#never have i ever loathed a ship this hard

[starguardianniom]

Adrien's revelation about his feelings for Marinette and before that, their "friendship"

I got big mood about it, for the moment he realise when he noticed his feelings changed for her.

That moment? The "statue kiss" in The Puppeteer 2, aka one of the most embarassing and cringe moment of the show, period.

Especially since it was one of those moments that Adrien witnessed Marinette in one of her creepiest and weirdest moment ever toward him that he's aware of and saw and somehow didn't have a problem with in the end because of her excuse and her being more upset about his joke than her behavior being beyond unacceptable toward what she thought was a statue of him, as he consider her a good friend and good friends don't creepily sniff your statue, don't pull out some of its hair to keep and don't kiss them on the lips.

But that kiss apparently made him change his feelings toward her subtely until he could pinpoint it in season 5.

Like, what? The Fuck?

Are you freaking kidding me?

Adrien, my sweet cinnamon bun, please have more self-respect for yourself.

You do not catch feelings for a girl who acts so gross toward what she thinks is a statue of yourself, please.

Heck, he was weirded out as hell when she was sniffing him, pulling his hair (his eye twitched), and of course when she kissed him he immediatly pulled away, to his defense he had no idea she would do that, because why the hell would she try to kiss a statue of him when she can barely stay in the same space alone with him in the first place? As the beginning of the episode showed, she freaked out when they were left alone and yelled (begged) to not be left alone with him, to his sadness before she corrected herself.

But him saying the moment he started to see her as more of a friend was that moment when she kissed him as a statue takes the cake.

Not to mention that already from the start their "friendship" is not really the greatest, because well, 95% of the time they get moments because Marinette or one of their friends made sure they would spend time together in some ways, or just make sure Marinette would be around or get opportunities to confess her love for him more than anything else, like actually hanging out for real as friends and not it just being a plot for a confession on Marinette's part.

Especially since Marinette has his entire schedule for the next 3 years, broke into his locker, his house (multiple times, mind you), stole his stuff, manipulated people to get into trouble so she could get a chance at maybe getting a date with him, when she's not outright trying to get rid of the competition, stalks him to another country, make sure he doesn't hang with other girls that she hates, abuse her powers to get a chance, and so on.

Let's be real here, their friendship was more genuine on Adrien side than Marinette, who said herself once in Riposte that she didn't want him to like her like that but to like her as in a romantic view instead of platonic.

Half the time the show shove Marinette down Adrien's throat because she wants to be his girlfriend, except she has a whole network to try to make it work, her friends, her family, hell, she even use her powers to try to make a move. Took 5 seasons of unhealthy behavior and 2 erased end of the universe to make it happen. Yeah!

Because I remember people being salty about how Adrien regarded knowing Ladybug's identity in Chat Blanc being wrong because he knew who she was and she wasn't aware of it, until she almost got akumatized, but the whole thing started because Marinette decided to use her powers to break into Adrien's room knowing he wasn't home to give him a gift, something that Tikki had opposed to, and of course Marinette being Marinette, didn't listen, and well, it led to that.

Not to mention that she wasn't any better when Ephemeral came, as she decided that Viperion and Su-Han would learn Chat Noir's identity behind his back and they wouldn't tell him after she learned it and later forget about it, and the whole thing fell apart because once she realised he was her precious Adrien, she decided to see how it would go. And then still proceeded with her plan. So Adrien literally had 2 other people knowing who he was and wasn't made aware of and probably wouldn't have before a long time, not sure if he would still have dated Marinette if he had found out about it.

Sure, Adrien knew in Chat Blanc, but it wasn't planned at all on his part unlike her, he sure as hell didn't tell anyone else behind her back with the promise of her never finding out like it was her original plan in Ephemeral, when he transformed to save her, well, it was either throwing his secret away, or well, they were screwed above and beyond. He didn't know Nathalie was watching and ratted him to his father, whom he doesn't know he's Hawk Moth until later in the episode when he gets traumatized by him and akumatized. Especially since Adrien finding out Marinette was Ladybug was completely on Marinette's fault for not sticking to her golden rule of never taking risks with their identities that was also shoved down his throat and ours for 3 seasons straight, but she threw that through the window (literally) by going into his room and acting like a total obsessive maniac, sniffing his pillow while laying down his bed, why, just why?

And why does Adrien just rolls with her being weird around him all the time? At one point he could get fed up and just tell her off, because well, she only acts like this toward him, and if she can't act normally around him, that won't stand, he wants to be like other kids and fit in, Marinette's behavior toward him compared to how she acts around the rest of their friends should drive a wedge between them because he wants to be part of the group, and if the girl who's the most liked by their friends can't act normal around him, what are his chances with others? Because Marinette is really the only weird one around him. Kagami, Chloé and Lila are clingy sure, but they also can function without problem around him, Marinette, barely managed at times. That went for 4 seasons. I think Adrien telling Marinette off about her behavior, especially since months passed in the show, could have been a good way to make Marinette realise that she puts him so high on a pedestrial that not only she was making it difficult for herself to endear herself to him, but maybe backpedal on her behavior that wasn't fair to him much as she has so huge expectations and pressure feeling for him that Gabriel's expectations and pressure of him can almost look good next to her views of him. That would have been a good character development for her I believe.

Instead in season 5 they joke about how she used to be and he just let it slide and doesn't concern how she learned his habits without his knowing.

Because let's face it, Marinette didn't so much got to know everything about him that there was to know as she was more studying him, like a project you're working on and need to know every little details so it won't blow up in your face or fall apart. Don't tell me she learned stuff from him by asking him directly and hanging out with him normally back in season 1, she could barely talk to him at all, or stay too long before running away or trying to. She puts him so high on a pedestrial she can't see him past the clouds. That's not a healthy way of friendship or romance mindsetfor her to be in. Even more because her worship of him is entirely on her, he doesn't want anyone to treat him like a god, he just wants to be treated normally, and she can barely manage that.

Also, Marinette monopolize so much of his time that the rest of the class sans Nino (and possibly Chloé) barely knows him, they are so quick to throw him on Marinette, or the other way, that they don't really interact at all, again he wanted to have friends, he barely interacts with anyone not named Marinette, Nino, Chloé or Lila. I think Luka got more lines with him than most of the class did. And I'm not talking about them talking about Adrien, but them talking to Adrien as in in a conversation with him and them talking together. We saw in Felix that only Nino, Marinette and Lila thought Adrien wouldn't be that mean, meanwhile Alya, Rose and Juleka get akumatized over "Adrien" being mean toward them, since they barely know him, being too busy shipping him with Marinette instead of trying to be friends with him like he would probably want to. Leave Marinette alone with him, Nino, get with Alya and leave the lovebirds alone. I swear Nino gets shoved away in favor of Marinette and it pisses me off, given how little freedom Adrien has when he can hang out with him it would be nice if he actually could and not just have Alya glaring at him for wanting to spend some alone time with him and not her, or for her to immediatly ask if she and Marinette could tag along.

Let's not forget the huge mistakes Marinette made because of her being unable to cool her heart and head when it came to him, as seen in Heart Hunter and Strike Back. Fu losing his memories and her being the guardian, later Hawk Moth getting most of the miraculouses, leaving her with only her original partner once again.

All of the unhealthy behavior she exhibit in the show because she got traumatized confessing to Kim the year prior courtesy of Chloé. Note that it's the act of confessing itself that seems to have scarred Marinette completely, not Kim or Chloé, Kim probably because she knows he was manipulated into it and is probably more unaware of how much hurt she ended up feelings as they probably have known each other for years maybe (who knows), and well Chloé had been her bully for some years by that point so nothing new here, just another new way of being tormented by her. It was the act of pourring her heart and feelings out in the open to someone she loved only to then being brutally having it turned into a sick joke that left an horrible trauma on her, to the point that she swears that she'll know everything about the next guy she'll fall in love with and make sure they're not friends with Chloé. But that second part went away with Adrien who is friends with Chloé so. Yeah.

So again, why the heck should I approve of Adrienette? Why should I like it? Why should I like that Adrien finally got with Marinette after realising he started to grow romantically interested in her after one of her worst moment ever toward him? Why would they even be good friends? For all the things I said above, I'll say that's why I'll never approve, like it or ship it, or think they could be good friends, unless Marinette just stopped feeling romantic toward him.

For all the fluff that happens when it is all romantic and soft and stuff, I remember all the terrible moments, thoughts and actions that led to them, preventing me from liking it.

Even their "friendship" moments, that were also most of the time Marinette being hurled toward him, either by herself or with the help of her friends.

Because I'm sure that Marinette would probably be able to do worse than what Chat Blanc would have done if something happened to Adrien and she couldn't save him.

She could and probably would be worse than Gabriel ever was.

The only one time I actually liked Adrienette was in Oblivio, when they had no idea who they were, and as such didn't have their trauma and insecurities with them which made it the healthiest they've ever been.

Marinette doesn't need a boyfriend, she needs a therapist to overcome her freaking trauma before actually heading in a romance. She deserves this much. She needs the help, badly. Her friends can only do so much and they are amazing, but they are also kids who aren't equiped to deal with her trauma. They all have their own traumas and worries to work on too.

Seriously where are the therapists in this city for real?

Adrien and Luka deserved better.

Adrien also needs therapy because Gabriel sucks for life.

And the kids need to reign their shipping tendencies, nice of them to help, but sometimes, please don't get involved, because either it won't work or Marinette will take it apart by herself even without meaning to.

So those are my feelings on the Adrinette ship and the Adrinette friendship.

[star-har]

nightmares

| satoru gojo x reader | fluff |

gojo is dreaming - at least he thinks he is. it all feels too real; the weight of your collapsing body in his arms as you cripple to the floor; the warm gush of blood leaking from your side, staining gojo's skin like a nightmare; the sound of your heart coming to a dull throb where he presses his fingers to your pulse.

"stay with me, baby," he whispers into your hair, dragging your nearly limp body down where you're concealed from prying, dangerous eyes.

"you can do it, stay with me."

"is everything okay?" you barely manage to speak around the knot in your throat, clutching onto gojo's shirt like a lifeline.

the sheen in your eyes tells gojo you already know what's happening. knows your heart hasn't stopped because of gojo's lips on your skin. but you remain in denial, searching gojo's gaze for confirmation that you'll be okay.

"you're okay," gojo mutters immediately, quick to comfort the frantic look crossing your face as you turn to look at your bleeding side. "fuck— you're okay." he's not sure who he's talking too; the raging voice in his head or the love of his life draining away without him.

he tries to hold them in— the tears. digs his teeth hard into the inside of his cheek to drive the burn behind his eyes elsewhere- anywhere. but god is it difficult to maintain his composure, with you like this.

"i'm not going to die, right?" you whisper the words, tone desperate and hopeless, silently urging gojo to meet your stare.

"no- no." he says the words firmly, as if the mere thought of you living today will manifest this reality to diverge it's path. but even then, gojo can only hold in so much. "fuck, no baby. you're going to be just fine— just hold on. nanami will be here soon, just please—"

the first tear falls when gojo meets your stare, defeated and utterly devastated to find the previous presence of fear and despair vanquish from your eyes.

instead, gojo finds understanding. understanding as you come to terms with what's happening, come to terms that this will likely be the last time you'll ever see your husband's face again because nanami is still fighting the special grade, hands full. he won't be able to help.

and gojo hates it. he loathes it. how you've accepted your fate before gojo can even comprehend what's at hand- your beautiful life.

"stop— stop looking at me like that. please." he begs, turning to bury his face into your neck. he doesn't want you to see him cry, not now- not when this may be your last... "stay with me. please. don't leave me, baby. you're all I have left."

he chants the words like a mantra, urging the universe to hear his pleas, begging to the gods he'd never cared for to save the one person who made his life worth living.

it's hopeless, he knows this. but he can't help it.

"it's okay, "toru," you whisper with a smile, a hand sliding in his hair to urge him to meet your gaze.

"everything's going to be fine. don't worry."

he believes you. every single limb in his body does. you could tell him the world was ending and he wouldn't hesitate a second before shipping you off of earth. you could tell him that he was dying and he'd spend the last few expecting minutes kissing you for however much time he could.

it's only natural his body responds this way— because you're you.

but fuck— it hurts. hurts because everything in him is screaming it won't be okay, but he can't show you that.

not when you were always being okay for him.

so he only holds you close, peppering kisses into your hair before your heart manages to wring its last few beats.

ーーー

gojo snaps awake with a gasp, throwing himself abruptly out of bed as he clutches his sweat-drenched shirt, fisting the fabric to his chest as he attempts to calm his racing heart.

a dream— that's all it was. right?

he reaches for you across the bed, seeking the warmth of your body and the steady thrum of your heart— only to be met with cold.

your side of the bed is empty, sheets ruffled - cold.

"baby?" he climbs out of bed, being met with utter silence.

he stands there for a moment, clutching his fists by his side, silently urging for any sign of you to present itself - a floorboard creak, the soft hum to a song as you prepare tea, your cat's paws scratching the floor as it follows you aimlessly in your wake.

nothing. not a sound.

usually, gojo likes the quiet. likes warming up with you on the couch as he dozes off with you reading on his chest, likes brushing your hair as you sleep soundly - that's the only quiet he can stand.

his heart crashes to a halt, a ringing sound reverberating through his ears, growing louder with each repetition. the walls seem to squeeze him in, trapping him inside.

it had felt so real, his supposed dream, that he begins second guessing himself. he's always confused dream with reality, once waking up from one with your baby sleeping in his arms to find with a break of his heart she had never existed. it felt so real, so gutting- like now.

it was a dream— it had to be. it was. because fuck

-

"toru?"

your voice — that's you.

his gaze flies from his shaking hands to find you at the doorway, frowning up at him, your cat purring soundly in your arms, asleep.

gojo acts quickly. in two, long strides, he's got you in his arms, tucking your frame into his chest and away from the rest of this cruel, undeserving world.

"satoru?" your voice drips in worry, your cat clambering away from your embrace before you return his hug with your own desperation to learn the reason behind your husband's abrupt reaction. "what's wrong, love?"

gojo shakes his head slightly against your neck, finding the consistent beat of your heart against his chest like an angel's melody to his soul.

"just stay-" his voice shakes, wrapping you too him impossibly closer, heart to heart. "don't you ever leave, y/n."

you realise quickly what's happened- gojo knows this because of how you're hand has fallen beneath his shirt, gliding your smooth palm along his back in comforting circles, smoothing fingers over the scars that lay there.

he knows you, more than he ever could anyone else. knows the slightest shift in your voice means you're upset, knows when you walk slower it's because you haven't slept.

knows when you come to trace his scars, it's because you want to ground him. want to show that you're real— you're here and you're not leaving.

"I'm here, 'toru," you whisper into his shirt, placing a kiss where your mouth meets his shoulder. "i'm never leaving. never."

he hums a weak mhm into your body. "promise?"

"oh, baby," you whisper. "of course. you could never make me leave. love you too much too do that. promise."

he believes it. every limb in his body does. it's only natural.

after all— you're the one truth that gojo finds won't ever fail him.

[meidiary]

( 📁 ) THEY ENTERTAIN ANOTHER WOMAN FOR TOO LONG

synopsis: instead of them being jealous, this time you are because of their attention being focused on someone else 🤧

characters: zoro, luffy & sanji!

warnings: female terms used in zoro's & sanji's <3, nicknames + swearing, angst for sanji

mei's note: my previous post had an accidental angsty ending for luffy so i'll be posting a happy one soon! <3

⟶ @ahseyy request: ... And i have this idea 🤧 we had that the OP boys are jealous, sooooo obviously we need that Yn is jealous! ...

☆ "they're just friends!" usopp's words kept ringing in your mind as you stare at ZORO and his ex-girlfriend.. you and the rest of the strawhat crew had stopped sailing, planning to settle a bit on the island you came across. oh, how you deeply regret telling luffy that "this seems like a good place for us to stay in and regain our energy!" now you're stuck witnessing this situation play out, having you completely engrossed in it.

☆ usopp, having a sixth sense for drama, immediately noticed the lack of your presence as a result of you spying observing zoro and his ex.

☆ "are you done spying on your boyfriend?" he chuckles seeing your startled expression. "i'm not spying on him! i'm just-" you see her playfully slap his bicep, earning a displeased look on your face. "why is he even speaking to her for so long? it's not like they left at the best terms.." you blurt out, sighing after seeing usopp's sly smirk.

☆ you know he thinks you're an obsessively jealous person, but you can't find it in you to care because there she goes touching him again! the worst of it all is that zoro doesn't seem to be bothered by it.. your eyebrows furrow as you keep witnessing them smiling way too much, standing way too close, being way too touchy, and the worst of all; they're talking way too soft for you to eavesdrop!

"that's it, i'm going over there!" you utter annoyed, dropping the mop you were holding for the past 15 minutes, having made little to no progress at cleaning the ship's floor. usopp, taken aback, dashes to stand in front of you, blocking the exit of the ship. "are you out of your mind? don't you understand you'll be labeled as the most controlling girlfriend ever?! just- sit this confrontation out alright?" he let's out a sigh of relief, feeling he prevented a major fight to go down, not only between you and zoro, but possibly also between you and zoro's ex..

usopp was right, you know he was, but you couldn't bother thinking straight while you were still seeing that woman being handsy with your man. fuming, you gaze at the two, loathing the almost non-existent space there was between them. "i'm so done," you mutter upset. "please take over cleaning for me today, usopp.." you left to your room and plopped down on your bed, trying to put all your intrusive thoughts to rest.

but of course you couldn't after having seen that interaction between the two. were you exaggerating? was this normal? is it wrong for you to feel this way? this fuming feeling is causing you so much distress. it's like your thoughts are eating you up from the inside. you don't want to feel this way, like you're the one at fault, like you're not enough, like you'll never be enough.. right after that thought crept up out of the darkest pits of your brain, you heard a knock on your, now locked, bedroom door. "baby? you alright?.. why's the door locked-? baby?" you recognize zoro's voice immediately, mentally being stuck between picking the easy choice: ignoring him and bottling up your feelings, or the hard one: facing him and talk to him about your current thoughts..

unbeknownst to you, you unconsciously chose the former option. you open the door and look him in his eyes, hiding as much of your feelings possible. "what?" he furrows his brows, confused by your cold welcome before he remembers usopp warning him you weren't in a good mood because of his overfriendly encounter with his ex. "is this about her?" he chuckles before shaking his head slightly, in disbelief you'd be this bothered by someone from his past. "so what if it is?! is it so weird for me to be upset some woman is being all handsy with you?! and is it suprising that i got bothered even more by you not minding her touching you? is it that weird, zoro? 'cause if it is, please, do tell me!" you blurt out, almost all in one breath, before slamming the door shut.

you weren't planning on letting it out, you didn't want to bother, assuming he'd just brush it off as you exaggerating.. you didn't expect him to open the door you aggressively slammed in his face, so soon. you didn't expect him to, when he saw you leant on the wall with furrowed brows and a trembling upper lip, grab you by the waist and pull you closer to him, so close there was barely anything between you at all.. and least of all did you expect him to grab your chin, raising it so you looked him in the eyes while he told you "if i gave one shit about her, would i be here right now? tell me, if i didn't care about you at all, then why would i tell her i'm not interested in getting back together with her when she asked? why would i tell her i finally found someone that i want to spend the rest of my life with? shit, as cheesy as it sounds, it's true, baby.. i can't imagine being with anyone else except you. so please, don't you get jealous about girls i don't give a damn about."

you send him a soft smile, leaning your forehead on him. "don' know who told you i was jealous.. but you got to get better sources 'cause i for sure wasn't jealous.." zoro scoffs letting out a "yeah, right."

☆ needless to say you two made up and cuddled for the rest of the day.

☆ that would be the end.. but of course usopp had to bug you.. "hey! i took over your cleaning today, so you better take over mine for the next week.." usopp pleaded, with both his hands on his hips. "out." zoro mumbled into your neck, expecting him to comply instantly. "but-!" usopp began to bicker, before getting interrupted by zoro. "now." you accidentally let out a giggle, swiftly moving your hand to cover your mouth right after. "whatever! i will be back, considering this debt!" with that usopp leaves the room, leaving you two alone, enjoying the comfortable silence.

☆ SANJI is a womanizer, that's no shocking discovery. you've know about this fact since the moment you met him. he was charming you up while asking everyone's drinks and then he went off, flirting with another woman on his way back to the kitchen. that moment you learned that this was sanji. but there's also the caring sanji that'd make you a warm soup when you're sick, tending to your needs yet still somehow find away to make you blush whilst laughing with him. in addition to the caring sanji, there also is the determined sanji; whenever he'd speak about finding the all blue, and all the meals he would cook, all the different fish he would see, you could swear you saw his eyes glistening with adoration and resolve. further, intellectual sanji heavily plays a role in your daily life; happily helping you with mundane chores to the most exciting adventures you and your fellow strawhats go on. he fills you in on books he's read, food he's cooked, ingredients he's used, products he's bought and much more!

☆ you could go on and on, daydreaming of all sanji's positive personality traits, but you're all time favorite would have to be considerate sanji.. the way he could immediately sense from you that you weren't feeling like your usual self still amazes you. how he always chooses the right moments to bring you a freshly brewed cup of tea with your favorite desert right next to it, which you have know idea how he had the time nor ingredients for. how he treats you like a princes and tells you how much you mean to him in so many different ways when you feel absolutely miserable. and, oh, how he always knows when to embrace you tightly and whisper sweet nothings into your ear, until it becomes numb.

☆ so with all that, you accepted him being a womanizer, having the seemingly perpetuous habits of bantering with other women. you always wondered if he'd stop flirting with so many women if you asked him to.. but then the thought that you two were nothing and wouldn't be anything else than friends hit you.

☆ nevertheless, seeing his cheeky smile being sent to some random woman, seeing him subtly sling his arm around her waist as he guids her to the dance floor, seeing him lean closer to her every minute, it was killing you, no more like slowly scraping you from the inside, the bottled up pain waiting for you to finally burst open.

you've been eyeing them the whole night, not once taking your eyes off of them or bothering to answer usopp's rants with more than a 'mhm,' or a 'hmm'. "have you listened to a word i said?!" usopp voiced suddenly, turning the strawhats' complete attention to you. "mhm.." absent-minded, you nod hearing him say something, but not comprehending the words he spoke.

"see, told you she wasn't paying attention," usopp leaned back against his seat after pulling up his shoulders, indicating he was right about you not paying attention to what anyone was saying. zoro, being the one seated next to you, tapped your shoulder, earning a "hm?" from you. getting annoyed by your negligence, he shifted his gaze to the direction you were looking in, finally understanding what the issue was.

to clarify your absent-mindness, zoro nudged his head towards sanji and his date. his date, who was sat on his lap at this point, making the knot in your stomach grow substantially. seeing his arm wrap around her hips as she leaned on him was your final stroke, your last straw. it was your breaking point.. you've reached, no, you've long surpassed your limit for these shenanigans, but right now, this very moment you finally break.

you suddenly feel a rush of tears burn your eyes, overwhelmed with your thoughts and emotional distress. you jump up, hurriedly leaving the club room you were in, not wanting anyone to see you in your current state. you desperately search for a private area where you can cry yourself out of this situation without having people judge you. but you notice the whole place is packed with couples who can't keep their hands off of each other, except the balcony, so you shakingly make your way to the cold space.

all of a sudden, you hear someone's heavy breathing behind you. "darling? what's the matter? what happened?!" sanji. he asks you breathlessly, due to him running after you. you quickly tried to wipe your tears away, but they kept coming! making you feel even more hysterical. "hey, hey now -" sanji notices your crying, he turns you around, his arms moving from your arms down to your waist, pulling you closer to him. "talk to me, sweetheart.. please, just talk to me.." he pleads, moving his face closer to yours.

"i- i can't- do- it!" you babbled in-between sobs. "what, darling? who did this to you?" sanji moves his hands to your cheeks, pulling your face to his, carefully. "you..! you're killing me!" he furrows his brows in confusion. once you calmed down, you slowly tore one of his hands off your face. "i can't keep seeing you with others, sanji.. it really fucking hurts! i- i just can't-" you push him away a little, "i can't keep bottling it up sanji.. i'm done.."

☆ he didn't even mean to.. he was just being friendly, he was cracking jokes, making sure she was feeling calm and at peace, he asked sanji to get her something to snack, he was being luffy..

☆ normally, you'd swoon over him whenever he'd be in this caring mood of his. but not this time, no. this time, you were close to glowing green out of envy. you shouldn't be feeling this way, you know that. you trust luffy with your everything! it just hits you in the wrong place whenever he leans towards her when she speaks. it's like you can feel your heart cramp up each time she looks up at him and smiles, receiving his usual toothy grin in return.

☆ she was lost, abandoned at sea by her very own family. at least that's the bit you picked from usopp dramatically narrating her lifestory. is it heartless that all you could think of was that you hoped, the strawhats and you would drop her off at the very next island, wish her luck with her life, and continue your journeys? knowing luffy, that's the last thing that would happen. no, it's not even on the list of things he would ever consider! your thoughts made you feel absolutely terrible. you weren't a bad person, so why were you being so uncaring towards this poor girl who had lost so much? envy. jealousy can bring out the absolute worst in people. the lowest of a person's nature gets drawn out someone. and that someone now, was you.

you tried to stay away from her, not wanting to accidentally lash out. you felt bad for her, you did, but you also how far you could go, when jealousy takes apart in decision-making. so you avoid her, and just like that, you were also avoiding luffy. because for some reason, he was always near her, always. it's like he was scared she'd run away?

luffy noticed. but he didn't know the reason you were avoiding her. he's always optimistic and cheerful, so everyone expects him to always be exactly that, except you. you were there for him, allowing him to have bad days. he didn't have to hide his feelings or emotions. it was a relief for him to find someone like you, someone he lived so dearly, who lived him back just as much. it was refreshing, calming, delightful. what happened? what did he do? was he too much? or did he do too little to show you he cares so much, that he'd give you the world if you asked for it. he'd go to the moon and back for you. he doesn't know how, but he'd find a way. and now he lost you? that can't be true. it can't. he won't accept it!

that's how you got in your current situation; his face was buried in the crook of your neck, his hands holding you tightly by your waist, mumbling something about how good you smell.

you had told him the reason you were avoiding was because of your sudden jealousy. he laughed for a good 10 minutes about how ridiculous you were to think of something like that! but in his mind, oh, how relieved he was that you weren't avoiding him because you fell out of love with him. it was because you were too in love with him..

☆ you two ended up having a picnic on deck, trying to keep usopp and chopper away from your neatly set up meals prepared by sanji (duh)

☆ luffy kept teasing you about how jealous you were and that you love him too much for your own good. acting like he wasn't on the verge of being a crying mess because he thought he lost you 🙄

☆ he kept giving you nose tip smooches while telling you you'll never lose him <3

MEI'S NOTE: so, uhm yeah sanji's part was definitely something...

... hope you enjoyed!! <3

[victimsofyaoipoll]

Finals

Propaganda Under Cut

Sakura Haruno

Her husband is gay and her author doesn't know how to write women. So many people say she's the worst but she. DESERVES. BETTER!!! Save her from this franchise.

My baby girl my bestie my best friend. She committed the crime of um being written by kishimoto who both doesn’t know how to write women and somehow writes men in the gayest way possible specifically naruto and sasuke. Like the thing is naruto and sasuke ARE gay and also she gets so much hate for the crime of kishimoto writing her one dimensionally in love with sasuke. I know her personally she is a butch lesbian to me just trust me she’s in love with Ino and has a lesbian thing going on with Karin okay just trust me. My everything. She needs to divorce the loveless lavender marriage she’s in 

What is there to say, even? The OG Threat to my 90s anime brain, the only woman I've ever hated with such a passion she made me turn away from the color pink. I used to write fics with my friend where she got left behind on purpose so our OCs could join the Naruto and Sasuke team instead. I loathed this bitch until I was 16 and realized the author simply couldnt write women and decided it was time to make peace with Sakura. It is not her fault she's vaguely written and obsessive over Sasuke. She deserves better. Sasuke and Naruto still should be together and Sakura shouldnt be with Sasuke but I no longer believe this because I hate Sakura, it is because I love her. She deserves a spouse who will actually put in the time to treat her like the hero she is.

Misa Amane

she gets treated in-canon the way fandoms treat female characters that Threaten an m/m ship. it's like, "oh why don't you go sit in the corner and be pretty, misa, while the Men have intelligent conversation and pretend they aren't ten seconds from fucking each other, doesn't that sound nice?" it's infuriating. and MAYBE it's better now but i remember her getting treated the same way in fanfiction too, like we all need to do just as badly by our female secondary characters as fucking tsugumi ohba, but with the added insult of making her be alternately oblivious of the relationship between light and L or actively trying to sabotage it—incompetently, of course, because god forbid misa be allowed dignity or moments of cleverness.

she's one of the first characters I think of when I consider old school fandom misogyny. The annoying bitch and clingy crazy gf allegations were AFTER HER ASS. She's also a lot more intelligent than people gave her credit for, but most seem inclined to take the Very Biased word of our unreliable, narcissistic narrator and his homoerotic arch nemesis and claim that just because she's bubbly and into romance that she's also a complete moron. Which is blatantly untrue. Everyone was afraid of Misa girlbossing too hard. Killing people and devoting yourself to the deranged twink of your dreams even though you know he'll never love you back??? Having a hardcore goth aesthetic and being so Hot even literal Death Gods are into you?? God forbid women do ANYTHING!

Not only is she the victim of yaoi culture, she is the victim of early 2000s misogyny by an author that wanted to introduce a girl character because he knew his male rivals were getting too homoerotic. She is a goth bimbo icon who portrays what I think is one of the few callouts for stan culture and what parasocial relationships can do to both the stan and the idol. The fact that she is a toxic fan of Kira and also hot, funny, sociable is tragic in its own way, which I think the author did try to touch on but was too misogynistic too really get through. Of course, she was reduced to villain status by the fandom and anime alike because she got in the way of the supposed romance in their psychological horror anime

[nakahras]

᯽ lost in the fire • chuuya nakahara

synopsis • you’re next in line for the executive spot that’s been opened up by fyodor dostoevsky killing ace. the job was already practically yours, all you need is the expected unanimous vote from the rest of the executives to guarantee you the position. but when have your expectations ever been met?

warnings • lower case intentional, swearing, threats of violence, mentions of guns and knives, reader causes minor harm to chuuya, depictions of panic attacks, chuuya unintentionally mansplaining :)

wc • 6.5k

a/n • this fic was sm fun to write. i wanted to wait to post but all of my other wips are unfinished so you guys get this one early <3

reader’s ability: the emissary (yoko tawada) - the ability to manipulate money, wealth and anything related to them. the user can create, shape and manipulate money, currency and wealth; including coinage, notes, gems/jewels and anything that is used as currency. this also includes any currency that is digitalized.

secondary to physical currency, the user is also able to manipulate a person’s life currency: time. the user can take and give years as they please.

you’ve always considered yourself an extremely patient person. always the perfect picture of calm and collected in the face of frustration. you’ve been patient, waited your turn. you waited when dazai was given the colonel’s executive spot while you were “gifted” second hand to a man that you would compare to a snake — but that would be an insult to their species. you were patient with your superior, even though you loathed him and only reported to him under the request of mori himself. you were patient with your subordinates, the ones you had to manage because ace simply couldn’t be bothered to do so himself. then you were patient, again, and waited your turn when chuuya was gifted another emptied executive position after that. 

you bode your time, knowing that eventually it would come in due time. 

so, when it was reported to you that ace had kicked the bucket thanks to his arrogance and the aid of one fyodor dostoevsky, you were over the moon. if he wasn’t a current threat to yokohama and by association, the port mafia, you think you could kiss the russian. a huge, grating and irritating weight has finally been lifted from your shoulders and it has been all thanks to him.

your subordinates came to you gushing about how lucky you were to not get caught up in the crosshairs of that situation and get killed yourself. you almost snort at the irony. ace never wanted you near his ship, his suspicions of you being his handler (courtesy of mori of course) were growing stronger by the day. instead, he made you do all of his port mafia duties, including standing in as acting executive in meetings with the higher ups instead of going himself. you weren’t complaining though, you’d rather a bullet be put through your head then to step foot on that ship. you’re not and never have been immune to sea sickness.

it’s definitely safe to say you aren’t mourning ace. sure, he brought in extra funds, but your ability is just as - if not more - useful in funding mori’s whims as well as the port mafia. 

naturally, you’re expected to completely take over the role of executive following ace’s death. everyone expects it. you expect it. you’ve waited patiently for this day. you deserved this. the vote in the decision to make you an executive should have been unanimous. “should” being the operative word here.

you can tell kouyou is trying to deliver the blow as gently as she can but your eye is twitching and you’re clenching your fists so hard you can feel your freshly manicured nails digging into the palm of your hands, effectively breaking skin. “you have nothing to worry about, sunshine. just because the vote wasn’t unanimous, doesn’t mean mori isn’t still going to promote you. the vote is more of a formality. mori just has to let the dust settle before making his final decision.”

“i’m going to kill verlaine.” you don’t miss a beat, you’re seething, smoke practically billowing out of your ears. “he knows i’m more than capable of holding my own. i was practically an executive already.”

you miss the way kouyou gets tense at the mention of verlaine in your fit of rage but you don’t miss the way she smiles tightly at you. “verlaine wasn’t the one opposed to you being promoted…”

you immediately stop in your tracks. your mind reeling, trying to catch up with the new information kouyou has presented to you. there are only three of them now, since mori refuses to fill dazai’s spot and now with ace dead… if verlaine wasn’t the one to oppose and obviously kouyou didn’t oppose it, always supporting you — that only left… 

betrayal courses through your veins turning them into a frigid stream so bitter and cold that it stings. there is absolutely no way, right? you try to wrap your head around the implications of what kouyou just said. nauseous, you feel dizzy - sick. you’re going to throw up. you’ve always thought you’ve had chuuya’s support and with good reason because he’s always telling you so. 

actions speak louder than words.

the mantra rings loudly in your head. you’ve always been a strong believer in it, but chuuya? he preaches it constantly, firmly believing that words are worthless if they aren’t followed through with. you admire him for it  - you admire him for a lot of things, honestly - so hearing that he wasn’t practicing what he preached made your blood instantly heat up and boil, the previous cold bite of betrayal melting away.

kouyou takes a step closer and makes a risky calculation by reaching out and stroking your hair soothingly. “i’m sure he meant well, sunshine. you know he had to have a reason.”

“i don’t care if he had a reason. he lied to me, kouyou, and i’m going to find out why.” you bristle and gently but pointedly move away from the executive’s  touch. “where is he?”

“if he’s smart? hiding from you.”

᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽

kouyou is a traitor.

you think to yourself offhandedly while you storm through the hallways of base, looking for a certain gravity manipulator. the more experienced woman refused to tell you where the traitor was. her penchant for being protective over chuuya, while usually admirable, is highly annoying for this particular situation. so you silently curse her too.

you feel as if you’ve checked every nook and cranny in this building. you even checked the underground torture chambers in your delusional state — thinking maybe he set everything up, as well as himself, on a silver platter for you. of course you wouldn’t have actually done anything but the thought alone is therapeutic all the same. his office is naturally the first place you checked and the only place you have been periodically checking throughout your search. 

as a matter of fact, you’re headed to chuuya’s office for the fourth and final time. you were ready to call it quits, exhausted from the emotions swirling inside of you like a storm. you can’t quite let go of the fact that chuuya doesn’t think you are cut out for this kind of responsibility despite having already had it on your shoulders this entire time. sure you’re angry, you deserve this role. but mostly you’re simply hurt. he knew - no, he knows how hard you’ve worked for this, almost refusing his own offer in order to give it up to you. just so you wouldn’t have to deal with ace’s bullshit anymore.

so what the hell changed? maybe if you could find the bastard, you could ask, but someone must have tipped him off because you can’t locate him anywhere.

in your head, you are side eyeing kouyou so hard right now.

your mind is so preoccupied with cursing the orange haired duo that you aren’t paying attention to your surroundings. you’re caught off guard when you quite literally run into someone on your way to chuuya’s office. you’re almost knocked to the ground when long tendrils of cloth wrap around your waist to steady you.

akutagawa? what was the black-fanged hellhound doing here?

you internally flinch at the thought. you must be far more out of sorts than you originally thought because when have you ever referred to akutagawa by that ridiculous moniker? never. the answer is never. you’ve even endearingly referred to him as a lost puppy a few times just to get a rise out of him. you’ve been pleasantly successful in coaxing a blush out of him every time.

you pat the cloth reassuringly as a signal to let the younger man know you’re alright. “thank you, ryunosuke, for catching me and sorry about running into you. my head isn’t quite here today.”

akutagawa’s brow is creased as he nods. you take a moment to really acknowledge his presence as a distraction. you need to get a hold of yourself and focusing on something else would certainly do the trick.

akutagawa seems entirely too rigid with how tense his muscles are and his pursed lips. he doesn’t usually hold the most approachable expressions on a good day, but this is a little much even for him. you watch him tug on one of the silver rings adorning his bottom lip, one of his biggest nervous ticks — it’s always subtle, you wouldn’t even notice it if you didn’t know the younger man so well. his fingertips twitch around the envelope he’s holding and that’s when you realize the direction he was coming from.

that’s a mission assignment he’s holding and considering the only thing down this particular hallway is chuuya’s office…

your eyes narrow and gaze pointedly zeroes in on the report being held by his twitching hands.

“what’s that in your hand? it looks an awful lot like a mission assignment.” your eyes linger on the crisp envelope. it didn’t have the wear and tear akutagawa's reports usually had. so he had to have just been given the mission.

his only direct superior, other than mori himself, is chuuya. your eye twitches at the thought. he’s around here somewhere and you just got the confirmation you needed to know that the ginger is actively avoiding you. you suppose kouyou is right when she praises the man for being smart because at least he has enough sense to stay out of your way after making such a bold decision about your future in this organization before explaining it to you first. 

you watch the horror flit across akutagawa’s face when he realizes you know. the younger man shifts the envelope behind him in an attempt to hide it but he knows. he knows the damage has already been done. akutagawa has accidentally condemned chuuya to a fate probably worse than death, if the look on your face was anything to go by.

loyal to the very end, the high ranking subordinate shifts, almost as if to block the hallway behind him. you let out an exasperated sigh when you realize what’s going on. you neither have the time or energy for this game.

“akutagawa…i realize we’re technically of the same rank but we both know it’s best if you continue about whatever it is you were doing before running into me. understand?” the black and silver haired young man hesitates, feet still glued in place and you let out another annoyed sigh, this time pinching the bridge of your nose. “this is between me and your superior. don’t get yourself involved. i’m not going to kill him.”

akutagawa’s gaze shifts and eyebrows furrow as if…

oh this has to be a joke.

the sickly man is clearly on comms with someone and by the looks of it, whoever is on the other end is telling him to stand down because he finally moves to the side and out of your way. you’re fuming at this point, clearly your omission of not killing chuuya was enough to ease his mind but you never said anything about not hurting the coward. a fitting word for the ginger at this moment. far too cowardly to tell you the truth. far too cowardly to tell you his intentions. 

far too cowardly to face you afterwards. 

your perfectly manicured hand gently cups akutagawa’s shoulder and you lean into his ear, knowing his comm piece is snuggly nestled in it. 

“the first smart move you’ve made all day…” you’re leaning back as quickly as you were leaning in and offer your flustered colleague a sweet smile. “thank you for entertaining me, have a good rest of your day, ryunosuke!”

you leave akutagawa standing in bewilderment, wondering what the fuck just happenned as you practically skip down the hallway to chuuya’s office.

᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽

you blink 3 times. twice normally and then once harshly, squeezing your eyes shut tightly as if that would make chuuya appear before you. you’ve scanned over his office several times. even checking the wardrobe he keeps in there and under the desk. 

you stopped looking about 10 minutes ago and decided, instead, to glare at the open window you now assume the executive used to flee out of. 

coward.

you’re exhausted. you’ve been on this wild goose hunt all day, you just want to go back to your apartment and sleep. you know kouyou reassured you that chuuya’s vote wasn’t damning but you can’t help the anxiety creeping into your chest and crawling up your esophagus making it burn. you’re sick with the idea that you’ll never make it higher in this organization. always having to answer to more than just one person.

not only is chuuya a coward but he’s cruel too. lying to you all this time, giving you a false sense of security of where you stand with him. a false sense of hope had been blanketed over you by his honey filled lies.

you can feel your body begin to tremble, working yourself at the thoughts swirling a storm in your mind. you try to take a calming breath but it comes out shuddered. you lean against the front of chuuya’s desk and close your eyes as you allow your head to fall back. your face scrunches and you let out a frustrated groan while bringing your hands up to cover your face. your hands move up and fingers through your hair while taking a deep breath. you pick your head back up and finally reopen your eyes. 

you finally let out a sigh of defeat. chuuya’s won- for today- you’re officially resigning from your search. you can’t help but to give his office one last scan before kicking yourself off the almost comically huge desk and making your way to his door. 

you reach out for the door handle, grimacing. this can’t be how you end the day, you know you’ve resigned, but the thought of letting chuuya get away with this for the night makes your stomach churn. you stand there for a moment when a brilliant idea comes to mind. you want to try something. 

you turn the knob, open the door, count to 10, and then close the door. it takes all of  roughly 5 seconds for your plan to actually work. the room somehow seems to darken and that’s when you notice it, a strange shadow being cast from the ceiling behind you. a shadow that’s, oddly enough, in the same shape as one certain port mafia executive. your hand slowly drops from the door handle but not before effectively locking it. 

“hey, jackass, do you think you’re funny?” you start speaking before you turn around to look at him.

the ginger stops dead in his tracks. he’s trying to sneak back into his own office. despite your question to him you almost bark out a laugh at the absurdity of it. almost.

chuuya blanches, staring at you with wide eyes and you watch as he contemplates running, eyes darting back to the opened window. 

“you better not be trying to haul your carrot top ass out that window right now. you and i need to have a word, but i’m not talking to you like this. get off the damn ceiling.”

the executive gives you a weary look and decidedly does not come down from the ceiling, where he’s deemed safe from you.

 your eye twitches, patience having thinned a long time ago. “port mafia executive, nakahara chuuya, get your ass down here. right. now.” 

 chuuya prides himself in not flinching at your tone and use of his title. so much so that he thinks he might let it get to his head a little too much when he says, “y’know, doll, when trying to coax someone into doing something, they don’t usually respond well to demands.”

your expression hardens and nostrils flare, chuuya doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this upset. he tries to conjure up a sane reason as to what possessed him to say something like that to you in this situation. he only comes up with one viable answer: sheer visceral stupidity. he’s simply an idiot. the ginger contemplates letting you kill him right then and there in this moment. he deserves it, especially after that comment.

you don’t miss a beat. your hand raises, gun in a vice grip and you shoot. one, two, then three quick and scattered shots. you know well he can stop them easily. in fact you planned on it. you needed him distracted as you reach your other hand around to your thigh holster and grasp your throwing knife. while preoccupied by the bullets you toss the knife right next to his head, the chain on his hat breaking and the knife taking a small slice of chuuya’s cheek and ear with it before lodging into the ceiling as a warning.

you’re both still for a moment, chuuya looks oddly impressed while you’re trying to figure out what just happened, having blacked out in your fit of rage. 

“…well. ‘spose i can’t say i didn’t deserve that…” chuuya lets out a nervous chuckle but clearly you’re not amused.

in fact, you look even more irate than before. 

“really? really, chuuya? this isn’t a joke. i’m. tired. do you know what i’ve been doing all day? actually- of course you know what i’ve been doing all day because you’ve been avoiding me all day. tell me- did you take brain damage the last time you were in corruption? did that freak let you simmer in that state just a little too long? it’s the only reasonable explanation i’ve come up with all day for what you did in that executive meeting-“ you let out a frustrated noise as your words start to blend together the longer you speak and your neck screams at you. ”jesus christ, chuuya, would you get down from that god damn ceiling? my neck is starting to hurt and that’s the last thing i need right now-” 

your voice breaks off, the storm of emotions that you’ve been successfully avoiding all day pouring over you all at once. your chest is constricting, feeling as if it’s caving in on itself. your breathing is labored and you recognize that the looming anxiety has finally taken over. your body is trembling. you need to breathe. in through your nose and out through your mouth. you try, you swear you try to concentrate on your breathing but the only person that’s been able to get you out of this state successfully refuses to get off that godforsaken ceiling.

you count.

one.

two.

three.

four.

five.

what’s your favorite color? favorite meal? what's something you could touch and feel in this very moment? your necklace. the one with your birthstone nestled on a silver teardrop frame. you reach for it and rub the sizable stone between your fingers. it’s been a while since you’ve needed to ground yourself in this way, but it still works like a charm. 

it all feels like it’s happening in slow motion but in reality in was only a few minutes. not even enough time for chuuya to make the full decision to come down from the ceiling and approach you. his feet are landing on the ground as you tune back into reality.

your blurred vision clears and zeroes in on the way the gravity manipulator takes a hesitant step towards you. he watches the way your gaze instantly sharpens and he takes the hint in staying put. he even goes as far as to raise his hands up in a way that tells you he’s admitting defeat.

”i just want to make sure you’re okay…”

you let out a humorless laugh. “maybe if you’d explain yourself, i would be.”

chuuya let’s out a long sigh, clearly having dreaded this all day. he knew your reaction would be less than savory, how could it not be when he was showing you that he thought the opposite of what he’s been telling you all these years. he didn’t want to face you so soon because he wasn’t even sure he had an answer. it took 5 hours and 37 minutes for him to come to a conclusion. 

the ginger swallows thickly as his bicolored gaze fixes onto yours. “becoming an executive… it demands a lot of someone…”

there he goes, being vague as he usually is when it’s clear there’s something he doesn’t want to discuss. he knows, he knows why he voted no in that meeting but you can’t figure out why he just won’t tell you. instead he’s trying to give you a lesson on the position you’ve been coveting for over five years now, ever since dazai had taken up his position as the youngest port mafia executive in history. 

you blink at him in utter disbelief. “i know what becoming an executive entails, chuuya.”

“that’s… i didn’t mean it like that, hell, i know you’ve been told and seen some of it but you were hardly ever with ace. i know that bastard kept you occupied with busy work.”

a smile stretches at your lips but it’s thin and doesn’t reach your eyes and it’s almost mocking. then a humorless laugh slips past your lips as you shake your head in obvious exasperation. chuuya starts to panic when you begin to pace, walking away from him almost altogether. the executive racks his brain and tries to diffuse the…frustration you’re still holding towards him. chuuya can’t bring himself to imagine you holding any more severely malicious feelings towards him right now — it would make him physically ill.

“what i’m trying to say is that you haven’t experienced the target that it puts on someone’s back. it’s so damn physically and mentally taxing. then there’s the paranoia you have to accept when any other normal or sane person would be told to push it aside. it isn’t easy-“ the ginger’s gaze falters, shifting to the side then back to you but he isn’t really looking you in the eye, that mixed with his words was really starting to piss you off after having calmed down. “the things that need to be done in this position isn’t something you should look forward to, you should be happy that-“

you let out a loud scoff, promptly cutting off the bullshit spewing from chuuya’s mouth. he had no right to mansplain this to you. you know all of this, you know the kinds of demands that’s required of someone when becoming a port mafia executive.

you’ve been preparing for this for 6 damn years. 

your blood is simmering, threatening to boil all over again. your fists are tightly balled and you think you may be drawing blood from your palms again. this time the sting is a little worse, rebreaking the indents in your skin from earlier. your nail lady is going to be so pissed at you, she spent hours to make your nails look as stunning as they do and you’re already staining them with blood. your blood, no less.

you’ll blame it on chuuya. it is his fault after all. the rage he incites in you is impressive to say the least. you think you’ll get let off the hook if you tell her a man was involved. she is always prying into your love life anyways, maybe you’d be able to indulge her for once, even though chuuya is far from being any type of lover at this point. 

you actually want to laugh at the thought considering the events of the last 12 hours.

in fact, the man in question is still prattling on with his mansplaining. you tuned out like maybe a minute or so ago. if he was paying attention he would have noticed the glazed over look you’re giving him. 

you suppose you should try to pay attention but the moment you come back into focus, your mouth is flying open to cease the ginger’s useless words.

“oh my god, chuuya, shut the fuck up. you’re not telling me anything new- you’re actually just pissing me off even more because it’s clear you really believe you need to explain this shit to me. i have half a mind to pull my gun back out at you…”

and you really do consider emptying your holster. maybe taking a couple more shots at the executive could be therapeutic, who knows? again, you know well it won’t do him any harm, he can stop the bullets easily with his gravity manipulation. that’s not enough, he needs to feel how much he’s truly hurt you, so you use your words to hopefully cut him.

“i just- i don’t fucking get it. i really don’t. since i’ve joined, after dragon's head, you’ve continuously supported me in wanting to climb the ranks at this organization. hell, you’ve even encouraged it. was it not you that told me i would make a ‘damn good executive?’” your voice raises and you can feel the anger rising, threatening to erupt. “have you just been lying to me for years? telling me what i want to hear but not actually believing it?! because the faith i instilled in myself was because of the faith you had in me! i trusted your opinion! was it all just one big fucking lie you told-”

“no!” chuuya looks just as worked up as you feel, his telltale signs being the way his eyelashes flutter in frustration and his fingers tremble and twitch at his sides.

you scoff, crossing your arms and looking away to try and hide the way you’re blinking away tears. “then what is it?”

“fyodor dostoevsky is gonna come for us-”

you let out a snort. “the fuck does that even mean?”

your demeanor is manic, your patience has been stretched so far passed its limit that you’re becoming delirious. your smile is vicious, eyes wide and almost wild, and your giggling is threatening. chuuya easily identifies it. he’s only seen you get this upset a handful of times, it’s actually terrifying to witness and he has always been grateful he’s never been on the other side of it. obviously until now, that is. 

“dostoevsky, and god knows who else with him, is going to come for us. he’s cunning. If the man is as smart as he’s rumored to be he’s gonna try to weaken the port mafia by taking out the executives. we have a target on our backs- you would have a target on your back but if you stay in the position you’re in now, you’ll be safe…”

chuuya flinches, the look you’re giving him is not kind and he has a feeling he knows where this is going.

”i’ll be safe? why do i need to be kept safe, chuuya? do you just assume i don’t know how to defend myself? do you think i’m that weak? do you really think that lowly of me?” your voice is dripping with venom, tone saturated with a poison that’s paralyzing chuuya’s mind — he can’t think clearly anymore.

the ginger is becoming increasingly more overwhelmed with each passing moment. “no- no! that’s not what i think at all. i just-”

“you just what? you just think it would be better for me to keep the status i have now? you think i should just stay complacent and be content with the power i have now? my aspirations just mean nothing? what is it? which one is it? or are you going to keep lying to me and spew your bullshit excu-”

chuuya’s own thread of patience snaps, desperate to fix this, he loses all sense of rationality and cuts in quickly before his mind has a chance to catch up with him. “ i love you- i love you and i couldn’t just sit in that meeting and agree to something that i know will put you in harm's way. more so than you already are just being with the port mafia. i can’t let a huge target be drawn on your back. i can’t-”

chuuya’s voice breaks off before he says too much, his mind finally catching up with him as he watches your reaction.

your breath hitches and you physically stumble back. your eyes fly open and lips part in utter shock. 

i love you.

the words running on a constant loop in your head. it’s something you thought you would never hear from him, making peace with that a long time ago. you had resigned to only being close friends and colleagues. you were fine with that. you were. 

so why did those three words jilt you like a rejection instead of an admissionof love? you can’t sort through your thoughts and feeling that are thrashing violently though your chest and mind. it’s all jumbled. 

you try to respond but only manage, “you…what?”

chuuya’s eyes are wide, he himself reeling from his unintentional confession so the best he can muster is a confused, “i- what?”

“…chuuya, you just said…you love me…” 

the man in question is stumbling back into his desk, leaning onto it for support. the weight of his outburst physically pushing him down. wait… no. that’s his ability. in the mess that’s his head somewhere he must’ve activated his ability instinctively and distantly he recognizes the faint red aura surrounding his body. he looks over to you and realizes you notice it too, concern is twisting your perfectly stunning features.

…how embarrassing.

this hasn’t happened since he was a kid. chuuya has always been careful to not lose control, meticulously controlling his emotions so as to not let his gift take over. it’s been almost a decade since this last happened. chuuya didn’t even have this type of reaction when he learned about dazai’s defection. the creaking of his desk is all too apparent in the silent room.

you watch in abject horror as the wood beneath him begins to splinter at his weight. you panic, the previous conversation and frustration forgotten as you watch chuuya struggle in his own mind. 

your own mind races. you need to do something, bring him out of this state immediately. you fear the damage he’ll inflict on not only the desk you know he loves (he spent months looking for the perfect one) but also on his own body. that much weight has to be paralyzing — crushing to him.

the rational side of your mind screams at you and you listen to its cries. “god damnit, chuuya. you need to calm the hell down, you’re gonna cause some serious damage to this building if you keep this up…”

you’re going to do some serious damage to yourself, you want to say but can’t push the words out, your own panic becoming increasingly more tangible as you watch his ability get stronger and stronger.

chuuya’s eyes are distant and now his breathing is ragged. your words, unfortunately, do not fall on deaf ears. the ginger clings to every word you say. your tone is still harsh. you’re still angry with him. 

shit. of course you’re still pissed at him. why wouldn’t you be? he doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. he deserves to be buried by the rubble he can create with his ability. 

he deserves it. 

your own panic rises with each passing moment. if this continues, the executive is going to take the whole building down with him. who knows how many people are occupying this tower, not to mention the boss. mori would not take kindly to this skyscraper being reduced to rubble. 

crack, crack, crack.

the creaking of the desk under chuuya is deafening. you want to scream at him, shout for him to knock it off. frustration getting the better of you, but you know. you know that won’t be of any help in this situation.

“chuuya, please, you need to snap out of this. you need to come back. i need you to take control.” it’s too late now. your words are no longer penetrating the barrier that’s been placed around his mind by anxiety.

talking the superior out of this state is no longer an option for you. shit. this is bad. this is so fucked up. what options do you have left…

finally. an idea finally crosses your mind. it’s reckless, you could get hurt yourself and you know if that happens chuuya would blame himself. riddled with guilt, he would never forgive himself. 

but do you even have an option here? you have to do something. you can’t just stand here paralyzed, frozen in fear.

fuck it.

your feet are moving forward in an instant. this is risky. if it doesn’t work you risk being crushed along with chuuya. touching him right now would cause his ability to envelop you, it could shatter every bone in your body. 

you take a deep breath, hands reaching out and gingerly glide across the ginger’s jawline. his eyes focus almost immediately and you work quickly. you hold his face in your hands and gently bring his forehead down to yours. 

“hey, come back to me…chuuya, please…” you feel the weight of the ginger’s ability slowly envelope you and it almost suffocates you. the pressure makes it hard for your lungs to contract. it’s so dizzying you think you might vomit.

you force yourself to push pass it. the weight isn’t as intense, you search chuuya’s eyes and find them staring back at you. his focus isn’t fully there but his eyes aren’t trembling like they were before. the problem now, you can’t talk. you try desperately but the force of his gravity manipulation makes your esophagus spasm painfully. 

your words are completely useless now. there’s one more thing you could try. it feels wrong to use this while the executive’s in such a state but you’re completely out of options. 

you lean into the ability user, hands bringing his face closer to your own. you feel his shallow breaths turn into deeper ones as they fan over your cheeks. you try to swallow nervously but it makes you wince. you’d let out a frustrated noise if you could get your throat to work. you toss the thought aside. you don’t need your throat to work for what you’re about to do, so you lean in closer, lips finally brushing chuuya’s own and his breath hitches. 

you let a pleased smile quirk your lips up, or at least it feels like you do.

time slows as you finally lean in all the way and let your lips press against chuuya’s. his reaction is so instinctive it startles you, stealing what little breath you have left in your lungs. his hands that had previously been gripping the edge of his desk now find their way to your waist. 

the pressure of his ability lifts gradually and you can finally breathe again. the kiss is gentle and innocent. a stark comparison to chuuya himself, anything but innocent in any sense. 

finally the cracking of the desk ceases and the warmth of the red aura, the one that chuuya emanates when his ability is activated, completely disperses. the only source of warmth that comes from the ginger now is his body heat. his normal warmth is more that enough to make your mind swim. 

after a few more seconds, you part from the executive. you resume your previous position, letting him lean his forehead against your own. you open your eyes only to find one that’s reminiscent of the depths of the ocean and another that reminds you of a warm and rich caramel sauce staring back at you. his eyes scan your face with such concentration you almost hold your breath, not wanting to disturb whatever it is he’s looking for.

his lips part and his voice is raspy when you speaks. “i’m sorry… i shouldn’t have lost control like that…”

“what else are you sorry for?” you hum and quirk an eyebrow up at him expectantly. 

he knows what you’re referring to and even though he swears he plans on apologizing — a sigh escapes passed his lips before he can suppress it. you instantly turn rigid, lips turning downward into a frown and hands dropping from his face. the regret hits chuuya in the gut and his grip on your waist locks you in place. 

the executive is quick to rush out another apology before you can close yourself off. “i’m sorry for not telling you the truth and for voting against you becoming an executive. i’ll make this right.”

your shoulders finally relax for the first time all day. you almost cry at the tension leaving your body, it has been plaguing you all day. based on the guilty look chuuya offers, you must look exhausted. exhausted or not, you don’t plan on letting this go just quite yet. rest can wait.

”you’ll fix things right now.” you pull out your phone to type out a quick message then send it off and put your phone back in your pocket. “mori’s expecting you.”

you watch as a conflicted gleam flickers in chuuya’s bicolored eyes. you take a deep breath, not allowing yourself to get worked up before hearing what he has to say. instead you hum questioningly and patiently wait for him to answer your unspoken question.

chuuya gently squeezes your hips in reassurance that it’s nothing serious. “will you wait for me?”

you blink for a moment, letting your tired and slow moving brain catch up with his words. you’re unable to mask the genuine shock when his request finally processes. will you wait? will you? you look at his couch and think it would be comfy enough to take a nap on. the ginger follows your gaze and instantly catches on. he finally releases your waist and grabs one of your hands, encasing it in his own. 

the executive leads you to the couch wordlessly and has you sit down. he’s quick and before you can even protest, you’re presented with a blanket and pillow. when you don’t reach for them, your mind working on overtime at this point, he places them next to you. 

“use ‘em while i clean up my mess with mori. if you’re asleep by the time i return… i’ll make sure you make it to a proper bed. okay, doll?” the look on his face is nothing short of hopeful and how are you supposed to say no to that?

you let out a sleepy sigh of defeat and simply nod your head.

chuuya can’t help the wide grin plastered on his face. “it shouldn’t take too long. i’ll be back before you know it.”

he doesn’t wait for your response as he makes his way to the door of his office. he unlocks it and as he’s turning the knob you’re calling for him. the ginger looks at you over his shoulder questioningly.

the thought occurred to you that you never verbally reciprocated chuuya’s confession and your mouth is moving for you before you know it. “i love you too…”

you watch as chuuya’s gaze softens and becomes glassy. his smile is bright and stretches into his eyes. his smile is actually so wide that his eyes almost shut completely. he let’s out an airy and carefree laugh and your heart stutters at the noise. suddenly you’re grateful that in your sleepy stupor, you had enough sense to voice your reciprocated feelings because you don’t think you’ve ever seen a more beautiful site.

[vicsy]

ohhh for the ship asks

strollonso (obvi) and the prompt: you should stay away from him

In a perfect echo of the hotel bathroom, Lance cuts himself over the edge of false convictions. His fingers close around the wide band of a custom-made collar.

You should stay away from him.

He addresses the reflection in the mirror, stern, but his voice is soft, too forgiving, nothing like his father's. A tremor wracking through his hands; Lance clasps the collar over his throat, living through a memory so crystal clear. Lawrence's heartbroken face when he slid a black box across the table in his office, just the two of them and a thick burden of the best interests kept at heart. A sharp point of a dagger prodding his skin where it's the thinnest.

Familial ties have no weight in blood. Lance still wants to learn he's worth his weight in gold.

"I won't tell you what to do," Sebastian said, then, a glass of wine next to his empty plate. Lance zeroed in on the silver of his fangs, peeking through his lips stretches in an easy smile. They were playing pretend for the night. "He and I are very different. Try to keep a healthy distance, yes?"

The want parched Lance.

"No. Don't," Esteban snapped a week later, frantic and desperate, cornering Lance near his driver's room in the sweltering Bahrain heat. He pointed at his parted mouth and pressed the pad of his index finger to the tip of his fang. "It's no good, Lance, please. Stay as far away from him as you can, ask your dad to– I don't know!"

"Esteban–"

"Or come to me," Esteban pleaded, his hold on Lance's shoulder bruising. "I'll do it. Don't risk it with him. Please."

Lance couldn't, ever. Esteban would have ended up loathing himself and Lance would have never made his peace with it. To Esteban, he still made a feeble promise, sealed with a bone-crushing hug. Lance hoped it wouldn't break the way his wrists did; it hurt.

The pain was his impediment. It lessened his resolve.

You should stay away from him.

Race after race after race. The pinprick on the back of Lance's neck from being watched, a touch to the small of his back; to his cheek. His lungs constricting and sweat pooling under the collar, unbearable chokehold. Lance wishes to crack his chest open, to leave the bridges up in flames, to stand on the podium drenched in champagne — up there, not alone, free. Lance detests the thrum of want singing under his skin. It never abates, haunting.

You should stay–

Lance goes for a drive. He pretends there is no destination in mind. His car doesn't seem real but the empty streets of Oviedo at night are more than enough.

A house on top of the hill greets him with a sound of shattered promise. The front door opens before Lance reaches out to ring the bell.

"I don't know," he says right off the bat and shivers. Then forces a smile he knows is crooked. He's lying. "Sorry. Shouldn't have come, really."

Leaning against the mahogany doorframe, Fernando appears mostly human, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. The eyes of a predator look at and through him. Lance never wanted it to be anyone else.

"Hm. I know," Fernando rumbles, his smirk as cruel as it is indulging. Lance feels lost; feels like he's on the wrong path. "You are doing a bad job at staying away, Lance."

Fernando's fixation on discipline fascinates him. With a trembling hand, Lance unclasps the collar around his neck; with the other, he grabs Fernando wrist, palm up. There is no pulse beating underneath his fingertips but Lance's heart is rabbiting out of his chest hard enough for the two of them.

Too perceptive to be fooled, Fernando waits him out. He knows the game well. Lance walks into the trap on his own volition, waving a white flag. Places the collar onto Fernando's calloused palm, closes his fingers around it.

"Show me why I shouldn't."

Then, Lance bares his neck.

Then, Fernando lunges.

Bare and at a mercy, wrists bound behind his back with the same collar he wore, a mere sheep to a slaughter, Lance's want crumbles into dust and all of his pain ebbs away. He can never go back now; he wants to forget the way exists when Fernando pushes him into the bedsheets, big hands gripping his waist tight. Lance bucks up against nothing, white-hot pleasure blinding him, rendering him bonesless, voiceless but frighteningly at ease.

Fernando's jagged fangs plunge into his throat without a warning and Lance wonders why he ever resisted going somewhere he belongs.

Send me a ship/character(s) and a one word prompt and I will write a 5 sentence fic about it

[unwanted-animal]

WARNINGS: DEAD DOVE - DO NOT EAT. WOUND FUCKING. GURO. NECROPHILIA. HALLUCINATIONS. GUILT. DREAMSTAT. GURO.

Lestat’s shadow followed Louis everywhere, from the ship across the sea to the war-torn ravages of Europe. At first Louis loathed his appearances - he did not speak, or sing, or address Louis. All he did was stare and bleed, face devoid of emotion. Perhaps if Louis saw hatred in his eyes, righteous anger, it would have hurt less. That he could understand.

Soon, Lestat began to talk.

Je t’aime, mais tu ne m’aime pas.

Nous sommes unis par un cordon, Louis.

Es-tu heureux maintenant?

French bled into English, those hard consonants he liked to thank for his sculpted jaw. Accent thick, words heavy, they weighed on Louis like stones. He cherished them all the same. He never wanted to escape the sound of Lestat’s voice, even as it condemned him for his hateful actions.

A betrayal unlike any other. I wouldn’t expect less from you, Louis.

I’m going to fucking kill you.

Will you ever find someone to fill the void in your heart?

Thousands dead in his wake, and Lestat was the only one that felt like murder.

Claudia couldn’t hear Lestat, but she could tell when he’d come around. Louis was easy to read in those days. He’d stare into space, silent, only to scream to the smoke-filled sky in terror. Still picking a dead man over her, however tormented he might be. Clinging to his memory like a life raft in a stormy sea. Louis was scared of him, but she could feel the ache in him coursing just below that fear. Loss. Longing.

One morning, as she lay sleeping in a tomb beside him, Louis rolled to face the visage haunting his thoughts. Long blond hair spilled down his shoulders, the ends sticky with blood. Louis could smell it, the gash in his throat that wept rivers down the bone-white of his shirt. Darkness couldn’t hide his crime.

“Don’t ruin it with guilt,” Lestat said softly, carding his fingers through Louis’ loose curls. “It was beautiful. I loved the part where you screamed over me.”

“Stop,” Louis whispered. “Please, Lestat. Not now.”

“If not now, when, mon cher? Am I going to be less dead tomorrow?”

“I need to sleep -“

“You need to wait.”

“Why?”

“Because I cannot catch you if you keep moving.”

Louis reached out and touched his jaw, his hand trembling ever so faintly. Cool skin greeted him, and Lestat smiled. He could feel the scar shift beneath his palm.

“Take a walk with me, Louis.”

>> READ ON AO3<<

[pedropascallme]

Acolyte

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader

Summary: “The quiet of the cockpit did nothing to satiate your curiosity, and you desperately tried to think of something to say, even if to nobody but yourself.”

Warnings: Ever so slight implications of what could possibly verge on smut but only if you squint. Otherwise none!

AN: Lord forgive me but from dusk til dawn I will make up the inner layout of the Crest to my liking. This is part three of Stupid For You, part one here and part two here!! 

Soundtrack: Acolyte by Slaughter Beach, Dog

As soon as your excitement in anticipation of being in hyperspace—being in hyperspace with Din—for weeks at a time had died down, you remembered that, more often than not, you found yourself loathing the speed run through the stars. 

You weren’t ungrateful for the peace that you found in hyperspace, but there was nothing to do on this ship. There were only so many ways to keep the child’s focus, only so many stars you could count, only so many sighs you could muster. It got boring. You had been flying for three days, give or take, and you had already run out of things to do. You had even taken it upon yourself to clean the ship, not that it took up much time; Din was severely lacking in creature comforts and the few wires and cabinets that the kid could get to were easily safety-proofed. 

There you sat: Tapping your fingers on the nav computer and looking through the transparisteel. Din sat in the Captain’s chair (a term he loathed, but you loved to use as a form of light mockery) and though you weren’t entirely sure he was conscious or even breathing half the time, the occasional movements his hand made towards some button or other proved he was alive, at least. 

You hadn’t spoken in hours. What was there to talk about? The kid made most of the conversation on the Crest, and with him asleep and no bounty for at least twelve parsecs, there wasn’t much you could make conversation about. With anybody else, maybe you’d be able to muster up a chat about something—anything—but with Din? Forget it. After your little show of confidence the other day, you had slumped back into your daydreams. And despite his show of concern that same day, he hadn’t seemed to notice any issues. 

You tried to remain outgoing and continue the ribbing (if you could call it that) you had begun, but it was…it was weirdly difficult. Din was so fucking hard to read: he had no face, his guard was always up, and if he did have any reaction to what you were doing, he was wizard at hiding it. 

“Where are we going?” You blurted out, almost without thinking, fed up with the quiet. 

“Fondor.” Din’s responses were always so blunt. Never any idle chat before the real answer. You made a face when he named the ecumenopolis, prompting a sympathetic “I know.”

You resumed your silence, continuing your tapping. Getting three words from him and an answer to your question would hold you over for another few hours.

“Stop tapping.” Din reached over, grabbing your hand and forcing you to cease the repetitive motion you had fallen into. He placed it in your lap before withdrawing, going back to the statuesque pose he had held in his chair.

“Sorry.” You squeezed your hand into a fist, unclenching it to rub a finger from your opposite hand over the palm he had touched. 

“Are you nervous?” He asked.

“No.” You were getting good at lying to him. More silence followed, and you continued to rub your palm lightly. You liked the feel of his gloves; the leather had softened from use and the suede on the tips of his fingers was fraying. Din’s hands were the only part of him you had seen in full, and the tan, calloused skin that he often wrapped after a hunt were at the center of your thoughts; fantasies got the best of you on sleepless nights, and your mind wandered to his hands, thinking about how they would’ve felt on you a few weeks prior had you been without the armor, him without his gloves. 

The quiet of the cockpit did nothing to satiate your curiosity, and you desperately tried to think of something to say, even if to nobody but yourself.

“You don’t take off your gloves all that often.” Your words betrayed you slightly, and you hoped Din couldn’t hear your thoughts. 

“I don’t see the need to.”

“Don’t you get uncomfortable?” You were shocked to garner a response from him that was more than two words.

“No. Gotten used to it.” He shifted himself towards you slightly. “Why the sudden curiosity, cyar’ika?”

“No reason, mesh’la.” Your butchered pronunciation did nothing to ease his own sheepishness. You made it hard for him to keep his composure before you started using the pet name he had gifted you, but now? Maker…

“Uhuh.” Was all he provided.

“What about your armor?” You pressed on.

“You’ve seen me without my armor. And my gloves.”

“Never without your helmet.” You winced at your words, not wanting him to think you were being judgmental. He didn’t owe you an answer, and you respected that he held fast to his beliefs the way he did. 

“Never without my helmet.” He repeated. You shrunk into yourself a little. You had no way of knowing whether he was offended or not as his voice kept its monotony. 

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know.”

“Have you ever taken it off?” You couldn’t help but keep going. The questions you had been trying to swallow since you met him now bulldozed their way past your lips.

“Of course I have.”

“Since I joined you?”

“No.”

“Even in the shower?”

“I take it off then.”

“So you have taken it off since I joined you.”

“Yes. But only in private moments, mesh’la.” He was teasing you, waiting for you to pick up on it. You thought for a moment that maybe you had heard something in his voice; had he put emphasis on “private”? Or on the nickname? You tried to chalk it up to his true tone being lost in the modulator, nevertheless you stilled a bit at his phrasing. “Private moments.” Showering. He was talking about showering, and that’s all.

After you had subtly regained your composure, you decided it was time to up the ante with your line of questioning.

“Din.” He moved his head and you were able to look into the black of his visor. “What do you look like?” He didn’t respond. “Not that you need to answer, I don’t—I don’t know how that works, really.”

“What if I told you I looked just like the kid?” 

“You have ten fingers.”

“So?” You could hear him smiling. 

Fuck, you wanted to see him smile. You wanted to see him smile at you. To witness for yourself the way his lips curled up, to find out if he was the type to give a toothy grin or a tight lipped smirk.

“So, I know you can’t be one of…him. And your skin is tan on your hands.”

“Who says my hands are the same color as my face?”

“You can also speak. And when you’re out of your armor I can see some of your neck.”

“And?” 

“And it’s the same color as your hands.”

“Clever girl.”

“What do you look like.” You enjoyed the back and forth you were having, and you marked it down in your head as some of the first genuine banter you’d ever had with him. Still, you were eager to get as straight an answer from him as you could.

“Don’t know if I could tell you.” He sighed. “Don’t know if I’d be able to pick  myself out in a lineup.” 

“That would make you a terrible bounty hunter.” 

“Watch it, cyare.” You knew it was probably a teasing response to your teasing prompt, but you couldn’t help but flinch a little. He put a hand on your knee in what you supposed was meant as an apology, but that only made you flinch again. You looked at the hand on your lap as he rested it on you for another 30 seconds before he finally withdrew it. He knew he was testing the waters, adding more physicality and communication to your previously professional relationship in order to gauge whether or not he was reading you correctly. You thought you’d finally gone insane during your journey and now couldn’t separate reality from reverie. The damage was done, though: You had yet another moment to replay in your mind until you croaked. There was a sudden tension, and you couldn’t tell whether it was emanating more so from him or from you.

“What do you want to hear?” He was quiet, head dropping to your level.

“How old are you?”

“Older than you.”

“Din...”

“Fourty-something.”

“What color is your hair?”

“Brown.”

“And your eyes?”

“Brown.”

“Do you have facial hair?”

“Sometimes.”

“What’s your nose look like?”

“It’s, uh…big. Curved.”

“Does it bump against your helmet?”

“It’s padded.”

“The helmet or your nose?” You laughed, trying to ignore the hushed intensity of the conversation.

“Funny.” 

“What about…” Your voice wavered. “What about your lips?”

“Pinkish.” 

“I mean the shape.”

“Lip-shaped.” He chuckled, his body moving in sync with the sound. “Been told I have good teeth, too, if you wanted to write that down?” 

You laughed with him. “Who told you that?” 

“My mother.”

“How could she see your teeth through her helmet?”

“She wasn’t a Mandalorian.” He was still again, voice retaking its usual edge.

“Oh…so your dad?”

“No. I was a foundling.” You shifted in your seat, letting each other stew in the silence. The tension had seemingly come to a head. 

“I’m sorry for asking so many questions.” You whispered, unsure if he’d even register it.

“I don’t mind.” 

“I know, but—"

“I don’t mind,” he was firm, but there was a trace of understanding, “you were curious.”

“Yeah…”

“And if we’re living together…you deserve to know about me.” He leaned back in his seat. “You’ve told me about yourself. And I know what you look like. Fair’s fair.” He crossed his arms, head tilting towards you.

“Fair’s fair…” You agreed. You relaxed slightly in your seat, eyes darting between him and your hands, folded on your lap. “I don’t…I want you to know that I don’t mind if you ever can’t respond—or, or just don’t want to answer my questions. This is The Way. And stuff.”

You couldn’t tell, but he softened under his armor. It was a rarity that anybody showed him respect out of the goodness of their heart rather than fear. He knew that to most he was a hopeless acolyte; a minion to a long dead religion, following an ideology that many felt didn’t seem worth the pressure, not to mention the risk. But you saw him as something else. He was someone to you—a leader, a friend, maybe even something a bit...less defined—not just a religious fanatic, pimping himself out as a vigilante to the galaxy. He was certain that if it weren’t for the armor you’d be able to see his heart beating out of his chest.

“This is The Way.” He mumbled. He rested his hand on your leg, settling it above your knee this time. “Thank you.”

You hoped he couldn’t feel the increase in your heart rate, hoped he wasn’t just taunting you. You looked at him. He looked straight ahead. You didn’t want to speak or move, suddenly terrified that you’d blink and wake up. You squeezed your eyes shut and slowly peeled them open. 

Din’s hand was still there.

You pushed your body to comply with your racing thoughts, moving your arm up from your lap and reaching for his hand. You made gentle contact, flattening your palm on the back of his glove and trying to keep yourself from saying anything that could ruin the moment that had prompted his sudden display of affection. Was it affection? Please, please let it be affection.

As if on cue, you heard a crash and a shrill voice below the cockpit almost as soon as your hand had connected with Din’s. You looked at Din, who still looked through the transparisteel.

“Go on, mesh’la,” he offered, “he’ll want you.”

You hesitated, wondering if you’d ever have a moment like this with Din again, and whether or not it was worth it to leave him now in order to stop Grogu from destroying the ship. You couldn’t tell if he sensed your hesitance or if he was wondering the same thing as he slowly rubbed his thumb over your thigh. 

You forced yourself up, and he let his hand linger until your legs had fully straightened. You turned towards the ladder, feeling the heat radiate off your leg where he had touched you. Looking down, you saw that he hadn’t moved, although he now rested his arm upon his own leg. You smiled. It hadn’t been on purpose; it was a natural response to the moment. To Din.

You exited the cockpit in search of the child.

We could fly to Ireland You know I'm good for the ticket Try to smirk, but you're smiling Know I'll stick with it

[ask2ps]

2p Italy and 1p England would be besties. I can see they shit talking people and being a general menace/chaotic evil together. You can see it as ship if you want to, but I like to see it as platonic/found family. Two chaotic evil creatures bonding over the fact that they’re both menaces to society.

/lh /nay

You know, since 2P!Italy goes into the 1P world first, he and 1P!England actually have a LOT of time to interact!

As my mind turns, I consider the following:

Arthur is definitely amused at first by "Feliciano" suddenly acting kind of different. They've never been particularly close, because Feliciano's... (gestures) er, joviality doesn't really settle well with Arthur. He'd appreciate the change of pace with 2P!Italy. Misery loves company, and 2P!Italy is nothing if not miserable.

Of course, it couldn't be too obvious: a fun part of the 2P!Takeover to me is that (with some poor actor exceptions hem hem PRUSSIA hem hem) it's hard to tell who has been taken over and who hasn't. Really fuels into the paranoia later.

In the beginning, I could see them being pals for sure. But I also consider both of them too closed-off and distrusting to really get close to one another. For the following reasons:

2P!England is sure to let each and every nation know that the 1Ps are, like, totally evil** and whatnot. So 2P!Italy isn't interested in getting too attached to "England's Evil Twin." (you see, of course, the joke is that, actually, Oliver is evil or something?) 2P!Italy regards everything that the 1P's do with quiet scrutiny... (except for 1P!Romano, of course, but that's for later.)

2P!Italy also isn't really excited on getting attached to someone who is going to cease to exist soon, overwritten by his ACTUAL Good Friend England. (Yeah, I imagine 2P!Italy and 2P!England are friends. And as we've seen, 2P!England is kind of jealous of his counterpart, and 2P!Italy knows not to get too close for that reason.)

On the other hand, while England initially takes "Feliciano's" changes in stride, that's only because he's the first. When it happens again, and again, and again-- and it finally occurs to the 1Ps that hey maybe something weird is happening? -- it quits being endearing and starts being frightening. So. Friendship over. Not that it ever truly began. For reasons not even related to the 2P!Takeover, he's just a grumpy old man with trust issues and a lot of self loathing. He didn't trust "Feliciano" when he was too nice, why would he trust him when he's getting a sudden mean streak?

TLDR: They could definitely be chaotic friends. In another universe, that friendship might even have some truth to it. But with the circumstances being what they are (2P!Italy is possessing Feliciano's body to help with a plan that will result in Arthur's eventual "death," and on some level Arthur is aware that something is wrong with "Feliciano,") the fun doesn't last long. A very interesting thought nonetheless, and a little bittersweet. Thank you Anon!

[raiseyourbarkid]

when i first started watching 9-1-1, i was so excited to join the fandom.

s3 had just finished airing, so there was already plenty of fan content available, and i hurried over to ao3 and started reading the fics with the most kudos.

one of the very first ones i read involved Hen reaming Buck out for rescuing someone who didn't have a chance of surviving afterward. it felt oddly familiar, and then i realized—they basically copied the speech Gerrard gave in Hen Begins when she saved that woman in a landslide. they took the abuse that Hen endured because she was black woman, and gave it to Buck. took the words out of a racist misogynist's mouth and put them in Hen's, made her the abuser, just so Buck could be the victim.

that was one of the most popular fics at the time. that was my introduction to the 9-1-1 fandom. and unfortunately, it set a precedent for what to expect from it.

one of the next fics i read involved Buck's relationship with his father. this was before Buck Begins aired and we learned what his actual backstory was, so people liked to invent tragic backstories for him. nothing wrong with that in itself. except as i read this fic (another of the most-kudos'd at the time), i started to realize—they hadn't invented a backstory for Buck. they'd just stolen Chimney's and given it to him. because apparently the story was more tragic or meaningful if it happened to Buck instead of the asian man. (and as i recall, Chimney was made out to be a real jerk in that fic, too.)

and so it continued.

after that introduction, i always stayed on the fringes of the fandom. i still read some fic—obviously, not everyone was like that, and there were a lot of really good fanworks! but i didn't really engage beyond that. as i read more fic, another pattern was emerging: the fandom's treatment of women.

9-1-1 is far from the only fandom to have this problem. in several fandoms with popular mlm pairings, there is a lot of mistreatment of female characters, especially ones who are viewed as a "threat" to the pairing. but the way people reacted to these characters—namely, Abby, Taylor, and Ana—was somehow astounding to me. obviously none of them were perfect people—what character is?—but i couldn't imagine anything they'd done warranting the reaction i saw from fans. i had liked them as characters for the most part! i didn't see those romantic relationships working out in the long term, but i didn't see that as a reason to hate them, much less reach the levels of loathing the fandom seemed to. you'd think these women were cartoon villains, the way fandom portrayed them.

honestly, it had been YEARS since i'd seen a fandom with such bad misogyny, if ever. and somehow, i was surprised again. i'd foolishly believed that fans had been getting better about that kind of thing, about hating women over a ship. so many other fandoms managed to be kind to the women involved with the men they shipped, why was it so hard for this particular fandom?

and now all this.

Buck's finally in a queer relationship, but it's not the one people wanted, so the response is to be hateful and homophobic towards the other character involved? in what world does that make sense? how do people rationalize that to themselves?

i'm just exhausted. i'm realizing now that this fandom has never felt like a safe space and maybe never will.

in over 20 years of being in fandoms, i have NEVER been in one that was so determined to be hateful. and over a show that's predominantly about love and the power of human connections? it's downright baffling.

[colibrie]

Uncharted Territory, Part 2

Hello all! Sorry for the delay in updates. As always art credit and eternal gratitude to @trilobitepunch for her amazing art and her incredible patience.

Yakai system: 6 hours later

Mikey liked to think of himself as a turtle with many talents. With so many interesting things to do and experience in the universe, he’d never seen the point in limiting himself to just one hobby. He was a chef, an artist, and an acrobat. He was a jedi in training. He knew the importance of timing and strength. He had worked hard to cultivate balance, and perhaps most essentially, patience. Patience was the difference between a masterpiece and a disappointment. Patience was the difference between peace and agitation. Patience was the foundation of all things…

But his patience was three seconds away from socking Leonardo in the face.

“There’s a rock…and another rock…and, oh look, there’s even more rocks!”

“Thank you, Leo.”

“What? I’m just admiring the fascinating scenery,” Leo’s obnoxiously sour-sweet tone matched the sarcastic show of teeth in the smile he flashed. “You take me to the nicest places Angelo.”

Mikey pulled in a slow and subtle breath, fighting the urge to clench his jaw or bite his lip as he carefully maneuvered their ship around a small asteroid at the edge of a medium sized cluster. He knew what his elder brother was doing. He’d been doing it since he’d woken up crabby from his far too short nap, mood souring further when Mikey had refused to move from the pilot seat. He was trying to get under Mikey’s shell to provoke a reaction. Which really wasn't that unusual. There wasn’t a creature alive who could out petty Leo when he was in the mood to be difficult. The taller turtle seemed to have a sixth sense for spite, an innate talent that zeroed in on the most obnoxious and annoying elements of a situation then dialing them eleven.

It didn’t help that the environment beyond the view screen was the definition of desolation. The Yakai system was indeed comprised of a massive asteroid field, large chunks of dull grey rock stretched in all directions, dust and debris hanging limply in the space between. Two small planets sat lifelessly in the center of it all, surfaces dyed the by gas clouds of the sickliest yellow, green and cream. They were hues he would have immediately rejected from his palette, their image as appalling as they were disheartening. To top it off, the absence of wakes or other disturbances in the area suggested that no one had transversed the asteroid field in a long time.

Mikey was loath to admit it, but the hope that had burned so brightly inside him after their success with the holocron was slowly shrinking. The connection to that bonfire at his core was dwindling, heat leeched away by the seemingly ever-growing black hole of unanswered questions and unaddressed baggage trailing them. The violent introduction to his “deceased” brothers, the unsettled conflict between Leo and their father, the unusually vague details of their plan, and the anxious insecurity of meeting someone who had played such a pivotal role in their childhoods, but who’s image he could not call to mind, no matter how far back he dug in his memories. It was all starting to feel…heavy.

“Hate to say it baby bro, but it looks like this was a waste of-”

“We haven’t even checked half of the cluster!” Mikey snapped, cringing slightly as Leo locked onto the irritation in his voice.

“Running down every speck of dust isn’t going to make someone not here magically appear,” Leo argued, flashing an edged smirk that made Mikey want to kick him in the teeth.

He forced himself to relax, to soften his next words into something closer to a gentle tease. “Don’t count your smooka’s before they hatch Leo. I’d hate to have to embarrass you in it in front of Master Karai.”

George let out a happy chur from his place wrapped around Mikey’s neck, little head rubbing encouragingly against Mikey’s cheek.

“See? George thinks so too!”

“I don’t care what George thinks! George is a dumb animal who will do anything for a treat!” Leo snapped suddenly, the mood in the cabin plunging as an oppressive weight settled over it. Something alien was churning behind his brother’s irises as he struck them with a glare, something that made every nerve in Mikey’s body jolt. George cringed back, tail tightening as he chittered fearfully and under Mikey's chin for safety.

“Hey!” Mikey bristled, one hand coming up to protectively cover his friend as he returned Leo’s glare with one of his own. “You know who else doesn’t get a vote, the annoying raincloud who has contributed literally NOTHING to finding a solution to our problems! At least, I am trying! At least I am doing something other than whining “that’s not how it works!” repeatedly! And George didn’t do anything to you, so quit being a jerk!”

The tension grew as they stared each other down, metaphorical hackles rising as the siblings sized one another up. Mikey kept his face frozen in a stern scowl, pushing down the sympathetic twinge in his chest at how bloodshot his older brothers’ eyes were, how hollow they’d grown, lined with dark bags that were beginning to look like bruises. He wasn’t stupid, or blind. He knew how active his elder brother’s demons had been since leaving home, how the weight of their situation pressed down on Leonardo.

He’d wished a thousand times he knew how to help, but he didn’t. Usually, he could guess what the issue was, or prod the answers out of Leo after giving him some space and time. But those tactics weren’t working now. Up until recently, he'd known little to nothing about the missing half of his family. He still didn't know much about them, and Leo had remained frustratingly tight lipped, even though the past was clearly eating him alive.

The seeds of doubt were quick to bloom as the dark energy pressed in, a weed that threatened to choke off his inner fire as thoughts he’d pushed away for hours returned with a vengeance.

What if they didn't find anything? What if Master Karai wasn't here? What if he really was wasting their time and resources? What if he was wrong? what if....

What if he was just making things worse?

A soft coo broke the tension as George butted his head into Mikey’s throat, tiny body thrumming soothingly against his suddenly unsteady pulse. The gossamer soft sensation of unwavering trust and love poked at the edges of the bonfire inside of him, coaxing it to burn brighter in defiance against the darkness. It gave him the strength to push the doubts away again, to take another deep breath and focus only on the now.

Leo wanted a fight, but Mikey was not obliged to give him one. Maybe he couldn’t take away whatever was hurting his brother, but he could help keep things level until Leo was ready to share it. He pulled in two more breaths for good measure before speaking, careful to keep his tone calm but firm.

“I get that this has been stressful. I get that you are tired, and you don’t really want to be here. But that doesn’t give you carte blanche to be an ass. Especially to someone who can’t fight back. You’re better than that Leon.”

He kept face blank as that thing behind Leo’s eyes slowly faded away, the pressure lifting to be replaced by the lighter and more familiar signs of guilt. He kept himself still as Leo cringed and turned away to look out the viewscreen.

“…Yeah…I’m…”

A strident chime from the radar cut him off. The strain of their argument was swiftly shelved as they both leaned forward, foreheads nearly colliding in their haste to huddled in and study the steadily pulsing blip on the screen.

“There’s something over there! It’s in between those two big meteors!” Mikey exclaimed, pointing vigorously towards a cluster of oblong rocks off to the left of their view screen. “It has to be her, there’s a life support system attached to it!”

“Barely,” Leo huffed, squinting doubtfully at the readouts scrolling across the adjacent screen. “For an energy reading that low, life-support would have to be set to the bare minimum. Not great atmosphere for long time occupation.”

“But it could totally…” Mikey blinked, then groaned as Leo flashed him a tentative smile. “Omigosh, Lee that one was awful.”

“I think you mean awesome Miguel,” Leo shrugged, propping his chin on one fist as Mikey tried and failed to hide a snort. “I know, I know, my humor is a breath of fresh air. You’re welcome.”

“You are…so dumb…” Mikey spluttered in reply, any residual hard feelings clinging on from their spat offset by his own smile. Shell, Leo made it hard to stay mad at him.

“Thank you, thank you,” Leo said, sketching a half bow before blowing kisses to an imaginary audience. “I am here all week. And the week after that, and the week after-ack!”

“Nobody cares!” Mikey cheered as he pushed one hand into Leo’s face, laughing as his big brothers’ arms flailed in a comedic bid to maintain his balance. “Not when they can watch me, the daredevil Michelangelo, seamlessly thread the gauntlet of insane asteroids to investigate that signal!”

“Oooooh okay. Feeling bold today, are we? That looks kinda tricky,” Leo noted, casually leaning over to brace one forearm on the pilot’s chair.

“Absolutely! I’ve got this!”

“Alright big man,” Leo nodded slowly, gently tapping his knuckles against Mikey’s shoulder in a gesture that was both equal support and silent apology before sitting back. “Give it a shot. I am here if you need me.”

“I won’t,” Mikey replied, bouncing a little in his seat as he turned the shuttle towards their target. “Hold on to your shell!”

The engines roared under his touch, rocketing them towards the targeted cluster at heart pounding speed.

“COWABUNGA!”

“WHOAHOHO!” Leo yelled, gripping his seat with white knuckle strength as Mikey banked hard to avoid a chunk of debris.

Adrenaline fizzed in his veins, delight bubbling in his lungs as his heart started to dance in time to the thrum of the thrusters. This. This was the part of flying that Mikey actually liked. No fiddly procedures to remember, no gravity to pull or push him in ways he didn’t want to go. Space was like the ultimate acrobatics’ playground, open and empty and waiting to be filled with his amazing razzmatazz. Weaving and banking around corners, dipping down and rising up to avoid obstacles, even a spin or two thrown in for sheer flare, it all felt natural. It was fun!

Watching Leo slowly turn the same color as his arms stripes wasn’t bad either.

The radar pinged louder, and he eased the shuttle back into a steady cruising pace as Leo sat forward, sharp eyes scanning the surrounding asteroids in search of their target. Small stones tinged gently off the view screen as they drifted past, the only sound within the cockpit the increasingly strident bee-blip of the radar.

“There!”

Mikey’s head whipped around, eyes following Leo’s outstretched arm to their prize. Tucked into the shadows of a deep, craggy canyon was the faint outline of a structure surrounded by six smaller lumps.

“There’s a possible landing area on that ledge above the target, but there’s not a whole lot of room for error. Probably why the smugglers-”

“-or Master Karai-"

“-smugglers, chose this spot for their hideout. We’ll have to be careful with how we approach landing. Move over.”

“Nope, I’ve got it,” Mikey, pointing the shuttle nose towards their goal before pressing the controls down.

“Wait!”

He ignored his brothers’ objections as the shuttle responded to his command, nose dipping down sharply to aim towards the ledge. He did not need to be told what to do. He did not need to have his hand held. He could land the ship. Sweat gathered on his palms as the empty vacuum of space swiftly disappeared behind the craggy lips of the canyon walls.

“That’s a really steep approach, maybe pull it back a bit buddy….”

The engines whined as the ship sped onwards, outboard lights throwing jagged spires previously hidden by the gloom in into sharp relief. Sharp pricks of pain burst like fireworks as he dug his teeth into his lower lip, spine curving as he blocked Leo out and threw every shred of concentration into running the maze in front of him. He could do this. He could get them to the target. He could land the ship…

“Mikey, seriously…”

He could find Master Karai. He could become a Jedi. He could get his brothers back. He could …

“Michelangelo that’s way too steep! Pull up!”

The camp was in sight, the ground was growing, but somehow the ledge was shrinking. More rocks bounced off the viewscreen as the walls of the canyon closed in on all sides. Something cold and hard lodged in his throat as his hands slipped, skittering over the buttons as alarms started to shriek. His spine locked, limbs freezing as fear obliterated his thoughts with spikes of jagged grey.

He…He couldn’t…

“PULL UP!”

Blue burst through the grey as something slammed into his shoulder, forcing him halfway out of the pilot seat as iron hands clamped down on the controls. He gasped in shock, then scrambled to grab whatever he could as Leo hauled back hard on the yoke. The world spun as the shuttle jerked, banking into a tight vertical spiral as something hard screeched across the belly of the ship. Metal groaned and shuddered under the sudden strain as his big brothers’ hands danced lightning fast across the consul, shooting them back up into the void above.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Leo whooped, slumping back in relief once they were hovering a safe distance away from any debitage. “Now that was a rush!”

Michelangelo stayed on the floor, chest heaving and body shaking as he stared at the ceiling. Everything felt surreal, like he was only connected to his body by a heart that felt like it was trying to jump into hyperdrive. His lungs felt shriveled, unable to take a full breath. When had it gotten so cold? Was the air truly that thin? Had he compromised the hull in his stupid stunt? Were they in danger of collapse?

“You going to stay down there all…Angelo?”

His eyes stung as they filled with salt, and no amount of blinking managed to clear them. He had messed up. He’d dragged them out here and nearly gotten them killed and…

"Hey, c’mon bro, don’t make that face," Leo cajoled, gentle hands lifting Mikey up to stand on somewhat wobbly legs. Bright green fingers softly grabbed the lip of Mikey's plastron before giving him a gently encouraging shake. "So, you almost spectacularly whiffed a landing that could have majorly damaged the shuttle or injured us, leaving us stranded in a force forsaken asteroid field in the middle of nowhere..."

"Oh wow, thanks Lee. I feel so much better, " Mikey mumbled thickly, shooting a halfhearted glare that turned into a fully affronted scowl when Leo responded by flicking him between the eyes.

"As I was about to say, so what if it almost happened? It didn't, and it won't, because I'm here."

Leo was smiling at him when Mikey chanced another glance up, a smile that oozed confidence and compassion as he slung a sheltering arm around Mikey's shoulders.

“We’re okay Angelo."

"I really thought I had it this time. I thought I could…I just wanted to help…Why is it so hard?!" Mikey groaned, leaning into the comfort as Leonardo pulled him into his chest. Leo's heartbeat was strong and steady under his tympanum, its slightly elevated rhythm methodically walking Mikey's own heart back from its attempts to escape his rib cage.

"Can't be good at everything big man," Leo consoled, planting a gentle kiss on his baby brother’s forehead. "And you help in so many ways! Believe me, I could not do this without you Mikey. You’ll figure out flying eventually, I have no doubt. In the meantime, maybe listen to your talented, brilliant, and handsome big brother, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah," Mikey sighed, leaning back. "Thanks for letting me try Leon."

"Any time. Now, I’ve gotta to run some checks and land us, but why don't you go get the oxygen masks out and prep them to go for a spin."

"Will we need them? Life support still reads as active," Mikey asked as he absently shook the remaining adrenaline from his limbs.

"Trust but verify Michelito. This face is far too pretty to trust to some jury-rigged smuggler set up," Leo replied, breezily tossing his mask tails over his shoulder with a wink.

"Please, it would be an improvement!"

"Rude! Jealousy is not a great color on you Mikey!"

"We'll let Master Karai be the judge of that once we find her!" Mikey shot back, smiling slightly as he made his way to the back of the ship.

He had to stretch to his tiptoes to open the cabinet and retrieve the masks Splinter had jury-rigged for them ages ago. “For emergencies” their father had said, voice as worn as his robes when he'd held their little squirmy bodies still to adjust and ensure the blue and orange straps fit. Though the thick coating of dust on both masks attested to how little use they’d received, colored elastics faded and muted with age, the sight of these little tokens of their fathers’ love was like being wrapped up in one of his warm hugs.

“She’ll side with me.”

“Keep dreaming kiddo.”

Their banter was as familiar and comfortable, jokes and sly digs baniahing the shadows of tension and doubt with bright laughter as Leo carefully brought them back into the confines of the canyon for a smooth landing on the ledge.

“Alright, here is the plan,” Leo called, swinging out of the pilots chair and moving back to the back with an easy swagger in his step. “We are going to pop out, give the place a quick once over in full stealth style. We don’t find anything, or if we find anyone who isn’t Master Karai we book it back here, get the shell out, and try somewhere else. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Mikey agreed, bending his head to allow Leo to check that his mask was secure before handing his brother his own and returning the favor.

“Alright, then lets jet!” Leo proclaimed, hitting the button to open the back hatch.

The air within the life support bubble was cold enough to send gooseflesh erupting over Mikey's arms and shivers down his shell. The buildings were equally cold and dark, filled with the stale sensation of a place long abandoned. Cabinets doors hung open on broken hinges, while much of the rickety furniture had either been smashed or collapsed on itself.

“Dang,” Leo whistled, flicking on a flashlight to banish the shadows clinging to the interior, “whoever was here last must have left in a hurry. And they definitely haven’t been back to clean up.”

“Maybe she’s been using one of the other buildings? You know, to stay inconspicuous?” Mikey offered, heart sinking as he accidentally kicked a piece of broken chair.

“We can check,” Leo indulged.

None of the outbuildings turned up better results beyond broken crates, and Mikey could do nothing but drag his heavy, bruised heart back to the ship.

“Come on,” Leo ordered, voice oddly gentle as he sealed the back hatch and helped Mikey out of his mask, “let’s get out of here. There are other places we can check.”

"I just...I don't understand," Mikey mumbled, staring hard at the ground as Leo moved to the front to bring their shuttle back online. "Why would the force send us on a wild goose chase? What was the point?!"

"It's like I said man," Leo shrugged as the engines whined to life, "it's just not how the force works."

"Except in this case," a soft voice said from behind them.

The two of them shrieked and jumped, limbs flailing as they spun around to face the invader. A figure stood at the back of the shuttle; body covered by a drab gray cloak with a deep hood that hid their face from view. An extra breathing mask sat innocently on one of the benches, along with two pistol sized blasters.

"Who the shell are you?!" Leo barked, fingers fluttering anxiously as they groped along the consul for something to use as a weapon. "A smuggler?!"

"Of sorts, I suppose," the figure replied calmly.

"We don't want any trouble, but believe me, we can bring the pain if you cross us!" Mikey blustered, waving his fists.

"Says the boy who once cried at the idea that someone might not want to be his friend."

"I...huh?"

"I wasn't sure, when I first started having the visions," the figure continued, moving further into the cabin. "It seemed impossible after all this time. And the results were clouded, without direction. To many possibilities. But two motifs were repeated over and over. Sun and lightning. Blue and orange. And then, just a few hours ago, the visions became clear. This place, the Yakai system. I had to take the chance. I had to…"

"What are you talking about?! Who are you?!" Leo spluttered.

Mikey blinked, arms slowly dropping. "Wait... are you..."

"I was afraid I wouldn’t make it in time… and you've both grown so much, I hardly recognized you at first. But I could never forget my boys."

The figure reached up, pushing back their hood. Stands of black and grey hair framed dark eyes and a pale face marked by fine lines of stress and age. A slim but fit figure lay beneath the cloak’s heavy edges, dressed in a worn green tunic, pants, and weathered leather boots. Empty holsters sat on either hip.

"Do you still like to paint Michelangelo?"

"OMIGOSH! YOU… YOU'RE MASTER KARAI!" Mikey shrieked, reserve giving way as he began jumping up and down. He threw himself forward, crossing the distance to wrap her in the tightest hug he could muster. "I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU'D BE HERE!"

Karai laughed softly as he lifted her off her feet. Her small hands patted the sides of his shell, doing their best to hold him back even with her arms pinned to her sides.

"I KNEW THE FORCE WOULD HELP US!" he shouted again, plopping Karai down before whirling around in triumph.

"WE DID IT LEO!... Leo?"

Leo did not look at him or show any indication that he'd heard Mikey at all. His gaze was riveted on Karai, blatant shock mixing with so many other emotions in an expression that was almost painful to behold.

"Lee?"

Leo's throat worked furiously, mouth opening and closing fruitlessly as words seemed to fail him. Finally, one word managed to work its way free. Small and faint, a short word nearly crushed by the weight of all it carried.

"M...Master?"

"Leonardo," Karai murmured, squeezing Mikey's shoulder before stepping forward to stand before his brother. Her hands rose to cup his cheeks, thumbs softly tracing the lower arc of his red crescent markings as she quietly studied his face.

"You've grown so tall, my little blue. You've survived, and I am so, so proud of you."

Mikey blinked hard against the threat of tears as Leo sniffed and melted into Karai's arms. Despite being the same height as the woman, his older brother seemed to shrink until his head fit neatly beneath her chin, face hidden in her shoulder as his hands came up to desperately clutch at the back of her cloak.

"I have so many questions," Karai murmured thickly, gently rocking on her feet as she cradled Leo close with one arm while reaching out to Mikey with the other. "But first, let me hold my brave boys."

[attractive-nuisance-esq]

Ed’s journey this season is going to perfectly mirror addiction and recovery, and I am so fucking here for it. Watching these first three episodes of S2 was like watching a highly dramatized AU of my own descent into rock bottom (except everyone was dressed wayyyyyy cooler than I ever was), so I have a lot of thoughts, reactions, and insights that I want to share with other fans. I’m sure many of us who have struggled with our mental health connected with Ed in these episodes, but I think addiction is the most appropriate lens through which to view him because addicts (more often than people who struggle with other mental illnesses) so wholly destroy their own lives and utterly devastate those of their loved ones. I want to share - from the perspective of someone who has steered her own ship straight into a storm and woke up alone to face some very hard choices - what is going on with Ed at the start of this season and what I think is coming.

Let me start by saying that Ed isn’t literally addicted to any one thing, despite his heavy use of drugs and alcohol, but his goal is the same as that of all addicts: escape. He does not want to sit with the pain of Stede leaving him on an immediate, surface level; on a deeper, more habitual level, he doesn’t want to sit with the pain of his own self-loathing. Of course the two are related: the former brings the latter to a head. Stede abandoning him dredges up and brightly illuminates all of his insecurities, and now Ed has to run. Get out. Escape. Don’t think about it. So he is fighting, stealing, drinking, snorting, shooting, killing - whatever it takes to not think about it.

“Demon? I’m the fuckin’ devil.” People in recovery often talk about addiction as if it were a separate, sentient monster living within them. Ed taking on the mantle of demon - a creature known specifically for possession, for removing the host’s free will - is intentional. So is his insistence that he’s not just any demon but the demon. The worst there is. (More on that when we get to The Innkeeper.)

Izzy’s confrontation of Ed in the captain’s cabin and then on deck is a form of intervention. Izzy is trying to help Ed, but of course this goes terribly for him and for Ed because interventions (I cannot stress this enough) are maybe the worst thing you could do to an addict. All addicts know things are bad, but they cannot be pushed to change one single second before they’re ready. Ed knows things are bad. He’s well-aware of how he’s spending his time, how his crew feels about him, how disappointed Izzy is. Being confronted with all of those truths by Izzy was always only going to make him do two things: 1) dig further into his unhealthy coping mechanisms, never mind that they don’t have nearly the effect that they used to; and 2) lash out at the person who forced him to think about it. Izzy lost his leg the moment he stepped into Ed’s cabin.

The impossible bird. You guys remember the song Chandelier by Sia? The one about her addiction to alcohol? The whole thing may as well come right out of Ed’s mouth at the end of that first episode, because that experience is exactly what he’s trying to convey to Frenchie. Nevermind that Frenchie has the temerity to tell him the bird can’t exist, that it has to come down sometime, that flying forever isn’t sustainable. The bird can come down on its own terms, or crash… but Frenchie’s definitely not going to say that much. Still, “that sounds like something that can’t exist” hits Ed, and leads us to the next episode.

Now we’ve got Ed forlorn, heartbroken, almost catatonic while playing with his cake toppers. We don’t actually see him crying in the opening of the episode, which is the point. He’s done crying now. The impossible bird can’t exist, and Ed has already resigned himself to this. He’s decided to die. The only sure-fire permanent way to not think about it.

When next we see Ed, he seems to be doing better, but this is a huge red flag for anyone who knows to look. He’s giving away his responsibility to Frenchie; he’s cleaning the cabin for the closure. He knows the end is coming fast, and the relief that knowledge brings him leaves him weirdly at peace. It is he eeriest part of these episodes, IMO.

Then he goes to find his first mate, the person who knows him better than anyone else in the world, the man he just fucking shot and ordered killed. Ed needs his low opinion of himself validated, and of course he thinks he’ll get it from Izzy after everything he’s done to him. He wants the one person who has stuck with him through everything to confirm that he’s now irretrievably broken and no longer worthy of his love. Ed wants someone to tell him that he’s right: he should die.

He doesn’t get that from Izzy. Interestingly, Izzy doesn’t tell him he should die. He says “Clean up your own mess.” Izzy has learned the lesson now that Ed isn’t ready to get better and that he can’t make him be ready. (This post isn’t about Izzy, but hoo boy - I have big feels about that man.)

Ed has been indulging in various forms of self-destruction in order to not feel his feelings, and steering the ship into the storm is his worst indulgence yet. This is the worst of his crimes - not beheading or arson or a red wedding. It’s when he tries to bring down everyone who has ever loved him into his misery, into believing what he believes. The audience generally (and Ed’s audience of Stede specifically) can forgive him for hurting strangers and for the non-specific mayhem whose victims we’ve never met; but it is much less certain that anyone will forgive him for hurting the only family he’s ever known.

The storm itself is the perfect metaphor for Ed’s attempt on his and, incidentally, everyone else’s lives. One of the most common metaphors used by friends and family members of addicts is that of a hurricane: that their addicted loved-ones tend to destroy everything they touch, anyone who was foolish or brave enough to stick around. And, like hurricanes, addicts aren’t malicious. Ed’s primary goal here is to get himself killed, not to kill everyone else. He wants the ship to go down so his death is certain. His firing a cannonball into the mast and asking Jim and Archie to fight to the death isn’t malice: it’s utter and complete nihilism. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing and no one. The end is near, and he’s so fucking drunk and high off these distractions that he couldn’t think about it if he tried. He’s manic with relief. (See also: “Finally.”)

And now for the finale: Purgatory. Buckle up, because this is where the addiction analogy gets real *chef’s kiss.* Purgatory is the equivalent of the morning after the worst, most rock bottom binge night of your life. You wake up with no one for company but the ghosts of your former selves. Now what?

Well, first - who is Hornigold to Ed? Why is he the guy Ed sees? It’s because Hornigold is another addict, if you will, but one who is (in this Purgatory hallucination) farther along in his recovery. He can impart some wisdom from that place, but he can also stand in as someone Ed can loathe because they’re not as different as Ed once thought, even if Hornigold can say he’s grown.

Hornigold tries to give him soup. He tells Ed, “Gotta get these nutrients into you,” and then literally shoves soup down his throat. That’s what it’s like in rock bottom. You don’t want to take care of yourself, but some lizard brain survival instinct takes over and makes you drink water, eat a piece of fruit, take yourself to the hospital. These things don’t really happen voluntarily that morning after, but you can still count on that instinct to kick in with some damage control.

Ed telling Hornigold how he “got here.” Hornigold says “Mutiny. It’s always mutiny.” Ed insists his mutiny was special, worse somehow. This whole scene is exactly what happens in your first recovery support group meeting. You go in thinking no one has ever been as fucked and fucked up as you are, which makes you feel isolated and alone. But then you get there and everyone else in the circle has done the same shit, been through the same shit. Ed’s not actually the devil; he’s just another demon, like many demons before him.

Ed worries he’s insane when he reflects on everything he’s done. Hornigold’s reply that “Feeling bad isn’t going to rebuild an abdominal wall” is a concept that people usually learn a little bit later in recovery, so I expect we’ll see more on this theme from Ed. Guilt is a useless emotion that only serves to conversely make the addict feel better but doesn’t help the harmed party: the addict feels like their suffering is cleansing, but it’s not - feeling guilt is just more self-indulgence, more self-destruction. Hornigold - a fellow addict in this moment - is trying to get this lesson to him early. It’ll return.

“You’ve got to move on or blow your brains out.” We’re getting back to Purgatory as the metaphor for the morning-after rock bottom, because this is the exact calculation that every person in recovery has done. They all had to answer that one big question. Your whole life is a mess, and you made the mess. Do you want to clean it up? Or quit? (Or make some soup? Yeah. That big question can’t be answered without basic needs having been met. So let’s eat. Let’s start there. It’s easier.)

Now we have Ed’s fantasy about opening an inn: This is also a common part of the morning-after rock bottom. You start thinking about the wrong turns you took, the mistakes you made, the way your life was supposed to go and all the reasons you’re not where you wanted to be. (And all the people you can blame for the fact that your life didn’t go as planned.) And when that honest part of yourself starts telling you that actually it’s all your fault… well, a) you don’t wanna hear it, and b) you can’t silence (kill) that monster, no matter how hard you try. You’ve got to face it. Face all those truths you’ve been running from for years. Now you have to think about it.

So now the big question, the inevitable math. Hornigold suggests looking at the pros and the cons. That’s the easiest way to break the calculation into manageable variables. This is probably my favorite moment of the episode, because when you’re sitting there, morning after the worst night of your life, everything is fucked - these are the exact variables that go into your equation. Do I really want to live? You ask yourself that, and because your life is in fucking shambles, you come up with the stupidest goddamn reasons to keep going. You wanna see the next seasons of Good Omens and Loki. You wanna eat your mom’s spaghetti again. Sometimes it’s nice when someone hugs you. It’s never the big things that save your life; it’s a bunch of the littlest things. The smallest comforts. The big things… they’re too unattainable. They’re too much to hope for, and they’re more than you could possibly deserve. What are the pros of living for Ed? Warmth, good food, orgasms. This is a stunningly accurate representation of the things that will keep you alive once you’ve hit rock bottom.

And then the cons: “I don’t think anyone is waiting for me.” This is why addiction is the better metaphor. There is no human experience more isolating than addiction. You are alone in more ways than you’ve ever been before. You have pushed away or pissed off everyone who ever cared about you. And even the ones who will maybe still be there for you - they can’t help you clean up the mess you’ve made. You have to do the work alone, even if they’re still willing to stand next to you. And this con… it’s the scariest one. Your list of little pros looks so pathetic next to the horror of being utterly fucking alone. Who is going to brave that for some stupid shit like Tom Hiddleston sexily flipping his hair back in that Loki way he does? Why should Ed carry on just because blankets are cozy and marmalade is pleasant?

This is where we get to the moment on the mountain, and what Stede represents. Hornigold tells Ed “You’re unlovable, and you’re afraid to do anything about it.” Ed could do two things about being unlovable: He could try to fix it, or he could end it all. Hornigold represents the worst part of Ed: his weaknesses and cowardice. And if Hornigold is in the driver’s seat, he’s going to end it all. He throws the rock off the cliff, and Ed gets dragged down into the water to drown. (Let’s also talk later about how often addiction is compared to drowning, and how nothing else in the show actually threatened Ed’s life - not Izzy with a gun, not all the rhino horn, not Jim’s cannonball - like drowning in his own mind.)

But then there’s Stede. Stede is how the pros win over that one big, horrifying con. Stede is hope. Stede is just a glimmer of hope. Hope is the most important thing you need in the morning-after rock bottom. As much as I enjoy the idea that it was love that saved Ed, I don’t think that’s a wholly faithful interpretation. Because Stede’s love for Ed doesn’t solve anything, doesn’t fix anything - it certainly doesn’t fix Ed. It cannot fix Ed. Hornigold just told Ed that he’s the one who has to “do something about it,” because Ed is the only one who can save himself. But even if Stede’s love for him in itself isn’t what saves Ed, Ed’s trust in Stede combined with that love gives him hope. Stede loves Ed, truly loves him, came back to him even though he knows Ed’s nature, knows his list of crimes, knows what he’s done to Stede’s friends and family. And maybe Ed can find in himself what he trusts Stede truly sees. It’s a “maybe,” not a certainty. But it’s hope. Someone loves him. Maybe he can love himself, too.

This Woman’s Work: I read this song as referring more appropriately to Ed’s relationship with himself, in no small part because Ed literally made himself the woman in the cake topper couple. All the things that should have been done, should have been said - they’re things Ed needs to do and say to himself. He’s got a little life and a lot of strength left. The journey has just begun.

I want to pop back quickly to a few other moments in The Innkeeper that resonated, starting with Stede and Izzy’s discussion about what happened to Ed: “He went mad. He was a wild dog.” Izzy describes Ed’s breakdown as if he was no longer the same person he once was; this is exactly what addiction does to a person. Ed hasn’t been himself; he’s been held hostage by his need for escape, and he’s become something else. Possessed, if you will.

Izzy: “You and me did this to him, and we can’t let the crew suffer any more for our mistakes.” I’m not writing an essay on Izzy (yet), but this is a very interesting perspective that says a lot about Izzy. Stede and Izzy both owe apologies to Ed, but they are not responsible for his actions. I predict we’re going to see this theme explored in later episodes as a part of Ed’s healing process and recovery. And also hopefully in Izzy’s growth.

Frenchie’s line that “We’ve been living second-to-second for a while now” is a callback to the impossible bird idea. Which, again, is just Chandelier x Sia. “I’m holding on for dear life, won’t look down, won’t open my eyes, keep my glass full until morning light ‘cause I’m just holding on for tonight.”

So what’s next? For me, it was learning to sit alone in a quiet room with my thoughts. It was apologizing to the ones I hurt, because even if I didn’t mean to hurt them - even if I was suffering also and worse - they still got hurt, and in the end it didn’t matter why. It was developing the habit of liking myself, and acting on whatever self-love and affection I could conjure up. And yes… it was new seasons of Good Omens and Loki, my mom’s spaghetti, and hugs.

So I think Ed has a lot of accountability, reflection, and breaking of old habits in his future… but also warmth, good food, and orgasms. And good for him. That’s the beauty of recovery: we get to come back.

[swatchlings-art]

hey so pharmister.. do you have any more content for that au? any headcanons? how the fuck does pharma end up with them bc? who's bright idea was it to throw him onto the idiot ship? ToT

and also how do they get together? do they get together?? the spinister rizz(tm) is too strong not to work /hj

OHOHOH I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED!

So, for me pharmister is a ship that exists exclusively for my Pharma's redemption tour AU (which is my own take on a "Pharma lives after the Lost Light finale and now has to deal with the consequences of Everything")

AND MAN DO I HAVE CONTENT FOR THIS AU!!! I have... 72 pages of planning for it, and only 2 chapters fully written (out of 25 so far!) unfortunately most of it is all a WIP haha...

BUT get ready for me to babble AT LENGTH about it here lol

>how the fuck does Pharma end with the scavengers?

In my AU, Pharma wakes up from being braindead a few years after the finale and then gets a proper trial for his crimes, but instead of being sent to death row he's given the opportunity to Reintegrate Into Society after doing what's basically community service. He loses his medical license for obvious reasons, so he gets sent to do his service with The Peace Corps (which... are the Scavengers after being given a purpose in this New Cybertron).

>Who's bright idea was to throw him onto the idiot ship?

this is actually one of my favorite details for my au lol SO the only reason Pharma gets this second chance at life is because Minimus, in honor of Megatron, has formed a Restorative Justice Program for war criminals on both sides of the war. And part of that program is doing this type of Community Service instead of getting the death penalty or infinite prison time. His program is controversial among the populace and very new and experimental, but he's trying his best to make it work. He selected the Peace Corps for Pharma because the Scavengers are actually a glowing example that his program works so far and he thought putting him under their care would help Pharma have an easier time adapting to his new life (wildly unaware that it'd be psychological torture to surround Pharma with decepticons he loathes).

AS FOR HOW PHARMISTER WORKS HERE!!!

>Any headcanons? how do they get together? DO they get together?

yes I have SO many headcanons. The most important of them all is that Spinister saw Pharma for the first time and went "Wow, he's hot!" and only continued to be down bad for him from there (at first having an extremely shallow crush on the former medic, until [Plot Point] happens and he forms Genuine Tender Feelings for him).

Pharma as he exists in my AU is going through a full blown depression, and is having a really hard time accepting that he'll never be a medic ever again, and also he's paranoid as HELL thinking everyone and anything is out to get him. Ah, the wonders of trauma!

And it takes a bit of development for him to start trusting any of the scavengers at all, but the one that is easier to trust is Spinister. Mostly because he's completely honest about everything he has an opinion on. He's extremely blunt! The type of guy that blurts the first thought that forms in his processor without thinking about it first! He's too dumb to make a convincing lie or keep up a charade!

And also, Spinister's very obvious crush on Pharma is oddly reassuring and annoying for him at the same time. He has complicated feelings about being loved as he is! He hates it! But Spinister is just happy to be around Pharma because he likes him without judgements. Spinister has decepticon standards when it comes to love! Whatever fucked up things Pharma has done are Tame for him, hell, he also harvested organs at some point (It's like they're meant to be ♡ <- this comment would get him slapped).

I feel like fully revealing my hand as to if and how they get together would be spoiling that part of my AU. but what the hell!!! I don't get many opportunities to talk about it.

Anyway YES they get together but at first Pharma uses him to try and fill the void inside him (Spinister is more than happy to go along with it), and only later on does Pharma start to appreciate and become deeply fond of Spinister (because if anything, he CAN trust him to be on his side and he even starts to admire that Spinister is just... very at peace with himself despite his perceived flaws. That's enviable somehow).

ANYWAY!

Hope that was a satisfying answer to your question!!! I cannot fully express how grateful I am that someone else wants to know more about my AU and my beloved crackship I accidentally created ♡♡♡ so thanks for asking!

[brokenorbornthatway]

So when are we going to start to address the very real harm that the anti ship discourse, as well as anti para rhetoric, does to people with POCD?

Do you have any idea what it's like to obsess over the fear that you might be a ped0? I have literally spent days basically non-stop analysing anything I ever might have done that would make me a ped0 with my greatest reassurance to myself being that "I can't be, because if I was I'd kill myself." (If you know anything about OCD, you know reassurances don't actually help. When I inevitably found more reasons to convince myself I am a P, the line to off myself only sounded more and more like the reasonable solution)

In my rational brain I know that fiction isn't reality and I don't deserve to fucking die over reading fic. I never used to have a problem with problematic fic I read because it was completely divorced from reality to me. I knew that it was completely fiction, even more than that it was further removed from reality because it was fanfiction, and knowing that nobody was being actually hurt meant I could read it without questioning my morals. Reading problematic fic didn't even pop up as a worry when the pocd would come back because I knew that fanfiction isn't reality and what you read in fiction has no basis on what you like in reality.

And I still know that's true when it comes to other people, i know that people who read and write problematic fic aren't intently ped0s, but the anti discourse has fucked me up. Ever since seeing people argue that reading or writing problematic ships means that you are secretly a ped0, my POCD has latched on to it and it makes me want to fucking die. I can barely engage with any media now without fear of commiting a fucking thought crime which will prove that I'm a monster and going to commit an actual crime. It's hard to be around anyone for fear that they'll also think I should die. I've gotten so much worse in the past couple years and so much of that is because of stupid fucking anti discourse.

And then there's the anti para rhetoric that exists fucking everywhere. Seeing people say "all ped0s and zoos should kts" has made me so sick. My ocd tells me that I'm actually just a ped0 in denial and should die because of it and people saying that all ped0s, regardless of if they have or would ever offend, should just die fuels the voice that tells me to commit slip and slide more than anything else.

For fucking decades the only people I've spoken to about this are my system members out of debilitating shame and fear and self loathing. Contemplating at what point the thoughts actually mean I should just give in and end it.

There are no such thing as thought crimes.

Reading problematic fic literally hurts no one.

Telling people that they're ped0s with no proof because they read something causes real harm.

[joshusten]

love the sinner (albus york/faith koria, bastard warrior || good boy audios)

Albus York takes a bath and Faithful washes his hair. (angst, slight argument, hurt/comfort)

2.2k+ words [ao3 link] [masterlist] [CW/notes: religious imagery ofc (this fic was basically an excuse to write that), typical albus york language, lots of self-loathing and some suicidal thoughts. albus is just having a bad time but hes also so whipped for faithful. speaking of her, i didnt make faith's physical descriptions vague or made it so that she's a "listener" but rather a character of her own! and i based it off of gba's description of her + my own interpretation hehe.]

once again THANK YOU SO SO MUCH to @slushiepizza for all the AMAZING suggestions and support like omfg i SWEAR i keep on saying this but this fic rlly wouldnt be finished without them!! i appreciate it sm!! and im shaking and kissing my irls that ive also bothered with this fic that will probably not see this THANK U SM!! edit: I FORGOT THE FUCKING READ MORE LMFAO

—

Albus York steadily sank into the half-filled tub of one of the ship’s quarters—stripped of his clothes, and left bare to no witness.

Gentle waves of the bathwater rippled against hardened, battle-torn skin. He dementedly mused that if he could go down further, he might finally drown. 

He chuckled at the thought, shifted his position, and got to work. It's been a while since he last had an actual bath—way before he even agreed to this suicide mission of an adventure—with warm soapy water and scented products.

The constant near-death experiences and whatnot had interrupted the trio to get any time for themselves, much less to do any sort of basic hygiene. Since the route Devlin had charted for the ship to follow allowed for ample downtime, the Forgemaster had practically shoved his younger half-brother into the common bathroom and forced him to take a much-needed bath (Of course, not without a snobby comment about how his stench matched his personality perfectly well.)

Albus’ inexperience was made clearer with the stiff, awkward motion of his large, calloused hands as he attempted to wash himself. The unpracticed movement made the unfamiliarity of it all fully realized. How long has it been since he felt this safe? Does he even remember how to take care of himself?

Does someone like him even deserve this luxury?

The warrior submerged himself lower, down until his eyes were right above water level. He was thinking again. It was all that he had been doing for the past hour. If the gods wouldn't allow him to drown, then he hoped that the water would at least cleanse the grime and sin embedded into his flesh.

But he knew that filth clung to his skin like how a believer clings to the idea of repentance. No matter how hard—how desperately—he scrubbed (until pale skin turned into blood red, until rough turned rougher), it was all pointless. He had learned long ago that a bastard's prayers were never left answered. 

The mark on his chest was a bleak reminder of that reality. Damnation was basically his birthright. Albus York was dead the moment he came out of his mother’s womb—dead to his family, dead to society. 

Cursed to hell for being sin itself.

Life had a funny way to remind him—that goodness is something he can be in the presence of but never be a part of it.

"Albus?"

Speak of the devil, his ever-so-naive angel had arrived.

“Albus? Hello?”

Tender, serene, heavenly.

The voice was melodic—like the somber hymns he used to hear in his youth when his mother would take him into the temple and meet with her fellow brothers and sisters. At that time, he always felt drawn to the choir’s performance, despite not being old enough to understand the words (not that he was any more literate in the present). Back then, he was just a kid, blissfully unaware of the blasphemy he had committed for existing. 

He had grown since then—in every aspect of the word.

"Albus! Are you still in there?"

A deep grunt, muffled slosh of water, and the pitter-patter of droplets on the tiled surface were all that Faith Koria had heard from the other side of the metal door before a familiar, gruff voice answered back.

"Calm ya tits, woman. I knew you were eager to see my dick but I never knew you were this eager!" 

The outside replied with an annoyed groan, a sound Albus was all too familiar with, especially when it came from her. That being said, he couldn't fight the smile forming on his lips as he hastily dried himself up with a nearby towel.

"You've been using the bathroom for more than an hour, just what are you doing in there? Some people want to get cleaned up too, you know!”

The metal door swiftly slid open with a sudden 'woosh!', hot steam dissipating before the runaway nun to reveal Albus’ tall stature, half-naked and slightly dripping wet. Faith frantically averted her eyes on instinct, ears immediately burning with embarrassment. It wasn’t like it was her first time seeing him undressed—for gods’ sake, she treated his wounds like this when they first met! But to have him fresh out of a bath with his toned body exposed and his dampened long hair was—Wait! His hair!

"Alright, alright! I’m out, ya happy? I’m decent too so you don’t have to be a prude about it,” The bastard huffed, a little irritated with how his peaceful bath (or at least, as peaceful as it could be) was abruptly cut short.  

“Albus, your hair!”

The man scrunched up his face in confusion.  He gathered one of his dark locks and examined it with an intense focus. “Huh? Looks fine to me. What, you're not expecting me to be all prim and proper now, are you?”

“No, no, no! It's all matted and uneven!” The woman replied with a horrified concern in her voice that was rare for the warrior to hear directed at him.“It’s probably from all those monster attacks. Some of them must’ve managed to get to your hair! How long has it been like this? Does it hurt? Do you even have shampoo?”

“Uh…what’s that?”

“Ugh, never mind. Just—” Before Albus could process what was happening, Faith grabbed his arm with a surprisingly strong grip for a nun. She dragged him down near the bathtub he just got out of. He can even hear the water still slowly swirling down the drain. 

“Faithful, what are you—” 

“Stay right here. You got that, York? I’m just going to get something and I don't want you to move a muscle.”

A deep chuckle resonated within the man’s scarred chest—he always enjoyed it when she got this bossy. He gave her a mock salute and answered with a hearty “Yes, ma’am!”

The sister paladin made a face, letting out a flustered huff before hurrying to wherever she needed to be. So cute.

Albus had put on his clothes at this point while he waited (lest he risked Faithful suffering from a heart attack). A few minutes had passed by when she returned with a rather large pouch that Albus recognized was packed with the rest of her belongings. He deduced it must've been from her childhood with how worn down the embroidery was. Once vibrant floral patterns dulled from years of usage.

“Lean back by the bathtub,” Faith instructed. “I’m going to start detangling your hair. I might cut off some of the more unsalvageable parts too. If anything hurts or if I snagged on it too hard just let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” The man repeated simply, not really knowing how to react to all of the amount of consideration he was receiving. Abrasiveness was what he was more used to responding to, not the care that she unabashedly gave him.

She beamed brightly at his compliance (and no, his heart did not just skip a beat), soft hands found their way to his head and started brushing away the more manageable tangles before using a wide-tooth comb for the bigger ones. Despite the numerous warnings, her fingers were nowhere near to being rough. She was as gentle as a lamb—her slow brushstrokes eventually formed a rhythm that filled in the silence of the room. Albus decided to break the comfortable atmosphere.

“How are you so good with this shit?” He mumbled, voice heavy with drowsiness. Fuck, he felt like he could sleep until his next life. “Never knew sisters of Cindergorn get to be part-time hairdressers too.”

Even with his sluggish state, Albus could almost sense the nun’s eyes rolling above him, brushing out his hair with a slightly more forceful than usual tug.

“I'm the one usually taking care of the children at the temple. I’m used to seeing this kind of stuff whenever they play too hard. Obviously not on this level but you get the gist.” Faith snipped off the last of a particularly challenging knot. 

“I've also been doing my own hair ever since I was a kid, so really, it's like second nature to me at this point,” she followed up, running her fingers through his hair with a satisfied nod.

Now that Albus thought about it, he had seen Faithful braiding herself earlier on their journey when they had just…tastefully borrowed the flagship meant for his father. He remembered swift, practiced hands twisting sections after sections of dark, coiled hair and had mentioned in passing how it was a hairstyle she often did to withstand the Eastern Faithlands' harsher seasons (Fortunately, it also turned out to be great for going-on-a-quest-to-kill-your-priest-brother-and-save-a-child seasons too.)

Faith’s hands suddenly paused. Before the man could ask if something was wrong, she signaled him to stay still while she rummaged through the pouch to get a small bottle. She squeezed a moderate amount of product into her palm and spread it evenly. As she was about to apply the substance to his head, Albus jerked away, quickly stopping her hand with his own as a furrow formed on his thick brows.

“Faithful,” He chuckled. “Please, I’m a warrior. You don’t need to waste your fancy shit on me. My hair’s going to get fucked up again eventually so what’s the point?” 

Faith struggled to wriggle herself out of his grasp. “Wha–Albus, it’s fine!” 

“No, Faithful, I’m serious. It’s just hair. Hell, it’s my hair. Relax.” The man sat up straighter at this point, the water from his long, damp hair trickling down along the scarred tissue of his back but it was the intensity in those familiar brown eyes that made him feel a chill.

“And I told you it’s fine just let me—”

“Why are you making it a big fuckin’ deal? What do you want from me?” 

“What?” Faith’s voice cracked, appalled and confused. “Albus, what are you even talking about? I’m not asking for anything—”

“I’m just a bastard you hired to kill your brother! I was paid to do the dirty work for you, not to be your fucking toy—”

“Albus, wha—Y–You’re not a toy! Why do you—”

“If I’m not then why are you being like this to me? There’s a catch—there’s always a fucking catch. So what the fuck do you want from me?”

The nun managed to finally yank her hand away from his harsh grip and angrily slammed at the smooth surface of the tub.

“I just want you to stop being stubborn for once and let me do this for you!” 

The silence that followed between them felt suffocating.

Faith’s breath hitched, shocked by her outburst. She immediately straightened up her posture only to look down shamefully at the tiled floor. A shaky sigh left her lips, and Albus was doing everything in his power to stop himself from reaching out to her, seeking salvation he knew she shouldn’t give him because he was not sorry that he was like this. He wasn’t afraid to show his filth to the world because it was all he knew to do—all he was taught to do. There’s no excuse, no justification, no escape. She’s everything good and he’s just scum or worse yet—he’s a bastard. 

Because she’s an angel and he’s far worse than the devil.

“This isn't anything all that fancy…just something to keep it healthy and less stressful on your scalp. I just want you to feel okay. So please…” She trailed off. “Let me.”

“It’s…It’s just hair, Faithful. I’ll be okay, I’m a big boy,” Albus joked, but his words were sincere. He almost found the whole thing amusing—having the ever-so-snappy sister paladin fuss over him—if he didn’t get a feel for how much…his comfort seemed to mean a lot to her.

Faith pursed her lips, her gaze still fixed downward. “I just think…you deserve at least one good hair day.”

It's that word again. Deserve. Does she really think that? That he's worthy of all of this?

The man cleared his throat with a curt nod. Hesitantly, the nun's fingers slowly found their way back to the crown of his head, resuming whatever she was supposed to do. Steady, rhythmic brushstrokes filled the quiet once again. 

After what felt like hours of stillness, the bastard dared himself to shift his head and face her timidly—as if he was afraid he could melt under her piercing gaze.

"Thank you, for…for this," Albus grunted. He hadn't only meant for his hair.

Faith graced him with a dimpled smile—the one that made her eyes squint and showed the tiniest bit of the gap between her front teeth. She proceeded to tuck away a stray lock behind his ear, trailing down to hover over his cheek. Albus can practically feel the nervous tremble on her fingers as if she were hesitating on something. It all came to nothing in the end, closing her hands in a fist before withdrawing to her pouch to start cleaning up.

“Anytime, Albus. Besides, with how you always manage to find yourself in trouble,” the sister murmured, her voice playful (it never failed to leave Albus’ mind racing). Her eyes glinted as they locked into his almost like clockwork. “How can I not?”

Albus York sat by the empty bathtub of the ship’s quarters—fully clothed yet he had felt the most bare that he had ever been in front of someone. 

Faith smiled at him again and he swore he could make out the faintest halo crowning her head under the fluorescent bathroom light. ---- a/n: this is probably my most favorite fic that i wrote and i hope you enjoyed! lemme tell u this fic took way to long and got me so stressed for no reason idk ! i was worrying abt how this would happen in the timeline and all the lil details and then !! its a fic!! and im suppose to be having fun!! i am being self-indulgent!! (although i hope was able to characterize them well) again, feedback and comments r highly appreciated!! :DD have a good day/night and thank you for reading!!

[olympeline]

You know, I like the idea that one of the first real bonding moments Alasdair and Arthur ever had was in the wreckage of 1776. That widely held headcanon that Arthur hit the bottle reeeally hard and was a rum soaked mess for a good few years after Alfred left. And of course Alasdair would have been around to witness it since their joining in 1707

And it’s quite the uncomfortable surprise, too. Arthur was always such a ferocious little shit - such a thorn in Scottie’s side - that in the end he had to propose a union before they tore each other to bits and sunk Britain’s bright future with their endless wars. Much as he hated to admit it, Arthur was tough. Arthur was strong. But now Arthur’s first born son first colony has up and left, and Arthur isn’t the fire breathing vengeance machine Alasdair expected. Instead of coming up with plots to use their growing empire’s might to beat Alfred to a pulp and drag him back kicking and screaming, Arthur has spiralled into a depressive funk, is going through three bottles a day, and would have already killed himself with alcohol poisoning if he were human. Or maybe he did a few times and just regenerated, idk. Either way it seems Alasdair didn’t know Arthur half so well as he thought he did. He never predicted a reaction like this

Alasdair watches Arthur’s collapse with confusion, followed by disbelief, then open disgust. He tries to ignore it, not wanting to deal with his sibling’s antics. Even when the king and officials beg Alasdair to step in and do something, he brusquely brushes them off. He’s not Arthur’s fucking nursemaid for God’s sake! Until one day they’re due to sail together on the kingdom’s flagship and his little brother holds them up. Alasdair gets the message that the former terror of the waves is once again too shitfaced to stand up, let alone captain a ship. Now the important voyage will have to be delayed

And Scot has just hAD ENOUGH of Arthur embarrassing and inconveniencing them all like this. He swears his brother was less trouble as a mortal enemy! Alasdair storms into Arthur’s room to drag the addlepated sot out of bed and talk some sense into him. With his fists if necessary. Not that it comes to that with Arthur as drunk as he is. Alasdair has to drag him up then hold him up to yell at him. And when Arthur tries to punch him, he would have gone down like a sack of spuds without big bro’s bruising grip. It’s awkward for all involved when Arthur’s pathetic attempts at a scuffle and Alasdair shaking and yelling at him, end with Arthur suddenly crumbling and sobbing on his shoulder. Shocking Alasdair again. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just holds Arthur and haltingly rubs his back, muttering soothing nonsense. Most mortifying moment of Alasdair’s millenia+ life.

He doesn’t push Arthur away as he clings to him, though. As much as Arthur drives him insane like no one else, he’s still Scot’s little brother. So he let’s him cry and just keeps supporting him. Listening in silence as Arthur rants and sobs about Alfred: alternating between professing deepest loathing for the “traitor,” and weeping about how much he misses him and how there’s still time to fix everything and they have to try and get him back, etc. etc. It’s a fool’s hope, but Alasdair always knew Arthur was a fool

But what can he say? A smug, confrontational, fiery, normal Arthur makes Alasdair long for their old days of striking swords and border wars. A pathetic, drunk, weeping, vulnerable Arthur brings out Alasdair’s long dormant brotherly instinct. A feeling usually reserved for Wales and the Ireland twins. But, for the first time since he was a wee bairn, the instinct comes out for Arthur. It’s been so long since he saw him cry, he’d almost forgotten Arthur was capable of it

Alasdair lets Arthur cry himself to exhaustion, then helps him back into bed. Takes off Arthur’s coat, pulls off his boots, drags the blankets up over him. Arthur catches his arm, hands trembling, when Alasdair goes to straighten up and begs him not to leave him too. Alasdair rolls his eyes, cuffs Arthur - gently - and tells him to sleep it off. Then promises gruffly to be there when he wakes up, so stop being a drunk fool and go to sleep

Arthur obeys and Alasdair he keeps his word. Wales and Ireland fill in sailing duty and Alasdair stays with Arthur: king and parliament’s ranting be damned. Planning to help his little brother get himself back on track once he wakes up, starting with getting him off the booze. Or at least getting it back down to royal navy functional alcoholic levels. They can worry about everything else later

Thankfully for both their sanities, Arthur remembers very little of this when he wakes up lol. Alasdair makes sure to thank God extra hard that week at church for big mercies