#it's just obligatory information for my followers

[fluentmoviequoter]

Playing Favorites

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: Tim trains you differently, uncaring that he's accused of playing favorites. When he realizes that the scars your trauma left go deeper than your approach to police work, he accidentally falls in love with you, and you're beside him for it all.

Warnings: touch starved reader, brief angst, depiction/discussion of past traumas, allusion to past domestic violence, canon-typical injuries and violence, fluff, comfort, obligatory makeout sesh

Word Count: 3.2k+ words

A/N: I used this fantastic idea by @nevereclipse!! As someone who is touch starved, I loved every single aspect of this dynamic and hope I did it some justice🤍🫶🏼

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Less than a minute after your TO slams on the brakes, declares he’s been shot, and demands you tell him exactly where you are, the radio crackles. Officer Bradford has been quiet since you answered him with the nearest cross streets and the direction the shop was facing, and his silence is something you assume you’ll have to grow used to. It’s better than the yelling, you think.

“7-Adam-19,” the dispatcher radios. “Domestic disturbance in your area.”

“Responding,” Tim replies. “What’s standard procedure for domestic calls, boot?”

You stiffen, straightening your back against the seat as you answer robotically, reciting your list of dos and don’ts for this type of call. Tim listens, glancing at you every few seconds. He has a reputation for judging his rookies quickly – and usually, he’s right in his judgements. Yet, he held off on deciding whether or not you would succeed. Though it’s your first day, Tim has, until now, been unsure what to think of you. You know your stuff; there’s no question of that.

“Good,” he murmurs when you finish. “Follow my lead.”

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

Tim slams the door to the shop, but when he walks past you to approach the front door of the dilapidated house, he realizes something. You’ve endured hard things, experiences you’ve probably kept to yourself and dealt with all alone. Despite that hurt and the devastation Tim knows comes with it, you decided to become a police officer. Whether to be the person you needed during the bad days and dark nights or to stop someone from going down the wrong path is irrelevant to Tim. All he knows now is that your potential outweighs your response to your memories, your dedication is stronger than your past. Tim will have to change his ways because you have what it takes to be a success story.

For the first time in his TO career, Tim adapts his training method to fit his rookie rather than molding his rookie to fit his style. For you, he can be different: gentler, kinder, quieter. You need to learn and grow, and Tim will do everything he can to help you...

Right after he kicks the front door in and starts yelling at the couple fighting on the kitchen floor.

“337.6,” Tim says.

Pinching your brows, you answer, “Unlawful use of a California Horse Racing license? Do you really think that will come up?”

“It’s not about whether or not you’ll need it,” Tim explains, “but whether or not you know it.”

“Okay.”

“Why do you know that one?”

“Why do you?” you challenge, smiling.

Tim shakes his head as he turns on to Pico. “628.5.”

You think for a moment, then remember, “Information attained during prosecution for criminal activity in relation to massage therapy is made available to the California Massage Therapy Council.”

Tim scoffs, though he's impressed by your knowledge of Penal Codes.

“I don’t remember the Business and Professions Code section, though,” you add softly.

“That’s fine,” Tim replies.

You stare out of the windshield, pulling your shoulders toward each other as you curl in on yourself.

“Boot,” Tim says. “You don’t have to know the whole code, just the premise.”

“What if it comes up?” you question.

“You’ve got a phone with internet and the entire LAPD dispatch at your disposal. Asking for help to fill in the blanks isn’t frowned upon, it’s good policing. You may ride alone someday but you are not expected to do this job by yourself.”

“10-50 multiple vehicles, at northeast intersection of Pico and Hauser,” dispatch alerts. “Service technician ETA seven minutes.”

Tim pulls the radio from the dashboard and attaches himself and you to the call. You flex your hands as he turns around and drives toward the accident scene.

“What would you like me to do, Officer Bradford?” you ask as Tim parks behind the wrecked cars.

“Get these people out of this lane,” he answers, opening his door. “We’ve got a few cones in the war bags, make them work.”

“Yes, sir.”

You open the trunk as Tim joins the other officers on the scene. While he checks for injuries and ensures statements will be taken, you direct a driver to go into the other lane.

“But I need to turn right!” he calls through his rolled-down window. “I’m late to a meeting!”

You walk to his car to assist him after checking that no one is trying to get through. “Go straight through when it’s clear, turn right on Carmona, and it’ll take you up to San Vincente,” you direct.

“But I’m going to Olympic,” he rambles quickly, gesturing to his GPS.

“You’re from out of town?”

“That obvious?”

You smile and point straight. “Go through this light. Right on Carmona, which merges into Masselin after you cross San Vincente. That’ll get you straight to Olympic.”

“Okay. Right, right.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks, officer.”

He pulls up to the white line at the intersection just as the light changes to red. Tim says your name, then gestures to the traffic backed up in the Northbound lane.

“Sorry,” you say.

As you turn to jog across the street and direct traffic, Tim calls your name again.

“One thing at a time,” he reminds you. “Good work.”

You nod, then look both ways. You’re out of earshot and are directing drivers to merge before crossing the intersection when Officers Lucy Chen and John Nolan look at your TO with wide eyes.

“What?” Tim questions.

“You just said good work,” Lucy says. “To a rookie.”

“You’re being… nice,” Nolan adds.

“I had to remind myself not to cry on numerous occasions as your rookie, but you tell her good job? I didn’t know you played favorites, Tim.”

“I’m not playing favorites,” Tim defends. He looks over his shoulder to check on you, then sighs. “Are we going to move these cars out of the way or talk about my teaching style?”

“EMTs are here to check the drivers, so we could do both,” Nolan suggests.

“Go put the sedan in neutral, Chen,” Tim instructs. “Nolan, you’re pushing.”

The service technicians arrive as Tim, Lucy, and Nolan get the first car out of the lane. As they take over, and another thanks you for your help and begins directing traffic, Tim leans against the shop and watches you return.

“Are you okay, Officer Bradford?” you inquire.

“How many times did you get flipped off?” he asks rather than answering.

“Four,” you answer. “Sir.”

“Should’ve written them tickets.”

Your brows raise, and you press your hands against your legs to stop yourself from wringing your fingers together. “Really?”

Tim shrugs as he says, “Up to the officer. In a backup like that, no, but if any of them had gotten hostile, absolutely.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“I know you will,” Tim replies, pushing off the shop. “Let’s go.”

As you buckle your seatbelt, a robbery in progress call comes through, and you gladly accept Tim’s offer to take the lead when you arrive at the nearby drugstore, smiling at his faith in you.

 “Did you know Tim has a favorite officer?” Lucy asks.

“Yeah,” Angela replies. “It’s me.”

Nyla barks a sarcastic laugh, then smiles when Angela glares at her.

“Who is it this week?” Nyla inquires.

Lucy looks around, then leans forward to whisper, “His boot.”

“Tim?” Nyla asks, still sarcastic. “Falling for a boot? Who would’a thought it.”

“What we had was not this,” Lucy argues. “We were a fling, and now we’re friends. He’s- he’s nice to her, talks to her without yelling, corrects her without getting mad. It’s weird.”

“Lucy,” Angela begins. “As a TO, you have to do what is best for the rookie, not for you. Maybe that’s what she needs. For some people, the yelling and obnoxious reprimands are too much.”

“Tim Bradford does not care about being too much,” Lucy points out.

“Got a point there,” Nyla agrees, leaning back in her chair. “He breaks boots’ spirits, regardless of what they need. There must be something else going on.”

Angela juts her chin toward the door, and Lucy and Nyla turn in time to see Tim leading you into the station. You’re walking side-by-side, and he’s nodding along as you speak. Tim watches your face, then glances at your small hand motions. When one side of his lips quirks up, and he shakes his head, Angela and Nyla look at each other.

“See?!” Lucy exclaims when you turn out of sight.

“Oh, we see,” Nyla replies.

“So, what does it mean?”

“Ever heard of kindred souls?” Angela asks.

Lucy hesitates as Angela and Nyla stand to leave, then decides, “Tim is not kindred anything.”

“Maybe not to you,” Nyla says over her shoulder.

“Is she okay?” you ask.

Tim scrubs an antiseptic wipe across his knuckles as he returns from the ambulance. You were expecting the worst when you got a call for a possible 187, but walking into a home with two screaming teenagers and a bleeding child was far worse.

“Paramedics aren’t sure,” Tim answers. “They’re rushing her to UCLA Children's.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” you murmur.

“No,” Tim agrees. “The detectives will figure out what happened, but unfortunately, we rarely get to play a part in deciphering the puzzle.”

You nod, tapping the toe of your right boot against the asphalt. If you’d gotten here faster, if you’d urged Tim to go inside the back door, or radioed for an ambulance as soon as the call came in, maybe the young girl fighting for her life would have a better chance.

“Hey,” Tim says. You don’t look up, so he lays his hand on your upper back and says, “It’s not our fault.”

You stiffen beneath his hand. Unable to remember the last time you were touched like this, you fight the urge to push him away as pain like pins and needles erupts under the warmth he gives. Then, suddenly, it passes, and the only thing you can feel is the comfort he provides.

Your muscles relax, and your shoulders drop as you unconsciously lean against his hand. Tim spreads his fingers when you seem to melt beneath him. At first, he thinks you’re going to fall. But, as quickly as you went from tense to wholly relaxed, a voice in his mind says, Oh.

There was no question that you’ve had hard times and seen and experienced difficult things that shaped who you are today, but Tim missed your touch starvation before now. With his hand on your back, Tim watches you take a deep breath before you look at him.

“There’s,” he begins, trailing off.

“I know it’s not our fault,” you say softly. “Thank you.”

Tim swallows as he nods, wondering why his hand fits so well. A car pulls over on the other side of the street, and Tim withdraws his hand when Nyla and Angela exit the front seats.

He nods to you before you begin speaking with the detectives, and the admiration you had for your TO and his knowledge begins shifting into something more.

“You alright?” Tim asks.

You raise your hand to your shoulder, press it lightly, and nod. Your frown tells Tim differently, and he gently hooks his finger beneath the collar of your uniform. He doesn’t have to pull the fabric far to see the redness of your skin.

“Get in the shop,” he says. “We have to get that checked.”

“It’ll be fine,” you reply. “Just sore.”

“Wasn’t a question.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” you answer with a salute.

Tim shakes his head and shifts the car into drive. It’s been nearly two weeks since Tim laid his hand on your back, and he’s lost count of how many easy touches he’s given you since then. But it works for both of you. You’re an even better cop than Tim expected. If he’d ask, you’d tell him it’s because of him.

The shop is filled with a tense silence as you drive back to the station. Tim is sitting like a statue in the passenger seat, and the man behind you stares at the back of your head as if he’s trying to make it explode.

You’ve known since the very first call of your training – a domestic disturbance – that Tim’s past affects him. Maybe you can see his trauma because you have your own, or it's evident because you cared enough to look. Either way, you know that calls like this affect him.

Finding a little boy hiding in the closet with a bruise on his cheek and drywall dust in his matted hair broke your heart, but it made Tim angry. You had to pull him off the man sitting behind you, and it’s only because of your demands and warnings that they’re both sitting in silence.

When you pull up to the station, an officer is waiting to take your arrest into custody, and you thank him before you return to the streets of Los Angeles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask after several minutes alone.

“No,” Tim replies.

“Yeah, me neither,” you agree. “Wanna talk about the Braves?”

Tim jerks toward the door, his eyes wide in shock.

“Welcome back,” you mutter.

“It...” Tim begins.

“It’s hard,” you finish for him. “Especially when it reminds you of something or someone you recognize. I get it.”

“I know you do,” Tim murmurs.

“That’s why you’re so nice to me.”

“I’m just teaching you.”

You smile as you slow, parking outside a small strip mall. Turning toward Tim, you explain, “I’ve heard the stories, Officer Bradford. I know you don’t treat all of your rookies like this. But I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Tim nods. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not today.”

“Wanna talk about the Dodgers?”

“You’d like that.”

“You wouldn’t?”

Your smile matches Tim’s, and everything feels lighter when Angela interrupts to ask for assistance with a new case.

“Big day tomorrow,” Tim reminds you as you walk out of the station together. “Get some sleep, don’t overstudy, and know you’re going to do great.”

“That’s it?” you ask. “No warning? Now if you make less than a 93, it’s a failure?”

“Lucy?” Tim questions.

You shrug, but Tim raises his hand, wrapping his fingers around the crook of your elbow to stop you.

“You are not Officer Chen. You are not a copied version of me. You are your own officer, your own person, and you do what you are capable of doing.”

“What if I’m not capable of doing this?”

“You are.”

“Only because of you,” you whisper.

“You did the work. I just offered an assist.”

You glance at Tim’s hand on your arm and don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck. Hugging him tightly, you smile against his shoulder as he returns the hug. His light touches changed your life, but initiating physical affection and taking what you want is different.

“Thank you,” you say. “For everything.”

“You did the heavy lifting,” Tim replies.

As you step back, Tim’s hands pause on your waist. He looks at you, almost like he wants to say or do more. But then he steps back and wishes you a good night.

Alone in your apartment after graduating to short sleeves, you raise a glass and congratulate yourself. Your favorite movie is queued, you picked up dinner from the best restaurant in Los Angeles, and a congratulations card from Detective Lopez is now displayed on your bookcase. Yet, it feels like something is missing. While the movie plays, your thoughts wander to Tim.

A loud knock on your door distracts you from your daydreaming and the quiet night in. Pausing your movie, you walk to the door and look through the peephole. You smile as you open the door and invite your surprise visitor inside.

“Tim- Officer Bradford,” you greet. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re off the clock,” he reminds you. He sees your table and asks, “Celebrating?”

“Yeah.” Shrugging, you explain, “I figured, I made it this far.”

“It’s a big accomplishment. Have room for an extra guest?”

“Depends on the guest.”

Tim smiles and offers you a card. You thank him and set it on the counter as you offer to get him a drink or something to eat.

“I’m good, thank you.”

You nod, leaning against the counter as you look at him. He meets your eyes, and the silence around you is anything but awkward as you stare at one another.

“I came to congratulate you,” he says after a moment.

“Thank you.”

“You were right. I trained you differently.”

“Why?”

“Because I could tell that you were different. Whatever it was in your past that led you here, it made you special. It affected you, so I wanted to use that, let it help you rather than hurt you.”

“You never asked,” you muse.

“People who want to talk about it tend to start that conversation themselves.”

“Which you never do.”

“Not often, no.”

“Whatever happened to you, Tim, whether it made you the man you are or if you are here today in spite of it, you’re a good man.”

“Same to you.”

“You think I’m a good man?” you joke, smiling after the serious moment.

“It’s not obvious?” he replies.

You raise your hands to playfully push Tim away from you, but he catches your wrists and holds your palms against his chest. Standing together, you continue looking into his eyes. You’ve seen more in each other during your training than anyone else has ever cared enough to look for.

Falling in love with Tim was not intentional, and it wasn’t like free falling. After he touched you, he brought you back to life, and every day after, you fell a little more for him.

“Why’d you let me hug you?” you whisper.

“Because I wanted it, too,” he replies.

Tim brushes his thumb over the pulse point on your wrist. He releases your hand and cups your neck, tracing your jawline. You lean toward him while he pulls you closer.

Tim’s kiss feels like entering a new world, like coming home and finding paradise simultaneously. Sliding your hands up his chest, you shiver against Tim when his arm wraps around your waist. Tim bends slightly, lowering his hand to your hips before he lifts you. You don’t break the kiss as he sets you on the counter, and as his fingers tangle in your hair, you hold his jaw and lose yourself.

Through each breath, each movement, you give a piece of yourself to Tim and accept the pieces he offers you. Remembering that you stiffened and considered pushing him away the first time he touched you, you chuckle against Tim’s lips.

“What’s so funny?” he questions, pulling away and straightening your hair.

“I was touch starved a few months ago,” you reply. “And now you let me take whatever affection I want.”

“You’re welcome.”

You push your hand against Tim’s abs, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder.

“Some people think you were playing favorites with me,” you muse, looking up at him.

“I was,” he answers. “Still am.”

“Lucky me,” you murmur before kissing his jaw and tugging his shirt to bring him close again.

[yuujispinkhair]

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 04

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 5k Warnings: 18+, smut. This is a very smutty chapter. Lots of locker room sex with our favorite hockey player. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 10 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

You have no idea how you became such a hockey fan. You try to tell yourself that you are just here because ice hockey is a fascinating sport. And the Tigers are your college's pride, so attending the games and cheering for the team is almost obligatory.

And cheer you do. Maybe a little too enthusiastic, anytime Sukuna scores a goal, or when he slams an opponent brutally into the boards, or when he skates as fast as lightning over the rink with that mad grin on his face.

There's a little voice in your head that whispers to you that maybe you aren't so much a hockey girl but rather a Sukuna girl. But this is a thought you try to push into the furthest back of your mind.

And after all, in your defense, Sukuna is the star player of the Tigers, and the whole arena cheers for him!

After the game, Sukuna skates past you and lifts a hand in greeting, smirking at you through the plexiglass and yelling over the loud noises of the arena,

"Good job today, my lucky charm!"

And you laugh and smile broadly at Sukuna, yelling back at him that he played really well. He flashes you a smile, and his cat-like eyes trail slowly over you with a smug expression.

You give him a little wave when Yuuji and Todo skate up to him and take him in the middle to do another round across the rink for the cheering fans in the stands. And your treacherous eyes follow Sukuna the whole time he is on the ice until he finally skates over to the player's bench to collect his stuff.

That's when you remember that you still have Sukuna's hoodie. The hoodie which feels so soft and warm and, which, to your utter embarrassment, you didn't take off for several days. But it's time to return it, or things will look strange. So you washed it and brought it along to the game. Even though you have this irrational fear that Sukuna can somehow read your mind and will know exactly what you did with his hoodie. You don't ever want him to find out. Even though you would love to know if Sukuna finds the thought of you wearing his clothes just as exciting as you do.

You follow Nobara into the lobby but touch her forearm lightly to make her turn around and look at you. You hold up the hoodie, informing her,

"I have to give that back to Sukuna. Can we wait for the players to come out?"

Nobara gives you an amused look, far too knowing for your taste. She huffs and crosses her arms in front of her chest,

"I won't waste my precious time waiting for some hockey boys."

She says the words hockey boys as if it is an insult. You sigh and are about to complain when she grins at you and adds,

"I have to hurry up, so I can take a shower before Maki comes over. But you can stay here and wait for your loverboy to come out!"

"Sukuna isn't my loverboy!"

"We'll see about that. Anyways. Have fun! I have to go!"

She waves at you and leaves you standing there while your heart is beating too fast and your face feels too hot at the implication that Sukuna and you could be lovers.

You sigh, looking around the lobby, trying to decide the best place to wait for Sukuna. You settle on making a left turn to walk down the corridor that leads toward the locker rooms. At least you can be sure you won't miss Sukuna this way.

The door to the men's locker room comes into view, and you slow down.

Suddenly, unbidden images of a shirtless Sukuna flood your mind. Sukuna changing, Sukuna half-naked, all buff muscles and tattooed skin. Sukuna in the shower. You feel a bit dizzy all of a sudden, and you shake your head as if it can help you get rid of those images.

Maybe it was a stupid idea to come here. Your mind keeps betraying you those last few days. Dirty thoughts about Sukuna haunt you night and day. Why does he have to be so sexy?

You lean against the wall, clutching Sukuna's hoodie to your chest as you wait. The minutes tick by, and you feel your nervousness grow. You are almost ready to bolt when you hear loud voices coming from the direction of the locker room, but before you can do so, the door gets pushed open, and you decide it would look weird if you run now, so you force yourself to stay, trying to look nonchalant as you turn your head to check if Sukuna is among the guys coming out of the locker room.

You spot pink hair and your heart jumps to your throat, but you realize a second later that it's Yuuji. The guys walk past you, casting curious glances at you, and you nod at them in greeting, smiling sheepishly as you mumble, "Good game."

The others walk past you, but Yuuji stops in front of you with a big smile on his face, greeting you as if the two of you are old friends.

It's kind of strange to look at Yuuji, seeing all the things that look exactly like Sukuna, the same tall and muscular build, the matching pink hair dye, the same face shape, the same way of cocking their heads. And at the same time, the twins look so different.

Sure, the face tattoos contribute a lot to the difference in appearance. But it's not just that. Sukuna and Yuuji give off completely opposite vibes. Their whole facial expression is different. While Yuuji smiles a bright sunshine smile that lights up every room, Sukuna walks around with that smug smirk on his face, always making you feel as if he is mocking everyone around him and thinking they are annoying little insects and nothing more.

While Yuuj's eyes have an almost golden glow and seem warm like honey, Sukuna's are that rich, deep maroon that seems so mysterious and almost devilish sometimes. His eyes always seem to be narrowed as if he is watching you closely, reading you like a book while he keeps his own soul carefully hidden, while Yuuji's eyes are big and open, and you feel like you can read every emotion he feels openly in his eyes.

Right now, those warm, brown eyes beam at you with a happy sparkle in them,

"You're waiting for my brother, right? You can go in! Sukuna is still in there."

Yuuji smiles his sunshine smile and jerks his head towards the door of the locker room. And you almost choke on your spit as you are quick to shake your head and splutter,

"Um... uh, thanks, but no. I will just wait here. I can't just go into the men's locker room."

Yuuji laughs, his eyes sparkling amusedly at you, and he shakes his head,

"No, it's okay! Trust me! Everyone else already left. It's only Sukuna in there. And he told me to send you to him."

What??

You stare at Yuuji with wide eyes.

"How did he know I would be here?"

Yuuji shrugs and scratches the back of his head a bit sheepishly,

"Kuna just knows things, I guess."

You blink at him but choose not to inquire any further. But your mind registers the nickname Yuuji uses for his brother. Kuna. It makes your stomach do a little flip for whatever reason.

You thank Yuuji and slowly make your way toward the locker room door, feeling as if you are in a daze.

You try to tell yourself you are only doing this because Yuuji is so nice, and you don't want to seem ungrateful, but deep down, you know that a part of you has longed to walk through that door ever since you came here. That part of you that keeps having dirty fantasies about Sukuna and is drooling over the thought of him coming out of the shower, wet and sexy and... You exhale sharply, forbidding yourself to think any further.

You stop in front of the door and cast one last glance over your shoulder at Yuuji, who nods encouragingly at you, and then you grab the door handle and push the heavy door open.

Steam greets you. Warm, humid air and a mix of sweat and various scented shower gels.

You gulp, feeling your heartbeat in your throat as the door closes behind you with a soft thud. You carefully take a few steps toward the lockers. The room looks pretty neat, probably because the team has already left. There is only one sports bag standing on the long bench, only one pair of grey sweatpants lying around, and a familiar pair of black and red Nikes waiting for their owner.

But there is no sight of him. Where is Sukuna? For a moment, you think you have fallen victim to some dumb prank, but then you hear it. The sound of running water.

Is he serious? He is still in the shower but tells me to come in here?

You feel so nervous all of a sudden, your head spinning with the thought of a very naked and very sexy Sukuna under the shower only a few meters away from you. It makes you turn on your heel, about to flee the locker room. But you get stopped by a familiar velvety voice that sounds far too smug,

"Already leaving, princess?"

You involuntarily jump, stopping in your tracks with your hand hovering just a few centimeters away from the door handle.

You gulp and slowly turn around again, pulse fluttering nervously as your gaze lands on Sukuna. He walks out of the locker room showers with only a white towel slung dangerously low around his narrow hips. His hair is still wet, looking dark pink instead of the usual light pink pastel tone. The wet strands hang into Sukuna's face, dripping water onto his broad, muscular chest, making small rivulets run down his firm pecs and abs.

He looks even better than in your fantasy. Tall and broad, with all those gorgeous muscles and sexy tattoos unashamedly on display. You can't stop yourself from letting your gaze follow some water droplets down his perfect body, over his buff pecs and taut abs and those two black lines that he has tatted onto his abdomen that disappear so tantalizingly in the low sitting towel, right next to his defined v-line.

You feel weak in the knees, your face burning, your heart hammering much too fast in your chest as you force yourself to tear your eyes away from Sukuna's naked chest and abs and instead lift your head to look into his amused maroon eyes.

"I... I have your hoodie."

You lift your hand that's holding the soft white sweater, and Sukuna's lips lift in that sexy smirk.

"Then why don't you bring it over to me?"

You don't even stop to think but automatically walk towards him as if he is pulling you toward him by some invisible string. As if you are caught in his web, but you don't even want to escape but want him to catch you and devour you.

You stop in front of him, your chest heaving heavily with your nervous breaths.

Sukuna is so tall, especially when you stand so close to him. You have to tilt your head back to look at his tattooed face, and it only adds to the excited tingle you feel buzzing in your veins. He is gorgeous. Tall and broad and sexy. And he knows it.

He smirks at you, a knowing glint in his beautiful maroon eyes as he takes the hoodie from you, his large, warm hand brushing over yours, cupping your hand a little too long.

And then he does something that makes you spin completely out of control.

He leans down to whisper in your ear, in that sexy bedroom voice,

"Good girl."

And his lips brush over your earlobe and then over your burning cheek. He is standing so close to you that you can feel his body heat emanating from him and smell his shower gel, sexy, fresh, and masculine.

When he pulls away, you are left staring at him with a dazed look and a wet patch in your panties.

Sukuna strolls casually over to his locker, slowly sitting down on the bench in front of it, and his maroon eyes never leave yours.

You feel trapped, unsure of what to do. You did what you came here for. You returned his hoodie. There is no reason for you to stay longer here in this locker room where you clearly shouldn't be, especially not when a fresh-out-of-the-shower hockey player is sitting here, about to get changed.

But there is another voice in your mind telling you that you are right where you should be. It's that voice that makes you take a tentative step toward Sukuna.

He is rubbing his hair with a second towel, ruffling the pink strands in the process, and you can't help but bite your lip at how attractive Sukuna looks. His thick tattooed biceps are flexed, his abs taut.

And then he spreads his thighs, making the towel split in the middle, revealing his muscular thighs, and you finally get a good look at the pair of tattooed bands high up on those gorgeous thighs, so sexy that it takes all in you, not to moan out loud. You want to curse yourself for the thoughts that run through your mind. The fantasy of being on your knees between those muscular thighs, licking and kissing those sexy tattoos, your mouth slowly trailing up higher.

You tear your gaze away, looking at Sukuna's face, not even trying to hide how affected you are by his half-naked body and the thick, steamy air in here that only adds to the atmosphere that's dripping with sexual tension.

Burning maroon eyes meet yours,

"Come here, princess."

Sukuna pats his thigh, leaving no doubt about what he means by "here."

You walk over to him without any hesitation this time, dropping your bag on the floor as you slip onto Sukuna's lap, straddling those muscular thighs as if this is the place you belong.

You are barely sitting on him when Sukuna's lips are already on yours, claiming them in a heated kiss that makes you gasp into his warm mouth. His large, strong hands are on your body, slipping around your waist and under your sweater, holding you, caressing your skin, and making your head spin. And Sukuna's tongue pushes hungrily into your mouth, flicking against your tongue in sexy caresses that make your pussy twitch.

Your hands tangle in his still-damp pink hair, tugging on it while you open your mouth eagerly and lick against Sukuna's skilled tongue, kissing him just as hungrily as he is kissing you, as if you want to devour each other.

Sukuna's large hands wander from your waist to your ass, kneading it firmly through your leggings, making you moan into the kiss and buck against him, gasping them you feel his hard cock press against you and hear his soft growl.

Your hands are wandering too, groping Sukuna's broad shoulders, caressing his buff pecs, digging your fingernails into his buff muscles, scratching them slightly, smiling when you hear Sukuna make a sexy little noise in the back of his throat, like a low purr.

You are grinding against each other desperatedlyy, your harsh breaths filling the locker room, making things even more humid and steamy. You don't even care that someone could walk in again. All you know right now are Sukuna's lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, and the feeling of his muscles under your fingers while his calloused hands are wandering over your body.

Sukuna is bold, letting one hand slip between your legs and rubbing you through your leggings and panties. You push eagerly against his hand, seeking more friction, not caring about how horny and needy you must seem, like a cat in heat.

Your panties and leggings are soaked through as Sukuna rubs his thumb over your clit, making you whine into his mouth. Maybe you should be embarrsed by how wet you are for him, but you don't care. Your hands are on his abs, exploring his body, feeling dizzy when you feel his firm muscles flex under your hands. You are hungry, hungry for more, hungry for him.

Your fingers wander lower, making Sukuna groan into your mouth when you trace the tattoos on his abs down to where they disappear in the towel. You open the towel impatiently pushing it to the side, exposing all of Sukuna's naked body to your greedy touch.

Your hips jerk when you feel the velvety heat of Sukuna's thick cockhead brush against your hand. It drives you crazy with the need to touch him.

Sukuna hums against your lips when your small hand wraps around his thick long cock and slowly strokes up and down his whole hard length. He feels so good in your hand, hot and velvety, rock-hard muscle and smooth skin. Your mind is hazy, driven by pure need and desire. Driven by one thought alone: You want him inside you.

Sukuna seems to have the same train of thought because he is tearing at your leggings, breaking your passionate kiss to trail his lips over your neck and practically growl,

"Get those damn trousers off."

You help him with them, hastily pushing them down, followed by your completely soaked panties, only slipping out of one leg in your haste to get that gorgeous cock inside you.

Sukuna pulls you back onto his lap, just as impatient as you, making you sit on him again, your thighs spread widely, your naked dripping pussy rubbing against his hot cock. Sukuna bucks his hips slowly, watching you with those sexy maroon eyes as he teases your swollen clit with his thick cockhead, making you shiver and mewl loudly as you dig your nails into his broad neck and look down to see the hot and nasty sight of Sukuna's mushroom head caressing your clit, coating himself in your juices.

"Do you want it like that, princess? Or do you want more?"

"More! Oh fuck, Sukuna, I want more, please!"

Sukuna lets out a sound that will be on your mind forever, a mix of a laugh and a moan, so sexy and low that it makes your pussy clench around nothing.

"Then come and get it."

He looks at you with a challenging, sexy glint in his eyes, licking his lips. His large hand is wrapped around his gorgeous thick cock, pumping it slowly, rubbing a few drops of pearly pre-cum out of the swollen dark pink tip before his hand comes to rest around the thick base of his cock, as if he is presenting himself to you unashamedly. Proudly.

And yes, he can be proud of that cock. He is so thick and long and fucking gorgeous with that fat mushroom head that has such a pretty dark pink color, just like Sukuna's hair right now when it is still wet from the shower.

And he is so hard. It makes you moan softly, seeing how bad Sukuna wants you. Just as hard for you as you are wet for him.

Sukuna's broad, muscular chest is heaving while some stray water droplets slowly run down his smooth, tattooed skin, and he smirks that sexy smirk at you while holding his cock for you, offering it to you.

You feel like you have a fever when you place your hands on Sukuna's broad shoulders and position yourself over his gorgeous thick cock, while you feel your wild heartbeat in your chest and in your pussy.

Sukuna's breath is heavy, too, ghosting over your neck as he guides his mushroom head to your dripping hole, rubbing slow, teasing circles around it that make you mewl desperately.

You push down onto Sukuna's fat swollen cockhead, your eyes closing as you feel it split you open, so thick and hot.

You gasp when you sink down on him, feeling the burn of the stretch. Even though you are so wet and ready for him, it is still a foreign feeling to take such a thick cock. Your pussy automatically clenches around him, making Sukuna curse under his breath.

His lips are on your neck again, kissing and licking hungrily, while his large hands wrap around your waist, and you sink down further on him. A loud breathless moan falls from your lips when you finally sit all the way down, the back of your thighs resting completely on Sukuna's thighs, your pussy stuffed to the brim with his whole fat length, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Sukuna's voice is low, dripping with sex,

"Fuck, yeah. Such a good girl, taking all of me. Come on, princess, fuck me. I played so well today. I deserve a little reward."

His words drive you crazy, making you moan and twitch, and you start moving on him, pushing yourself up and down on his thick cock, gasping at how full you feel.

Sukuna's calloused hands are on your ass again, kneading it and helping you ride him, lifting you up and down on his girthy length easily. His movements change the angle slightly, and you sob loudly when his mushroom head pushes against that sweet spot inside you that makes you tremble from how good it feels.

Sukuna laughs breathlessly against your neck,

"Aww, so cute. I found it, huh?"

Your hands tighten on his broad neck while you nod and whimper while desperately bouncing on Sukuna's cock, seeking more of that ecstatic feeling, not caring how needy you look.

But you aren't the only one who is getting lost in pleasure. Sukuna is groaning against your skin, too, sounding so sexy, making you ride him even harder. He bucks his hips fucking into you, making you giggle and whine at the delirious feeling of having Sukuna's dick inside you, hitting all the right spots.

You are both in a sex haze, your bodies moving greedily against each other while the obscene noises of uninhibited sex fill the locker room. Breathy moans and low growls, and the loud, wet slapping of skin against skin.

You are riding Sukuna wildly, all inhibitions gone, chasing your orgasm, sobbing because it feels so good. You know that it will happen, that Sukuna will make you cum with his cock alone. It's something no other guy ever managed before. But you can already feel your orgasm building inside you. You press your face against Sukuna's tattooed neck, leaving heated kisses on his sweaty skin. Your sobs turn into muffled squeals as you feel his fat mushroom head fuck you closer to ultimate bliss.

When it happens, you scream his name. Your pussy tightens around Sukuna, squeezing his cock, making you delirious with how taut your body gets, how your heart races, and your vision blackens. You shudder around Sukuna's thick cock, feeling tears run down your cheeks from how incredibly good it feels. You keep bouncing on him desperately, drawing the blissful feeling out, sobbing and crying as you ride out your whole orgasm on Sukuna's gorgeous cock.

"Fuck, princess!"

Sukuna's large hands tighten on your waist, and he pulls you up, lifting you off his cock as he hisses loudly, barely making it in time before he cums too.

He lets his head fall back, a low sexy groan falling from his lips as his eyes close and his broad body shudders, his buff muscles tensing up as he cums all over your belly and his abs, shooting his hot white cum all over both of you. You look at him with your mouth hanging open, moaning softly. Watching Sukuna cum is the hottest thing you have ever seen. He looks so beautiful, so sexy, with the way his eyes close and those sexy low groans fall from his parted lips.

You sit back on Sukuna's thighs, breathing heavily as you trail your gaze down to his lap, where Sukuna's tattooed hand is wrapped around his twitching cock, pumping it slowly, rubbing his whole orgasm out of his dick.

You can't stop yourself and reach out, joining him, wrapping your smaller hand around his hard length, too, so Sukuna and you stroke his cock together, milking his thick warm seed out of his twitching mushroom head. The locker room is filled with both of your breathy moans and your muttered, "Oh damn, this is so hot," when you feel Sukuna's warm cum run down your hand.

Sukuna laughs, a sexy low rumble, and you manage to tear your gaze away from his cock and his cum on your hand and look at his face instead. He is smiling lazily at you, maroon eyes almost black with how dilated his pupils are.

Sukuna grabs your hand and pulls it off his spent cock and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, grinning at you as he flicks his tongue over a small trickle of his cum.

Your head is spinning as you stare at him. He is so nasty, and it drives you crazy, makes you want to kiss him and fuck him until the sun rises!

But you are gradually coming down from your post-orgasmic bliss, becoming too aware of your current position, half naked on Sukuna's lap with your wet pussy drooling over his muscular thighs, the sticky feeling of his cum on your belly, where your sweater rode up while riding him. You feel too exposed suddenly and scramble hastily to get off Sukuna's lap, almost slipping down, but strong hands catch you.

Sukuna helps you climb off his lap, surprisingly gentle, steadying you with his large hands and only letting go when he sees you are able to stand on your trembling legs.

You feel your face burn again as you take the towel Sukuna hands you to wipe his cum off your belly before you pull your sweater down again. There's an awkward silence when you step into the left leg of your panties and leggings again and jump a bit to pull them up while Sukuna is behind you, rummaging around in his locker.

Luckily, he is already in his sweatpants and is shrugging into his t-shirt when you turn around. You almost can't look at him, feeling so embarrassed by what the two of you just did. That unrestrained, primal fucking right here in the middle of the locker room, where anyone could have walked in at any moment.

You wring your fingers nervously, slowly backing away towards the door. But Sukuna's low voice stops you,

"Don't forget your hoodie."

You frown at him in confusion,

"What? That is your hoodie. I gave it back to you..."

But Sukuna just smirks that infuriatingly attractive smirk and cocks his head, maroon eyes sparkling with mischief,

"I never said I wanted it back, did I? Keep it. I have enough other team hoodies. And I like the way it looks on you."

"Oh... okay... thanks."

You barely have time to bring up your hands to catch the soft white hoodie that Sukuna is throwing in your direction as he laughs softly. He joins you a moment later, having finished getting dressed and slinging his sports bag over his broad shoulder.

You feel flustered just from looking at him right now. But contrary to you, Sukuna is all unbothered and confident, completely unashamed about how you fucked each other's brains out just a few minutes ago.

He holds the door open for you with a wide grin on his handsome face, all gentlemanly, letting you walk through the door before he falls in step beside you, so tall and big next to you that it makes your pulse flutter, especially now that you know how he looks naked and how he feels under your touch, how he feels inside you.

You barely resist the urge to bury your burning face in your hands.

Sukuna pulls a battered pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket and casually lights a cigarette behind his large hand, taking a deep drag and sighing contentedly as he turns to you with a grin, blowing the smoke out in your direction.

"That was a nice victory fuck, princess. You are really a top-tier lucky charm."

And you still splutter and stumble over your words when Sukuna is already lightly jogging towards the street corner leading to his and Yuuji's apartment. The last thing you see of him is a wink and another sexy smirk.

You take forever to walk home, taking a detour through the park and around the baseball pitch because you need to calm down and clear your thoughts before you face your roommate.

Pictures of Sukuna's muscles and tattoos flash before your eyes, the sounds of his low groans, the feeling of his cock stretching you out. You gulp hard. You can still feel him. Hell, you will probably still feel the slight burn of his thick cock for the whole next day! It makes you press your legs together, which only makes your face heat up more when you feel the uncomfortable sensation of your soaked panties. You think you never were that wet for a guy before.

You groan in annoyance even as a giggle bubbles out of your mouth, and you shake your head in total disbelief at what you did today.

When you finally step into your apartment, you get greeted by a glaring Nobara with her hands on her hips.

"Where were you all this time?"

And you slip out of your shoes, grinning from ear to ear, barely able to keep yourself from laughing hysterically,

"In the men's locker room. With Sukuna."

You can't suppress your laughter anymore as you quickly run to the bathroom, locking yourself in there while Nobara screams outside the door,

"You were WHAT!!??"

GRRRRR I WANT HIM SO BAD 😵😵❤️❤️

I hope you enjoyed your little trip to the locker room ;) I was losing my mind the whole time while writing this!!

Thank you so much for all the lovely feedback on the story so far!! It means a lot to me that you like Hockey Player!Sukuna ❤️❤️

Reblogs and comments would be very sweet!

In Chapter 5, Sukuna and Reader decide to become fuckbuddies.

[thisisjustfanfic]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{My contribution to the fandom. The obligatory "everyone lives together in one big house and they kiss kiss kiss, and they love love love each other.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Eventual Smut. SFW (For now)

Chapter 1: Suspended?

Sitting on a park bench in the middle of winter was not how you thought you were going to be spending this afternoon. Though, you weren’t sure where you would like to be at the moment– shivering and sniffling as the wind whipped at your face was not it. 

Involuntary Leave. God, the sound of Jenna’s voice just wouldn’t leave your mind. She had said it so softly, like speaking to a baby bird. Like the last vestiges of your sanity would crumble if she spoke above a whisper. 

After the explosion that had– that had….After the explosion, you’d had a hard time. You did your best. Getting up in the morning. Reporting for duty. Killing a wanderer here and there. But you must have gotten lost somewhere along the way. Because a week turned into a month and then suddenly, Captain Jenna was in front of you with a sad expression and a packet of papers neatly tucked into a folder. 

Apparently, you hadn’t shown up for work several times this month, and when you did you refused to go on patrols. Your desk work was shoddy– riddled with obvious errors.

Tara had tried to cover for you on multiple occasions, but everyone at this point had noticed your zombie state. Jenna had been kinder when she mentioned it. 

“You’re off your game.” She had said. “Take some time. I’ve found some counselors and put their information in the folder. When you’re ready, your position here will be waiting. I swear.”

The wind picked up, whipping your hair across your face and drawing you from your thoughts. The tips of your fingers had long since gone numb and your feet felt like dead weights. 

Now what? All the information in the packet yet no one had told your landlord that it was temporary. That bald jerk had gotten the notification of a change in your employment and the next day you received a message requesting the keys.

If you had a nickel for every time you’d lost everything. You’d have two.

Snot dripped down from your nose, the cold once again insisting on reminding you of its presence. Just as you went to wipe it away your phone buzzed. 

I just left the hospital. I’ll be there in ten.

-Zayne.

That’s right. You were supposed to have lunch today. Zayne had insisted at the last check up on it. He wasn’t very subtle in his worry for you, but a free lunch sounded like just what you needed right now. 

You’d had enough money left to get a storage unit for your furniture, and had packed everything else in an oversized suitcase. The poor baby pink suitcase had only seen one other use before now, and stood out against the snow that was beginning to stick to the ground. 

You had to double check which restaurant you were meeting at, the details escaping your already flighty mind. It wasn’t a far walk, which was good, because the double digit number in your bank account barred against a hotel, let alone a taxi. 

With your suitcase at your side, you made your way to the restaurant. A new place that boasted a wide variety of dessert options. The little blackboard sign out front held an overly enthusiastic caricature of a mug and boasted the new options for hot cocoa. 

Of course Zayne would pick a place like this. You entered into the blissfully well heated establishment and began to scan the room for a familiar mop of charcoal hair. 

“What good timing.” A dulcet voice rumbled from behind you. With a slight jump you turned, seeing the very man you were looking for enter. Speckles of snowflakes dotted his hair and decorated the beige of his coat. He smiled gently and began to unwind the scarf from around his neck. “Shall we sit?”

You followed him to a corner seat next to a window and tucked your suitcase next to your chair. Now that you were sitting in a climate controlled room, you let out a bone deep sigh.

“You really should be wearing gloves.” Zayne noted as he finished pushing in your chair and went to sit across from you. “And a hat. The weather report called for more than four inches of snow tonight.”

“Oh,” You say dreadfully. “I…I just forgot.” 

Zayne’s eyes narrow slightly as he slides on of the menus in front of you. “Are you traveling?”

“Huh?” You blurt, looking up from the pastel colors of the menu. 

Zayne doesn’t reply and simply nods towards the obnoxiously pink suitcase at your side. 

Crap. You think as a flush blooms across your cheeks. You hadn’t really thought about it, but what could you say? ‘Oh no Zaynie! I’m not traveling! I got kicked out of my apartment after I was pretty much fired from my job! I have enough in my bank account for a hotel, and that's only if I turn a trick on the way there!’

Zayne might have known you longer than anyone else alive at this point, but yor pride prevented you from divulging your latest shame. Of everyone you knew, Zayne had his shit together the most. How could you expose yourself for not only not having your shit together, but being so far up shit’s creek without a paddle you were in the snow?

“Oh um,” You stalled as you tried to think of an excuse, “Yeah. A spontaneous trip, I guess.”

Zayne lifted his menu and began to browse it, but you were aware of the frequency with which he glanced up at you. Suspicion swirling in his golden-green eyes. 

A peppy waitress walked over and took a drink order– which Zayne ordered two waters and two hot chocolates. A salted caramel for him, and letting you pick out your choice from the dozen or so options there were to choose from. 

The happy young lady scurried away, and you felt a bitter pang of envy. She probably didn’t have a care in the world. She probably had never had to mourn anybody– while you were stuck mourning two families now. Try as you might to fight it, you were jealous of the happy little waitress and her simple, simple life. 

“You’re quieter than usual.” Zayne comments as he relaxes back in his seat. The snow outside has picked up now, casting a white haze over the street. The sidewalk has a good coating of it, and the people who walk by are hunched and hurrying. 

Just your luck to be homeless during a blizzard.

“Just a lot on my mind I guess.” You reply with as much cheer as you can manage. “How’s work? You mentioned an uptick in trauma cases last time I saw you?”

The corner of Zayne’s mouth curled downwards. “From what I can gather, there’s been more random Wanderer attacks. People being ambushed in places usually deemed secure. As a hunter, you’ve surely noticed the same?”

Crap. No, no you hadn’t. 

“Right. I-uh– I’ve been doing more deskwork lately.” You say lamely, but suddenly remembering the frequency with which your Hunter’s watch had been going off lately, maybe that was it? You’d thought you were just losing time in between notifications. “There has been more commotion, though.”

The waitress returned with your glasses of water and oversized mugs of hot chocolate, a happy smile and pen at the ready for their order. Zayne ordered a honey glazed salmon dish, while you chose something as filling as you could. Who knew the next time you’d eat out?

Once again, the waitress left, and Zayne turned his pressurized attention back to you. It always felt like he was reading you somehow, like a poker player at a high-stakes table sometimes. You wondered if he could see your tells. If, somehow, he’d deduced your unfortunate circumstances from innocuous movements of your eyelashes. 

His phone on the table buzzed a few times, long drawn out hums of a phone call that made his phone glide to the side. “Forgive me, I need to take this.”

Always the gentleman. He lifted it, and with a sigh he answered. 

Zayne didn’t even get a chance to greet the other person before an angry voice was shouting belligerently through the receiver. Zayne grimaced and pulled the phone away from his ear slightly.

You couldn't tell what the other person was shouting about, only that they were mad. Ranting pointedly in Zayne’s ear with no regard for the safety of his eardrums.

“Calm–” A sigh, “Calm down. I can’t understand anything you’re saying.”

Another tirade of shouting sounded from the other end, muffled and garbled by the small speaker. Zayne flinched again and they responded with a sigh, “Alright, alright. I’ll take care of it. I understand– Huh? No, I’ll find someone new.-- Well, you'll just have to deal with the mess until then.”

A more subdued response came from the phone, quiet enough you only heard the soft mumbles of their voice. Zayne nodded along for a moment before, before mumbling out a gentle goodbye. 

“I apologize.” Zayne said as he sat his phone back down. “My…colleagues are difficult at times.”

You chuckle softly, “That didn’t sound like Greyson or anyone else I know at the hospital. Sounded like they were raging. Everything okay?”

Zayne exhaled heavily through his nose and rest his hand on the table, tapping his fingers a few times– a habit. You could see a few remnants of pale scars across his thumb and his knuckles, ghosts of run ins with his unruly Evol. You’d only seen it act up one time, and you hoped that was because it had been behaving better for him. 

“He fired another housekeeper.” Zayne grumbled, “That’s six now in two months. I fear we’ll gain a reputation at this rate.”

“You have a housekeeper?” You asked with a slight tilt of your head. You would have thought perfectly neat and tidy Zayne would have no need for a housekeeper. 

“Had a housekeeper.” Zayne amended. The waitress returned and placed your plates in front of you, refilling your waters and skipping away.

“I wouldn't think you would need one. Is your apartment big?” You asked as you lifted your fork, nudging at some vegetables on the plate. 

“I moved last year. A house on the outskirts of the city.” Zayne replied, “It’s too big for me to take care of myself, and the others are less than helpful.”

“You have roommates?” 

“Three.” Zayne finished his hot chocolate before turning to his food, “Though, I’m not sure how managing the house fell to me. I think the manager at the agency will throttle me if I try to go back again.”

You paused, “So, you need a housekeeper? Isn’t that expensive?”

Zayne’s expression hardened a bit. You’d never discussed money before, nothing more than debating who would cover a bill at a restaurant. 

“We split the expenses.” Zayne offers with a small shrug. “Why? Debating hiring one of your own?”

You drop your fork and it clatters onto the table, “Let me do it.”

Zayne blinks, “What?”

Leaning forward in your seat, your heart is pounding in your ears. You feel like you just put every last dime on red twenty-three and the roulette wheel is spinning. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your housekeeper.”

Zayne covers his mouth with the back of his hand in a soft airy laugh, but it quickly fades when he sees your expression. He clears his throat and assesses you with that cool, calculating stare, “Why on earth would you want to do that? What about–”

“Zayne, please.” You interrupt him, and the cold edge to his stare melts. He looks caught off-guard and why wouldn’t he be? You huff out a mirthless laugh, “Let me do it. I’ll cook and clean and whatever else.”

“Absolutely not.” He rejects quickly, “That feels wrong. You’re my friend and that’s–”

“I need the money.” You admit with a stone in your gut. 

Zayne freezes and you can see the wheels in his genius mind turning. He glances over to your suitcase and you know you’re found out. “What’s happened?”

“I just need enough to get a cheap room.” You say instead of answering his question. “We can make a contract and I’ll pay you back, I swear.”

“What happened?” The tone in his voice is sharp and strikes you directly in the chest.

You stare down at your untouched food and blink away the stinging in your eyes, “They put me on leave. The landlord kicked me out. I…I’m not traveling.”

The words leave you like vomit, stinging your tongue with the wretched taste of them. 

“You can just stay with me.” Zayne’s voice cuts through the growing haze in your mind. The cold fog that you’ve been living in for months, brushed away at the warmth in his voice. 

“No, I can’t do that.” You insist with a shake of your head. “I won’t take advantage of you. If I’m not working elsewhere, then I’ll earn my keep.”

“That’s really not nec–”

“Yes, it is.” You interrupt him again, and you realize how tightly you're gripping onto the tablecloth underneath the table. Your knuckles ache, and your voice trembles.

You can tell Zayne wants to push it. To others it might look like he’s just irritated, but you can see the uncertainty there. You’d known him long enough to know when he was silently debating something in his mind. You sit frozen, food growing cold, and wait for his answer. Teetering on a knife’s edge.

When he sighs and shakes his head, you rely you’ve won and some fraying knot in your gut eases. You smile and try not to look too overjoyed, but the realization you won’t have to sleep on a park bench has just made your week. 

“Eat your food.” He says firmly as he lifts his utensils, “I’ll take you to the house after we eat.”

You smile and dig in, the food tasting better than it has in months.

Your bike is currently in a parking garage at the mall near your old apartment, and so you climb into Zayne’s black sedan while he– after pulling it from your hands– puts your suitcase in the trunk. 

Rubbing your hands together to fend off the cold leeching in, you silently thank the gods for sending Zayne to you. His car is nice, leather seats and a fancy entertainment system, but not flashy. Trimmed with deep colored wood and elegant silver. There’s nothing sentimental in the car– no kitchy trinket hanging from the mirror or cute steering wheel cover. If you didn’t know any better you might think it was a rental. 

As Zayne enters the car and begins to drive in silence, you realize he’s not the type to leave traces behind. His office has a picture of his parents, and a few mementos from patients, but nothing to really mark it as his. His car is bare of him, and you wonder if his house is the same. 

In your rush to vacate your apartment, you had been sure to keep some sentimental things. Pictures and plushies from your life that now felt a million miles away. Just as much space was dedicated to the sentiments as it was clothes and necessities. 

“For the record,” Zayne says finally as he turns onto a highway. “I am not a fan of this. Your stubbornness is really unnecessary, and I’d much prefer it if you just stayed as a guest.”

You bite at your lower lip, hating putting him in this uncomfortable position. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stand the idea of taking advantage of your hospitality like that. I have no idea how long this will last. Please let me do this.”

Silence answer but then, a soft laugh, “Never thought I’d hear someone begging to clean my house.”

You look over at him with your mouth ajar and find that subtle mirth dancing in his eyes. He could be downright playful when he wanted to be, but it was rare. It had taken you years to understand his dry humor, and to understand the difference between a jab and a jape. 

“We should set some expectations, I suppose.” Zayne says before you can retort. “The house is rather large, and has multiple rooms. The main priority is the common spaces: the living room, kitchen, dining, room, etcetera.”

“I can handle that.” You say with a determined grin.

“There’s also a gym. A studio. And a garage.” Zayne mentions, glancing at you to gauge your reaction, but you don’t back down. “The bedrooms are for the occupants to clean. They can handle their own laundry, for the most part.”

For lack of anything else, you stare at Zayne’s hands, watching as they flex against the smooth leather of the steering wheel. His scarred knuckles shift as he turns. You feel like you know him so well, able to read him and understand him, but you had no idea he’d moved and no clue how a man like Zayne ended up living with three roommates. It made you wonder how much you really know about him. 

“Got it.” You affirm with a nod. 

“Can I at least convince you to take a week before working?” He tries again, hand clenching against the wheel. 

The bustle of the city transitions to wide spread out buildings, but not a residential neighborhood like you expected. Snow still swirls in the air, covering the world in a blanket of white. 

“I’ll take a day to settle in.” You offer, and Zayne just sighs. 

Zayne pulls up to a building that most certainly does not look like a house. It looks like a commercial building, one of those that houses multiple business offices that don’t see customers or patrons. It's a plain rectangular thing covered in what looks like windows on the second and third floors, the bottom being plain concrete. He turns through an automatic gate and then down a ramp into a garage below. 

The bright white of the snowy upper world gives way to the shadowy cavern, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. It’s almost like a parking garage with a series of parking spots filled with four other cars and two different bikes. 

You keep your questions to yourself, though they buzz at the tip of your tongue as Zayne locks the car into park and exits. You take a deep breath and unbuckle your seatbelt, and by the time you turn to exit, Zayne is opening your door. 

You flush at the chivalrous treatment and take the hand he offers to help you out. Your hand is only mildly warmer than his, his cool fingers holding your palm with a loose chaste grip. 

The air in the garage is cold, but not nearly as frigid as it is outside. You fluster for words for a moment while Zayne goes to the trunk and retrieves your suitcase, sliding it out of your range when you go to take it from him. 

The smirk on his face is equally flustering as it is frustrating. He leads you over to the far wall, and you realize there’s an elevator. 

You can’t help the impressed whistle as he presses the call button, “An elevator? Wowee, this is some place you’ve got here.”

Zayne chuckles as the elevator door opens and he motions for you to enter first. He follows you and presses the star button for the main floor, “It’s more lavish than what I would have picked, but the others have their tastes.”

“You haven’t told me about your roommates yet.” You mention as the elevator ascends, a touch of nerves sparking in you at the realization that you'll be staying with more people than just Zayne.

“They’ll likely keep to themselves.” Zayne assures. Another ding sounds and the doors part, this time Zayne steps out first and holds a hand over the doors as you exit, 

The elevator opens up into a tall foyer. Shiny wooden floors with a long carpet down the middle. The walls are decorated with art you’d think should be in a museum, and a heavy chandelier hangs over your heads. 

Zayne’s hand ghosts across your lower back and pulls your attention away from admiring the decor, “This way.”

Nearly boneless, you follow him. Turning around a corner and into a wide, open concept living space. A living area with three couches surrounding a large, square coffee table is the centerpiece of the room. A modern fireplace on one side, and TV above it. The windows completely line the opposite wall, a picturesque view of a garden and the city beyond being pelted with bouts of snow. 

The kitchen is to the left, separated from the living space by a long bar with square barstools lining it. A hanging light fixture illuminates the bar and counter, swirling and organic metal holding several pendant lights. 

It’s massive. It’s lavish. It’s going to be hell to keep clean. This seems like too much house for even four people. Who lives like this?

More paintings fill spaces on the walls, plenty of greenery decorating the corners and surfaces giving the space a more warm and cozy feel. You’re certain this place would feel clinical without it. 

“This is the main living area,” Zayne explains, “The main kitchen is there, but there’s a smaller one upstairs.”

Two kitchens? Your mind squawks, but you keep your lips sealed. You nod with a tight smile when Zayne looks your way.

“There are two bedrooms on this floor. Two on the next floor. And one below us.” Zayne continues as he turns towards the hall to the right. “The spare bedroom is upstairs. Follow me.”

Zayne picks up your suitcase and leads you up a staircase and down another hall. He opens a door and lets you inside, setting down your suitcase on the settee at the end of the bed. 

For guest bedrooms, this one is very cozy. Instead of sharp lines and modern finishes, it’s more lush. Wooden furniture and warm colored walls. The bedding is a soft cream color and there's soft blue, pink and purple pillows at the head. One of the walls in almost all windows again, but when you step close the cold barely leaks through. 

Zayne moves to the other wall and opens a door, “Here’s the closet.” He walks over to the last wall, “And here’s the ensuite bathroom.”

Your heart suddenly swells, feeling overwhelmed. “This is…thank you, Zayne.”

A small smile appears on his face and he approaches you, you think he might touch you. A gentle touch to your hair or even a hug. You feel yourself brace for it, not moving physically but opening up like a flower to his potential affection. 

He doesn’t touch you, but he does offer you one of those dazzling small but breathtaking smiles that he does. The sweetness of his smile reaching the precious gems in his eyes, sparkling with something so genuine it makes your heart hurt.

“I have to return to the hospital.” Zanyne says, and your heart sinks. “Feel free to explore the place. I’ll send a message to the others about the circumstances.”

“I’ll probably hide in here til you get back,” You admit with a laugh. 

“Do you need anything while I’m out?” He asks, “Were you able to get everything from your apartment?”

“I think so.” You take in a deep breath and let the relief settle in, “Thank you again Zayne. We can discuss the specifics when you get home.”

His eyelashes flutter a bit as he reacts imperceptibly to your words, but his smile returns and he nods, “I’ll see you then.”

Next->

[dairymistress05]

Colin as a character has been my favourite since Season 1 for so many reasons, but it was recently brought to my attention that he takes the emotions and opinions of women seriously, which is such a contrast to the other men on the show.

I can’t remember who the creator on TikTok was that I first heard this mentioned but it has been a bit of a lightbulb since. This is a long one so bear with me but I have some thoughts…

Example: Season 1 The Duel…

Anthony has decided, and honestly it’s rather infuriating how he treats Daphne and refuses to listen to her. Sends her to bed like a child. Then Benedict is with him and he just seems to implicitly follow and support him.

When Colin is informed he is shown to be bringing a rather inebriated Violet home, which is sweet in and of itself but also, his adorable humour is also a brief highlight “Good God, did someone die?” Which I loved.

But then, He LISTENS to Daphne. This is what I hadn’t ruminated on until recently, because quite frankly it’s so true to his character and something that I guess I had just come to expect of Colin.

Yes, he tries to dissuade her and He begins with the expected lines about dishonour and leaving the men to their matters, but when she speaks He Listens. He pays attention, he does not disregard her and it’s precisely because he listens that she is able to go and speak with the Duke.

Why is this significant? Well because his interaction with the Daphne in the scene in Anthony’s study feels genuine. Colin does not treat her “lesser” or ignore her. This is important and is in direct contrast to a scene Daphne has with Anthony.

Earlier in the season there is an exchange where Anthony says he would have acted differently if Daphne had told him about Berbrooke. She calls him out on his dismissal of her feelings “because” she is a woman and doesn’t believe that he would have believed her, and honestly I agree. However, I would suspect that No One would say the same of Colin. In every interaction with the women in his life, he seems to truly listen and to care about their thoughts and opinions.

Now before anyone comes at me in defence of Anthony, (Yes I know, it was the time period) and I also say, this is not about Anthony but about how even in the smallest of details the show and writers have seemed set Colin apart.

He listens to his sisters/mother and not in a patronising or dismissive way, not in an obligatory way either. He even has what could be seen as an inappropriate friendship with Pen, which for whatever reason, has gone unnoticed or ignored throughout the years.

So when it comes to spending time with her in Season 3, enjoying her company and truly connecting with her I would venture to say that the relationships he has with his mother/sisters might be a big factor in why he didn’t know how to/couldn’t contextualise his feelings.

He has had emotional relationships with women and values them highly so this is not seen as something separate in his mind

Until. The. Kiss.

Because that is the ONE thing that can differentiate his relationship with Pen from ALL other female relationships. No wonder he fell so hard,those feelings were always there, it just wasn’t until that physical intimacy that it all made sense.

Lastly I think it is all of this, Colin’s emotional intelligence, that makes his “persona” at the beginning of Season 3 seem so out of place. When Penelope (his arguably most cherished female relationship) didn’t reply to his letters he seemed to completely lose himself.

[praisethesuns]

theories about the watcher and what it entails

obligatory MASSIVE FUCKING SPOILERS under the cut. this post will discuss one of the endings of the campaign, the path required to get there, and what it means about the greater world of, well, rain world.

this is the product of a considerable amount of contemplation and thinking too hard; it is also just a theory for now although i really do think i am onto something. further information as more of the watcher releases may change things but i want to record what i've concluded so far for posterity.

to also note: i do not have the dlc myself, and most of my conclusions have been drawn from watching others' playthroughs and piecing together the game's mechanics and dialogue. if how exactly one goes about something in the watcher is inaccurate, that is my bad.

to also also note: i tend to be rather verbose when it comes to explaining things. i do hope it is not too grating.

SO WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THE WATCHER'S SECOND* ENDING???

*i consider the "rot"/"prince" ending watcher's second ending, with the OAOA echo's (who i will be referring to from now on as top, due to their name in the files being implied to be "spinning top") as the first

for starters, i think a recap of what the second ending entails is pertinent - that explicitly stating what occurs is tantamount to untangling what precisely is going on.

---

the rot-prince's ending in the watcher campaign requires you to visit the outer rim and create rifts from it to the other new regions of the campaign, with every new rift to a region turning the latter region purple on the greater map. sheltering in these purple-marked regions results in purple rot encroaching further through these regions. creating rifts from these regions to other regions will spread the rot further; and reaching the ending requires most regions to be corrupted, followed by visiting the throne one final time.

returning to the throne several more times along the way, the watcher will meet the titular prince (again, that is what they are referred to in the files), first as a presence as they climb the tree, then as an individual (arguably even puppet? which i will expand on later), who can be spoken to and interacted with past a certain point.

on the final meeting, however, the prince's puppet will be silent and still. the world will warp, and karma flowers will bloom from their head. the following cutscene depicts thousands on thousands of karma flowers growing, the darkness and purple of the outer rim's rot overcome with golden light.

at this point, then - credits roll.

so what exactly happened here?

COLOUR THEORY, THE GREAT PROBLEM AND A BRIEF RETURN TO VANILLA - PRELUDE

to start, the rot we see throughout the watcher campaign is very clearly purple - a departure from the blue we see in vanilla's campaigns within five pebbles. this colour is present as a motif throughout all this path of the watcher's campaign - the purple of the corrupted regions, the purple of the rot.

but the presence of purple is especially notable because of one key thing - purple is the complementary colour of yellow (especially in the RYB colour model - and to note, blue is the complementary of yellow in the RGB model, but we will focus on the purple here)

yellow, a colour associated with many things in rain world. ascension, karma, enlightenment, void fluid. this places the purple of watcher's campaign as a very deliberate inversion of what we traditionally associate with the process of passing on that the ancients/forebears/benefactors idealized so much in rain world. and this inversion in and of itself inverts once more at the end of it all, as all the outer rim is overcome with yellow in the final cutscene.

granted, while i consider the downpour and watcher dlcs to be very mutually exclusive branches and expansions of vanilla, there is a particular mention of inversion in downpour that i think should be noted.

throughout the broadcasts of downpour, an iterator with the tag "NGI" repeatedly refers to a "transcendental inversion", pushing it as a theory towards the solution of the great problem. while they are disregarded by the other iterators in the chats, the idea of a transcendental inversion being heavily involved in the solution sounds rather familiar, no?

it's the final culmination of the prince's ending where all the purple in outer rim inverts to yellow.

(of course, for a more continuity-compliant piece of evidence, NGI's acronym has been translated in other languages to roughly mean "indigo" something - indigo, the colour between blue and purple on the spectrum. even if the inversion is not mentioned by them in canon vanilla itself, NGI's seemingly dismissable interjections may have more truth to them than their peers think.)

i believe the final cutscene of the prince's ending is us witnessing that very transcendental inversion - witnessing the triple affirmative and the solution to the great problem finally come to fruition, at the end of it all.

which is a rather steep task to fulfill! but at this point we should also dissect what precisely the great problem is, and what the triple affirmative entails.

the great problem involves allowing all the beings of the world to reach enlightenment - to allow every last living creature to thus reach ascension. this is not just for the ancients, but for the creatures as well - particularly the creatures, as the ancients believe that it is their obligation to the world to spread the capability for enlightenment.

the iterators are thus created to find a solution to this issue that fulfills the triple affirmative - affirmative that it has been found, affirmative that it is portable, and affirmative that a technical implementation is possible and generally applicable - a method to enlighten/ascend all the world that is logistically feasible to implement and carry through.

so how does spreading the rot contribute to all this?

WIBBLY WOBBLY TIMEY WIMEY... STUFF

the regions in the watcher's campaign are scattered throughout time and throughout space. this is most apparent following top's story, as the watcher follows their path through both. it is this very shadowing of top that allows them to truly move on from their echoic state in the end.

but what i find most relevant to this theory is what happens when you meet top after creating a rift without the protection of a karma flower - something directly stated as "risky". they will comment on the state of the region - a corrupted, rot-infested version of a vanilla one - and they will say that all the world looks like this "when they go too far". that the final end state of the world is rotten, decaying. i believe the fact that they take you to outer rim specifically after this conversation is them bringing you to the closest "safe" place - the outer rim's name is significant because it is the outer reach not of space, but of time. it is the furthest future before the absolute end.

so why is the world consumed by rot? what does this rot have to do with the ultimate transcension?

this likely lays within further dialogue we see from the prince themselves - expressing a desire to further their "kingdom", seeing the watcher as a friend - but these specific lines are what is most telling to the prince's nature -

"I am cataloging all things, you know. The imperative that was in THEM remains in me. But I am not wholly them, and not blind to the folly of their forbearers. I am… something new."

furthermore, the room where the prince's "puppet" (note the very specific word i am using here) is labelled as "AI" - the very same that the puppet chambers of five pebbles and looks to the moon are labelled as. this notation is nothing short of deliberate, and the prince's line (referring to THEM (the iterators), their imperative (the great problem), their forebears (the benefactors)) more or less implies that they are a successor to the iterators, but not one of them themself - they are something entirely new. combined with the knowledge from vanilla that rot comes from iterators adds a whole new meaning to it.

the prince is an agglomeration of iterators - maybe pebbles, maybe sliver, maybe more - and they are the descendant of the remains of those iterators' consciousnesses ("I am not wholly them"), with the drive to fulfill the triple affirmative all the same ("the imperative.. remains in me").

and drawing back to the solution? the transcendental inversion, the outer rim blooming?

the prince sought to expand their kingdom to all the world (all the regions in-game) so that they may fulfill what their predecessors were tasked to do so long ago. that they may unite all as one under the rot and move on from the world. not just them, but every last being that was subsumed by their infection - the iterators, the creatures, the world. all is overcome with the rot and all passes on at the very end of everything.

that this is what we as the watcher accomplish. that the ripples of our meandering and of our rifts and of our search for answers echo through space and time, all culminating in the final departure at the end of it all.

it's bittersweet, and it comes at a hell of a cost - the whole world is assimilated into one, and countless creatures and beings had to suffer along the way - subsumed and consumed by the rot and the greater intelligence it would eventually form.

but at the end of it all, the world finally moves on.

...

Thank you for reading to the end. i hope you find something worthwhile in my thoughts/crazed ramblings. i don't think this conclusion is one every rain world fan will like but this is the one that, for better or worse, makes the most sense to me. in the end, we will all have to see what comes next, what the subsequent arcs of the watcher's story tells us. what i am positing may in the end have no truth to it at all. thank you again for reading, and take care of yourself out there. <3

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Oh look another chapter

We'll I'll be damned.

Mihawk has yet to grace us with his presence here, but I always love writing Garp's unhinged unpredictable ass, and I'm quite enjoying portraying Bogard for the first time as well. There's just something about a tall mysterious dude with a signature hat that I'll always enjoy.

A few notes this time:

I've determined that Mihawk would be around 28/29 years old in this timeline.

I'll be operating under the assumption that zoan-type devil fruit users aren't able to communicate with actual animals.

Can't find any actual source regarding Bogard's Marine rank. There is speculation that, by his coat, he is likely a vice admiral himself in the canon timeline. I'm operating under the assumption here then that, as Garp's right hand, he was likely promoted after Garp, so at this point in time I'm going with Rear Admiral, one rank below Garp. If anyone knows otherwise for a fact, please tell me so I can correct it, because I'm a chronic canon-junkie.

Reader is 21 years old; having consumed a devil fruit at six years old, and fifteen years having since passed.

It's not specified exactly when Mihawk took up residence on Kuraigana Island, from what I can tell. I could be wrong, and there could be some slight deviation from canon in that respect, but I'll let that slide this time for the sake of narrative. At this point he's not necessarily living there, but he has already used it as a hideout and is considering the idea. So while it's not exclusively his territory yet, he's essentially the only person who's bothered with the place.

This is looking like it's going to be more than three chapters for sure. Maybe five or six? I can at least promise that Mihawk will be in the next chapter.

Inserting obligatory Mihawk gif for tax reasons

dreamy sigh

what was I doing...?

o right uhhhhm

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch. 2 of like five or something idk

Previous Chapter Link , Next Chapter Link

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

Possible trigger warning for bullying. Possible future trigger warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later

Word Count: 3,794

♫♬Shotgun Shoes — The Fratellis♬♫Well I don't need your or your psychosisI can get to crazy by myself

You weren’t given any further details just yet. At your firm acceptance of what was perhaps the most insane idea you had ever heard, Garp immediately placed a call back to headquarters to inform Fleet Admiral Sengoku, quite smugly, that he would be going forward with Project Macaw. Still feeling borderline delirious, you barely heard yourself saying something about how gray parrots weren’t technically classified as macaws before Bogard, pinching at the bridge of his nose, jerked his head toward the door, indicating for you to follow him out of the office. It was difficult to truly wrap your head around the gravity of the situation yet. None of it quite seemed real.

Bogard pulled the door shut after them in the hallway outside, muffling Garp’s jovial gloating. For a long moment Bogard frowned down at you, arms crossed, clearly far less pleased. Several seconds passed before expelled an irritated sigh.

“You’ll need to pack your belongings immediately, cadet. Come on,” he said, turning on his heel and heading down the hall, not bothering to glance back and see if you were following. You had to force yourself to move, your feet feeling as if they had been replaced with lead weights. “Should any of your comrades ask, you are to tell them no more than that you’re being transferred to another base for reasons you are unable to disclose.”

“Can…I tell anyone where?” you asked. He did glance at you at this, his gaze sharp. “Not—just—my mom. She writes to me every week.”

“You are being transferred to a base in the Grand Line, where you will be receiving special training to hone your devil fruit powers,” he said curtly. You nodded quickly, not keen on pressing the subject too hard when the officer was already clearly annoyed. “She will be able to write you once we’ve arrived there. Should you release any information to anyone regarding the nature of your mission, you will be discharged from service at best.”

“A…and…at worst…?”

“You could be charged with treason and executed.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that left your throat at first was a strangled sort of squeak. The matter-of-fact way he had just told you that letting any details at all slip could lead to your untimely death didn’t help the surreal feeling that this was all a ridiculous dream. After pulling in a deep breath, you managed to force out weakly, “Understood, sir.”

Silence fell as you followed Bogard in the direction of barracks. Most of the other cadets would still be in the mess hall for dinner at this hour, and that left you with at least the comfort that you wouldn’t have to contend with too many questions—or too much taunting. The closer you drew to your destination, the more that surreal feeling seemed to float away to be replaced by the horrific weight of reality. You had been enlisted for only a few short months, made into a laughingstock when your fellow cadets discovered your devil fruit powers, and now you were being carted off to use those exact powers to assist in bringing down one of the deadliest men in the world.

A small part of you felt a degree of pride at the prospect that, for once, someone thought you might be remotely useful, but that part was a tiny whisper among the screaming terror occupying your head. Even once you reached the blessedly empty barracks and set to quickly and haphazardly packing your few personal belongings, as Bogard loomed silently beside the door waiting with his arms crossed, you couldn’t shake Garp’s reasoning for all of this coming down to that one ridiculous claim.

Let’s face it—pirates like parrots.

You swallowed as you stuffed your spare uniforms into a trunk, glancing toward Bogard, drawing up enough resolve to speak to the tall, imposing officer.

“I…is the vice admiral always so…”

“Barking mad?” he offered dully, and your mouth snapped shut. You weren’t sure whether to agree with such a harsh statement about such a high ranking Marine. Bogard saved you the trouble. “Yes. He is.”

“Ah. Right. Great.” You swallowed, turning your attention back to packing your belongings. You had nearly finished now and there would be plenty of time for questions later once you had gathered your thoughts. Right now, it was better that you try to finish before—

The door to the barracks opened and you froze for a moment in folding your dress uniform, your eyes darting to the door as a few other cadets filed in. They spotted you immediately, taking no notice of Bogard’s statuesque form standing to the side, already snickering as they approached the side of your bunk.

“What’s this? They finally decide to send you packing, bird brain?”

“Figures. We missed you at dinner. Brought ya some snacks.”

You only rolled your eyes as one of them pulled a small pack of crackers from their pocket, opened it, and crumbled them over top of the contents of your trunk.

“Aw, cat got your tongue, Polly?” You still held your tongue as he pulled your trunk across your bunk, rifling through it.”Where the hell are you going, anyway?”

“Your fellow cadet is being transferred to the Grand Line at the request of Vice Admiral Garp.”

The three of them froze when Bogard spoke up behind them, before slowly turning their heads to look over their shoulders. You had to bite your tongue to keep from laughing as they all immediately turned around and stood at attention. Bogard didn’t budge an inch, arms still crossed, still leaning against the stone wall beside the door, his sharp eyes flashing between each of them from beneath the brim of his hat.

“I’m afraid none of you are of high enough rank to be provided further details,” he said in a clipped tone. “Nor likely will you ever be, should you continue to treat your own brethren with such blatant disrespect.”

They remained speechless as you closed your trunk, looking rather as if their souls had evacuated the premises of their bodies. Bogard stepped away from the wall, straightening out his posture as you dragged your trunk off of the bunk mattress.

“Come along, cadet.” He was already turning toward the door. “Garp doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

You hurried after him without a glance back at them, dragging your trunk along behind you. You only looked back over your shoulder once you were several feet down the hall—and, at the sight of the idiots standing in the door, whispering amongst themselves and watching your departure, you quickly turned your gaze forward again. Even with your things now packed, none of it seemed real. As much as you would have loved to derive some pleasure from their stunned expressions, you found it impossible with the way your head was spinning.

You remained silent the entire way back to the door of the office. Bogard instructed you to wait there before stepping inside and shutting the door behind him, and you could do nothing more than stand there with a dumbfounded look on your face as you stood there in the empty hallway, still wondering what the hell sort of mess you had gotten yourself into.

How it all stemmed back to that day fifteen years ago, when you and a couple of your friends had ventured out to look for a crow with an injured wing that had escaped from your mother’s aviary. When you found it at the edge of the woods, pecking at a strange fruit with a swirling pattern across its skin sitting at the base of a mango tree, and the three of you speculated how it might be a devil fruit and spent the afternoon daring each other to eat it after returning the bird home.

How you had been the one to finally pick the thing up and take a bite out of it to end the argument.

How nothing had happened for almost a week, until you were startled by a particularly surly cockatoo attacking your hair while you were helping feed the birds and, to your mother’s horror, promptly transformed into a gray parrot.

It had taken some time for you to learn to control your ability to transform, largely for the simple sake of not turning into a bird every time you were startled. You had found little use for the ability otherwise, apart from pulling the occasional prank on your mom or your friends. The ability to fly was definitely a perk, but apart from that it really had seemed to be an absurd ability to gain in exchange for the curse of forever being unable to come into contact with the sea.

You jolted a in surprise, startled from your thoughts when the office door opened and Bogard emerged. You had taken a seat on your trunk while you waited, looking up at him as he shut the door quietly behind him.

“Garp will be with us shortly,” he said shortly. You nodded, watching him lean against the wall next to the door, lowering the brim of his hat over his eyes and crossing his arms once more.

You lowered your own gaze to your knees, your stomach churning as your thoughts returned to the here and now. Swallowing, wringing your hands in your lap, still trying and still failing to wrap your head around the reality of all of this.

“Your abilities were leaked by Petty Officer on base.” Your breath caught when Bogard spoke up amid the silence. You glanced up, but his eyes were still concealed in the shadow of the brim of his hat. “He’s been bumped back down to the rank of Seaman as punishment for divulging confidential information.”

“O…oh.” You weren’t sure of exactly how else to respond. You had assumed that something of the sort had happened a few weeks ago, when everyone was suddenly privy to your powers. “That’s…a pity.”

“You’re not interested in who it was?” His tone remained short, level, and you lifted your eyebrows. Of course you were curious. You had wondered since it happened. But at the same time…

You shook your head, lowering your gaze again and huffing out a small sigh. “It’s not important,” you said. “I figured it would happen eventually anyway. Doesn’t really matter who spilled the beans.”

 “And you have no interest in revenge?” Your eyes shot back up to the imposing officer at his blunt question, widening.

“N…no,” you said, shaking your head quickly. “That...wouldn’t accomplish any…”

Your mouth turned down in a frown as you carefully considered your words. The past few weeks had been hell, sure. You had considered giving up more than once, going home, forgetting that you ever even bothered trying—but you had forced yourself to stick it out. You hadn’t enlisted to make friends, you had enlisted because you wanted to make the world better, safer for everyone. The same reason your father had enlisted.

“I don’t care about a few morons throwing crackers at me and calling me stupid names,” you said finally, shrugging a shoulder. “If I wanted things to be easy I wouldn’t be here. I would have stayed home and helped my mom.”

“I take it you’re close with her.” You swallowed, giving a short nod. “According to your file you have no other family. You’re aware that should you die in the line of duty, she will be—”

“I know,” you interjected before he could finish, flinching as your reminded yourself that you were speaking to a superior officer. “I—sorry, sir, I—” He waved a hand dismissively, and you heaved a sigh. “I…knew that when I enlisted. So does she. It doesn’t change anything. If I…if I die in the line of duty, at least I lived for long enough to try to make the world better.” You slowly lowered your gaze, closing your eyes. “My dad always said there was a difference between living and surviving,” you continued on quietly. “I…guess I’m starting to understand what he meant.”

“Hmm.”

His short hum betrayed no more emotion than his brief and curt manner of speaking, and it remained the only communication between you for some time. Long enough for you to realize that no matter how much you had hated enduring the endless ridicule of your fellow cadets, no matter how terrified you were of this mission, that there was no room for doubt. That you could have declined without any consequence, and you hadn’t. That given the opportunity to change your mind, you wouldn’t.

You would do everything in your power to help take down Dracule Mihawk before he could further his career of bloodshed and terror, even if it was the last thing you ever did.

“Then perhaps the old moron was right.”

You glanced up at Bogard at the quiet statement, but before you could so much as wonder what he meant, the office door flung open and Garp, the old moron himself, stepped out into the hallway. He stopped in front of you, looking down, grinning as broadly as he had when you first accepted this mission.

“On your feet, cadet.” You quickly pulled yourself to your feet, straightening your posture into a salute. He gave an amused snort at the display, clapping you on the shoulder. “We’re bound for the Grand Line.”

You had to nearly jog, dragging your trunk along behind you, to keep up with the vice and rear admirals as you wound through the corridors of the small base you had come to briefly call home over the past few months. They spoke amongst themselves in hushed tones as they walked ahead of you, occasionally glancing back to ensure you were keeping up. You mostly kept your head down, your heart racing in your chest the whole way out to the docks, onto the deck of Garp’s distinctive battleship, with its canine figurehead that so many pirates had come to fear.

You were told that the journey to the base in the Grand Line would span the better part of a month, shown around the ship, given a rundown of your duties and your new training schedule. It felt no less surreal as the ship left the dock, as you sat at the edge of your bunk in the ship barracks and stared at the opposite wall, barely registering the slow swaying of the vessel beneath your feet as it sailed west.

After a long moment, you pulled your trunk open, digging past the cracker crumbs and uniforms, finding a pad of paper and a pen, steadying your hand and your mind the best you could to write something coherent.

Hey, Mom!

How are things going? I’m being transferred to a new base for special training around my feathery little problem. I can’t really say much about it, but I’ll be sure to give you an address once I have it. It’s on the Grand Line. I’m a little nervous, but I feel like things are going to be a lot better now. Like I know what I’m really here for.

And I won’t have to deal with the idiots anymore, so it’s kind of a win either way.

It’ll take about a month to make it there. I’ll write you any time I can. Tell everyone I miss them.

Love you, and miss you most.

You signed your name at the bottom, tearing the paper off and folding it, staring down at the brief letter for a long moment before standing to make your way out of the barracks and send it off.

You hadn’t expected your duties to cease or lessen simply because you were traveling, and you were right in that assumption. Between regular daily drill and duties aboard the ship, you spent the vast majority of what would have been your free time training in both combat and studying espionage. You were expected to be awake hours earlier than the rest of the crew, to fall into your bunk hours past when everyone else had gone to bed for the evening. Most mornings you felt dead on your feet, but you persevered, reminded yourself that this was the easy part.

The hard part would be the mission itself.

Beyond exhausted at a few weeks into the journey, averaging less than six hours of sleep a night. The last thing you wanted to deal with was being unceremoniously awoken before morning.

And yet, at the sound of your name being spoken sharply, your eyes snapped open.

You squinted against the dim orange light bathing your corner of the barracks, barely registering for a moment that it wasn’t the light of the morning sun creeping in through the rounded windows. The sky outside was still inky black and speckled with stars, and you frowned as your eyes found the source of the light—a lantern. A lit lantern, which Bogard was holding up, looking no less disgruntled about being there than you were at being awake. You grunted as you rubbed your eyes, sitting up.

“What time’s it…?” you grumbled.

“Late,” he said. “Vice Admiral Garp has requested your presence on the quarterdeck. No need,” he added over you groan of protest, when you reached down toward your trunk to grab a uniform to throw on over your tank-top and shorts. “This isn’t for training.”

“What’s he want, then?” you said, grabbing a pair of sweats instead. “Does he even sleep?”

“I’ve worked alongside Garp for the better part of two decades,” said Bogard, leading the way out of the barracks. “I still have no idea what goes on in that thick skull of his most of the time.”

You couldn’t help but wonder whether anyone did.

The main deck was empty save for the handful of Marines working the graveyard shift, all but silent with the exception of the rolling waves below as the battleship cut through the relatively calm waters. You wrapped your arms around your torso when the chilly night air hit you, rubbing at your arms as Bogard gestured for you to go ahead and left you to whatever business Garp had cooked up for you. You yawned as you climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck, where you found the man standing at the port side railing, staring out toward an island in the distance.

“Kuraigana Island,” he said as you stopped next to him. “Ever heard of it, cadet?”

“Ah…no, sir,” you responded blankly, looking out at it yourself. It was difficult to gauge the distance in the dark, but it had to be at least half a mile away, if not more. The landscape appeared to be covered largely in dense forest, but standing above the dark treetops was an old castle, silhouetted in the silvery moonlight.

“I guess not many have,” he said. “It was home to a small kingdom until recently. They had little contact with the outside world so it’s hard to say what happened. Most likely a civil war wiped out all the previous residents. Only supposed inhabitants now are a race of violent primates that attack anyone who ventures into the forests.”

“O…kay,” you said, slowly, wondering where this was going.

A small part of you wondering if you were about to be dropped off on the island to see if you could fight your way through. Your ability in combat had improved over the past few weeks of grueling training, but the mental image of being surrounded by an army of angry gorillas still flashed through your mind and caused you to give a wary glance toward Garp.

His gaze remained fixed on the island.

“We’ve received a few of reports about a small vessel anchored near the shore on a handful of occasions,” he said. “One matching the description of Hitsugibune.”

You froze, your eyes widening as your gaze slowly turned back toward the island. A few weeks ago, the name would have meant nothing to you. Now that you had learned more about the target of your mission, you knew exactly what Garp was referring to—the small, coffin-shaped, one man vessel of Dracule Mihawk. You swallowed, nodding briefly when you found yourself unable to speak.

“We’re not sure what the situation is,” said Garp, “but there’s a fair chance he’s using the ruins as a hideout. I suppose if anyone could get past the apes…” He leaned forward against the railing, scratching at his beard. “Well then. Think you’re up for a test?”

Oh gods, here it comes…

“Do I have a choice?” you said, and expelled a resigned sigh at Garp’s bark of laughter. “What do I need to do, sir?”

“That’s the spirit,” he said, straightening out, crossing his arms and looking down at you with a grin. “How far d’ya think you can fly with your devil fruit powers?”

You were suddenly a great deal more awake now.

“Further than I can walk,” you said slowly, lifting an eyebrow—you weren’t sure of exactly how far, but flying expelled a great deal less energy than walking.

“In that case,” he said, gesturing toward the island, “go get us a bird’s-eye view. See if there are any signs of life. I’d focus around the castle. Avoid flying too low over the forest for obvious reasons.”

“For obvious reasons,” you repeated in agreement, grimacing—the last thing you wanted was to be snatched out of the air by a pissed off gorilla. “Right…” You rubbed the back of your neck, looking out toward the island. “Should I go right now, sir?”

“No time like the present,” he said, grinning.

There was nothing else for it, then. Garp took a step back as you transformed, shrinking down into a gray parrot on the quarterdeck of the ship. “You’re to be gone no longer than half an hour, or I’ll have no choice but to send in reinforcements,” he said, looking down at you, watching you flap your wings a few times and fly up to the railing, perching there as he relayed the orders. “Should you see Dracule Mihawk, you’ll keep your distance. Fly over and return immediately. Reconnaissance only, no contact. Understood?”

You nodded, and lifted one of your wings, moving it to your head to mime a salute. He gave a snort of laughter at the sight.

“Good bird,” he said dryly, and made a shooing motion. “Now go ahead. Get moving, cadet.”

Before a single thought of trying to find some way out of this nonsense could form in your mind, you lifted off from the port side railing, and circled around in the air until you were heading out toward Kuraigana Island.

Previous chapter link again, for your convenience

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[icanhearcolors]

Close Encounter pt. 3

Hello beautiful people! I have so many ideas for a camp / long rest scene but we gotta collect the companions first so please enjoy the obligatory Gale and Lae'zel chapter.

pt 1 | pt 2

Word count: 3.8k

You must be seeing things. You blink and rub at your eyes but when you open them again nothing about the morbid scene in front of you changes. There’s a mind flayer on the ground ten feet from you.

You turn to signal as much to Astarion, who must have fallen behind on the way up the hill, and jump out of your skin when you realize he’s standing an inch away- if that. 

“Good Gods you scared me!”

“You should be paying more attention. What if I were a blood thirsty vampire trying to sink my teeth into your pretty neck?” He teases. 

You point to the clear blue sky with raised eyebrows. The sun is mercilessly beating down on you both. The waves of heat are visible if you squint hard enough, and sweat slicks your clothes to your skin.

“I’d say under normal circumstances that would be unlikely.”

“True. And yet,” he grins, leaning down and snapping his teeth so close to your throat you feel his breath kiss your skin. Some self preservation instinct kicks in and sends you flying before you even process what’s happening. You jerk so hard you surely would have hit the ground if he didn’t catch you by the arm, cackling with self satisfied laughter. 

You rip your arm out of his grasp and glare.

“That wasn’t funny.”

“Aw come on, it was a little funny.”

“Can we focus please? There’s a mind flayer up ahead.”

The amused look is wiped off of Astarion’s face, replaced with surprise and then accusation.

“Why didn’t you say something?!”

“I’m saying something now aren’t I?” You hiss, returning your gaze to the twitching mass of purple amidst the wreckage up ahead that you believe to be a mind flayer.

“It looks injured. I’m gonna talk to it” You decide, more speaking your thoughts out loud than anything else.

“I'm sorry, did you say you were going to talk to it?! It doesn’t even have a mouth- get back here!” Astarion protests, but it falls on deaf ears.

You step toward the mind flayer, its tentacled face limp. This thing knows more than anyone how to get the worm out of your skull, and it is dying. Before you even decide to do it, your feet are carrying you forward. Astarion follows reluctantly behind.

The mind flayer is a disturbing looking creature. Purple in hue, covered in a film of viscous slime, oozing wine-colored blood. You turn to Astarion, a curious look in your eyes. You wonder if there are creatures even a vampire wouldn't drink from.

“I would rather starve.” He answers the question you hadn’t even asked yet, his nose wrinkling as he glares down at the monster.

That answers that. 

You turn your gaze back to the mind flayer, and notice its one visible orange eye is rolling in its socket. You resist the urge to put your knife through the twitching pink flesh of its brain. You need information more than you need revenge. You take a few steps closer, just a foot from it now, and when you glance back at its face you see that orange eye is now focused unblinkingly on you. You can’t look away. It looks pitiful, the poor thing, mangled by wreckage and its own crushed armour. When it comes to creatures who consume the life forces of others, miraculous things can happen when they feed. Perhaps you could find someone to sacrifice to this dying creature. No- it only has minutes to live, you need to sacrifice yourself. It’s for the greater good. This mind flayer has powers beyond your understanding, and you are but a lowly mortal. 

“Tav?” A voice somewhere very far away echos.

You ignore it. The fledgling that’s taken up residence in your brain would have turned you into a mind flayer within a few days anyway. Wouldn’t you rather save a life than create a new one? Your mind made up, you take another step towards its welcoming embrace.

An arm catches you around the waist. Someone pulls you backwards, away from the mind flayer. The tadpole in your brain wriggles violently in a way that causes splitting pain inside your skull. You wince and fall back into something, someone.

“It’s in your mind” They whisper, or shout, it reverberates in your pounding head regardless.

You wrestle with your battling emotions, the real contempt and the imposing compassion. The influence of the tadpole lessens now that you have been made aware of it, and you tamp it down to a dull throbbing at the base of your skull. You’re still connected to the mind flayer. You feel its disgust and hatred toward you. Similarly to what happened to you on the path with Astarion, your consciousness is ripped from your body and thrust into the mind of the dying monster. It is fantasizing about your subjugation. It wants to whip you and your companion until the skin is ripped from your backs while you bow before it. The rage you feel destroys whatever vestiges of influence the thing still had over you, and you use it to dive intentionally into the mind flayer’s intellect, searching for answers. You see through its eyes flashes of its story, its rebirth from man to monster, its care for the pool of tadpoles that now live in the brains of the ship survivors, and you feel its fear. 

It is terrified of death. 

You feel it’s consciousness slipping away quickly like sand through your fingers. Its brain is shutting down and misfiring. You have no idea how to pinpoint the information you’re looking for in the hurricane of foreign memories flashing before your eyes. Still, you are in control here. The mind flayer’s tadpole was meant to kill you, but as you stand over the dying illithid, holding what’s left of its life hostage in your hands, you realize that along with a time bomb in your skull it has gifted you a fraction of the power it wields. A sick sadistic pleasure fills you when you realize you could bend the mind flayer’s will to your own, just as it had done to you. The feeling terrifies you.

You let go of your grip on its thoughts and are flung back into your own body once more. The creature's eyes are unfocused and dim. With an angry shout you lift your foot and drive the heel of your boot into its squishy head.

It jerks, and then falls still- dead.

There is still an arm around your waist you realize, once you've come back to your senses.

You look down to find a pale hand, fingers splayed across your abdomen. You glance up at the owner of that hand, and find Astarion looking at the mess of a mind flayer carcass with a comically shocked expression. He glances at you, then back at the body.

“Perhaps I should do the talking from now on darling.” 

You roll your eyes and step out of his hold, striding toward the path again, but as you turn Astarion grabs the strap of the supplies pack flung across your shoulder and uses your momentum to turn you back around again. 

“Well hold on just a second! What was that?”

“What was what?” you bluff.

Astarion drops the strap of your bag to cross his arms over his chest.

“Oh so we’re going to pretend I didn’t just watch you offer your brain up for a snack, change your mind, practically pass out, then wake back up again moments later and squash the mind flayer’s head like a cockroach? Great. Carry on then.”

You shrug, nod, and turn on your heel.

“I was obviously being sarcastic!” He shouts, jogging to catch up with you.

“Are you mad at me for killing a mind flayer?” 

“Quite the opposite, I quite enjoyed the little show you put on. I just want to know why I had to restrain you from letting that thing snack on your skull. If you want someone to take a bite out of you darling I guarantee you’d have much more fun with me.” 

“I can’t imagine how being exsanguinated would be fun in any way,” you deflect. He takes the bait and smiles.

“No need to imagine it when I can show you,” his voice drips with a dark promise that heats your blood. Intrusive thoughts bombard you with images of him following through with that promise, and you dig through your pack for a bottle of water, taking several long sips. He tosses his head back and barks a laugh at your nervous reaction.

“This is fun. I’ve spent two hundred years hiding what I am, smiling with closed lips, hoping my charm or the dim lighting of a tavern was enough to distract whoever I was talking to from the fact that my eyes are crimson. There’s no reason to hide what I am with you, you already know. It’s nice to just be as I am.”

You stop so suddenly it takes Astarion a second or two to realize you’re no longer next to him. He tosses you a worried look over his shoulder and turns around to face you.

“Did I say something wrong?”

A warm feeling you’re not entirely familiar with but could get used to fills your chest. You’re honored to be the first person Astarion has been able to be himself with, even if that person is a relentless flirt with fangs. In a way, you feel the same. You have a lot of experience pretending to be someone you aren’t too, and Astarion seems to be bringing out a whole new side of you. Whether that's a good thing or not has yet to be determined. You have a feeling he wouldn't want you to make a big deal about this, so you say the first thing that pops into your head.

“They’re not crimson." You clarify when he gives you a confused look, "Your eyes I mean. They’re brighter than that, like this.”

You hold up one of the poppy-red colored health potions.

“What?” He asks in a low tone that you can’t quite decipher. The purple runes on the boulder you both stopped in front of begin to glow, but you don’t perceive any magical threat from them, so you return your attention to the vampire.

“Your eyes… they’re bright red. Startlingly so.”

Astarion places a hand on his chest. He looks absolutely devastated.

“Please tell me you’re lying,” He begs.

“I… I’m lying?”

“Oh this is bad. Really really bad.” He begins to pace a short line back and forth. You’ve never been so confused in your life.

“Do you not know what color your eyes are?”

He stops pacing and looks at you incredulously.

“Of course I don’t! I haven’t been able to see my reflection since this happened!” 

He pulls down the collar of his white undershirt and reveals two perfectly spaced scars on his neck. A bite wound.

You nod, still confused.

“Right… that makes sense.”

“I can’t believe no one told me my eyes were bright red. I'm going to have to throw away an entire wardrobe.”

Your concerned expression drops instantly, and you close your eyes, pressing your fingers into your temples.

“For the love of- please tell me you aren’t freaking out right now because your eyes don’t match your outfit.”

Astarion doesn’t appear to hear you, he continues to pace, muttering to himself.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“What?” You shout, and he finally stops pacing, startled to a stop.

You genuinely can’t tell if this is an elaborate bit, or if he’s being serious.

“You were enslaved for two centuries and the worst thing that has ever happened to you is that you found out your eyes were a slightly lighter shade than you thought they were?”

Astarion doesn’t break your stare, he holds your gaze and without any discernible hint that he’s lying or telling the truth he says,

“Absolutely.”

You shake your head in mute disbelief, and reach into the bag you took off one of the dead passengers from the beach.

“What are you looking for?” Astarion asks, peering over your shoulder.

“Holy water.”

“Now wait just a minute-”

“Ahem”

Both you and Astarion leap into action at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you.

Astarion whips the short bow off his shoulder and knocks an arrow so quickly you would have missed it if you blinked. 

You follow suit and pull your knife from your belt, turning to face the newcomer.

Your knife arm falls to the side, forgotten, when you take in the sight before you.

The glowing purple runes of the boulder were now spinning around a black hole, and sticking out of that void is a man’s arm.

An impatient and strained sounding voice, as if the owner is somewhere far away and has to shout to be heard, echoes out of the hole in the stone.

“I seem to be interrupting something, but I could really use a hand… anyone? Please?”

You sheathe your knife and step forward, glancing back at Astarion. He nods at the hand, his bow aimed at the swirling sigil. The unspoken message is clear. If anything goes wrong Astarion will shoot.

Comforted by that thought, you sidle up to the portal, an impulsive thought taking hold of you. 

What if you gave him a high-five?

You slap the hand.

Astarion snorts behind you, and the owner of the hand wags a finger at you.

“Perhaps I should have clarified. A helping hand please? I’m not sure how much time I have left before this portal closes, or what will happen if it closes while my arm is on the other side of it.”

With that in mind you abandon any notions of using magic to calm the sigil and just grip the hand in both of yours, pulling with all your might. There’s a terrifying moment when your grip slips, and you’re pulled partially into the portal as the owner of the arm falls back, but you regain your footing and try again.

This time it works, and a man launches through the portal a moment before it seals closed.

He lands half on top of you. Raising up on his arms, he looks down at you in wonder.

“You did it! I can’t believe that worked.” He laughs, sounding relieved.

“Ahem” Astarion clears his throat, much like the strange man did earlier.

His bow is trained on the stranger’s chest, his face passive, but in his eyes you see something darker than you’re used to seeing from him. 

The stranger scrambles back on his hands, standing quickly and dusting the dirt off of his robe. It looks expensive, the fabric is a thick rich purple overlaid with brown leather around his shoulders.. 

Astarion shifts the bow into one hand, and reaches the other toward you, eyes never straying from the man you just saved. You take his hand and allow him to pull you up, dusting yourself off as well. The man waves awkwardly at you both.

“Um. Hello. I’m Gale of Waterdeep.”

He lunges forward to grab your hand for a shake, but quicker than a snake strike Astarion’s bow is drawn again and aimed at his eye. He stumbles back, hands raised, and clears his throat nervously.

“Thank you for the rescue. My apologies, I’m usually better at this.”

“No need to apologize.” You place a hand on Astarion’s shoulder and he reluctantly lowers the bow.

“I’m Tav. My friend with the trust issues here is Astarion. Don’t worry, he warms up quickly. Are you okay?” you ask Gale.

“You were on the nautiloid weren’t you?” Astarion asks before he can answer, and now that you take a closer look you can see that yes, Gale does look familiar.

You study him for a moment. His shoulder length brown hair is swept back, revealing a silver earring in one of his ears. Your eyes travel down to his well kept beard, and further to a fragment of a tattoo that starts at the base of his throat and ends somewhere under his robe. He looks remarkably put together for someone who just fell out of the sky. 

“I was about to ask you the same. Back on the ship, you too were on the receiving end of a rather unwelcome insertion in the ocular region were you not?”

You and Astarion both nod.

“This insertee that we speak of, the parasite - are you aware that after an excruciating gestational period it will turn us into mind flayers? It’s a process called ceremorphosis, and let me assure you: it is to be avoided.”

Astarion side-eyes you, his eyes seem to convey a message.

I don’t like him.

You give him what you hope is an admonishing glare in response.

Be nice.

Gale doesn’t seem to notice.

“You don’t happen to be a cleric by any chance do you? A doctor? A surgeon? Uncannily adroit with a knitting needle?” He asks with a hopeful lilt to his voice and a flourish of his hand.

“Oh yes, Astarion here can knit with the best of them. Can’t you Astarion?”

The vampire twirls an arrow between his fingers and levels Gale with a bored look. 

“Define ‘needle’.”

Gale to his credit only eyes that arrow for a few moments before moving on.

“Well that’s not exactly what I had in mind. We’re most certainly going to need a healer, and soon too. How about we lend each other a helping hand once more and look for a healer together?”

You nod and smile at the charming, if not a little long winded stranger.

“I say the more the merrier. Astarion?”

Astarion turns to you, a bit taken aback.

“You’re asking my opinion?”

“Yes.”

Astarion looks at you, then at the grinning stranger in the purple robe, and sighs.

“Fine. You can keep the wizard, but if he has an accident I’m not cleaning it up.”

Gale furrows his brow.

“What is that supposed to mean? And how’d you know I was a wizard?”

“Because you smell like a library-” You clap a hand over Astarion’s mouth and immediately regret it when his eyes light up with what you know is the urge to bite your hand.

You pull away before he can make up his mind one way or the other. 

“Ignore my pale friend here, he gets cranky when he’s hungry, we should get going.” you say to Gale in an overly cheerful voice, who is now looking at you two with thinly veiled suspicion of some sort.

“You two seem close.”

You laugh, a bit hysterically.

“Would you believe me if I told you he tried to kill me an hour ago?”

Gale looks the pale elf up and down. He's still deftly twirling an arrow in his hand.

"I would actually." He says.

“I wasn’t trying to kill you, I was just prepared to do so if you didn’t answer my questions.”

“Oh okay, you should have told me that sooner Astarion that makes all the difference.”

You begin trudging along the path before you, unlikely companions in tow.

Astarion nods, his expression serious.

“I knew you’d see it my way.”

Gale walks in conflicted silence for a moment before curiosity seems to get the best of him.

"So if he tried to kill you, why are you traveling together?"

Astarion addresses the wizard before you can.

"Strange times make for strange companions Gale of Waterdeep."

~

The sun lowers steadily in the sky as you walk. It feels like walking is all you know how to do at this point. Gale and Astarion bickered for a little while over Astarion's refusal to call Gale anything except his full title "Gale of Waterdeep" but even that had died down as the heat and exhaustion caught up with them, too. Your legs burn and the temptation to turn in for the night plagues you, but you know the wilds of the sword coast are no place to sleep, and you repeat the mantra that has pushed you along these last few miles.

One more step. One more step. One more step.

You're brought out of your thoughts by a hand on your shoulder.

Astarion holds a finger to his lips and tilts his head toward the rocky hill in front of you. He hears something. Someone.

"Zorra was right. Yellow as a toad, and twice as ugly." a masculine voice spits.

"The thing's dangerous. Leave it for the Goblin's to kill." pleads a feminine one.

You reach the top of the hill. Shock freezes your blood when you see the thing they are arguing about. It's your Githyanki ally from the nautiloid, suspended in a tiny cage several feet off the ground above two tieflings. Your tadpole squirms as she meets your eyes, and this time instead of swapping minds, your minds seem to connect. She stares at you intently. Her lips don't move, but you hear her next words all the same.

You again. Get rid of them.

Well. The Gith are not exactly famous for their manners so you suppose the abrasiveness is to be expected.

"And if it escapes? How will you- oh. It appears we have guests."

The man catches your eye as you step into view.

You raise you hand in greeting and nod toward the trapped Githyanki.

"Oh she'll escape alright. The Gith are horribly tenacious creatures. Incredibly dangerous too. We have some experience with them. Why don't you leave her to us and we'll take care of it."

You lie through your teeth. Astarion and Gale nod along, but the three of you make a rather odd little group. Astarion looks the part of a Baldurian noble high elf, except his pupils are red and there's dried blood on his hands. Gale, the human wizard, would have no reason to have any experience with the Gith. And you, well you look like you just fell from the sky.

The tiefling hesitates. He's obviously suspicious of the three odd strangers who have appeared seemingly out of nowhere and offered to solve his problems, but the desire to no longer have the problems wins out and he nods, turning to his companion.

"She's right. Let's go. We need to check out that blast."

Your curiosity is piqued, but you want them gone as quickly as possible, so you don't ask about the blast. They take off down the path.

You turn to Lae'zel, suspended in what appears to be a goblin trap.

"Enough gawking!" She barks, "Get me down."

Maybe you're gaining some confidence out here in the wilds, maybe it's Astarion's influence, but the next words out of your mouth shock you.

"Say please."

Astarion laughs.

Lae'zel is less amused.

She rears back as if you just insulted her.

"Never."

You shrug, turning back to Astarion.

"Those teiflings looked well fed. I'll bet you there's some sort of civilization near by."

"I'll make that wager." He turns towards you, hiding his face from Gale, and gives you a devilish watch this smile.

"What say you Gale of Waterdeep?"

"If you say 'Gale of Waterdeep' one more time I will incinerate you."

Astarion winks at you before rounding on Gale, hand over his heart in mock betrayal.

"That's rather rude Gale of Waterdeep. I thought we were friends."

"Free me from this cage before I slaughter you all like the chattering animals you are!" Lae'zel hisses.

You look up at her with a frown. She sighs deeply.

"Please" She mutters.

Recognizing that's as good as you're going to get, you raise your hand, aiming for the ropes that tie the base of the trap to the rest of the cage.

"Ignis!"

Flame shoots from your hand and snaps the flimsy ropes. The bottom drops out of the frame and with it an angry Githyanki.

She lands in a crouch and stands slowly as you approach. You have to admit the move is pretty badass.

"It appears the tadpole hasn't scrambled all of your senses. Auspicious. But the longer we wait, the more it consumes. My people possess a cure for this infection. I must find a creche, you will join me."

How curious. You know a fair amount about the Gith, and you're quite sure lending a helping hand to others is not written in their doctrine.

"And what exactly is a... creche?" Astarion asks.

Lae'zel turns her withering stare to him.

"It is many things. A hatchery, a training grounds, a shelter. Githyanki protocol is clear: When infected with a ghaik tadpole, we must report to a caretaker for purification."

Gale crosses his arms.

"A simple thank you for saving your life wouldn't be amiss"

Lae'zel glares at the wizard, and he takes an intimidated step back, raising his hands.

"Or not."

She smiles, satisfied with that response.

"You might as well suggest a wyvern bow to worms. The cure I offer you will suffice as thanks."

It seems almost too easy, a solution to all your problems stands before you.

"I'm not so sure about this." Astarion mutters, and Lae'zel scowls.

She doesn't get a chance to respond, however, before the sound of pounding footsteps somewhere further in the distance has you all pausing to listen.

That's when you hear the screaming.

--------

Tag tiiiime

If you asked me to be tagged and I didn't include you please let me know, and if you didn't asked to be tagged and you are ~ You're stuck here now and I'm not sorry :b

@aoirohi

@tamwritesstuff

@smaranshakthi

@perseny

@stronglycoffeescented-blog

@hadesbabygurl

@y2cade

@screechingphantommaker

@whoopsitsloobis

@coratatum

@rando-no-5

@usuallyunlikelyfox

@kamartsu

[doctorspringerspaniel]

Obligatory introduction:

Bore Da!

My name’s Becca, but you can call me Becs, Becky, Dr Cadell, anything really!

A bit about me:

Doctor of Zoology and Environmental Science

Welsh 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿 (Yma o Hyd!!)

Aberystwyth University graduate class of ‘56

Member of the Hælavík Caldera research team since 2057

Auxiliary Pilot for International Rescue (in training…)

Mostly I’m just here to watch the chaos unfold and because SOMEONE told me that relaying my every waking thought out loud may make me look - and I quote - “like you’ve finally lost your marbles”

No, you cannot sit on the dragon’s back, yes you may pet her if she lets you.

————————————————————

OOC:

This is a goofy little OC account run by @Call-me-casual, all mentions of canon TAG characters will mostly follow my own headcanons (so apologies if ours don’t align ;-;) but I will go along with the bit for other ones.

This character exists as a sort of crossover OC, so there will be mentions of information from the How To Train Your Dragon universe, along with (again) my own headcanons and ideas.

Becca is in a relationship with Scott in my narrative, but this does NOT have to apply to any RP accounts on here. Any and all interactions can be done through a strongly platonic lens so nobody feels uncomfortable.

If you don’t want to interact, please don’t be pressured to at all! The last thing I want is to be a bother! ^^;

Any and all information based on Becca’s degrees and dayjob will be mostly muddled together from my current knowledge pool and whatever I can find online. Who knows, maybe once I’m in uni I can provide more accurate answers-

[serinemisc]

@youzicha trimming a bunch of reblogs from Pointlessly Nonliteral Translation.

But I still don't like the two examples in my post above. It's admirable when somebody solves a difficult problem in a creative way, but producing "could mankind really be on the verge" is not difficult, you just look at the words in front of you. What made Woolsey so sure that what he writes is better than what the original author wrote? I guess what bugs me about this is that it is disrespectful, in the sense that he only does this because he doesn't respect the source text. If he was given a highbrow novel to translate he surely would not rewrite it, but he thinks this is schlock that doesn't matter. And yet, the game sold millions of copies, and we are still talking about it 30 years later—maybe it was not so insignificant after all.

I think the thing is the thing where you gotta unfocus your eyes and look at the big picture and not the sentences and words, you know?

I just got to a point in Honkai Star Rail where a guy is like "as a senior in the field, I'll give you some free advice" where something like "as the more experienced one" would have worked a lot better. This is the sort of thing that happens when you get too fixated on how to translate sempai (technically the Chinese xianbei but same thing).

I do understand that your point is "you can do a translation without adding in your own interpretation" but my point is that it's actually really hard to do that without making it sound awkward.

Speaking of Honkai Star Rail, it just translated " 'Kindness' is my pronoun" to " 'Kindness' is my middle name". I actually really like that one (Chinese doesn't have middle names). Uh, that wasn't relevant, I'm just playing Honkai Star Rail right now.

To be clear this was just an exercise for learning Japanese, it's not advice about how to do professional translation. But if you try, for most prose text I think it's quite possible to follow these rules and produce something that still sounds like natural English. I think that's a realistic standard to compare other translations against.

I presume you've read a translated light novel? Those read noticeably more awkwardly because they're usually closer or more literal translations. I would assume that avoiding that is the main reason most other translations take more liberties.

I think translated light novels are probably somewhere around the amount of literalism you prefer, so I just want to point out that I at least find them annoying to read in English, and that probably says something about general preferences.

(Why is a translated light novel more literal? My guess is because in a game, the thing you want to preserve is the plot, while in a book, )

To be clear, I definitely don't think that translating literally is obligatory or is an end in itself. I post about the virtues of literalism, but that's because I think the overall discourse is too one-sided and everyone takes it for granted that "literal is bad".

When I watch anime with friends, I like to infodump about the differences between the Japanese and the English subtitles, but usually, if I dislike something, it's usually an attempt to translate a word that could have better been done with a rephrase ("sempai" to "senior", very commonly). So while I agree that both extremes are bad, that informs which side I'm generally pushing for.

I think you sometimes overestimate how much impact the lack of a common ancestor language has, when something is maybe explained by a particular grammatical feature in isolation.

I mean, this is just my experience, finding sentence-for-sentence translations flow a lot better between Spanish and English, than between Japanese and English.

But yeah I dunno, it's not out of the question that my highest fluencies being in English/Japanese/Chinese makes me assume that something like English/German are more similar than they actually are. But I still feel like I'm right. Like, what PIE language would have a chart like this?

[brenayla]

I really enjoyed your Midnight piece! Can I request more of Julie’s perspective, especially as mulder and Scully’s relationship evolves into romantic, a baby, etc.? Idk how far you’d be willing to follow them, but I really enjoyed it and would definitely tune in to see this perspective all the way thru post-revival even

hi! thanks for tuning in. sorry this took a bit.

---

Little Amber Lynn’s mama will only speak to Mulder.

In the second floor bedroom, Julie watches him take her statement from a distance, hyper-aware that Scully is lurking somewhere beneath their feet.

To say that he inspires trust would not be completely accurate. He wraps a silk hand around your neck, looks at you with his black hole eyes, and compels information from the back of your throat.

They inspire admiration, even from those that try to cover it up with silly nicknames.

They inspire a dread like anaphylaxis settling in.

Even Skinner seems to feel it today, having apparently done something to piss off Scully. As everyone mills around outside the house, preparing to head out, she snaps with staticky irritability.

Now, Julie is no gossip but she finds herself eavesdropping on them, pretending to review her notes as she waits for her carpool. She has always held a curiosity for Skinner.

“Did you get the keys?” Scully asks.

“Yes.” Skinner offers her two sets, each dangling with the evergreen motel tag that’s looped onto Julie's own room keys.

In Julie’s peripheral vision, Scully stares down their boss and swipes one set of keys from his hand. She turns and crisply walks to her car in a swarm of black ice shards, dripping liquid mercury.

That is one mystery solved; a drop in the ocean.

Quietly, Skinner slips the leftover set into his pocket.

Mulder turns up in the Oregonian woods, smack dab in the middle of a crater that didn’t used to be there. At least that’s what Skinner tells Julie when he calls.

It all sounds like something that is not her problem but she’s smarter than to word it like that. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she tries instead, “but has a crime been committed?”

“It’s violent, Agent,” he snaps. “Get your ass on a plane.”

Julie does.

With white gloved fingers, she collects the burnt tatters of Mulder’s old clothes into evidence bags. When she goes to see him in the hospital, he is bright and freezer cold. There is not a scratch on his incandescent skin.

She is here, too. Suited up, thousand-watt Scully. She runs her crystalline talons through Mulder’s hair under the guise of checking for injuries and Julie has to turn away for air.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Julie asks him, Scully looming in the doorway and picking at Julie’s training to scan for an alternative exit.

“You mean before I woke up in the woods in my birthday suit?” Mulder asks.

“Yes,” Julie says, her hindbrain blaring at her to turn around, there’s something behind you. “Before that.”

“Aside from the ship and damn near getting abducted, not much. Skinner can confirm that, he was there.”

Julie relents and glances to the doorway, but it’s just Scully. Arms crossed, masked up.

“Scully,” Mulder says, and she reluctantly steps out into the hallway, halving the clamor of Julie’s fight-or-flight.

It has been years since she interacted with one of them without the other; she’d almost forgotten that they are more palatable alone.

“Sorry about that.” Mulder gives a playful smile, showing off iridescent teeth. For a flash, his fangs drip with ripe cherry blood. Julie blinks. “She’s a little on edge,” he explains.

She wants to lean in; she wants to run away.

“Agent Mulder. How did that crater get there?”

Mulder lies to her. “I don’t know.”

It’s been an exhausting fall and Julie has already attended far too many of these obligatory charity events. American flag pins abound; teary late night talk show hosts. There is a curdling thirst for vengeance in Congress and a frenetic unease in the public.

She and Kramer camp out near the snack table, gorging themselves on free candy to make up for skipping lunch.

“Am I going to Hell if I say I’m getting tired of these?” Kramer asks, setting his carefully folded KitKat wrapper down. It springs back into its old form.

“If you do, I’ll be down there with you.” She watches him reach for a Snickers.

He continues quietly, tearing off a neat slice of flag-colored foil. “I just– There’s only so many times I can listen to these speakers. I get that it’s…”

Over his shoulder, she spots Skinner and – yes, it is him; they are easier to tell apart once they start speaking – Mulder in a black dress shirt, a baby strapped to his chest.

“…but it’s fucking depressing, and–”

“Hey,” Julie whispers. “Your favorite former coworker is here.”

Mouth sticky with caramel and nougat, Kramer asks, “Huh?”

She tilts her head towards Mulder; she cannot look at him for too long, having gone soft from lack of exposure to them. He’s giving her blue and purple echoes, like she’s been staring at the sun.

“Oh yeah, I saw Scully earlier with the…,” Kramer says, gesturing to his torso where a BabyBjorn would sit.

Ah but are you sure it was Scully?

Quickly moving on, Kramer says, “I didn’t think he was so progressive.”

“What did you think then? Scully, barefoot and pregnant?”

He nods thoughtfully, conceding. “I guess you got a point there.”

Julie digs into the sweets bowl until she finds a rare leftover KitKat. “Did you see their kid?”

“Yeah,” Kramer says, popping the rest of his Snickers into his mouth. “Little boy.”

She holds back her real question. They still dance around this, like verbalizing it would make it Real.

But did you see his face?

[thegreatsinnamonroll]

Obligatory Hypnosis Mic Post

Hey it's Emmet back at it again with HypMic posting! Because there's quite a few new fans coming in with both the release of Rhyme Anima+ last year and the expansion of HypMic events to the US, I figured I should explain what the hell is actually going on.

Hypnosis Mic is a multi-media music project created by King Records/Evil Line Records that consists of music, dramatracks, manga, anime, stage plays, live shows, and mobile games. It's target audience is women, though it can appeal to anyone who likes men in general. Before explaining the different forms of media here, there are a few fandom rules we tend to follow. This will be long btw so strap the fuck in.

Shipping wars aren't really a thing here. No seriously, there's 21 main characters and generally speaking any ship goes. With the exception of morally bad (BBcest, most main cast Jiro ships, and all main cast Saburo ships) and morally dubious (Samaichi and Hitojyu) ships, people generally don't care who kisses who. If you see something you don't like, block and move on. HypMic is also a multishipper paradise, so if you like that, welcome!

This is an M rated series for a reason. There are dark and adult topics far and wide, and trying to ignore them doesn't do the characters any justice. Here's a list of various potentially triggering topics that occur in the series: sex trafficking, general violence both with and without weapons, minor body mutilation, extreme manipulation, implied/referenced abuse including S/A, suicide including attempts, drug use and abuse, realistic depictions of PTSD and other mental disorders, lots of familial death, depictions of war and the aftermath, mild transphobia, and bullying.

This series is made for a primarily female audience. If you're a cishet man coming into this bc you think Ichijiku is hot, you will find no community here for you. The women are beautifully crafted characters and will be respected as such. That also being said, people who don't like Honobono are NOT misogynistic. She is designed to be a top tier villain and disliking her is not a bad thing.

We know the lore timeline doesn't make sense. Trust us. We know. Getting into this series means understanding that, being mildly upset about it at any given time, and talking to peers about it.

If I catch ANYONE using character trauma as a JOKE I will fucking find you and that is a promise, especially when it comes to Jyuto, Rio, Dice, Hifumi, and Jyushi. I will get you myself.

With that out of the way, onto the different types of media in this massive thang!

Main Canon

Drama Tracks: These are the primary source of the main Canon lore. These are simply audio tracks of events in HypMic, and they can be found on both YouTube and Spotify. There are translations for all of them on the Internet, but on the official HypMic YouTube and TikTok there are their own translations from the formation of the divisions through the first DRB. All of the lore contained here is what is part of the MAIN CANON, so if you're looking for story its going to be here.

Manga: The manga is an almost 1:1 replica of the drama tracks in a visual format, so the lore from these are going to be part of the main Canon as well. That being said, English speakers will have a difficult time finding any translation of the manga since the fan translations are kept under wraps for Reasons that Make Sense. Additionally, no screenshots of the manga translations are allowed to be made public for the same reasons, so it's incredibly difficult to access. Maybe one day we'll get a translation, but for now, if you're curious about the manga, dm me for more information.

Songs: The main appeal of the series! The absolutely massive discography doesn't have a huge amount of lore or plot relevance, and are instead just there to exist. A good 95% of the whole discography is, in my opinion, really good, but it's also up to taste due to the wide range of genres covered. Some songs that seem to have lore, namely Once Upon a Time in Shibuya, Murder at the House of Magic, and Stella, are actually songs based on Gentaro Yumeno's stories (they're also really good, if you like gay people who outright say they'd be friends in every universe go listen to Stella). Other than that, they exist and are Good™ but not all of them are on Spotify which is the biggest shame in the world.

Live Shows (Not Hypstage)

Hypnama: A weekly Livestream put on by the producers where some of the character seiyuus (voice actors) talk about various things. It's relatively goofy and unserious, though they do talk about upcoming news and merch for the series. It's fun to watch since they all tend to dick around on stage or get thrown into the rice field for enrichment time.

3DCG Lives: These are similar to Vocaloid concerts, where projections of the HypMic characters are animated while singing and doing little talking segments. There are a few of these out and can be found across the Internet, along with translations for them. The animation can be a little clunky at times, but they're a fun watch anyway.

Live Performances: These lives consist of the seiyuus (voice actors) going on stage to do live performances of a set list. There have been ten of these so far, with the discography all the way up through Block Party and RA+. There were also fan meetings recently that were in the same vein. Again these are just live performances of the songs, so no translation is needed!

Rhyme Anima

This segment doesn't need a bulleted list simply because of it only having two seasons. Rhyme Anima is the anime for hypnosis mic, and also has its own lore. I generally don't like recommending RA for new fans despite the fact that it's the easiest way to get into the series, mainly because it's not part of the actual lore and the characterization is...sadly, not great. It's got good songs, and season two has tragic yaoi, but other than that it should not be used as any sort of base for the lore.

Mobile Games

Alternative Rap Battle: Shortened to ARB, this is the legally required music media rhythm game. There's some semblance of story and lore, except it's all the most out there and absurd shit imaginable. None of it is part of the main Canon and the cards are decent, but the sheer ridiculousness of it is kinda worth it. It's not the best gatcha and it's really only for card collecting but the card art is available online if that's what you're interested in.

Dream Rap Battle: Also known as Hypdori, this is the newest game that came out. Once again the lore isn't part of the main story, but there is more of an actual story there this time. The gatcha is. Worse. But the gameplay is different and once again the cards are available online. Both of these games are only available in Japan, so you'll want a VPN or use the Qooapp (which is what I use).

Rule the Stage

Old Gen: There are two generations of Rule the Stage, which are the HypMic stageplays. Often just referred to as Hypstage, these shows have their own lore and canon. There are DRBs like in the main Canon, though there are different winners than the ones for the main story. Admittedly the focus isn't exactly the other DRBs, but instead the additional five divisions and 14 new characters, as well as the stories attached to them. There's even a cult following for these new characters who are collectively referred to as "Original Divisions" or Oridivis. There are five tracks with original stories, as well as BB vs DH, BAT vs MTR, and FP vs MTC. Each division also has a Rep Live with new songs and skits. The cast of the old gen of Hypstage all graduated last year, paving the way for the new gen. (That being said at least one of the old gen oridivis is coming back this July. So.)

New Gen: The new generation of Hypstage is still picking up and only has done three shows, but they're already proving themselves with absolutely outstanding stories. New Encounter was a retelling of the second DRB, Renegades of Female was a stageplay that centered entirely around the women of Chuuoku and the impact of the H Age, and Grateful Cypher was an interesting story around a group that were trying to make their way in the world without mics. There are also new gen oridivis, though as of right now we haven't heard anything insofar from them since Grateful Cypher. If I keep talking about Hypstage this post will be even longer, so I have to cut myself off but I am in fact one of the cult followers of Oridivi.

Wow this post was long but I hope this is helpful to anyone interested in the other medias of HypMic! Leave questions in the notes and I'll do my best to reply to them, thank you for reading!

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

"AITA for dumping my boyfriend which led to him being captured by a bunch of crazy pirates?"

For a bit of context, me (17F) and my ex boyfriend (17M) come from a drastically different backgrounds. My boyfriend comes from a very priviledged and influnetial family (I'm not sharing exact details due to his media notority), and it's only due to his influence that me and my friends (17F, 18M, 15M) were given a chance to live on the right side of the tracks, so to speak.

As you can imagine, that was challenging. Me and my friends were put into a unique position.

We were forced to do a complete 180 of our lifestyle and beliefs.

Some of my friends, particularly E (17F), are taking to the change so well - she's doing so well. She's becoming a big name in the fashion world, which I'm so happy for her, she's been so passionate about everything fashion ever since I knew her, and she's doing so well in school too. She just got the chance to show off how clever and amazing she is, she's really blossoming in this new enviroment.

Right. Anyway. My boyfriend.

He kept asking me to give up every last of my beliefs, every little thing that made me who I am today, and I didn't feel like saying no was an option. As I said, his family is exteemely influnetial, and his parents could very well take this new life from my friends.

So I tried to adapt.

I studied hard any way I could. I was supportive girlfriend and tried planning exciting and cute dates - which is a thing that I never did before, so it was a challenge for me - and he almost never had time for me.

I even dyed my hair blonde and completely changed my style to fit in better.

I kept answering these never-ending questions from media that just kept hounding me - I've never felt more like a prey before, and I grew up in an extremely "survival of the fittest" situation.

But it never was enough. Even with all the support my friends and particularly wonderful E were giving me, I couldn't take it anymore.

I decided to end things with him on a friendly note, going as far as throwing in the obligatory "It's not you, it's me," and to make the move back to my childhood home so he could move on quicker.

I just wanted to be myself again, you know?

But my ex-boyfriend decided that I was making in-the-moment snap decisions and that he needed to come get me.

I did not ask him to follow me.

You see, my childhood home is a very dangerous place, especially for a person in his position.

He knew that, and my friends informed me that they warned him against following me repeatedly. Since he was relentless, they went with him, and warned him to stay with them and in disguise.

Keep in mind, I did not ask him to come.

Failing to follow easy instructions multiple times, my ex-boyfriend wandered off and was kidnapped by a bunch of crazy and murder-happy pirates.

Despite all of this, I went out of my way to help him get out of this hostage situation or whatever. (If we're being honest, the pirates like to put up a bit of a display. It's a thing we all do.)

So, I did as much as I could, even though I had no obligation to help him anymore. I got as much information as possible about his situation, getting insulted in the process. I planned a rescue operation, even though I needed to mend all the relationships that were broken by me moving to my boyfriend's place, basically. Lot of people weren't happy with that, so I had to make a lit of social calls.

I really feel like I did all I could at any point of this situation.

So, Reddit, AITA for getting my ex-boyfriend kidnapped?

[nitrocoffeebean]

* 24 Reasons Why I Like You - Good Omens Event - Day 2 - My Favorite Plans Are The Ones We Make Together*

Perhaps one of Aziraphale favorite things was the unspoken plans Crowley and himself made after their 'official plans'. Though when the thought was spoken outloud, he knew it made no sense.

But he supossed like the best things in this earthly realm it didn't have to. Far from a fair comparison, but the taste of crepes, his oldest books and his favorite hot tea crept into his mind - all humanly byproducts of course, that by all accounts should be mundane to an Angel or heaven entity. Yet despite all of heavens presumption of what comfort and goodness should be, he found they gave him an untouchable and indescribable solace.

Much (more) like now, with his current 'unplanned' plans with Crowley.

Meetings to exchange information like two comical spies in some over the top picture film about the going on in heaven and hell was the obligatory catalyst. Followed by a quiet evening in the book shop (reading a 'sleeping' demon a book on morality - score 1 for heaven), dinner at new place they hadn't tried before (falling for temptation - score 1 for hell), setting on the roof top explaining the stars and the people below (score 1 for heaven, 1 for hell) , or even a slow walk down a busy street or park - camouflaged from people around (who was keeping score?). But they would always find themselves in some form 'exciting mischief' that even out in the end, just as intended.

These were "plans" Aziraphale looked forward to making.

[tia-amorosa]

Sunset Died - Erin's Crew

Breakthrough (Part 2)

It was time for dinner. But this time there was little conversation at the table. Diego couldn't help but notice how tense Erin was. “Is everything okay?"/ ‘Mhm, I'm fine, but I think I'm going to have another sleepless night’. Diego looked at her for a brief moment. Her face was very serious again. “hm…"/ ”Let's talk about it tomorrow. Oh, I've made a list of things I want to bring to the others. Could you get them tomorrow?"/ ‘O.k.’.

After dinner, Erin did her obligatory tour in and around the building. Outside, she stopped in front of the helicopter and let her eyes wander over every single inch of this huge machine. “Please, at least this one flight, lady, that would be really nice. I know we black women have a lot of spirit.”

“We don't like to be told what to do. And yet sometimes it's good to have someone there to… put you in your place. I'm prepared for anything… hm, the hour is almost up now… I hope it goes well”….When you're waiting for an urgent call, at some point you get impatient and nervous. . and you set yourself your own little ultimatum.

Back in the kitchen, Erin bumped into Diego again. “Have you been cleaning up after everyone again? You know you don't have to do it alone"/ ”But I do it, it's just the way it's always been here. I cook, I tidy up, and the others enjoy"/ ‘Hn, yes, every now and then you manage to spoil others well’/ ‘mh, is that supposed to be an innuendo?’ he said with a smile, looking at her with his head down.

She took his hands in hers for a moment. “No, at least not today. I'm just too nervous at the moment to relax"/ ”That's okay. I've had a look at the list. It's too late to order medication now, but I think the pharmacies here still have some left. Who catches a cold here in the middle of the desert?”. She nodded in agreement. One item on the list she had given him was to get some cold medicine.

Erin went back to the office. She tried to find something else to do to distract herself. But instead she paced nervously around the room again. “It's been over an hour now since we…”. But before she could think any further, she noticed the familiar vibrating of her smartphone on her hip… “My God, finally!”.

“Jenny?”. Erin could hear the woman on the other end gasping loudly. “H-hh, oh man, I'm sorry, I wish I could contacted you earlier, but the guy saw me and I had to make sure I got out of there as quickly as possible,” Jenny said on the other end with a light laugh. “But nothing happened to you?"/ ‘Nonsense, then I would have given him a load of pepper spray first and sunk my foot into his stomach’.

“OK, so you managed to get to safety."/ ”Yes, but he wasn't as dangerous as i thought. He moved quite clumsily, was quite overweight, had a moustache…"/ ‘Yes, okay, and were you able to find his name?’/ ‘Oh yes, sorry, I took a photo of his doorbell sign, something with A… Oh yes, B. Alto.’/ ‘D-did you say Alto??’ Erin asked, completely surprised.

“Yes, Alto, I can also send you the photo. If I hadn't behaved so conspicuously, I might have been able to take another photo, I could see him through the window… But he came storming out of the house. So can you do anything with the name?"/ ”I think so, thank you, Jenny. I hope he doesn't keep following you around now”.

“no, I don't think so. he runs out of breath after five meters. Besides, he probably just thinks I'm some nosy owl from the city looking through the garbage cans for something edible. Oh gosh, Erin… How are you, what are you doing, where are you?“/”So many questions this late in the evening, hnhn…”.

“Oh dear, that's right, it's getting quite late…” Jenny said a little startled on the other end. “The only information I can give you right now is… I'm fine, I'm at the Mesa Valley base and I've got my hands full for the next few days. I'm probably putting my career on the line, but… hh, I have to help…"/ ‘Oh… hn, okay, Erin… Then do that’.

“But you have to tell me later what it was all about with that fat guy, Erin"/ ”I'll do that, I promise, as soon as I've collected the last missing pieces. Take care, Jenny"/ ‘you too!’. Erin looked at her display after the call had ended. “I know Jenny, she'd never fuck up a comrade. But I also know that she's terribly curious. Nevertheless, she knows how to behave, and I really appreciate that about her.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

@greenplumbboblover ⭐

[lucent-nargacuga]

newly rewritten pikmin wraith headcanons because one theory being confirmed completely destroyed what I had

obligatory disclaimer that this is not canon nor a theory, this is my interpretation and also my pikmin au (but everyone is welcome to use my headcanons 👍)

note that the following are ocs: thermo wraith, the mudwraiths, the ghoulid classification, phantoms, and (technically) the revenant

wraith types

there are two types of wraiths: wraiths without a core and wraiths with a core. (as all wraiths are liquid, each type has two subtypes, cold wraiths and hot wraiths. this only has to do with what a wraith's body is made of. both the waterwraith and plasm wraith are cold wraiths.) coreless wraiths originate from beyond pnf-404 in meteorites, while wraiths with cores originate from pnf-404 itself.

what are wraiths?

all wraiths are souls of sapient beings trapped inside liquids. these souls can never move on to the afterlife as being trapped inside a liquid for hundreds of years corroded them beyond recognition.

wraiths with cores are specifically human souls, and the core is the soul itself as well as the memories from its past life. there are two notable artificial wraiths with cores, those being the plasm wraith and the thermo wraith.

coreless wraiths are souls from alien races that are not humans.

wait, artificial wraiths? how is that possible?

pnf-404, once known as earth, became a living being countless years in the past. the resident humans did not leave the planet for about a hundred years after this apocalyptic incident occurred until the planet was too unstable to be fit for living. this gave human scientists a long time to experiment with the new lifeforms and new laws of nature.

why there are multiple waterwraiths (and mudwraiths)

a giant meteor containing countless trapped souls due to a bizarre mining accident broke up near pnf-404 and the pieces fell to the planet's surface, one by one. as the meteor was full of water, all those souls became multiple waterwraiths.

upon landing, the waterwraiths were significantly weaker than the ones seen ingame, only having a physical form that is easy to destroy. some of these wraiths had their bodies destroyed and were able to go to the afterlife- but due to their souls being corroded they were swiftly rejected and were sent back to the mortal realm, where they gained an odd, invulnerable form. however, they are not entirely stable and gravitational waves will make them temporarily revert to their former form. interestingly, when this body is destroyed too, the cycle will only continue.

mudwraiths are waterwraiths that landed recently enough to have not experienced having their body destroyed (or they may have landed longer ago but got very lucky and avoided danger). they cover themselves in mud or another substance as armour of sorts for protection. interestingly, they outnumber the "reborn" waterwraiths by a vast amount, yet they are seldom seen as they are anxious, shy, and nocturnal.

do ghoulids still exist?

yes! this is just a classification given to all creatures that are not organic/biological (with the exception of glow pikmin and the mechanical creatures, such as man-at-legs).

what about the phantoms?

phantoms are the supernatural equivalent of convergent evolution. they are almost the same as they were (before my headcanons had to change) and have no connection to wraiths, other than being coincidentally similar to wraiths with cores.

phantoms originate from another dimension. they are not trapped souls, but some theorize they may be reincarnations of otherworldly beings. nobody has a single clue as to why they can be found on pnf-404 in the first place, and the phantoms themselves don't seem to know either.

what about the revenant?

pnf-404 will still be considered the revenant until there's more canon information revealed.

wraith cores and "wraithstuff"

wraiths with cores are notably stronger than coreless wraiths due to their ability to regenerate; their bodies are impossible to destroy. the core, while being the soul and memories of the wraith, constantly generates a substance known as "wraithstuff". this substance is an extension of the core and is bound to the liquid that makes up the wraith's body.

in coreless wraiths, "wraithstuff" is the soul itself.

glow pikmin, glow sap, and what they have to do with wraiths

glow pikmin are extremely similar to wraiths. their bodies consist of glow sap with a pikmin soul within, yet they retain some features of still-living pikmin such as eyes and a stem. they are able to fuse their bodies together into an amorphous ball to perform a powerful attack known as a glowmob. however, despite the similarities, glow pikmin are not wraiths.

glow sap affects wraiths differently than organic beings. while it is still unknown what exactly happens, being touched by glow sap makes all wraiths react as if it causes them physical pain. wraiths avoid glow sap whenever possible due to this.

[carrsuniverse]

Hey Losers

Woah it's me! With words written down! Crazy.

Click here for words.

If you want more information on the words, stay here for a minute I guess.

Blah blah blah creative block, blah blah blah saved by Rick and Morty, blah blah blah things I say every time I stop in like the neglectful divorced dad I am. ANYWAY.

I can't give too much information without spoiling major plot points, but I've combined what was once WCA with what was once M715 into one super novel. A fair bit has changed about the characters, but most of their core features have stayed the same.

I got a little too lost in the sauce with making everything perfect before, but I've been doing some fun writing and art projects just to get my creativity working again, to remind myself it's not that serious. I've been getting out of the house more and looking for real inspiration in the regular world. Did you know that leaving the house helps with your mental health? Whack. Someone should have said something.

Don't expect regular updates, the next one could be in a week, a month, or a year. It's all up to the whims of my brain.

anyway, obligatory follow @hyperfixationinc where I post art stuff and my less serious writing stuff a little more frequently.