#so now its been in for repairs for the past week

[ovydka]

yall ever go to the flea market specifically to buy cassettes and smiths cds and then proceed to leave with 15 less euros than you brought and 2 cds that are NOT the smiths?

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent images I suppose ~

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Al Ghul Twins, Only Not Really

I have this vague idea that I might or might not turn into a fic, but it's been in my head for weeks now.

So Bad Ending with Fentons happens, after which Danny is traumatized beyond repair. Sam and Tucker find him, and for the lack of any other possible solutions, yeet him in the Zone and destroy the portal. Clockwork finds him, and Danny, desperate for a safe place, time to rest and heal, and afraid of becoming Dan, asks him for help. Clockwork obliges and tells him he will take care of everything and for Danny to sleep and not worry about anything.

"It's going to be okay," Clockwork tells him, "You will wake up, and all this will feel like a distant dream."

So Danny sleeps. The trick is, he doesn't sleep for a day or two - Clockwork, together with Frostbite and Nocturn, put him into something equivalent to medical coma. And then, Clockwork finds a dimension where no one's ever heard of Danny, Amity Park, GIW, and everything else, and he hides Danny in there.

Danny sleeps for three centuries, in depth of the mountains where no one can find or bother him. Yet, his mere presence in the world causes some ectoplasm to start accumulating around him - he is the Ghost King, after all.

He sleeps under Nanda Parbat.

When he wakes, his past life with Fentons really does feel distant and foggy. He remembers it, but it's like a childhood memory: the details have faded away, the faces have become blurry, and it doesn't hurt anymore. He doesn't forget anything, but it becomes... less important. Less meaningful.

But the first thing he feels just a few minutes after he wakes is a soul. A soul of a child, crying in pain, and its lifeless body being submerged into Danny's ectoplasm (Lazarus Pits have all come from Danny's excess ecto over the years of his sleep, so he can feel them and he can control them to an extent, albeit Ra's has really badly polluted them over the years).

Danny is a hero, that didn't change even after his very long sleep. So he tries to help, but in the process, he accidentally gets roped into the Pit, since a) it's corrupted ecto, b) he has zero ide what he's doing, c) he is the Ghost King and he might put more power in it than he intended, d) he just woke up, cut him some slack.

Talia, who put Damian's body into the Pit, is very damn surprised when two Damians emerge, and that's putting it lightly.

At least they are both very much alive.

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!simon x f!reader / FINAL

previous part

tw: NSFW, MDNI, mentions of suicide, heavy angst, please be cautious as always! <3

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

The weight on your shoulders was heavy and exhausting. It caused your body and soul to ache with a crushing feeling of grief. Your conversation with Price played in your mind tenfold, repeating over and over until it drove you to the point of insanity. You feared if you stayed stuck in the loop for a moment longer, your brain might short circuit and you’d succumb to life’s torturous game.

How had things come to this?

Two weeks ago, you should’ve been dead. Two weeks ago, you should’ve denied Ghost’s abrupt deal, you should’ve told him the truth – that you had no intentions of living past that very Friday the two of you planned meticulously to end your life.

Two weeks ago, you should’ve never met Simon.

What was meant to be a task given to you with the purpose of self healing had erupted into an even scarier nightmare. Life would’ve never been so complicated had you denied Simon and stuck to your original plan on desired death. It would’ve never been so complicated had you just done it all yourself instead of pussying out and asking him to finish the job for you.

Now, all that remained was a heart beyond repair, fragments of its shattered pieces being taken away with Simon when he had left.

He had the entirety of your heart, and you didn’t think you’d ever get it back. You couldn’t take it back if you wanted to. It belonged to him, and your heart was loyal to its owner.

All that was left was the, what now? Price had made it clear he couldn’t promise anything. Hell, you wouldn’t blame him if he had just said that in a half-assed attempt of comfort. For all you knew, Simon hadn’t a clue what was going on in the first place, or perhaps he didn’t care. Living without closure of what could’ve been had left you scarred and untrusting, even of the very man you’d fallen in love with.

Love was what always got you into this mess, after all. You couldn’t love yourself, so God was executing punishment by making you unlovable to everyone else. If anything, you should be thanking him for steering you away from more heartache.

Maybe this was how it was meant to be. Simon giving you a taste of what life could be if you had just tried harder, before pulling the candy right out of your mouth before you could protest that you weren’t quite finished with it.

You didn’t reach out to Simon. Even though you were blocked from the moment the two of you had sex and he ran, you didn’t dare try and test out your theory to see if he had undone his action. You weren’t even sure you knew what you could say to him.

While it was clear Price played a dirty hand in creating the drift between the two of you, Simon still allowed himself to be a puppet on Price’s string. It boiled you to the core, filled you with resentful distaste that you couldn’t quite swallow.

It was hard to accept that you hated him almost as much as you loved him.

No matter how angry you were at the world for the hand it was dealing you, you still couldn’t bring yourself to leave it. Not on your own. Even through the hole of emptiness that rattled you to the bone, a spark of hope shone from deep within you, and that was what kept you going. It was the faintest of light, fighting to stay ablaze. No matter how puny and weak it was, it was still there, cheering you on in a gentle voice to keep going.

As much as you didn’t want to listen, you did.

Life’s a bitch and then you die. But maybe if you gave it one final chance at redemption, things may work out in your favor this time. And if they didn’t? The original plan was always in the cards.

Simon left Price in the dust the moment he uttered those words. Go and get your bird back, Simon.

He had never heard something so beautiful, so breathtaking. It was his call back home, and he’d be an absolute tool if he didn’t rush to return to its welcoming arms.

He didn’t care how ridiculous he looked running along the streets in the middle of the night. Hell, he didn’t even bother to put his mask on. Tonight, he was Simon, and he was wearing his identity with pride. Ghost was tucked away in the darkest depths of his mind, caged in and hidden. With you, he didn’t want to be Ghost. He didn’t want to be a man who thrived off of the stolen lives of the innocent in order to pay his bills. He didn’t want to be the broken version of himself that imprisoned his own vulnerability.

He wanted to be the man who could give you a colorful life filled with painted sunsets and warm rays. Only Simon could do that, and he’d throw Ghost away if that was what it took.

The closer Simon got to your apartment, the more the nerves wracked his body with a faint tremor. Would you even speak to him? Forgive him? He knew he didn’t deserve it. Hell, he deserved a cold fist to the jaw and a stab wound to the heart.

The least he could do was try.

He pondered if he should get you something. Flowers, maybe, but when it came down to it, flowers were a pathetic excuse for an apology. No, Simon wanted to do this right. He had spent his entire life partaking in wrongdoings. For once, just once, he wanted to be good.

The sight of your building nearly had him throwing up on the concrete beneath his boots. It turned his stomach in a sickeningly sweet way, coating his tongue with bitter cottonmouth. For the first time since he could remember, Simon was scared. Downright terrified.

While the feeling should be seen in a negative light, he saw it as the complete opposite. It meant he was alive. He was still human. He still harbored emotions that Ghost had so desperately tried to get rid of.

Even after everything, he was still Simon.

His feet grew heavier and heavier with every step he took into your building, up the raggedy stairs, and down the dim hall, just like the routine he had always fallen into when waiting for you to return from work. Things may be different now, and he may be venturing on the same path with a different ending this time, but that didn’t mean he was led astray. Different could mean better, and he could only pray to the very God putting him through hell that his outcome would be brighter than before.

Simon didn’t know how long he stood outside of your door. He willed himself to knock, but he was struggling internally. The truth was, he was scared to see you. Seeing you meant facing the result of his regretful actions, and he wasn’t sure he could handle recognizing you as broken because of him.

He dug this grave, he wallowed in it, and now it was time to crawl his way out and make things right.

His fist shook as he raised it to knock on the door. Knuckles collided with the old wood, echoing sharply in his ears. Anxiety crept into his bones, leaving him in an uncomfortable suffocation. He felt as if he wouldn’t be able to breathe until you were in front of him. The room felt small, it was closing in on him. He wondered if this was a bad idea. Maybe he should’ve just left you alone, maybe he should’ve kept you out of his mess–

“Simon?”

The air that was tightening in his lungs exhaled in a slow, trembling breath, shoulders going slack from their tightly wound stiffness. Your voice was his oxygen, and he could finally breathe again.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, and God, did it feel jubilating to say that name again.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, and the bitterness in your tone was clear. It sunk into him like a thousand knives, coursing him with relentless pain.

“I need to fix this,” he gasped out. “Please, sweetheart, let me fix this. I know I fucked up, alright? I fucked up bad.”

You stared at him in disdain, but Simon could see the glimmer of a burning ache in your eyes that matched his own. You missed him just as much as he missed you, but your hurt overruled everything else. He didn’t blame you one bit.

“You left me after you had sex with me, Simon,” you spat with dripping fire that scorched him with every word. “You left me after everything. You expect me to just let you come here and tell me you fucked up, as if I didn’t know that?”

Simon could feel his resolve slipping away. He wanted to panic, to spit out useless apologies until one of them worked and you caved, but that wasn’t how this was going to go. Simon would have to work for it, and he’d be damned if he let you slip away. He’d spend the rest of his life working for it if it meant having you in the end.

“Sweetheart–”

“Fucking– I’m not doing this in my doorway. Just… just come inside,” you sighed out, utterly defeated. You didn’t have to tell Simon twice. He stepped into your apartment cautiously, letting you know that you were in complete control. You were in charge, and Simon was here to take the beatdown, no matter how painful it may be.

Upon entering, your apartment was in havoc. It wasn’t dirty, it wasn’t disgusting or revolting, but it was clear you spent most of your days cooped up in your room. Simon felt guilt eat away at him from the mere sight alone.

“Tell me how I can fix this,” Simon pleaded. Everything about his body language was desperate, distressed. His hands spoke for him, moving animatedly, unable to control himself. He was begging. For the first time in his life, he was begging.

“I’m not telling you how to fix anything, Simon. You’re the one supposed to fix it on your own. I’m not going to do it for you,” you explained in eerie calmness, but it was unmistakingly exhaustion. He couldn’t imagine how much he had put you through.

He knew you were right. This was Simon’s responsibility, and begging you for the cure would be easy on him and harder for you. He couldn’t allow that to happen. You’d already been burdened enough.

Simon stared at you, eyes glossed over, eyebrows pulled together from his stir of emotions. The way you stared back was empty, and it broke his heart that he was the reason for the light going out so soon after gaining it back.

He contemplated what to do. There were many ways this could go sideways, and he couldn’t risk that. He had to pick what was right in his heart, even if it meant shoving away the pride he’d grown accustomed to over the years of being alone and hollow.

Simon slowly got down on his knees, hands clasped in his lap, and he gazed up at you in woe. He was baring himself to you completely, stripping himself of all defenses, and succumbing to vulnerability. Never had Simon gotten on his knees for another person. His ego was too large, and he refused to let himself express weakness.

For you, he’d hang himself dry.

“What are you–”

“Please, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice soft yet broken, brimming with anguish. “I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. Nothin’ I say will make it better. I can’t change it, no matter how much I wish I could. I fucked up, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness for leavin’ you the way I did, for hurtin’ you like everybody else has done. I gave you an empty promise, and even then, I broke it.”

You were speechless from where you stood, peering down at this burly man on his knees for you. Your eyes never strayed away from his, and you recognized the familiar spark of despair in them. They looked just like yours every time you looked in the reflection. He was a mirror of you, just as you were a mirror of him.

“I was scared of losin’ you because of my job. I didn’t think a sweet thing like you deserved to be involved with a man like me. I didn’t want you hurt,” he explained, and the faintest crack in his voice showed you just how hard this was for him as well. You weren’t the only one suffering the consequences.

“Yet you hurt me anyway,” you whispered brokenly, and Simon deflated.

“I know,” he breathed, shaking his head. “I know, sweetheart. I let my fear control me, and it caused me to make things worse. It wasn’t fair t’you. I fucked up, and I’m so sorry.”

Your own resolve was faltering. You wanted so badly to be angry, to kick him out and be done with him. Strip him from your life and return to your days of wallowing in loneliness and misery.

You couldn’t. Every word was like a small bandaid over a too-big wound, but it was an attempt. He was trying. Nobody had ever tried with you before.

“Y’know,” you began, voice as soft as a whisper. “One of your boys came by to see me. Price.”

Simon blinked, surprise morphing on to his face. He swallowed anxiously, fists squeezing in his lap before he forced them to relax.

“And?”

You stared at him for a moment, shifting through your words in your mind.

“He tried to get me to cut you off. Tell you that I was better off, that I didn’t want you around anymore. He thought it would be best,” you finished quietly, shifting your eyes away from him in a moment of guilt. You weren’t sure why you were feeling it, but you’d recognize that uncomfortable lump in your throat anywhere. “I told him no.”

Simon’s eyebrows raised, eyes darting over your face to read your expression. “You did?”

“Yeah,” you confessed, shifting uncomfortably. “Told him… told him you didn’t deserve that.”

His heart ached painfully in his chest. What a lovely woman you were, defending him even after he had wronged you. How stupid he was for letting his own past misfortunes creep into the present.

He should be mad at Price for invading in on his personal business, but if he didn’t, Simon might not be here right now, kneeling before you and pleading for forgiveness. Price gave him an in, he gave him a chance, even if he went behind his back to do so.

Go and get your bird back, Simon.

It made sense now. Simon nearly laughed in bitter humor.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he murmured gently, finally gaining your gaze back. Your eyes had softened from their hardened walls you built back up again, and he prayed he had a chance. “I know it’s not goin’ to fix anythin’. You’re still angry with me, and you have every right t’be. But if you still decide to throw me out, to never speak t’me again, then I want you t’know that I love you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, chest pulling tight. A mixture of pain and relief coursed through your veins, and you weren’t sure which emotion to listen to. You weren’t sure what was right, but there was one thing you were sure of, and it was that you loved him, too. Heartbreakingly so.

“You do?” you whispered in uncertainty.

Simon rose from his kneeled position, taking a cautious step towards you. When you didn’t back away, he seized the opportunity to cradle your hands in his, holding them to his heart. “I do,” he repeated softly. “I’m not good at this, sweetheart. I’ve done a lot of terrible things. I’ve hurt people, I’ve killed people, yet loving somebody has always been the hardest thing to do. With you, it feels easy.”

You stared up at him, searching for any signs of dishonesty. What stared back at you was pure truth, his eyes flooding with a new light that promised love and confidence.

Taking a deep breath and a leap of faith, you responded, “I love you, too. Even though I should hate you.”

For the first time since seeing him, Simon smiled. It was a boyish smile, one you’d never seen before, and it lit your entire world up. The sun was back out, the flowers were blooming, birds were chirping, and nature was at peace. It tugged on your heartstrings and pulled away all of the hurt that had resided inside.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. It brought you back to the first time the two of you shared a kiss, and the memory was fond. Despite all of the troubles and heartache, Simon was true to his word. Even if the world had failed the two of you, now was the time to change life’s course and rewrite your own future.

“Yes,” you sighed breathlessly.

Simon’s kiss was as familiar as before, but this time, it felt much more intimate. It was burning passion simmered down to tenderness, his hands cradling your face with the utmost care, treating you like frail china. He didn’t push or prod and instead moved with you rather than take control, letting you handle the reins this time.

It was a slow dance rather than a waltz, steady and unceasing.

“We’ll figure this out together, yeah?” he breathed against your lips, and you could feel the curl of his smile. You opened your eyes to peer into his own, unable to contain your own smile.

His lips returned to yours, and you melted into him. All that weight had been lifted so easily. All the rage had dissipated into nothing, being replaced with a warm, glowing light that filled your chest and threatened to burst.

This was all you wanted – to be content. To be happy.

You didn’t want to spend your days, awaiting an early death that would never come, nor did you want to waste it being burdened by the past that haunted you like a demonic spirit. This felt right.

When more and more feeling poured into the kiss, it shifted into something more starved, like two lovers who’d been separated for years. While you were falling into it, Simon was reluctant. Pulling away from you, you had a brief moment of uncertainty before he spoke.

“I don’t want to rush you like I did last time,” he explained gently. “The last thing I want is for you t’feel pressured. I’m not here for only that. M’here to fix this.”

“Simon,” you murmured, a warm smile on your face. “I know you aren’t. I want to do it. Is that okay?”

Simon stared at you for a moment, weighing out his options. While having sex was part of the reason the two of you ended up in this mess, it was the part after that really played a role. This time, things would be different.

“‘Course that’s okay, sweetheart,” he assured, returning your smile.

He was careful in guiding you to your room. While anxiety weighed heavy on his mind in messing things up further, he was determined to ensure that wouldn’t happen. The power was in his hands, and he’d use all of it in order to make you feel the love you deserve to feel.

Peeling off your clothes was a slow task. He took his time, reveling in the warmth of your skin, guiding his hands across every inch of flesh. He was worshiping you, showering you in praise and care. Sweet and reverent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured affectionately, lips pressing to your cheek, then jaw, then down your neck. You were laid out for him on the bed, looking like a goddess bathed in light. “Don’t know what I did t’deserve you.”

“Simon,” you whispered, feeling tears spring in your eyes. Noticing, he lifted himself up, brushing the pad of his thumb softly over your cheek, swiping away the stray tear. He smiled down at you, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

He didn’t leave you waiting, but he certainly didn’t rush either. He worked diligently in stretching you open on his fingers, curling into that familiar spot that had your breath catching and your back arching beautifully. Your moans were spoken sonnets that blessed his ears, and he wanted nothing more than to hear them for the rest of his life.

Simon didn’t stop his notions, working you open until you were a squirming, crying mess, kissing away your tears while drowning in bashfulness at the sight of your pleasure. You deserved to feel good, and he’d die making sure of it.

When he lined himself up with you and slowly pressed his cock inside until he was at the hilt, buried in your moist warmth, he let out a blissful sigh, knocking his forehead against yours. He didn’t tear his eyes off of you, watching every flicker of euphoria that flashed in your eyes when he moved his hips. Unlike last time, his pace was slow yet firm, allowing you to bask in the delicious feeling of his cock pressing against the gummy walls of your cervix with every thrust.

“I love you,” he breathed through a sigh, brushing away a strand of hair that stuck in a sweaty mess to your forehead. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. M’so lucky.”

You whimpered as he showered you in praise, wiggling from under him. The pleasure mixed with brimming love had you close to orgasm, clenching around him in a vice. He panted with you, breath fanning your face, only getting cut off when he’d lean down to kiss you.

It was a wonderful display of intimacy. This wasn’t just sex. He wasn’t ruining you, he wasn’t leaving you broken. He was leaving you overflowing with promises that he had every intention of keeping.

Simon swallowed up your moans with lips pressed to yours, fucking you through your orgasm, whispering sweet encouragements. He filled you, sealing those promises, his spend mixing with yours and bringing the two of you together as one.

Breathless and spent, Simon tangled you in his arms and legs, holding you close to his chest so he could feel your warmth against him. It brought him comfort and security, like a blanket being lovingly placed over him and consuming him in a snug embrace.

It was silent for a long time after, but neither of you minded it. You relished in the feeling of one another, and words weren’t needed.

“You’re not going to leave after I fall asleep, are you?” you whispered, breaking the silence with a brief moment of weakness. Simon shifted his head to look down at you, lifting a hand to cradle your head and card his fingers in your hair.

“No, sweetheart. I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he assured, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. You nodded against him, snuggling closer to him, cheek pressed against his chest.

“You weren’t here to see me make it to two weeks,” you said softly. Though the reminder hurt to hear, you held no resentment in your tone, which gave him a sense of relief.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he apologized with a frown. When you peeked your head up to look at him, his eyes softened. It was like looking at the most beautiful thing crafted on this planet, and he had the absolute honor of calling it his.

“Maybe we can have a do-over,” you suggested, smiling cheekily at him. It enticed a laugh on his end, rumbling from his chest.

“How about instead of puttin’ a deadline on it this time, we keep count of the days that you wake up and accomplish seeing all the tomorrows. Deal?”

Your smile widened, and you pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “It’s a deal.”

IT'S OFFICIALLY OVER!!!! I am so sad because I had such an amazing time writing this fic and it will truly always be one of my favorites. so many of you enjoyed it and supported me through it, and I cannot thank you enough for all the love you've given me :,) I sincerely hope this ending is what everybody wanted and more. I love you all <3

[buggybambi]

Cannot wait to read your Carmen cowboy fanfic!!

save a horse, ride your cowboy | carmen berzatto (18+ content ahead) description; joining the meads ranch wasn’t always your plan. neither was falling for the handsome cowboy there. (wc: 2.45k)

cw: nsfw content (see warnings below) - reader's age is not said but is over 18, y/n used, afab!reader with she/her pronouns used

content warnings: slow burn (this is a long fanfic, sue me), i guess kinda public sex? i mean its in a bedroom and there’s no one hearing them but like shh, this fanfic took me like five months to write (not a joke) and if it sucks or some parts are unclear um blame it on that!, um i didnt write this as filthy as i wanted to but still; finger reader (x2), reader riding carmen (per the title), timeskip (a year prior to a year later), afab!reader, non-descript!reader but if there is something that i should change lmk, carmen eating reader out, hookup plot i guess?? friends to lovers sort of? idk really, unprotected sex (filthy) nav post | inbox | more of mae writes: the bear 🐻

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐆𝐎 . . .

From a distance, the Meads Ranch had seemed like a small glimpse of heaven on earth.

Cattle roamed the fields while the sun was beginning to rise, pickup trucks being driven off of the ranch and leaving trails of dirt behind them. Pieces of hay are scattered around everywhere you walk.

Carmen had first noticed you when you came out of the main Mitchell family lodge. The property had similar lodges, but that was the one used for most of the family, and the oldest lodge on the land.

You had been brought to the ranch as a chance from an old family friend. Almost like you’re second chance at life.

Gavin Mitchell, the oldest son, walked out of the house with you by his side. You two, laughing and talking. "I'm so glad you are joining us, and- oh! Carmen." Gavin walks over to Carmen, his arm resting on the cattle fence Carmen had spent the past few days repairing. "This is Y/N. You are going to train her on ranch life."

"Yes, sir." Carmen nods. You could tell by the tone in his voice he either wasn't happy about training you, or he'd done it so many times before it felt exhausting.

Gavin leaves you two alone. You smile, holding your hand out. "Hi, I'm-"

"Pick that pair of pliers up and get to work." He states.

Huh. Definetly taking the cold shoulder approach.

──

Much to your surprise, you and Carmen got over the cold approach. He’d become somewhat more open with you within the first month of your time on the ranch.

It wasn’t a fast thing. The opposite, actually. It took him a day to learn your name instead of saying ‘you’ when he needed something from you. It took him a week to start conversations with you, instead of you starting them with him.

Now a month later. He had been told by the other handlers on the ranch they were going out, and Carmen was expected to go with them. But not without-

“You wanna go to the bar with me?” He’d blurted out to you while you and him were working in one of the barns. It caught you off guard, so much so you took a minute to register it was him speaking to you and not his usual muttering to himself.

You turned and looked at him, letting out a soft chuckle. “Um.. you’re going to a bar?” You question first. Carmen hadn’t made it a secret he hated the bars in town. Too many tourists, people ruining good songs during karaoke.

“Well- the other handlers are but the dumbasses can’t be trusted to handle themselves, so.. I wanted to know if you wanted to come.” Carmen says, as he continued focusing on his work, almost using that as a distraction from having to make eye contact with you.

“Sure, I’ll come.” You had agreed. To Carmen’s pure surprise, you had said yes. And not a pity yes, or at least not an obvious one.

Needless to say, you being there made it actually enjoyable. Carmen wasn’t a drinker, and neither were you. It was one of the few things you two had in common, or that you knew you had in common.

You and him had found a somewhat secluded table in the bar, talking all night. He found himself asking questions about you, and he heard your laugh.

God. That laugh. He was sure if heaven had a sound attached to it, it would be that.

And eventually, you and him managed to wrangle all your guys into a truck with the ranch’s logo on the side, and managed to get yourselves back to the ranch.

Walking down a dirt path that lead to the handler house, it was just you and Carmen. His hands remained in the front pockets of his jeans. “I uh, had a really good time tonight.” He says. It was like admitting he liked being around you, without so many words.

“I did too, Carmen.” You say back as you walk onto the front porch with him right behind you. You stand there, making eye contact with him, both of you silent.

And that night, you and him almost kissed on the porch. *Almost.* Had it not been for one of the other handlers, Lee, throwing open the door to ask you two if you had any idea where his car keys were, you were sure you would have kissed him.

Another kiss for another time, you supposed.

──

And that kiss had come at another time. It was almost a week later when you and him found yourselves alone again in the barn. Somehow you and him always ended up in a barn.

You hadn’t been expecting it. Ever since the barn, it was like Carmen had made an effort to talk to you. Asking about your life before the ranch, telling you about his in return. He told you about his hopes, his family. And he’d make a point to stand close to you as he spoke to you.

Maybe he thought you didn’t notice the way he’d look at you out of the corner of your eye. A look that made it seem like he was asking himself if being this close to you was a good idea, and he’d decided it was.

It was silent for a pause before you decided to speak again. “You’re standing awfully close right now.” You comment. But your tone didn’t show you were upset by it, rather intrigued.

“Do you want me to back up?” He asks, his voice low. You turn to look at him, and that’s when you realize how close he actually is. His face close to yours.

You swallow before you speak. “No.” You answer, trying to keep your voice steady. You fail, but he wouldn’t tell you that.

He took a small step closer. A step that made a huge difference, because now he was looking at your lips. You decide to ask the question this time. “Do you want to kiss me?” You question.

He takes in a breath, before he decides to answer. “Yeah.” He says, as his eyes meet your again like he’s waiting for your approval. And you nod.

Go ahead. Your eyes were telling him. Kiss me.

And he did. His lips met yours in a sweep, his hands cupping your cheeks instantly. It’s soft at first, as he takes his time getting used to kissing you. And once he’s adjusted, he presses you up against the wall.

After you two had a makeout session like a couple of pathetic teenagers, he grabbed your hand and practically ran with you into the handler house. He had brought you into his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind you both.

From there, it was a switching pattern of throwing off clothes. His shirt, your shirt. His jeans, your jeans. Him laying you back as he takes your panties off and then gently placing kisses up your thigh. His eyes met yours as if silently asking for approval. You nod, desperate for him to just keep kissing up, and up, and-

He does. He kissed up your thigh, his lips finding on and sucking on your desperate clit. Your hands immediately fly to his head, fingers grasping at curls. The action elicits a guttural groan from Carmen, which practically vibrates through you as he eats you like a man starved.

His tongue is replaced by his fingers, thrusting in and out of you at a torture of a pace, his lips kissing and sucking on your glistening clit. His fingers are soaked, and he couldn’t care less. All he cares about is feeling you, not about the mess it makes.

Carmen was a simple man. He could get off on eating you out. The gasps and moans were enough to make him feel like he would just mess up his pants right then and there. And he almost does.

But can you blame him? You look so pretty like this. His nose bumping your clit as he watches his fingers slide in and out of you, the squelch noise it produces being more heavingly than it should be. Your soft pleas of “more” and “please” make him grin, and you can feel that cocky smile against your clit as he places a few feathery kisses on it.

He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers. Each time he removes them, he can feel you trying to keep them in, to surround them with yourself. He doesn’t mind though. The action only turns him on more.

“So pretty like this.” You can barely hear him mumble. You aren’t sure if he’s talking to you or your pussy. “Such a good girl f’me.”

And by the time you’re actually cumming on his fingers, he’s grinning like the cat from Alice in Wonderland. He watches as you fall apart on his fingers, and he has to resist the urge to lick your climax off of his hands.

He has to take his time with you.

“You did so good, baby.” He says, the pet name slipping out before he can stop it. You’re not complaining though. He presses kisses all over your face. On your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw as he praises you. “Did so good.”

Yeah. No way to ignore what was clearly happening between you both.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 . . .

The golden lights hitting your face from the small cabin you and the other handlers lived in. Your room was at the end of a hallway, and you could hear the chaos of the other handlers starting in the kitchen below your room.

A small groan comes from beside you as you go to pull yourself out of bed. Carmen’s arms hug your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Do we really have to get up now?” Carmen may have been the ranches best handler, but that didn’t mean he was happy about the early hours.

“Afraid so, cowboy.” You turn, facing him. His arms stay planted where they are around your waist as he buries his face into your neck. He smells like cedarwood and apple, his aftershave smell still lingering as you place a few light kisses on his cheek.

“Mm. Call me cowboy again, shit’s sexy.” He requests as he places feathery kisses on your collarbone. You let out a soft laugh as his beard stubble scratches your cheek.

“You just don’t wanna go down there so they can celebrate your five years here.” You point out in a whispered voice as your hand scratches as his scalp, fingers running through morning curls.

“Makes me feel old.” He replies, his voice gruff as he climbs on top of you, placing kisses up your collarbone and on your neck as his arms wrap around your waist, arms wrapped around you. “Would rather celebrate with you instead.”

You weren’t complaining to that idea. You let him slide your pajama shorts down your legs, throwing them off some place. Lucky for him, you “forgot” your panties the night before.

Unlucky for him, cause he had a habit of tossing them aside and then keeping them.

He kissed at your neck as his hand teased you, fingers lightly trailing up your thigh. Getting closer to where you so badly wanted him- and he could tell. He could feel how soaked you were. Normally, he’d take his time. Tease you about it. But that idea was pushed out of his mind when he was desperate to feel you fall apart on his fingers.

He gently coaxed one finger past your folds. He could hear the strangled gasp that came out of you when he finally inserted a digit into you, and he fucking loved it. He would listen to that sound over and over again if he could.

He let his finger thrust in and out of you, letting you enjoy the feeling before he added a second. You were practically a goner by the point he’d inserted his first finger, but with the second? Oh, you were practically a mess.

And then his thumb rubbed soft circles on your clit, with him whispering praises in your ear? For sure, you were a goner.

He had to cover your mouth with his hand as you reached your climax. The other handlers were still downstairs, and he didn’t need them hearing you. Your moans, your failed attempts to beg for more were his to hear. Not someone else’s.

He pressed kisses to your jaw as you caught your breath. His rule of never properly, in his words, fucking you before you had at least one orgasm was proving to be very beneficial for you.

He lets you recover as he kisses you. Lets you catch your breath before he’s subtly pulling you on top of him as his tongue slides into your mouth with such ease.

“This is your big day. Pretty sure we should be celebrating you.” You murmur between kisses. He grins as you straddle him.

They have a saying in a world like yours. Save a horse. Ride a cowboy.

So, you do! You pull away from his lips as you place kisses down his jaw, whilst your free hand reaches and lowers his boxers. Ever so subtly lowering yourself onto him.

Carmen wasn’t an idiot. He could tell what you had been doing, but he wasn’t gonna stop you. Not when you looked too damn good riding him.

You kept your movements steady, at a pace you knew he’d speed up soon. His hands remained on your hips as he watched you. When your lips return to his neck, he feels like a mess. His mind is fuzzy, he can’t form a single thought besides the word “more”.

Now he was the one moaning under you. You knew how to drive him crazy, and you were doing it.

And how could he not? You took him so well. He stretched you out perfectly, hit the right spots. If he could stay buried inside of you all day, he probably would.

As soon as his hands began grasping your hips and the skin there, you knew to speed up, and you complied. He threw his head back, holding you so tight you knew he’d leave a bruise.

And by the time he spills inside of you, you’re sure he has. You don’t take long to follow right after him.

“Okay—” He says breathlessly after that potentially earth shattering climax. “Next time we do that, I am totally having you wear my hat.”

That elicits a giggle out of both of you.

[moonydustx]

To belong to you

requests | mastelist Pairing: Trafalgar D. Law x F! Reader Summary: sequel of A not so funny story. In this one, we see Law dealing with a somewhat stubborn reader, while he can barely deal with his feelings. Warnings: fluffy, a little hotter at the end, violence, Law exposing his feelings (this will always be a warning for me). W/C: 3.5K a/c: tried not to take so long to produce, but I ended up getting carried away by the text. Regarding the smutty, I'm thinking about bringing it to a third part, I believe this one was too big. Hope you like.

requested by anon: ok ok now m waiting for a sequel with an overprotective-clingy-lover emo boy Law who keeps reader at his sight❣️ ~ maybe a smutty? idk just give me some more Law

Part 1 | Part 3 (NSFW)

A week, two days and a few hours.

For a week, two days and a few hours Law's sleep became scarcer - which seemed impossible - at the same time, he seemed to have found a new hobby. You.

Since the fateful day he discovered what he had done, even if unconsciously, Law had made it his duty to be your support point. At the same time, even though he dedicated himself to repairing this mistake, nightmares continued to haunt the little sleep he still had. Some days, it was as if he only revisited the afternoon he saw you hurt. In others, it was as if he was fully aware of what he had done.

You didn't complain about all that attention. Of course, the guilt was clear in his eyes and you wished you could lift such a burden from him, but Law's temperament was already known as irreducible, it was almost impossible for you to become the person who would change that.

Sleep had also left you aside that night. Maybe because you were anxious, the next morning you would be emerging on the next island and you would finally see the sunlight again. Maybe your mind kept playing tricks and unlike the nightmares that Law had, you kept having dreams that were closer and closer to him.

What you had left that night was to catch up on your studies. The small stack of books piled up next to your small green notebook while you had been sitting on one of the cafeteria benches for half an hour facing the same calculation.

"I didn't expect to find company at this hour." Law appeared at the cafeteria entrance. The same tired eyes, but the gentle tone in his voice pleased you. "Sleepless?"

"I've been in bed for a long time this week, Captain. What about you, sleepless?"

"I ended up distracted by reading. I just came to get something to eat." he walked past you, heading over to one of the counters. "Did you remember to drink your tea?"

"Perhaps." you just responded and you could hear him grumble in response. It only took a few minutes for the cup to appear in front of him. "Do I really need to take this? It's horrible!"

"It's a medicine, its function is to be horrible, but to end up curing you." surprising you, he sat next to you. Next to it, a plate with some onigiris. You just looked at Law and your horrible cup of tea. "What?"

"How can such a pretty drink, full of flowers, be so horrible?"

"Drink it." in a way, you knew that his impatient tone at that moment wasn't serious at all. "I promise to reward you."

"Saying it like that, I feel like a child." you grumbled, taking a sip of your drink and trying to avoid the disgusted look on your face. Law, unlike you, seemed to enjoy his late dinner. "Next time, please give me poison. I will die happy."

"Good girl, congratulations." he said, in a cynical tone. Even so, the words pointed to another place in your mind. "I bet it wasn't that horrible."

"Said the one who's gorging himself on onigiri." With your complaint, Law just stretched out the piece he had already taken a bite of.

Maybe your intrusive thoughts, maybe it was just the desire to get the horrible taste out of your mouth, but you accepted what he offered.

She's just taking a piece. Law's mind looped through the seconds you bit the food. The lack of sleep must be playing tricks on him, making him imagine things he shouldn't. Are your lips as soft as they seem?

"So. What are you studying?" Law's brain went blank, searching for the first random topic that crossed his mind.

"Blood. In fact, I took a calculation to do and ended up getting lost. In the book it seems so much simpler."

"Let me see." He set the plate aside and approached your notebook.

Gray eyes looked attentively at each written number and you were busy analyzing it. The smell that came from him was the same as the t-shirt you had worn that day, his eyes had clear dark circles beneath them and even though it wasn't perfectly done, the little beard he had seemed to outline his face and seemed to match the dark tone. of the small piece of his tattoo that showed.

"So…" he began, pointing to the notebook. "Here, you're taking the wrong route. To calculate this type of transfusion, first you have to base it on the patient's weight and then use this formula. See."

You were too distracted by him and he was too distracted by the silly calculation you were so lost in. When he turned to ask if you understood, the only thing he found were your eyes watching him. Just a few centimeters away, his eyes danced between yours and your lips, wondering if the action would be hasty. Maybe it wasn't ideal to take the risk.

"Nerd." You muttered, letting out a small laugh.

"Just smarter than you." he replied, pulling away a little. "Take one more."

"Thank you captain!"

The night passed faster than you expected. Accompanied by Law, you spent most of the night redoing some exercises while he helped you, or at least watched you. And even though sleep hit your body, it was hard to close your eyes and sleep after spending so much time with him.

The morning came quickly and as usual on the days you emerged, you and Bepo were standing just staring at the sun on your skin. Some other companions were already beginning to disembark.

"I found you." Law's voice brought them both out of their little sunbath. "You take care of buying food."

"Ay captain!" Bepo reached out his hand, picking up the berries.

"You." He turned around, looking at you seriously. "No running, no heavy lifting, no long walks."

"All right, boss." you saluted, just to annoy him and watched him leave, without giving much more explanation.

The afternoon passed quickly in the small village. At least in the commercial part of the village, everything seemed very busy and colorful, as well as having huge taverns that you would definitely go to.

In addition to you and Bepo, the two also dragged Clione along for the task, which wasn't enough. Despite the captain's clear warning, you managed to convince Bepo that it was just an idle worry, which ended with you carrying some bags under your back.

"Need help?" the bear climbed Polar Tang first, reaching out to you.

As soon as you appeared in the Heart Pirates captain's field of vision, you knew you were in trouble. The blue dome enveloped you and soon the weight lifted from your back. Instead, two small flowers appeared on the ground.

"It seems the two of them decided to ignore my warning." Law grumbled as you picked up the two colorful branches that were at your feet.

"My fault, there's no need to fight him." you took the lead, going to where Law was standing. Around him, in addition to the bags he had taken from you, were a few small bouquets of plants and flowers, all as colorful as the city they had just visited. "What are these?"

"Just a few missing ingredients can become medicine, tea, ointments." he bent down, plucking a small yellow flower and handing it to you. "Something tells me your favorite is this one."

"Oh, God no." the image of last night's horrible tea came to mind. you held the flower up to your nose. The sweet smell was delicious, but just remembering the taste made your stomach turn. "It's so beautiful, but so bad." you made to return it, seeing him raise his hand and deny it.

"It is not necessary."

"Thanks." you laughed, pinning the small flower to the zipper of your jumpsuit.

"Captain." two humming voices came towards you. "What do you think about going to a bar today?"

"You can go." he responded to Shachi and Penguim, who were not convinced and joined in a chorus of please. "I'm not in the mood."

"Please, Captain. The town seems nice, I bet the bars are too." you joined the other two, interceding.

You knew that Law wasn't the most sociable person in the world, but if there was something you could boast about, it was your power of persuasion - which you hadn't yet realized only worked on him.

"Okay, okay." he gave up, seeing the three of you cheer up and Bepo shouting happily in the background. "However, no alcohol for you."

"Yet?" you grumbled, but his expression already made the answer clear. Your power of persuasion wouldn't work this time.

You weren't the type to take alcohol seriously enough for it to bother you, just going to a new place would be good enough for you. As soon as night fell, you started getting ready. As much as you wanted to wear something lighter, you didn't know how comfortable you would feel showing the scar on your leg, even though it was already partially healed, it wasn't such a pretty sight. You put on pants and a simple, comfortable blouse and headed towards the bar with Ikkaku.

Law watched you from afar. Unlike most of the women there, you weren't balancing on thin heels or with a face so adorned with colors that made your real expression disappear. You were you.

He saw you sit at one of the tables with the other companions. Everyone with drinks in front of them, except you. He could use some alcohol on him to give him the courage he lacked, but he knew it would be unfair. Ignoring the judgmental looks, he ordered two glasses of juice and took them to the table, looking for a place to sit.

"No vodka?" Ikkaku looked at the cup in front of you and the cup in front of the captain. "This is new."

"I'm banned until further notice." you replied, raising your glass to toast your captain. "At least someone had compassion on me."

"So cute." Ikkaku cheered and you surreptitiously tried to elbow her. "So, I saw people playing in the background. She can play, right captain?"

"As long as she doesn't bet Polar Tang." he replied, a shy smile on his lips. As much as he didn't admit it out loud, something woke up in him when the two of you were in some way related. "I think betting a mink could make some good money." he turned to Bepo, who immediately complained.

"Never!" you stood up, placing yourself next to Ikkaku and picking up your glass. "I'll be right back, I'll take the money from some idiots." you smiled, turning your face towards your captain. A soundless thank you left your lips, as you pointed to the glass in your hands.

Law tried to disguise it, tried to ignore your presence. It was as if your body had some kind of magnet, which made it find you in the midst of so many people who crowded into that bar.

The first time he looked at you, you and Ikkaku were side by side singing something that he couldn't hear from where he was, around you some other people were singing and others were playing cards. He could see some looks that bothered him. Why did they look at you like that? Law could feel the repulsion of those men, even from a distance.

The second time, the two of you seemed to be dealing the cards. A man next to you, one of the same ones who was looking at you, seemed to whisper something in your ear that seemed to have offended you. The expression soon disappeared from your face, returning to a calm expression. At that moment, Law could feel his body tingle and had to suppress the urge to make the man's head roll off his body, even though he had no idea what he had said to you.

The third time, the only thing Law saw was your head being pushed against the table, after that he only saw red and pure hatred in front of him. The other crew members with whom he shared the table only noticed a small playing card slowly fall towards the upholstery.

This time you hadn't stolen in the game but apparently some bastard decided you were hiding some cards. You felt your head against the table and you could hear Ikkaku swear. You could easily get out of there and reach for your dagger hidden in your boot, you could also trip and see the guy hit his own head against the table. You knew you wouldn't need to do anything when you saw a blue dome appear in front of you.

Unlike the many times you had seen him fight, Law didn't use his sword or his devil fruit. His hands reached for the man, twisting his arm and slamming his head against the table, ten times harder than what had been done to yours. The other man, who was restraining Ikkaku, immediately released her.

"What happened?" he asked and you knew the question was directed at you, even though he kept pinning the man against the table.

"They thought we were stealing in the game."

"He said we would pay for what we stole from him with money or anything else we could offer." Ikkaku added, as you stood up and untied your clothes.

"The bastard likes to threaten others." Law muttered and within seconds, the man's head rolled on the table, as he screamed desperately, not understanding what had happened. Looking around, Law reached for a small knife and immediately stuck it to the side of the man's head. "Next time I see you, I won't need to use any power to rip your head off."

Law walked away, his eyes immediately searched for you. You had your back to him, checking to see if your friend had gotten hurt.

"Are you two okay?" he walked closer, searching for any signs of injury on the two of you. At that point in the fight, the entire crew was already gathered alongside.

"It's okay captain, it was just that asshole. The others tried to help us." Ikkaku explained.

"Understood." He tried to calm things down, still thinking about what that stupid guy could have done if, for some moment, you had left his sight.

"For today, that's enough." you sighed, trying to give your best smile, which with all the stress caused, seemed impossible. "I'm going back to Polar Tang. I think today's activities tired me out."

You lied, blatantly. You weren't tired, on the contrary. The whole fight, Law showing up to defend you, that had lit you up. The only question that was going through your head was where Law's anger had come from. It wasn't the first time you ended up fighting with someone in a bar and every time Law would just laugh a little or if things got out of hand, He gave a little fright to anyone who even touched his crew. Today the gray eyes that accompanied you so much appreciate you full of fury.

"I'll join you. You guys, enjoy." Law took out some berries and placed them in Ikkaku's hand. "The next rounds are on me."

Bepo made to accompany you two, but was stopped by his friends. They seemed to see the entire situation clearer than the two of you ever would.

The walk to the submarine was quiet, much quieter than you were used to. Despite the beat, your head didn't hurt besides the fact that you saw Law analyze every inch of you after the argument.

Even after entering Polar Tang, silence prevailed between the two of you, it bothered you a lot more than you tried to show. Taking much smaller steps than Law's, you tried to catch up to him before he locked himself in his room and then you'm will only see him the next morning.

"Hang on!" You tried to follow him and even though you couldn't see his face, you knew he had heard you. "Captain!"

"I don't want to talk about it right now." he replied, stopping in front of his room.

"I am sorry but no." you replied and understanding that perhaps you had a discussion too serious to have there in the middle of the corridor, you just indicated the door behind him. "Let's just talk, just five minutes of your attention, okay?"

He could feel the blood boil in his veins, the words burned in Law's throat. Damn that damn bar, damn all the things that still haunted his mind. He had fallen, and fallen hard.

"I understand." you leaned the door behind you, keeping your arms crossed. "I understand all your concern, I mean, you have been carrying a burden that is not yours."

"No?" he laughed, almost cynically. "I won't apologize for that."

"What about all that at the bar?" you asked, approaching him. "About almost killing a guy over a card game."

"He was hurting you." the words came out of his mouth, bluntly.

You stopped a few centimeters away from him, watching him. You wanted to sound intimidating, you wanted to impose yourself on him, but it was him. It was the serious eyes looking down on you, the posture, the smell that emanated from him. As much as your brain tried to deny it, something in you liked - almost needed - Law to protect you.

"You know I'm not that fragile, right?" You held his arms, looking for even the slightest reaction. "I don't break so easily, if that's what makes you worry about me so much."

Law wished he had more time to plan, he wished he hadn't been as close to you as he was last week. That cat and mouse hunt between the two of you worked for a long time. It worked when he watched someone talk for too long over you and he chose to leave his jealousy aside, it worked when he watched you fight so many times and chose not to intrude, it worked when he saw your curves marked by any other clothes you wore ,except the crew's overalls, and he had to try his best not to look. It worked, sentence passed, something left aside.

"I like you." he began, the words coming out like relief from his lips. "I like you and to be honest, I don't know how to deal with it."

"Why not?"

"We are pirates, I have enemies, people who can use this to target me." he pointed to the space between the two of you. "I don't know if I can handle this, damn, I could barely hold my own against a drunk at the bar. I like you too much to risk you."

Just like the day he had seen you injured, his hands found your face, holding it as if it were the most precious thing Law had ever laid his hands on.

"I have a proposal." your hands found his, caressing them. "Here, in this room, just here it will be Law and me. Without all the worries of a captain, without all the responsibilities of a crew member, without fears. Just you and me, one belonging to the other. No one needs to know."

You wanted to say that maybe it wouldn't work and that maybe the two of you would just come out of this story more broken. You could also say that you would understand if he hated the idea. Before any words found the sound of the room, your lips were stolen by his.

None of Law's thoughts matched what he was feeling. Your lips giving way so he could taste a little of you. Your hands left his and spread out over the small gap in the open shirt he wore. Every inch of your body still seemed small for him to explore, his hands went down to your waist, almost merging his body with yours. He could stay there, in that room trapped with you for days. Damn the life of a captain, damn all the rationality he valued so much, you were more than enough.

"So…" you moved a few millimeters away from him, looking for just enough space to catch your breath.

One of his hands went up to your chin, one of his fingers running over your swollen and red lips in an almost sinful caress. How long did he wait to be like that?

One of his hands tangled in your hair, gently squeezing it so you could give him space. Law's lips - now warmer than when they first touched you - ran down your neck. You wouldn't take Law for an avid lover, but the way he held your body to his said completely the opposite.

"I accept your proposal." His low voice whispered next to your ear. His mind took him to dark places, but a little rationality still kept him lucid. "But maybe, maybe we should stop for now."

"No, we shouldn't." Serene eyes looked at him, but the malice in your words was clear.

"Yeah, we shouldn't."

[strayheartless]

AGS and childhood teddy bears because I said so:

Angeal: His childhood teddy bear was made by his mother. It has lopsided ears and a wonky eye and his name is “Freddy”. Angeal did not name Freddy, Angeal’s dad named Freddy and really he wouldn’t have it any other way.

As a child Angeal took Freddy pretty much everywhere with him: to the market, do the beach, the doctors office. Even, on one very horrifically memorable occasion, to a funeral…. Now Freddy sits on his night stand looking a little worse for wear but no less loved. Angeal patches up every moth eaten hole and replaces any lost stuffing. He’s got a book on his shelf about Teddy bear repairing and no one is willing to make even the tiniest bit of fun of him. Freddy, to Angeal, is as important as the Buster sword.

Except Zack doesn’t really know what happened to Freddy after he is captured. He’d managed to rescue the little bear before Shinra came in to erase Angeal’s existence but now…?

Genesis: Genesis’ childhood teddybear sits in his bedroom on his bed and gods help you if you touch it. Genesis had many toys growing up, and all of them had backstories and personalities but Gigi was special. The bear had been given to Genesis by his mother after a trip to Junon when he was three. She had been away for weeks and despite the fact that she otherwise showed little interest in him past what he wore and ate, Genesis had missed her so much he’d thrown up crying the night she left. When she came back, bear in hand Genesis had been so delighted at the unusual display of motherly love that he’d completely failed to realise the bear had not come from Junon nor had it come from his mother. In fact the little bear came from a tiny toy shop in the market place and had been bought for him by his Nanny, who had accosted Genevieve Rhapsodos in the hall muttering:

“If he thinks it’s from you he may just be soothed better when you go away again.”

It did and Genesis was never any the wiser. All anyone ever had to do to get him to shut up was hand him Gigi and he promptly curled up either with a book or to sleep. Even when he burned Gigi to a crisp in his rage over the lie that was his life, he never knew his “mother” had not been the one to buy the bear.

Sephiroth: Sephiroth did not have a childhood stuffed animal or any kind. Hojo thought them inane while Gast fretted about the germs they carried, so Sephiroth went without. He had his locket and that was all that mattered to him for a very long time until….

Seeing Freddy and Gigi, Sephiroth is hit with unimaginable envy over what could have been. The loss he feels is stupid. It was an inanimate object for Gaia’s sake! He should not be bereft at the sight of it! Except he is, and he wants his own so badly it aches.

Sephiroth has a little ritual of patting Freddy gently on the head in greeting and nodding to Gigi when he sits on his friends beds. Angeal watches him with sympathy in his gaze while Genesis watches him like a hawk around his bear. But both of them know the reason behind the gesture and never point it out.

Until one holiday Angeal hands him a little brown paper wrapped package wrapped up in red and white twine, the way the shop owners used to wrap the toys in Banora. When Seph opens it he doesn’t speak, just touches the little tiger stuffy with reverence and lets the tears fall. Like Genesis, Sephiroth is very protective of teddy (he’s not imaginative with names leave him be). No one mentions that he stays on the pillow across from Sephiroth, and nobody mentions that most mornings Sephiroth wakes with teddy pressed to his cheek and subconsciously rubs its soft fur across his top lip soothingly.

Years from now HR will throw that same tiger doll into a black bag and into a land fill in the sector seven slums. Years from now a vendor will pick it out, clean it up and sell it to a tall man with a gun for a hand and a baby strapped to his chest who just rolled into town. He wants it for the baby, his daughter, and she sleeps with it every night.

Years and Years from now that same little girl will solomnly tell that tiger to watch over her brother while her uncle Cloud looks for a cure…

Years and years form now a winged stranger in a red leather coat with spy the little Tiger sat on the whiskey shelf for “safe keeping” and no one will know how to sooth him because no one knows what’s wrong.

[meanbossart]

do you have any thoughts on cazador as a character? personally i really loved the parallels between him and astarion & the way that the master/spawn relationship is used as an allegory for cyclical abuse. the scene with cazador’s master’s skull where you find out that he was once victimized in the exact same way that he later victimized astarion was really a lightbulb moment for me re: what vampirism represents in this game.

BOY DO I, i don't think much of it hasn't already been said, though. He's a tragic character in his own right of course, not that that takes away from the awful man he is.

Me and my boyfriend make fun of him a lot, we call him "the best BG3 character" as a little inside joke between us and come up with ridiculous scenarios of things that might have occurred throughout those 200 miserable years the spawn had under his command lol. Maybe he had a month where he was really specific about the shoes everyone wore, maybe once every other decade he had a weird week where he tried to be "nice" only to become frustrated when his efforts weren't immediately met in kind by the rightfully-terrified spawn, maybe between all the torture and horrific-ness he just did some plain weird shit like making someone crouch by in his fainting couch and wait by open-handed for grapes that he dramatically chewed on and then spat right out since he can't actually eat them lmao

And that's hysterical but I think we also started doing that because when you meet Cazador, when you first hear his voice and see his demeanor in person your immediate reaction is probably somewhere along the lines of "THIS is the clown you were so scared of, Astarion?"

And the answer is, of course, yes. This embarrassing little man stuck in a cage of his making instills fear beyond comprehension in Astarion and all his siblings. This man who undoubtedly showed all these spawn, inadvertently, the strangest, most arguably "human" aspects of himself at some point or another during these two centuries they had together is also an absolute monster. And i really like that! I think its far more effective and fitting for his story than if he was, lets say, a Ketheric type.

(this got very long so, more under the cut)

Look at Ascended Astarion in the epilogue now, for example. Everyone agrees that he's an absolute fucking dork - and I think we all also agree that he will go on to destroy the lives of many people beyond repair, especially his own, until the day he is killed.

In the topic of vampirism as an allegory for abuse, I both agree and also don't, at least not exactly - i just think it's deeper than that. I've spoken about this in another post but i find it incredibly refreshing how, to me, it seems like Baldur's Gate 3 has no interest in painting vampirism as sexy or fun past a surface level. It's a curse that nobody asks for unless put in a situation where they feel as if they have no other way out, and it shapes and haunts you for the rest of your undead existence.

Even if you enjoy its benefits at first, that has a time limit. You will see your family and loved ones die, you will see culture evolve while you stay perpetually the same. You will experience so much hurt and pain because the only thing that makes life truly sweet is knowing that it is finite, and eventually it will wear down all of your humanity. And since you can't die unless you are scorched by the sun, staked, or dismembered, you must live with the knowledge that you will never have a peaceful death - and since you won't have a peaceful death, you better not die - and if you don't want to die, you better not be weak - and if you don't want to be weak, you must seek out power at all cost and slash things like love and friendship out of your life.

And what is funny, is that in his attempt to be more like a mortal - to eat, drink, walk the sun, such incredibly simple desires - Cazador (and Astarion, if he ascends) is accidentally only drawing further away from the person he supposedly once was, because that fear of weakness has already utterly corrupted his soul.

That's quite a grim way to look at it, of course. But I genuinely think that it is the natural conclusion of something like immortality.

That's why I quite like that, even after Astarion has found happiness, even after he finds his peace, he still doesn't exactly embrace being a vampire - because It's not something he should be expected to embrace. I think it's a very unique take on the trope.

I also want to leave here this message written by his character writer, which really got me thinking about him on a deeper level since i saw it months ago. It is specifically about the sexual aspect, but I think it branches beyond it too, when you think about it.

[vitaminseetarot]

PAC: Random Messages You May Need 🌈🎆⛅

Sup, y'all. I'm finally back for another pick a card reading. I really apologize if folks have not heard from me over the past month, I meant to get this reading (among other things) out a while ago. I have not been able to touch tarot for the past few weeks. Life has been… topsy turvy, to say the least. Heh heh. [sweating profusely]

I meant to have another game out and to have paid readings available by now--that is still part of the plan. What was meant for June will be in July. So this blog might go from 0 to 100 mph real soon, to move along with plans as intended!

I was loosely inspired by the Baker pride flag from 1978 for this group selection. These piles are pretty nondescript: each one contains a random message that may resonate with you. Pick based on whichever color of the Prism Oracle speaks to you most, and feel free to choose more than one. Take only what resonates.

Pile 1 - Strength (Red) Pile 2 - Happiness (Orange) Pile 3 - Illumination (Yellow) Pile 4 - Movement (Green) Pile 5 - Flow (Turquoise) Pile 6 - Trust (Blue) Pile 7 - Intuition (Violet) Pile 8 - Love (Pink)

Pile 1 - Strength (Red)

10 of Swords, Insight

You've been asked by the universe to put up with a lot, especially recently. You're reaching a finish line of a very long and brutal marathon. There have been too many times where you questioned whether or not to throw in the towel. If you have, you may also have questioned whether or not it was the correct choice. Sometimes, things don't work out, and it's better to move on. It can be difficult to hold everything up when one thing after another seems to fall apart at the seams, but either way you're being reminded of the light at the end of this long and turbulent tunnel.

Collect yourself, pick up what pieces you can. Time has shifted everything, but the essentials still stand. Gather the wisdom you have learned from this ordeal. There is still beauty to be found in the decay, glittering gems in the rough.

Maybe you don't want to get stronger. Healing may feel like a better option than grinding for difficult experience points. Give yourself the rest and repair you need. Let go of only that which is keeping you from starting again, but you don't need to throw the baby out with the bathwater. You've gained so much wisdom and strength, this trial wasn't without gain. Treasure it and begin anew.

Pile 2 - Happiness (Orange)

2 of Swords, Clarity

Whatever answers you seek are coming to you. Or perhaps they've already arrived; open your eyes and see for yourself. You may be wondering which path will satisfy you more. The process of reconciling this could take forever unless you lean on your gut here. This can't be decided based on intellect alone, for you could get stuck mulling it over for days. Imagining all the different possible outcomes could be taxing for your brain, so narrow it down. Eliminate the weakest links and home in on what excites you. It should feel like an "aha, yes!"

If you cannot see the answer right away, go within to the realm of imagination. Feel your way through. Visualize not just with sight but with yearning. Does the light of the sun make you feel hopeful? Does the cool rain make you feel relaxed? Would an art class expand your capacity to imagine many things, or would taking a science class?

The X mark in 2 of Swords is like a railroad crossing sign. Redirect that train of thought into brighter and more positive avenues of expression. Say "what if" as if you can't wait for something to happen. "What if I saw a shooting star tonight? What if my cute neighbor asked me out?" Let the future shine its beacon for you. It will all make sense in due time.

Pile 3 - Illumination (Yellow)

Ace of Cups, Reconciliation

Have you been staying up way too late trying to figure everything out? Please give yourself a brain curfew: no problem solving or saving the day after 10 pm! I'm getting that you may tend to ruminate on the same strong emotions. For some I'm getting that there is a crush here. There's inconsistent text messaging. I know it's easy to get too nervous about their reply, but try to wait until at least the next day to hear back. They may need time to formulate their words right. They may not even see your message straight away. Take it all in stride and sleep on it; if they want to reach out to you, then they eventually will.

For others in this pile, you may be going through a rough patch with another person right now and could be wondering how things will pan out. Give them time to respond, they could still be processing it. Stay on the more positive end of things with the idea that things will work themselves out. I feel like if you can manage this in a relaxed and non hurried way, the knot will untangle easily. The coffee in the Ace of Cups is very hot, so give it a chance to cool.

There is opportunity in your near future to make up for something that went awry due to a miscommunication error. You may get a chance to make up for a test, appointment, or an interview. You will receive grace for any mishaps. Remember that tomorrow won't necessarily be the same as today, so cherish both the good you have now along with the good that soon awaits you.

Pile 4 - Movement (Green)

IX Hermit, Devotion

Looks like things are progressing faster than you even thought they would. You may be blinking your eyes in partial disbelief: could this ball really be rolling? Indeed, thanks to your efforts, goals are being met and results are more evident by the day. You eschewed a lot of distractions to make this work, so give yourself a pat on the back for the level of commitment you put into it. Some of you in this pile may have just graduated, if so then congratulations! But try not to get too comfortable with your laurels, for you have a long road ahead of you in whatever you do next. This one completion is the start of many.

Does that thrill you? If so, wonderful! On the other hand, some of you may be feeling uncertain about continuing. You may be reviewing your options to see if this really is worth pursuing. Something that requires a lot of dedication and focus on it to the exclusion of all else… yeah, I can see how that can get tiring after a long time. There are folks who can get their Master's right after their Bachelor's, or have another child right after the first, but people can also happily move on to what feels more right for them instead.

It's okay to stop and assess your tracks if necessary. Taking time off is not the same as quitting. It's not losing motivation, it's recovering it. This is your passion and your discipline, not anyone else's. If you need to give other parts of your life more room to breathe, then do so with the confidence that your great work will wait for you.

Pile 5 - Flow (Turquoise)

4 of Wands, Hospitality

Have you been stuck with something for a while? There's a strong sense of a blockage that is being eroded away over time. This process can be sped up by allowing the ice to thaw a little more. "Break the ice." You may be wanting to open up and spend more quality time with other people but don't know how. Or you could be faced with meeting new people and being nervous about interacting with them. Even more so if they're roommates. A few people in this pile could be moving or have just moved. This is a chance to ease up and get to know new people.

This blockage could be a result of the past and of anxiety. The sound of a turning doorknob just jumpscared me as I typed the last sentence. You may benefit from learning about social anxiety and how to manage it. It's not an overnight job for you to fix this, though, but to just be aware of it and not allow it to get in the way of positive change in your life.

If you're struggling to figure out how to deal with meeting new people, I would suggest looking up videos or how-tos on social interaction, especially if a certain etiquette is required for an event. Learn about conversation starters and fun things you could do together like hosting a game night. Practice makes perfect, and over time the blockage will melt into the stream.

Pile 6 - Trust (Blue)

3 of Swords, Conversion

You have a very soft and tender outlook on life, which makes it all the more painful when reality doesn't conform to such a compassionate vision. It doesn't always try to respond to vulnerability in appropriate ways. Much of the time, this isn't from natural events as much as it stems from the ways in which people can treat one another cruelly. You've had some toxic people in your life who have put you through the wringer and attempted to squeeze every ounce of kindness they could from you. Making light of this pain to them only resulted in further deflection and antagonism on their part. The only outcome was to salvage whatever you could and pray for the best.

It is not your job to change their closed minded perspectives. They're on their own, here. Do not concern yourself with their messy inner world and lose any more of your energy. Also, do not attempt to regain what energy has been lost through bargaining either, as much as it hurts to press onward without looking back. You will recover, but you have to move on first and prioritize what you deeply care about most (you included).

There will come a time when your heart will be healed so you can see the brighter side of human connection again. All the beauty that your gentle soul is seeking is still there, shrouded by layers of protective petals that will one day bloom again and your life will truly flourish. For now, this is a time to give yourself all the comfort you can.

Pile 7 - Intuition (Violet)

XII Hanged Man, Spring

I get the feeling that you've been waiting quite a while for some good results to come in. This could either be from something that you started back in the spring, or are waiting to see results which may come around springtime. It is a season of flowers, so you may be waiting for this thing to blossom--that is, to be fully presentable to the public in some way. To have something to show for the time you put in. Like "hey, this is what I've been working on, this came from the seeds I planted." It could be growing in a direction unlike what you're used to, leaving you wondering how it could succeed in such unusual and burdensome conditions.

Lean on your inner guidance when it comes to the right timing. I don't believe that you're currently in a space where you need to push so hard for the best results. You can let things move at their own pace. Over tending to anything can end up in just as much trouble as neglect. There's only so much you can do before you have to let the flower do the growing and blooming for itself.

It's not always easy to sit in the place of uncertainty with the idea that doing more will provide more. But sometimes less is more. What you're creating is coming to fruition and may even turn out better than you expected. Trust in both the knowledge you've earned over time from learning lessons, as well as your natural intuition, to help you decide when it's time to take action.

Pile 8 - Love (Pink)

7 of Swords, Gossip

Let your heart lead the way here, not your worries over what others will think. Sure, you may end up with some people talking about you, but opportunities will keep passing by if you wait for everyone else to catch up to you. Leaning too much on everyone else's perspectives will only distort the vision you have for your own life journey. We all have unique journeys to go on, but unconditional kindness remains at the center of the Love card, the one thing that brings us together. Following life from a heart centered place may result in having others glance over and whisper, but that shouldn't distract you.

There is a rather delicate message here about dealing with friendships, colleagues, or possibly even family. You may have a tricky situation between several other people right now who have beef not with you but with each other. They may be coming to you to air their grievances and ask for advice.

If you care about both of these people, then it's best to approach this issue as diplomatically and impartially as possible and avoid feeding into the conflict. What would an enlightened mindset do in this situation? How would you want the other person to behave if they were in your shoes? Come from a place of pure compassion. They may choose to make amends or not, it's up to them. If their butting heads is bringing you down, it's always okay to step back and take a break. You are not responsible for what's going on in their heart, only your own, so protect yours well.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2024, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[grntaire]

good omens is an allegory for queer deconstruction from an abusive fundamentalist religious environment.

i've talked about it on here ad nauseum, probably, but i haven't fleshed my thoughts out on it fully. this has been my interpretation since season 1, and season 2 just solidified it for me. so here goes.

it's about the choice that all queer people in an environment like this have to make, and both choices suck and end with loss.

choice 1: stay with your church community, your friends, your family, the world you've always known, but never be true to yourself. because they will never fully accept you if you are true to yourself.

choice 2: embrace your queerness, live your authentic life, and leave it all behind. you're torn from everything you've ever known, everyone you've ever loved. but it's what you have to do to be happy. aziraphale is stuck between choices. crowley never had a choice. his was made for him.

heaven are the church elders. the protectors. the ones who say they have your and god's best interest in mind, always. they don't. to them, hell are the blasphemers, who are both unworthy of redemption yet can only be saved by it. they are the arbiters of what is good and right and bad and wrong.

aziraphale's story is one of both learned faith and earned faith. learned, in that he's been indoctrinated his whole life. been to church at least twice a week since birth. earned, in that he's seen the good that the church can do–they feed the hungry, shelter the unhoused. how could people who do such good be capable of cruelty? and surely, when they are cruel, there must be some greater good to come out of it?

crowley was faithful once, too. he loved god. loved church. but he knew he was queer from a young age, and asked questions about it. not because he wanted to make trouble, but because he wanted to understand. to understand why something he knew about himself to be so innately true could be wrong. but the church didn't see it as that–they saw the embodiment of sin, questioning them. their authority, their virtuosity, the fibre of what holds their organization together, and he was cast out. was kicked out of his home, alienated from his family, his friends, his community. he fell. and he now sees the church for what it truly is.

as for aziraphale, he's accepted the fact that he's queer, but had faith that his elders had his best interest at heart when they spewed homophobic ideology. he never believed the ideology, not really, but he had to believe (made himself believe) that the people who spread it meant well. that they meant it out of kindness, out of protecting queer people from damnation. he wanted to believe that not everyone in the church was like this, that not everyone in the church thought all queer people are inherently people of sin. that is, until a mentor, someone he trusts, perpetuates it too. he's had moments in his past that chipped away at his faith: he'd stayed friends, or whatever you want to call it, with crowley, and crowley had tempted him into trying new things that the church wouldn't approve of. things that aziraphale loved. but this moment with his mentor is when his faith is truly shaken. it's the beginning of his active deconstruction.

and so he leaves. he leaves and finds crowley and they build a semblance of a life together with what they have. they're happy. he's learning that he doesn't need to go to church to be holy. that he doesn't need to be holy to be happy. that he's allowed to indulge in the things he loves without guilt and shame.

that is, until that mentor shows up at his doorstep, offering him everything he's ever wanted. insinuates that he knows him and crowley aren't just friends, and assures him that they can come back to church together. that they're going to change things in the church, and that aziraphale can help. that they need aziraphale to help. (they don't. they want a pious gayboy to help repair their image. it's performative activism at its finest). aziraphale is being offered his family, his community, everything back, and crowley can come too. preying on his wants and desires, manipulating him back into their control. so of course he says yes. they'll get to be together with everything they've ever known and aziraphale doesn't have to make a choice between losses anymore. (deconstruction isn't linear, and abuse is cyclical.)

but crowley makes it for him. crowley tells him no. he doesn't want that life and doesn't want to go back to those people who hate him so much. who hate them so much. crowley knows what the church is about and sees it for what it is. they're not about god, or moral good or doing what's right. all they want is control. it's about the optics of the organization. it's about influencing what serves them and their agenda, and crowley knows that aziraphale is just a pawn to them. ("Why would we go back to them, when they think that who we are is wrong? Is vile? They think us the embodiment of sin and you want to go help them with their PR campaign?")

but aziraphale doesn't know that, can't know it, and crowley can't make him see it. (aziraphale knows that they cast crowley out, that he was kicked out of his home. crowley never shared with him about what happened after. the nights on the street, the things he'd endured to survive.)

and so crowley kisses him. he kisses him to tell him not that he loves him, because of course he does. he kisses him to tell him "This is what you leave behind. We would never be able to do this there, to be this there, even if they say we could. Our lives are here, our safety is here. this is what you're giving up."

crowley has been through it and experienced their cruelty firsthand. aziraphale won't be able to see it until he experiences it, too. he won't be able to realize he's being played if he doesn't even know that there's a game happening in the first place.

i can't recommend watching the show through this lens enough. it makes aziraphale's story that much more heartbreaking, because there's this intense duality of indoctrination vs. deconstruction that lives within him constantly. (imo it's also the main difference between book aziraphale and tv aziraphale: book aziraphale is significantly further along in his deconstruction journey. it's why he's a bit more of a bastard. tv aziraphale is set back a bit further, which sets up his deconstruction arc beautifully across three seasons.)

it's why aziraphale has the ability to peel back layers of himself and his train of thought depending on the situation at hand–he literally has two trains of thought happening at once. the indoctrinated one, and the deconstructed one.

and when crowley kisses him, it's the first time in his existence that both trains of thought have been that present simultaneously. it's both trains colliding full speed with each other. it's why we see both livid, hesitant frustration and fierce passion and longing at once. it forced him to confront something that lived so deeply within himself that he wanted to bring to light on his own terms, but crowley was desperate. the kiss wasn't i love you, please stay. it was look at what you're leaving behind. we could've been us, we could've been this.

and i think that whatever happens in season 3, whatever heaven does that makes them finally irredeemable in aziraphale's eyes, it'll be a beautiful ending to his deconstruction arc. not that deconstruction ever ends, not truly, but for the first time in his existence, he'll be able to see heaven, hell, and the system as a whole clearly for what they are: a bunch of self-righteous dicks.

[if you're curious about religious deconstruction and what it means, this video by therapist and social worker mickey atkins talking about deconstruction in reference to shiny happy people, a documentary about the duggar family, is a good place to start. cw for pretty much all types of abuse imaginable, fyi.]

[dancy-nrew]

Happy Secret Samol @humanmorph !!! Yo ho ho a pirates life for you!

Id in alt text and also below the cut for legibility

Image one: An Alise Breka book cover. The illustration (meant to resemble an oil painting) features Leap and Figure A back to back, Figure A closer to the camera and Leap behind them. Leap is in a tie dye hoodie, Figure A has a dramatic collar welded to their round torso. Each are holding a sword and fending off attacks on all sides. Laser beams zip across the screen. The title of the book is “High Seas and Distant Stars” and is written on a yellow band across the top of the page. There is a simplified drawing of palisade as a logo for Palisade Publishing. There is a barcode across the bottom left.

Image two and three: Mockup of the inside of the book. Text reads:

The pirate captain, devastatingly handsome — or devastating and handsome, if you put the question to the unlucky sailors across many planet’s seas — lounged about the deck of the ship. A foul wind had blown through the port in the night, and showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. Disadvantageous, and perhaps more terribly, incredibly dull. Exeter Leap had faced down gods and kings and only laughed in their faces; to be trapped here by a measly turn in the weather made his plating itch.

They’d been here a week already, despite no small effort to leave. Unloading, his first mate insisted, takes time if they want it done properly. Leap had insisted he’d never done anything properly in his life and didn’t plan on starting now, but Figure A had tilted their head in that way they had and explained that properly meant more money, which, he supposed, was hard to argue with. Especially considering their other delay. The Bluebird had taken substantial cannon fire in their last battle, and was desperately in need of repairs, as well as the more tedious maintenance work that went into keeping a ship of its size and purpose in fit fighting shape.

So the minutes ticked into hours ticked into days, and here they are, still.

“I’m not a man meant to stay still,” he complains, staring out over the roiling waves.

”Still: up to and including the present or the time mentioned, or still: not moving or making a sound?”

Leap jumps, but only slightly. A pirate can never be too surprised, but he hadn’t realized he had company, lost in thoughts as turbulent as the sea. The familiar red and gold form of his friend leaning next to him is a welcome sight. “Oh- Uh. Both. Either. Not still here, or still physically.”

Figure A nods in easy understanding. They’re better at patience, at being in one place, but Leap thinks they have something restless about them, too. They lean forward as if they have something more to say but then-! A shout! The familiar blistering heat of a laser beam sipping past inches from his face! A scorch mark across metal! Leaps springs into action as

FREE READING PREVIEW LIMIT REACHED

FULL BOOK DOWNLOAD: 45 GLINT

INSTALLMENT PAYMENTS AVAILABLE !

WHOLE BOOK IN 4 ACTS, EASY PAYMENTS OF 15 GLINT EACH!

EXTRAS AND BEHIND THE SCENES CONTENT (AN INTERVIEW WITH THE CAPTAIN HIMSELF!) 25 GLINT!

Image four: A series of sketches of Leap and Figure A.

First sketch; Leap has his arms crossed saying “Thats not how any of that happened!” as he looks over Figure A’s shoulder as they read the book. They laugh and say “I think it’s fun!

Second sketch; Figure A points at the cover and says “Look at my cool collar” as Leap leans forward to look at it and says “it is pretty sick…”

Third sketch: Leap welding a big metal pirate coat-like collar onto Figure A’s torso as they giggle

Fourth Sketch; Leap grins and asks “How’s that?” Figure A says “Thank yo-“ but bonks their face into the collar as they turn their head

Fifth sketch; very small at the bottom of the page. Leap has a hand over his mouth. Figure A’s head slumps forward as they sigh.

[jacenbren]

Deeply fucking unsettling things about the Honored One himself, Satoru Gojo

Thanks to his ability to fuck with gravity, you put him in a blank, empty room with identical walls, floor, and ceiling with no doors or windows, he'll quickly lose track of which way is up. Realistically this situation would probably never happen, but the concept freaks him out ever since Geto made a joke about it once.

Gojo's body maintains a perfect thermodynamic equilibrium, making his skin creepily cool to the touch. He can go out in a blizzard with shorts on, and between that and Infinity, he'd be perfectly fine. It makes for a cool party trick, because he can stick his hand in a candle flame or put cigarettes out on his arms with no ill effects.

He's unsettlingly clean at all times, because dirt can't touch him. Gojo hasn't needed to use stain remover on his uniform in years.

He quite literally has six eyes. He keeps four of them shut and all of them hidden most of the time, though, because a) looking into all six at once would liquefy the brain of your average human, and b) his Six Eyes are constantly feeding unfathomable amounts of information into his brain every second. Even with his tolerance to his powers and mastery of the reverse curse technique, there's only so much stimuli a human brain can process without completely shutting down, and Gojo doesn't want to find out what that'll do to him--in a nutshell, just because he can see things that mankind can't even hope to comprehend doesn't mean he wants to.

He can perceive the entire electromagnetic spectrum, meaning he can see shrimp colors. Everyone else desperately wants him to describe the shrimp colors. Gojo continues to smugly refuse.

Because of his reverse curse technique constantly refreshing and regenerating his body, he just. doesn't really need to eat anymore. or drink. or even breathe. His body is basically frozen at peak physical condition, and it's very likely that he is functionally immortal.

Sometimes, Gojo forgets what pain feels like, because nothing can touch him. Pain feels almost like pleasure to him, because nothing can hurt him. Nothing can even touch him, and Gojo has secretly developed a perverted interest in seeing how badly he can mutilate himself before he's forced to reengage his technique and heal.

Gojo can bend and contort himself in ways that aren't humanly possible, run faster and farther and lift heavier objects than anyone alive, because his body can repair itself almost as fast as it's damaged, depending on how severe the injury. Basically, he has permanent hysterical strength, letting him push his body past its limits to perform feats that would kill a normal human with no ill effects.

Gojo doesn't sleep. He literally can't unless he releases his technique, because his body is constantly being refreshed and doesn't need to shut down. Oh well, it's for the better. He's most vulnerable while he's sleeping anyway, and it opens up his schedule by a lot.

His teeth grow now, almost like a rodent's. He has to file them down to be able to open and close his mouth properly, along with much more frequent trimming of his hair and nails.

His skin is oddly smooth, and unnaturally pristine. Gojo hasn't recieved a single scar since Toji sliced him open, and all the ones he'd recieved before are healed flawlessly at this point. His hands are so soft they make it look like he hasn't fought a day in his life, because calluses aren't able to form anymore.

Gojo's been around the world countless times now. He can go wherever he wants with a thought; the only cost is his sanity. Warping himself across the Pacific for lunch in San Francisco is fun, but he can only do it a few times a week if he doesn't want to have another... ah, episode.

These episodes involve blackouts, gaps in his memory where his powers manage to slip their leashes from overuse and literally short-circuit his brain. He's only had a few so far, and every time, he wakes up in the infirmary completely unscathed, with blood all over his clothes and an awful fucking migraine. Nobody knows what happens or where he goes, and all Shoko's been able to tell him is that when it happens, he seems to go into a giddy fugue before blasting his way out of the compound and vanishing for anywhere from days to weeks. Gojo's absolutely terrified of these episodes, because he's wholly aware that if he lost it for real, nobody would be able to stop him.

He looks human enough, but if you look closer, he quickly starts to set off the uncanny valley effect. It's like a wolf in sheep's clothing--because you know how dangerous he is, even though he appears relatively harmless at first. Everyone who meets him has the same fear response clawing at the back of their mind as their hindbrain screams at them to fucking run, because Gojo is an apex predator in the body of a prey animal. His very presence awakens primal fear that's been entrenched in every human since the dawn of time--the fear of things that go bump in the night, of cosmic horrors beyond what mankind can even hope to comprehend.

His eyes glow all the time now, and the energy crackling in the air around him feels like the static that comes before a lightning strike. Satoru Gojo is insistent that he's still human even though he's the strongest, but... is he, really?

[creepyclothdoll]

Condemned

Paul loved escape rooms. 

He just loved them. The lovingly-crafted set designs and props, the electric buzz that came from finding hidden items and putting together puzzle pieces, the euphoria of cracking a code, the adrenaline of the ticking clock, and most importantly, the thrill of the escape. 

His friends had long ago stopped accompanying him every week, sometimes more than once a week, to escape rooms in his area. Especially once he started driving hours out of town just to try new escape game centers for a fresh hit of that delicious escape puzzle challenge.

Paul now preferred to go alone anyway. People just bogged him down. He didn’t come to make friends, he came to win. 

Months of hot anticipation finally bore fruit when the “Great American Escape” opened its doors to him, at long last. Great American, according to the billboards and posters strewn around town, was the primary attraction of an entertainment mega-complex which took the place of a long-disused waterpark hotel. It would be huge, he knew. Not just physically. His great fear was that it would blow up on social media– maybe even on his feed– and then the solutions would be spoiled for him. So he had to be first.

Great American Escape was so new the day he strode in there that there were still “CONDEMNED” notices stuffed into the recycling bins and old lists of health & safety violations stuck in the vents. 

“One ticket for Mystery Escape,” Paul, slapped his money on the counter and smiled at the teen boy working behind it. He was a short, lithe, wide-eyed man in his thirties with dark greasy hair and one navy blue university sweater he’d kept in moderate repair for a decade and a half.

“No group?” The boy asked. When Paul confirmed this, the boy said, “You’ll have to wait until a group comes in. You need three people at least.”

“When is the next group coming?” Paul asked.

“We don’t have any groups booked today,” the boy replied.

“... So, you’re not gonna let me in?” 

“... Um… yeah. I can’t. Sorry.”

Paul put down another handful of bills. This wasn’t his first rodeo.

“I’ll buy three tickets,” he said. He made sure to draw the boy’s attention to the extra $20, a little tip for a helpful front deskman. 

The boy, who was thin and bored-looking with a patchy teen mustache and his elbow resting on top of a stack of I Escaped stickers, glanced at the security camera which flickered in the corner, its blinking red eye frosted over with a decade of dust. The boy took the $20 and shrugged. 

“You won’t be able to escape,” the boy said. “It’s impossible by yourself. But if you want to try… I guess you can try.”

The boy led Paul towards a set of slightly rusty elevator doors, past posters and cardboard cut-outs of characters from “Rattlesnake Gulch Treasure Hunt,” “Escape From Venus,” and “King’s Dungeon Jailbreak.” Paul planned to return to these, but he’d start by going straight for the crown jewel– Mystery Escape, which had been advertised exclusively with nothing but an open doorframe leading to darkness. 

The boy went over basic safety guidelines. The door wouldn’t really be locked, red things were real alarms, things that said “staff only” were really for staff only, etc., blah blah blah, boring stuff.  Paul listened impatiently, but carefully, only because knowing what was “real” (and therefore inconsequential) would give him a leg up in the game. 

“The game starts when the elevator door opens,” the boy finally said. “Floor 3. Good luck.”

The elevator bell dinged, and the doors slid open. The light flickered. Paul stepped inside. 

He waved to the boy as the doors shut. He pressed 3. 

The light above flickered. Paul could almost see his reflection in the red-rusted metal doors. 

The elevator began its ascent, and right away, Paul could tell something was strange. There was a creaking noise, like a train braking. The light flickered. The light sputtered out. 

The elevator stopped.

Paul was trapped. It was pitch black inside the tiny car, which made no sound or movement. 

The first thing Paul did in any escape room was to check around for hidden props. Keys, ciphers, and puzzle pieces were often hidden around a room for players to find, which would then give them a clue as to what to do next. Paul checked around the elevator car for hidden tools. He pulled up the mildewy carpet by its frayed edge– nothing under there but more mildew. But wait! On the bottom of the carpet there were numbers and letters: EL1. What could that possibly mean? 

The next thing Paul did in an escape room was to interact with anything interactable he could see. In front of him was a series of numbers, 1-5, a “door open” and “door close” button, and “emergency.” But “emergency” was red, and red things were inconsequential. 

Paul pushed all the buttons but the last. To his surprise, the door began to open slightly– then jammed. 

Paul mused about the possible meanings of “EL1.” E was the fifth letter, and there were five numbers… But L? 

Maybe it was a cipher. Paul thought on this. 

He started trying combinations of buttons. The cipher thing was the key somehow, he knew it. A cipher worked with a code. Where was the code? Maybe it had to do with the symbols, not the numbers…

Suddenly, it all made sense to him. He pressed a set of numbers and then hit the door open button.

To his delight and satisfaction, the elevator doors creaked open. And with them came light.

Paul could see well enough now to see that he faced a concrete wall, which took up the whole lower half of the exit. But above that half, Paul could see a hallway of a hotel, so tantalizingly close. 

Paul had beaten escape rooms that had physical components to them before, so this was cake. He gripped the edge of the concrete ledge in front of him and pulled himself up. He let out a grunt as his head and arms made it over the threshold. He just had to find something to grip so he could drag the rest of himself through the gap, and then it was on to the next puzzle.

The elevator lurched.

There was a sound. A scrape, a crash, a wet squelch, a snap. It all happened at once, and it was the loudest sound he ever heard.

When Paul finally sat up, he was somewhere completely different. It was dark here. Darker than the elevator car. The darkness of this place was crushing, like the depths of the deep ocean. There was a smell of meat all around. Paul quickly dismissed the idea of trying to adjust his eyes– he’d navigate by feel.

Paul reached out into the darkness and felt nothing. He stood. His hands pushed him up from a strangely soft, lumpy floor. He noticed something strange about the sound of his movements, and let out an inquisitive “Hey!” to check the echo. It did not bounce. He was… outside?

No– he must be in the disused waterpark proper. The building was huge. Paul was delighted by this thought. He’d chosen the right room.

Paul felt around for a wall, a light switch, a puzzle. Anything. 

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” said a deep voice.

“Hello?” Paul said after a moment. 

“You lived a selfish life, Paul. You cared for nothing and no one but yourself and your own pleasure. You were an idolater, a heretic. You raised the Escape Game to the heights of a god. Pity that from this place, there is no escape.”

Paul listened carefully to the monologue. Selfish. Idolater. Raised. Heights. These things might be clues. 

“Paul,” said the deep voice, which seemed to come from above, below, and all around him, “You died a foolish death. Pity that you did not suffer. But now, you will suffer for eternity.”

Paul was already climbing up a staircase he’d found. It was the disused waterpark. Raise, he thought. Heights. The key was to go up. 

He found a craggy, warm wall. There was something under his hand– a button? He pushed it in, hard.

Under his hand, a huge glowing red eye flew open. 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH!” 

The eye blinked in pain and fury, welling up with tears. A thousand more eyes flew open along the wall before him, and Paul saw that it was not a wall at all, but some kind of enormous creature. It stirred, its red gaze illuminating the space around them.

“Stupid man. You woke something up.”

But now Paul could see the entire room– or space, or whatever it was. What he’d taken to be the “floor” was a mass of flesh– human hands, it looked like, reaching up stiffly. The hands started to stir as the creature woke from its slumber. What Paul had taken for a staircase was not that. 

Paul was making some real progress. As the hands clamored over each other, rising like tentacles from around the immense eyes, Paul hopped onto the face of the thing and started using the eyes as hand-and-footholds, which was their obvious use. Paul could spare no time on figuring out little things like that the honest way, he was on a clock. As he stepped on the creature’s eyes, it let out another unearthly roar and started to rise. 

There was a hole in the ceiling. Yes– this was meant to be a cave of some sort, and it had an exit. 

“You idiot,” the voice boomed. “You–”

Paul kicked the creature in the eye a few more times to make it rise faster. A tsunami of pale, writhing hands on wiggling stems shot up towards him to slap him away, but by the time they reached him, he was already through the hole. 

Paul scurried through the tunnel as fast as he could. If it was a three-person puzzle, you couldn’t waste any time.

He came to the next room, which was well-lit– a nice reprieve. In this room, a sweltering cave, some props department had gone all-out carving little demon faces that stuck out from the sides. These gargoyle-like stone structures leered at him and grinned in anticipation.

“The flametongue is coming, kindling,” the demon voices hissed. “Ready or not!” Paul heard a splashing, gurgling sound up ahead. He took quick note of some of the quirks of the gargoyle faces– most of them had black scorch marks on them, but some didn’t. That was a clue. The light from the other end of the tunnel grew brighter, as did the gurgling. Paul realized what he was meant to do, climbed up the protesting gargoyles, and found a set on the ceiling which had no scorching on them. Below, a wave of red-hot boiling sulferous-smelling magma flowed down, passing over the other gargoyles, who screeched and sputtered in it. Another puzzle solved. Paul dropped down once the stones cooled, and hurried up the tunnel– no time to spare. Only one more wave of “fire” passed before he solved the gargoyle pattern and pulled the right ones out of the wall in sequence to reveal a hidden exit.

This escape room was huge. He made his way through a room which featured a river of moving knives, which he was able to avoid by memorizing the timing and patterns, and climbed up into a room full of blistering ice and animatronic zombies which lurched toward him, their bodies crackling as they froze just as soon as they’d moved, their lips split by the cold. This puzzle was a simple matter of lining up the giant shards of ice in the room so that the light concentrated and blasted a hole through the glacial wall. 

Paul’s own body was profoundly frostbitten by this point, but he didn’t notice. He was on a timer. 

By the time Paul finally made it past the “three-headed-dog on a chain” puzzle, that subterranean voice from the first room had caught up with him.

“Paul,” the voice said. “There is no hope. There is no escape. Do you understand? You are dead, Paul–”

“Ssh,” Paul said, gazing at the puzzle before him. 

The door was immense. It seemed to stretch above him and beyond for miles. It was carved from stone older than the bedrock of earth, and above it, in an arch as large as the firmament, there was carved a phrase:

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

This was clearly important, because the deep voice had already voiced it earlier in the game. After checking the area for tools, Paul ran through anagrams. There were a lot of little props around the big door– lots of discarded holy texts, some bones, some strange bits of giant insectoid carapaces which Paul could not immediately identify. The bibles and such had bits burned and torn off of them in places. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. That was a ciper, maybe. He was sweating. He had to be at nearly an hour already. He started arranging the bones.

“What you are doing is futile nonsense,” the deep voice said.

Aha! By turning the phrase above the gate into numbers and then matching those numbers to the non-burned sections of each holy text, organized by the printing date, Paul had discovered an anagram which, when re-ordered, spelled out skeleton key prop, ds flo knemb yyuq. Paul had only bothered to spell out the first three words, however, due to the time crunch. That was all he needed to understand what to do, and he had done it: he had connected all the bones into one big key.

“I don’t think you understand, Paul. This is not a game. You cannot escape your fate. You cannot escape your death. You cannot escape damnation. You cannot escape from Hell.”

Paul slid the giant skeleton key into the lock. It took all of his strength to shove it to the back. Behind him, the host of hell scrambled over each other up the lip of the abyss– the thousand hands and eyes, the fire-spitting gargoyles, the lurching ice zombies, the great black dog, and many others, come to claim him for their own special torment.

Paul turned the key. There was a click. 

Well– more of a thunderous clunk.

The deep, gravelly noise of the stone door opening reverberated all throughout Hell.

“What the–”

“Hell yeah!” Paul shouted. He ducked through the door.

The red eye of the security camera caught it all. The man, crawling through the gap in the elevator. The lurch. The fall. The split.

The hopeless paramedics, the traumatized front desk boy, the shaking venue manager, the anxious lawyers, the dozens of police putting up brand-new yellow “do not cross” signage around the old hotel. 

The red eye of the security camera watched on as people in grim uniforms put the larger piece of what had been paul into a black bodybag and fetched the rest from the third story floor. 

“Used to love this waterpark when I was a little kid,” said one of the paramedics to another. “Now I hope they tear it down.”

“Wasn’t this place a lawsuit magnet back in the day?” said the other. “I remember a kid–”

The paramedics both noticed at the same moment that the body bag was moving. A lot. 

“Is he alive in there?” The first paramedic choked out, even though he understood that the answer had to be no. But then the zipper started sliding down. The bag was opening from the inside.

The headless body of Paul Gibson sat up. It reached out with its stumps of fingers, covered in cool dark blood, and rolled out onto the hotel lobby floor. Both paramedics screamed and leapt away as the decapitated Paul stumbled to its feet and lurched forward. It felt around without its fingers, leaving smears of blood on the front desk, the wall, the table, the “do not cross” tape, until it found the small white cooler on the floor. He pried it open with his mangled hands and lifted his own iced head out. 

Paul put his head on top of the gristle that was his neck. He had it the wrong way around, but his eyes opened and he smiled through bloody teeth. 

“I ss-ss-olved the b-a-ag puzzle,” the formerly dead man sputtered. “Did it a-all mys-self.”

He turned around to face both paramedics, so that his front side faced away. 

“Uh… congratulations,” the second paramedic said.

Paul choked up more blood and grinned wider. He stumbled toward the front desk, toward the paramedics. They backed away from him in horror as he reached out the wrong way and grabbed a commemorative I Escaped! sticker from the top of the pile.

“Th-a-ank you,” Paul said. “I’ll be su-ure to come back soon!”

[no1frogfan]

Endless hour

Kita Shinsuke x gn reader

Word count: ~800

Tags & warnings: fluff & angst, long distance relationship

Note: HELLO it’s been like a year since I've written anything or been on tumblr, which is wild. I started this so long ago and now it’s clawed its way back out of my heart. Inspired many moons ago by Laura Gilpin.

Tomorrow, when Kita drives you to the station, you won’t cry even though you’ll want to.

You’ll lean out the window of his dusty truck and take in the morning bustle — or, as much bustle as you get in this small town. At the intersection, two elementary school kids will run past with their bucket hats and matching uniforms and a weathered-looking obaasan will chase after them, reminding them to be careful of cars and watch the road. It’s hardly necessary here considering there’s little traffic, and that’s probably what the kids will be thinking too, but they’ll slow down nevertheless and squirm impatiently at the crosswalk before darting off again.

Their parents will already be at work in the repair shop, or the soba place, or the grocery store, and it will make you nostalgic for the hometown you haven’t even left yet. Wistful for the last honey-dipped days of summer. Scared of what you’ll miss once you’re gone.

The midnight-purple grapes of autumn and the jewel-red persimmons of winter. Grandmother’s warm silken tofu and popsicles after dinner. Sticky kisses stolen in the shadow of the camphor trees. What will ‘Samu’s opening night be like? How many games will you miss? How many wins? How many losses? Aran and Suna won’t hold it against you, but ‘Tsumu might. Your group chat will be active at first while everyone is settling in to their new lives and awkwardly falling into new friends, but as time goes on, as ‘Samu works late, as the boys plunge into practice, as the semester gets underway and you get swamped with homework, the messages will slow to a trickle. And you’ll be across the ocean, halfway around the world. It might as well be another planet.

How will Shinsuke fare without your help with the harvest? Will he have to work through the nights to finish it all himself? How many weeks will there be until summer break? Maybe you’ll even have to get an internship, some work experience, a leg up in the industry that will keep you away even longer. And when you do come back, will he still look at you the same way in a year? Two years? Three? The nights will be long, but the days will be longer. Will it be too hard without him? Hands twisting with restlessness, meals cheerless with one body instead of two. Will you have anything in common anymore? Will you grow apart? Will you find someone new? Will he?

Tomorrow, his eyes will still shine with their perpetual luster. You’ll avoid turning to look so your tears won’t fall, and you’ll hope that the breeze streaming in will dry them.

Tomorrow, the sun will crest the hill, and Shinsuke will glow like your own north star.

But tonight, he leads you down to the paddies.

It is a perfect summer evening. The chirping crickets can barely be heard over the drone of cicadas. The stars drape over the fields like a glimmering veil. The moon hangs bright and full. Or, almost full. It’s waning, and not for the first time, you wish the night could go on forever.

Shinsuke pulls you along the curving paths with no sense of haste. He talks to you about his day, his grandmother, the weather, the harvest. His neck bent and eyes fixed on you with every step, as familiar with the paddies as the back of his hand.

Rice plants tickle your calves, heavy grains dipped low, smearing the moon’s reflection across the surface of the water.

He finally slows near the canal at the edge of the farm. Dropping your hand, he presses a finger to his lips and points to the reeds toward a tangle of frogs in chorus, damp bodies glinting as they crawl over one another, a densely layered symphony of kero keros. Gingerly, gingerly, he bends down, and snatches at one, holding it up to your face with boyish glee. And then you’re both off, running, splashing, leaping after the throng of frogs that burst forth like a clammy firework in every direction, mud whirling, laughter erupting.

Like when you were kids. Like every summer.

You catch five frogs. He catches six.

Somewhere, it is raining.

A sense of serenity swells, spilling up and over and out into the endless dark. You stand there in the paddy mosquito-bitten and mud-spattered, smothered by the humid night. You think of Shinsuke draped over you in the wildflowers, the glide of shoji and the grassy scent of tatami, you think of white grains gleaming. He rinses the mud from his hands, pulls you close with damp fingers, and kisses you until you forget there will be a tomorrow.

[baddest-batchers]

Learning All the Time

here is a Tech x fem!reader idea that’s been living in my head for the past few days. enjoy, loves~💕

SFW, brief description of kissing, fast feelings, mutual pining, lots of fluff

thank you @techwrecker for beta reading for me again and for the so needed encouragement to finish this and not scrap it!

As a mechanic, it made sense for you to already know your way around a modified Omicron class attack shuttle. And you did, for the most part, but this particular ship that belonged to the most interesting batch of clones you had ever met was just as unique as they were. Tech offered a datapad to you containing the Marauder’s schematics with all of the modifications he had implemented thus far in between his squad’s various missions upon your arrival to the hangar on Kamino. Upon a brief skim of them, you realized there was a lot to memorize before you would even attempt to repair so much as a door panel. In the weeks that followed your joining of Clone Force 99, you dedicated most of your time to committing the ship schematics to memory, however, you noticed this was beginning to become more precarious with every moment you spent with the Marauder’s resident genius and pilot.

Since joining the squad of unique clones, you quickly realized just how much you enjoyed each of the Batch’s company, but in Tech’s presence was by far your favorite place to be. He was exceptionally brilliant, quick witted, and oh so endearing with the way he was constantly pushing his goggles back up his nose every so often. You were smitten with him, quirks and all.

Swiveling in the copilot’s seat you dropped the datapad to your lap and brought your fingers to massage your temples, hoping to knead away the growing haze in your brain. Your thoughts continued to flit to Tech as you futilely tried to study. You realized that you had spent more time day dreaming about him than committing the ship’s schematics to memory.

If he was showing you something he happened to be working on you listened intently to him and silently hoped he knew you were genuinely interested in his work. Assisting him on repairs was by far one of your favorite pastimes, though. More often than not, Tech would ask for your thoughts on a particular modification and then you would end up working on it together. It was butterfly inducing to be wedged under the panels of the Marauder with him. On more than one occasion you’d end up brushing up against his arm or your fingers would briefly make contact with his gloved palms while handing him tools. All of this was more than enough to distract you from your studies of the ship’s schematics.

You didn’t hear Tech when he asked you about the ship’s continuing issue with its inertia dampeners. Still kneading your temples and lost in thought, Tech said your name again and this time his voice pulled you out of your daydreaming.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” You flinched, sitting more upright from your relaxed posture in the copilot chair.

“I asked if you had any thoughts as to what could be causing the issue with the inertia dampeners.” Tech replied as he turned to look at you in his seat.

“Are you quite well?” He asked, his entire body swiveling now in the pilot seat to face you while taking in your frustrated expression.

“I’m sorry, Tech, I swear I’ve been studying the ship’s schematics. I’m just—“ You let out a short breath, “I’m..a little distracted, I guess.” You say while swiping through the Marauder’s schematics once again and hoping that he couldn’t perceive the way he flustered you with so much as a glance in your direction these days.

“There is no need to apologize. Perhaps you should rest before we drop out of hyperspace and arrive at Kamino.” Tech said kindly.

Noticing his full attention now turned to you, your eyes found his face again. His eyes had that kind look to them that softened his faint smile lines. Before Tech could catch the growing blush that was starting to spread across your face, you hastily dropped your attention to the datapad in your lap.

“No, I’d rather stay here and continue to study, if that’s alright.” You offer back to him.

“And I promise I’ll figure out what’s wrong with the dampeners once we land, I just need to—“

“There is no need to do so right away, sarad.” Just as quickly as the Mando’a term slipped from Tech’s lips, he quickly turned his attention back to the ship’s controls. Before he could formulate an explanation for using the word, both you and Tech heard a familiar low chuckle from the cockpit entrance.

Crosshair’s lithe form leaned on one side of the entrance, arms crossed and a toothpick slotted between his lips.

“When are you going to tell her, Tech?” The sniper’s mirth was palpable. How long had he been standing there?

“Tell me what?” You looked from Crosshair to Tech.

“What did you call me, Tech?” You asked innocently, truly not knowing the meaning of the word he had used.

“He called you ‘sarad.’” Crosshair smirked while shifting his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. He was definitely enjoying this way too much for Tech’s comfort.

Your expression didn’t change, you were not very familiar with Mando’a, knowing only a few words much to your own surprise being that you’d spent a considerable amount of time around clones.

“Ah, well, it means—“ Tech began.

“It means ‘flower’.” Crosshair cut to it before Tech could uncharacteristically stammer out his reply.

Your jaw went a little slack in surprise and the only word you could manage to form was a quiet “oh.”

Tech shifted uncomfortably in his seat before shooting his brother a look of annoyance that Crosshair waved off as he walked toward the back of the Marauder.

Something in your stomach fluttered at the realization of Tech’s use of the Mando’a word and it’s possible implication. Before he could begin to speak again, you smiled and tipped your head to one side, trying to catch his avoidant gaze.

“Tech?” You called his name in the sweetest voice he’d ever heard his name said. A sudden burst of courage moved your hand to gently rest on Tech’s knee, stopping him from facing away from you. Butterflies soared in your stomach at the feel of him under your hand.

“You know how I said I was distracted earlier?” You said slowly, your newfound courage pushing you further. Hesitantly, you removed your hand from his knee while inching yourself to the edge of your seat.

“Yes, I do recall you saying that.” Tech affirmed, eyes dropping from your face to his knees that were mere inches from yours.

“Well..it’s you..you are what’s been distracting me the past few weeks. The way you talk about the things you are interested in, with so much excitement and enthusiasm. How you are always willing to teach me something new while we’re working together. How kind you always are with your brothers…and with me.” Your words hit Tech like a gust of warm summer wind on Kashyyyk.

“If that isn’t a clear enough confession then here it is, plain and simple: I like you so very much, Tech.” You finally say, after all these weeks of mulling over how fast and hard you had fallen for him. It was out in the open, the ball was in his court now, and your heart laid bare for him to see. You knew he could see the blush that had spread over your face and this made you drop your eyes to your hands that were now planted firmly just above your knees.

Tech’s eyes slowly drifted over your features, as if to be sure you meant what you had just said. He pushed his goggles up the bridge of his nose.

“I rarely find myself at a loss for words, this time being one of few that I am able to remember.” Tech said slowly. While he had his suspicions, Tech was now fully faced with the pleasant realization that his own pining after you was mutual. It shocked him a bit at how quickly he had fallen for you and the circumstances surrounding your confession of affection was almost overwhelming him.

Looking up at him now in slight surprise, his admission pulled a soft giggle, a sound like music to his ears, from you which gave Tech the push he needed to finally close the gap between you.

Knees now touching, his thumb and forefinger placed just so on and under your chin, Tech tipped your face up ever so slightly so that your lips pressed gently to his. Warmth blossomed in your chest at his touch and kiss. You could hardly believe this moment was real. His mouth moved slowly, almost reverently, against your own. You brought your hands to rest on his chest plate, the feel of the smooth plastoid grounding you in this moment. You committed every sensation to memory. This was a moment you knew you’d never forget.

Tech finally, after what felt like a blissful eternity, pulled away slowly but not fully breaking contact with you, leaving his knees still touching yours.

“I believe my feelings for you to be mutual.” He said in a hushed tone, knowing Hunter could most likely feel the bubbling energy radiating from the two of you from the furthest corner of the Marauder.

You smiled at Tech while bringing your hand to your chest, feeling your heart pound inside your ribs. The silence was comfortable for a moment, just you and him looking at each other with love and admiration and mutual understanding.

After another moment, you finally broke the sweet silence, “Hey, Tech?”

“Yes, mesh’la?” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

This Mando’a word you did know. It meant ‘beautiful’ and his use of it made the butterflies in your stomach soar yet again and a smile form on your lips.

“What kind of sarad do I remind you of?” You asked softly while leaning just a little bit closer into his space.

With your question, Tech lit up into a detailed explanation of a flower he once encountered on a brief shore leave several rotations ago. His voice was so soothing and the kindness in his eyes shown even brighter as he spoke. You knew you would never tire of listening to him or of seeing his eyes shine for the rest of forever.

•••

[thegingerwrites]

Obikin sickfic musings

So I’ve been sick for almost the past week, pretty much unable to look at a screen or do much more than rot in my bedroom for most of it. But! I have been thinking sick fic thoughts. Especially after reading Lemon's Obi-Wan sickfic a few weeks back. What is Anakin like when he’s sick? (And how does Obi-Wan take care of him)

The Jedi don’t get sick very often and when they do, they can often be sent to the Halls of Healing or the medbay of their star destroyers to get any illness treated quickly. But sometimes that isn’t possible, common colds are too various and changeable to treat directly so it’s easier a lot of the time for them to pass on their own.

Anakin gets one while out in the field and doesn’t really notice at first. A bit of congestion, fatigue, dizziness, isn’t really enough to stop him from doing what needs to be done. Honestly, most of that is expected after pushing himself so hard for so long.

When Anakin is sick, he pushes himself too hard. He is out on a campaign, stationed on planet, and in the midst of leading the ground troops through an assault. Midway through, he stops giving orders, fully immersed in his own head and doing what needs to be done. He has a few close calls, his reflexes are slower than they should be, but they live to fight another day. Ahsoka and Rex give him a few sideways looks as they return to the ship.

Even when the battle is over, he doesn’t retire to his quarters. He stays up, heading to the hangar to catch up on some repairs he has been thinking about for weeks. He waves off attempts to get him to slow down and rest, needing to keep going until he collapses.

Ahsoka loses patience with him almost immediately and hands the situation over to Rex until he convinces her to call in reinforcements. General Kenobi is in the system, wrapping up an engagement on a neighboring planet. If anyone can tell Anakin to sit down and rest, it’s him. Thankfully, he is only an hour away.

“Anakin.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m fine. Did Ahsoka call you?”

“She did but I’m told the decision was seconded by Rex, your officers, and Chief Medic Kix.”

“…Traitors.”

“There are two ways this could go. You can admit that you are not feeling well and head back to your quarters to sleep of the rest of this cold with your dignity still intact.”

“Or?”

“Or I give it about ten minutes before you collapse and I have to carry you back to your quarters.”

“Fine.”

Anakin wasn’t exactly allowed to be sick when he was little. His mother took care of him as best she could, but Watto forced him to work regardless of how Anakin felt. His early years at the Temple were marked by a few bouts of illness, as his body adapted to its strange new home. He is better about recognizing illness and accepting help now but some habits are hard to break.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“My mission went exceedingly well, thanks for asking. Completed it with just enough time to wrestle unruly former padawans into bed.”

“I mean, if you want to—”

“You can barely stand, Anakin. Hold still.”

“I’m still capable of taking my own armor off.”

“Then why is it still on?”

“…I think it’s half the reason I’m still standing.”

“Come now. Clothes off.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Anakin.”

When Anakin is feeling truly miserable, every kindness shown to him is treated like a gift from the Force itself.

“You don’t have to be here, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’m here now, in bed, resting. I promise I’m not dumb enough to run off the second you leave.”

“I know that too.”

Anakin breathes a heavy sigh that catches around the congestion in his chest. He clears his throat and nuzzles into Obi-Wan’s side.

“Thank you.”

“Whatever for?”

“For everything,” Anakin slurs. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darling.”

Anakin smiles at the sound of the endearment he only ever hears when he is very sick. Obi-Wan offers it up carelessly to other people but it only ever gets administered to Anakin when he is at his lowest, perhaps when Obi-Wan thinks that Anakin won’t notice or remember, or when he believes Anakin most needs to hear it. Anakin remembers every single “darling” and “dearest” and “love”. Something about them does make him feel just a little bit better.

“Are you going to make your tea?”

“You hate my tea.”

“Yes, but I like that you make it.”

“…Alright.”

Anakin doesn't like the taste of Obi-Wan's tea but he does like the way that the ceramic mug feels in his hands and the smell of the steam that wafts from it and the way it fights the chill from his low-grade fever. This time, when he holds it in his hands and shivers, it almost feels like a good thing.

Obi-Wan stays with Anakin as he falls asleep, sitting up behind him on the narrow bed in Anakin’s quarters, keeping him elevated to help with his congestion. He runs his fingers through Anakin’s hair as Anakin’s mouth falls slack and he begins to doze as well.

“Aren’t you worried about getting sick too?”

“A Jedi doesn’t get sick.”

“What do you call this then?”

“A minor setback. You’ll be on your feet again in no time. Now, rest.”

When Anakin can’t sleep and makes some truly pitiful noises, Obi-Wan agrees to read to him. Anakin buries his face in Obi-Wan’s robes as he lets the words wash over him. It doesn’t matter what Obi-Wan is reading to him, the fact that he is here, that he cares, is more than enough. Obi-Wan presses a kiss to Anakin’s forehead just before he falls asleep again to check on his temperature.

Obi-Wan is only able to spend a few hours with him before being called back to the front. He manages to escape before Anakin’s cold takes a turn for the gross, all of the coughing and hacking that means that whatever is in his system is finally starting to break up a bit. The few hours together don’t feel like much, don’t feel like enough, but he is able to help Anakin to take care of himself and offer a bit of comfort in a time so often devoid of it.

“Master, is that Master Kenobi’s robe?”

“Yeah, he left it for me.”

“Isn’t it just a standard issue robe? You have like three of them.”

“It’s soft.”