading some currently releasing ones like Batman & Robin: Year One, and Absolute Batman. I have also bought Absolute Superman and Absolute Wonder Woman, but haven’t gotten around to reading them yet. I’m perfectly aware that the Absolute comics are basically AUs/is an AU (idk if they carry into one another), and that B&R:Y1 is of a retelling of Dick’s origins as Robin???

I have actively read the two issues of Red Hood Gotham War, and the surrounding issues in Batman and Catwoman that take place at the same time (Bruce… what the fuck… writers, what kind of mischaract-). I wouldn’t say I have “read” either RHATO, but I have skimmed through the one with Artemis and Bizarro; from when Jason is kind of… disowned-ish by Batman as a Bat, up to about when the group of kids were introduced (because I wasn’t reading it properly, I got super confused and just stopped looking). But I have read more closely the Prince of Gotham issues when looking at it a second time for a quick moment. I have also skimmed through the early issues of both RHATO comics. Jason is my favourite character, so I have kind of tended to look at official stuff more aimed around him. That is why I know pretty much fuck all about Steph and Cass.

I briefly know their backstories, I know that Steph became Robin for like 2 weeks after Tim was fired, I know that Tim and Steph were dating. But I haven’t actually read anything official with them in besides RHGW, which includes like a panel or so of Steph as Spoiler.

And yes, I have read most of WFA (I need to catch up) but I’m perfectly aware of the context it existsin; it’s not official, it’s slice of life, it’s a webtoon, and it does not properly represent the characters… even though (some of the) said characters have been so disgracefully mischaracterised by the official comics that WFA doesn’t deserve the amount of shit it gets for doing the same thing, or so I have heard.

I’m not claiming to know my shit, I think that’s pretty obvious. I trust the people on Tumblr to not treat me like shit because the community here is lovely. But I know there are going to be the odd people that might pull me up if I don’t clarify what comics I have actually read and seen. Or maybe not pull me up? More just be curious to actually know my level of knowledge from the official sources, instead of people on the internet talking about it.

[noneatnonedotcom]

i'm sick and bored!

so here's another celestial dojo jaune build but this time I gave myself 1000 character points to work with and one free random roll. there will be no further rolls on the celestial dojo all improvements will come from in universe abilities. AU the grimm do not exist, instead it is the darkness in the hearts of men that hunters must strive against, the world of remnant is a post great war world where the color revolution and faunas wars happened at the same time leading to the utter collapse of civilization. five kingdoms remain,

Vale: the last monarchy, a place where knighthood and chivalry still finds a home. the king is elected from one of the noble families every ten years, knights are trained warriors who preside over a single settlement, while new colonies are popping up banditry and harsh weather or bad harvests can and will wipe them out leading to only a few knightly houses remaining. still any who wish may take on huntsmen training and take up the noble calling of a knight after graduation.

Atlas: the industrial powerhouse of the world, it is a city state with mandatory military service for all people, it is in a constant guerrilla war with menagery. it's tech is quite literally a century ahead of everwhere else though. minstral: the land of mercenaries. the entire state is essentially made up of mercenary companies who fight against or for cartels sometimes at the same time. minstral itself is a neutral territory where discussions of business can happen without risk of death for the negotiators. as a result the city effectively controls the continent but has very little power. vaccuo: vale's southern neighbor is in an interregnum lacking a royal to sit on the throne constant wars between the nomadic tribes of the desert and the Shieks over water keep them from uniting as no one has the spare men to expand their influence. menagerie: recognized as a kingdom in it's own right the island nation does have to deal with terrible PR as pirates and the White fang a faunas supremacy group are pretty much all they're known for now. making international trade and alliance all but impossible. now the royal belladonas seek to remove the white fang and pirates seeing them as a relic of the past. this of course is not going down well. you'd think in a world with no grimm things would be safer but no, with aura still a thing all it takes is some random jerk with a strong semblance and everyone's trying to take over the world. bandits are common outside the city walls and only other aura users can stop them. in this world of bloody evolution can the flower of chivalry bloom? or has the world fallen too far?

jaune's traits:

Breathing Style (400 CP) "The bread and butter of a demon slayer, the breathing techniques. You may choose any breathing style you like for any level or you can create your own on the same level as described, they don’t need to be for swords either, and note that all the higher levels can be reached by training. Post-jump you don’t need to breathe in order to use them if you do not require air to survive.

Hashira: The highest position of a demon slayer, usually gained by killing at least 50 demons or killing one of the 12 moons as a kinoe(the highest normal rank of demon slayers). You have reached the pinnacle of what a normal human is capable of with your breathing style, able to easily cut through scores of demons easily and take out the lower ranked moons without much effort. Your body is much stronger than the previous option, so much so you could be faster than the eye could see, and you may have even developed techniques of your own that no one else knows, but the most notable change is in your stamina, being able to go through extremely harsh training for weeks or even months straight. " Hanma (300 cp) "A lineage genetically predisposed to excel in all matters of violence, growing stronger with each battle. The quintessential Hanma bears the title of “World’s Strongest Lifeform”. Monstrous beasts, modern armies, and even natural disasters kneel before his physical might.

Those of the Hanma blood tend to develop demonic imagery throughout their body, such as the skull, back muscles, and even the brain.

For 300cp, you are a true heir to the Hanma name. So long as you continue to challenge yourself, you may catch up to masters with decades of experience in a few years, and the Ogre’s power may very well be within reach."

Steel Trap Clarity (300 cp) "It's a sad fact, but traitors and spies are lurking everywhere. Their hands forced by blackmail, willingly becoming a double agent from bribery or falling to good old fashioned brain washing. Not you though, absolutely not. Upon purchase, you become excessively resistant to traditional forms of corruption, mystical forms of brainwashing and everything in between. Something with mind-boggling power may still be able to put you under its control. Most of the threats to your morals or sanity in this world are just out of luck. Additionally, you will always be able to keep a clear idea of your personal principles, meaning you won't stray off of your path on accident."

(Free roll) Blessed by the Sun God (600cp) You did not awaken with the Demon Slayer Mark, you were born with it. Ever since you were young you have been stronger than most, and you only grew stronger over time. Because the mark is so deeply engraved into your body, it has undergone a change from the normal version, making you even stronger than it would make others along with a great increase in talent. Your Transparent World has gotten to the point where you can see individual blood vessels and sickness in people while also slowing the world down even more along with your thought processing being even faster. Most importantly, your Red Blade is much more potent, not only causing wounds to heal at a snail's pace for those with extremely fast regeneration and taking even more energy, but the wounds will continue to burn long after they have been healed, which will always leave nasty scars. Finally, those you train with will slowly be able to awaken their own marks, though only the first version.

how would you write this version of jaune? here's my idea down below

jaune's family in this universe have an instinctive grasp of violence, one they bury under the laws of chivalry to be able to function in this world. while most simply use aura the arcs developed this bodies first only unlocking the aura of their children after they've mastered the breathing forms. the increase in strength and speed is about what you would get from unlocking your aura and their natural physicality makes them stronger than most low level huntsmen anyways. jaune was unique born with the sign of the rainbow on his back he's always gotten combat and an instinctive grasp of how the human body works. but as a result has been isolated from the common sense of this world, lacking any idea of what aura is or how it works. not knowing what a huntsman is in relation to a knight. (knights are assigned a territory to watch over huntsmen travel around) and not knowing about modern tech and who the players are in the world. (doesn't know about weiss or pyrrha) people tend to view him as a blunt instrument. in reality his mind is far sharper than any would give him credit for. he's just a purpose built item, a sword among axes and hammers. he asked to be sent to beacon not to learn to fight but to actually learn to be human outside the shadow of his family. but can he hold back the instinctive call for violence that runs through his veins?

how would you write this world? how would you write this version of jaune ignoring my idea for it just above. also any thoughts on how things like the silver eyes would adapt to having to handle human enemies? my thought was it visualizes aura helping the silver eyed warriors not only empathetically predict their enemies abilities and next attacks but also what their semblance is. as well as giving a strong boost to their aura when feeling strong positive emotions.

@howlingday @weatherman667 @heliosthegriffin just something i'm doing while i'm too sick to actually do anything. lemme know what you would do

[lightwise]

The Sun Also Burns

gifs by @amiracleilluminated. Dividers by @dystopicjumpsuit

Come get your (very) late dinner with a side of Jod Juice. 'Tis very long, so read on AO3 here if you prefer.

Jod Na Nawood/Original Character. Character Study, Post-Finale, Canon compliant.

Words: 8,792

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Here be smut, your friendly neighborhood star wars pirate, we could fix him but it's better if he fixes himself, emotional angst, emotional sex, PinV (wrap it up kids), oral sex, vaginal sex, hurt/comfort/and then hurt again, light hand on the neck/choking mention, past character death referenced, kidnapping mentions, swearing/foul language, emotional baggage, Jod has spent his whole life running and he doesn't know how to stop now, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mutual pining, oh and did I mention the emotions

Summary: Jod managed to escape the Supervisor’s tower, his choices and life path now open before him. But he can’t escape his past, his demons–or an unexpected reunion. Will he finally grasp onto the pinpricks of light trying to break through his darkness? Or will he make another trip around the void he’s been circling before he’s willing to change his ways?

Notes: This came to me in a dream. Literally. 

Well, the diner scene did. Everything else is just an attempt to justify the ever expanding black hole labeled “Jod” that Jude Law (bless that man) and Skeleton Crew (bless everyone involved in this show) have introduced to my brain. 

Also, the belt buckle took on a life of its own before I went back and realized that Jod doesn’t have it in the first episode. I can’t tell if it was Rennod’s or someone else’s, but regardless, I put too much work into certain headcanons to change them now 😅. Fun fact though, everything else toward the end of this fic is actually canon (check out the book Choose Your Destiny: A Luke and Leia Adventure), and I was thrilled that my character and Jod ended up slotting in perfectly. 

You sighed as you picked up a napkin and wiped your mouth carefully at the corners. The clinking of silverware and buzzing of the overhead lights created a low level hum in the background, just enough to make a conversation feel private without having to yell across the melamine tables. The neighborhood diner had been the first place to reopen after the chaos on At Attin that evening, after a rerouted electric track was restored down the block.

It seemed like a fairly dull but cozy place on the best of days, but now it was jam packed with server droids, neighbors gathering around in gossiping circles, and the sizzling of frypans serving up every fried food imaginable.

Everyone was famished for both food and community after the once-in-their-lifetimes excitement of a pirate invasion, the destruction of the Barrier that had kept their planet hidden for centuries, and the arrival of New Republic X-Wings in its stead. The place remained packed even as the hours dragged on into the early morning. The saviors of the day—Wim, Fern, KB, and Neel, along with their parents—had made their rounds earlier, but had since gone home. The kids' faces were alight with excitement and pride, neighbors and Republic pilots alike shaking their hands and clapping them on the back.

You knew there would be no sleep for them tonight, no matter how dedicated their parents were at herding them home after one too many yawns had split their faces. A small, nostalgic smile appeared on your own, hidden behind the smooth white barrier of the napkin. Oh to be young and full of unbridled optimism again. You hoped that they never outgrew it.

A deliberate cough from the man sitting across from you broke through your thoughts, prompting an irritated eye roll in response. He was the exact opposite of what you hoped for those kids—the pirate currently in your custody had lost his last ounce of innocence long ago, if he ever had any in the first place. 

Handcuffed, hemmed in on each side by an imposing security droid, with one of the fighter pilots standing behind the booth waiting for your release, he still exuded a sense of boyish arrogance that you begrudgingly admired. He was practically lounging, for Force’s sake, his legs spread, the tails of his army green coat draping casually around his thighs and over the plasticine bench.

Jod’s face was arranged in an adequately contrite frown, but you knew him better than that. Forcing your eyes back onto your plate, you scooped up another bite of hashed potatoes into your mouth. You just wanted sustenance to fuel what was sure to be a long ride back to the embassy. Dealing with this perpetually scheming bastard had not been on your radar for tonight.

“Sooo…” his lilting voice drifted across the table. “How have you been?”

You barely restrained a scoff. “You are seriously not trying to do small talk right now.” Lifting your gaze, you saw that he had steepled his fingers together (as best he could with the chains hampering his wrists), elbows laying claim to the table and his head cocked slightly to the right. The classic Jod smirk just barely stretched the corners of his mouth.

“Isn’t that what two old friends are supposed to do when they have a chance to…how do they call it? Catch up with each other?” His eyes gleamed, though not with sincerity. Beneath the charming veneer and polite cooperation, the desperate calculations of a man who was caught, but had not surrendered, were whirring in the shadowed lines of his face.

“We are not catching up,” you frowned at him. “Your actions have caught up with you, and you alone.” You swallowed the last bite and scraped the fork harshly across the edge of your plate, hoping it would make him flinch. It didn’t.

“And of course,” you continued, exaggerating the disappointment lacing your words, “once again, Kh’ymm and I have to pick up the pieces of the chaos you unleash.” You slid your plate to the edge of the table as a server droid passed by, not bothering to turn your head.

“I really should be charging you a transport and protection fee every time I have to drag your sorry ass across the galaxy. Add on the multiple bounties on your head, and now charges of abduction and endangerment of children? Not to mention trying to take over an entire planet??” You clicked your tongue like an angry mother kroop bird.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

His answering laugh built on itself until the smirk spread through his cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes. The energy rolling off of him felt frayed around the edges.

“Ahh, still as passionately eloquent as ever, my dear.” Despite yourself, your heart gave a faint clench at his choice of endearment. “I truly must have caused quite the stir if you came out all this way to deal with me personally.”

“That was not a compliment.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Well, that’s true for one of us then,” he winked back. “You’ve got yourself a fancier gig than I realized. They must put a lot of trust in you.”

You ignored the slight ache in your chest. The attempted banter and familiarity threatened to spark memories that were best left untouched. Ones you thought you had left rotting in a corner, like a pirate’s forgotten carcass, speared through the heart, buried alive. Never to be seen again.

“Have you really been this bored? Trying to rack up a sheet that rivals Gorian Shard?”

He shook his head slightly, the thin smile still stretching across his face, eyes sweeping over every inch of yours.

“Or have you truly become something this cruel?”

The smirk vanished instantly. His mouth drooped, eyes gleaming still, but this time with something brittle, bitter, and desperate.

“That’s not…ugh…I didn’t…” he trailed off in frustration, silently begging you to understand.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

You studied him silently for a moment before scooting sideways off the bench and rising to your feet.

“You never do.”

A flicker of anguish overtook the pirate’s face as you nodded at the pilot to take him away. The crack in the facade almost gave you pause, but the glint of sincerity was lost as his usual mask slammed back into place.

“No, no, no, wait! I can explain…”

The droids grabbed his arms and hauled him roughly to his feet as the pilot began to maneuver them towards the door.

“I had to see if the legends were true! And I needed the credits…my crew needed the credits. We didn’t mean any harm…agh!”

One of the droids clamped onto his arm, shutting him up for a brief moment. The five of you made your way out of the crowded diner, the smell of hot caf fading into crisp night air. Only the soft sound of chirping crunch bugs interrupted your measured footsteps.

The Corellian embassy corvette you had arrived in loomed ahead. The August Prime, while not officially yours, had become somewhat of a home the last few years. She was a little weather beaten from the war, but a new coat of paint and the occasional tune up had made her quite serviceable for emissary trips, and both Chancellor Mothma and Senator Leia Organa had made sure that it was available whenever you were called upon to represent the New Republic (and by extension, them) across the galaxy. 

Your career (you were still surprised it could be called that at this point) had started when you were young, taking whatever jobs you could find in order to survive. You quickly found that you had a knack for translation, bargaining, and brokering deals, and you made a name for yourself as a reputable goods and antiquities dealer–serving a rather diverse client base, as you liked to put it. You were nowhere near the league of legendary dealers in the Core Worlds like Luthen Rael, but your willingness to work with anyone who would abide by guild laws gave you a wide variety of contacts.

After the war, you had transitioned into being an ambassador for the New Republic, serving as a liaison between the fledgling government and the thousands of planets it sought to rebuild. In your previous life, you had often joked that you were far too addicted to a hot shower to indulge in a true pirate’s lifestyle, but really your morals were a touch too scrupulous to ever let yourself linger in filth for too long. That fact, along with your connections to pirates and politicians alike–and every class in between–made you an invaluable representative. 

Sometimes a true friendship sprang up along the way, like the one you developed with the owl-ish navigational wizard, Kh’ymm. Occasionally, you found something a little more than just friendship. 

And once or twice, a lot more, if you were honest with yourself. 

Which explained the current tension running like a live wire between you and the slightly cowed, but unbroken man in front of you. The droids were heading toward the August’s boarding ramp, and you could tell by the tilt of the closely-cropped head in between them that the pirate was staring quizzically into the dark hold, as though hoping the fate that awaited him on board that vessel would suddenly blink, and miss him.    

Your stomach gave an unexpected churn. You had to see his face again.

“Jod.” It came out as a whisper.

He stopped completely, limbs rigid, back straight. The droids were forced to stop with him. 

It was the first time you had said his name aloud in years.

Willing your legs to move again, you circled until you were facing the man you had once given a piece of your heart. Or had he stolen it? You were never quite sure. All you knew was that ultimately, what he truly treasured had never been you. 

“I know you’ve seen the inside of prison cell after prison cell.” Your voice was low as you reached out your hand and cupped the side of his face gently in your palm. 

“Until you’re free of the one in here,” you tapped your finger slowly against his temple, “nothing is ever going to change.”

His eyes grew wide and heartbreakingly solemn. You couldn’t miss the tremor in his throat, nor the subtle lean he made into your hand. 

As his lips parted, you almost held your breath. But no sound came out. After a moment of those storm-colored eyes staring straight into your soul, you let go and reluctantly moved up the gangway. You didn’t look back. 

******

An hour later, you were finally back in your quarters and slumped wearily in a chair. After debriefing your captain and copilot, recording a quick message to send to Mon’s secretary ahead of your arrival, and signing off on the path back to Coruscant the ship would take in the morning, you had beelined straight for your suite and locked the door behind you. 

Glancing at your desk, you caught sight of your daily log laying haphazardly in the corner, neglected after the unexpected distress call from Kh’ymm had come in. You couldn’t believe she hadn’t told you that Jod had shown up on her doorstep several weeks before, and with four bedraggled children in tow. There hadn’t been time to argue about that, however. Having heard from one of the children–KB, you believed it was–that a group of pirates had both found and infiltrated At Attin, an old Republic mint most people in living memory had never even heard of, it was clear that a squadron had to be sent, and quickly. A call to Leia and an emergency page alert to Mon, and you had been reassigned and on your way, though you hung back a little from the fighters to give them room to do their jobs. The August Prime had quite a few turbo lasers on her, but you had no interest in serving as a blockade runner unless it was necessary.

When you showed up to one (large, but still outmanned and outgunned) pirate frigate, a population who had never seen an X-Wing before (or stars, for that matter, as you later found out that evening), and a suspiciously familiar pirate captain who was nowhere to be found, you wanted to adopt the pirate code and throw someone–preferably him–out of an airlock. 

Although the battle itself was short lived, you were wholly unprepared for the chaos that followed. At first intending to remain on the planet to establish ties to the administration there, you quickly realized that the myth behind the lost planet of At Attin, versus the reality of the sequestered population having lived their lives under the control of a well meaning, but automated central computer system, was going to require more effort than anticipated.

After talking with Undersecretary Fara, whose daughter Fern was one of the children involved in this debacle, you decided to deal with the meddling pirates first, report back to Coruscant with a sample of the solid gold credits At Attin had been sequestering all these years, and then return with a few colleagues to establish further relations. You had a feeling you might even be bringing Fara and Fern with you on one of your trips–Fern’s inquisitive nature and brash confidence reminded you of yourself, at that age. You were interested to see what some encouragement might do for the girl’s prospects, along with the other kids, as well. You had noticed Wim almost jumping out of his skin with excitement when talking to one of your fighter pilots, while Neel just seemed to be relieved to be back with his siblings and parents on solid ground. 

KB, for her part, had explained to you in less than two minutes the elaborate systems that powered the money making machine at the core of the planet. A mere fraction of the wealth found in those vaults now lay on your desk, the pile of gold dataries glittering in the low lamp light. After her explanation, you had asked to be taken down into the vaults in order to collect a small sample you could bring to the Senate for inspection. 

While leaning over the platform, the two of you waiting for the service droids to return with the chest you had provided, KB had suddenly gasped, her visor flipping down as she spotted movement further along one of the air shafts. A series of shouts floated down to both of you as a scuffle took place. It looked like some of your guards had caught another intruder. 

“It’s him.” Her voice was soft and quiet. Almost disappointed.

“Who?” You turned to the slim girl, wondering at the change in her demeanor.

“The man who helped us…and then betrayed us.” Her shoulders slumped a little. “The captain.” 

Alarm bells were ringing in your head. KB hadn’t given a name, and there had been no designators on the frigate that caught your eye. But a slight tug in your gut warned you who you were about to face, even as one of your men reported over the comm. 

“We captured the instigator, your excellence!”

You braced yourself as the platform rose back to the surface. It felt like an eternity, but really it was only a few moments before the somewhat pathetic excuse for a pirate–his grimy blue shirt and tattered coat snapping in the wind as he struggled–was thrust in front of you. 

You raised your head slowly, the world tilting off-kilter as you came face to face with a soft smirk and a pair of intense blue eyes you had never expected to see again. The air between you shimmered with recognition. 

******

Joints aching, you eased yourself up and toward the ‘fresher. There was no use in dwelling on the past now. Or the man currently chained up in the hold of this very ship. You stopped in front of the mirror and let out a low groan, grimacing at the strained lines that had etched into your forehead. You thought about washing off the grime of the last twelve hours, but you honestly weren’t sure you could stay upright much longer. 

Deciding to forego a shower, you shuffled over to your bed and began changing into a set of night clothes. You had just started to relax when you heard a faint knock and then a scuffling noise at your door. Then another knock, slightly louder this time.

You groaned again. Who could possibly still be needing your attention at…well, you didn’t want to look at the chrono and find out.

Muttering several choice curses under your breath, you crossed the room and swiped the latch on the door, ready to chastise whoever stood on the other side. But the words died in your throat as it slid open.

The figure in front of you slipped through, silent as a shadow, punching the lock on the door as it closed behind him. A scarf obscured his face (had that been on him the whole time? you distantly wondered), but that didn’t stop every nerve in your body from screaming in recognition once more. 

Before you could utter a sound, he pressed a gloved finger to your lips. That touch alone was enough to send tremors through your limbs, and he took advantage of your shock to push you slowly back across the room.

Your lips opened and closed helplessly, the cut of his coat brushing against you and the sway of his boots on the floor disintegrating any words that tried to make it past your throat. Even in the dim light, you could see his eyes twinkling with mischief like you remembered, two shining pinpricks in an otherwise dark galaxy.  

And they were utterly fixated on the curve of your mouth. 

Fuck.   

He stopped a few feet from the patch of wall between your bed and your desk, breaths coming heavily as he tore the scarf down from his face. He stared straight through you, as though he was trying to decide exactly what it was that he wanted to do. 

You couldn’t help yourself. Your eyes dropped to the chiseled edge of his mouth, remembering the insistent way those delicate, full lips used to drag against your own. 

You gulped at the memory, and his gaze shifted to track down every inch of your throat.

Before you could blink he slammed you hard into the wall, hand grasping your jaw tight, lips crushing yours in a bruising kiss. They were warmer than you remembered.

A startled, but pleased moan made its way up your throat, and just as you began to feel lightheaded, he pulled back a few centimeters. A soft gasp escaped you as he changed course, his scruff brushing against your cheek as feather light kisses tracked down the side of your jaw, in sharp contrast to the ferocity with which he had just claimed your mouth. A pleasant hum began to settle in your blood.

You knew he had seen the chest of gold gleaming on your desk. You knew that nothing good could come of this. And yet this wasn’t just a distraction, wasn’t just another calculated ploy for him to find a way to escape. Against all odds, you knew that too. 

Jod made his way back to your lips, letting just the tip of his tongue flick over you before he pulled back completely. You were stunned at how…open he looked, the lamp on your desk gently caressing the side of his face. There was no mask, no pretense in his gaze. Just a quiet, wistful seriousness that you had rarely seen before. A hint of boyish desperation, too.

“One last romp?” His voice was smooth, head cocked a little to the right in that endearingly smug way of his, but you could feel the tension strung like a wire underneath.

You shook your head, chuckling under your breath at his audacity. “You are crazy, Jod.”

He simply continued staring at you, one hand making its way to your waist and resting lightly on the jut of your hip bone, thumb beginning to draw slow circles.

You let out a huff of resignation, your fingertips trailing over the tight line of his jaw. “Only if you brought condoms.” You were only half joking.

Something like relief flashed across his face. “You know I always do,” he smirked in return.

You rolled your eyes at that. “The one thing you’re reliable for.”

A flicker of real hurt sparked in his eyes, simmering into frantic desperation. You could sense that something fragile underneath was screaming for his attention, even as he still couldn’t bear to let it have control. 

“You really are…something, my dear,” he rasped, his nostrils flaring as frustration mixed with admiration. 

Your eyes softened as they passed over his hardened features. He had aged since the last time you saw him, fine lines in places they hadn’t been before. Heavy shadows hung under his eyes, and his shortened hair was touched with grey. But the green and brown flecks that danced in his irises held the same warmth as always, glimmers of unspoken affection swirling you into their bright orbit.  

“So are you.” And you meant it.

You surged forward, capturing his mouth for your own, needing to taste him. His muffled gasp curled over your wandering tongue as you asked for entrance, thrilling at the feeling of his fingertips scraping up the sides of your waist. Grasping the high collar of his coat, you tugged it sideways, trying and failing to pull it down his shoulders. 

He chuckled at your sudden insistence, his tongue licking against yours. Lazily plundering the roof of your mouth, he awkwardly shifted one arm out of the fabric only to wrap it immediately around your waist, doing the same with the other as he let the rest of the coat fall. 

Heat pooled in your belly as he pulled you tight against him, the familiar ridges of his Quarran forged belt buckle digging into your flesh. He had shoved his leather gloves into his pocket, leaving his rough, sensitive fingers free to trace mesmerizing patterns over your thighs and hips. It almost tickled through the fabric of your dressing gown.  

Groaning as your teeth caught on his swollen lip, he reached lower and grabbed the backs of your thighs, dragging you roughly up the wall until he could wrap them around his waist. Taking a moment to adjust his stance, he pulled at the edge of your gown until it fell to the side, letting the tips of his fingers drag along your skin, all the way up to your breast. Your back arched in anticipation.

You felt the air punch out of your lungs at a sudden tilt of his hips, almost choking at the feeling of his half-hardened cock now pressing urgently against the warmth of you. He managed to graze his thumb across your nipple at the same time, and your jaw dropped as a jolt of electricity went straight to your cunt.      

“You still like that, huh,” he gave you a cheeky grin.

“I’m surprised you remember,” you retorted, flushing as you tried to hide just how much it affected you.

“I remember everything,” he replied earnestly. Sweetly. “You know I don’t fuck around, unless I have to, or I want to.” His other hand shifted slightly to keep you in place, the one on your breast teasing light, reverent circles. 

“And which one was I?” You breathed, struggling to keep your composure.

“Both.” His eyes bored into yours. “Always both.” 

Your heart stuttered, and you traced one hand slowly up the subtle angles of his chest, letting your fingers tangle in the patch of hair that tumbled over his open shirt. Clasping the other tightly behind his neck, you tugged him back against you, and he groaned in satisfaction. The heat of his mouth against yours was the only thing you wanted to feel in that moment. 

****** Jod couldn’t believe he was actually here, standing in your quarters, his belt unclasped and your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. 

He had to choke down a maniacal laugh when he first saw your face on that platform. 

Of course.

He knew that a CR90 had shown up after his frigate had been pummeled to the ground, had seen it appear in the newly dark sky as he escaped the Supervisor’s tower and made his way down to the vaults. But not on the wildest bet would he have considered that you might be inside. 

He had hoped for a clean getaway. Salvage a few dataries, pick up whoever else had escaped, and hightail it to a distant port to nurse his latest defeat in a strong bottle or two. Carefully try to ignore the long-buried wound that Wim’s unexpected concern for him had prodded. It was the only way he had survived this long.

And then you had appeared in front of him, and that ache cracked open wider than an entire kriffing galaxy spinning in orbit.  

There was nothing the universe loved more than reminding him of his failures.

Your hands were inching their way along his back, attempting to lift up the hem of the threadbare shirt he had pilfered off the floor of the Onyx Cinder. He knew what you wanted but he couldn’t bear to separate from you long enough to accommodate the motion. 

He had almost forgotten how good you tasted. The room threatened to spin around him as he breathed in your warm scent, heard the familiar gasps in your throat, felt the delicate pull of your fingers. The taste of your lips was intoxicating, but he needed more. 

He wanted to drown himself in you. 

Reluctantly straightening, he bowed his shoulders to heft you higher under his arms, clicking his tongue in amusement as you tensed with the fear that he might drop you. Crossing the extra few feet to your bed, he carefully tilted you back on the mattress, one hand still greedily grasping at your waist as he scrambled to kick off his tall boots. 

Normally pants and shirt would have followed too, and your hands had already reached for the hems again, but he was too impatient. He grabbed your wrists as they inched lower and pressed them together, fingers locking around the fragile bones. Pulling them up and crossing them over your chest, he held them gently in place, shaking his head in warning. 

Your cheeks flushed with heat, and he relished in the way your eyelids fluttered as he lowered his gaze to your chest, slowly sweeping his other hand down until he came to the ties still holding your robe loosely together.  

“On, or off?” His voice was gentle, interested. You nodded. “Off then.”

His hand moved quickly, unlacing the ties and brushing the garment aside. Releasing your wrists, he lowered his face until his nose dragged against your sternum, licking and sucking his way across your salty skin. His pebbled tongue scraped roughly over one nipple and you arched against him, your throat and chest gleaming in the lamp light. His cock twitched as your hips squirmed beneath him, and he laved over your nipple one more time before making his way down your stomach.

He could smell your arousal as he kissed along the groove of your hips, and he grinned at the sight of just how soaked you already were.

“All this for me?” He teased, eyes narrowing in amusement as he glanced up at you. 

“I don’t think you need me to inflate that head of yours any further,” you quipped back, pretending to scowl as he carefully slid your underwear off your legs and onto the floor. You had missed this ridiculous banter.

“Oh, but I really think I do,” he winked, his smile fading as he closed his eyes and breathed you in. Head dipping, he kissed softly up your thigh until you were squirming, silently begging him to move closer.

Digging his fingers into your hip, he finally let his tongue take what it wanted, reaching out with just the tip to tease your folds before fully diving in. You were soaking wet, your lips slick and dripping onto his chin as he drank you in. Letting his tongue wander, he reached up and cupped a breast with one hand, the other holding your hip secure against the mattress.  

Wonderful. You were wonderful. Your taste was so sweet and rich. You filled his palm perfectly. Memories began to trickle back, unbidden, as he pulled you even closer and dipped his tongue into your pussy just to feel you quiver. Days spent arguing over the worth of his latest finds, your smile smooth and eyes filled with a challenge that he could never back down from. Nights spent mapping each other’s bodies while spinning dreams of exploring the galaxy. Sitting side by side, hours whiled away but never wasted. One of the few gleams in an otherwise dim existence. 

Suddenly he felt one of your hands curl over his head, brushing softly against his hair as you sought to anchor yourself in his presence. The motion was comforting at first, a slight tension in his scalp soothed by the tips of your cool fingers. 

Until a jarringly recent memory launched a mutiny in his mind–the sensation of his head bowing under the cascade of a very different kind of lust earlier that evening.

The waterfall of credits. A room literally bursting with the golden light of limitless wealth. A life-long dream–no, need–finally come true.

He had the sickening feeling that after today, the pursuit of security he so ravenously clung to now felt more like an anchor that was dragging him down faster than any shipwreck. Shackles too thick for him to casually break, unlike the handcuffs he had disengaged twice already with a subtle flick of the Force. 

No. No, no, NO. He shook his head in frustration, biting roughly down on your thigh in a futile attempt to disguise his own contradictions. He wasn’t just thirsty. He was hungry. He always had been, and here you were willingly satiating him, and he wanted it to be enough. Needed it to be enough. You deserved everything he had to give.

And everything he couldn’t. 

Shifting your leg at the knee, he rutted his shoulders under you and lifted you to his face again, devouring you like the starving man he was. Your back arched, your hands clenching helplessly as your nerves trembled from his onslaught. He focused on your clit, easing one finger, and then two, into your warm depths as he sucked, feeling your hips buck against him like he knew they would. 

He pulled you closer, ignoring the pulsing in his own groin, fingers relentless in the pursuit of your pleasure. He chased every twitch, every moan, feeling your walls tighten until finally, with a wrench of his knuckles, it was enough. He shivered as your taste flooded his mouth, gratified to hear the whimpers leaving your throat as he flattened his tongue and licked you clean. 

He didn’t come up for air until he realized your hands were tugging at him, begging him to slow, the pressure now too much. Catching one of them in his, he gently kissed your knuckles in acknowledgment. The cool air shifted against his back as he disentangled himself, and it suddenly registered just how tight and uncomfortable his clothes had become. They were practically soaked through from his efforts. He gave you a quick smile and sat up, peeling off his shirt and pants haphazardly before crawling back over to you and flopping down with a sigh.

******

Still trying to catch your breath, you reached down and ran your hand lightly over him, admiring the view you had been craving since the moment he stepped through your door. His wiry, lithe frame had always held good muscle, and the curve of his ass against your palm was a comforting weight. He would never know just what the sight of him with his mouth buried between your legs meant to you. 

Your lips pursed as your heartbeat began to slow. You hadn’t missed the earlier shift in his mood, but you decided not to question it. You just ached for him. 

“Was anything on you actually yours? Besides the belt,” you gestured at the glint of his buckle half buried under the pile of clothes now strewn on the floor. His weapons had all been confiscated, but even those had been borrowed or stolen. “Oh, and your coat, of course.” 

He paused for a moment, his lips tilting in a smirk. “Well, I would say this is,” he gestured down at his stiff, aching cock nestled against your thigh. “But I’m afraid that belongs to you at the moment.” Once the words left his mouth, he realized how little of a joke it actually was. 

“Oh really?” You couldn’t help but laugh gently, and he looked almost relieved. “Well, that’s nice to know.” 

Your fingers trailed lower, relishing the way he began to squirm as the back of your fingers brushed over his stomach, his hair, and lower until they finally whispered teasingly over his shaft. His jaw clenched, a half smile belying the slight shake of his head. 

“Careful,” he rasped, eyes easing shut as you took him fully in hand. You rubbed your thumb gently over the velvet skin, humming a little as he curled into you, chasing the sensation. Pulling long, smooth strokes, you reacquainted yourself with his thickness, the veins running up the side, the way he curved as he hardened in your fist. 

His jaw slackened a little as you picked up the pace, and you shifted yourself so that you could lean over and still look up at him. Pausing, you ran your knuckles lightly over him again and waited until he opened his eyes, and then slowly, you let your face hover over him, lips parting, until you felt him throb in anticipation. Gripping him tightly, you reached out your tongue and licked. First a quick swipe of his tip, and then letting your tongue circle his head, savoring his salty taste. You licked a wide, slow stripe up his shaft, and then welcomed him into the heat of your mouth with a rhythm of pumps and licks, a groan occasionally escaping him at the twists of your hand. 

A glance caught him biting his lip, eyes half-lidded, and you smirked as you leaned down, mouth wide, and took him in as far as you could, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked. Your nose just barely brushed against the curls at his base. 

“Hhhah, wait, wait,” he gasped, reaching down and fiercely gripping your chin to haul you up and off of him. His eyes were wild. Your teeth scraped against him in the process and you almost thought he would come right then and there.

He flipped you over, pulling you up to the top of the bed, and it was your turn to whimper at the feel of his teeth as he mouthed along your neck. Grabbing the packet he had set on your bedside table, he pulled away just long enough to sheath himself before crowding you with his hips. He kissed you deeply, reaching down and lining himself up to sink into you, slowly at first, and then all at once.

Every muscle thrummed at the stretch of him, and you closed your eyes as you felt your walls pulse, willing yourself to relax. It was almost overwhelming, the teasing pace he set, deliberately keeping you both at the edge. You moaned helplessly. There was something about him that could reach places in you that no one else could. 

He closed his hand around your throat and your eyes flashed, the slight pressure on either side of your neck heightening every sense. You were so close. 

“I need you to come on my cock”, he growled, almost breathless from the heat of you. “Need you…to…” his hips faltered for a moment. “Give me one more, pretty girl.” 

You murmured something he couldn’t quite catch. He released your neck and moved his thumb to meticulously explore the curve of your collarbone, letting you both catch your breath.

“What was that?” 

A small, teasing smile crept onto your face. 

“Yes sir.” Your voice was light and airy. 

His eyes widened comically, his hips stuttering with unexpected violence. That was…oh, that was…

Before he could muster any scrap of control, your hips snapped up in desperation to meet his, giving him room to slide one hand under your sacrum, fingers nestling in the indents on either side. 

Your fingertips clung to the planes of his shoulders, traced the cage of his ribs in a plea no words could convey. He couldn’t leave you wanting. 

“You can let go.” Your whispered release floated into his ear.

“I need you with me.” 

Shoving one elbow down for support, he twisted his thumb over your clit, gathering your slick in calculated circles and pressing, begging you to follow him into the void, to yield to the burst of heat flaring down your spine. 

Until with a few staggered gasps, you both fell over the edge in a pulsing surrender. 

******

Once breath settled back into your lungs, you rolled over and reached for him across the tangle of sheets, your heart catching as he turned to you with a languid, peaceful smile. 

“Sorry for the mess.”  

‘I mean, there’s ways to deal with that.” Your eyes glinted with mischief. Flipping onto your stomach, you flicked your tongue over him and then moved to take him back into your mouth. 

His hand flew to your head. “I wouldn’t do that…unless you want a repeat.”

You pulled off and gave him a sweetly innocent grin. “I have a perfectly good shower right there, if you’d prefer that instead.” 

“Are you calling me dirty?” he scoffed.

You slid off the bed and sauntered through the room, pausing at the ‘fresher door. “Very,” you winked. 

He groaned, head in his hands, before forcing himself up. A persuasive glint filled his eyes as he caught you by the waist and pulled you into the shower, muffling your laughter with determined lips. 

******

You both collapsed back on your bed, cleaned off and utterly spent. You were shocked that you hadn’t fallen asleep standing up. 

Jod wrapped himself around you, chin tucked against your shoulder, legs slotted between yours. You were savoring how the two of you fit together, limb against limb, and you let your hand wander up and down his back in a soothing sweep. 

You were about to drift off when you remembered something you had been meaning to ask. 

“So, how did you actually get up here? Don’t tell me I need to completely overhaul my security systems.” Your voice was thick with drowsiness.

He snorted. “I mean, I’m sure your crew is doing their best,” a flippant wave contradicting the sentiment until a yawn interrupted him. “But you seem to have forgotten that I’m quite capable of getting myself out of handcuffs when the situation requires.”

You slowly smiled. You had spent more than one night taking advantage of that fact in the past, though it apparently had slipped your mind since then. 

“Guess I need to start hunting for some of those old repression binders that could keep Force users in line if this is going to become a regular occurrence.”

You knew it was a horrible joke before it even left your mouth, and you belatedly winced, holding your breath as Jod stilled beside you. 

But his response was not the rebuke you expected. 

“I…” he cleared his throat, his voice muffled against the side of your arm. “I told them…about Ninaa.” 

You didn’t trust yourself to move. “Told who?”

He glanced up at you before burying his face in your chest. “The kids.” 

He had been drunk, and very morose, the night he told you about the Jedi woman who had found him as a ragged child. He was begging on the streets, she was a survivor on the run. They were perfect for each other. Jod learned a little about his natural giftings from her, and they kept each other safe. Until they couldn’t. 

“Told them how she died. What she taught me, the potential she saw in me”–he almost spit the word out of his mouth–”only for those bastards to use her own lightsaber to kill her in front of me.” His teeth ground in their sockets.  

The children must have gotten deeper under his skin than you thought if he had unburdened that story on them.

“And then I threatened to do the same thing to them. As if I could convince myself that I could actually follow through on it.”

He exhaled a slow breath, his features cycling through emotion after another. And then, so quietly you weren’t sure the words hadn’t just appeared in your mind–

“Don’t give up on me just yet.” 

The weight of his body on yours was suddenly crushing.

“I’ve never given up on you.” Your pulse raced. “Those kids haven’t either.”

His voice was measured, low. A steel knife dragged against the edge of a whetstone.

“Yeah they have. Just like everyone else.”

Before you could protest, he lifted his head, eyebrows raised. “I know you don’t trust me fully. Nor should you.” His mouth drooped in defeat.

Your lips parted but no sound escaped at first. Your hands trembled slightly. 

“There’s always time to surprise them.” Surprise me. 

He lowered his head in resignation.

“Maybe.” Someday.

You hesitantly swept your hand over his strained shoulders, wishing you could pierce through the shadows engulfing you both. Your voice was barely a whisper. 

“You know those pinpricks of light you always talk about? The few good things in the galaxy that are so… sparse and unattainable.” 

You waited. It was a long moment before he nodded, reluctantly. 

“They only stay pinpricks when you keep running away from them. Up close…those stars are suns. They give light. Warmth. Life.”

His limbs tightened around you. His breathing was so shallow you almost thought he had fallen asleep. 

“Yes.” The quiet hiss startled you.

“But the sun also burns.”

The night itself seemed to hold its breath at his admission. Your heart spasmed in your chest, frayed nerves bare and broken at the acknowledgement of the open wound seeping into the air between you. 

The starved desires of a frightened child whose every grasp for the light left him shrouded in darkness. Fear of abandonment leaving ash on everything he touched. 

The silent screams of a boy who had never been able to become the man he thought he would be. 

The barrier on At Attin may have evaporated, but a different, more insidious fog swirled around the Force-sensitive pirate’s heart and mind, clouding him from your sight. All you could do was hold onto him, keep a sliver of hope for him shining like a beacon in the night sky. 

Hope that one day, that light might become a flame that could illuminate rather than ignite and burn.

A gleam that wouldn’t cheapen into fools’ gold. 

The moments warped around you, plasma slipping through a time-glass, until the man in your arms shifted slightly. His hands dug into your sides, lightly at first, and then gripping you like a vise. He leaned up, his eyes meeting yours in mute exhaustion, and pressed a slow, cautious, achingly tender kiss to your mouth.  

You fell asleep to the imagined hum of a lightsaber, slashing and cutting as terrified screams filled the air, burning a hole in the hopes and dreams of the poor boy who carried its scars still. 

******

Jod could still feel your lips on his as he stood in the doorway of your room, the gasps of laughter (and more) you had shared with him through the night echoing in his skull. It was early morning, the sun about to rise over the newly exposed plains on At Attin. He had to move if he was going to steal one of the RZ-1 interceptors docked on the hull of the ship and make his escape. 

But he couldn’t stop staring at the one streak of light that trickled through the curtain onto your peaceful, sleeping face, framed by your loose hair and the sheet he had pulled carefully over your shoulder.  

Slung under his arm was the chest full of credits that had been sitting on your desk. Face strained with regret, he turned one of the datary shards over in his palm. It was cold–hard–the sharpened edge firm and unyielding. Such a stark contrast to the softness of your body, the sunshine of your lips, the pliant way your curves filled his hands. He clenched his fist until the sting of the metal sent a jolt through his palm, blood beading in its wake. 

He was itching to choose the warmth of you instead–to turn away for once from the blinding gleam of the forged gold pieces at his side–but he still couldn’t make himself do it. Not quite yet. He couldn’t shake off the darkness that surrounded him on a persistent, daily basis, and until he found a path through that haze, he couldn’t bear to shroud you in it too. 

His jaw jutted forward, lips pursed in a scowl that threatened to slice the cool air. 

No attachments. The one rule of the Jedi he had always been able to follow through on. Forget ‘em. That’s what he had told Wim when the boy was crying, scared and shaking from missing his parents. He recalled boasting like a mynocked fool that he had done just that. 

He shook his head. Call him a fool if he ever found it within himself to forget Ninaa, or those damn kids–or you.

Especially you. 

He pulled his scarf up over his face, double-checked that your blaster was still cocked at his hip, shut your door behind him, and left. 

******

A beam of sunlight bursting at the seam of your eyelids finally woke you. Eyes screwed tight, you immediately buried your face in the cooling relief of your pillow, not caring whether you had slept past your alarm or not.

Until the memories of the previous night that led to why, exactly, you had turned off said alarm came rushing back, unbidden. 

Your hand stretched out hesitantly, feeling along the mattress. You knew even before you opened your eyes.

He was gone. 

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you reluctantly stretched your arms, spine, and neck in turn, and scanned the room. 

You weren’t surprised that the chest of gold was gone from your desk. Nor even that one of your blasters had disappeared too (although it was a rather expensive antique, damn him).  

What was surprising was what the missing pirate had left behind. In the middle of your desk, surrounded by a sea of papers, lay a small bag of coins–deliberately culled from the cache he had absconded with–the worn clasp from his belt, and a hastily scribbled note. 

You picked that up first, willing your fingers not to shake.

You told me once to make my life the one I want to live.

I haven’t forgotten. I promise you, I will.

A hitched breath escaped you, turning into a laugh halfway through. 

Promises were like breathing to him. But this was one you would try to believe.

Laying the letter down with a sigh, you picked up his buckle and ran your fingers over the familiar scuff marks. It had been years since you had first seen its plundered steel. A token of the meager threads that held a pirate’s humanity together. 

Not that the buckle’s first owner had been human at all. Originally strapped around the waist of the Quarren upstart Kragan Gorr, it made its way into Jod’s hands during a scuffle in the Outer Rim, which you once called a nuisance, and would later call fate. 

Visiting Kh’ymm and rather bored at the time, you had agreed to join Jod on a supply run when he picked up a distress signal near the Kiax Nebula. You learned the hard way that the one-eyed pirate Grox was running a grift to lure unsuspecting ships into the system, before stripping and selling them (and whatever cargo and crew they contained) to a group called the Tech Masters, who ruled the nearby planet of Trionax. 

Jod had been intrigued by the rumors of ships going missing, tales of a hidden junkyard planet somewhere in the nebulae, and whispers about the loot Grox was accumulating. He never could resist a tall tale.

Convincing you that the scavenging possibilities would be worth the detour, Jod followed the signal until you found yourselves locked into a tractor beam. Predictably, the two of you were no match for the formidable Lasat, although you put up a dirty fight. Gruesomely efficient, with only Kragan and two others for backup, Grox had eventually shipped you off to Trionax alongside a rather banged up Corellian light freighter he had captured on the same trip. 

Unbeknownst to everyone until you landed, the freighter was not unmanned. Inconvenient capture turned into a fateful rendezvous as you met the woman who would become your employer, role model, and friend. Why Senator Organa, her blond, innocent-faced twin, and their blue and silver astromech were wandering around in that part of space was beyond you, but you didn’t have time to question the situation. 

Trionax had remained hidden for so long due to an artificial force field protecting the planet. After realizing your ships couldn’t take off even if you could sneak back on board, Leia was prepared to brashly try and force a way out of the situation. You had a feeling Luke both could and would back up her threats, but the Tech Masters had no patience for being patronized. Trying a different tack, you let Jod and Luke sweet talk their way into finding a communications panel, while you summoned every power of negotiation and a pocket translator you had to try and stall for them. 

And it worked, Force knew how. Alerting the Empire to the planet’s location, you all managed to slip away in the chaos that unfolded as a Star Destroyer appeared in the atmosphere above. 

Not, however, before Leia slipped you her comm number, muttering something about reaching out if you ever wanted to lend your impressive skills to a good cause.

That had been years ago, before the Empire fell. 

You and Jod returned home in one piece, the stolen belt buckle the only memento of your unexpected adventure. But something had shifted in you, and bargaining your way through Jod’s whims was becoming less of a thrill, especially when capture and near death were involved. 

While you stayed in touch for a while, the two of you drifted apart, Kh’ymm giving you updates on his expanding crew and latest escapades until even she lost contact with the man you had once dreamed of a future with. She was never willing to divulge why.

And now here you were. Headed back to Coruscant with gold left in your possession by the same pirate who had tried to steal the lot of it–twice. A trusted ambassador carrying news to your Chancellor of a planet that might as well be from another galaxy. Crafting the explanation you would owe your senator on how exactly one of your prisoners had managed to take a detour–again. Choices made, paths crossed, fates open.

And yet, you knew Leia would understand having a soft spot for handsome pirates who were nothing but trouble. 

A sudden buzz from your comm pierced through your introspection, the flickering blue figure of your haggard-looking first mate appearing in front of you. 

“Excuse me for waking you, but there’s been a disturbance. We believe one of the fighters took off a little while ago without authorization.”

You chuckled inwardly, rolling your eyes at the pirate’s predictability. You had known from the moment your security dragged him up the August Prime’s boarding ramp that he wouldn’t accept leaving the same way. 

You held down the receiver to answer.

“It’s alright, I was already awake. Thanks for notifying me. I doubt there’s anything we can do at this point, but I’ll be right there.” 

Jod’s penance would have to wait. 

Prison had never really suited him, anyway.

✨ Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off pls!) ✨ @jetii @probadbatch @arctrooper69 @freesia-writes @drafthorsemath @sunshinesdaydream @heyclickadee @burningfieldof-clover @the-little-moment @dreamless-daydreamer @ladyzirkonia

[thebookbin]

TimKon Fic Recs Part 1.

So I mentioned in a reply to @oneswordstyle that I had a ton of TimKon fic recs and I was about to spam them with a million comments in the replies, but then I figured it was probably easier to do in a post. So here it goes. It also got too long so I split it into 2 parts.

Scions by Winterlive (Explicit) 2008 - 63K words - Complete

Tim Wayne, adopted son of Gotham mogul and secret vigilante Bruce Wayne, shows every sign of being his father's true successor - by day, and by night. Tim sets his sights on a valuable Metropolis lab for merger with Wayne Biotech, and all that stands in his way is the city's own rising star: Conner Luthor.

Note: I really love when characters get to grow up. I think Tim was a really fun teen to read about, and this fic explores him as a young business man and true heir to the Wayne legacy. Kon is Luthor’s son and prodigy in this, and it makes them interesting foils.

⭐️ call me cute and feed me sugar by suzukiblu (Teen) 2024 - 80K words - Ongoing

Tim Drake had absolutely no intentions of ever becoming anyone's sugar daddy when he met Superboy. This would have worked out better for him if Superboy had ever had an actual legal identity or an actual legal guardian or just . . . literally anything whatsoever in life. Ever. At all.

Just a bank account, even.

Note: Kon is fresh outta the test tube in this one, and despite the author’s facetious use of the word “sugar daddy” this is actually really sweet. Make sure to drop a comment and let the author know we’re excited for the next chapter!

Baby, Talk Me Down (Take Me Out) by sage (Teen) 2020 - 90K words - hiatus

Tim has been working too hard lately, and everyone is starting to notice. Bruce takes it upon himself to help Tim do some self-care and ships Tim off to the Kent farm for the summer, forcing him to take a well-earned vacation. Naturally, things get out of hand.

Note: This fic is on hiatus, so make sure to stop by and leave an encouraging comment, so we can get the ending this sweet story deserves. Tim finally gets a minute to breathe and really process all that’s been happening. He also gets to experience small town life but also he’s Tim so he gets himself into trouble. I find in a lot of fics, Kon always feels out of place or like he doesn’t quite belong, but he’s very settled and has really taken the time to learn who he is in this one, which I appreciated very much.

The Classic Shenanigans of Two Idiot Boys in Love by MashpotatoeQueen (Teen) 2021 - 94K words - Complete

In which the papers get hold of the fact that Timothy Drake-Wayne is dating another boy, Kon is all chill, Tim is no chill at all, the internet is flipping out, and Dick Grayson is quite possibly the greatest big brother of all time.

Note: An attempt to explore the public side of their relationship, a story told in vignettes.

⭐️ Stars Over Gotham by madaliz (Explicit) 2025 - 170K words - ongoing

Kon is tasked by the Planet to write the defining piece on Gotham City (no pressure). As he learns more about the city's first family and its criminal underbelly, he finds himself increasingly entangled with the mob and the vigilantes he's supposed to keep away from.

or

A story about how Kon and Tim grapple with their family legacies, fall in love, and team up to foil a conspiracy to ruin Gotham's hard earned order.

Note: Adults! Self-assured Kon! A really interesting world in which the Bats and the JL are completely separate and do not mingle. They are aware of each other but maintain strict rules. When Kon goes to Gotham in his civilian identity as a reporter his and Tim’s game of cat and mouse quickly turns into a Romeo and Juliet situation and I AM OBSESSED. There’s only 3 chapters left and I love this fic so much I’m dreading saying goodbye to it. Make sure to leave a comment to let the author know!

I’m alone here, I think by unluckyloki (Teen) 2019 - 93K words - Complete

Superboy is fighting robots in San Francisco and remembers something that wasn't. There's a new priest in the Naxos temple appointed by Dream of the Endless. Kon is missing something. Tim is missing everything. One day Krypto practically drags Superboy to a remote island in Europe and there's a dark haired guy smiling at Kon like he knows him.

Maybe he does.

Note: I’m not usually a fan of fics set in the cartoon Young Justice world, but this one is really special. The prose is exquisite, and it feels like reading an epic poem. Even though it’s kind of in the blurb it took me way too long to realize it was a Sandman crossover, but honestly you don’t really have to know anything about that. I’m also not usually a fan of ‘Tim Drake has magic AUs’ but again, I can read anything if it’s executed well, and this writer executes basically everything perfectly.

I Want it That Way (1990s Tim/Kon) by WynterSky (Series) - 140K words - Complete

On a field trip, Robin has a close encounter with the newest super in Metropolis, only to discover the hard way that Superboy secretly works for Lex Luthor. They agree to work together on a plan to free Superboy from Luthor’s hold, but Robin isn’t sure how far he can trust him—and his developing feelings only make things more complicated.

Note: Series says “not complete” but the series currently has 3 fics, which are all complete. Set int he 90s, which I think is perfect for superheroes. A lot of the mythos collapses with modern day technology. Fresh outta the test tube Kon is sort of held hostage by Lex Luthor, and young Tim realizes this and decides to save him. The 90’s setting is what MAKES this series something truly special.

buy back the secrets by sundiscus (Teen) 2024 - 90K words - Ongoing

He takes a long, slow breath. Ignores the glares from the other students. “Superboy,” he murmurs. “It’s me. If you’re listening, I could use some help.”

Or: 5 times Superboy saves Tim Drake, and one time Tim Drake saves Superboy.

Note: 1 chapter left! Don’t forget to leave a comment so we can let the author know how much we’re anticipating the last chapter. This is another love-square AU, I can’t help myself. In this one, they’re both skewed a bit younger, but they deal with the more heavy side of vigilantism.

Trust fall by Ididloveyou_once (Mature) 2021 - 22K words - Complete

‘Drake?’

Tim felt like he was choking. His throat was tight. He couldn’t swallow.

‘Damian?’ He managed.

Damian was… here. At Kent Farm. Dressed in the too-big Batman pajamas that Dick had bought him last Christmas as a joke. And- And-

Tim was wearing Kon’s t-shirt and his hair was messy and his lips were swollen and- He wasn’t ready for this- He wasn’t- He couldn’t-

How had he been so stupid?

Or: Tim comes out to Damian and prepares for the entire family to know by morning. It just so happens that Damian can keep a secret. Multiple, actually.

Note: Not usually a fan of Damian/Jon but I think this fic handles it well and is more of a puppy-crush than anything. This is a coming-out fic that deals in all those tropes, and I think handles it really well. Again, I’m not usually into the more fanon interpretation of Tim as a timid, neglected, anxiety-ridden wet cat, but this fic explores some insecurities without, I feel, straying too far from his actual characterization.

⭐️ First Kontact by Chiyana

Two years after a disastrous first encounter with an alien entity called Necros, Captain Tim Drake is given his first mission back in the field. The simple six-month exploration mission babysitting a group of LexCorp researchers goes abruptly downhill upon the discovery of a missing colony ship, landing Tim directly back into the horror that took him out of the field in the first place and leading him to his second first encounter with an alien race. Usually he's all for over-achieving, but even he finds this to be a bit excessive.

At least this time one of the aliens is more interested in him alive than dead.

Note: This may be my favorite fic I’ve ever read, like ever. This is a sci-fi au, where Tim is a captain, and the Kryptonians are space refugees after the destruction of their planet. The WORLD BUILDING is exquisite. I absolutely love Bart in this world. Also, despite the new world building, the explanation for Kon’s ostracism from the House of El is fantastic. This is one of those stories that has dug into my brain. Although, please mind the tags, it can be intense.

What happens in Vegas by Ididloveyou_once (Mature) 2022 - 92K words - Complete

57 missed calls.

Bart_ahhh tagged you and one other in a post

The Gazette (4 hours ago)

Bruce Wayne’s youngest eligible bachelor is off the market: Timothy Drake-Wayne eloped in Vegas [EXCLUSIVE pictures]

63 unread messag-

Tim jolted upright. His eyes scanned over the headline again. Timothy Drake-Wayne eloped… Timothy Drake-Wayne what?

And with who?

Or: Tim and Conner accidentally get married in Vegas and decide to stay that way until they can get quietly divorced. It’s simple. Except the Bats are detectives and the press is relentless and oh, Tim is hopelessly in love with his best frie- husband?

Note: classic accidentally married first, then fall in love. Obsessed with this fic, and the author has indicated it’s supposed to be a series, so I canNOT wait to see where this AU goes. Honestly Cassie is the most relatable person in this fic, because she totally believes that these two idiots would do something so ridiculous but what she can’t believe is the audacity to get spontaneously married on her birthday.