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THE GREAT WAR.

♱ genre. tragedy, WWI au, 18+

♱ summary. in the midst of world war I, satoru gojou drafted and sent off to the western front, leaving behind the love of his life with the promise of marrying her when he returned. he clings to the thoughts of a future with her and the letters she sends him in hopes of reuniting with her.

♱ pairings. satoru gojou, fem!reader

♱ word count. 8k

♱ tags/warnings. violence, suggestive content, major character death, profanity, mentions of drug use, weapon use, + more

♱ notes. this wasn't meant to be long or anything or fully fleshed out but i decided to share it anyways. i lowkey hate this but what can i say. i also made myself upset because of course i did. anyways likes and rb's always appreciated :)

December 1, 1917

My Dearest Love,

I hope my letter reaches you before we move further down the front and getting letters out becomes harder. I hope you’re sound asleep in our bed, enjoying dreamland with Charlie.

I wanted to let you know that I think of you every day. I keep replaying our last night together in my mind. It was so precious, and I wish I could be there with you now. We talked about our future together. Even now, even here, I still dream of that future. It’s the only thing that keeps me going.

This war has shown me things I can’t forget, things I’ll never forget. I worry for Suguru too as he’s losing himself. Baby I can’t lie to you, it’s hard out here. If something happens to me and I don’t make it back, please remember how much I love you. I love you more than words can say.

Please stay strong for me, my love. I’ll hold onto the hope that we’ll be together again someday.

With all my love,

Satoru

May 18, 1917

The radio crackles faintly as you twist the dial, trying to find the right station. The sound of distorted voices filled the small living room of your home. You are sitting on the worn couch that you and Satoru had spent countless nights on, talking about everything and nothing. Satoru sits beside you with his arm draped over your shoulders, his hand resting on your upper arm, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles on your skin. It’s a small gesture, one that he’s done a thousand times before, but tonight it feels… different.

You finally find the station you’ve been looking for, and the voice on the radio comes through, clear and steady.

“…the President has announced that the United States will be joining the war in Europe. All eligible men between the ages of 21 and 30 are to be drafted into military service…”

You freeze at the words, like a winter chill had seeped into your bones. You feel a sharp, involuntary intake of breath, your hand tightening around the knob of the radio as if holding on to it will somehow keep the world from spinning out of control.

“They’re really doing it,” he murmurs.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry, and force yourself to speak. “We talked about this, but…” The words feel strange on your tongue as if they belong to someone else. “Hearing it…hearing it makes it real.”

Satoru nods, but he doesn’t say anything.

Finally, he speaks, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What are we going to do?”

The question hangs in the air, unanswered, because you don’t know the answer. How could you? You want to say something, anything, to reassure him, to reassure yourself, but the words would not come. Instead, you reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his, holding on as tightly as you can, as if it might somehow keep the world from falling apart.

Satoru’s grip tightens around yours, and for a moment, you can feel the fear in him, the uncertainty. You’ve always known him as strong and always in control, but now, in this moment, he’s just as lost as you are.

“We’ll figure it out, baby. I promise,” He whispered.

Satoru pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you as you buried your face in his chest. You breathed in the familiar scent of him, trying to memorize every detail as if it was the last time you would ever get to hold him like this. His lips press against the top of your head, a gentle, lingering kiss that speaks of promises made and promises that will be broken.

June 3, 1917

Tomorrow is the day that Satoru is set to leave for the Western front.

The golden light of the late afternoon filtered through the windows, casting long, melancholy shadows across the bedroom. It was a room you had filled with so many memories—laughter, love, late-night conversations that had lasted until the early hours of the morning. But now, the only thing that seemed to be there was a half-packed duffel bag lying open on the bed.

You stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching as Satoru moved about the room gathering the the last couple of items he would need. He was quiet the entire time he packed his bags. You could see the way his shoulders were stiff and the subtle tremor in his hands as he reached for another piece of clothing.

Between the two of you, Satoru had always been the strong one. The one who could face anything with a smile, it was the thing that had drawn you to him in the first place.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He paused at the sound of your voice, his hands hovering over the duffel bag. Slowly, he turned to face you, His eyes met yours, and in them, you saw the fear he was trying so hard to hide.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Satoru finally admitted, his voice rough, like it had been scraped raw from holding back so much. “I don’t know how to leave you.”

His confession broke something inside of you like a dam of emotions had finally been let loose. Before you knew it, you were across the room, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you could, burying your face in his chest. His arms came around you instantly, pulling you close, holding on as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” you whispered. “Not with me.”

“I’m scared,” he admitted, the words muffled against your hair. “I’m so scared, and I hate that I’m leaving you and Charlie like this.”

Your heart ached at his words. It was a side of him he rarely showed anyone, even you. You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands cupping his face, your thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall.

“I’m scared too.”

“Do you remember the first time we talked about the war?” Satoru asked suddenly.

You nodded, remembering the day that the news had broke about the conflict in Europe. It was just another story on the radio, something that had felt so far away. The two of you had been sitting in the same room, listening to the same radio, with your hands entwined talking about the life you wanted to build together.

“It felt like something that could never touch us. Like it was happening in another world, to people we’d never know.”

Satoru sighed, “And now, it’s all too real.”

When you looked up at him, you could see the same look in his eyes that you had seen when the draft letter first arrived.

You felt your tears start to fall as you reached up to touch his face, your fingers tracing the familiar lines of his features, trying to commit them to memory. “So do I,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. “But no matter what happens, I’ll be here when you come back. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Satoru closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. I’m going to miss you so much,” he murmured. “Every single day.”

You pulled him down into a kiss, slow and lingering, pouring all of your love, your fear, your hope into that one moment, trying to convey everything you couldn’t put into words. Satoru’s hands came up to cup your face, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that made your heart ache once more.

“I love you,” you could hear him say as he continued to latch his mouth onto yours. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Without breaking the kiss, Satoru guided you towards the bed, his hands moving to your waist as he lifted you, laying you down gently on the mattress. The duffel bag was pushed to the side, forgotten for now, as he climbed on top of you, his body pressing down against yours, relishing the taste of his buttery lips on yours.

June 4, 1917

“Are you ready?” His voice broke the silence.

You turned to face him, your throat tight with the words you wanted to say but couldn’t find. Instead, you nodded, though nothing about you felt ready—least of all your heart.

Satoru approached you slowly as if he wasn’t sure how to comfort you without breaking down. His warm hand reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear you didn’t realize had fallen.

“You know I have to do this,” he said, his voice soft. “It’s my duty. I can’t—”

“Please don’t go,” you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Your voice cracked, you were desperate to make him stay. You knew you were asking the impossible, that no matter how much you begged, he couldn’t stay. But the thought of losing him, of not knowing if he would ever come back, was too much to bear.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if he could shield you from the reality you had both come to face.

“I wish I could stay,” he murmured against your hair. “More than anything, I wish I could stay here with you. But I have to go. I have to.”

You clung to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his uniform as if you could keep him there, with you, if you just held on tight enough. “But what if you don’t come back? What if—”

“I will come back.” He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, the look almost pleading. “I promise you, baby, I will come back. And when I do, I’m going to marry you, and we’ll have that life we always talked about. We’ll have a family, a home...everything.”

“What if something happens?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “What if—”

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice was gentle, and soothing, as he cupped your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that were now streaming down your cheeks. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’ll be careful, I’ll keep my head down, and I’ll come back to you. I promise.”

His words were meant to comfort you, but they only made the pain worse. Because deep down, no matter how much he promised, there was no guarantee that he would come back. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say that. So instead, you nodded, forcing yourself to believe, if only for his sake. “Promise me you’ll write,” you said, your voice trembling. “Every chance you get.”

“I will,” he assured you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Every chance I get, I’ll write to you. And I want you to write to me too, okay? Tell me everything, don’t leave anything out. I want to know everything that’s going on with you, no matter how small it might seem.”

You nodded again, a small, shaky smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I will. I promise.”

Satoru sighed, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I have to go.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. Satoru gave you one last, long look as if trying to memorize every detail of your face before he finally turned and picked up his duffel bag.

You walked the man you love to the door, your steps were slow, each one feeling like a goodbye. When you reached the threshold, Satoru stopped, turning to face you one last time. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was full of everything you couldn’t say—fear, hope, love, and the desperate need to hold on to this moment, to him, for as long as you could. When he finally pulled away, you could see the tears in his eyes, tears he was trying so hard to hold back.

“I’ll see you soon.”

And then he was gone, walking out the door and down the path that led to the street, where a car was waiting to take him to the docks. You stood in the doorway, watching as he walked away. When he reached the car, he turned back one last time, raising his hand in a small wave, a sad smile on his lips.

You raised your hand in return, your vision blurred by tears, your body shaking with the force of the sobs you were holding back. And then he was gone, the car driving away, taking him further and further from you, until he was just a speck on the horizon, and then nothing at all.

Finally, when you couldn’t stand it any longer, you sank to the floor, your body shaking with sobs that you could no longer hold back. You cried for what felt like an eternity with Charlie at your side, your tears soaking into the wood beneath you, your cries echoing in the empty house.

When you finally had no tears left, when your body was too exhausted to cry anymore, you lay there, curled up on the floor, clutching the memory of Satoru close to your heart, the only thing you had left of him.

“I��ll be waiting for you,” you whispered into the silence, your voice hoarse from crying. “No matter how long it takes, I’ll be here when you come back.”

September 7, 1917

My Dearest Satoru,

I hope this letter finds you safe and well. I wish more than anything that I could be there with you, to hold your hand and tell you that everything will be okay. But since I can’t, I’m sending you all the love I have, wrapped up in these words.

Life here is quiet without you. The days seem longer, and the nights feel emptier, but I’m doing my best to keep busy. I’ve been tending to our plants you always loved, you won’t believe how much they’ve grown! The roses have bloomed beautifully this year, and I think of you every time I see them. I imagine you coming home and us standing together in the kitchen, just like we used to, with Charlie at our feet.

Speaking of Charlie, he’s been such a comfort to me in your absence. He’s still the same playful pup, always chasing his tail and trying to catch the birds that come too close. But I think he misses you just as much as I do. Sometimes, he will sit by the door, staring out as if he is waiting for you to walk through it. I take him on long walks, and every time we pass by the places we used to go together, he pulls at the leash, looking around as if he expects to see you there. I can’t help but smile and cry a little at the same time. He’s such a good dog, Satoru, and I know he’ll be so happy to see you when you come home.

I dream about the day you’ll come home, the day we’ll finally be together again. I dream of the life we’ll have, the family we’ll build, all the things we talked about before you left. And until that day comes, I’ll be here, waiting for you, loving you with everything I have. I’ll keep writing to you, and I hope that these letters bring you some comfort, some reminder of the life waiting for you here.

Please take care of yourself, Satoru. Stay safe, stay strong, and know that I’m counting down the days until you return. I love you more than words can say, and I’m so proud of you. Come back to us soon.

With all my love,

Y/N

October 12, 1917

The train clacked along the tracks, the noise doing little to soothe the nerves of the men inside. Satoru was sat by the window, his thoughts a thousand miles away.

Satoru’s hand slipped into his pocket, fingers closing around the worn edges of a small, creased photograph. He pulled it out, his eyes softening as he looked at the image of the woman who had captured his heart. Your eyes held all the warmth of a summer day, and your smile—oh, that smile—was the beacon that guided him. He could almost hear your voice, talking about the latest gossip or news.

As the train jolted along the tracks, Satoru’s thoughts drifted back to the last time he had seen you, the way you had clung to him, the way your tears soaked his uniform as you begged him not to go.

A soft voice broke through his reverie, pulling him back to the present. “Is that your wife?”

Satoru glanced up to see the soldier sitting next to him, a young man barely out of his teens, with wide, innocent eyes. He was looking at the photograph in Satoru’s hand with curiosity.

Satoru managed a small, bittersweet smile, his thumb brushing over the face of the woman in the photograph. “No,” he replied softly. “We never got the chance to marry.”

The young soldier’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion. “Why not? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Satoru sighed, leaning back against the hard, uncomfortable seat. His gaze drifted back to the photograph. “I was going to,” he began, his voice distant as he spoke, almost as if he were talking more to himself than to the young soldier beside him. “We talked about it, even picked out a date... But then the war came, and everything changed. I didn’t want to leave her, but there wasn’t enough time.”

He paused, his eyes clouding with the memories of that fateful day. The tears in your eyes as you pleaded with him to stay to marry you. But he had refused, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you a widow, of making you wait for a man who might never come back. It had been the hardest decision of his life, and now, as he sat on this train bound for the front lines, he wondered if he had made the right one.

“She must be something special,” he said quietly.

“She is,” Satoru replied, his voice softening as he thought of you. “She’s everything. The strongest, most loving person I’ve ever known. She’s the reason I’m doing this, the reason I’m still standing.”

He fell silent, his mind drifting back to the countless nights the two of you had spent talking about your future. You had dreamed of growing old together, maybe moving out to the countryside and live in a little house.

“What’s her name?” the young soldier asked, his voice pulling Satoru back from his thoughts.

“Y/N,” Satoru said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he spoke your name. “She’s waiting for me to come back.”

“You’ll make it back to her. I know you will.”

Satoru nodded, though deep down, he wasn’t so sure.

The train jerked to a stop, the shrill whistle signaling their arrival at the next station. The soldiers began to stand, gathering their gear as they prepared to disembark. Satoru carefully folded the photograph and slipped it back into his pocket, close to his heart, where it belonged.

As he stepped off the train, the cold air hit him like a slap in the face. The station was a bleak and desolate place filled with soldiers. Satoru pulled his coat tighter around him, his eyes scanning the crowd, searching for something, anything, that would remind him of home.

But there was nothing.

He glanced back at the train, at the young soldier who had spoken to him. Their eyes met for a brief moment, then the young soldier raised his hand and, in a small almost hesitant wave said, “Take care of yourself!”

Satoru nodded, though he couldn’t bring himself to say the words in return. He turned and began walking, the weight of his rifle heavy on his shoulder.

The journey to the front lines was grueling, to put it lightly. It was something that tested the physical and mental limits of every man in the company. The landscape was a reflection of the war: the fields now lay barren, scarred by craters and the remnants of past battles. Trees stood like charred skeletons against the gray sky, their branches reaching out like twisted fingers. It was a place that seemed to exist outside of time, where the seasons had no hold.

Satoru walked near the front of the column, though his thoughts were universes away. He had stopped trying to make sense of the war around him, instead, his mind clung to the thought of his girlfriend and his home. Every so often, his hand would drift to his pocket, where the photograph of his beloved remained safely tucked away. It was his anchor, the one thing that kept him grounded in a world that seemed to have lost all meaning.

Throughout the journey, there were brief breaks from the march. Moments where men could catch their breath and rest their sore legs. During these breaks, the sliders would drop to the ground wherever they could find space. Some lit cigarettes, the tiny glowing embers flickering in the dim light, while others simply stared into the distance.

Satoru usually found a spot a little apart from the others, leaning against the trunk of a withered tree or sitting on a flat rock. Once on a break, the company rested by the narrow road that cut through a ruined village. Satoru found himself staring at the crumbling remains of a church. The steeple had collapsed, the once-proud structure now reduced to a pile of rubble. A few scattered graves dotted the ground nearby, their markers leaning at odd angles as if they, too, had given up the fight against the ravages of war.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of voices approaching from down the road. Another company was making its way toward them, the soldiers’ weary faces reflecting the same one that Satoru saw on his men.

Satoru glanced around, his gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar faces. Most of the men looked just as worn and weary as his own comrades, their uniforms stained with mud. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure that made him pause, his heart skipping a beat.

It couldn’t be—but it was.

Suguru Getou stood a little apart from the rest of his company, his back against the remnants of a low stone wall. He was staring off into the distance, seemingly unaware of the world around him, lost in thoughts that Satoru could only guess at. His face was thinner than Satoru remembered, his features more drawn, but there was no mistaking those sharp, dark eyes, or the way his long, black hair fell in loose strands around his face.

For a moment, Satoru was frozen in place. He hadn’t seen Suguru since before the war before they had been sent away from their families and to different parts of the front. Suguru had been sent to the front lines before Satoru did and Satoru had often wondered if he was even still alive, if he had somehow managed to survive on the front lines.

Now, seeing him here, in the flesh, was both a shock and a relief.

“Suguru,” Satoru called out, his voice breaking the silence between them.

Suguru’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as they focused on Satoru. For a moment, there was no recognition in his gaze, just the cold, hard stare of a soldier who had seen too much. But then something shifted in Suguru’s expression, and his eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Satoru, you bastard,” Suguru replied, pushing himself away from the wall and making his way over to where Satoru stood. There was a moment of hesitation as if they weren’t quite sure how to greet each other after all this time, but then Satoru reached out and clapped a hand on Suguru’s shoulder.

“Still alive, huh?”

“Barely. It’s good to see you, Satoru.”

“And you,” Satoru said.

Suguru’s gaze then drifted to the photograph clutched in Satoru’s hand. “Is that her?” he asked quietly, nodding toward the picture.

Satoru followed his gaze, his expression softening as he looked down at the image of the woman he loved. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s the one keeping me sane out here.”

Suguru nodded, his expression unreadable as he looked at the photograph. “You’re lucky, you know,” he said after a moment. “Not everyone has someone to go home to.”

“And you? How are you holding up?”

Suguru shrugged. “I’m still here,” he said simply. “That’s all that matters, right?”

Satoru wanted to say something, to offer some kind of comfort or reassurance, but the words wouldn’t come. What could he say that would make any of this easier? What could he offer that would ease the burden they both carried?

After a while, the call to move out came, and the soldiers began to gather their gear, preparing to resume their march to the front lines.

“Take care of yourself, Suguru.”

“And you, Satoru,” Suguru replied, his expression softening for just a moment. “We’ll see each other again. We have to.”

As the two companies parted ways, Satoru glanced back one last time, watching as Suguru’s figure grew smaller and smaller in the distance. He slipped the photograph back into his pocket, his fingers lingering on it for just a moment too long.

December 1, 1917

The trenches were a whole other world themselves. They were a labyrinth of mud, blood, and despair that stretched across the landscape like a festering wound. Satoru had been there for weeks now, but time had lost all meaning. Day and night blurred together into an endless cycle of fear and exhaustion. The air was thick with the stench of death and decay, a sickly smell that clung to everything, seeping into the very pores of his skin.

Satoru had never imagined that war could be like this. He had heard stories, of course—everyone had—but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of life in the trenches. The constant threat of death, the gnawing hunger—it was a living nightmare, a hell on earth from which there was no escape.

He had lost count of how many men had fallen, their bodies left to rot in the no man's land between the trenches. Friends, comrades, men he had shared laughs and meals with—they were all gone now, their lives snuffed out in an instant by a stray bullet or a well-placed shell. And with each death, a piece of Satoru died with them, his heart growing harder, his soul more numb.

At first, he tried to keep up the letters, pouring his thoughts and fears into the carefully penned words he sent back to you. He had written about the camaraderie among the men, the small moments of joy they found amid the horror, and the hope that one day, this war would end and they would be together again. He had clung to that hope, letting it buoy him up when the darkness threatened to swallow him whole.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the words had become harder and harder to find. What could he possibly say to her now, after all he had seen, after all he had done? How could he put into words the horrors that haunted his every waking moment, the nightmares that chased him even in the few moments of sleep he managed to get?

He had started a dozen letters, each one more difficult than the last. He would sit in the dim light of the trench, his hands trembling as he tried to hold the pen steady, the paper before him smudged with dirt and blood. But the words wouldn’t come. Every time he tried to write, the memories would flood back—images of shattered bodies, of men screaming in pain, of the deafening roar of the guns that never seemed to stop. And then he would see your face, smiling up at him from the photograph he kept tucked inside his jacket, and the guilt would crash over him like a wave, drowning him in its icy grip.

How could he write to her about any of this? How could he tell her about the nightmares that kept him awake at night, the fear that gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog? How could he explain that he wasn’t the same man who had left her behind all those months ago, that the war had changed him in ways he could never have imagined?

Satoru had never felt so alone.

The men around him were suffering just as he was, but there was a wall between them now, an invisible barrier that kept him apart from the others. They still laughed, still shared stories and jokes to pass the time, but Satoru found himself withdrawing more and more, retreating into the silence of his own mind. He couldn’t bring himself to join in their conversations, couldn’t find the strength to pretend that everything was okay when nothing was okay.

It was during one of these quiet moments, when the guns had fallen that Satoru found himself staring at the photograph again. He traced the outline of your face with his thumb, the edges of the picture worn and frayed from being handled so often. You looked so happy, so full of life—everything that he wasn’t anymore. He wondered if she would even recognize him when this was all over if he ever made it out of this hell alive.

The thought made his chest tighten, a sharp pain stabbing through his heart. What if he didn’t make it back? What if this was where his story ended, in a cold, muddy trench on the other side of the world? Would she remember him as the man he used to be, or would she forget him altogether, moving on with her life as if he had never existed?

He shoved the photograph back into his pocket, the thoughts too painful to bear. He needed to write to her, to tell her how much he loved her, how much he missed her, but the words refused to come. The pen felt heavy in his hand, the paper staring back at him like an accusation.

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see one of the other soldiers, a young man named Thomas, standing over him. Thomas had joined their company a few weeks ago, fresh-faced and full of energy, but the war had already taken its toll on him. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks hollow, and there was a haunted look in his gaze that Satoru recognized all too well.

“Hey,” Thomas said, his voice rough from disuse. “You alright, Satoru?”

Satoru nodded, though he didn’t trust himself to speak. He knew that if he opened his mouth, the words that would spill out would be anything but alright.

Thomas glanced down at the paper in Satoru’s lap, the empty lines stark against the dirty page. “Having trouble writing?”

Satoru sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I don’t know what to say anymore.”

“It’s hard,” he said quietly. “Hard to find the words when everything around you is…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the trench, at the world beyond it. “But maybe it doesn’t have to be about all this,” he continued after a moment. “Maybe just…tell her you miss her. Tell her you’re thinking about her. Sometimes, that’s enough.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Satoru whispered.

Thomas crouched down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You can,” he said firmly. “You have to. For her. For you.”

He knew Thomas was right—he had to find the strength to write to her, to keep that connection alive, no matter how difficult it was. Because if he lost that, if he let the war take that from him too, there would be nothing left.

With a deep breath, Satoru picked up the pen again, his hand still trembling. He stared at the blank page for a long moment, his thoughts a jumble of emotions and memories, before finally, the words began to flow.

They weren’t perfect, and they certainly didn’t capture everything he was feeling, but they were honest. He wrote about how much he missed her, how he thought of her every day, and how the memory of her smile was the only thing keeping him sane. He told her about the men he was serving with, about the small moments of kindness and he told her that no matter how dark things got, he would find his way back to her.

By the time he finished, his hand was aching, and the paper was smudged with dirt and sweat, but the weight on his chest had lifted just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

The war had taken so much from him, had stripped him of his innocence, his peace of mind, and so many of the men he had called friends. But it hadn’t taken her. Not yet.

And as long as he had her, as long as there was still a chance that he could hold her in his arms again, he would keep fighting. He would keep going, one day at a time, one step at a time, until this nightmare was over.

Because he had to believe that there was still a future out there, a future where the two of them could be together, away from the mud and the blood and the death. A future where they could build the life they had dreamed of, where he could make good on all the promises he had whispered to her in the dark.

Satoru clutched the letter to his chest for a moment, closing his eyes and letting himself imagine that future—a small house, a warm fire, your laughter filling the air. It was a dream, maybe a foolish one, but it was all he had left to hold on to.

When he finally opened his eyes, the trench seemed a little less dark, the air a little less suffocating. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Satoru allowed himself to believe that he would make it through this, that he would survive this war and return to the woman he loved.

December 25, 1917

My Dearest Satoru,

Merry Christmas, my love. I wish I could say that it feels like the holiday season here, but without you by my side, it all seems so different. The tree in the living room is smaller this year, just a simple little thing I picked up from the market. I decorated it with the old ornaments we’ve collected over the years, though they don’t shine as brightly without you here to admire them.

Charlie and I spent the day together. He’s grown so much since you last saw him, you wouldn’t believe it! He still waits by the door every evening, his ears perked up like he’s expecting you to walk through any moment. I think he misses you almost as much as I do. We went for a long walk this morning, just the two of us. The air was crisp and cold, and there was a light dusting of snow on the ground. It reminded me of the first Christmas we spent together when you insisted on making snow angels and pulling me into that ridiculous snowball fight. I laughed so hard that day, and I haven’t laughed quite the same way since you left.

I cooked a small dinner tonight—nothing fancy, just some of your favorite dishes. I set a place for you at the table, even though I knew you wouldn’t be there to fill it. I like to think that, wherever you are, you can feel the warmth of home and know that you’re always in my thoughts. The house is quiet now, almost too quiet. I find myself talking to you sometimes, as if you were still here with me, sitting in your favorite chair with that mischievous smile of yours. I can almost hear your voice, teasing me, comforting me, telling me that everything will be alright.

But it’s hard, Satoru. It’s so hard being here without you, especially on days like this when the world seems so full of love and joy, and all I can think about is how much I miss you. I try to be strong, for you, for us, but there are moments when the loneliness is overwhelming. I lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering where you are if you’re safe if you’re thinking of me as much as I’m thinking of you.

I know I shouldn’t burden you with my worries, especially when you’re facing so much over there. But I promised you that I would always be honest with you, and the truth is my love, I miss you more than words can say. I miss your laughter, your touch, the way you would pull me close when the world felt too big and frightening. I miss the sound of your voice, the warmth of your arms around me, the simple comfort of knowing that you were near.

I don’t know what this Christmas is like for you, if you’ve had a moment of peace, or if the war continues to rage on, even on this holy day. But I want you to know that I’m here, waiting for you, loving you with all my heart.

Until that day comes, I’ll hold on to the memories we’ve made, and I’ll keep you in my heart, always. I’ll keep sending you my love, in every letter, in every thought, in every prayer. And I’ll be here, waiting for the day when you come home to me.

Merry Christmas, Satoru. I love you more than words could ever express.

Yours always and forever,

Y/N

January 1918

The flickering light of the oil lamp cast shadows on the rough, earthen walls of the trench as Satoru unfolded the letter with trembling hands. The cold bit at his fingers, but the warmth of her words was all he felt. He leaned back against the wooden planks, his breath visible in the frigid air, and began to re

He could almost see her, sitting by the small tree, Charlie at her feet, the house filled with the scent of pine and home-cooked food. The image was so vivid that he could hear the crackle of the fire, feel the softness of your hand in his, and taste the warmth of the cocoa you always made too sweet.

When he finished the letter, he folded it carefully, placing it back into the envelope before tucking it into his jacket, close to his heart. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, trying to hold on to the image of her, of home, for just a little longer.

"Someday," he whispered to himself, "I’ll go back to you."

But that "someday" felt so far away.

Satoru was exhausted. He was so exhausted. And despite the cold and the ever-present danger, Satoru found himself drifting off to sleep. He dreamed of you and Charlie, of a small house and a garden, a real one, and maybe a little one.

But that dream was shattered all too quickly.

The ground shook violently, and Satoru was yanked from his sleep by the deafening roar of artillery fire. The once-peaceful night had erupted into chaos. He scrambled to his feet, the world around him a blur of noise and confusion. Mud and debris rained down as shells exploded nearby, turning the trench into a hellscape of smoke and fire.

"Satoru! Get up!" A voice yelled from somewhere in the darkness, but it was nearly drowned out by the barrage.

His heart raced as he grabbed his rifle, instincts taking over. The letter, the warmth of her words, the image of her waiting for him—all of it was shoved to the back of his mind as survival became his only focus. He could barely see through the smoke, but he knew what was coming.

"Over the top! They’re coming!"

Satoru fought desperately alongside his comrades. The world had become a blur of smoke, fire, and the metallic scent of blood. He barely felt the cold anymore—only the burning need to survive, to push through the horror and get back to the life he had left behind.

But even as he fired his rifle, the enemy pushing ever closer, a gnawing fear settled deep in his chest. It wasn’t the fear of dying, though that was always there, lurking beneath the surface. It was the fear of breaking his promise to her, of never seeing her again, never holding her in his arms, never telling her one last time how much he loved her.

Suddenly, a blinding light flashed to his right—a mortar shell exploding far too close. The force of it threw him to the ground, his head slamming against the hard earth. Everything went dark for a moment, and when he opened his eyes, the world was spinning. He could barely hear over the ringing in his ears, his vision blurry as he struggled to push himself up.

But before he could regain his bearings, he felt a sharp pain in his side, followed by a searing heat that spread across his body. He looked down, his hand coming away sticky with blood. Panic surged through him as he realized the wound was deep, too deep.

"Satoru!" someone shouted, but it felt distant as if it were coming from another world.

He tried to move, tried to fight, but his body wouldn’t respond. His strength was draining away, the edges of his vision darkening as the pain grew overwhelming. He reached for the photo in his pocket, fumbling with weak fingers until he could pull it out. The edges were crumpled, dirtied from being carried with him through every battle, but her face was still there, smiling up at him.

"I’m sorry baby…" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sounds of battle. He wasn’t sure if the words were meant for her or himself, but they were all he could manage.

As he lay there, the sounds of war fading into the background, another soldier—a younger man from his company—dropped to his knees beside Satoru. The man was injured, blood seeping from a wound in his leg, but his focus was entirely on Satoru.

"No… no, no, no," the soldier muttered, his voice choked with panic. He saw the wound, saw the blood, and knew there was nothing he could do. "Satoru, stay with me, please!"

Satoru’s grip on the photo loosened, and the young soldier gently took it from him, his hands shaking. He saw the woman in the picture, the one Satoru had talked about so often, and his heart sank. "Is… is this her?"

Satoru nodded weakly, the effort taking everything he had left. He tried to speak, to say her name, to tell the soldier to take care of her, but the words wouldn’t come. His chest felt tight, every breath a struggle.

"Don’t worry, I’ll… I’ll make sure she knows," the soldier promised, though his voice cracked with the weight of it. He fumbled with Satoru’s jacket, pulling out the dog tags, and pressed them into his own pocket, along with the photo. "I’ll tell her… everything."

Satoru’s vision darkened further, the world slipping away from him. All he could see was her face, all he could think about was the future they had dreamed of. But that future was fading, slipping through his fingers like sand.

"I’m sorry," he whispered one last time before the darkness took him completely.

Weeks passed, though they felt like an eternity. The war continued on, but Satoru’s company was eventually pulled back from the front lines, many of them injured, exhausted, or worse. The young soldier who had taken Satoru’s photo was among those who were discharged, his leg injury severe enough to send him home. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the weight he carried in his heart.

When the company finally reached the docks, it was a scene of bittersweet reunions. Families and loved ones gathered, waiting anxiously for a glimpse of their soldiers. You were among them, your heart pounding in your chest as you scanned the crowd, searching desperately for Satoru’s familiar face.

But you couldn’t find him.

The minutes dragged on, and panic began to set in. Where was he? Had something happened? You tried to reassure yourself, telling yourself that he would appear any moment, that he was just delayed, that everything was fine.

Then you saw a man hobbling toward you on crutches, his face pale and drawn. You recongnized the man as in the letters Satoru had described him as a friend, a comrade. But where was Satoru? Why wasn’t he with him?

Your breath caught in your throat as the soldier stopped in front of you, his eyes filled with a sorrow that made your blood run cold. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled photograph, the one you had given to Satoru before he left. And then, with trembling hands, he held out Satoru’s dog tags.

"I’m so sorry," the soldier said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "He… he didn’t make it."

The world around you seemed to crumble, the ground shifting beneath your feet as the words sank in. You stared at the photo, and the dog tags, unable to comprehend what he was saying. It couldn’t be true. Satoru had promised you. He had promised he would come back.

"No…" The word fell from your lips, your voice breaking as tears welled up in your eyes. "No, he… he promised…"

The soldier reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder, but the gesture did nothing to comfort you. "He loved you so much," he said softly, his own eyes filling with tears. "He… he talked about you all the time. Right up until…"

You didn’t let him finish. The pain in your chest was too much to bear, and the sobs broke free, your body shaking as you clutched the photograph to your chest. The world around you blurred, the sounds of the docks fading away as all you could think about was him—his smile, his laugh, the way he had held you that last night before he left.

He was gone. Satoru was gone.

The soldier stayed with you, his own heart breaking as he watched you fall to your knees, your cries of grief echoing through the crowd. But there was nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do to ease the pain of your loss.

And so the war took one more life, one more love story cut short by the horrors of battle. The future you had dreamed of, the life you had planned, was gone—lost in the mud and blood of a distant country.

All that remained were memories and the cold, hard reality that he would never come home to you.

#gojo satoru #gojou satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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kenjakusbrainstem · 1 year

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Mother's Milk (Kaorijaku)

Contains: Lactation, breastfeeding, Kenjaku in Kaori's body, Yuuji is there but he is a baby, masturbation, she/her pronouns for Kenjaku.

Day 9 of kinktober was lactation and you know I have thoughts about Kenjaku lactating. Unsure how I got to this train of thought though, its rather short and sweet, but hopefully not too strange and offputting. Crossposted to Ao3 under the same name and shared to twt at kenjakusbrain. Comments and rbs are always welcome!

Kenjaku knew in the grand scheme of things that there were many things she still hadn’t experienced. Despite living for a thousand years and taking many different forms over those years, this was something new to her.

The body of Kaori Itadori was one that had fallen into her lap, opening up a world of possibilities. It hadn’t taken much to sway Jin Itadori into believing that he was just lucky and that his wife hadn’t died. Kaori’s ‘near’ death experience gave her an easy answer for the stitching on her forehead as well. She was thankful for such a delusionally devoted husband.

Kenjaku sat on the edge of the bed she shared with Jin, their son,Yuuji sleeping peacefully in his crib a few feet away. Fortunately, Jin and his father had already gone off to work for the day, leaving her alone to do as she pleased. Kenjaku enjoyed being a stay at home mother more than she had anticipated.

She supposed it helped that Yuuji was such a good baby, surprisingly quiet unless you were playing with him. It seemed like the child had taken more of his father’s demeanor than hers, which, in the long run, was probably a good thing.

Today the only thing she had planned was to get some research done, looking into possible locations of the prison realm she desperately wanted to acquire. It would be some time before she needed to use it, but it would be integral to her plans. It was hard to get any research done with Wasuke around so she tried to take care of that while he was working.

Lucky for her, the library nearby had a daycare where you could leave your child while you visited. The internet had been very helpful to her so far in trying to locate things, as long as she was careful not to leave too much of a trace. No one had batted an eye yet at the name Kaori Itadori popping up on forums frequented by sorcerers and curse users.

Kenjaku needed to get ready to leave soon, it was important that she and the child were both home by the time Jin was.

The reason she hadn’t gotten started with her day however, was a different issue. Kenjaku had used a woman’s body before, but there was something about Kaori’s body that he hadn’t expected. Her breasts were swollen at the moment, full of milk ready to be fed to the sleeping boy nearby.

Reaching her hands up, Kenjaku parted the robe she was wearing to cup the soft flesh of her breasts. They felt heavy in her hands, as if they were ready to burst. The tips of her fingers brushed against her sensitive nipples, a soft gasp leaving her lips at the feeling. Never had she expected breastfeeding would invoke such pleasurable feelings, she could already feel herself becoming aroused.

It had become routine for her to feed Yuuji and then get off before starting with her day. She could go without it, of course, but there was no reason to not indulge as far as she saw things. Kenjaku knew she wouldn’t be in this body for much longer, so why not take in all the sensitivity that came with her unique situation?

Shaking the oddly contemplative thoughts out of her head, she stood, making her way to the sleeping child in the crib. Yuuji wasn’t asleep as she’d expected him to be, he was simply staring up at her quietly. Gently, Kenjaku picked him up before taking a couple more steps back to the bed she’d previously sat on.

It didn’t take long for Kenjaku to situate herself comfortably, cradling Yuuji in a way that allowed him to suckle at her breast. He latched on quickly, a small gasp leaving Kenjaku’s lips at the sensation. The feeling was always strange, a mix of pleasure and discomfort that happened to arouse her more than she expected. Kenjaku wasn’t sure if this was entirely normal or if Kaori’s body was just more sensitive than others.

As the child continued to suck Kenjaku bit her lip, not wanting to make any noises to disrupt him. The relief from having her swollen breast emptied was also a nice feeling, at least for the one he was sucking on. The hand that wasn’t cradling Yuuji rose to tease the nipple that wasn’t in use.

Rolling the nipple between her fingers, Kenjaku could feel some milk leaking out onto her hand. It felt warm against her cool skin. Not wanting to waste anymore, she stopped, bringing the wet finger up to her mouth and licking the milk off of her hand. Rubbing her thighs together, she tried to ignore her arousal for the time being.

The taste on her tongue was strange, not entirely unpleasant, but not something she would seek out. The way Yuuji sucked at her breast though, it was as if it was the sweetest nectar. Though to him it was, Kenjaku thought.

A wet popping sound met her ears as she pulled him off of her breast. It was no longer sore, but her other nipple was leaking, begging to be suckled on. Kenjaku moved Yuuji, making sure he was comfortable as she positioned him to drink from the other side.

He didn’t need much urging, Yuuji was a very hungry baby. Latching onto Kenjaku’s other nipple, she couldn’t quite keep in the soft moan that left her lips this time. The child’s harsh suckling quickly brought more relief, along with another wave of pleasure. Kenjaku reached up, covering her mouth as a way to keep any other sounds in.

Kenjaku looked down, watching the child feed. His pink hair looked soft and in need of a brushing, it reminded her of Jin’s. Along with Jin’s pleasant disposition, Kenjaku was glad Yuuji looked so much like him already. The pink hair against her skin made Kenajku wonder if she could convince Jin to try drinking from her breasts. Now that she’d given birth there was no real reason for her to have sex with Jin, but she had to admit she liked the desperation with which he fucked her.

Perhaps it's something she would try later tonight, the idea of him drinking from her while she rode him filled Kenjaku with want. She hoped Yuuji would finish soon, as the pleasure from his feeding and her thoughts alone had gotten her more worked up than they had before.

She could already feel a wetness coating her thighs, even without touching herself. It wouldn’t take much today, Kenjaku thought.

As Yuuji’s sucking slowed, Kenjaku lifted the child from her breast. Soreness from being full gone now, she held the child against her shoulder patting him on the back while she impatiently waited for him to burp. Fortunately it wasn’t long before that was taken care of. Kenjaku quickly moved to sit the child back in his crib, there were small toys in there she knew he was more than capable of occupying himself with for a moment.

Laying back down on the bed, Kenjaku propped herself up against the pillows. Hand quickly slipped between her legs while the other teased her nipple again. Wet with milk and saliva, it made the sensation of her fingers feel different, more arousing somehow.

Not bothering to tease herself any longer, Kenjaku used two fingers to circle her clit. Finally feeling comfortable enough to let the moans she’d been holding back out. Her hand was soaked, fingers covered in her juices after just a moment because she’d been that worked up. Kenjaku’s legs twitched at how sensitive she was, her teasing from both hands sending waves of electric heat through her body.

Leaving her thumb to rub her clit, Kenjaku dipped a finger inside herself, not enough to fuck herself but just enough to feel some pressure at her entrance. At the same time, the hand on Kenjaku’s breast pinched at the nipple, milk again squirting out to trickle down her arm. The harsh movement of her thumb paired with the fingers dipping inside was just enough to push Kenjaku over the edge.

Kenjaku moaned as she rubbed herself through orgasm, body convulsing from the stimulation. As she lay there for a moment, recuperating, Kenjaku brought both hands up to her lips. The taste of her own release mixed with her milk was strange, the differing consistencies on her tongue at the same time confusing.

It was to be savored, however. Everything about this body and these strange new experience was to be etched into Kenjaku’s mind forever.

#kenjaku #kaori itadori #kenjaku smut #jjk smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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okiimii · 10 days

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Hey, uh, try not to rb sophieinwonderland if you can.

She's probs got some bangers, but she has spread legitimate misinformation about CDDs.

https://www.tumblr.com/plural-affirmations/752611486927585280/whats-wrong-with-sophieinwonderland-gq-idk?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/sysmedsaresexist/756079135060787200?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/solxrsys/728829869302169600/what-lie-are-you-talking-about?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/sysmedsaresexist/728803024418504704/hey-sophieinwonderland-remember-when-you-said?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/circular-bircular/731268521910272000/another-thing-that-is-horrible-about-what-sophie?source=share

Like I don't care that shes willogenic [i believe she uses tulpa terms]- That's gen not my problem w/ her at all. She spreads literal misinfo, and that's not cool.

It's totally fine if you don't want to, like, listen to an anon, I get that, but I thought I would let you know, since you seem like the type that is anti-misinfo.

[I'm sorry if this comes across as mean, as an aside- I don't intend to be. I love your account and what you do, but I saw u rb a post from her. It's not the end of the world or anything, obvs, its just a rb, but I just wanted to make u semi-aware- semi bc i dont have links on hand.]

don't worry, we're fully aware of sophie's antics! we'll try not to reblog any misinformation from her, but honestly we're tired of her vaguing people without reblogging from them. i don't believe we reblogged anything in a positive way from her.

is it because she wants her own notes? probably. is it because she doesn't want the other argument to be exposed to her followers? possibly that too. either way she should just stop vaguing people.

thank you for your concern, and those links are very, very concerning as well. we want to correct misinfo to prevent it from spreading any further.

#ask!#kind anon #you werent mean at all!#syscourse

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sothasil · 2 years

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hello my good friend and keeper of khajiit knowledge. I have an inquiry for you. How do khajiit babies start out? I've heard they all begin as kittens, which does make sense for most of the furstock, ease on the alfiqs, but I'm having trouble like. making logical sense of it (which I know is dumb for tes lore) and I was wondering if you had thoughts on the subject?

My biggest thing is just the sheer differences that would have to happen in the first few weeks/months/years (however long it takes for a furstock to develop in it's entirety) for the variances between just plain skeletal structure. Because if they all start as kittens, so four legged digitigrades, I cannot imagine the shift to two legged plantigrades makes for a pleasant infanthood. It's growing pains turned to full blast! There's gotta be differences in newborns between four legged and two legged and digitigrade vs plantigrade, and maybe they just start kitten sized, but not actually kittens?

sorry if this is a bothersome ask, you just know so much about khajiit/have amazing world building for them and I figured you could solidly set this into my brain besides just handwaving it and going "it's moon magic!" like everyone else has done rjgtkgjf

Hello Chance! I'll be answering this ask publicly just in case other people are interested - if you'd want it not shared, please say so and I'll lock RBs.

The short answer to your question is we don't know. Khajiit children, or depictions thereof, do not exist in TES. So strictly canonically speaking: we have nothing.

The longer answer: I have had the exact same train of thought before and came to similar conclusions. Not only do khajiit of all shapes and sizes have to grow into these shapes and sizes, but any shape of khajiit has to uh, get pushed out of any other shape of khajiit... For my own headcanon I have solved this with two ideas. The following is all headcanon!

The first thing: the furstock of the mother will in major part dictate how many babies they can have in a single litter. In real life biology, humans have it very complicated, because our hips, made for walking upright, work poorly to give birth. Following this, I think the more humanoid a khajiit is, the less babies they can carry at once.

In my own Khajiit OC families, this is why Ma'Jahrann only has a brother and they are both single litters, because their mom is an Ohmes. But the mom herself (Elaahni) is one of half a dozen litter-sisters, her mother being Alfiq-raht.

The second thing: all khajiit are born as tiny shapeless cat beans. The younger they are, the more khajiit look like each other in terms of furstocks. Some eventually stand upright and others do not. Here is some concept art based on this idea I did for Beyond Skyrim.

On top of growing into their adult body plan, I made them also grow into their coat, with some more humanoid furstocks staying relatively hairless for a khajiit (see my Ohmes concept art). While this makes for rapid, weird growing, this is arguably the case for many animals including humans, who go from quadrupeds to bipeds pretty fast!

For BSE, instead of doing a model per furstock for children which would be a hefty amount of work, we decided on only three at around the same young age as vanilla kids, to "sum up" all furstocks with three yet less defined body types: a quadruped very catlike one, a digitigrade fully furry one with a long tail, and a plantigrade type with a straighter neck; allowing for variety with limited ressources.

For my own OCs again - some older drawings I did of Rezad and Rakkan show them as having short legs and a very catlike baby shape, despite both of them being bipeds, Cathay and Cathay-raht respectively. Again, because as babies, their body plan is more muddy.

Rezad and his dad, both Cathay

This being said - I hope this is inspiring, but again, all headcanon! As with any unexplained lore area, it's your freedom to make your preferred takes out of it :) Cheers!

#khajiit #ask #the elder scrolls

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heartscrypt · 1 year

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wip review wednesday (it is not fucking wednesday)

rb the art im talking abt here to support me : )

i wanted to do something a lil new and actually talk through my choices in the artwork in the post so like if you're not here for commentary. i put everything under a read more!!!!

ok so here's a basic breakdown of what everyone is doing in the piece. or supposed to be doing. you can zoom in on shit to verify if u want

jamiazu: obviously jamil is beating azul at ddr. less obviously azul is sweating because this is actually not the first round of ddr. he has lost horribly in two other rounds but he's not giving up (he should give up)

tweels: they're both judging azul because they know he's horrible at cardio so what in the world is that boy doing on that dance machine. jade is making snide remarks about azul's lack of balance behind his hand and floyd's listening in amusement

adeucepel: epel just won an impossible amount of tickets at skeeball. apparently his aim is really good thanks to some carnival game in his home town. deuce is being excitedly supportive and helping him gather the tickets. ace is arguing that he should get a share because he totally helped epel score (he didn't)

rookvil: they're looking at the ticket prizes. vil is scrutinizing the cheap mass produced quality. rook is just happy to have his arm around her waist and equally happy to listen to her sharp criticism. shes so beautiful when shes annoyed♥️

diasomnia: silver is attempting to figure out the card machine in order to get a play card for malleus. malleus was not told that they were going to the arcade (hes definitely not dressed for it) but is honestly happy to just be there and is volunteering to try his hand at the machine (five seconds after this scene he will break it on accident). sebek is running over to yell at silver for not being able to figure out the card machine (he's also not able to figure it out). lilia is watching his kids from the inside of a ghostbusters shooter booth game. you know the ones

idikei: idia is destroying some zombies in a shooter game. cater is actually not playing. he's got his phone in his hand and he's just talking At idia while idia plays

ruggie: he's actually judging jamil. raising his eyebrows at jamil even bothering to play against azul who is clearly not even at his skill level. bro this is not even fair game

part of my art process for this piece was getting outfit suggestions from my friends so to everyone who complimented the outfit choices in the tags im pulling back the curtains. i have a million mice running around in my brain (my friends). here are some funny snippets (i did not put idia in a squid games shirt. i did give him crocs though)

#jamie talks #txt post #img post #long post #heartsprocess #this shit took a week. exhaustin #im not used to drawing bgs so if the perspective is off thats why #also i had a moment where i really hated the color palette but im normal now so

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beebopboom · 10 months

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I was originally going to add this to the rb I did in response to @gallup24 in the first post - which thank you - but I felt it was getting to long so I we are just going to do a part 2 - go read that first one though

We are going to be diving back into the title sequence

So let me expand on these walkways

I think for this title sequence we are seeing Heavens timeline/plan for when Armageddon was supposed to happen if they won

Looking back at s1 title sequence - which I believe was Hells timeline/plan for Armageddon if they won - something that stood out in comparison to s2 is that the way they are walking is always forward, never on unsteady “ground”.

Which would make sense because from Hells perspective it’s not until the very end that Armageddon gets all fucked up. This would be represented by the rock towers crumbling right at the end.

But back to s2 title sequence let’s follow this Jesus figure around for a minute

The first time I can find him is right before we go into the theatre - very prominently in the center

so what could this mean? Has Heaven been planning the details of the Second Coming since 1941? Did they send Jesus back down to Earth in 1941 because the dead were resurrected? Since this area of magic tricks is more reminiscent of s1 magic tricks was Jesus there in s1?

I don’t have a clear answer for this but I thought I’d share some of the questions that have been floating around in my head

But the next time we see him we are up in space and the walkway is split

If this is the end of s1 represented by the body swap - things are left up in the air (up in space) afterwards. Heaven’s planned timeline is on unstable “ground” and has been cut in half - they can’t move forward with their version of Armageddon anymore - because Adam has reset it (i’ll go more into detail about the right side further down)

So Heaven pivots this plan and throws it in the garbage which leads us the next time we see him

it is quite literally going into the garbage - yes I know the tartan hills are a reference for a scene in the show but you know what it also reminds me of - land fields - even down to the uncovered trash records.

But not even 2 seconds later he is back again

Everything seems back to normal including the things they seem to have left behind (tank and pickled herring) - they are walking on the ground going forward once more.

Aziraphale and Crowley are not apart of this line anymore - haven’t been since the Bullet Catch. They are sitting above Soho in their own little world with hearts all around them - god they are so in love

I see this scene as the era (is 4 years an era?whatever) of bliss - of being openly a duo and not associated with Heaven or Hell. In the background though you have the implication that Heaven is planning something during this time that is then brought back to the attention of the screen when they have this new altered plan

but begs the question has Jesus been to Soho?

back to following him around though - we now see him in the back of the line

a weird place for the literal main character of the Second Coming. Unless something is wrong? Lost track of him perhaps? I mean he is quite literally hidden behind the tank. But who is leading this line now?

Aziraphale and Crowley, who have now been brought back into the fold - fitting that this is the scene we see Gabriel coming down the elevator. But you know what has entered the line as well? First of all Saraqael which makes sense they’re a new character in s2 and seem to be the one that is truly watching Aziraphale and Crowley. But also the Coffee has entered the chat and stays.

Now the next time we see Jesus is interesting

he’s right up front with Aziraphale and Crowley - big difference from where he just was.

This could mean a lot of things. Aziraphale and Crowley are the ones to find and bring him forward. Jesus has been chilling out in the background - perhaps wanting to get in contact with A&C. Or maybe it’s a simple explanation of it’s just getting closer to his time to shine.

He pretty much stays up towards the front for the rest of the time - here he is in the theatre

Interesting that they are back on this unstable path again that we then have a jump into the next part - which seems even more unstable

but it also reminds me of something else we seen earlier

that left over walkway still connected to a gold walkway (I told you I’d come back to it)

Is this a reference to Adam still getting his happy ending? Have some people already made it to the Holy Land only to have it taken away maybe?

I’m not quite sure what to make of this but I wanted to include it.

but back to them going towards the throne room - we are back on this unstable ground that is hazardously sat upon what might the remnants of the old plan - we can literally feel this with the shakes on the screen because we are in a first person shot

then we go back to the normal 2Dness and everything looks fine - if we ignore the giant ship sticking out of the side of the pile - a ship our characters can’t see

So maybe the Second Coming plan isn’t as stable as Heaven would like you to believe and the pile, the walkway, the whole plan is about to be crumbling down

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens title sequence #good omens meta #good omens analysis

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0oolookitsme · 1 year

Text

Another One?

Type - A One-Shot!

Verse - Model!Harry x Fashion Designer!y/n

Word Count - 4k (she's a thick one y'all)

Warnings - A little bit of crying (subrry), cursing and well, smut.

A/N - Damn, this is the second longest smut piece I've ever written!

Kinks - Dry Humping, Mirror Sex, Mommy Kink, Over Stimulation.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

Please rb to share!

It was a formal get-together organized by a friendly colleague of Y/n's. "I've met some new professionals, and I think it's going to be helpful for the newbies to make some connections," she had told Y/n while they were having lunch together. Y/n had only appreciated her idea in response, saying that she too would love to chat with them.

When it came to the decision of a 'plus-one', everyone knew she was going to bring Harry. After all, it had almost been a year since they went public with their relationship. The party was formal, but it was held on the rooftop of a restaurant so everyone had settled on dressing up pretty casually.

Most men were seen wearing button-down shirts with pants or jeans, and women were mostly in flowy dresses. And Y/n was one of them – wearing a one piece long-maxi dress. Its sleeves came right till her elbow, the shoulders were puffed. It was plain black in colour and she had worn her platinum jewelry and white heels at the end. To match her Harry was wearing a shirt that faded from white on the top, to black at the bottom. Shedding leaves were patterned on the shirt, and he had styled it with a pair of retro-black jeans – tying the outfit together by wearing some black Converse that had white stripes on them.

She had french-twisted her bun, and Harry had his hair tousled to the side. They had left the house with Harry trying to seduce Y/n into a quickie, and Y/n sliding her hands on his chest, and leaning in to promise in his ear that she'd reward him if he'd be good for her at the party.

Both of them knew that she didn't need to tell him that – he knew his way around at any gathering. But, just out of habit, Y/n had radiated some dominance and almost called him a good boy. Which led to Harry's mind being in a frenzy all night.

They talked to people together, Harry's hand on her lower back as his thumb rubbed against her clothed-skin. As the time passed, Y/n had fled away from him and was chatting with other people while he was stuck in a group of men who he had no interest in talking with.

He was, at the end of the day, an introverted guy. Sure he walked on runways for the biggest of brands, for the millions of people to watch but he just couldn't shed down the shyness of his personality. And, y/n loved that.

He was an introvert, she was an extrovert so they balanced each other out perfectly. But a lot of the times she felt like she was leaving Harry out, abandoning him whenever they went out with many people. But Harry swore he wasn't bothered by it, well, most of the time he wasn't. But tonight wasn't like the most and he was very bothered by all of these people around him. He just wanted to be alone with his girlfriend, but he knew that she wouldn't want to leave this party due to the 'important' people that were here.

So, he excused himself out of the group chat and beelined his way to Y/n, who was clearly faking a laugh. "Hi," he mumbled as he kissed her jaw, his hand immediately sneaking around her waist. He needed to be touching her to stay calm or he would surely lose his mind by all of this overwhelmness.

"Hi," she genuinely smiled back at him, kissing his cheek in return. "Meet Harry, my boyfriend," she introduced him to the lady she was talking to. "Harry, this is Ms. Holly, an expert-tailor for Gucci," she said regarding the lady.

Holly extended her arm to shake hands with him. Harry dreaded having to touch anyone else, but out of politeness, he did. "Of course I know him!" She exclaimed and then added a brag, "the world renowned model – Harry Styles." She wasn't really exaggerating, it was true – still a blush creeped up Harry's neck as he mumbled a small 'thank you'. She turned her head at the call of her name and muttered, "it was very nice to meet you guys," with a wide smile before walking away.

Harry, on the other hand, was getting impatient. He did not want to be near anyone else but Y/n right now. "How long is it going to take?" Was the first thing Harry asked her, moving closer to her so that their bodies were touching.

"I think we'll be having dinner soon, and should leave after that. Why?" She asked him, wrapping her hand around his bicep. "Is something wrong?" She continued when his eyes flicked away from hers.

"No, everything's fine. Just wanna go home," he muttered lowly, suddenly remembering that there were people around who had caused him to straighten his back.

Y/n understood just then that he wasn't feeling it tonight. She knew it could be hard to socialize sometimes, especially as an introvert. And, over time she had realized that Harry wasn't quick to voice his discomfort in public until he was feeling too overwhelmed.

"Okay, let's just bid our goodbyes quickly," she said, kissing his temple.

Then Harry's eyes went wide. "W-what?" He stuttered. "I can wait a little longer, I know this is important for you," he assured her.

"Well, it isn't really important for me, per se. After all, this was hosted for the new employees, and I know most of these people," she said with a slight roll of her eyes.

Harry knew that if this really was important, Y/n wouldn't be this dismissive about it and ready to leave. And, while the host was a good friend of theirs and would understand, Harry still wanted to respect her and well, it was only a matter of time now.

He'll just spend it listening to people chat and laughing every once in a while. "Its only going be a little more. We've stayed for so long, might as well stay till the end," Harry shrugged.

"Are you sure? Because I'm ready to go home," Y/n told him, feeling a little unsure when he replied with a 'yes'. "Okay, but tell me when you want to leave, yeah?"

"Mhm," he hummed, pecking her lips before putting on a wide grin on seeing a couple approaching them. He knew that if he were to behave good right now, he'll be rewarded for it at the end of the night, in his bedroom that he shared with Y/n.

He brushed his uneasiness under the rug right then and there, and decided that if he's going to stay for longer, he might as well make it fun.

That's when all the sneaky touches and grazes started. Brushing up against her bum, or kissing her jaw, or spreading his legs when he sat in front of her. He knew that she was catching up with him, and he loved seeing her ignore his antics and interact professionally with the people who thought licking her ass would get them somewhere.

"Don't make me take you home, Harry," she leaned in to whisper in his ear, smiling at him later to make sure that the people around didn't think they were having any issues.

It was a warning, but Harry was suddenly feeling way too confident. He proceeded to tease her throughout the night. When it did come down to dinner, he was hoping he would get her alone but Y/n invited a couple over and decided to mingle with them instead. Now, she was doing it intentionally.

If he was going to act like a brat, then he was going to be treated like one.

He kept brushing his thigh against her, kept slipping his hand way too low on her back and even kept a hand on the inside of her thigh as they chatted and ate desert.

At the end of the night, Y/n made sure to stay as long as she could. She knew it'd frustrate Harry, but that's what he gets for acting up. "Please, need you," he whispered defeatedly in her ear, again moving closer to her in a manner that their sides touched. The rebelliousness in him was gone once he wasn't in the spotlight anymore.

A smirk pulled up on her lips, as a woman walked away from her and towards the car her husband was sitting in. "Yeah, what do you need, baby? She asked him, just filling up time knowing that he wasn't going to be 'rewarded'.

"Anything. Anything from you, I promise I'll be good," he cried silently, his hold on her hand tight as they walked to their car.

"What good will be being good now? You've been nothing but a brat for most of the night," Y/n said as a matter of fact, sitting in the driver's seat of the car as Harry slipped in the passenger side, feeling dominated and fuzzy.

"But I was also good! I waited for the night to be over, and I socialized! I was good!" Harry shifted in his seat to partially face her and insisted. "I behaved well!" Frowning, he said, feeling like he was being injusticed.

Y/n shrugged again, and Harry was feeling more and more agitated. "Who are you trying to convince, baby?" She asked, looking straight ahead at the road.

"I- but I was good!" Harry whined this time, wanting some sort of acknowledgement for his good behaviour.

"Oh? So was it me who sat with my legs spread when people were watching? Or was I brushing up against you as you talked to some people who were ecstatic to be in the same room as you? Ok, wait up – was it me who had my hand on your thigh as you sat with your new colleague on a dinner table. Well, it surely was me who's hand was slipping lower and lower down your back, wasn't it?" Y/n looked away from him once she was finished, a victorious smirk on her face as finally Harry had nothing to say.

She heard him sigh and saw from the corner of her eyes as he shifted again and sat straight this time, peeping out of the window. Just because she didn't want to push him too far, she placed her hand on his thigh, rubbing her thumb against it as they drove without any more talking, with music playing on medium volume.

Harry never once looked at her again but Y/n wasn't fazed by it. She had seen him like this before, and she wasn't going to melt at this little drama and not punish him. He was going to get what he deserved, whether good or bad.

Harry felt she was being unfair – he deserved something after that long night. Yes, he didn't behave well for the whole of night, but what about the parts when he was a good boy?

Once they reached the garage, she shifted her hand from his thigh and placed it behind his seat as she backed inside once the automatic doors opened. She didn't miss the way his head turned so quickly at the loss of her touch.

"C'mon, I can't wait to get to bed." Y/n said as she got out of the car and in that moment, Harry's stomach dropped.

He trailed behind her, feeling low because she just denied touching him but somewhere inside him, something told him that it wasn't going to be this easy. He watched the sway of her bum as she climbed the stairs ahead of him, feeling painfully hard in his pants. He was sure he had a wet patch on his underwear by now.

He sat on the bed after changing and saw as Y/n paced around the room, removing her jewelry and make up or taking down her hair and changing her clothes or putting her purse away. And, Harry's pretty sure this is the longest it has ever taken Y/n to unwind.

When finally she came to the bed, Harry couldn't help but curl around her like a little puppy. He layed his head in her lap as she went through some of her mails, making circles on her thigh with his index finger.

Y/n faked a yawn above him and made sure he realized that she had put her phone away. And just when he did, he sat up straight, looking at her with pleading eyes. "Please, mommy," he whispered, his eyes glossing over. "Need you."

That's when she knew it was go time.

"Why don't you use my thigh, baby? I'm too tired tonight to give you anything more," she said as she slipped down the bed, raising her thigh up a little.

Harry only nodded frantically, getting up on his knees to unbutton his sweats. "Keep them on, don't want the bed to get dirty," he heard her say and her slight coldness was starting to get to him as he felt more and more sensitive by each second.

"Y-yes mommy," he said before putting one of his knees on the other side of her thigh, and lowering on it. The moment he felt slight pressure on his dick, he let out a whiny noise as he built a pace, going back and forth on her thigh. His head was thrown back and somewhere, he was waiting for Y/n's hands. Anywhere, he just wanted her to touch him.

But when he opened his eyes, he saw that she had picked her phone up again felt pathetic to still be grinding. But he couldn't stop himself, not when he felt so sensitive and felt like comming already. So, he used his own hands to pinch his nipples and travel on his abdomen and neck – they weren't as soft as hers but felt good nevertheless.

"Oh fuck," he breathed as his body felt hotter and his pace of rubbing increased and then broke. It was hard to keep it the same when he felt pleasure getting more intense and he kept on touching his body.

"Stop."

His hips stuttered once, but they didn't stop. "Hm- w-what?" He asked, still going.

"I said, stop. Won't say it again," Y/n said from below him, her voice stern and her phone gone.

Harry stopped, but his hips were still twitching every other second. He looked down when her hands held his hips in place, and met her furious eyes. He got off of her when she lowered her leg and watched in despair when she got off the bed.

She moved to braid her hair in front of the mirror and Harry felt like he was going to lose it. "I need to come, please. I'll do anything," Harry begged, his eyes glazed over and mind fuzzy. He was aching so badly, he just needed to release.

Y/n walked back to the bed, and offered him her hand to help him get off the bed. Her brows were raised at the corners, and her eyes had fallen into angry slits.

Harry met the floor on wobbly legs, and kept holding her hand as she took the two of them to the bathroom. He wasn't even confused, he just wanted to come.

"I'm going to punish you in front of the mirror, so you can see just how bratty and pathetic you are." Her tone was firm and slightly disapproving, as she switched on the lights.

Harry was pulsing by now, sure that he was going to burst if she even brushed against his body. "Sit." She commanded him and he slid atop the counter which had a mirror in front of it. Right now, his back was faced the mirror. "Back on that wall," Y/n ordered him again, tapping her foot impatiently as she watched him dumbly figure out the obvious position.

"Took my dumb baby too long to just sit?" She teased him, lowering her head to look at him when he looked down. "Why so shy now?" She cooed at him, raising his chin by her thumb and index finger.

"Please," he whispered again, looking at her with doe eyes and wobbly lips.

Y/n only hummed in response, brushing away the waves that had fallen and stuck on this forehead. "Begging is a good look for you," she told him, a small smile on her face as she wiped the sweat off of his skin and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips.

"I'll give you one more chance to be a good boy," she said and watched his eyes light up. "Spread your legs for me."

And Harry did, very eagerly so. He turned to look at himself in the mirror on her command and saw 'just how pathetic he looked'. His cock sat on his tummy, achingly hard – its tip an angry red and beads of precum leaking from its slit.

"See, what a mess you are and I haven't even touched you once," she bragged with a proud smirk. "Looking so fucked out already," she teased, chuckling when his cheeks turned red.

"You wanted to come, right? Think you've earned it?" She asked him, her hands behind her back. She scoffed at his silence, "sure you did."

Bending towards him, she placed her hands on his thighs. "So, you will come." She said as if she had it planned all along. And before Harry could do or feel anything else, she was spitting in her hand. "Colour?" She asked, and held his cock when he mumbled "green." She gave him a few strokes before leaning further in to press a kiss right on his slit.

He hissed at the feeling, and already started bucking into her hands. "Sit still or I will stop," he heard her say and placed his bum down again, feeling overwhelmed will all the pleasure. He felt so sensitive down there, that he was ready to come already.

Y/n wrapped her mouth around his cock, and started sucking on it. She didn't go all the way down, instead pumped the length that wasn't in the mouth, with her hand. The precum kept leaking in her mouth and she kept spurting little bits of it out, watching as it slid down his girth. She was having fun, watching as he ached to move but was wise enough to not fuck up his one chance of getting a release.

She felt his thighs start to shake and his veins grow more prominent under her hold, and knew he was going to cum.

"Fuck, fuck- m-mommy, gonna cum-" he stuttered. So she sucked just a bit harder, swept a kitten lick once more on his slit and he was shooting ropes of white cum in her mouth. And, when she backed away just after a few, some of the cum went on her chin and the rest went on her hand.

Tera were slipping down Harry's cheeks as he quivered. He felt way too sensitive now but he also felt as he was electrified. Ecstasy and bliss flowed in his body at the release and he felt like he could come again just by reminiscing on the pleasure he was feeling.

But he felt too sensitive so when he opened his eyes, and saw Y/n wipe the cum off her chin and hold it out for him to lick, he did and had her finger come out clean.

"Such a good little pup, aren't you?" She praised him, wiping the tears away. A little pout formed on her lips, "came so fast – barely even touched you," she said and Harry knew the pout was to mock him.

She moved away and wiped some sweat off of her own forehead. "Think I want a taste one more time, do you think you can give it to me?"

"Too sens-sensitive, mommy," Harry whispered.

"But you wanted to come baby – you thought you'd earned it!" Y/n claimed, looking at him with a surprised expression. "I think you should come once more, after all, you were so good for me all night," she shrugged with a chuckle.

Harry felt mocked and taunted and as much as he wanted to be offended, he didn't feel so. Instead, he felt blood rush to his dick yet the tip was so sensitive that the slight breath of Y/n was making him wince.

"Gonna be your g-good boy, mommy," Harry choked out.

"Cry all you want, baby– I'm starting to think you're quite enjoying this," Y/n said with her gaze settled on Harry's hard on. "Such a brat," she teased him, looking at his flushed face.

Y/n leaned in again, this time she was kneeled on the floor as she took him in all the way. His tip went a little past the back of her throat and she gagged, before pulling him out completely.

She wiped the saliva off her chin by the back of her hand as she looked up at the way he had thrown his head back. "Don't close your eyes, baby. Look at me," she calmly ordered him.

Still looking up at him, she took his cock in her mouth again. Now, she going all the way in with every bob of her head. Saliva mixed with his precum trickled down her chin and on the marble floor as gagging and gurgling sounds filled the bathroom.

She still hadn't looked away, her eyes had glossed over and Harry felt the knot in his belly moving lower and lower. God, she was being so messy he felt like bursting at the seams.

She backed off for a minute to breath. "What was that?" She asked him when she saw his mouth move. "Can't hear you over all the noise you're making, baby," she said, taunting him again.

"So- so good mommy," Harry heaved, his lips bitten and face looking as if it was sprayed with water.

"Aw, you're out of breath! Was that too fast baby?" She laughed, getting up on her knees again. The floor below her was a bit slippery now because of her sweat and the mess she had made. She smiled when Harry chuckled and shook his head lightly before she took him in her mouth again.

She sucked on his sensitive tip for a bit before taking him in, inch by inch with each bob of her head.

"Jusus- fuck I'm gonna come again," she heard Harry groan, and increased her pace. She reached his base, the baby hair tickling her nose as she stayed like that before backing off. She took a huge breath in before going all the way down again.

The tip of his cock hit the back of her throat again and again, and the gurgling sounds were back. Her hand crawled up his chest before she started pinching and twisting his nipple, while her other hand played with his tight balls.

"O-oh mommy! I'm cumming, I'm cum-cumming," Harry shrieked, heaving heavily and shaking before he felt himself start to release in her mouth.

Y/n though wasn't stopping which caused the cum to dribble down her chin along with her saliva. The floor below her was covered in the mess she had made and when she finally took her mouth off of him, she had completely milked him out and immediately sat back on the floor.

"Fuck, that was good," she chuckled, breathing heavily. Some of the hair strands had fallen out of her braid, and framed her face while the white t-shirt she had been wearing was drenched in sweat and her saliva, making her boobs quite visible. "Another one, baby? Think you deserve one more?" She laughed.

Harry remained limp atop the counter, heaving with his eyes closed and a small grin on his mouth. His hair was sticking on his forehead again and lips were bitten into a sharp pink colour. "Can never earn that mouth of yours," he laughed dryly, shaking his head with all his might.

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abbies-rescuebot-stuff · 5 months

Text

uh oh, info dump time

info about the bots in my universe

ive done a bit of rearranging with when certain things happen, mostly in rba, so just keep that in mind.

there's some info about robot parenthood at the bottom, so you may wanna give that a read first otherwise you be a little confused by some of the terms i use.

i'll probably come back to this from time to time, so keep an eye on it. ;) you never know who else might join the party.

Main Four

Heatwave Pronouns- He/Him

Earth Age(s)- 27 (RB S1, 2012) 31 (RB S4, 2016) 33 (RBA S1, 2018) 35 (Post RBA S2, 2020) 42 (2027) 45 (2030) 49 (2034)

Status- Living

Personality Overview- Heatwave was born into a world of passion, fueled by his carrier's desire for greatness. He took a lot after her, especially temper. However, the older he got, the more he mellowed out. He's a very proud and stubborn bot, which often rubs off on others. His role as leader has inspired others to better themselves. Bits and pieces of his fiery attitude can be seen in his children, especially his oldest, Firefly.

Occupation- Rescue Bot (firefighter) Academy professor

Immediate Family- "The Bull" (sire) Wildfire (carrier) Possibly numerous half-siblings Blades (conjunx, carrier of children) Firefly (oldest child) Torch (youngest son)

Other relatives- Sabre (ex-amanti, separated on good terms) Quickshadow (older sister-like figure) Cody (younger brother-like figure)

Chase Pronouns- He/Him

Earth age(s)- 26 (RB S1, 2012) 30 (RB S4, 2016) 32 (RBA S1, 2018) 34 (Post RBA S2, 2020) 41 (2027) 44 (2030) 48 (2034)

Personality Overview- What comes off as cold and uncaring is really just the way Chase was raised and how he shield's himself from past trauma. His analytical nature has served him well in avoiding social situations that may not benefit him. Why waste his time on something if it has nothing to do with his current task? Slowly but surely though, his walls have come down, and his bottled up emotions pouring out, allowing him to truly heal and live without fear. At the end of the day, he loves curling up with a good book, especially if it's of the crime fiction variety.

Status- Living

Occupation- Rescue Bot (police/law enforcement) Academy professor

Immediate Family- Patron/Pata (patron, real name unknown) Cruise Control (matron) Unborn sparks (siblings, failed to thrive) Unborn spark (miscarriage with Pierce) Boulder (conjunx, sire of children) Wedge (oldest adoptive child) Boomer (youngest son)

Other relatives- Sabre (maternal cousin) Pierce (ex-amanti) Blades Pronouns- He/She

Earth Age(s)- 25 (RB S1, 2012) 29 (RB S4, 2016) 31 (RBA S1, 2018) 33 (Post RBA S2, 2020) 40 (2027) 43 (2030) 47 (2034)

Personality Overview- If you ever want to hear the latest gossip around town, Blades is your bot. Binging reality TV shows brings her much joy, a passion she shares with her oldest child, Firefly, who will vehemently deny liking such things. This plucky little helibot is all about staying active and healthy while also, much to their behest, often dragging his family into doing the latest and greatest exercise regimes. She does love lazing around like a couch potato occasionally though.

Status- Living

Occupation- Rescue Bot (paramedic) Academy professor

Immediate Family- Unknown creators Heatwave (conjunx, sire of children) Firefly (oldest child) Torch (youngest son)

Other Relatives- Unknown

Boulder Pronouns- He/Him

Earth Age(s)- 24 (SB S1, 2012) 28 (RB S4, 2016) 30 (RBA S1, 2018) 32 (Post RBA S2, 2020) 39 (2027) 42 (2030) 46 (2034)

Personality Overview- A lovable teddy bear who just wishes everyone would get along. Don't take his kindness and wishes for naivety though. While he may not have had a happy beginning, he uses his experience to better the lives of others and has played a vital role in the healing of his conjunx, adoptive child, and even himself. His day isn't complete until he's made his family smile, even the tiniest. He has a special interest in botany and ornithology, finding joy in pastimes relating to his passions.

Status- Living

Occupation- Rescue Bot (engineer) Academy professor

Immediate Family- Unknown creators Glory (adoptive matron/carrier, academy sponsor) Chase (conjunx, carrier of children) Wedge (oldest adoptive child) Boomer (youngest son)

Other Relatives- Unknown

Offspring

Wedge Pronouns- He/They

Earth Age(s)- 13 (RBA S1, 2018) 14 (RBA S2, 2019) 15 (Post RBA S2, 2020) 22 (2027) 25 (2030) 29 (2034)

Personality Overview- Since his brother was born, Wedge has strived to be the best role model for him. They still often struggle with when Pierce came to the academy, but nothing a big hug from his family can't fix and take his mind off of it...only if for a little while. Sometimes though they need a little extra helping hand from someone who isn't family to ease his nerves. To this day, he still owns a few decks of Heroes of Cybertron cards, and no, he will never get rid of them.

Status- Living

Occupation- Rescue Bot (construction)

Immediate Family- Pierce (patron/sire) Unborn sparks (tube brood, failed to thrive) Boulder (adoptive sire) Chase (adoptive carrier) Boomer (adoptive younger brother)

Other Relatives- Patron/Pata (maternal grandpatron) Cruise Control (maternal grandmatron) Glory (adoptive grandmatron) Scorch (on-again/off-again amanti)

Boomer Pronouns- He/Him

Earth Age(s)- 0 (2020) 7 (2027) 10 (2030) 14 (2034)

Personality Overview- Boomer inherited his love for nature from his sire, but also takes care to understand the balance and laws it enacts on the world. Using his knowledge, he applies what he's learned from his experience and what his creators have taught him into his lessons at the academy. He's a fan of Hawaiian shirts and Jurassic Park and also has a love for reptiles and insects. He has a stuffed albino ball python named Philomena who he sleeps with every night.

Status- Living

Occupation- Academy student

Immediate Family- Boulder (sire) Chase (carrier) Wedge (adoptive older brother)

Other relatives- Patron/Pata (maternal grandpatron) Cruise Control (maternal grandmatron) Glory (adoptive grandmatron)

Voice Claim- Paul Mikel-Williams

Firefly Pronouns- She/Her

Earth Age(s)- 0 (2020) 7 (2027) 10 (2030) 14 (2034)

Personality Overview- Basically if Heatwave's genes Ctrl-C and Ctrl-V'd themselves. Firefly has a bit of her carrier in her too though. She can be very excitable and optimistic about things, while on the other hand, dark humor is her favorite kind. She’s the kind of kid that would hang out in a cemetery all night for fun and to prove that "c'mon guys, it's not that scary!" She enjoys hanging out with her best friend, Boomer, and loves her little brother, Torch, conditionally.

Status- Living

Occupation- Academy student

Immediate Family- Heatwave (sire) Blades (carrier) Torch (younger brother)

Other relatives- "The Bull" (paternal grandsire) Wildfire (paternal grandcarrier)

Voice Claim- Kiersten Kelly

Torch Pronouns- He/Him

Earth Age(s)- 0 (2027) 3 (2030) 7 (2034)

Personality Overview- Is either a complete genius or dumber than a bag of rocks. There is no in between. One may often find him in the middle of the night staring at his creators as they slumber, wanting...something. What does he want? He doesn't know, but he knows he wants it and he wants it now.

Status- Living

Occupation- None/student

Immediate Family- Heatwave (sire) Blades (carrier) Firefly (older sister)

Other Relatives- "The Bull" (paternal grandsire) Wildfire (paternal grandcarrier)

voice claim- AJ Kane

Other Bots

Quickshadow Pronouns- She/Her

Earth Age(s)- 20s (pre/current-war) 31 (RB S4, 2016) 35 (RBA S1, 2018) 51 (Post RBA, 2034)

Personality Overview- Snarky but well-meaning, if going about it the wrong way. Per "uncover secret agent" mumbo-jumbo, she's closed herself off from most relationships. That's not to say, she's got skeletons in her closet.

Status- Alive

Occupation- Agent (pre/post-war) Rescue Bot (post-war, current)

Immediate Family- Unknown creators

Other Relatives- Sabre (paternal cousin) Heatwave (younger brother-like figure)

Sabre Pronouns- He/They

Earth Age(s)- 20s (pre/current-war) 33 (post-war, RBA S1, 2018) 34 (at time of Frostbite's emergence, RBA S2, 2019) 35 (post-RBA S2, 2020) 43 (at time of Icicle's emergence, 2028) 49 (2034)

Personality Overview- Sabre was bit of a party animal in his early years. After his first couple of years at the academy, he straightened out quickly while still maintaining a fun attitude and generally being a well-respected, strong leader. He was once on the same team as Heatwave, being his second in command, and was his amanti, but the two amicably split after Sabre left the team to lead his own squadron of first responders. It was through him that Heatwave met Chase and Blades (separately), ultimately leading to the re/formation of the Sigma-17 first responder team. It's also through Sabre that the Academy on Earth receives new recruits.

Status- Alive

Occupation- Rescue Bot (pre-war, inactive) Dean/Principal of Academy on Cybertron (current)

Immediate Family- Unknown creators Snowraith (conjunx, sire of children) Frostbite (oldest son) Icicle (youngest daughter)

Other Relatives- Chase (maternal cousin) Quickshadow (paternal cousin) Heatwave (ex-amanti, separated on good terms)

Voice Claim- Alastair James

Pierce Pronouns- He/Him

Earth Age(s)- 20s (as a Rescue Bot) Early-30s (as a Decepticon, at time of Wedge's emergence) 36 (since last seeing him, post-RBA S2, 2019)

Personality Overview- Cocky, flirtatious, and has a need to control everything and everyone. He can't stand the idea of something not going his way, especially when it comes to relationships. He will do or say whatever he needs to for everything to be in his favor. That's why when innocent, naïve little Chase came into his clutches, he dare not let go.

Status- Living (incarcerated)

Occupation- Rescue Bot (unknown, possibly construction) Decepticon (unknown rank/occupation) None (incarcerated)

Immediate family- Unknown (low-born) Unborn sparks (offspring, failed to thrive) Unborn spark (miscarriage with Chase) Wedge (offspring/son)

Other Relatives- Chase (ex-amanti)

Voice Claim- Eric Dane

"The Bull" (real name unknown) Pronouns- He/Him

Earth Age(s)- 30s (at time of Heatwave's conception/emergence) 40s (since seeing him last) Unknown

Personality Overview- Not much is known about Heatwave's sire, not even where his nickname came from, other than he was battle-hardened and ready to fight at the drop of a hat. Years of being a successful combatant in the gladiator pits has led him feeling little to no emotion towards others. Every bot has needs though...just ask all of his previous partners.

Status- Unknown (most likely deceased)

Occupation- Gladiator (at time of Heatwave's conception/emergence) Unknown

Immediate Family- Possibly numerous partners Wildfire (one-time fling, carrier of child) Heatwave (son) Possibly numerous offspring

Other Relatives- Unknown

Voice Claim- ———

Wildfire Pronouns- She/Her

Earth Age(s)- 20s (height of her career) 30s (at time of Heatwave's conception/emergence) Unknown

Personality Overview- She's didn't take no scrap from no one. If she didn't like someone, she would let them know. She was prideful, but didn't care to boast. Everyone already knew she was the best. If you ever wondered where Heatwave got his fiery spirit from, all fingers would be pointed in her direction.

Status- Unknown (most likely deceased)

Occupation- Gladiator (before retiring due to injury) Arena Battle-Matron/Sponsor (before Heatwave's emergence) Lobbing coach Unknown

Immediate Family- "The Bull" (one-time fling, sire of child) Heatwave (son)

Other Relatives- Unknown

Voice Claim- Nicki Rapp

Chase's Patron/Pata (real name unknown) Pronouns- He/Him

Earth Age(s)- 30s (at time of Chase's conception/emergence) 40s (since seeing him last) Unknown

Personality Overview- Keeps to himself, not very sociable. He was a good provider according to Chase, but didn't interact with him all that much. When Cruise passed away though, Chase's patron started reaching out to him. They had started to build up a good relationship with each other until the fateful day Chase never returned home.

Status- Unknown (most likely deceased)

Occupation- Unknown (some sort of law enforcement)

Immediate Family- Unknown creators (high-class bots) Cruise Control (conjunx, arranged, matron of child) Chase (sole offspring) Unborn sparks (offspring, failed to thrive)

Other Relatives- Wedge (adoptive grandchild) Boomer (grandson)

Voice Claim- Jeremy Sisto

Cruise Control Pronouns- They/Them

Earth Age(s)- 30s (at time of Chase's conception/emergence) 40s (at death)

Personality Overview- Gentle, soft-spoken, firm but fair. They would often sing to Chase to sleep when he first emerged. They just wanted the best for Chase. They're remembered fondly by Chase, especially after Boomer is born.

Status- Deceased

Occupation- Rescue Bot (law enforcement, retired) Stay at home matron (until death)

Immediate Family- Unnamed creators (upper-class bots) Unnamed spark-siblings Chase's Patron/Pata (conjunx, arranged, patron of child) Chase (sole offspring) Unborn sparks (offspring, failed to thrive)

Other relatives- Wedge (adoptive grandchild) Boomer (grandson)

Voice Claim- E.R. Fightmaster

Glory Pronouns- She/Her

Earth Age(s)- 40s (first time meeting Boulder, at time of his enrollment as a rescue bot recruit) 50s (at time of Boulder's promotion to full-time rescue bot, since seeing her last)

Personality Overview- Sweet as sugar, and the most patient bot you'll ever meet. She's the kind of bot that would call you "baby/honey" unironically and is basically a saint. She would have loved Earth and all of its beauty.

Status- Unknown (most likely deceased)

Occupation- Foster matron Sponsor Caregiver

Immediate Family- Unknown Boulder (ward, adoptive son)

Other relatives- Wedge (adoptive grandchild) Boomer (adoptive grandson)

Voice Claim- Natasha Rothwell

What is a matron/patron and why aren't they the same as a carrier/sire? A matron/patron, or matriarch/patriarch, is a bot who has offspring, (sparkling's, bitlet's, sparklet's, etc.), that have been produced via alternative means versus the common, low-class methods (interfacing). If one wanted sparkling's and were lucky enough to be well off financially, they may invest in this different kind of conception. Since these bots did not technically sire/carry the sparkling, they are simply known as a matron/patron. They may choose to be called by either/any name if they so wish. Many middle to upper-class families may choose this form of procreation for religious beliefs, personal preference, or peer pressure.

A matron/patron may also only procreate as a means of status, having as many as they can afford to create and marrying them off to other mid/upper-class families.

How does it work? With either one or two creators, pieces of their DNA are put into a tiny protoform, creating new life. From there, it's up to the creator(s) if they wish to raise the newspark as a normal sparkling or if they wish to accelerate its growth. Accelerating its growth process skips over any undesirable steps a carrier would normally have to go through, such as enduring symptoms of carrying the unborn spark, emergence pains, and so on. The newspark will grow until they have reached an age where they can be independent but still malleable. In earth terms, these newsparks would be around the age of nine years old, equaling to nine months, the normal growth cycle for a human fetus.

How can these terms best be used? Middle to upper-class bots prefer matron/patron to less informal names or no name at all. If produced through methods like interfacing, offspring will refer to their creators as mata/pata until they've outgrown the terms. Sparkling's born on alien planets may be more inclined to refer to their creators by names from the native dialect of the world though. An example of this would be a bitlet referring to their creator(s) as mama/papa, regardless of whether they are masculine or feminine-presenting.

What if a bot identifies as [pronouns here]? It really is personal preference. If a sparkling has a femme (she/her) sire and/or a mech (he/him) carrier, matron/mata and patron/pata can be interchanged. Patron/Matron are more so meant to be gender-neutral and not adhere to specific gender roles, just what their coding dictates and/or the preference of the parent(s).

TLDR; just a buncha mumbo-jumbo about giant alien robots and their mommies and daddies. 👍

bonus family tree pic of the main four's families. quickshadow and sabre not included bc ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

"the bull" and chase's patron are to the left of their partners, while wildfire and cruise and to the right. glory is by herself.

#rescue bots #transformers rescue bots #transformers #tfrb #rescue bots oc #tfrb heatwave #tfrb blades #tfrb chase #tfrb boulder #rba wedge #tfrb quickshadow

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