#so I figured I'd embrace it before other people get to it

[meaningofaeons]

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ emotionally unavailable p.2

⊹ character(s) - gepard landau, jing yuan, sampo koski ⊹ word count - 5.6k ⊹ notes - gn!reader (gepard, sampo), fem!reader (jing yuan, reader is referred to as 'lady'), emotionally constipated/stoic reader (but you're warming up a bit ;), confessions, fluff, love, mushy stuff! ⊹ part 1 here!

sorry this took so long !! (=´ᆺ｀=) really thought I'd have it out sooner, but I wanted to make sure it was planned and edited this time. hope you all like! and please do point out any mistakes, I know sometimes I mix up the gn pronouns with she/her so lemme know if there's any of that （ฅ＾・ﻌ・＾）ฅ

⊹ Gepard Landau

Ever since you and Gepard spoke that day, Serval had been seeing more of you around the workshop.

Rather than lounging as per your nick-namesake, however, you were frequently speaking with Gepard when he was around.

That, or you were at her desk asking when he'd be around.

It was a far cry from your former indifference for sure.

Sure, you weren't overly enthused or anything at the prospect of seeing him, but...

Serval could definitely see the gleam in your eye when you questioned about her brother.

You weren't alone in your affection, either.

The eldest Landau hadn't failed to notice the consistently at which Gepard asked about you, too.

Even though there were reports of Fragmentum corrosion being on the rise and more monsters to keep at bay, things that usually stressed the Captain out, he was in shockingly high spirits

It seems your presence was beneficial to his stress and mood.

Over time, you mellowed out a bit from your usual stoicism as well

You were more inclined to joke and be more open with Serval and Gepard both, though you still retained a bit of your standoffish nature.

This didn't mean you magically became an extrovert—Aeons knows you still treated other people just as coldly.

But to the Landaus at least, things were turning up.

You weren't running into their arms with warm salutations ready for an embrace, but at the very least, you spoke more.

Not to mention, you'd taken on a new hobby—teasing poor Gepard.

It wasn't really your fault, in your defense. He was just too easy, and his blushing cheeks were admittedly cute amusing to see.

Gepard, in spite of your embarrassing new pastime, would often count the hours, minutes, down to the seconds until he could head to the workshop and see if you were around

On the days you weren't (increasingly rare nowadays), it was quite obvious how he'd deflate. But he'd still wait around a little while longer for you

And when you were there? He'd light up immediately.

It's as if you could see the tail wagging behind him—he's like a giant golden retriever.

Eventually, it got to the point where he figured it was about time he confessed how he actually felt about you.

Serval, of course, encouraged and offered to wing-woman for him as she had done before, but he adamantly refused

As much as Gepard appreciated his sister, he wanted to do this himself.

He would find himself practicing singing, drawing, anything artistic he could do to show his affections for you.

It was an earnest, honest-to-good effort, but let's be honest—he's not the best at most artistic pursuits.

Eventually, he settled for a poem (the farthest he could get artistically without completely flubbing it) and a bouquet of the flowers that brought you two together in the first place—Ball Peonies.

He put it off for a few days out of nervousness.

Okay, no, a few weeks. Let's not kid ourselves, he had to buy a few bouquets since they kept withering (thankfully, that Silvermane Guard Captain salary is good!)

Finally, the day came.

Gepard shifted from one foot to the other, a habit of his when anxious. In battle, one always had to be on their toes. Though the matter ahead of him was far from a fight to the death on the front lines, it was a struggle nonetheless.

The brain's fight-or-flight response unfortunately didn't care to discriminate between a war with monsters and a nerve-wracking confession.

Maybe you weren't coming today.

No, no. Serval mentioned you had to swing by. You had an appliance giving you trouble, and she'd fixed it up and prepared it for delivery today.

His sister provided this opportunity for him. He couldn't back down!

However, as soon as sky blue eyes spotted your approaching figure, Gepard had to physically grab hold of his own arm to ground himself and prevent himself from running away.

He settled his anxiety as much as he could by hiding the flowers behind his back instead.

"Gepard?"

No going back now! You'd seen him!

His brain was in overdrive, and he found himself fending off trembles, face already going red. Aeons, he hadn't even gotten a single word out yet!

"That's me."

Okay, good, he'd gotten the first words out no problem.

"I thought you had patrol today. It's good to see you."

"G-Good to see you too!"

And there it was. A stutter, followed by a voice crack on the last word. The poor blonde man could've easily sank into a hole and withered away at that moment, but you only raised a brow, oblivious to his internal misery.

"Well, are you coming inside? I need to pick something up, and then I'm off. Sorry I can't stick around, especially since you're off duty for once."

"Y-Yeah, I'm coming. And it's okay!"

Gepard was far too caught up in his own gut-wrenching anxiety to notice the way you had rushed through your normally-casual sentences. Though your tone was the same, the slightest, most imperceptible tremble flitted after your every word.

When you entered, Serval was nowhere to be seen. You assumed she was in the back, and thus went to pop in and check, but as you did that, said woman snuck past and headed for the door, mouthing at her brother.

'Don't! Back! Down! Now!'

He swallowed thickly as she vanished, ducking outside to hide and await Gepard's long-overdue confession to you.

"Hm. Doesn't seem she's here. Maybe an errand..."

"Y/N!"

You raised a brow, leaning on the counter. "I'm right here, Gepard. No need to shout."

"Right! Right... Um! I just wanted to... I just... Err..."

"You alright? You're burning up, and I haven't even prodded at your singing or drawing today."

Those words only made the flare-up of his cheeks worse.

"I'm fine!" His voice had only increased in volume, and you winced. Your eyes flitted to the clock, and you sighed, taking a deep, shaky inhale.

Shift starts in a few minutes. I can always get the heater later, but... this is now or never.

Before Gepard could continue his train of thought, you interrupted, pulling out a small tin canister and slid it towards him on the counter. His ramblings cut short, he could do little more than stare down at it, calming down amidst his confusion.

"...This is?"

"Well..." you trailed off, glancing away and crossing your arms. Though Gepard was sure your expression was the same, pensive and uninterested, you adamantly hid it from him. "I didn't really know what else to get you."

...Huh?

"I could've gone for flowers, sure, but I guess they didn't seem very appropriate for you. You'd have no use for them."

Oh, but he would place them in the nicest vase money could buy, and stare at them for hours on end every day, thinking about the fact that it was you who brought them to him. No use? What nonsense.

"Then I thought chocolates, or maybe some other sweet, but I didn't know if you liked that sort of thing. I'm sorry I never asked."

What did you have to be sorry for? He'd eat anything you offered up, even if it were burnt or poisoned. And he'd accept it with the biggest smile, content in the fact that you had carefully worked on it for him.

"So, well, this seemed the most practical. Armor polish... for you. Keep up that 'Captain of the Silvermane Guards'-grade armor, and everything..."

Were he any less trained as a soldier for battle, Gepard could've shed a tear. Closed off, stoic, standoffish, yet you still remained the most considerate person he'd ever met.

He took the canister in one hand delicately, as if it were the most precious thing he'd ever touched, and then glanced up at you. A million words of gratitude and devotion were ready to spill from his lips all at once, but his brain fizzed out and he could manage but one.

"Why?"

You sighed deeply, the grip you had on your arm tightening.

"...ike you."

"...Huh?"

"I..." your voice increased in octave, but it fizzled out again at the end. "...eally... you."

"Y/N—"

"I really like you. There." With how loud you projected the words, anyone would assume you were confident and calm with their delivery, but your voice again contained the slightest timbre of anxiety beneath it. Still, with those firm eyes, you turned to look at him, confessing the thing he had taken weeks to even consider bringing up.

Perhaps, though, it had taken you weeks as well.

Gepard was silent, stunned into complete rigidity at your words. You knew he could be awkward, but the reaction he held only furthered your uncertainty, and you eventually turned to leave, somewhat dejected.

Before you could take even one step, though, a gloved hand took your arm as gently as possible, and Gepard was red and sweltering as if he'd just ran a marathon in full uniform to catch you.

"Wait! Wait!"

"Gepard, it's fine if you don't—"

"No, no! I like you, too!" Your confidence gave the Captain the boost he needed to finally blurt out the words, shoving the Ball Peony bouquet towards you. "I swear! That's, um... That's why Serval had me come by today."

It was your turn to be shocked—so shocked, in fact, that you didn't even bother to curse Serval out for setting you up like this.

Still, as Gepard slid his hand down to clasp your own, you couldn't bring yourself to feel too much enmity towards her.

"Um... If it's okay, do you want to go to dinner tomorrow night, then...?"

You tried to hide your delight as best you could.

"...Tomorrow night sounds nice."

Gepard, however, could not hide his.

⊹ Jing Yuan

It only took that one night of trickery, that one moment of Jing Yuan catching you hook, line, and sinker, for a routine to develop.

The General immediately took advantage of your acceptance and took you to the nicest restaurant the Xianzhou Luofu had to offer (and the most expensive, of course, much to your dismay).

As promised, he got his paperwork done on time.

But it wasn't more than a few days before he began slipping again.

Napping around his office, playing chess with Yanqing instead of working...

As soon as you got on his case again, you could see in the way his brow quirked that his mind was quick at work to justify himself.

Then, a wry smile had appeared—one you were both begrudgingly fond of and vehemently annoyed by.

"Well, Lady Y/N, go out to dinner with me again tonight and I promise to have my work done."

And so developed an unlikely routine—as long as you went to dinner after working hours, Jing Yuan would have his paperwork complete.

Of course, there were a few times when he slipped.

But whenever this happened, you vanished from the Seat of Divine Foresight before he could even awaken, and he found that the absence of your presence was punishment enough.

So now, him skimping his work was a rare occurrence. Even Yanqing was surprised.

"General, you've been a lot... busier, lately."

"Only as busy as I'm meant to be, my boy."

Golden eyes were immensely suspicious, and those same eyes watched the General in your presence carefully.

"...It's Lady Y/N, isn't it?"

Jing Yuan choked.

Even still, you'd be lying if you said you weren't enjoying the routine as well.

It was a win on both counts—you get a nice, expensive meal, and Jing Yuan also stops skipping important work!

Surely, it wasn't also a win to spend more time with the General. Surely...

He was still as cheeky as ever, though, especially now that you'd caved to his whims and spent more time with him.

Sometimes, he'd try to pass you alcohol and convince you to drink with him.

Of course, this was with the sly intention of getting you to open up and drop that stoic façade.

It never really worked.

Either you refused, citing work, didn't get drunk enough to become loose-lipped...

Or, in one instance, actually drank the General of the Luofu himself under the table.

Needless to say, you never did that again. Not only did you gain nothing but a raging hangover, the people of the Luofu who were present in the bar wouldn't shut up about it for weeks.

The rumors were even more ridiculous!

Though, you did gain something to tease Jing Yuan about, for once.

Dinner eventually turned into dinner along with a small walk together afterwards.

It took a lot of convincing and taking on extra work for Jing Yuan to get you to agree to the latter.

It was nice, though. Not only were you out in the fresh air, but you were free of the somewhat guilty burden of having the General paying for all your meals out of pocket.

Still, one day... he seemed different.

"General—"

"Lady Y/N—"

You both paused mid-sentence, cutting each other off. However, it was you who ultimately remained silent, gesturing for the man to continue.

Jing Yuan seemed... uncharacteristically nervous today. Was nervous even the right word for it? Perhaps it was, seeing as how his one visible eye darted back and forth.

Strange.

He cleared his throat loudly, reaching out a hand.

"I was only going to ask if you were ready to head to our usual dinner arrangement. I've made reservations."

Well, that was even more strange.

"General, you've never asked me before. You've just dragged me along. Are you feeling well?"

Despite your concern, you still accepted his hand just as naturally as always, allowing him to move your hand into position so that you were holding onto his arm. The first time he'd done this, you had recoiled, embarrassed at the proximity, but now, it was just as routine as your near-nightly dinner dates.

Dates? Were they dates? You pushed the thought as far away from your head as you could to avoid any red flush potentially springing to your cheeks.

"Of course I'm well." Jing Yuan only chuckled mildly, not meeting your gaze. "Shall we be off?"

You eyed him, but nodded slowly. On the way to the reserved seats, you began cautiously.

"...If you slacked off on your work and are trying to hide it from me..."

Honey-gold eyes met yours with a slight measure of surprise, and before you knew it, the General was laughing. A low, rumbling, and comforting sound that emanated from deep within his chest. It caused the dam you held to keep your cheeks from going red to burst.

"W-What did I say?!"

"Nothing, my dear... Absolutely nothing," he chuckled, wiping an imaginary tear. As much as the sight irked you, it also caused you to breathe a small sigh of relief.

He didn't seem as anxious any more.

"I was just a bit surprised."

"Well, I wouldn't be..." you grumbled. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Jing Yuan's smile turned crooked. "Come, now. I think I've been doing rather well at holding up my end of the deal. How long has it been since I last shirked my duties?"

"One week."

Your unimpressed response had his laugh turn nervous, but not in the same way as before. He glanced away at your dagger-like stare, murmuring some sort of excuse before giving up at the squeeze you gave his arm.

"I would say I've been doing well overall, though."

You acquiesced with a sigh. "That you have, General. Better than before, at least."

"Well, that is high praise. Coming from my poker-faced Lady Y/N, I'd have thought it'd take ten decades of work to satisfy your standards and achieve a compliment such as that."

You only grumbled in response, eliciting another laugh from your General.

So caught up in the conversation were you that it took you being seated in a private room to realize where you were.

"...This is where you first took me."

"Correct," Jing Yuan smiled, a hint of unease in his features as he fiddled with something beneath the table. "I thought it'd be appropriate."

"For...?" you trailed off, trying to recall if there was anything special happening today. "Did I forget a holiday?"

"No, no. I'll tell you later, Lady Y/N."

"Very well, General," you sighed, making your choice and setting your menu down. Surprisingly, a comforting silence filled the air until the attendant came to collect both of your orders, and even after that. Minutes passed, and the silence was now... less comforting.

Something was definitely off. By now, the General would be talking your ear off about something—whether informing you about his latest trickery with his and Yanqing's games of chess or teasing you for your uptightness in the latest meeting, he'd have something to say.

But Jing Yuan just sat there, smiling down at his hands, still fiddling. You eventually had enough, clearing your throat.

"...So, are you going to tell me why today is significant for this restaurant?"

The man jumped—did he jump? Did the famous General Jing Yuan just jump over a mere question from his advisor?—and paused, clearing his throat again. You had noticed he was doing that quite a lot this evening.

"Well, I should get it out of the way, shouldn't I? No use dwelling on it any longer, haha..." Finally, he extracted the item he had been messing with, sliding a small velvet box across to your folded hands. "Here you go, Lady Y/N."

"And just what is this?" you eyed it, then raised a brow. A small trinket from one of his expeditions, perhaps? But you weren't much of a collector or anything...

"Just open it."

"Very well." You paused momentarily, but slowly pulled the box towards yourself, pushing up the little hinged lid. In an instant, your hands clapped it back shut, your face turning thousands of shades of red.

Jing Yuan, while still anxious, found himself chuckling as he fiddled with the hem of his sleeve.

"General," you whispered harshly. "Is this some kind of joke?!"

"Well, I'd hope not, considering that little trinket cost me a fair chunk of my prior paycheck."

"General Jing Yuan, I'm being serious!" You were sweating bullets, trying to reign in your flustered state. "Explain yourself!"

The man cleared his throat again, and finally began to lay out his reasoning.

"You see, Yanqing was just getting so terribly tired of hearing me talk about you. In his words, 'You need to do something about it before I go insane, General.'" Jing Yuan was rambling. "So I went to a local jeweler and tried to find something nice, but none of them quite suit you the way I wanted. Then, I figured I should commission something, and—"

His rambling speech had given you time to process just slightly, just enough to cut him off and pose your own question.

"Are you proposing to me?"

Jing Yuan coughed.

"Well, I figured since we'd been to dinner together so many times—"

"—as General and his advisor!—"

"—but if you'd like to start with the label of dating, I'm perfectly fine with slowing it down to that. We do have nothing but time, after all."

You were about to shout some more, say anything, but the sight of Jing Yuan's somewhat flushed cheeks had you reeling, stunned into silence.

He was serious.

The General glanced up at you through his bangs.

"You don't have to give me your answer right now. But I'd be delighted to see you at least try the ring." And oh, when he beseeched you with those pleading eyes, how could you even think to say no?

You hesitantly opened the box, unable to fathom what was happening. In your state, you hadn't noticed Jing Yuan move to your side, taking your hand gently in one hand and the ring in his other.

"Allow me."

Tenderly, carefully, Jing Yuan slid the ring onto you. It fit like a glove, and you couldn't even think to wonder how he got your ring size down to a T. He gazed into your eyes with such adoration that you felt your brain going to mush.

"...It's lovely," you stammered. The General smiled.

"You're lovely."

Surely, the situation was about to escalate into something more.

An embrace? Possibly... a kiss? Just as you felt the very distinct possibility of your eyes fluttering shut in anticipation, the door to your private dining hall was slid open.

"I have the orders for one General Jing Yuan and one Lady Y/N—"

The waitress stopped short, eyes wide at the proximity between you and the General. Then, her eyes fell to your hands, the ring—

"Wait—"

"Ma'am, it's not—"

"Please forgive me! I'll leave you be!"

Without giving either of you even a moment to explain, the now beet-faced woman dashed away, shocked out of her poor mind. You exhaled shakily, and then whipped your head around as Jing Yuan laughed boisterously.

"General! The rumors!"

"Oh, they always spread some rumor or another. It's happened since we first started this little routine, and it won't cease now. But if you aren't interested, I will always happily have them dispelled."

You huffed another sigh, glancing away.

"...Who said anything about me not being interested?"

It was Jing Yuan's turn to be stunned, but he recovered annoyingly quick, immediately wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him.

"Really now? Well, I'll take that as your acceptance of my proposal. I will be stuck to your side from here on out."

"I'm accepting the dating proposal, not marriage, General!"

"For now."

"General!"

⊹ Sampo Koski

The man who formerly avoided Natasha's clinic like the plague out of intense fear for Wildfire's motherly leader now found himself frequenting the joint more than the Fight Club.

Who would've guessed?

Well, you might've.

Ever since your run-in with the infamous Sampo Koski only a few weeks prior, it seems he'd made it his personal mission to only appear when you were working.

Of course, you only really worked night shifts, and Sampo was quite the night owl himself, but who's counting?

He still annoyed you to Hell and back.

The only edge you really had over him was when Natasha was in, helping you with the patients.

Sampo would stare at you from outside the window like a puppy left out in the rain—you could practically hear the whines and see the sad droop of metaphorical ears.

Natasha always knew he was by, and she'd always tease you about it, so in a way, you were both now avoiding her.

"Y/N... Your ol' buddy Sampo Koski got himself a booboo! Won't you fix me up?"

"Get lost."

"But it really hurts!"

"That's a flesh wound. Here's some ointment. Scram."

"Ouch! You're as cold as ever... Your words sting more than this egregious injury..."

A small, tiny voice inside your head was always thankful that he was never really as injured as he exaggerated, but he still found ways to negate even that tiny bit of mercy you held for him with his antics.

Usually, he'd just swing by to hop around you and ask for attention.

Really, he didn't want anything more than a few words from you or a few minutes of your time, but you didn't have much of either to spare with your work.

To catch your eye, he'd try to ham up his pain, but it never really worked.

A bandage there, an ointment there.

Sampo never failed to notice how you would always entertain those requests at least, giving him what he needed to care for himself.

Though he did long for your tender loving care again. Even if it meant being on the receiving end of your unimpressed stares.

Then, there was the time he asked for you to kiss his wound better.

That earned him a harsh clobbering to the head.

While you hated the distraction Sampo brought while you were actively trying to cure real patients, he wasn't all bad if he came at a good time.

Not that you'd ever admit it, though.

You'd given him enough ground with your little "For me" comment last time, and he'd never let you forget it as long as you lived.

When you were packing up your supplies and getting ready to trade shifts with Natasha, it was kind of... nice to see him around.

He'd bring you small doohickeys and trinkets from his latest scams expeditions, or talk your ear off about his adventures.

Scratch the dog analogy.

Sampo was more like a crow, squawking your ear off and delivering small, seemingly-insignificant, shiny treasures.

Somehow, his unending positivity and boisterous attitude was a nice contrast to the dreary place you were stuck in.

You were begrudgingly—with harsh emphasis on that word—becoming fond of Sampo Koski.

You weren't sure if this was a good thing.

"Y/N!"

You heaved a sigh, stretching out your weary limbs as Sampo came barreling into the clinic, thankfully uninjured. You kind of wanted to hit yourself for thinking of that first, rather than how obnoxiously loud he was being, but you digressed.

It seemed as though ever since your little run-in with him while he was badly wounded, he had taken your demand to stay out of harm's way to heart. Now, he rarely got anything more than a small bleeding cut or a sizeable bruise.

"How many times do I have to remind you to be quiet in the presence of my other patients? They're sleeping, Koski."

"Some things never change! Just like your painfully frostbite-y words, Y/N~"

You only grunted at that, collecting your tools and cleaning off your table. You always did like to leave Natasha with a neat workspace when she arrived.

"Sooo, I was thinking..."

"Sampo Koski, thinking? The Overworld must be crashing down on our heads as we speak."

"Yeesh, uncalled for..." the man grumbled, his energy bouncing back fast, though. "Let me take you somewhere nice. Think of it as a reward for working so hard and helping me out so many times, yeah?"

You raised a brow at that, and the conman clasped his hands together, that familiar grin sneaking onto his lips.

"After all, Sampo Koski always repays his debts! Never leaves a friend hanging!"

"You know the clinic's services for mild cases are free, right?"

"That generous heart of yours just makes me swoon, Y/N! But I can't possibly let you do me all this kindness without doing something in return!"

You sighed raggedly. "If this is you roping me into one of your scams..."

Sampo slapped a hand over his heart and clasped his chest as though mortally wounded. "You wound my poor soul, my heart, Y/N! Would 'lil old Sampo really do that to you?"

Your utterly deadpan glance sent him into nervous chuckles as he amped up his attempts to get you to come along.

"Come now, Y/N! You can trust me! Just this once, and if I wrong ya, you can toss me to the automatons! Honest to goodness!"

You were already yanking on your coat to follow when he crossed his finger over his heart as if to swear his undying allegiance to getting you back in one piece, sweeping past him out the door and grumbling something about being in your right mind to toss him to the robots anyways. The Sampo Koski looked a bit stunned at that, staring at you from within the clinic with wide emerald eyes.

"Well? Are you going to lead me there or no?"

"Ah, yes! Of course!"

Shockingly, it didn't take long to get to where the conman wanted to go. You had to duck past a few bots and avoid a few Fragmentum monsters, but really, that was every day in a place like the Underworld.

Yet, the bright glow of the huge Geomarrow vein caught your eye at once, sending you into awed silence.

Sampo smiled at that, dragging you along by the arm to a better vantage point. You stared up, admiring the rare beauty in a place as dreary as the Underworld.

As a doctor, especially an assistant to the only other doctor in the whole of the Underworld, you didn't really get the opportunity to go out and explore much beyond Boulder Town. Sure, there'd be patients you had to go to that couldn't make the distance to the clinic, but they were rarely beyond the walls of town.

The sight before you was truly something magnificent. Something you had never seen before.

"Well, like it?" Sampo nudged your arm, snapping you out of your trance as he grinned at you. "Told you it was cool! Thought you could use some time out of that stuffy clinic."

"It's..." You didn't quite know what to say. Words escaped you as you glanced between Sampo and the marvel of mineral. "It's really something. You weren't lying."

Even though you were too awed to realize you had admitted to his truth, the man beside you still hooted with laughter at his 'victory'.

Only when his joyful whoops calmed down did you manage to fully tear your eyes away from the sight, looking over to see Sampo trying to fiddle with something in his pocket.

"Sampo?"

The man jumped, and if you were any more alert to his antics, you would've assumed he was plotting something. However, he only hid his hands behind his back, beaming.

"What's up?"

"...Thank you."

The words were quiet, begrudging, but you managed them anyways. You expected immediate feedback from your so-called friend, only to be met with thick silence. You once again called his name, and he once again jumped.

"What's the matter with you? You've not got something criminal planned, do you?"

"Nope, Sampo Koski is always loyal to his word!" His chuckles were nervous, contradicting his statement. Just as you raised a brow and were about to speak up, however, he handed you a small chain.

"Haha, almost forgot!" Lie. "I had this for ya, too."

The item was placed in your hand before you could even protest, and you nearly leapt in shock when you realized what it was, were it not for your ability to keep on your stoic disposition.

A beautifully crafted, decorative Geomarrow wrist cuff sat in your palm, a nice rustic design to it that would compliment your outfit, surely. It looked more expensive than everything you owned combined.

"...Sampo—"

"See, an old buddy of mine owed me a favor from way back when. He's a jeweler nowadays, not super useful here, but I got my hands on a chunk of Geomarrow and he worked his magic! Cool, huh?"

"Sampo—"

"And that chunk isn't stolen, no siree bob! Got it completely legitimate this time! Paid out of pocket!"

"Sampo, are y—"

"It wasn't easy, but—"

"Sampo!"

The man finally stopped rambling, pausing to glance down at you with wide eyes.

"Haha, erm, yes, my dear Y/N?"

You would've felt your face flush—in fact, you were still actively staving off the heat to your cheeks—but you had to get one question out of the way first, a hardened expression on your face.

"You stole this, didn't you?"

"No!" Sampo's insistence was so adamant that it sent you aback. "Didn't you hear what I said? Honest, I didn't steal! Not a single part of the process was made with thievery or swindling! 'Cause you don't like it, and I wasn't about to confess in a way you don't like—"

"Confess?"

The conman stopped short, scratching his cheek and whistling inconspicuously, glancing anywhere but you. You weren't having much better luck with maintaining eye contact.

You glanced down at the cuff again, reluctantly sliding it on, but unable to deny how much you were taken by it. It was also the only way to distract yourself from the shock you felt, from the warmth now prominently displayed in your cheeks.

"So... yeah. Um. I did this all. For you. To confess, 'I love you' style and all of that, if that's how ya want to put it..."

"That's how you put it."

"Can you have some mercy on my poor heart?! Sampo's trying his best here!"

At that, you snorted. Then, you giggled. Eventually, you devolved into shaky, small laughter, chuckles that couldn't be hidden even by your typically impassive countenance.

For the first time in his life, Sampo found himself utterly dumbstruck. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, in a trance as he listened to your laughter, as sweet as the chime of a bell.

To Hell with confessions and acceptance, the man was fairly certain he could die happy just hearing such a sound and seeing such a look on your face. Even if you were laughing at the notion of him being in love with you, Sampo was confident he couldn't care less.

And then, for the second time that evening, the conman was struck speechless.

"Well... fine. I suppose I can graciously accept your feelings and your heart, Sampo Koski."

His eyes lit up like the Overworld sun.

"But only if you stop getting hurt. Period."

It wasn't enough to extinguish the light in his eyes, but it was enough to get him to droop, slinking over and hanging off your shoulder pathetically with a pout.

"Aw, then how am I going to see you?! Sampo Koski needs his Y/N time, or he'll be lost! I'm lost without you!"

It took everything you had not to clobber him—but this time, you were sure that twinge of annoyance was strong-armed aside by pure fondness.

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Supe Hating Their Powers

Requested: Hii! I loved what you wrote for my last request, so I figured I'd drop another one✨ May I request a the boys preference where it's basically (bear with me, I'm gonna try to explain) reader is a supe, but refuses to use their powers bc of whatever reason (feeling dangerous, not liking the ability, keeping it secret etc) But it's their reaction to when their S/O uses their abilities to protect them, bc no matter how terribly they hate being a supe, they'd embrace it to keep them safe - @ghostlyaccurate

Requested: hii! how are you doing? may i request a The Boys preference where reader is a supe, but their powers are very self-destructive (like, using it too much could be dangerous to reader themself), and basically their reaction to reader using their abilities to save them, despite it nearly killing themself? also, so sorry if this is too dark! you can totally change it to just being tiring if your more comfortable writing that <3 - @yinorathedragontamer

A/N: I combined these two requests, I hope you don't mind!! I love both of these ideas and I thought they'd work well together :) I imagine it like Cate with her eyes/seizures when she pushes too much/too many people. I made all the powers different cuse I thought it would be more interesting! Thank you for requesting!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Butcher never wanted you to use your powers if you didn't want to. But when he needed saving, you didn't give it a second thought. Your powers feel like burning alive. The fire, the flames, they're powerful, but it's excruciating. You save him I the end, but you spend days after feeling like you've been burned at the stake. There are no actual physical burns, but your body still feels that way. It never gets easier, either. He's grateful you saved him, but he knows how painful your powers can be. He tries to help as much as possible, but there's really nothing you can do but wait it out. It was one of the first things he ever knew about you: you're a Supe with side effects. He didn't realize how bad it would be until you were locking yourself away, trying to ease the burning sensation around your whole body.

Hughie knew what happened when you healed other people. You'd told him in graphic detail the last time you'd used your abilities. He told you you'd never have to use them, ever. But he was hurt. He was losing consciousness. You were the only one who could help him. You were the only one who could save him. So, you did. And in return your skin unzipped, blood pouring out of you. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't make a sound. You would have to die before you could go back to normal. Hughie hated watching this. He begged for help, but there was no one around. It was horrible. He'd wake up from nightmares where you'd die and die again. You told him it wouldn't happen again, that you were sorry he'd have to see that. He knew he should have been grateful, that you saved him, but it was awful. You knew how awful it was and that's why you never used it.

Annie refused to let you use your powers. She told you outright she had it handled, but when the time came for her to fight, you knew it was a losing battle. You could leave your body and take over others. You jumped from body to body, taking each person out, but by the time you find you way back to your body you're exhausted, your eyes bloodshot, your mind cloudy. Like Cate, you're susceptible to seizures when you push yourself too much, when you spread yourself too thin. The more people you take over, the worse it gets. Annie feels awful that you had to save her, when you had to risk your health and safety. It was amazing to see. As soon as you took over their bodies she could tell it was you. But the side effects were awful. She couldn't stop worrying about you, worrying about what would happen.

M.M. never realized what your powers would entail. You could read other people's minds. That didn't seem so bad. You rarely ever used it, though. He never pushed you to explain or use it, but when the team needed you, when your abilities were the only answer, you did what you could. Days later you were still hearing people. You tried to drown it out with TV and music, but they were in your head. It felt like the while city was talking through your brain. Screaming and crtuing and laughter and fears and worries and everything. Every feeling and thought a person could he capable of, that's what you were experiencing. It was horrible. You were never sure how long it lasted. It felt like an eternity. You cried to him, trying to keep it together, but all you could hear was his apologies. He felt awful for asking you to do this.

Frenchie never would have asked you to save him, save the day, but you had no choice. He was in danger. You would have done anything to protect him. Your sonic scream is rarely ever shown off. You're not totally embarrassed by it, but it has some pretty awful side effects. Plus you didn't love being a Supe. You felt lied to by your family. When you do scream, heads splatter. Frenchie was shocked you were capable of that. Afterwards your throat burns, you lose your voice. You can't talk for days, maybe even weeks, and though you try not to, you can't help but try to talk, argue, bicker with The Boys. Your voice sounds so painful, gravely, and he encourages you to put it on rest. It's your throat that hurts, like it's on fire. You rarely ever used your abilities because it was a one and done deal. You were powerful, you could kill, but it came with it's own consequences.

Kimiko only knew the general ideas about your Supe abilities. Your blood was poison. You had to he careful about getting hurt or rooms full of people, a whole hospital floor, would he dead. Kimiko had been seriously hurt and though you knew she would come back fine, your anger and hurt got the better of you. You slice yourself open, spewing blood everywhere, all over the bad guys. Before then you urged The Boys to get out of there, not wanting to hurt your teammates. Everyone around you drops dead. You stitch yourself up alone, making sure there's not a drop of blood left outside of your body. Kimiko is horrified at your work and the fact that you hurt yourself so badly for her when she ended up being fine. It hurt and made you feel like a freak, but you did it for her. Besides, your stitches were getting a little better.

[akutasoda]

Hey! I've never requested anything like this before but I saw that your requests were open and I thought I'd give it a go. I've been really sick for the past two weeks and I've had this terrible insomnia and I've just felt really kinda alone and abandoned lately. Can you write a soft Alhaitham x reader thing where he tucks reader into bed and cuddles and holds them and reassures that they're loved and safe and wanted? It would be really nice if you could also have reader relax into little space and be referred to as a guy, but if you aren't comfortable writing that then don't worry about it.

But yes so soft Alhaitham comforting needy and hurt reader please and thank you

his way of comfort

synopsis - he's noticed you're not quite yourself lately, so he tries to help

includes - alhaitham

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight angst, maybe ooc, wc - 705

a/n: this was actually req by @c1evererer, i hope you get better soon! no matter how alone you may feel, there will always be someone there for you!! please take care of yourself!

if alhaitham was anything, it'd be observant. he could have a keen eye on anything around and still pay attention to what he was doing, although sometimes he did choose to block out his surroundings with the trusty help of noise cancelling. although, alhaitham wasn't exactly a people's person. he couldn't care less about others around him, those that he associated with were barely excluded even though he'd still deny it.

however, no matter what, he would care about you. he never imagined caring about someone the way he did for you, but sometimes love made you do crazy things. alhaitham would willingly keep an eye on you at any time and even more so when he started noticing your mood shift into something sour. admittedly, he wouldn't intervene for a while as you may have simply had a bad day. but he couldn't ignore it after you seemed to get worse by the day.

your usual demeanour seemed to disappear by the day, in its place was a kind of sadness that seemed to make you slightly distant. alhaitham wouldn't pry, he knew it probably wasn't his place to, but he couldn't stand seeing you in such a state for any longer. he wasn't the best, or even knew where to start, when it came to comforting people but he wanted to try. something was plaguing your mind and he wouldn't sit there and do nothing.

he soon found you swiftly after returning home, immediately he asked if you had anything left to do for the day and at one shake of your head, he urged you to come with him. you weren't going to reject his offer, even if you would, you simply didn't have the energy.

you followed behind closely as he brought you to your shared bedroom. you let him lead you into bed and indulged in the way that he tucked you in, doing whatever would make you comfiest, uncaring for his own later - it didn't matter what he wanted, if it would help you feel better he'd do it. it felt nice. your usually stoic lover being so caring.

it wasn't too long after before alhaitham himself laid down beside you and brought your figure, covered in blankets, into his embrace. one hand found its way to yours as he laced his fingers with yours while the other reached to cradle the back of your head as he gently rested his on top of yours.

you two laid in a comfortable silence for a while before he broke it. “if you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to” he paused slightly in hesitation before adding “as long as you know that i'm always here for you, whenever and for whatever”

another beat of silence. he pulled away slightly to look at you, “right now, i just want you to know that you're here, you're safe and loved” you could see his features softening ever so slightly.

“i don't know what i’d do without you sometimes, how dull my life would be without you, i never imagined it but now that i have you, i wouldn't have it any other way” he leaned in again, pressing a small kiss to your forehead, and letting you rest. eventually, you both drifted off in each other's embrace listening to his words of affirmation - alhaitham would claim it was the worst sleep he's ever had, but you would say the opposite and that's all he cared about.

alhaitham wasn't a people's person. he wasn't the best at comforting someone, but when it came down to you, he would try his damn hardest.

(for the following weeks, alhaitham became incredibly doing. ensuring that you returned to your normal self that he fell so hopelessly in love with)

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

[mustainegf]

➜ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏 — ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 ❞

I would have never thought I'd be stuck in this dank, moldy basement of a rundown rental house smack in the middle of El Cerrito, California surrounded by four metalheads. Honestly, I am not sure how it is that I ended up being here, but I guess it really all started with Kirk. He's been a brother to me for as long as I could remember, long before Metallica, long before "Ride the Lightning," long before any of this madness.

Me and Kirk go way, way back, man. We were those kids that took every other weekend going to see each other, playing pranks, and diving into his endless collection of horror action figures. He was obsessed with those things, creepy little monsters with claws and fangs and bulging eyes. We used to spend hours on his bedroom floor making them fight each other in these elaborate battles. Always making mine talk like they were in some kind of cheesy B-movie.

Now? Well, now Kirk's a guitarist. He's spending his days jamming out with Metallica, and I'm… well, I'm not quite sure what I'm doing.

It was about a month ago that things really went sideways. My landlord back in Oakland decided my rent had to go up, way up, and there was no way I could afford it. Not on what I made at the record store. I had two choices: live out of my car or call in a favor. So I called Kirk.

I finally appeared, and Kirk embraced me as if I had been away for years. His lanky arms wrapped around me. "You sure about this?" I asked, standing weirdly in the doorway with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder.

"Of course, I'm positive! What's a few more people in the house?" Kirk beamed at me, but from inside, I could hear Lars yelling something at James, Cliff laughing in the background.

I sighed. "Well, you know you're pretty much adopting me now, right?"

He laughed. "Nah, you have always been like a sister. It'll just be like old times."

Old times my ass, this was no quiet suburban weekend of playthings and running around the neighborhood. These guys were living like rockstars, though they were not quite there yet. The house was actually a mess, and the energy was relentless. It seemed like there was always something going on, an argument over music, records blaring, or drinking way too early in the day.

But the real problem? James Hetfield.

James.

The second I walked into the house, the two of us started butting heads. He was leaning against the counter in the kitchen when I arrived, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, looking at me like I was some kind of trespasser.

"Oh, so this is Kirk's little friend," he muttered instead of hello.

I gave him a sideways look. "Nice to meet you too, James."

He snickered, his eyes never leaving me. "Don't get too comfortable, princess."

"Don't worry, I won't."

And with that, it was on, the beginning of what would be the most ridiculous back-and-forth of my life. It wasn't that James was arrogant, it was how he could get at me with just the look or just the words themselves. I couldn't help but shoot back, and before I knew it, we were day in and day out at each other's throats, lobbing insults like hand grenades.

He was calling me "princess" like a joke; I was calling him "asshole," usually he laughed it off.

The basement Kirk set up for me was, well…let's just say it was "rustic." The mattress was lumpy, the air was damp, and I was pretty sure there were mice living in the walls. A single window high up on the wall let in just enough light to remind me I wasn't completely underground.

It was more bitter, cold than it had any right to be in California. Each night I burrowed under the blankets, trying to shut out the chill that seeped into my bones. But no matter how uncomfortable it got, at least it was better than the streets, so really I had nothing to complain about.

Besides, the guys were all right, more or less. Kirk kept me supplied with what I needed, whether it was just a cup of instant coffee in the morning. Cliff was mellow, and we'd sometimes sit out in the backyard, smoke a joint, and talk about stuff, music, whatever. He was one of them guys that never took anything too serious.

"Just go with the flow, man," he'd say, blowing out a stream of smoke. "Life's too short to get worked up."

Yeah, well, tell that to James.

"Hey, princess!" James yelled out one afternoon when I sat on the back steps flipping through a book.

I didn't bother to look up. "What do you want, Hetfield?"

He strode over, shirtless, of course, and stood before me, blocking the sun. "You look bored."

"And you look like you need to shower," I shot back wrinkling my nose at the sheen of sweat on his chest.

"Oh, charming as ever," he said with a quick, sardonic grin. "Kirk said you used to play guitar. We need a fifth opinion on this riff we're working on."

"I haven't touched a guitar in years," I muttered trying to go back to my book.

He didn't budge. "Come on. Like you're reading some sort of novel in there."

I rolled my eyes and slammed the book shut. "Fine. Can we just get this over with?"

It was more of a garage than a studio anyway. The place smelled from sweat and stale beer and cigarettes, but the guys had managed to turn it into a practice area of sorts. Lars was already planted behind the drum kit, tapping along on his snare, Kirk and Cliff fidgeting with their instruments.

"What are we doing?"

"We're working on this track 'Creeping Death.' I need you to tell me if the riff sounds too… I don't know, repetitive."

I cocked an eyebrow. "That is a very vague request."

James shot me a look. "You'll know it.”

First, Lars shot into the heavy thump of the drums that filled the small space, Kirk then entered with his signature melodic riff, followed by Cliff's deep, thundering bass line. When James joined in, the whole garage shook.

Not being a metalhead, I could still appreciate the way they played off one another. Visceral, almost, like something base and animalistic.

"Alright, what'd you think?" James said once they were done, eyes locking onto mine, daring me to find fault with him.

I wanted to say something that would get on his nerves. "It's not bad. Needs work, though."

He scowled. "Of course, you'd say that."

"What? You want me to lie and tell you it's perfect?" I shot back, crossing my arms.

Kirk snickered from across the room. "She's got a point, man. It's not done yet."

Mumbling, James didn't say much else. He lit a cigarette and stormed out of the garage.

That was James for you. Always quick to get pissy, but there was more to him, behind that tough guy thing. I didn't know what yet, but I had a feeling I'd find out eventually.

There was something almost comforting about waking up to the sounds of Lars yelling at someone, or watching Kirk shred a solo while Cliff nodded along in approval. Even James, for all his faults, had moments where I almost didn't want to punch him in the face.

Almost.

Nights were tougher, though. That was when the quiet set in, and out there in that freezing basement, I was left with my thoughts. I'd lie on my back staring up at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of guys upstairs, and wonder how much longer this would last. It wasn't my world really, it was theirs, heavy metal, tour vans, and beer soaked rehearsals.

But for now, this was my world too I guess.

I pulled the blankets up higher on my body and sighed. Far from ideal, but it would suffice.

One evening, when at last all were tucked in, I heard a knock on the door downstairs. With a groan, knowing I was just not in the mood for whatever. I called out, "What?" and sat up.

The door creaked open, and James was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "You awake?"

"Obviously," I muttered. "What do you want?"

He paused a moment before stepping into the room. "I was just… I don't know. Couldn't sleep."

I raised one eyebrow. "So you thought you'd come bother me?"

He shrugged as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "I guess.”

I sat and stared at him, waiting for the inevitable snide remark or jab. It never came. He just sat there, staring down the floor.

The silence continued for quite a while until I let out a sigh. "You're weird, you know that?"

A small snicker escaped his lips. "Yeah, I think I have heard that somewhere before."

I said nothing at the time, having nothing to say. I merely lay back and drew the blanket up to my neck.

For several minutes longer James remained where he sat, silent as before. Then, also without word, he rose and left the room, his exit as noiseless as his entrance.

Perhaps this wasn't such a horrible place after all.

[sundeathh]

Trimmed

ONE-SHOT | MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aizawa × GN!Reader • Words: 1,6 K

Summary: A haircut tale

Tags: slice-of-life, cute, fluffy, romantic stuff

CW: none worth mentioning. SFW

The apartment was cloaked in the cozy ambiance of evening, the soft glow of lamps casting warm pockets of light in the living room. As the door creaked open, announcing Aizawa's return, the air seemed to shift with expectancy.

It wasn't the kind of anticipation that made a person’s heart leap. Instead it felt more like the sort of expectation that came from people waiting for their loved ones to get home at regular basis for weeks on end, filled with both excitement and anxiety bubbling up inside.

Even after years of marriage, you still had butterflies for him whenever he entered the room you were in.

"I'm back," Aizawa's gravelly, deep voice resonated through the space, carrying the weight of a taxing day. He unburdened himself of his shoes and bag, the fatigue etched on his features. The journey down the building's hallway felt like a gradual shedding of the day's strain. 

"Hey, Sho, welcome back!" You called from the kitchen, your voice a gentle melody amid the quiet that once reigned in the place. "Long day?" You asked, your eyes landing on his tense figure.

He nodded, pausing at the kitchen's doorway before offering a small smile. "Yeah, you could say that."

The smell of cooking food wafted towards him as his gaze swept over the room. The counter was covered in various ingredients, some in the middle of the cooking process and others just sitting there in piles, ready to be added to the mix when needed. 

"Did everything go well today?" You asked, turning around from the stove to greet him properly with a kiss on the cheek. He returned it affectionately, leaning against your body for comfort and security, but only for the briefest moments before pulling back to take a look at you.

"Yep," he responded, the same way he always did every time. He was never one for long talks or unnecessary details about his day, preferring instead to focus his attention on how you were doing instead.

"How are you feeling today? Anything interesting happened while I was gone?" He questioned, reluctantly pulling away from your welcoming embrace to remove his binding cloth from around his neck. 

"I'm feeling alright." You answered truthfully before proceeding with a small shrug. "And not really. The highest point of my day was going grocery shopping. It was a tiring work though, so I didn't do much after that."

"Ah, right," the hero nodded knowingly, his cloth now hanging around one of his arms. "Next time you go grocery shopping, remember that I have to be there too." Aizawa reached out his free arm and gently pulled you into another tight hug.

Your arms wrapped around his torso in return, your face pressed against his chest. "And put even more tasks on your overly busy day? No way." Your tone was playful, but there was an undertone of concern that Aizawa picked up on instantly. 

"If anything, I should be the one getting all the chores done on this end, since you're not here as much as I am. I don't want you working yourself too hard," you protested.

His head rested on top of yours, his hair tickling your skin lightly. "Still, I'd rather it be me than you," he said firmly. "Besides, it makes me feel bad knowing I'm making it so hard on you due to my workload." 

You sighed fondly. "You know I wouldn't mind helping out if I could." You stated, hoping to make it clear to him that you didn't mind. But there was nothing else you could say to change his mind, so you simply agreed with him with a small pout.

You carefully untangled yourself from his tight but gentle grip, searching for his eyes. "C'mon, sexy, go wash off the sweat and dirt that's clinging to your face. Dinner is gonna be ready soon," you told him with a soft voice.

He let out a tiny chuckle before walking towards the bathroom, a fond, small smile adorning his lips. You smiled at the warm feeling in your chest, and then went back to your cooking, the sound of running water following shortly thereafter.

As he retreated to the bathroom, a cascade of garments left in his wake, and the warmth of the shower soothed his sore muscles as he rinsed away the dust that had accumulated during his arduous workday.

Shower felt even better than normal after a tiring and long day, and his shoulders loosened as he stepped under the steaming showerhead. 

He had his eyes closed and his mouth partially open as he used it to breathe while the water poured over his head, rinsing the shampoo away from his scalp. It was an intimate and vulnerable moment. It was also calming.

After cleaning himself up, he stepped out to dry his body and get dressed in his sleepwear – a pair of loose pants and a simple t-shirt.

Upon checking to make sure everything was alright with his appearance, Aizawa stared at his reflection in the slightly fogged-up mirror. His gaze lingered on the unruly curtain of long bangs that veiled his eyes, now being an unintended consequence of neglect amid the demands of his work.

The weariness etched in his features was momentarily eclipsed by a bemused frown. Aizawa ran his fingers through the disheveled and damp strands, a silent acknowledgment of the overdue task at hand.

He brushed his hair, aware of how his bangs were almost reaching his chin. Putting the hairbrush down, he tried his best to comb them again with his fingers, trying to make his hair less wild and disorderly.

After a few minutes of struggling, he sighed exasperatedly, giving up his attempts. What good would a couple of extra combing do him anyway? It was getting too long. It was bound to become an issue sooner or later.

In defeat, Aizawa emerged from the bathroom, a towel draped over his shoulders, his usually unkempt hair dripping slightly. He stood in the doorway again, gazing at you with a hint of weariness.

"Is dinner almost ready?" He inquired, his eyes flicking towards the culinary ballet that persisted while he was in the shower.

You glanced over your shoulder, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Almost. Just finishing up. Why? Hungry?"

He scratched the back of his head, a familiar gesture of contemplation. "Not just that," he admitted, his gaze turning to the bathroom's door for a moment. "I think it's time I did something about this." His hand gestured towards the curtain of his disheveled bangs.

Your eyes followed the unspoken cue, understanding what he meant. Setting down the spatula, you approached him, your fingers lightly grazing the strands that shielded his eyes.

"Want me to do something about it?" You asked, your tone teasing yet sincere. Aizawa's eyes met yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you, and he muttered. "If you don't mind."

You tiptoed, pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek, and smiled. "Don't be shy," you murmured. With a gentle gesture, you guided him to a chair at the kitchen table, the aroma of the cooking dinner enveloping both of you.

As he sat down, you walked over to the bathroom, searching for a comb and for the box that held secure your sharp hair scissors.

"Ready for a change?" You teased, after coming back to the kitchen and getting closer to where he sat, standing in front of him. Your fingers ran softly through his damp hair.

Aizawa huffed, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Just don't cut it too short, please. I like it longer."

The corners of your mouth quirked slightly, and you nodded in response, combing his hair in a bun before tying a elastic around it, securing the bun as a temporary fix to prevent his locks from getting in the dangerous way of the scissors.

As you moved on to combing his fringe next, you noticed Aizawa closing his eyes, the tension in his frame gradually decreasing. The sight warmed your heart, and the peaceful atmosphere settled around you as you focused on combing his hair, gently moving the comb through his bangs, careful not to damage it.

You gently lifted his chin to get a better look, and after a minute or two of gentle combing, your hand finally stopped its motion to reach for the scissors you had placed on the table. "Don't move now, okay?" You whispered gently, the words accompanied by a gentle touch to his head.

"Mhm," Aizawa hummed softly in agreement. He kept his eyes closed and continued motionless, the tactile sensation of hair falling gently through your hand heightened the intimacy of the moment.

He finally allowed himself to relax under your touch. The occasional snip of the shears resonated like a quiet melody, punctuating the soothing ambiance.

"You're surprisingly good at this," Aizawa remarked, breaking the comfortable silence.

You chuckled. "I've had some practice. Plus, it's a small way to take care of you." 

He hummed once again, his hands resting loosely on top of his lap, now completely relaxed.

You carefully trimmed away the last remaining locks of hair, brushing his hair until only half the mess remained.

After taking a small step back from your handy work, you admired it. "Done. I didn't cut it too much. It'll still keep its fluffy quality, don't worry."

Aizawa opened his eyes and gazed up to meet yours, and his eyes softened, his expression becoming more serene by the second. 

Taking the scissors from your hand and placing them back on the table, he grabbed your other hand into his, pulling it towards his lips in a gentle hold. He placed a kiss on the back of your hand. "Thank you. That was very kind of you."

You shook your head, smiling in amusement. "No need to thank me, love. We both know I'd help you with whatever you needed even without you saying anything. You deserve to be taken care of every once in awhile." You squeezed his hand slightly as he leaned forward, pressing another chaste kiss onto your knuckles, his stubble tickling the soft skin of your fingers.

After pulling away from touching your hands, he stood up, a gentle smile on his face. "Let's finish up with dinner," he said, ready to assist you.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!

[deacons-wig]

I'd prefer if we never got to see the origin of Vault Boy and Vault Tec's branding in the same way I'd rather not get a canon answer of who started the War or how. That's the point of War Never Changes.

Vault Boy is a sinister figure in his cheerful embrace of Armageddon. Giving the Vault Tec brand a face and a name and a backstory feels so unimportant to what is actually interesting about Fallout. What's important to me is the big picture pre war, and the details of what comes after.

What is interesting to me is exploring how propaganda is designed to convince people how close they are to annihilation--or homelessness, unemployment, obscurity, or being The Other and therefore destined to suffer--in hell, in oppressions, being ostracized. Honestly insert any sort of marginalization or suffering here. Crony capitalism uses propaganda to market products designed to manipulate people into buying distance between themselves and that annihilation. Putting themselves "behind the thumb" of Vault Boy, so to speak. Buying a lifestyle. Vault Boy does it with a wink and a smile, inviting those who can afford it to buy their way to safety while using capital and fear to perpetuate the cycle. I don't need the specifics to understand this.

Some ghoulnaysis below the cut:

I'll admit, my initial reaction to pre-war Ghoulgins being the inspiration for Vault Boy was funny! Mr. Cooper Howard, washed up actor experiencing an existential crisis being shoehorned into corporate propaganda that then haunts him for the next 200+ years? Selling manifest destiny, racism, the Rugged Individual, the revisionist history that cowboys were a) white and b) more than a brief footnote in the history of the colonization of North America's west. The commodification of entertainers/creatives/public figures. Selling identities to be packaged into a product that will outlive them? Only to have that person live alongside that role they regret (?) playing... kinda tasty, if we have to give Vault Boy a backstory, though I didn't get a clear sense of his actual feelings about being used as a propaganda guy which I think is a failure of the show to commit to the narrative they set up, which happens with a lot of the show's (lack of) engagement with Fallout's larger themes anyway.

But The Ghoul (stupid name!!! weird and boring choice!!!) is just such an uncompelling and repellent character to me. I love a good bad guy or even anti-hero, but honestly he lacks any interiority. He's an evil karma character (eats people, waterboards and mutilates people, sells people to organ harvesters...like? that literally makes you evil in the games...) but the narrative pushes him as an antihero or someone with gray morality because he what..."likes" dogs? And isn't as decayed or unsettling looking as other ghouls (implying handsome=good or interesting). People aren't afraid of him because he is a ghoul, they're afraid of him because he's evil and will hurt them! Sometimes for no reason! I see the callback to the director telling him to shoot his co-star and Cooper saying he's "the good guy," but is that why he becomes so fucking evil post war? Really?

I don't know why he does what he does other than...the world sucked before and sucks now so he might as well represent the basest of human behavior? That seems to be the thesis of the show--unless kindness and community is engendered (by the vaults, by Management, by a civic government, by corporations) people will descend into chaos.

So why have this poorly executed anti-hero be the origin of Vault Boy? What are the narrative choices being made here? Is it just Rule of Cool?

Personally I would like a pathetic, rotting wet cat of a ghoul, some sort of carved out husk of a washed up movie star either trying to relive his glory days, or avoid them--having given up hope of finding his family after 200 years--being dragged into Lucy's orbit and being constantly reminded of his Vault Boy fame, that she is a walking Vault Girl with her Okey Dokey's and Golden Rule. He'd be a joke, a footnote of the old world. He'd be mean and snarky, even unpredictable and uncooperative--have a public persona of friendly curiosity and a private, cynical one.

Pathetic Ghoulgins would remind audiences of the cost of capitalism and imperialism without resorting to the thesis that war never changes means that people are inherently cruel and will resort to violence, rather than existent corporate and political power structures intentionally create the conditions in which people accept perpetual cycles of exploitation and harm for the sake of their own safety and comfort, despite knowing the cost of maintaining the status quo, and not seeing or believing that distance between the status quo and total annihilation is measured by the smiling thumbs up of a cartoon mascot.

I'm sure there are other ways The Ghoul could have been a successful character as well but.... That's satire. That's interesting. That's Fallout.

[dontcallthedoctor]

TEMP CHARACTER THEMES!!!

HIYA, FELLAS!!! This is gonna be a loooong post, so strap in!!! (I've srsly been writing this post for four days end me)

Yesterday, I announced that Kinger had won the music poll and that he shall be next to get his own theme. Sadly, yesterday was also the day I realized I've been hit with musical writer's block, so it might be a short while before I come up with anything good—I REALLY wanna get something out for Halloween tho!!

Since people may be curious abt what's in store for the other characters, I thought it'd be fun to present my ideas to you all, and give u all a little insight as to how my dumb little music brain works lol

Obviously, I haven't written much of anything original for anyone but Pomni yet, so in the meantime, I've picked out some temporary themes for each respective character that I feel fit them well, and hopefully they'll give you all an idea what I wanna achieve with them musically! A lot of thought went into figuring out each character's respective musical identities, so I hope these example pieces resonate with you as much as they did with me!

That said, if you have other ideas as to how these characters' themes might sound, I'd definitely love to hear about them! Feel free to comment em below or DM me if you wish! Feedback is greatly appreciated!!!

Just as a disclaimer, barring ofc Pomni's Theme, NONE OF THESE ARE MINE, NOR DO I CLAIM AUTHERSHIP OF THEM! That out of the way, let's begin with...

Pomni: I briefly explained my process behind this one in the original post, so I'll elaborate a little more here for those unaware, alongside this slightly extended version of it (a whole twenty seconds YIPPEE)

Pomni’s Theme kinda ended up being a homage to the music of Danny Elfman. I came up with the melody one night just by playing around on my piano. It was this weird, off-kilter, sorta sad-sounding tune that really resonated with me, and thought it sounded perfect for Pomni, so it became her motif. My friend @pasta-yy worded it perfectly when they said it sounded like "Pomni-flavored despair" lol

It wasn’t until I decided to make it a full song that I realized “WAIT THIS MAKES ME THINK OF DANNY ELFMAN”, who I’ve always admired, so I took to his early work for inspiration. I’ll cite Simone’s Theme from Peewee’s Big Adventure as the main influence in terms of "musical flavor" for this one. It helped me find / flesh out the circus-y style I was aiming for!

This composition isn’t quite finished yet, but I plan to post updates on it the whole way! I’m really excited for you all to see where this one goes!

Someone said that Pomni’s Theme sounds like the opening theme from Laimin! Anmin! Suya Rhys Seikatsu (Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle), an anime I haven’t seen, but I kinda hear it in some parts, at least in terms of chord progression!

Ragatha: For the rag dolly, I envision a sweet, somewhat-haunting tune. Imagine if a music box melody was arranged for orchestra. Very lush, very beautiful, very mature first and foremost, but with an undercurrent of sadness. Like Ragatha herself, the pathos is well-camouflaged beneath the happiness and the optimism, but is still undeniably there and perfectly in line with what we know about her character so far.

This particular track is led by accordion, which I'm not entirely sure fits Ragatha, but everything else is a pretty good representation of what I hope to achieve with her!

Jax: Prolly my favorite thing about Jax is how differently he carries himself in relation to everyone else. He's maliciously annoying, self-aware, and ironically more of a jester than the character who's avatar is a literal jester. He embraces being stuck in the circus like it's his first choice, instead of something he's settling for. He's an intriguing character and i'm curious to see how he'll evolve (or de-volve if Goose's comments are anything to go by)

In writing this, I'm struggling to put into words how exactly I want his theme to sound, but this track is a pretty good encapsulation of it! There's a sort-of confidence in it it and a jaunty forward-momentum that carries through the whole piece. I think that vibe really suits Jax. There's also an air of non-chalance that parallels how lackadaisical he is with everything. I feel that, since Jax doesn't take much of anything seriously, neither should his music lol

It almost reminds me of the music Vince Guaraldi composed for the Peanuts specials. His character themes always had this hip, carefree vibe to them, especially tracks like Peppermint Patty, which will also be an inspiration on Jax's tune.

Gangle: In case anybody hasn’t caught on, Gangle is my faaavorite character from the show, and I really want to do her justice, so it took me a good while to figure out just what I wanted to do for her.

That being said, the genre I'm gravitating towards most for her (at least while writing this) is gypsy jazz. For those who may not know, gypsy jazz (or jazz manouche) is a French style of jazz that uses solely string instruments; mainly violin, guitar, and double bass. It's a beautiful genre of music, and I think it's a perfect fit for Gangle <3

I imagine something playful, gentle, unassuming, and a tad saucy, at least when she's wearing her comedy mask. For her tragedy mask, I think it'd be fun for the tone to turn dramatically sad, and have the music structure fall apart, much like her mask. I'd really like to integrate piano in some way to highlight her sensitivity.

If anyone has any other ideas, please lemme know in the comments or DM me if u wish! Gods know I could use some inspiration ^^

Kinger: And now we come to Mr. Poll Winner himself! I'm honestly really glad that Kinger won, because I have more confidence in the ideas i've come up with for him than I am for a great majority of the others.

Knowing what we know now, I see Kinger as a very sweet, sentimental, yet ultimately tragic figure, so like with Ragatha, that's definitely something that's going to influence how his theme will sound.

This is probably my favorite of the temp themes, and definitely the one I want to stick closest to when I start writing for him. Everything about it just screams "Kinger" to me and I think is a near-perfect musical summarization of his character; the plodding simplicity, the almost-dreamlike surrealistic quality to the melody, the subtle melancholia, the chord progression, all of it. I think it gels with Kinger exceptionally well, which is why I've included two versions; one light, one dark.

The question is: do u all agree? ovo

Zooble: In searching for the right genre for Zooble, I've settled on what I call “Motown lofi”. Something that gives off swanky 90s “cool” vibes. Funky, mellow, bluesy, with a lil extra punch. Zooble is mostly low-energy but very much a plain-speaker, so I think this kinda music of music pairs nicely with them!

Amon Tobin’s Like Regular Chickens is another good example of what I'm going for. This one's very strange, kinda abstract, and prolly not most people's cup of tea, but I think it's neat and a pretty fitting sound for Zooble (maybe a little less intense in parts lol)

Caine: The logic behind Caine's theme is that it should be "annoying to everyone else, but he would love it". Something that he'd have no problem listening to every day on repeat, but nobody else can stand.

My first idea was really garish, campy carnival attraction music (more generally, Hammond organ music), represented in the first half. That stuck for awhile, but then I thought abt doing a pastiche of 80/90s sitcom intro type music, represented in the second half, which I think also works.

I feel like both could work, maybe even together, but I'm still undecided. I think wacky obnoxious organ music is PERFECTLY in line with Caine as a character, but the 90s route might be the more appropriate way to go, since it would to share some continuity with Digital Days from the credits (one of my fav songs from the soundtrack along with Not Alone and Somebody Real) We'll see what happens LMAO

Bubble: I’d always jokingly entertained the notion of making a theme for Bubble, but never put much serious thought into it until @mikiib asked for it, so here he is on this list.

The idea I settled on was “underwater Mario level?”, and the more I thought about it, i’ve decided that’s the direction i’ll probably go with Bubble’s tune. I imagine it being very "spacey" and floaty. Very peaceful and relaxing, but still rich with untamed weirdness, which is what makes Bubble fun :3

Mik also had the idea of using bubbly noises as percussion, which I DEF want to try! I've never really been experimental with percussion before so this'll be a fun opportunity to branch out!!

Other Characters: Last month I wrote a sweet militaristic-y march song for the Princess and the Candy Canyon Kingdom, but as far as other characters, I can't think of many I'd like to dedicate entire fully-fledged arrangements to, at least not presently. Maybe little ditties tho, that'd be fun!

I kinda wanna write something in tribute to Gummigoo since I really like him and think he deserves it. Something very ethnic and full of fun tribal instruments.

I have one for Baron Mildenhall that I haven't posted yet, and I've got a spooky lullaby I wrote for Ghostly (as well as for @mikiib) that I'll probably post tmrw for Halloween. Martha might get one too, she seems fun :3

[queer-reader-07]

a love letter to trans romance

because i can't be normal about media and i'm making it y'all's problems

hi hello and welcome to my mildly unhinged ramblings about love and gender. this post comes to you in three sections, enjoy <3

--

t4t romance novels made me believe in love again

the first romance book i ever read was The Feeling of Falling in Love by Mason Deaver. TFOFIL is a t4t (trans for trans) romance that follows a teenage trans boy, Neil Kearney, and a figuring-out-their-gender teen, Wyatt Fowler, as they get themselves wrapped up in peak YA romcom shenaniganary and eventually fall in love. cute, right? just a fun little romcom, not much more to it?

yeah well that's what i thought going in, but coming out of that book i was in tears. tears because i'd never read a story about trans love before. tears because at that point in my life i'd never allowed myself to fully claim the word "trans." tears because Wyatt made me feel so seen and so real.

there's this one scene where Wyatt is talking to Neil and they describe themself as being the kind of person who sometimes wants to wear makeup and dresses, but other times they like their body hair and scruffy beard. and i just remember nodding along and then absolutely melting because Neil takes it in stride, he comforts Wyatt and let's them know that they don't need to have it figured out just yet. Neil makes it clear that he's there, and that Wyatt doesn't need to come out to anyone unless they're ready.

Mason Deaver has another t4t romance, Okay, Cupid. and that similarly had me in my feels because there is something so special about finding people who embrace you for all that you are.

every t4t romance I've read has one thing in common, the fact that the love interests do not love each despite the other's transness. their transness is not an obstacle to love or to attraction or to adoration, it is an object of it. their transness is something to be admired and to be loved and to be cared for. it is not something the other has to "get over."

reading The Feeling of Falling in Love was the first time i ever thought to myself "maybe, just maybe, i can call myself trans and still be loved." because up until that point i hadn't let myself accept that i was some flavor of trans. up until that point i'd said "not cis" without ever saying trans because i was so scared my being trans would make me unlovable. t4t romance books showed me how wrong i was. they showed me that my ability to be loved was not dependent on my girlhood.

ha you thought i could write something this long on tumblr and NOT mention good omens? think again bestie

i have held a trans reading of crowley since i read the book and the show only solidified it for me. crowley canonically plays with gender.

he's dressed femme during the crucifixion scene, his modern look is a mix of men's and women's pieces, his hair is a Whole Thing in and of itself. i could go on but i digress.

but it's not just the way he plays with gender that informs my trans reading of him. it's also how his character arc can very easily be read as an allegory for transness.

an angel who falls (a girl who isn't a girl anymore)

a fallen angel turned demon (a girl who is a boy now)

a demon who isn't really a demon anymore (a used to be girl, a thought to be boy, is now nonbinary)

girl = angel and boy = demon is entirely arbitrary in this please don't read into it

now, you may be thinking "A how in god's name does this apply to trans romance?" to which i say, aziraphale falls in love with every version of crowley. aziraphale beams heart eyes at angel!crowley before the beginning and loves crowley as a demon for millennia and is so deeply and unabashedly in love with crowley in his not-quite-demon form of s2.

aziraphale loves all the versions of crowley because crowley's angel or demon-ness (gender) is not the reason aziraphale loves crowley. aziraphale doesn't love crowley because he's a demon or because he used to be an angel, aziraphale loves crowley because it's crowley. crowley in whatever clothes he chooses to where, crowley with whatever hairstyle he's fancying at the moment, crowley as he inhabits the shades of grey just a little more.

to me, that is so easy to read as a trans love story. you could argue it's t4t depending on how you read aziraphale, but to me, it's at the very least a love story between a mostly-demon who gets down to some gender fuckery and an angel who loves him very much.

fuck it let's talk about fanfiction

i don't think i could make this post without mentioning @ineffabildaddy's fic I'm Beginning to See the Light.

i have a complicated relationship with my body. i don't plan to ever medically transition because i don't want to make any permanent changes to my body. but there are days where all i want is to have a flat chest and hips that are flush with the rest of my body but instead i'm stuck with tits and an hourglass figure cis people always seem to focus on.

i don't hate my body, but the idea that anyone could look at it and not just see A Woman is beyond me. i walk through life being perceived as a very feminine woman even on the days that i feel the most androgynous. the idea that a lover could look at my body and still see me for who i am feels like a dream that could never happen.

and IBTSTL slapped me (lovingly) across the face with the message that, actually, i can be loved as my whole self and that there are people out there who don't look at me and see A Woman and those people don't love me any less. IBTSTL made me feel safe in my trans body because it said "you are worthy of love and adoration because your transness is not something to get past it is something to admire. it is something to love."

--

i think the point i'm trying to make here is this: trans love stories are so special to me. they've been so vital in my own journey to love and accept myself. they're the reason i can imagine myself maybe having romantic love in the future.

representation matters, it can quite literally change your life.

[august-anon]

Dancing Away

Hello hello! Here is my @squealing-santa gift for the very cool @/wrestling!anon!!

I tried to pick out two of your prompts and did my best to hit them both, so I hope you enjoy! I also only went with two of the characters listed (Astarion and Wyll) because I feel like I can't quite grasp Gale's characterization yet, and I'm still only in Act 2 of my playthrough thanks to work so I have no idea what Halsin's deal is yet lol. I figured I'd write best with my own game's romance (Wyll) and the character I get the most spoilers for online (Astarion) lol. I hope my characterization works out well enough, and once again, I hope you (and other readers) enjoy!!

----------

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3

Ship(s): Astarion/Wyll

Characters (lee/ler): Switch!Astarion/Switch!Wyll

Word Count: 2250 words

Summary: When Wyll asked Astarion to dance, he did not expect it to end in such a ticklish situation. He had no intentions of letting this go without a bit of revenge.

[ao3 link]

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

Dancing, Astarion thought. How sickeningly sweet.

But of course, it was Wyll. Astarion wasn’t sure what else he had expected. He was rather the fairytale prince type, not really the kind you take for a quick romp in the forest. In fact, Astarion doubted Wyll would agree even if he suggested it. A younger man may have found it romantic, but Astarion only found it to be a hindrance. It tended to be much harder to manipulate people without sex involved, in his experience.

That is, if Astarion even wanted to keep going through with that plan. It was all so much easier before feelings got involved.

Of course, none of his plans meant that Astarion was willing to drop his snark entirely. “Tell me, does this actually work for you?”

Wyll raised an eyebrow at him and, of course being the cheeky little thing he was, suddenly pushed Astarion out into a wide spin before pulling him close once more. “You tell me. You’re the one who accepted the offer to dance.”

“Come now, darling. You can’t tell me that you don’t crave a bit more… physicality, hm? Intimacy?” He pulled Wyll even closer, adjusting his grip to be just this side of innocent.

Wyll laughed, his eyes cutting to the side to avoid Astarion’s. Astarion could hear his pulse quicken, could smell the blood rush beneath his skin.

“I’d say this is rather physical already,” Wyll said, “wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, you know what I meant.” 

Astarion snuck a few fingers beneath the hem of Wyll’s tempting little cropped shirt, sliding them up his side – only, he didn’t get very far. Wyll made a strange, strangled noise in the back of his throat as he buckled in on that side, now dancing away from Astarion instead of alongside him. Astarion froze in his tracks.

“Too far?”

Wyll stood up straight, rubbing at the back of his neck with that horribly endearing self-conscious chuckle of his. “No, no, sorry. You did nothing wrong.” He chuckled again. “Just a bit ticklish there, is all.”

A predatory grin spread across Astarion’s lips and he swept in close to Wyll once more, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him flush. He watched Wyll’s throat bob. “So open with such sensitive information, my dear.” He tsked. “Seems a bit unwise, doesn’t it?”

Wyll rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Everyone’s at least a little ticklish somewhere – would do me no use in hiding it, now would it?” 

As he spoke, Wyll’s fingers snuck up Astarion’s own side, repeating the same motion that had Wyll dancing out of his arms. Astarion gasped at the sensation, wrenching himself from their embrace entirely on instinct. The sensation was unfamiliar and familiar all at once – something he knew he had to have felt before, but had no recollection of experiencing. He couldn’t help but stare down at his body as if it had betrayed him.

“See? Everyone’s ticklish somewhere.” Wyll paused, stepping closer. “Did– did you not know you were?”

“Trapped under control of my vampire master the past two hundred years – would you?” Astarion scoffed, refusing to meet his eyes. “Not exactly the time for warm fuzzies.”

“No. No, I suppose not.” After a moment, Wyll stepped closer again, lightly resting his hands against Astarion’s hips. “Never too late to find out, you know?”

Astarion couldn’t help but gape at him. “Are you suggesting I willingly allow you to exploit a weakness of mine for, what, your own enjoyment?” He smirked. “Why, Wyll, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Wyll laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course not – it’s just, you ought to know your own vulnerabilities, should you not?”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. Wyll’s grin turned sheepish – but only slightly.

“Alright. I am known to have a bit of a mischievous side.” His thumbs rubbed circles into the divots of Astarion’s hips, just the right amount of pressure to avoid a tickle. “But I would never take advantage of you in that way if you didn’t wish it.”

Astarion rolled his eyes, a fond smile spreading across his lips without his permission. “Gods, don’t be such a hero.”

The words were barely out of Astarion’s mouth before the soothing circles at Astarion’s hips became gentle squeezing. An undignified noise escaped him before he was able to seal his lips shut. He doubled over and scrabbled for Wyll’s wrists.

“I’m not hearing a ‘no,’” Wyll said, his voice filled with so much humor and fondness that it might’ve made Astarion feel ill if he hadn’t already been preoccupied.

“You ass,” Astarion replied instead.

Wyll clicked his tongue. “Maybe this will help teach you some manners.”

Astarion opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a rush of air as Wyll started wiggling his fingers up Astarion’s sides. While the squeezing had been gentle enough, the skittering of Wyll’s fingers was absurdly soft. The light touch was maddening in a way that Astarion couldn’t place, sending him squirming and lost to mortified giggles in mere moments. All of Cazadors horrible tortures, with his cold hands and rough grip, all of the people he’d lured back with his body, with their hungry touches and grasping hands, none of them could have prepared him for this – the delicate fingers of someone who cared for him (albeit through his own manipulation) picking him apart with such ease.

And the worst part was, Astarion found that he didn’t quite mind it. In fact, he actually rather liked it, as horribly embarrassing as it was. It was a kind of intimacy that he had never considered before, and one that wasn’t tainted with nearly so much history. And of course, the handsome smile spreading across Wyll’s face at Astarion’s ridiculous reactions was quite the bonus, even if it was at his expense.

Of course, it became much harder to think the longer Wyll took advantage of his sensitivities. Astarion had no idea that tickling could be so distracting, so consuming. He doubled over as those skittering fingers reached his ribcage, his hands coming up to try and muffle the laughter now escaping him. Wyll laughed along, and they both laughed harder when he managed to maneuver his hands up into Astarion’s underarms, causing him to stumble to the ground.

“Get out of there!” Astarion said, half-heartedly trying to shove Wyll away with one hand, while trying his hardest to shield his reactions with the other.

“If that’s really what you want!”

Astarion quickly learned that was the wrong choice, as Wyll shimmied his fingers out of Astarion’s underarms and swiftly set to poking and prodding around Astarion’s stomach. Through squinted eyes, Astarion could see Wyll watching his every jump and flinch, trying to catch his reactions through his fingers, no doubt cataloguing them to use exploit later.

“See, this isn’t quite so effective.” Wyll punctuated the sentence with a few playful squeezes to his sides.

“Seems plenty effective to me!” Astarion griped, trying to grasp for his hands.

Wyll cocked his head with a grin. “Oh, it certainly works, but you seem to do better with a… softer touch.”

With that, the skittering fingers were back, and a mortifyingly high-pitched noise burst from Astarion’s lips. It was absurd how much the method could change the intensity of the tickle, and even more absurd how badly a touch so soft could affect him. And of course, he was proved right in his previous hypothesis when Wyll seemed to focus particularly on the places he had made note of previously. All Astarion could do was roll around in the dirt and dead leaves, too uncoordinated to do anything to save himself even if he wanted to.

And then Wyll started jumping between certain areas of his upper body at random. His stomach, his ribs, his stomach again, his underarms, his hips, his sides – Astarion could barely keep track of the sensation. All he could do was laugh, no matter where it showed up next. His hips seemed to be particularly weak to this type of touch, and Wyll certainly enjoyed his time taking advantage of that. Even still, though all the playful torment, Astarion couldn’t say he exactly minded, though he would never let Wyll know.

And then Wyll’s fingers jumped up to Astarion’s neck, no warning at all. The tickle was still there, and certainly still effective, but Astarion’s breath caught in his throat. For the first time in all his squirming, he finally lurched away from the touch. One hand flew down to support himself as he tried to sit up, the other flying up to pry Wyll’s fingers away. 

Ever so attentive, Wyll pulled his hands away immediately. Instead, he moved to help Astarion sit up, rubbing his back as if to help him catch his breath despite the fact that Astarion didn’t really need to breathe anyways. It was a sweet gesture. Wyll was a fool. 

“No neck,” Wyll said. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

Astarion scoffed. “Please, as if there would be a next time in the first place. No, you’ve had your fun now, darling.”

Wyll only shook his head, a twinkle in his eyes. “Whatever you say, Astarion.”

“Speaking of fun–” Astarion ran a hand through his hair, trying to ruffle his curls back into place “– I believe it’s my turn.”

Wyll’s eyes went wide, but Astarion pulled him down to be flush with Astarion’s chest before he could make any moves. Though Wyll put up some semblance of a struggle, Astarion was easily able to roll them over, allowing him to loom over Wyll. It was almost endearing how little he was trying to actually fight back. Not to mention, few people would trust a vampire to put them on their back like this. If Astarion’s heart had still had a beat, he was worried it might’ve skipped one or two. As it was, he could hear Wyll’s heart give a stutter of its own.

Wyll gave him another one of those charming nervous chuckles. “Now Astarion, I’m sure we can talk about this.”

Astarion grinned, lowering his voice into a purr. “Oh my dear, you can talk all you wish. In fact, why don’t we start with whichever patch of skin is most likely to make you scream.”

“I’m no fool, Astarion. No man in his right mind would give up such sensitive information so willingly.”

Astarion leaned in closer, so his lips were brushing against Wyll’s ear. “Sensitive information indeed, hm?”

Wyll shivered, but at this point, Astarion was unable to tell if it was from pleasure or from ticklishness. Either way worked in his favor, so instead he set about his revenge. He started at Wyll’s hips, just as Wyll had begun with him, and started wiggling his fingers up Wyll’s sides and ribs. His giggles were music to Astarion’s ears as he shimmied back and forth beneath Astarion’s form. He tossed his head back with his giggling, baring his neck so temptingly, and Astarion couldn’t help but watch the way his throat bobbed with his laughter.

Still, Astarion wasn’t quite getting the reactions he desired. The giggles he garnered between Wyll’s hips and underarms were adorable, but it wasn’t what he was looking for. Astarion jumped down to Wyll’s sides again, giving them a few quick squeezes. He may have taken more than a few pointers from Wyll’s own attack, but it wasn’t as though he had much experience of his own to draw upon. Astarion felt his lips bloom into a devious grin at the flinch the touch garnered him and the louder laughter that followed.

“I see – you’re a bit opposite to me, then.”

Astarion could practically smell the blood as it rushed to Wyll’s cheeks, even if the blush didn’t show on his complexion. For the first time since Astarion began, Wyll started shoving at Astarion’s hands, though the laughter had clearly weakened him.

“Shut up!”

Astarion tsked. “Who knew the Blade of Frontiers was so easily embarrassed.”

He moved his prodding and squeezing inward, and finally Wyll shouted out a frantic, “Shit!” through his laughter. Wyll lurched up and tried to double over, not making it very far thanks to Astarion still looming over him. He scrambled for Astarion’s hands, fumbling blindly and ultimately making no difference to his torment.

“Ah – have I truly found my target so easily?”

“Yes!” Wyll shouted as he collapsed back into the dirt, his head thrown back once more as laughter wracked his body. “Yes, Astarion, please!”

Astarion slowed his fingers to a creeping spider, keeping Wyll in near-frantic giggles even with the light touch. He hummed thoughtfully. “But darling, how can I really be sure without completing my exploration? After all, most people would admit anything under torture.”

Wyll’s head tipped up and he stared at Astarion with wide eyes. Even still, he didn’t tell Astarion to stop. His blood may have been rushing, but it certainly wasn’t due to fear.

“Wait–” His voice was giggly and bright, his eyes clear from any distress.

Astarion hummed. “Condolences, but I believe I’m obligated to investigate further.” He leaned in close, their noses brushing. Astarion could almost taste Wyll’s giggles on his own lips, but he didn’t dare close the distance himself – he had to play this game at Wyll’s pace, after all. “Best prepare yourself for a long evening, my sweet.”

He certainly didn’t imagine the way Wyll’s heart sped up at those words.

[gargoy-ross]

But I do (You don't need me pt. 2) - Ramattra x reader

Part 1

As much as I love angst, I went for a bit happier ending today :)

A quiet knock on the door wakes you up. You don't have to guess to who it is.

Usually you'd rush to greet him, but right now? You barely find the energy to get up. 

It had been three days since you left. Three miserable days of crying and screaming, cold showers and now bland comfort foods. 

Ramattra was your everything. Still is, you won't let yourself go back when he speaks to you that way. That much you owed yourself. 

Another knock, a bit louder this time. 

After that it's eerie quiet, which means he's probably waiting for you to answer. How was he so sure you even were here?

"Give me a moment," you sigh and drag yourself up. Your reflection in the mirror has dark eye bags and messy, unbrushed hair. Washing your face didn't do much, you still looked like a zombie. 

The door clicks open at your command. You force a smile when your eyes lock with his optics. 

"What do you want?"

Your strained voice is like ice water poured on him. Not that he had any right to complain, you were more than justified in your anger. 

"I'd like to talk." He motions inside, asking for permission. His voice is steady and calm, but stiff movements give away his anxiousness. 

You open the door. Some part of him finds solace in the fact that you're at least willing to let him into your space. Other feels worry for seeing you in such a state.

"Go on." 

"I wanted to apologize." His voicebox clicks, and you wait patiently while he finds his voice again.

"I was wrong. I shouldn't have said any of those things."

"No, you shouldn't." It comes out more aggressive than you had intended, but you don't back down. 

"That was not what I truly think of you. You are one of the most brilliant people I've met, and I really should be grateful to have you by my side."

With utmost gentleness he takes ahold of your hands. 

"I let my anger and frustration cloud my judgment. I know it's not an excuse, but I will do better." He wavers, looking for an answer in your eyes. "If you'll let me that is."

You know his apology is sincere. Ramattra looks like he's ready to beg for your forgiveness if that's what it takes. And you do want to forgive him too, but letting go wasn't so simple.

"I think I need some time for myself right now," you say hesitantly. It takes more willpower than it should to not tag a 'sorry' at the end. 

"I understand." He lets go of your hands and turns away, but his figure lingers in the doorway. "I will wait for you, you know where to find me when... if you're willing to give me another chance." 

You give him a light nod before he leaves, and then the room is quiet again. 

Thousand thoughts rage a storm in your head. Memories from happier times, before you'd even thought about the liberation, of long nights when you counted stars and fell asleep in each other's embrace... 

You've missed him far longer than those three days. 

Right now, a meditation would help to clear your head. And then, you'll give him one more chance. That much you owed for both of you.

[ghosttownwherenoonegoes]

'Ruined' domesticity - e.m. x gn!reader ft. Uncle Wayne (dad💗)

Summary: You and Eddie are both cuddling in bed after a long day full of all the usual bullshit and just as you reach your threshold consciousness, Uncle Wayne comes home from work and you 'ruin' the moment by launching out of bed to give him a hug. Uncle Wayne would later call it a 'flying tackle', but you won't care. All you ever want is the Munsons home together with you, and they're here. This is just another favourite part of your day, but it always happens right at the end... as Uncle Wayne comes home, you and Eddie come home to yourselves. Home is where the heart is.

A/N: Inspired by a conversation @thefreak0fhawkinshigh and I have had a few times. I couldn't get this little daydream out of my head. If you spot the LOTR reference, I'm giving you a forehead kissie.💗This is self-indulgent as all hell, I just wanna attack Uncle Wayne in a hug and call him dad and feel him hug me back. I just want to be loved by a parent since my own do not care.

TW; this is just fluff but in case it's triggering to anyone, there's swearing in the narrative, Eddie is a squeezer and I describe his hugs as being held by a boa constrictor (positive, affectionate, I adore snakes and Eddie), mentions of unspecified stresses in your lives, reader calls Uncle Wayne 'dad'; there is no familial connection but he's a definitive paternal figure to Y/N, mentions of reader's parents not taking good care of them so Uncle Wayne is very much their father figure and fulfils the role perfectly because of course he does!😭🥺

Gender neutral reader & no coded language.

People who wanted to be tagged: @ali-r3n @jslittlebirdie

Word count: 2, 080.

Finally, finally, you were exactly where you had wanted to be even before you had dragged yourself out of bed this morning.

Wrapped up in Eddie Munson's arms, and he in yours.

Limbs tangled together, heads sharing the same pillow, your arms around one another so tightly that you could feel his heart pounding against the safety of his ribcage and fluttering against your own. You could feel your own heart racing, too, your blood singing in your ears even as you laid there waiting for Morpheus to embrace you.

The 'you' was singular but it included you and Eddie, for nowhere would either of you go where the other couldn't follow.

Eddie hummed contentedly as you pushed your body into his, curling your arms tighter around his shoulders as you nuzzled the cool tip of your nose into the crook of his neck.

"Love you so much, Eddie," you mumbled, carelessly pressing kisses to whatever part of him was nearest, "don't know what I'd do without you."

Eddie had a feeling that you had more to say, so he squeezed you even tighter into him, until not even a sheet of paper could have been slid between your bodies, and awkwardly moved so that he could kiss the top of your head. "I love you too, sweetheart." No matter whether you were mid-intense discussion or half asleep, you and Eddie always said those few words back to each other. Even if such a 'rule' hadn't already been in the Munson Doctrine, you would have made it an addition; Eddie knowing how important he was to you was always a top priority. The thought of Eddie not knowing how loved he was made you feel genuinely sick.

"I just miss you all the time," you sighed, "even when you're right here." You squeezed Eddie and he playfully groaned, pretending to be in pain from the strength of your grip. "Want you around all the time. More I have, the more I want of you. Don't wanna let go."

"Whoa, hey," Eddie grinned a megawatt grin which left your heart aching, giddy was he to know just how loved he was by you, his eyes soft with all the love in the world because he never thought he'd ever have this with anyone, let alone with you, "you don't have to miss me, okay? I promise. I'm right here, sweetheart." He tightened his arms around you again until you felt, for a second, like you were being held by a boa constrictor (and you loved it when Eddie held you like that). It was a silent reciprocation of everything you had just shared, and a mutual need to have you as close to him as possible. In turn, you pressed kisses where you could reach. With you and Eddie, the more affection which was shared, the more the love grew. Your hearts were so big anyway but they were limitless and timeless when it came to each other.

You could never get enough of Eddie; your heart squeezed so much that it made your chest physically ache with the force of all the love you held for him. You both laid there, wrapped up in one another's embrace and not willing to let go for even a second. Little more was said as the both of you wound down for the night. Just holding each other, breathing and thinking and finally finding peace in one another's company after yet another crazy day full of too much to do and little time to do it in, mixed up with all the usual bullshit which life liked to throw at you like you weren't already busy enough.

You and Eddie were creeping closer and closer to your respective threshold consciousness, but just as you allowed yourself to properly settle down with the intention to sleep, you heard the roar of a van coming down through the trailer park, tyres crunching on gravel, and then the sound of a car door opening and closing. Boots bit down on gravel and then concrete, and you froze as you realised that the steps the feet were ascending were the ones outside the trailer. Which meant only one thing:

Uncle Wayne was home.

There was the familiar jangle of keys and before you even realised what was happening, your body was wriggling out of bed. Now that Uncle Wayne was home, there was no way you would relax enough to fall asleep without being able to say hello and give him a proper hug.

"Mm?" Eddie sleepily shuffled around, his hands patting around for you. "Wassit?" It would have been enough to make you get back into bed at any other time, but this was Uncle Wayne. You could cuddle Eddie any time you wanted, but Uncle Wayne was only around for limited hours every day and you always made a point to seize every opportunity for a hug that you could. He was more of a father to you than either of your parents had ever been, and he had only been too honoured the first time you had told him. He was used to you greeting him excitedly and always with some sense of urgency. You had been waiting for this moment all night and now he was here.

"Dad!" You hissed, shaking Eddie gently, "dad's home!" you were desperately dodging Eddie's grabby hands as you tried to untangle yourself from the hot bedsheets which you and Eddie had been sharing for several hours. Finally, you got yourself free, hopping awkwardly on one foot to make sure that you didn't trip over the sheets wrapped around your toes. You moved much faster than your sleep-heavy mind could comprehend as you were already in the hallway by the time your mind told you that your limbs were cold from being in bed for so long. "Dad's home dad's home dad's home!!!!" Your words quickly became nonsensical as your excitement heightened and you ran down the hall, just catching a blur of red and blue flannel closing the front door behind him, a hand deftly locking it, before you launched yourself at it. "Dad!!!"

Uncle Wayne was very used to being attacked when he came home from work. Anyone who knew him, though no one knew him better than you and Eddie, knew that he adored being attacked when he came home. It meant that he was home, that he was safe, that he was loved. Eddie had been throwing himself out of trees and vans and into his Uncle's arms for as long as he could remember, but now you did the same thing... it had been just over a year since you had begun to date Eddie and you were well and truly a Munson now. Honourary, at least. But still... a Munson.

And that meant that you were 'allowed' (encouraged) to indulge in the luxury of doing what Eddie liked to do every morning before school after setting up the trailer so that his dad could reheat dinner, shower and then collapse into the bed Eddie unfolded and set up for him - throw yourself at Uncle Wayne in a hug. But more than that, oh, more than that... you would be caught, held tightly, and feel yourself coming home just like Eddie did, when he did the same.

If anyone other than a Munson tried to do to Uncle Wayne what you and Eddie loved doing, then woe betide them. Being loved by a Munson as a Munson came with a different set of rules, a different way of expressing and sharing love. The only exception to that may well have been Dustin... everyone loved Dustin, and for good reason. He, too, could score an Uncle Wayne hug, but he would not have been allowed a moment of flight beforehand, unlike you and Eddie.

Uncle Wayne's arms were already open for you; he had heard you almost yell Eddie out of his threshold consciousness and then bound down the hallway, through the living room, and then -

home.

Uncle Wayne grunted, a gruff oof as you collided with him in that red and blue flannel you loved so well. He didn't stumble, he didn't falter. No, he merely adjusted his feet, caught you in his arms, and held on tight. "Well, it ain't a proper homecoming 'less someone throws themselves at me." Uncle Wayne's greeting was saturated with laughter, his ocean blues deeply creased at the edges and alight with tender affection. He squeezed you in his arms and you nuzzled in, smiling to yourself as your body took a natural deep breath of its own accord. "Hey there, darlin'," Uncle Wayne ducked his head down to press a kiss to the top of your head; it was all he could see of you. You moved your arms so that instead of being over the top of his flannel, you moved them down and then under his flannel, where it was warmer and closer to your dad. "Take it you missed me?"

"Even when you're here." You squeezed Uncle Wayne around the middle, letting yourself sink into the hug with the man who was more of a father to you than either of your parents had ever been combined. You didn't want to let go but you knew that you would have to eventually. "How was work?"

"Miss you too, darlin'. You and our Eddie." Uncle Wayne sighed between greeting you and answering your question; the exhaustion in his voice made your breath get stuck in your throat. "Oh, same old, y'know." You had the feeling that Uncle Wayne was going to elaborate a little, but before he did, there was a loud and overdramatic sigh from behind you. You gave Uncle Wayne one final big squeeze before you stepped away from him. You stayed close, though, and waited to see if your Eddie would join you in greeting his dad.

"Would you quit stealin' Y/N from me, man?" Eddie's words were harsh, but his tone was soaked with barely restrained laughter as he bounded across the trailer. He skidded to a stop in front of his dad, thought better of it and then jumped at Uncle Wayne, throwing his arms around his dad's shoulders as he pulled himself in.

Uncle Wayne chuckled. "I did no such thing! Y/N attacked me!" He held onto Eddie like if he let go, then Eddie would slip through his fingers like the sands of time. "I ain't gonna complain about that, you know I ain't." Just like with you, Uncle Wayne let himself both sink into his hug with Eddie as well as be the strong wall for Eddie to melt into. The hug between the Munson men went on for longer than the hug you had with Uncle Wayne, but that was okay - you could have a hug from him any time you wanted, all you had to do was ask. And sometimes, you didn't even have to ask; just one look at you, when you were in a certain mood, and Uncle Wayne knew that you needed to be sandwiched between him and his boy for an undetermined amount of time. Uncle Wayne tried to let go of Eddie, but the boy whined and Uncle Wayne smiled to himself and squeezed Eddie tighter. "Easy, son, that's it. You know I ain't lettin' go 'til you want me to. M'right here."

Eddie sniffled and mumbled something like, "never gonna want you to let me go, dad," and your heart melted into a puddle on the floor, right along Uncle Wayne's. You weren't supposed to hear it, only Eddie's dad was, so you let Eddie keep his secret. Finally, Eddie literally wriggled his way free and found his way back to you as Uncle Wayne turned to look around the trailer. He saw the pull out sofa ready for him with the duvet pulled back and the pillows fluffed up, he saw frying pans and dishes on the draining board next to the sink and suspected that dinner leftovers were waiting for him in the fridge (he was right), and that the shower would be ready for him as well with pyjamas and his usual products (it was). His kids had made sure that all he had to do was eat, shower and then sleep, and warmth bloomed in Uncle Wayne's chest like flowers in a garden.

An eternal spring day, deep inside, forever.

[the-muppet-joker]

I Felt Your Embrace

Part 1

Tags: Joker x Kermit, Cosmo Kramer, Joker's Cum Makes Kermit Insane, Cum Harvesting

--Martians (Sesame Street) x Kramer, Vore, and more to come in part 2--

♤♡♧♧

Cosmo Kramer had done some odd jobs in his life, this one was just about to take the cake. He was visiting Gotham on a whim, and saw an ad in the paper for a delivery job that seemed to be a quick cash grab. "Delivery boy wanted for a Mr. Joker, eh? Sounds like I just gotta deliver clown supplies or somethin, like those flowers that shoot people with water, or maybe juggling balls. Shouldn't be too difficult...might even get free clown supplies. You never know, could come in handy..."

He realized, too late, that this Joker was no ordinary clown. Before him was a scene that was equal parts disturbing, errotic, and baffling. A green muppet fellow, a frog by the looks of it, lay in an ecstatic stupor on the floor of the warehouse the Joker had requested Kramer meet him at. The muppet, addressed by the clown as "Kermit" had been in a violent frenzy when Kramer had arrived, and only calmed down when Joker had scooped copious amounts of a strange, sticky fluid out of the hole in his back, storing it safely in a jar. The way Kermit had moaned and shuddered at the contact, and how even in his subdued state he lay twitching on the floor with a blissful, fucked out look in his eyes... Kramer eyed the substance in the jar and gulped nervously. Whatever it was, it sure made that muppet go wild.

The clown who hired him cleared his throat, snapping Kramer out of his thoughts. He looked different than most clowns he had seen: instead of silly, baggy clothes, he wore a tight-fitting, stylish purple suit that complimented his lean figure. Where most clowns had painted a dopey smile, the Joker's milky white face had a sharp, crimson grin. And his eyes... his eyes were what drew Kramer in the most acid green, with a slight glow that matched that of the jar's contents.

"If you're done staring, I'd like to talk business," Joker crooned. Kramer nodded wordlessly, wondering when his mouth had gotten so dry. Joker grinned.

"My darling Kermit over there has a group of acquantences who are... new in town, so to speak. They have a passion for cataloging just about everything on earth in this quaint little book of theirs."

Joker's eyes burned into Kramer's as he spoke, and Kramer was suddenly reminded of a snake constricting its prey.

"They stopped by unexpectedly the other day in the middle of one of me and Kermit's... sessions, and they want a sample of whatever made him act so strangely so they may research it." Joker pressed the jar and a slip of paper into Kramer's sweaty hands. Joker's long, spiderlike fingers brushed against Kramer's and he had to surpress a yelp. Jesus, I don't know if I'm more terrified or turned on by this weirdo, but I gotta snap out of it. You're here for a job, Kramer. Think of the cash, Kramer thought desperately.

"Go to the address on that paper and deliver this. Get their signature confirming they received it, return here, and I will reward you handsomly. Joker finished with a blood-red smile.

"With cash, right? $1000?" Kramer asked, fidgeting. He wasn't sure where to look; hot-creepy clown, moaning muppet, jar of glowing cum in his hands... Jerry was never going to believe this shit.

Joker just smiled even wider, and Kramer babbled an assortment of "sounds good" and "got it boss" type phrases as he stumbled out the door. This clown is outta control, he thought, hoping the folks at the location on the paper would be less strange...

--Part 2 Coming Soon--

[purple-iris]

Reprising this post: After my viewing of The Wrath of Khan, The Search for Spock and my read of the novel The Pandora Principle, it has come to my attention that Saavik's characterization can in fact be interpreted as a mirror to different aspects of each of the members of the triumvirate, while still maintaining that she is her own unique, profound character.

Now, the essay. I said I'd do it if one person asked and four kind people did, so here it is! Its under the keep reading, because it's quite long!

To begin with the most obvious, Saavik and Spock. He is her mentor, teacher and father-figure in The Pandora Principle (TPP) and she spends the most time with him.

Firstly, the backstory we gain for Saavik in The Pandora Principle more clearly establishes her as half-Vulcan, which parallels Spock’s own half-vulcan heritage. She lives through the same struggle to fit in with her Vulcan peers, while also facing her with the impossibility of finding belonging elsewhere, because her other half is half-Romulan. She’s an outsider among her own people, and in TPP, we witness her quite overcompensating on her Vulcan emotional control while on the Enterprise and faced with returning feelings linked to her past.

Secondly, this also connects to her difficulty reconciling her feelings (and she feels a lot and deeply, much like Spock) and her logic (which she does embrace, but sometimes struggles with). To me, it parallels Spock’s journey through Kolinahr, the failure of which puzzles Saavik, since she perceives him as a perfect Vulcan, she has a hard time understanding how he could have failed. It's toward the climax of the story that they truly connect emotionally, and she realizes that combining feelings and logic is ultimately the way Spock chose, and is no less Vulcan for it.

Thirdly, we see Saavik, from a young age, as someone who is extremely curious, who loves to learn and discover as much as possible. She quickly takes a liking to Spock’s tricorder, which he traded with her knife on Hellguard to get her to leave the planet in the opening scenes of TPP. After the year on Dantria IV spent learning the Vulcan way and starting her education, it is implied that she lived on Vulcan and continued her education there, before joining Starfleet.

That brings me to the fourth point. Much like Spock, she has a hard time fitting in, and ultimately finds her place not on Vulcan, but with Starfleet. She might not have tried entering the VSA, but considering her abilities and mind, she most likely could have attended if she had wanted to. Within Starfleet, much like her mentor, Saavik has a tendency to quote regulations, which I also wanted to underline here.

Fifth point, and perhaps a less obvious one, but both Saavik and Spock have a deep capacity for understanding people, their motives and thoughts. While they both explain it/it's implied that they understand it as “well, logically, that’s how this person’s mind set worked.” It's mainly that they are both very empathic people, telepathy or not. In many instance in TOS Spock explains the behavior of a character, providing insight to Jim/the others and the audience with excellent insight, while Saavik, once she learns of Jim’s method of the Kobayashi Maru, reads him like an open book about his lack of experience with true, final loss in the line of duty (Because Jim has lost people, just not the way he lost Spock in TWOK)

To continue on that, while she can also be really insightful, she also shows a struggle to fully comprehend humans and their illogic, such as her confusion at Kirk’s joke in the turbolift in TWOK or at her fellow student’s proclivity for “fun” in TPP. This clearly parallels Spock’s own difficulties, which he empathizes with in their video calls in The Pandora Principle. Much like him, Saavik also desires to understand more, which stems from her natural curiosity, and is manifested by her enrolling in the Academy's baseball team.

Also, much like Spock with Sarek, Saavik is afraid of embarrassing or disappointing her mentor/father-figure once she goes to the Enterprise in TPP. She truly wants him to be proud of her, which is similar to Spock’s own behavior concerning his father’s expectations (except he is way less restrictive than Sarek and is so proud of Saavik anyway)

To finish, Saavik is also quite sassy, with special mention to her interactions with Bones in TPP, very stubborn (once again, read TPP you won't regret it (I have a PDF if anyone wants it)) and self-sacrificial. These last few traits I think can be explained by “being raised by Mr. S’chn T’gai Spock”.

Following up, Saavik and James T. Kirk. While we mostly see them interact in TWOK and briefly in TSFS, Saavik grew up hearing stories about this man (TOS fan in universe, ain't this crazy) and does resemble him more than I think even she knows.

To begin, both of them lived through absolutely traumatizing events in their childhood/youth, which deeply impacted their character. Saavik grew up on Hellguard, a Romulan colony in which she and the other children were abused, tortured and starved, in spite of the presence of replicators, then were abandoned on the desertic surface to fend for themselves, resulting in infighting, starvation, murders and deaths. This highly traumatic event, caused by authority figures and involving starvation is familiar to TOS fans, reflecting quite easily what Jim went through during his teenage years on Tarsus IV. Resulting from these events are many of Saavik’s and Jim’s survivalism techniques, trauma surrounding food (Ever noticed how Saavik is staring at Jim on Genesis planet when he mentions that food is first order of survival? I did.) as well as trauma, some mistrust and anger toward authoritarian figures and survivor’s guilt (or even just guilt regarding her actions in Saavik’s case, who implicitly had to kill and resort to violence to survive.)

After this massive paragraph, we can continue on happier comparisons. Saavik, just like Jim, is an exemplary Academy student. While she isn't called a “stack of books with legs”, it is implied that she is quite involved in her studies, while also taking some time to bonify her understanding of humanity on the side. Her insistence at understanding the test and what it was truly evaluating shows her devotion to her studies and even a perfectionism that Jim “youngest starfleet captain ever” must also have displayed at her age.

To continue, while much like Spock she chose Starfleet over the VSA, she doesn’t follow him in the science tract, but rather in the command tract, much like Jim. While in the Kobayashi Maru simulation, she shows a natural proclivity to it. She has a good command instinct, knows how to make decisions even in the face of highly stressful situations (even in simulation, we can see Spock's simulated-death shocked her), and yet she continues on, sends out orders, whips out strategy and asks for damage reports. Until the end, she keeps control and calm, even in the face of impossibility to win.

On that point, her questioning of the test, while it also could be read as her finding illogic that the test is unwinnable, also seem to me as a parallel to Jim, of not believing in No Win Scenarios. Even her presence on Genesis in TSFS, following her assignment to the USS Grissom, seems to me that in her grief, she still held some form of hope and desired to find a way. (And beside, she and Spock had promised that if one went lost, the other would find them in TPP)

To continue on, Saavik and Jim both have a sharp sense of right and wrong and justice, once more a consequence of their upbringing, but also a quality that serves them as commanding officers (and future commanding officers in Saavik’s case)

Also, both of them are exceptionally kind, and feel deeply, even if in Saavik’s case it’s not always as clear, her inner monologue in TPP truly shows that her emotions are strong. We see her anxious, happy, excited, afraid, apprehensive, angry, resentful, and many other emotions. She is also haunted by the events of her past and the emotions linked to it, in a way that mirror’s Jim in the episodes Obsession and The Conscience of the King.

To conclude, she too hate going to sickbay, as illustrated by her reluctance to be examined by McCoy even after her injuries upon the return to Hellguard in TPP, is also very stubborn (Thats a trend with the triumvirate) and I think I can liken her self-sacrificial tendency to Jim’s too.

(Little bonus similarity to AOS Jim, has what can be seen as a crush on Uhura the first time she sees her, she says: “But I have never seen anyone so aesthetically pleasing. I was unaware of that quality in humans. Oh.”)

Last but not least, Saavik and Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy. You might not expect it, but they do share similarity.

Firstly, I want to once again mention her emotions, and that Saavik, while Vulcan and mostly shown as aloof, can also have quite a temper, even more on Hellguard as a child and soon after leaving the planet. When she doesn't succeed at using a tricorder at first, she begins to yell at it, insults it and flings it around. That blatant show of anger and/or impulsivity can be likened to the grumpy doctor, who while he is an adult and much less exuberant in it, doesn't shy away from his anger. The way Saavik feels, and how we can truly see her mind in the narration of TPP truly likens her to the emotional McCoy, while she also attempts to balance it out by emulating Spock’s logic, and falls somewhere in between, much like Jim himself does in many episodes of TOS. (Oh wow, the premise of this essay is that she is like the three of them!)

Secondly, Saavik swears! If this isn’t parallel to McCoy I don’t know what is. In TWOK, we hear her say “Damn” on the bridge, but it doesn't end there. On Hellguard and afterwards, she quite often uses Sonabastard! as an expletive and as an insult. She also, once she has been told the story of Amok Time, calls T’Pring a bitch, quote here:

"She was a bitch!"

"That is, among other things, inaccurate. The term refers-"

"Oh, I know what it refers-and that's what she was! What she did was bad!" Saavik stopped in the lane and stamped her foot, temper brewing. "You say it is bad to hurt people, but she made people hurt each other! That is much badder! She was a bitch!" Spock didn't trust himself to comment; he came perilously close to agreeing with her.

That whole sequence illustrates a sense of justice she shares with both Jim and Bones, as well as an impulsive mouth and anger. But most importantly, it illustrates her kindness and empathy, a trait she also shares with McCoy, albeit once again often shrouded in grumpy care for the doctor and in righteous anger in Saavik.

To continue, she can also seem sassy, a trait I have also mentioned in relation to Spock, but can apply to Bones as well.

And to no one's surprise, I will once again mention stubbornness and self-sacrifice.

Well, this concludes my analysis, thank you for reading, don’t hesitate to add on or correct me in any case.

[fairuzfan]

It's the zionist concern anon again. I will say for now that with what you said about prioritizing Palestinians I do agree. The people going through a genocide are a bigger priority than people who are not going through a genocide. I just fear that due to the fact I am neither Palestinian or Jewish that I may end up embracing stances that I do not actually understand and that innocent people may suffer because of it. I do not want to be irresponsible. I am also someone who lives in a country built on stolen land, so that does to some sort of extent influence my feelings on Isreal as I imagine many people in Isreal share my thoughts on the fact we have lived our entire lives on stolen land. As I said before, I also do not know any Palestinians personally so I find it hard to know who I can ask about the history, Hamas, technical details of politics, etc without risking being taught the wrong things. On a much more selfish note, I also struggle with debilitating mental health issues that make it very difficult to navigate moral issues especially if the moral issues do not impact me on a personal level. So if I am being honest, my questions are not entirely selfless as I have very self-centered fears on if I am actually a horrible person. I thank you again for being so understanding, but I figure the right thing to do here is admit I am likely not as pure intentioned in my questions as I should be when a large factor to why I worked up the courage to ask is in hope I am worrying too much about my quality of moral character from a selfish perspective. Again, I thank you for being so understanding and willing to answer these asks instead of just brushing me off as a horrible zionist.

I don't think you're a horrible person at all I just think everyone has underlying zionist biases because it's a product of the society we live in.

And I do understand where you're coming from, honestly. Something that always helps me is remembering something that my parents taught me as a kid: always stand on the side of the oppressed. Now as I grew up I realized you have to define what oppression means and I think exploring that will also help you get a better understanding of how to combat other forms of racism/antisemitism/transphobia/etc.

If you do want to learn about hamas tho, I would suggest taking a look at Tareq Baconi, he has a lot of writings about the history of Hamas and he's Palestinian. There are also Palestinian podcasts and social media accounts. I understand that not knowing a palestinian personally to help you guide yourself through these things is daunting, but there are plenty of resources to help! It's why I'm here on this blog honestly, I don't mind you reaching out to me for questions or anything.

A good principle to remind ourselves with is "how can I ensure that justice can be had?" And to find the answer to that you need to look into multiple types of antizionist thought. Some blogs I like to check out for a diverse antizionist opinion are @el-shab-hussein and @bringmemyrocks as a couple of examples. Plus I'd look to Black American thinkers on antiracism (like Angela Davis and James Baldwin and Kwame Ture) because they do a good job of showing you how to examine your internal biases which we are all subject to.

I don't think this selfish to want to be a good person. I have the same worries. I actually do get worried that sometimes I'm *actually* a bad person secretly without me realizing and I reach out to friends and family to talk it out. Something that helps me through this is realizing that you have to forgive yourself for previous beliefs you've had and promise yourself to do better because at the end of the day youre human and you make mistakes.

But really my biggest advice is to read and listen to a variety of schools of thought and if you can, interact with local communities dedicated to antiracism. Even if theyre digital communities! That will help a lot with identifying any problem points.

Again, feel free to reach out with any questions. I don't think you're a zionist at all! Please don't worry and thanks for reaching out :)

[iwritebigbellies-blog]

Same anon who asked about causes here. If I ever send another ask, I'll probably end it with -O. I feel SEEN, oh my god. I fully teared up reading your response. I think there's a special sort of loneliness that comes from growing up with a "rare" form of kink/fetish/paraphillia. I only recently (as in, a couple of months ago) started embracing mine instead of trying to push it away, and it's been, um, a journey. I've spent the last few months alternating between the depression of "I'm stuck with this and there's no cure" and the isolation of "Even people who are into this aren't usually into it like I am." Your post singlehandedly managed to make me feel a LOT better about everything, so, thank you <3 Funny how simply knowing that you're not alone can make a situation seem so much less bleak. -O

I'd normally take this to DMs, but anon asks are what they are. 😅 Sorry...

I just wanna give you/readers/myself a little pep talk about... well, the whole thing where you feel hopelessly fucked up and alone when you have a niche fetish.

I have known I am like this for decades. I figured myself out around age 14 and by the time I was living with my first bf at 17 I knew that stuffing was the only thing that genuinely turned me on.

That didn't stop me from trying to brute force myself through "vanilla" relationships. I explained to my partners (four of them, back to back, over twenty years) about this kink, but I hadn't accepted that this was my only button. I still thought that maybe if I tried hard enough, or pretended, or got therapy, or watched porn, that SOMETHING else might work. And when it didn't, I either retreated into shame and guilt, thinking I was too broken for relationships, or I forced myself to have sex anyway, even when I was completely unaroused and uninterested.

Most of my exes tried. They even kinda enjoyed themselves. Big guys eat, man. Being told that not only do they never have to diet, but their girlfriend will get rabidly turned on when they eat too much? That's a win, right? But they weren't into it, and it wasn't practical to engage in as often as they wanted to get laid, so sex became triage.

Every single relationship I have had in my life has ended over sexual mismatch. All of them. And along the way, I felt shitty, violated, panicky, lonely, and hopeless. I have been told I am asexual, cold, cruel, and worse. I believed it.

About a year ago, I decided I couldn't do that anymore. Dating "normal" people and trying to wedge fetishy compromise into the relationship has never worked. I couldn't bear to try again.

I joined Feabie instead, thinking I'd tackle this from the other direction. I'd tried dating people who were amazing except for the sex. Maybe I could try just matching up sexually, and give up trying to fall in love. Normal people have hookups, right? Maybe I could just have kinky hookups for a while, before I am too old to pull anyone ever again.

One of the ruder awakenings of my Feabie experience has been that even in the feedist community, my fetish is niche. A lot of men message me. Like, a lot. And I want to give people a chance, so I have chatted with most of them. Maybe... 300-400 guys over the last 10 months. (These are not sexy converaations, for the most part. Just getting to know people!) But the overwhelming majority of these guys are gainers. They fetishize fat, and the process of gaining, and even though there is some fun overlap (stuffing is fun for both of us!) I eventually got frustrated with how often the conversation would swing to things that just weren't sexy to me. Playing at finding wg sexy is just as exhausting as playing at finding vanilla whatever sexy. It just... isn't. It becomes a chore. I'm back to where I started.

Finding the one tiny, incredibly hidden corner of the internet where you supposedly belong and then discovering you don't really belong there? That fucking sucks.

But... it hasn't been a wash. I have actually met people who share my fetish. Like, VERY FEW, but at this point, ANY is an enormous win. Of course, we each have our separate little quirks and angles, but on the whole, I have matched well enough with a few people that I could see myself being genuinely happy with them. They like what I like and the result is devastatingly sexy. I have had the best (virtual) dates if my whole life in the last year, my first real orgasms. I have met enough people who share my small corner of this tiny pond that I can even afford to be picky. I've even met people who I adore for reasons unrelated to the kink. Who are age-appropriate. The pool is small, but can somehow still contain people who might be perfect.

This is the right place for me to be. I have been happier and more honest and myself and more seen around the feedist community than anywhere else in my life. It isn't easy and I still haven't met a person who will commit to me and say they will keep me forever, but maybe I will. It is more likely here than anywhere.

And there are a lot more younger people around here than there are folks my age. So your chances are better than mine.

It can get better. We just have to make, and hold, our space.

[the-whispers-of-death]

This is an 18+ Only Blog! Minors & ageless blogs will be blocked!! Do not interact if you're a minor or don't have an age in your bio/pinned post!!

A/N: Reader is written as male reader considering it later describes you as a "wanted man", but this can be read as gender neutral because there's no other indication of your gender. (This might change later on, if I decide to continue with adding onto this drabble, in which case Reader's gender will be more clear in the potential next parts.)

Imagine living in a dystopian world and the 141 is a known rebellion, looking to topple the tyrannical government once and for all. And imagine you do something to piss off said government.

So now you're running through the crowded streets, weaving in and out of people, trying to lose the city guards that are gaining on you. You did something so simple, yet here you are, being hunted down like a high-level criminal.

You near the edge of the city, knowing that if you just make it to the woods, the city guards won't follow you. And while the woods are scary and you've never been in them, they must be better than seeing the inside of an unregulated prison.

Safety is so close, you can just taste it. See it.

And then you stumble on a loose cobblestone, falling hard onto the ground.

No, no, no, you think as panic overtakes you as you try your best to get up as quickly as possibly only to fail and still be on the ground. You can hear the city guards run faster, knowing that this is their chance to take hold of you.

It'd be so easy, no one else is going to help you. They're all just staring at the commotion, this would be the highlight of their boring day.

Just when your panic hits its peak, a large figure pushes through the crowd and takes you by the hand. He lugs you up onto your feet and barely lets you gain your footing before pulling you along, both of you running towards the woods.

As you two pass the border of the city and into the woods, you don't stop running despite hearing the city guards stop short at the border. You two just keep running and running.

Until you get to a riverbed, the sound of the water rushing beside you joining the sounds of your heavy breaths. As soon as you two arrive, the man lets go of your hand and you take the time to get a better look at him.

And what you see shocks you.

You see the man wearing a white skull and black balaclava that you know so well from seeing on wanted posts. You take in the massive muscles he has, muscles you've heard he uses in battle so often, if the stories are to believe. You know this man and what they call him, because he's a legend.

"You're Ghost," you murmur in awe, looking at him with wide eyes. You watch him turn to you, short puffs of air coming from him as his brown eyes drill holes into your face.

Ghost nods, grunting gruffly. "I am he. And I am also your savior," he says, his voice dry as always.

You raise an eyebrow at that wording, but he did save you, so you don't comment on it. "Thank you, I really thought I'd end up in prison. I'll just be out of your hair then." You move to turn away, content to part ways with your knight in shining armor.

"Ah, no. You don't get to leave," Ghost replies, his booming voice making you stop in your tracks. His eyes twinkle when you turn back to face him. "I saved you and the least you can do to repay me is to join the rebellion. You already must've done something out of the norm to cause the city guards to chase you, you might as well embrace your life as a wanted man."

You can't deny that it would be better if you stuck with Ghost and the 141, simply because you don't know life outside of the ordered world you were living in before. It'd be nice to learn how to take care of yourself.

"Alright, fine. But I'm only doing this to repay you for saving me. I don't really believe in your cause," you say, still a little hesitant to trust the rebellion you've been told was absolutely horrible.

Ghost's eyes crinkle underneath his mask, clearly smiling under there. "Oh don't you worry, you'll see the truth. Eventually."

Separator made by @une-femme-de-lettres

I had a dream for a book about a dystopian world and then when eating breakfast I thought, what if I placed Reader and the 141 in a dystopian world? So here is what was going through my mind during breakfast.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and request something! (Check the rules in "Rules for Requesting NSFW" before requesting.)