#so this panel is just rotating in my head

[nikrei]

(Adventure Comics 342) (1966)

(The Flash 329) (1984)

An interesting link between Superboy in the 60s and Superman in the 80s re:fellow heroes killing in self defense. Not what u'd necessarily expect from Supes. I sincerely doubt that Cary Bates had read this Adventure issue or even considered it when he was setting up this Flash trial, but it is neat to see a similar thought.

I wonder where he falls on this scale in modern comics?

[scarletspider2the2ndpower]

Chasm: Curse of Kaine (Vol. 1/2024), #2.

Writer: Steve Foxe; Penciler and Inker: Andrea Broccardo; Colorist: Brian Reber; Letterer: Joe Caramagna

[nostalgic-muffins]

curse you nightbringer for debunking one of my satan hcs!!

uhhhh anyway the hc is that after lesson 20 ends and mc leaves satan doesnt know what to do w himself so he just buries himself in his books. just like how it was before mc came. but instead of reading to distract himself from his anger he reads double the amount before to distract himself from the fact that hell probably never see mc again or smth.

while at the local library, satan finds a book on cats. he realizes hes never read this book and he wants to keep his mind off mc, so he decides give it a go.

he ends up really enjoying the book. so much to the point that he checked out any book on cats he could find. not only that, but there are now at least nine stacks of books in his room, purely on cats. hence the books that fell once mc returned in lesson 21 (i think it was lesson 21...? im pretty sure it is.)

this is also why one of mc's options are "youre cheating on me with cats?" this is completely new to mc.

but then nightbringer came along w the cat day saga.... it was a sad time for me. dont get me wrong, it was cute and silly and stuff but like.... MY PRECIOUS HC.... GONE WITHIN SECONDS....

[planetamarte]

i have to keep writing shadomega one way or another and this time its in comic format

[stealingyourbones]

Finished the first page :)

On my way to make a Dan Phantom works at the daily planet comic that’ll probably never see the light of day. Here’s hoping my motivation stays for long enough that I finish it

[kazumist]

COULD IF YOU WOULD .ᐟ

✩ — the two times aventurine referred to you as his "work wife" and the one time he seems to have left out the "work" part.

✩ — includes: aventurine x f!reader. fluff (?), crack. cw: ooc!aventurine probably, very messy and i kinda hate this piece LOL. wc: 820. reblogs are very much appreciated !!

✩ — note: trying to write aventurine as his usual self now and not some delusional hc that i have of him yay! (i went through hell and back writing this just to get the dialogue match his way of speaking.) pretend that the ipc holds company dinners btw 🥹.

you don’t really know how it started. but maybe it’s because your co-workers tease you both too much about how you and aventurine act like an “old married couple” due to your constant banter, or maybe it’s because of aventurine’s (annoying) flirtatious remarks towards you.

however with the constant jokes and all, even aventurine got infected because there’s times when he would refer to you as his “work wife” as well. the first was when you were out at a company dinner. working in the same department with aventurine didn’t really help your… predicament, but for some reason, it wasn’t so bad.

“so how are you two love birds doing?” a co-worker asked, clearly drunk from the way they slurred their words and how red their face was slowly getting. aventurine just laughs at them—casually swinging an arm and resting it on the back of your chair. “my work wife here seems to be doing well, right?” he glances at you, a whiskey glass in hand, as he rotates it with his wrist. he was simply met with a glare in return. people wouldn’t care if you responded anyway because they’re too drunk to even remember this in the morning.

the second time was when you two got stuck in an elevator ride. and the worst part? aventurine purposely pressed at least four floors below your destination on the panel just so he could chat with you. “wouldn’t it be a nice idea to ditch work for today?” he asks, his eyes focused on both of your reflections from the elevator’s doors.

“you’re insane.”

“my dearest work wife, you wound me! i was simply asking you out.”

“no one would ever agree if you asked them in that way.” you refused to make eye contact with him.

“if i asked normally, then where’s the fun in that?”

when the elevator hit the current floor, you made your exit despite the floor not being your destination yet. 

of course, he had called or referred to you as his “work wife” many more times than this. however, as for the third one, it was when you were assigned to work with aventurine to dig up some information in a bar of sorts. a bar is quite a dangerous place in general, but you both had no choice but to split up so work would be faster.

that is, until you started being pestered by some stranger at the bartender’s counter.

no matter how many times you told him to go away (in reality, you really wanted him to go fuck off already), he was just being too persistent. but you couldn’t do anything because it would most definitely cause a scene—and you don’t want that. it was starting to suffocate you, how the stranger kept getting closer.

“dear, who is this?��� you knew that voice from anywhere. you looked over to your side and saw aventurine next to you, already wrapping his arm around your waist as he looked at the stranger from head to toe. after telling him that you had no idea, you swore you could’ve seen his jaw clench for a quick second. playing along was mandatory with how the situation is turning now, even if aventurine had to pretend that he was actually your partner (well, technically, he is your partner for this assignment).

“who knew that there was actually someone indecent enough to hit on someone’s wife?” it was weird. you always felt icked by how aventurine kept calling you his “work wife." but this time, it was weird. and you hate it.

because you had a revelation that you liked the fact aventurine called you his wife at this very moment.

aventurine has a way with words. he always does; he knows what to say to rile up someone—to provoke them. it was no surprise that the stranger became another one of aventurine’s victims when it came to his provocative terms. yet, it was all over in a blink of an eye because the guy retreated. (you weren’t able to understand what aventurine specifically said to him, but does it really matter at this point?)

“are you alright?” he asks. 

“yeah. thank you.”

“how about we hit the hay for tonight? i managed to gather some information anyway.”

“agree, i was able to catch some as well.”

“really now? we make a great team, don’t we?”

“don’t let it get to your head, aventurine.”

he chuckles. “i was serious, though.” you look at him, confused. “about…?” aventurine leans to your ear and whispers low: “we could actually get married if you would let me do the honors of asking for your hand.”

thwack!

“ow! hey! i was only kidding! okay maybe i wasn’t but—hey! that actually hurts a lot now!” he yelps as you slap him by the shoulder repeatedly. “you’re insane, i tell you!”

maybe being called aventurine's work wife had its perks after all.

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.1k

Summary: What do you call a deaf pirate? Not 'Siren Food' apparently, which is really sort of hilarious when you've been kidnapped by a hungry Siren. Not for the Siren though—he's definitely not having a good time.

A/N: *rushes in at the 11th hour* Happy Mer-May!! I've been back and forth with clinical rotations and also working on some commission things and Leona's Part 4, but like, it's a fanfiction holiday. I couldn't miss out. And for one of my favorite tropes nonetheless. So here we are.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

There was a legend that floated throughout the Sage Island Seas of the Pirate With No Ears. Which was ridiculous—half because such a tall tale managing to survive so long and so wildly really showed just how pathetic the rest of the gossip around here was, and half because you still had ears. They just didn’t work very well was all.

Some said you’d been deafened by a prowling sea sorcerer who had tricked you into trading away your once keen sense for some mortal foible or other. Others whispered about how you’d been trapped in an ice cavern, surrounded by electric eels and sharks, and that the only way you’d been able to weasel your way out was by cutting off your own ears so that you’d have enough wiggle room to escape from your bindings. Which made absolutely zero sense at all.

In reality, all you’d done was stand far too close to a canon for far too long when you were far, far too little, and ever since all you could hear was the dull ringing of post-battle silence. Sometimes it was a bit sad. When the waves crashed against the shore, or when the gulls flew overhead—you were sure all those things sounded very lovely. You remembered music and laughter and sometimes they echoed in your head at a distance—a memory not quite forgotten but certainly fading at the edges. But other times, like now, where your fellow crewmates were bawling into their ales and wailing about lord knew what… well, it was always nice to find a silver lining in these sorts of things.

One of the tipsy lads tottering around the deck of The Rose Queen tripped and landed against the wood with something that looked like it’d be a very loud smack. Your brain helpfully filled the silence with some nonsense noises and park-play-style laughter instead. You watched Cater stumble by out of the corner of your eye. He patted your head and said something that twisted his mouth into a gaping ‘uuuuu-eeeee-oooo’ before he puttered away to leech off First Mate Clover instead. Ace threw a drunken arm around your shoulder and burbled something against your cheek that popped with the scent of stale booze, and you decided to pretend that you were as alone at sea as your muted senses would like to think.

The party raged on long into the evening and you stared down at the rabble contentedly from your perch in the crow’s nest. They were a good bunch—dullards though they may be. You’d heard (hardee har har) that they were planning to raid the Port o'Bliss, and something must have gone terribly right. You only really hung around to scrub barnacles off the paneling and keep an eye on the tides well enough that Deuce wouldn’t run the lot of you ashore, so you weren’t really sure how the whole ‘pirating’ business actually went about. But clearly they were doing a pretty good job of it.

You rested your chin on your crossed arms and sighed into the salty breeze. The night was warm and pleasant, and before you knew it, you were nodding off against the rough fabric of your sleeves. You weren’t quite sure how long you spent dozing there tangled in the ropes of mast, but it was long enough that by the time you snorted back awake the festive lights had dimmed to embers and most of the crew had sidled away below deck to either keep drinking themselves blind or collapse in a pool of their own colorful vomit.

There was a lone figure swerving towards the bow—precariously close to the railing for someone so clearly unsteady on their own legs, if you did say so yourself. You squinted suspiciously at his mused lavender hair, not entirely sure you recognized the head bobbing around below you. But perhaps The Rose Queen had picked up some fresh recruits at the Port, or maybe the crew had gotten a bit too booze happy with some dye. Purple Hair leaned up against the rails and tipped forward on his toes like he was thinking about diving in, or maybe barfing. Either or, you sighed and shimmied your way down to stop him from tumbling into a watery grave.

“Oi!” you called, the shout vibrating up and out of your throat, and the kid jumped half a foot in the air. “What do you think you’re doing? Get away from there. Riddle’ll have your head if we have to send out the rescue rafts this late at—”

The kid turned to face you with wide, wide, glowing eyes. Your own went round as dinner plates as you watched his too-dark pupils pulse like drumbeat. They were so bright, practically illuminating the whole of his delicate face, but there was no light to them. Matte and sleek like a shark’s eyes.

He shouted something at you so whip fast that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and then he was glancing nervously back and forth between the roiling waves at his back and the encroaching deckhand at his front—making all sorts of nonsense gestures that had you sighing behind gritted teeth.

“Look,” you said, interrupting whatever indiscernible gibberish he was spouting, “I don’t know who you think you are. But you’ve picked the wrong ship to try and—I don’t know—seize? Pirate? You can’t pirate a pirate ship! But either way, you—”

Then the kid opened his mouth like he was screaming, and you frowned again. There was strange prickle along your arms that had goosebumps crawling up your skin and the hair raising at the back of your neck, but you shook it off and moved forward with another weary sigh. You pulled a length of rope from the belt slung around your hips and held the limp bundle of salt-soaked mesh up like a threat.

“I will throw you overboard. And hogtie you first,” you promised cheerily. “So you actually sink.”

Purple Hair just looked like he was trying to scream louder, and you were sourly tempted to stick your fucking tongue out at him and make petulant ‘nyeh nyeh nice try’ noises at him, but then there was a heaviness behind you. A creak in the wood that you could feel if not hear. You rolled out of habit—tumbling across the deck just in time to avoid a nasty swipe along your back. And oh no. The thing crawling up over the railing was worse than any lavender would-be ship thief. The black tipped claws and flared fins were telling enough, but the sharp-toothed grin was somehow more so. It tilted its unnaturally lovely head at you and spoke politely—clearly and very, painfully, slowly.

“What’s—this—perhaps—” you were able to vaguely make out. Maybe. The dark and your panic were both a terrible hindrance to putting shapes to sound. His lips curled into something wicked before parting far more smoothly than the younger man’s had. Singing. It was singing, not screaming. Hauntingly green eyes glowed bright and you felt the tunk tunk tunk beneath your feet of the rest of the crew starting to move around beneath you. Around you.

Then there were more of them—crawling up over the railings, trilling into the night air. All far too lovely and far too sharp to be anything but predators. The moonlight illuminated their fangs and scales in a ghostly white glow. There were shivers running along your spine, but otherwise nothing but silence echoed through your head. Small mercies. You watched several of your fellow crewmates rush out of the cabins only to double over with their hands clasped over their ears. Others stuttered and tumbled forward towards the railings as if they were being dragged along like puppets on a string. You cursed and ducked between them—looping your rope around their legs as you went and tugging them to their knees like a line of falling dominoes.

You let your hapless comrades collapse to the deck and curled the last throws of rope around your fists. You were decent enough with a knife when it came to dueling an unmoving, completely unaware foe—like a barnacle or some rusted over door hinges. But real people? Sirens?Fucking literal blade-tipped-merfolk straight out of every sailor’s nightmare? No thank you. So the teeny blade stayed sheathed at your hip and you dove into the fray to find something rope-wrangle-able.

At the other end of the bow, you watched Purple Boy straighten from a crouch. There were new, silvery blue scales crawling up his neck and forearms. He was still tottering around on legs that he clearly wasn’t all too used to, and you watched as the little guppy started to make a furious beeline for Captain Rosehearts. Which—no. Absolutely not. You were never one of those pirates who was like ‘oh, Captain, my Captain~’ but Riddle was good. He was tough, and taciturn, and could throw a tantrum that could bring down an entire harbor. But he’d written out all of his ridiculous six hundred rules by hand so that you could have them. And the teeny furrow in his brow as he staunchly taught himself hand sign after hand sign so that he could yell at you in earnest was so endearing that you’d protect that little firecracker for as long as you breathed.

So you went after Lavender Head, and then of course Lavender Head turned and tried to shout at you all over again. When that continued to not work at all, the Siren began to backpedal in earnest. He turned his head and squawked at whoever was around to listen, but in the chaos of the attack there didn’t seem to be many of his pod free to lend him a hand.

You descended on the little snake, rope at the ready and perfectly happy to make sushi out of the fucker, when something big overshadowed the both of you. Another Siren crested over the side of the ship, larger and clearly more impressive than the rest of its kin. Which matched your stupidly terrible luck just fine. Ah, yes, Mister Big Bad. Please. Go for the deckhand rather than the literal trained mercenaries less than ten feet away. Brilliant. The Siren bared its fangs like some great, terrible, beast and tore into the paneling with its curved claws as it attempted to drag you down to your watery grave. You cursed, and kicked, and yelped in a panic when the thing managed to get one of those cold, pale hands around your ankle.

Despite the fact that all of it surely happened in less than a few seconds, your descent seemed to progress in steps. First, the Siren tugged you over the side. Second, you smartly flipped the loops of your rope up to try and lasso yourself a handhold. Thirdly, you outright missed the ship and instead tangled the spools of thin rope all around your Murderer To Be. Said Murderer’s eyes widened in shock as your unintentional trap wrapped the both of you up like a mess of bugs in a spider web. And finally, the pair of you crashed towards the churning ocean in a knotted-up heap and slowly sank beneath the waves.

.

.

You rubbed the grit and salt from your eyes and sat up with a groan. Where were you? Not too far out at sea, hopefully. Washing up ashore had been nothing short of a miracle, and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth if it meant you got to avoid becoming chum for another day. The sand beneath your fingers was soft and white, and it slipped beneath your palm like water. You moved to push yourself to your feet and froze—a blur of amethyst swiping out and knocking you back onto your ass with a splash.

You spluttered and spat, and had just barely managed to flip yourself over like a turtle who’d been upended on its back when you caught sight of the absolute last creature in the world that you’d ever wanted to see again.

The big Siren had washed up nearby.

Because of course it had.

The creature narrowed his eyes at you and immediately set about lashing his rope-twisted tail against the sand like a rattlesnake. He bared his pointed teeth in a hiss and you were dowsed in a barrage of saltwater ammunition.

“Stop! Stop!” you begged, spitting out wayward chunks of seaweed, and shells, and gods knew what else. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

The Siren curled his lips unpleasantly, putting that wonderful row of dagger-like pearly whites on display. He spat something completely indiscernible—the line of his mouth so harsh and flat that you couldn’t have even begun to pick up the shape of things if you tried—and you scooted as far back as you could without toppling yourself over again.

He dug his clawed hands into the sand and said something else, just as clipped and tight. You assumed it was an accusation. You were very used to recognizing the glare that accompanied those. When you didn’t respond, his brow tugged down low and he snapped something else—this time jabbing those pointed, black, nails in your direction. Ah, so definitely a complaint then.

You cocked your head at him out of habit and that griping turned into a snarl so ferocious that you could feel it racing up your skin like static. Which was definitely pretty trippy.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you told him honestly. Which just made the spiked fins flatten all along the side of his head and another wave of those zippy sneers dance up your arms. “Literally,” you tried. “I—”

The Siren opened his mouth and that sparky static from earlier amplified into something near painful. It was strong, and prickly, and left the imprints of invisible shackles all along your already aching joints. You could feel his voice carrying on the breeze—brushing against your cheeks and playing with hair. Thin, icy, fingers digging their way into your brain and yanking. But there was something missing from all that ethereal hypnotism. Something pleasant and sweet to complete the circle of temptation. A voice, you’d guess. There had to be a call after all, or else it hardly mattered how deep and all encompassing the need was to answer.  

When you didn’t immediately, like, fall to your knees in subjugation or drown yourself in the inch and a half of tepid water pooling at your hips, the Siren’s eyes dimmed with something that almost looked like hesitance. His brow pinched tight and he parted his red lips wider. A seagull dropped from the sky. Three different crabs crawled out of the sand to bow down.

“I can’t hear you!” you tried again, loud enough to have your teeth aching. His mouth went wider, and an entire ass tuna beached itself to flop pathetically near your ankles. “It’s not a challenge!” you wailed. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

The static disappeared all at once, and the Siren’s lips slipped into a small, surprised sort of ‘o.’ He blinked his too-long lashes at you and stared you down like you were some sort of escaped alchemical experiment.

“There,” you huffed. “Finally.” And then went quiet and a bit concerned. Because apparent Song Immunity or otherwise, the thing was still hugely impressive and scary looking. His claws definitely wouldn’t have any problem picking the leftover bits of you out of his teeth, and you knew well enough that if he dragged you into the depths with that powerful tail of his, there would be no resurfacing.

The Siren too was using this time to glare at you like you were somehow a threat to be taken seriously. Which was half flattering, half pretty funny.

“Well…” you said after a long moment. “I should get going, I suppose.”

You made your way to your feet in the mucky sandbar and started heading off to see where you’d been stranded. You could feel the Siren’s heavy gaze on you the whole while, and decided he was probably trying to figure out if you’d taste better paired with seaweed or a nice jellyfish spread.

.

.

The pair of you had been stranded on a small, crescent, islet that couldn’t even rightly call itself an island. You were able to walk from its curling east to west coasts in just under fifteen minutes, and that was at a meandering pace where you stopped to peer into all kinds of little grottos and rocky formations. There was some vegetation at the heart of it—short palm trees and tufts of grassy knolls—and thankfully a few deep divots that had collected some still rainwater, but otherwise it was entirely boring and stupid. Not even any weird tortoises or anything meandering about to make friends with.

By the time you circled back around to your original stranding point, you had fully expected the Siren to have flipped you the metaphorical bird and fucked off back into the ocean, never to be seen again. Instead, he was still stretched out in the shallows of the bay, carefully fanning his long tail out in the seafoam and picking through the mess of it with his pointy claws.

He reminded you of a beta fish—with wide, flowing, fins that looked far more like silk than skin or scales. The tips were a deep, plum purple that gently faded from near black to violet and finally a vivid sort of lilac at their junction. The bulk of his tail looked like it could be made from literal gemstones with the way it shimmered in the morning light (gems that had perhaps been a bit dinged and/or literally torn out in chunks from where he may or may not have been smashed into the rocky shore curtesy of your terrible hogtie, but who’s to say).

There were jagged cuts lining the right half of his pale torso. They oozed a strange sort of silver ichor that was probably some kind of mystical merman blood, but you absolutely refused to get close enough to try and find out. The fins framing his pelvis were tangled and thin looking, and the sweeping ones that trailed all the way down to the tip of his tail were battered and torn. Clearly pulled to bits by your handy, dandy lasso skills. Which… was still tied up at the base of them. Huh. You’d assumed he’d be able to slice through all that knotwork without issue. But maybe…

You approached the Siren cautiously. You caught the exact moment he must have realized you’d returned because the fins along the sides of his head flattened like the ears on a pissy cat and he turned on you with a very dramatic snarl that probably sounded all sorts of menacing.

“Hello,” you greeted, and the merman spat something that you assumed was probably a very polite ‘fuck right off.’

You nodded because, well, fair enough. And then pointed to his injured fins and the waterlogged ropes still twisted up around the heart of them.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

He shouted something no doubt very indignant and then was back to hissing at you. Which definitely didn’t sound like an agreement not to immediately murder you on the spot.

“Alright,” you shrugged. “Your loss, I suppose.”

Well, your loss, really. Keeping a wounded Siren around was just asking for trouble. Their pods were viciously protective for one thing, and that wasn’t even taking into account the poachers and rivals who’d be more than keen to come sniffing after the fresh trail of blood in the water. Maybe you could find a big stick or something and just, I don’t know, push him back into the ocean and be done with it.

The thought must have shown on your face, because suddenly he was smacking his tail against the sandbar and spitting something that you very much assumed was a demand along the lines of ‘you are going to take accountability for this.’

Which absolutely no way in Hell. He’d kidnapped you sort of, so that made you his problem, thank you very much.

You felt your stomach gurgle, and it must have been pretty loud going off the stink eye he sent your way. You turned your nose up at him and went about collecting the various critters that had been washed ashore in his tenor’s tantrum.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly as you worked on scaling the tuna with the knife from your belt—making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so.

The Siren sneered at you and went back to grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

The rest of the afternoon became a sort of pissing contest between the two of you to see who could earn the title of Bitchiest Beach Bitch. You thought you were definitely winning with the whole ‘eating something that could have been his long-lost cousin’ thing, but then he went and swamped the entirety of the small fire you built (and all of said ‘cousin’ being cooked over it) with one sweep of his tail, so now you were at the very least tied. You set up a nice little shaded hutch out of driftwood and ferns to escape the sun, he called down seagulls to shit all over it and pick it to pieces. He tried to roll around to reach some of the tighter fibers tangled in his pectoral fins, and you chucked rocks at him until he reared on you with a scream that had all the hairs on your arms standing on end. Y’know. Perfectly mature things like that.

That night you curled up beside a tall, jagged rock just at the outskirt of the bay—determined to get some shut eye but to also keep within range of your newest pest in case he decided to try and pull something sneaky. But every time you’d just about settled in to sleep, the shallow tide would lap against your toes in harsh shush shush shushes that had you furrowing you brow until you finally had enough and sat up to see what all the hubbub was about.

The Siren was tossing around in the shallows like a fish in a net—throwing his long body against the bindings and flailing like his life depended on it. And as much as he’d definitely deserved to get caught up in your unintentional hogtie, watching something as large and no doubt powerful as he was wriggling around like a worm on a hook was… Well. Something soured a bit in your gut as you watched him give one, final, great buck against his bindings before collapsing back into the shallows in a circle of seafoam. He panted against the surface of the water, the tips of his pale hair dripping down in a curtain around his haggard face, and you could see a fine tremor running along his shoulder blades.

You turned back to your rock and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes, fighting the absolute batshit insane urge to feel bad for a monster who had literally tried to drag you to your death less than twenty-four hours ago.

The water was calm and still for the rest of the night.

.

.

The next morning, you picked up a few of the crabs who had crawled up to shore and went about getting them clean and fit for eating. You glanced at the Siren, who was busy preening over his janky fins and fussing over his hair. It was entirely unfair that you probably looked like a half-drowned rat, and yet this creature that wasn’t even meant to exist on the surface was somehow managing to put himself together well enough to rival the courtesans you’d seen meandering around some of the wealthier coastal towns.

You stared at the crabs. There were three of them. It wasn’t really sharing if it was meant to be a bribe to keep him from eating you whole. Or at least, that’s what you reassured yourself as you cautiously tiptoed back to the water’s edge.

The Siren swiveled on you with a snap of something that looked sort of like a ‘What?!’ and you held up one of the gutted crabs in offering.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…” You waved the limp crab awkwardly.

The Siren rolled its purple eyes and said something fast and sharp that you couldn’t really parse. Something, something, not, something, something, are crust—Something, something, are you that stupid? (you recognized the impressions of those words well enough to mouth them even in your sleep).

“Look, do you want it or not?” you interrupted, and he bristled—all those delicate, violet, fins flaring up like a porcupine’s spikes.

The Siren crossed his arms stiffly and pointedly turned in the other direction with a mutter of something you had no hopes of catching.

“Whatever,” you snapped and went to bite into your meal. Only to immediately forget that these pointy little fuckers still had their shells on them. You reeled back with a yelp as you stabbed a million, tiny, carapace-shaped holes in your tongue.

The fucking Siren had the gall to turn back around so that you could see him laughing at you.

.

.

That night he was back to flipping around in the shallows like a miniature hurricane.

You counted out the waves sloshing against your heels, telling yourself you’d intervene in his self-destructive tsunami once it hit one hundred. And then it became two, then three. You shifted hesitantly to peek over the rock’s edge and watched him curl into himself like some terribly wounded creature before shaking himself out of the fog of pain that had clearly settling over his nerves, and then continued with his nonsense.

You hurled a big, pink seashell at his head and he whipped on you like a rabid dog, practically foaming at the mouth and raring for a fight. When he lunged forward with the waves—seething with hatred, and blame, and nearly crashing onto his already shredded front in the process, something angry in your snapped.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you demanded, stomping perhaps a bit closer than would be rational. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”

The Siren roared something back and slapped his tail in the surf. Static zipped along your cheeks and you grit your teeth. He glared at you bitterly and then began to repeat one word over and over—slow and angry.

‘Eeeeehhh-Pppe-llllll’ said his lips. Strong and harsh with the shape of it.

And then he was back to spewing all kinds of rapid-fire vitriol that you wouldn’t have bothered to keep track of even if you could. Something in his expression shifted almost quicker than you could notice and he lifted his massive tail out of the water. He smacked the fins in your direction and pointedly jabbed a clawed finger at the creases of them—where delicate, silky, tendrils met strong, gem toned, muscle. Where the purple was light and clean. A pale, shiny, lavender. Almost just like—

“That kid?” you frowned. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

He sneered again and pointedly sent a splash of seawater into your face.

“You—” you grit your teeth. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. For all the good it would do. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

The Siren’s face twisted up like you’d force fed him soured milk, and he looped back around with a dramatic fwoosh of water to dive into the shallows. It was maybe two or three feet deep at best, and he was barely submerged. Not to mention how utterly ridiculous it looked to see a creature that was no doubt usually the peak of grace and athleticism reduced to flopping belly first into the waves with his proverbial legs tied up behind him. But you recognized a door slamming in your face when you saw it, no matter the species. Fine. Let him be a petty bastard. He could rot away in the sandbar for all you cared.

.

.

The next day you woke up with goosebumps crawling up and down your limbs.

There were all sorts of gulls crash-landed in the sand around you and more sad, little, sea creatures gasping on the beach than you dared to count. You shoved a particularly chubby octopus back into a tidepool as you passed and wondered just what sort of nonsense your co-strandee was getting up to now.

The Siren was circling the bay with his head held high above the low waves—lips parted and clearly caterwauling like a dying porpoise. The surface of the water trembled with whatever was making its way out of his mouth, and he looped and looped around the shores. It reminded you of the time you’d seen a whale calf separated from its pod. It had gotten trapped in a shallow inlet when the tides had changed, and your ship had been anchored just off the same coast. You’d watched it circle and circle, lifting its heavy snout to snort sharp jets of water into the air. Deuce had passed you a scribbled note when you’d asked him what it sounded like.

‘It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’

There was a moment where the Siren paused in his paces and tilted his head. The fins there flared out to the side, like he was listening for something. But after a long moment the spines drooped back against his damp hair and he went back to his singing an aria to no one.

‘It’s looking for its family,‘ Riddle had signed to you when you’d asked him why the calf didn’t simply leave once the tides had turned in its favor. ‘This is where they last saw it, so this is where it will stay.’

“Maybe they forgot about him already,” you mused petulantly, turning back towards the center of the islet to try and scavenge up something to eat from all the poor creatures who had collapsed beneath your nemesis’s wailing.  

The bitter thought wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it ought to be.

.

.

That night, the waters were still.

You squinted suspiciously at the merman curled in the shallows of the bay. He’d pulled himself half-out of the water, resting his more human looking bulk in the soft sand as gentle waves lapped at his tail. He slept on his front with his arms crossed beneath his pointed chin—his unbound fins sticking up behind him in a way that deliriously reminded you of bedhead. You watched him carefully for nearly an hour, searching for any tightness in his muscles or change in his breathing that might indicate he was faking it. But as the evening stretched on and he never lurched awake to try and gauge your eyes out, you assumed he might actually be properly resting.

He'd been swimming in circles all day—the aborted, stuttering, beats of his bound tail looking painful even by your non-tail-having standards. Eventually the tremors along the ocean had grown stuttered and strange, like perhaps his voice was giving out on him. And once that had happened, he’d curled up exactly where he was now. And hadn’t moved since.

You stared at the Siren hesitantly. He was certainly in enough of a state that you could probably pull off that whole ‘shoving him into the depths with a stick’ thing. He’d probably just let you do it—sink to the bottom in a mess of shredded fins and tangled twine and never rise again.

You gnawed at your lip, feeling something unpleasantly hot and sticky twist up your stomach.

The knife glinted between your fingers and you thought of crying whales and of the crew that you already missed so much that it felt like a gnawing chasm had opened in your chest.

You huffed out a miserable sigh and lamented for not the first time in your life that you really were just so fucking stupid sometimes. And then you were cautiously making your way down towards the waterline and the sleeping Siren sprawled out in the sand. Slowly—so very, very slowly—you tiptoed towards the mer and tried to get a quick glance at what amounted to the worst of the damage.

The rope had been thin and long, and the more he’d struggled, the more he’d dug the twine into his fins. You reached forward at half speed and slipped the blade into one of the too-tight creases beneath the bindings. You winced a bit in sympathy at the raw, pink skin beneath. No wonder he hadn’t been able to just rip the fibers away. He’d probably just ended up tugging them over and over against the oozing wounds beneath.

The first strand broke beneath your fingers with something that almost felt like a pop. Like seams ripping on a shirt. You glanced quickly at the sleeping Siren to confirm he was still lost to the world and not gearing up to bite your fingers off at the knuckle, and then continued making your way through the worst of it. It reminded you a bit of the time Ace had accidentally snared a sea turtle in one of his fishing nets and the lot of you had spent the better part of an hour slowly working the thing free of the seemingly endless tangles. You delicately worked the tightest edges away from the harsh indentations they’d left against his scales and peeled back the muckier bits with enough gentleness to avoid mangling anymore of his already battered fins.

The last of the rope finally came away with a satisfying, wet weight and you let it fall to the sand beside you with a pleased nod. Now you could let Mister Merman swim away in the morning with no unpleasantly gross sense of moral obligation weighing down your consciousness. Maybe he’d even be thankful enough to look at you with something other than a venomous glare for once. Certainly nothing like the one leveled at you right now. And—

Oh.

You didn’t even have time to properly gasp before you were being flipped and pinned into the wet sand. The Siren loomed over you, digging his black claws into your shoulder until you could feel the first pricks of blood breaking the surface. He snarled in your face, the curtain of his pale blonde hair shadowing his eyes in something so dark it was nearly black. The brilliant purple cast off his glowing irises were like little spots of stars in an otherwise empty night sky.

He leaned forward, teeth bared, and then some sort of tight expression flickered over his face. He paused, brow tugging together steep and angry. He hunched down once more, fangs at the ready, and then ducked back out. He shook his head, like he was trying to clear fog from his brain, and then he was snapping his canines at you all over again.

The Siren reared back with a booming snarl that sent ripples through the soft tide lapping at your ankles. He turned with one, final, icy glower and dove back into the shallows, disappearing beneath the surface in a flash of amethyst scales. He flicked his tail sharply as he went, and one of the tattered fins snapped against your nose with enough of a crack to make you yelp.

You sat up in disbelief, rubbing at your aching skin and watching in outright consternation as the great predator of the oceans swam tight laps beneath the warm waters of your little lagoon—fins occasionally cresting over the surface to smack pointed fistfuls of water into your gaping face.

Deliriously, one of The Rose Queen’s hundreds of nonsensical rules bounced about your head. Happy to fill the otherwise entirely empty space behind your eyes.

‘Never save a Sea Serpent on a Sunday,’ Riddle had demanded, hands at his hips. ‘No Serpents, or Sea Horses, or Sirens to speak of.’

‘Man,’ you thought wildly, brain high on adrenaline and static as you watched one of the aforementioned Sirens swan about like he hadn’t probably just been a half second away from gnawing on your literal bones. ‘If I get out of this alive, Captain’s definitely gonna collar me this time.’

.

.

.

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[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 13

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: it's a pretty fluffy chapter today, but let me know if I missed anything!

wc: 1.9k

Chapter Selection

Stella did my hair and makeup, and lent me a little black clutch. She instructed that I wait until I had my dress on to put the earrings and hair pins in, but made sure I knew exactly where to put the pins, before letting Jason whisk me away to the manor. My dress and shoes were already there waiting for me with the other girls, and when we arrived I was quickly pulled into a large closet away from Jay. Stephanie grinned, sticking her tongue out at him as she declared; “no boys allowed!”

It struck me how Babs and Steph effortlessly brought me into the group; everything felt so natural, like we'd gotten ready for dozens of these events together.

“What is this one for again?” Stephanie frowned, picking between two pairs of earrings.

“It’s the JTCF fundraiser. Hence why Jason couldn't bow out this time.” Barbara chuckled.

“JTCF?” I tilted my head.

They looked a bit startled; “... The … Jason Todd Children's Foundation? … The charity Bruce started after Jay …”

“Died.” I finished the sentence for them, nodding. “Gotcha, … what does it do?”

“Mostly it funds after school activities and tutoring programs in Crime Alley.”

“That's nice. … How does the gala help?”

“It’s basically a thank you gala for the foundation’s biggest donors, but there's also a silent auction, and a limited number of tickets available to buy, if you have way too much money and didn't think to give enough through the year to warrant an invitation.” Stephanie rolled her eyes.

“Jason tries to get out of going every year, but it always somehow works out to be his turn.” Babs chuckled.

“Of course, he has to make an appearance at the party for the foundation that carries his name. Who else is going to be there?”

“From the family? Just us, Bruce, and Tim. And I think Tim’s bringing his boyfriend.”

“No Cass tonight?” I looked in the mirror, shaking my head a bit to make sure the garnet pins were secure.

Steph chuckled, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. “Nah, Cass doesn't do too many of these events; they drain her social battery. There has to be at least two Wayne's at every event, so they take turns, and the rest of us get roped in on a rotational basis to keep them sane through the night.”

“They dislike the galas that much?”

Babs shrugged. “It's just … a lot. People have very specific expectations, and it gets exhausting. Plus, there's always a better than average chance that some Gotham villain will get it in their head to harass the guests.” She adjusted her navy blue skirt over her legs, making sure it wouldn't get caught in her wheels.

“Yeah, is there a plan for that?” I frowned a bit.

“Follow Jason, he'll keep you safe. But if you get separated, if you're near the ballroom entrance follow the crowd. Security will funnel the guests to the panic room. If you're closer to the bar, get behind it. There's a button under the counter next to the sink, a panel in the floor will open and you can hide in the cellar.” Babs nodded, smiling a bit.

“... Well what about you? What if you're near the bar? Will you be able to get down there?”

“No, but being the commissioner's daughter I tend to be one of their ‘high profile targets’ anyway. I make an excellent distraction to buy other guests time to get to safety, and a Bat or two will show up before anything serious happens.”

I frowned deeply. “... The plan if someone attacks is for you to give yourself up and hope Batman shows up in time?”

“If I have to��. It's only happened a few times, hun, and they were specifically looking for me. Waiting it out is often the most practical option, and results in the fewest casualties.”

“I hate that.”

“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself. They always underestimate the girl in the wheelchair.” She smiled brightly, punching her hand for dramatic effect.

“... I guess.” I frowned more. Babs seemed perfectly ok with it, but the idea that she wasn't offered the same protections as the rest of us pissed me off.

Steph smiled softly and gently squeezed my shoulder. “Hey, don't worry about it, ok? Two-Face held up the last one, so we're due for a villain-free gala!”

I chuckled, nodding, and finished placing the last pin. “What do you think?”

“Stunning! Ready to show Jay?” I nodded, and the girls led me out to the main foyer. Tim was hugging a blond man who just arrived, and Jason was fiddling with his tie.

Stephanie cleared her throat; “Jaybird, I hope you're ready for this!”

He looked up at us, freezing when our eyes met. I giggled softly at the look on his face, spinning once on my way over. His eyes trailed down my dress and back up to my face.

“... Dear God~” He took my hand, kissing my knuckles delicately. “How did I get so lucky, huh?”

I giggled, beaming up at him; “Trust me, I'm the lucky one.”

Tim cleared his throat; “just making sure you remember; we are right here.”

Jason grunted at him, cupping my cheek. His fingers slid back a bit to touch my ear; “... These are beautiful, where'd you get them?”

“Jewelry store at the mall.” I smiled softly.

“Hm … they're perfect. … Who got them for you?” He raised an eyebrow.

I blinked a bit, slightly taken aback by his tone; “... Jay, are you jealous?”

He blushed a bit, frowning; “no! …”

“Then why does it matter?” I smiled gently.

He frowned, whining a bit. “... I guess it doesn't?”

I chuckled gently, pulling him into a chaste kiss. “Good. Cause there's no one else I want to be here with.”

He smiled shyly, kissing back; “… You're still missing one thing though.” I tilted my head, curious, and he slid his hand down my cheek to the side of my neck.

“... Jay?”

He chuckled softly, offering me a long velvet box. “Don't worry, I didn't spend any money.”

I slowly took the box. “... Did you break any laws?”

He laughed softly, kissing my forehead; “not this time~ open it already~”

I slowly slid the box open, revealing a gold necklace with teardrop shaped garnets adorning it like leaves. “Oh… Jay, it's beautiful~ … where did you get it?”

He chuckled, taking it out of the box, and slid it around my neck, carefully clasping it in place. “It was Grandma Wayne's.”

I blinked repeatedly, looking up at him and hissing softly; “Gr- … J- Jace, is this Martha Wayne's necklace???”

He chuckled and nodded. “Before you panic, Bruce gave his permission.”

My fingers came up to caress the cool metal on my collarbones. This one necklace was probably worth more than my entire life, and Bruce was ok with me wearing it??? Jason chuckled softly at the look on my face, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Princess?”

“I just … I'm in shock.” I leaned against him. “... Bruce really said it was ok?”

“Swear to god; he handed it to me himself.” Jay nodded, smiling softly.

“... Ok.”

“... Tim?” I frowned, looking out across the dance floor.

He looked over at me, clearly a bit annoyed that I was interrupting his whispered conversation with his boyfriend; “hm?”

“... Am I being a weird, possessive girlfriend, or does Jason look really uncomfortable?” I nodded toward him on the other side of the room. A woman had trapped him in conversation for the past several minutes on his way back from the bar. His face seemed tight, like he was forcing his polite smile to stay exactly where it was.

Tim inhaled in a hiss. “Oof, he's gonna snap…”

“That would be bad.”

Bernard nodded, frowning. “What's the play?”

I smiled a little; Tim had only introduced me to his boyfriend briefly, but I already liked him. “Hmm … can't pull him into a dance, he's carrying our drinks … The presumed heir to the company would probably be a more valuable social opportunity for her though….”

“... No.” Tim frowned.

“... You sure? … I wonder what Jay will say if I tell him you bought me jewelry…”

Tim made a face at me; “Wha- … that is so rude! ... Fuck… fine. But Bernard, you have to save me in five minutes.”

Bernard laughed softly and nodded. “Got it.”

Tim shook his head poutily, heading into the fray. Bernard turned to me, whispering; “you weren't actually going to tell Jason, were you?”

“I mean, I'm not gonna lie to him, but I also wasn't planning on making a big thing about it.”

Bernard laughed and after a moment I followed Tim around the dance floor. As I approached, I heard the woman tittering at something Tim said. I slid in next to Jay, resting my hand on his shoulder blade. He stiffened slightly under my touch before realizing it was me and relaxed. He offered me my drink and I took it, gesturing for him to follow me away, leaving Tim to distract the girl.

“What did you have to promise Tim to get him to take my place?”

“Nothing I wasn't planning on giving him in the first place.” I sipped my drink, smirking a bit.

Jason chuckled, resting a hand against the small of my back. “That's my girl~”

I smiled softly, leaning into him a bit. “You doing ok so far?”

“So far …” he sighed softly, his thumb stroking my back absentmindedly. “... I'd much rather be home with you though.”

“We can go as soon as your social obligation is fulfilled.”

A look of relief passed through his eyes; “you're sure?”

“Of course, I want you to be comfortable; I know you're not comfortable here, so I'm not going to draw this out any longer than necessary.”

“But it's your first gala…”

“So?”

He looked a bit bewildered; “... So, … don't you want the full experience?”

I shrugged, smiling softly; “is this going to be my last gala?”

“... No, probably not.”

“Then why would getting the ‘full experience’ matter more than your comfort?”

He blinked a bit, smiling softly. “... You're wonderful.”

“Oh sweetheart, … the bar is on the floor for you, isn't it?”

He grunted softly, pulling me closer to whisper in my ear; “let me guess, you'll fix that for me?”

“Inch by inch if that's what it takes.” I turned to kiss him gently, squeezing his hand.

A cleared throat nearby drew us apart, and Bruce raised his eyebrows at us. “Jason, you can't just cling to the walls all night.”

“I'm not clinging to the walls, Bruce. I'm standing with my girlfriend while she finishes her drink.” Jay gestured for me to take the last sip, and I did. He took the glass, setting it on a high table; “now, if you'll excuse us, I promised her a dance tonight.”

He took my hand, leading me onto the dance floor. I rested my hand on his shoulder as he took my waist. Nerves fluttered through my stomach and chest; we had practiced the steps a bit, in my living room, but it was very different with a gown on in front of a room full of people.

“Hey, there's only you and me here, ok?~” Jason smiled gently, holding me close. I nodded, gently squeezing his hand as he guided me to spin.

Everything felt so perfect and magical, like nothing could go wrong as long as I was in Jason's arms. The world fell away as I looked into his eyes, almost drowning in the adoration pouring from him. I was so enraptured by him, I almost didn't hear the windows shattering behind me…

Next ->

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

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[aynavaano]

Beautifully blind

Tech x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 4.6k

Summary:

Ever since you joined the Bad Batch you had your eyes on Tech, he is everything you could possibly want, soft, intelligent, caring but also strong and protective. You’ve been flirting with him for a while without any response and gave up thinking he is just not interested in you. But one day when you are left alone working on one of his modifications on the Marauder together it turns out the whole time you were speaking a language he didn’t understand.

Notes:

I really really miss Tech in S3 so I wanted to write some sweet soft smut with him. This work is inspired by “The beginners guid to Osculation” but I took things a bit further…

It’ a first time sex fic Tech x F!reader. Reader is experienced and in love with him. There is fingering, oral (f and m recieving) and unprotected sex but also a lot of fluff. It’s my first time writing Tech and a hope he is not too OOC.

You and Tech are standing in the Cockpit of the Marauder, fiddling with some cables, hanging from a wall panel, together just as Crosshair, Wrecker, and Hunter prepare for another supply run. It's been a few rotations since your arrival here, the Marauder carefully concealed in a secluded forestry patch a few klicks away from the next settlement. During this time, you've managed some much needed repairs and some of Techs planned modifications, as well as restocking on supplies. While the last supply run was a joint effort, today you and Tech decided to remain on the ship finishing his latest project and preparing for your departure, as there's little left to gather from the nearby town. Just when they're about to leave you overhear Crosshair boast to his brothers about his plans to fuck the girl from the market again, telling them they don’t need to wait for him on the way back because he’s planning to take his sweet time with her, a smug grin adorning his face, as always and a toothpick dangling in the corner of his mouth. As they make their way out Wrecker pats Crosshairs shoulder jolting him a step forward and they all burst into laughter, leaving you and Tech alone in the cockpit.

You caught a fleeting glimpse of disappointment, perhaps even a hint of sadness, in Tech's eyes at Crosshairs words and try not to think about it too much, but you can’t ignore it, you care too much about him. After silently working alongside him for a while, handing him tools and lending a hand you approach him cautiously. "Tech," you start, "I couldn't help but notice your reaction to Crosshair talking about the girl from the market. Were you... also into her?"

"What brought you to that conclusion?" he asks hesitantly, tilting his head towards you, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

"I saw your face when Crosshair mentioned her, you seemed disappointed or even sad," you say, breaking the uncomfortable silence that hung between you for a moment. He doesn't respond immediately, the weight of your observation sinking in.

To ease the tension, you quickly add, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business," before turning back to continue working on the panel. After a moment, Tech sighs and let’s his arms sink down, his gaze fixed on a distant point as he gathers his thoughts.

"It's not about that particular girl," he begins, his voice tinged with vulnerability, "but rather that I have never experienced the kind of intimacy Crosshair was referring to." He pauses, struggling to articulate his feelings. "It's always my brothers that succeed in getting a woman because it is extremely difficult for me to understand the subtle signs and the body language of someone I am attracted to, even if I've did a lot of research about the topic. I have accepted it but sometimes, when they brag about their experiences it’s difficult for me"

His confession catches you off guard, and you look at him with wide eyes, trying to comprehend his revelation. "Are you saying you've never been with someone... in that way?" you ask, your voice filled with disbelief.

Tech nods solemnly. "Correct, that's exactly what I said," he confirms. The realization hits you like a blaster shot to your guts – the handsome, beautiful man before you, that you’ve been admiring for such a long time, has seemingly never had the chance to experience any kind of sexual activities, and has accepted it as his fate.

"You're telling me you're a virgin?" you blurt out, startled by the revelation.

"I don't particularly like that word, but yes, that is the proper term that would apply to me," Tech responds, his expression vulnerable yet resolute. "However, to be precise, there was one incident where my brothers tried to pair me off with a woman, but I stopped it immediately, it felt extremely uncomfortable." He pauses, reflecting on his research. "For some people, it seems to be pleasant to have casual sexual encounters, while others prefer to have an emotional connection to their sexual partner. I think the latter applies to me, it needs to be with someone I know, someone I feel safe with, and am more than just attracted to in a physical way." He admit, his vulnerability shining through as he reveals, "Someone like you," the last bit of his sentence, slipping from his lips before his mind can stop him.

You almost choke on your breath, caught off guard by Tech's unexpected confession, but a giggle escapes your lips nonetheless. However, the lighthearted moment is quickly replaced by a look of embarrassment on his face. He tries to compose himself, his words stumbling out as he apologizes, "I'm… sorry,… I shouldn't have said that. Please don't ridicule me for it. I may process moments and thoughts differently, but it does not mean that I feel any less than you." He hesitates before continuing, "You don't have to say anything. I know I would never have a chance with you,"

"Oh Tech," you respond softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. "I've not been laughing at you. I just couldn't grasp what you were saying, and how beautifully blind we both seem to be. I've been into you since forever, literally since I became part of the crew, and I've been trying to flirt with you for months, but I thought you were just not interested in me, so I gave up and let you be, because I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

Tech's eyes widen in surprise at your confession. "I... I thought you were... maybe interested in Wrecker because you recently spent so much time together," he admits, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Oh, but that's just because Hunter wanted me to learn more about explosives, that's why, you know how bad I am with handling that kind of stuff," you explain, hoping to clear up any misunderstandings.

"Undoubtedly I see why Hunter ordered that, you almost killed us all on Onderon with that thermal detonator. I’m relieved to know you’re taking care of it” he says, adjusting his goggles to have a better look at you. You giggle gazing up at him, almost loosing yourself in his beautiful brown eyes.

“The thought never crossed my mind that someone like you would be attracted to me like that," Tech confesses, his tone tinged with self-doubt. "While I exceed my brothers in many aspects, this is a particular field where I never stood a chance against them. I see the signs, but I cannot interpret them. I observed that you've come closer to me, you are touching my arm and that your face has slightly reddened, indicating an accelerated heartbeat, but I don't know how to proceed with that information."

"Tech... stop talking," you hesitantly interject, inching a little closer to him and seeking his gaze. "Do you want to kiss me?"

Your heart races as you feel the tension building between you, his eyes locking onto yours, a sense of understanding flickering over his features.

"Yes, I would very much like that," he responds earnestly, his voice filled with anticipation. "I am positive that you already know that I am recording everything, but I want your consent if I keep recording. Will you let me?" he adds slightly nervous.

You nod in agreement, giving him the permission he seeks.

"Do you want me to kiss you, or do you want to begin?" you inquire, seeking his preference.

He pauses for a moment before expressing his desire for you to initiate the kiss and guide him.

With a soft smile, glancing up at him seeking his gaze you lean in and wrap your arms around his neck. Gently, you pull his head slightly down towards you, tilting yours upwards, eyes shut, closing the gap between your lips. It's a soft kiss, yet filled with a hunger, hoping to leave him wanting more. His lips are incredibly soft and your body starts to tingle a bit by the realization that you are really kissing Tech, it’s not another one of your daydreams, he is right here in your arms.

He doesn’t respond to the kiss, but he allows you to kiss him for a little bit longer and when you part, you notice his dilated pupils and feel the rapid beat of his heart against his chest. ”How did that feel?” you whisper, as your eyes meet, arms still wrapped around him.

"I very much enjoy how my body reacts to you, unfamiliar but very pleasant," he admits, his voice tinged with awe and slightly out of breath.

"Do you want more?" you offer selfishly, glancing up at him with a smile. He nods eagerly in response.

Encouraged, you kiss him again, now with a bit more passion. And this time he instantly responds, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer, his lips eagerly moving against yours. You brush your tongue against his lower lip and he opens up letting you in. You can barely control yourself anymore and when your tongues meet you feel the heat rising in your body, pooling between your legs. “Tech..” you moan softly, not parting the kiss.

Suddenly, he picks you up maneuvering you to the other side of the cockpit and onto the control panel of the Marauder. You instinctively wrap your legs around him, feeling the subtle pressure of his growing arousal against you. The intensity of the moment causes him to break the kiss, gasping for air as he tries to compose himself.

You gently cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, and ask, “Do you want to try more than just kissing?” His eyes flicker with uncertainty, and you try to voice it more clearly, “Do you want to have sex with me Tech?”

His response is eager, almost breathless, as he nods and replies, “Yes, I want.”

With a sense of anticipation coursing through you, you don’t wait any longer an swiftly discard your shirt, revealing the contours of your body to him. His gaze lingers, wide-eyed, on your bare chest, and you feel a rush of excitement at his reaction. “Touch me,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, inviting him to explore you further.

He hesitates, his hand trembling slightly as he reaches out, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek before trailing down to your chest. As his fingers gently slide over your nipple, a soft gasp escapes your lips, eliciting a smile from him. “I very much like that sound,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a hint of wonder.

With a tentative question in his eyes, he asks, “Can I kiss you there?” You nod in response, a mixture of anticipation and desire coursing through you. Slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against your skin as he trails soft kisses down your neck, lingering at the curve of your breast. Each touch sends shivers down your spine, and you can't help but let out a few more soft moans, encouraging him to continue. He slowly gets more courageous exploring you and begins to suck one of you hardened nipples into his mouth eliciting even more gasps and moans from you. It feels like he is enjoying to test what kind of sounds he can get out of you.

Trying not to break from his touch you wiggle yourself out of your pants, leaving you clad only in your little satin panties, grateful that you put one of the nicer ones on this morning. His eyes widen with a mixture of excitement and nervousness as he takes in the sight of you before him, his gaze roaming over your exposed skin, drinking in every curve and contour.

“Explore my body, Tech,” you urge him, your voice filled with longing. His fingers trace over your skin, trailing along the inside of your thighs, hesitating slightly as they brush over the soaked fabric of your panties, already dampened by your arousal. "I studied some publications about female arousal," he begins, his voice laced with curiosity, "telling from the level of wetness I assume you enjoy this a lot. Is it because you haven’t been with someone in a while? I understood that once you tried and enjoyed sexual activities, it can become something of a need?"

A soft chuckle escapes your lips at his earnestness, and you reply, "It’s not because I need it, Tech. It’s because I want it, because I want you. Your touch and your kisses caused that."

"Interesting," he remarks, his tone thoughtful as if he's processing the information. At your instruction, he carefully removes your panties, his excitement undeniable as he takes in the sight of you naked body before him. His gaze roams over you, exploring every inch of your nakedness, before he drops to his knees to get a better view.

"Touch me," you encourage him, leaning over the control panel, pressing a button to seal the entrance to the cockpit, just in case the others come back earlier than expected. With eager anticipation, he trails his fingers over your slick folds, the slightest touch sending shivers of pleasure through you. He slides one finger between your outer lips, gently parting them, his movements cautious yet purposeful, and he asks, "Is that ok?"

"You don’t have to ask for my consent anymore, Tech," you reassure him, your desire evident in your voice. "I want this. I want you."

With that assurance, he very carefully begins to slide a finger into you, and you moan softly at the sensation, encouraging him to continue. Another finger follows suit, and he begins to move hesitantly, exploring the depths of your warm core. It feels incredible, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you entirely.

So many months you had spent fantasizing about something like this, but after he didn’t react to your flirting attempts you gave up and now you are here, completely naked, spread all over the control panel, with Tech between your legs and his fingers pushing into you.

He curls his fingers up, finding that sweet, soft spot that sends waves of extra strong pleasure coursing through your body and you can't help but cry out his name. His touch is intoxicating, each movement bringing you closer to the edge of an orgasm.

Feeling yourself on the brink, you gasp, "Tech, I won’t last long if you keep doing that." He hesitates for a moment, unsure what to do, but you encourage him to continue. "No, it’s good. I just… you will make me cum very quickly if you keep doing that," you assure him, your voice filled with desire.

Surprised but delighted by your response, Tech eagerly returns to his attention to your core. "Oh, I would love to give you an orgasm if you let me," he admits, his enthusiasm undeniable. You nod “Please” and with your consent, he thrust back into you, his fingers moving with purpose and determination.

Leaning in closer, he focuses his attention on your clit, his tongue adding a new dimension to the pleasure. It's a revelation, the intensity building with each thrust of his fingers, you cant believe he’s never done that before, but then again he is the man that knows everything.

You feel your body tensing up already and it takes only a few more flicks of his tongue against your clit before you cum. Stars shatter before your eyes and it feels incredibly good to ride out your orgasm on his fingers, your body trembling with the force of your release. You moan his name, lost in the pleasure pulsing through you, your head thrown back, eyes rolling in bliss.

Looking up at you in awe, Tech savors the sight before him. He's completely captivated by the way your body responds to his touch, determined not to miss a single moment of it.

After you slowly descend from the heights of your orgasm, he carefully slides his finger out of you and rises to his feet, standing before you. You lean up and press your lips to his. "Do you want me to explore your body?" you inquire, and he eagerly nods in response. You gracefully slip from the control panels, your eyes locked on him as he swiftly sheds his armor with practiced hands. When he's down to the bottom of his blacks, you gently guide him backward into the pilot's seat, a silent invitation for him to surrender to your touch.

You approach him with a mix of excitement and tenderness, fully aware that this is his first experience and taking care not to overwhelm him. You position yourself between his legs, one hand trailing over his chest and you leave a few heated kisses on his neck before you kneel down, your eyes lock with his, offering reassurance. "Relax, Tech. Let me take care of you," you say softly.

With a slow and deliberate hand, you begin to undo his pants, revealing his evident arousal. Your gaze flickers to his cock, noting its impressive length and girth, feeling a surge of desire as you prepare to pleasure him. Slowly taking him into your mouth, you start with gentle movements, savoring the taste of him as you explore each inch of his beautiful thick cock.

Tech's breath catches in his throat as you work him, his fingers tightening on the armrests. "Do you like how it feels?" you murmur, your voice a soft hum against his sensitive skin. He manages to nod, his expression a mix of pleasure and wonder as you continue.

Adjusting your pace, you find a rhythm that suits him, teasing and tantalizing as you build his arousal. With each movement, you feel him growing harder beneath your touch, his hips shifting instinctively to meet your mouth. "I…I’m close," he gasps, his voice strained with desire.

Despite the temptation to push him over the edge just now and see his beautiful brown eyes flutter, you hold back, knowing that you want to give him more. With a loving smile, you ease off, allowing him a moment to catch his breath. "Not yet," you whisper, your voice laced with anticipation. “I would like to ride you, do you want that?”

Tech's eyes widen with surprise and need as he understands what you want to do. With a hungry look in his eyes, he nods eagerly.

You rise from your knees, moving with purpose as you straddle his lap, positioning yourself above him. With a delicate touch, you guide his throbbing cock to the entrance of your slick, wet core, feeling the anticipation building between you. The pressure of his length against you already sends shivers down your spine, aching with desire for more. "Are you ready?" you whisper, your breath hot against his ear as you pepper his neck with soft kisses. Unable to speak, Tech nods eagerly, his eyes filled with longing as he awaits your next move.

As you lower yourself onto him, a wave of pleasure washes over you, his thick cock stretching you in all the right ways. You moan with satisfaction, relishing in the sensation of being filled by him. Tech's heartbeat quickens beneath you, his shallow breaths echoing the intensity of the moment. "Breathe, Tech," you murmur, planting tender kisses along his jawline, allowing him a moment to adjust to the feeling of being inside you.

With a slow, deliberate pace, you begin to move, rising and falling on his length, each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you. Tech's composed facade begins to crack, his control slipping away as he succumbs to the ecstasy of your union. You enjoy to see him slowly coming undone in front of you. Tech, who is always in control, always composed is coming undone. And you love that you can do that to him.

As you increase your rhythm, Tech's hands find hold on your waist, his touch grounding you as you ride him. You brace yourself against his shoulders, granting him a beautiful view of your bouncing breasts right before his face, fueling his desire even further. You feel him tensing up, his cock pressing even harder against your walls with every move. “It’s okay Tech” you reassure him, “cum inside me”urging him to let go and release within you.

You lean down to leave a few kisses and gentle bites along his neck, increasing your pace further and it doesn’t take long until he succumbs to the overwhelming pleasure, his cock pulsating within you as he spills his warm cum deep inside your core. The sensation of him filling you up is so overwhelmingly good it triggers another orgasm, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. You cry out his name as you clench around him, the intensity of your orgasm echoing his own. He looks at you in awe by the sensation of your pussy tightening around his cock. Collapsing onto his chest, you both bask in the aftermath, your bodies entwined and slick with sweat, lost in the euphoria of your connection.

Tech catches his breath first, his chest rising and falling as he composes himself. "I would enjoy doing that again sometime," he admits, his voice filled with a hint of longing but also uncertainty.

You smile warmly, reassurance in your eyes as you reply, "Whenever you want, Tech. I'm yours." Leaning in, you press your lips against his, a soft and tender kiss filled with promise. “I love you,” you whisper, your words carrying the weight of your affection.

As his softened cock slowly begins to slip out of you, you feel his warm cum dripping from your core onto the seat beneath you. "I should clean that up before we make a mess here," you remark, a playful glint in your eyes as you glance down at the evidence of your shared passion.

Tech nods in agreement, his gaze lingering on you as he gestures towards the fresher. "Go on. I'll take care of the cockpit," he offers, his tone gentle yet determined, showing his willingness to share the responsibilities.

Before you can leave, he pulls you close, his lips capturing yours in a deep and passionate kiss. "Thank you," he murmurs against your lips, his gratitude evident in his touch as he expresses his appreciation for your connection.

"For what?" you wonder, eager to understand the depth of his emotions.

"For communicating with me in a way that I understand," he explains, his words resonating with sincerity as he acknowledges the significance of your connection and the efforts you've made to bridge any gaps in understanding.

With a smile and a soft kiss, you accept his gesture, making your way to the fresher, mindful not to leave a trail of cum behind as you prepare to clean up. As you go, you're filled with a sense of contentment, knowing that despite any challenges, you and Tech have found a way to connect deeply, both physically and emotionally.

When you tap out of the fresher, all cleaned up, clothes back on, you are relieved to see that the others seemingly still haven’t returned, giving you and Tech a little more time together. Glancing over at the cockpit, you notice it looks nice and clean, as if nothing had happened. Satisfied, you step outside the Marauder and find Tech sitting in the low grass, his datapad in hand and connected to his ears. He smiles at you, and you can't help but return the smile as you approach him.

"What are you doing?" you inquire, curiosity lacing your tone.

"I'm listening to the sounds you made," he responds, a happy glance in his eyes. Your cheeks flush at his words, and he chuckles softly. "I enjoy this very much, it's already my favorite recording."

He pulls you in for a kiss, and you melt into his embrace, feeling a sense of warmth and affection wash over you. You make yourself comfortable in the grass next to him and he hands you a cup of fresh caff, asking if you feel good.

"Haven’t felt so good in a while…and thank you for cleaning up the cockpit," you express your gratitude, but a hint of worry creeps into your voice. "But I guess that Hunter will smell it anyway. He can smell a Bantha ten klicks against the wind."

Tech laughs, reassuring you. "That is precisely right, but don't worry. I spilled some caff to cover up the scent for now. However, we will need to tell them eventually that we…we…”

“…had sex in Hunters ship and will continue to do so?” you offer to finish the sentence with a wide grin on your face.

“That we are engaging in a romantic relationship. And that is MY ship" he corrects you. “But I fear their response to this news will not be that elated at first.”

You furrow your brows in concern, prompting him to explain further. "Why do you think your brothers won't be happy for you, Tech?"

He adjusts his goggles, his expression thoughtful. "Because shortly after you became part of our crew, they made a bet on who would get… who would succeed in having sex with you first. And the bet was not on me. And not on a relationship either, rather on a more... casual encounter."

"Who was it?" you ask, curious to know the outcome.

Tech sighs, his gaze dropping momentarily. "On Crosshair. It was on Crosshair. I bet on him too. Statistically, he has the highest success rate, so it was a safe bet... I thought."

You chuckle softly, realizing the implications, of course it was Crosshair. "Well, that will dent his ego a bit, but he'll survive it," you laugh, needless to say Crosshair is a handsome man with an aura that is best described as intense but he’s just not your type, you prefer soft and nerdy but lethal, and sometimes a bit unhinged, just like the beautiful man sitting beside you.

Feeling a sense of content wash over you, you happily lean into Tech, resting your head on his chest as you revel in the comfort and security of his embrace.

Shouldn't we finish the modification we abandoned?" you inquire, gazing up at the sky.

"I would much rather enjoy the time with you out here," Tech responds, his voice filled with warmth. "It is not often that we are on a planet where the atmosphere is breathable, meteorological conditions are predominantly pleasant, and there is no extremely hostile wildlife that we have to pay attention to. Besides, with your help, I can quickly finish the modification later. We will need to learn to enjoy the moments we get together without my brothers, as they will be scarce."

You gaze up at him in awe, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over you as you cuddle closer to him. "Well,if we have time, then tell me everything you know about those little fuzzy creatures up there jumping around in the trees," you say, pointing towards the playful fury animals in the distance.

He smiles down at you, his eyes reflecting fondness. "Gladly," he responds, before leaning in to give you the softest, most loving kiss.

As he begins to speak, his voice takes on the tone of a database, filled with information about the local wildlife. You've always loved animals and listening to Tech talking for hours about the local wildlife and its possible dangers or benefits during missions has fascinated you each time. But now, wrapped in his arms, experiencing this as private lecture and stealing a few kisses in between is the best feeling in the galaxy

[cloudsontherainbow]

Vox Tickle Headcanons!!

Because my art has been making itself at a very slow rate, have some Vox headcanons that rot my brain while you wait

These are mixed up with lee and ler because I was just going on a rampage

my lil guy @hype-blue-fixation was most of my inspiration for this

WARNING: Some might be a bit intense for some viewers so keep that in mind!!

———————————————————————————————

Can NOT say tickle when in a lee mood, replacing it with “tiggle” or “tword”, however in a ler mood he’ll be sure to make the lee crumble by just that word

Absolutely bullies the lee if he’s the one wrecking their ass, there will be zero mercy

He’s a evil teaser, that is his weapon 

“Ohohoh look who just found a bad spot~”

“Let’s see how loud I can get you..that way I don’t have to tell everyone how ticklish you are, you’ll be doing it yourself~”

Will not stop till safe word is said, he wants to saver every single second he has to drive the lee crazy

Instead of “soft to rough” tickles, he likes doing “rough to soft” tickles 

When in a ler mood, he likes scratching his claws on anything (ex. On his desk, edge of his sleeves, running them on the walls)

When in a lee mood, he will hang around his pet sharkies a lot, getting subtle cuddles from them<3

He’d rather burn in hell twice than ask for tickles.

In a lee mood, he’ll be extra sensitive to any sort of touch; flinching away from hugs, pat on the back, even handshakes

He’s a runner and will try to escape if even a mention of him getting tickled is said 

Bratty.

Even while getting his ass wrecked, he’ll say bratty comments 

“Is this all you got??”

“And here you said you were gonna have me breathless, where’s all that talk?”

Except once you really get him cackling, he will be begging for his life 

He’s a stomper

And of course, a squirmed too, this man WILL NOT stay still no matter what you do

The back of his head/tv panel is his worst spot. No one will convince me otherwise.

You can very much trick him to admit to wanting tickles; teasing him the whole day with slight touches, subtle teases, anything that resembles tickling will drive him insane to the point where he will burst

“STOP IT with the stupid fucking teasing, you’ve been fucking with me the entire day. Just t-t-t-…fuck-“ Just imagine the ler smirking down at him, getting the tv man flustered as fuck and realizes it was a trick all along~

“I don’t want it anymore. Get AWAY from me!!-“

Has ticklish palmmmssss

He actually doesn’t mind when Vel/Val just trace his palms, using him as a fidget toy

He rants to his sharks about the tickle scenarios in his head, and it’s a lot

When he gets too flustered, he has to release it in some kind of way; whether that be punching the floor, kicking his feet, insulting (with no real heat) to his ler, and etc, anything you can think of

When he wants to cover his face, he just rotates his tv head 360 degrees and lays it on the ground

But that exposes his tv panel so it’s a big gamble to hope that his ler doesn’t know that’s even a tickle spot

[lu-is-not-ok]

Sorry I'm actually obsessed with the Daiyu-Baoyu theory and I'm rotating it in my head forever. I'm not sure if I'm actually onto anything here but when thinking about it I recalled this CG from the TGS trailer

and I remember thinking about how odd this picture seems because it's so Un-Hong Lu-like. Because from what we've seen, Hong Lu has never even gotten close to being this angry. And yet, they showed us this picture in a trailer before the game even released. It's obviously something they wanted us to see and keep in mind. But so far, there doesn't seem to be anything we can think of that can draw this kind of reaction out of Hong Lu, who seems to just redirect or avoid upsetting topics altogether.

When reading your theory, I remembered this CG and noticed that he's facing the right, meaning we can't see his jade eye. This isn't the first time they've obscured something important from us in the trailer (e.g., Don Quixote's eyes), so it's not a stretch to say they're intentionally hiding his eye. This suggests that something might be up with it in this scene that we aren't supposed to know yet, like, for example, being removed.

If we assume that Baoyu's memories are in his eye, which has been put in Daiyu's body, as well as Kurokumo Hong Lu's attitude being the most Daiyu-like, then it would explain this CG a lot better, because it's not really Hong Lu or Baoyu. It's Daiyu.

Sorry for the very long ask, I got excited. Again, I'm really just rambling and speculating. What I do know is that I'm really enjoying this theory, and thinking about writing a fanfic with the premise because it is so fascinating to me!

Funny you bring up that CG in particular, since the subject of it has come up on this blog before! That being said, I unfortunately can't find the exact post where I talked about it, so I might as well do so again - especially since we now also have more insight on Hong Lu as a characer.

The full CG that cut-in comes from can be seen in the Story Demo video for the Alpha Version of Limbus, as a preview CG for the 1-5 node on the very early version of Canto 1's Story Node map.

Notably, this CG does not appear in any Cutscene/Story Demo videos post the TGS Teaser, meaning the CG must have been scrapped at some point between that Alpha Version demo and the post TGS Teaser demo. Whether it was scrapped after it was used for the Teaser, meaning it was still part of the story at the time, or whether it was scrapped before but PJM decided something about that particular image of Hong Lu was important enough to the Teaser to include it anyway, is something I don't think we'll ever know.

Unfortunately, with how early the CG seems to have originally been placed in the story, I doubt it has anything to do with Daiyu specifically. However, I do now have my own theory of what that cutscene might have entailed, as well as why that would contribute to it being scrapped.

Judging by the leftmost panel, it's easy to deduce this was where Yuri's backstory was originally meant to be explained, as in the whole site burial and survivor's guilt thing would be brought up. The fact that the explanation would later be moved to be inside the Dungeon rather outside would on its own be a good reason to scrap the CG, but there's something else about it that I realized only recently.

In the game proper, Yuri reveals her trauma almost exclusively to Gregor (and initially Ishmael), as all the other Sinners have already passed out due to the gas grenade. However, in the hypothetical scrapped scenario where the reveal came outside the Dungeon, every Sinner would have a chance to hear it and react to it.

So, what kind of reaction would fit the other two panels on the CG? The middle panel of Rodya comforting an uncomfortable looking Yuri while Hong Lu looks innocently confused, followed by a panel with the angriest looking Gregor we've ever seen clashing with the angriest looking Hong Lu we've ever seen?

Here's what I think could have originally happened in that scene (and this is Entirely Speculation, we have no proof of this actually being the case):

I believe, after sharing her story, especially the point about trying to escape the site burial, Mr. Hong 'I am always ready to accept my own death' Lu would act confused and ask something along the lines of "Why didn't you just stay?" or a variant of such. Why didn't you just accept it, why didn't you just let it happen, why did you try to fight it, etc. Essentially asking why, if Yuri was going to feel such guilt for surviving the ordeal, would she ever bother trying to survive in the first place.

This would, understandably, piss Gregor the fuck off, as he himself holds a good deal of guilt for the fact he participated in the War and survived through it. There's a high chance of him trying to verbally rip into Hong Lu, to tell him that he has No Idea what it's like to have to live day by day trying to survive just long enough to see tomorrow, what it's like to have one's life turned into hell without them having any choice on the matter, what it's like to feel the need to run away despite knowing that it will leave them with the guilt of not being able to save anyone else. He's some sheltered rich kid after all, how could he know what it's like to actually suffer?

And I think something like that would be enough for Hong Lu's facade to crack. Because no, Gregor is wrong. Hong Lu knows exactly what it's like, more than anyone should know he does. He might not even be responding with much in this cutscene, even just a hostile "You know nothing about me and my life." would be enough to set the tone. That whatever is going on behind that smile of his is so much worse than what it seems.

...And that's why I think it was scrapped. Because a peek behind Hong Lu's mask in Canto 1 would be too early.

Hong Lu's slow unraveling of his lies is just that - slow. It took us until Just This Recent Canto to get a somewhat clear confirmation that no, the info he gives about his Family is not to be trusted. It took until Canto 3 to see him be the only Sinner actively willing to lie and until Canto 4 to show us he's a good actor. Revealing that Hong Lu has a very different side to him underneath the curious cheerful persona as early as Canto 1 would completely alter the pacing and trajectory of his arc. You'd have a reason to suspect him from the beginning, rather than have a chance to be just as fooled by him as Dante and the other Sinners are.

So no, I don't think that CG is meant to show Daiyu. But I do think that CG was meant to be our first hint to the fact that Hong Lu isn't being honest with the others, at least until it was decided it was too soon for such a reveal.

[canmom]

the Spirited Away theatrical adaptation

today I went with @birdfriender to see the stage production of Spirited Away, produced by Toho, currently on tour in London.

and like. holy shit??

you might say how the hell could you adapt a film like spirited away to stage. the answer is: incredibly inventive stagecraft, puppetry, costumes and especially choreography.

I was completely blown away by how this play flowed across the stage. set transitions were masked with lighting to direct attention, with the descending screen, with the rotating central platform that managed to function as nearly every part of the bathhouse. stairs, rotating bridges, creative use of size to indicate perspective (like the tiny train that circles the stage), and just the way the crew would move the props with a flourish -

but also the puppetry, like man! the way characters like Kamaji, Yubaba's giant head (used only at moments of intense emotion), and No Face would be operated by entire teams of puppeteers - it was extraordinary. the puppetry director was Toby Olié who's worked on a million different things including War Horse and you can really see them applying all these tricks accumulated over the years...

the show is remarkably faithful to the film; a few scenes are slightly abridged but every sequence I remembered was there and deliver with style. where it does need to pause and breathe, like in the famous train scene, it does. and like... it is fascinating to see an adaptation from animation to theatre. seeing how Mone Kamishiraishi (Chihiro) would stumble and bumb into walls just as she would under the pen of Shinya Ohira. or how a memorable sequence in the film could be represented symbolically: a collapsing pipe as a string of segments pulled on a string, a flower garden by dancers in flower outfits.

some of my fave sequences involved wooden panels carried by dancers, choreographed so the characters would weave between them, or they'd rotate to represent elevators on different floors. it was also fascinating to see how they'd symbolically represent things it would be impossible to stage, often representing fluids with fabric sheets. a transformation could be shown with actors swapping places with a flourish. at other times, it feels like stage magic tricks are in use, like a flash of light drawing your attention to a rope that was there all along. sometimes the puppeteers will be on stage, wearing simple beige outfits that mark them as not being 'present' as they manipulate the soot sprites and frogs and so on.

they also made effective, sparing use of a large projector screen, which descended at certain points, primarily for the driving scene at the beginning and the train scene. this actually didn't use scenes from the movie, but more of a soft, painterly style applied over... probably animated video? hard to say with the blurring, could be live footage. it reminded me of the use of similar screens in the later YoRHa plays, although it was a minor element here.

we weren't allowed to take photos (i took this one during the final bow anyway) and I would have been too busy watching to take them anyway, but this teaser shows briefly a number of the coolest setups. still, it's so much more when you see the whole thing flowing along without interruption.

and it was very interesting to me looking at this kind of show - big stage, directly homaging an animated film - from the eyes of someone who knows a lot more about film and animation than I do about theatre.

compared to film, you simply do not have closeups; the closest thing is when the puppeteers bring out the segments of Yubaba's giant floating head, but this is used sparingly. so everything is basically a long shot. however, because the acuity of a human eye is much greater than that of a camera, even from near the back of the theatre you can make out a lot of details that you wouldn't be able to make out with an equivalent camera shot. this allows compositions where there is loads going on at stage at once, with the eye being drawn to different areas by lighting and movement.

I do feel like there are definitely things to learn for animators from this kind of stage choreography. so many times I thought like, wow, that's so clever. like how chihiro riding haku was shown by splitting the dragon puppet into segments and putting her on the shoulders of one of the puppeteers.

and everything was done with such style too. if something shuffles off stage, you know it will be done with a wiggle and a flourish. small things but they add so much.

presumably because this seems like an incredibly involved show, there are multiple performers for each major character: four Chihiros, and three Hakus, Yubabas, Kamajis and so on. I'm not sure the exact lineup tonight beyond Chihiro. the exception is Kaonashi (No Face), who is played only by Hikaru Yamano, who gives an incredible performance, sidling and flexing around the stage in all sorts of strange ways that really get across the character's whole deal despite literally performing under a white mask and concealing robe. it's kinda amazing.

another fantastic casting is fundoshi dancer Yuya Igarashi as Kashira (the stack of three big heads that serve Yubaba, and speak only in wordless grunts). he basically has his real head as one of the three, and he has two more heads on his hands, and moves them around in incredibly energetic and funny ways. it's a brilliant way to interpret this, somehow feeling perfectly appropriate to have a buff guy in a red loincloth moving them around.

Yubaba's actress tonight would have been either Mari Natsuki or Hitomi Harukaze; either way she did an incredible job, it was really cool seeing a more human-proportioned version of the character and she brought a lot of energy and authority to the role.

the whole cast did a fucking amazing job honestly. I wish I knew more about theatre acting so I could comment more specifically on the tricks they were doing, but you definitely felt Chihiro's emotions

the production is in Japanese; English subtitles were shown on two screens on either side of the stage. the translation was on the 'honorifics included' end of that scale, but absolutely clear and idiomatic. the format worked - it was generally not hard to follow the action and glance at the subtitles, even though they were further away than they would be in film - and it definitely filled the theatre. I really hope this leads to more Japanese theatrical productions going on tour like this. wish i'd been able to see the Totoro one a few months ago.

definitely this kind of theatre must depend on a fairly obscene budget of the kind that only comes to biiiiig properties like, say, an adaptation of a beloved Studio Ghibli movie (one family turned up in cosplay) - there's a lot to be said for less extravagant staging. at the same time... this really was something.

i gotta go to the theatre more

[peachesofteal]

Picture

Same pairing as "I got you". When I first wrote these, I also wrote a hefty chunk of an entire Simon Riley series that just ended up sitting in my drafts. I've been editing it slowly and now it's being uploaded.

Simon Riley/female reader Part of the Sassy series - 4.2k words - AO3 Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, pregnancy, pregnant reader, blow job, praise kink, blood, violence, injury, PTSD, anxiety, trust issues. Simon is bad at feelings. Soap is a good friend. POV switches. Soap gives Simon a picture.

There’s a gun in your nightstand. You don’t use it, ever. You don’t need it, haven’t needed it, haven’t touched it. You think, after the baby comes, you’ll put it away for good. Bury it in a locked box somewhere beneath a pile of boxes in the basement.

Speaking of boxes, you’re standing in a sea of them. Different boxes for different parts of the crib, dresser, and little bookshelf. The old recliner you used to have downstairs is up here now, nestled in the corner next to where you think you’re going to put the crib. It’s not a rocking chair, but it will have to do. It’s a sage green, the soft hue calming to your nerves, which you think helps the baby. Your baby, who the internet says is the size of a banana and can hear your heartbeat, who likes to kick you in your ribs at all hours of the night. You rub your palm over your belly as you shift your weight, staring down at the instructions for the wood paneling of the bookcase. You’re rotating the shiny paper in your hand, trying to understand which piece fits to which when your doorbell rings.

You frown. You weren’t expecting anyone. You didn’t really have friends, anyone who would visit.

Your mind wanders to the gun for a split second, but you shake it off. You’re home. You’re not in danger. There is nothing to fear. The mantra grounds you, solidifies you enough that you make your way down the stairs and peek through the peephole in the door.

When you see Soap’s face on the other side, you can practically feel your blood pressure drop.

“Hey, Johnny.” You say in greeting, face apprehensive. He lights up when you open the door, and then freezes like you’ve shot him.

“Sassafras.” He whispers in disbelief. You sigh, and step to the side.

“By yourself?” Soap stares at you like you’re nuts. You nod.

“Yeah… not like I could get in contact. Not like I wanted to, either.” He grimaces.

“So, he has no idea, you’re having his kid… you’re five months pregnant, and he doesn’t know.” You scoff.

“You make it sound like I’m helpless.” He looks from you to the pile of furniture pieces on the ground at your feet, and then to the screwdriver in his hand.

“You’re not helpless, lass.” He says softly, eyes sympathetic as they glance over your belly. “But this is a lot, for anyone to do alone.”

Later, you and Johnny sit on your back porch. He sips a beer; you drink a decaf iced tea. Bugs chirp in the grass of your little yard, the yellow glow of the string lights that you managed to get up twinkle above your heads.

“So, what’re you havin’?”

“It’s a boy.” You whisper, smile on your lips. You remembered when the doctor told you, remembered everything you felt when she said those three words. You were so… angry. How dare the universe give you a boy? How dare it give you the reminder, the carbon copy of a ghost.

Now, you’re not angry so much anymore. Only sometimes when you think about how he forced you away. How he ruined your rep with Price just to get rid of you. How he held you the last time, body pressed to yours, nose smashed against your cheek.

You’re not angry when you think about the baby. His son. Yours. You love him, already. You knew you loved him the day you decided you were going to keep him. He was your baby. Yours to love. To protect. You weren’t going to let the memories of his dad get in that way of that. You weren’t going to let yourself be haunted.

Johnny stays for a few days, sleeps on the couch. He helps you build the crib, and the dresser, and the bookshelf. You two spend the time catching up, reminiscing about the time you spent together, tromping halfway around the world.

“Trauma bonded.” You joke with an elbow to his stomach, on the good side. Not the side that he took the piece of shrapnel to that shredded his abdomen.

“Never thanked you that day. Saved my life.” 

“You saved mine too. We’re even.” 

When he says goodbye, you give him an ultrasound picture. You have a ton, at least six tacked to your fridge. You watch his eyes get a little misty, and you laugh.

“Come on Johnny. It’s just a picture.”

“Yeah. Of yours… and LT’s… kid.” He practically chokes on the last word, and you roll your eyes.

“Come back and see us, okay? Little guy will need an uncle.” His lips part and the he swallows before hectically nodding, sputtering promises about coming to visit as much as he can. He gives you a cell number, his, to call if you need anything or want to talk.

“Can’t imagine you’ll be available too often.” There’s no way. The 141 has a no contact rule, no communication. It’s for their safety, and everyone else’s. You both know this. He rubs his neck with a frown.

“Yah lass. But I’m still here if you need anything.” He gives you another hug before tucking the picture into a pocket and stepping off your front stoop.

If you had known what he was going to do with it, you would have never given it to him.

Simon parks two blocks away, worn print of a black blob in his hands. The edges are starting to fray, the two pieces peeling away from each other from overuse, being held too much. He’s been holding this picture in an iron grip for over a month, pulling it out from the pocket in his vest to stare at it until he forces himself to look away.

He remembers the night he got it, the night everything shifted, when the world tilted on its axis.

“LT.” Johnny had called to him that day, sought him out immediately after he got back. He didn’t want to see Johnny, didn’t want to hear what he had to say. He knew where he went. He knew he had wanted to visit you; see how you were doing.

See if you were okay. After what he did.

“I need her gone.” He had told Price, voice full of conviction. You were a distraction. A liability. Sure, you had every right to be there, but he didn’t care. He had seniority and he couldn’t think clearly. Couldn’t work. You were everywhere, in his mind, on his skin. He felt like he needed you. He tried to break himself of it at first, tried to cast you out. Disappeared on you without a word, hoping you’d give up on him. But after the bombing, the one that almost killed Johnny, and almost killed you, he couldn’t do it anymore. He could still hear the buzz of the comms, the dead silence echoing back to him when he called for you, over and over. It played on repeat in his nightmares. It dredged up old memories, reopened the scars in his mind of other losses, terrible losses that he’d never escape.

“Ghost.” Johnny’s voice was sharp, urgent. Like he sounds when something’s gone wrong. “LT, stop. I needa talk to ya.” Simon turns, stomach full of dread. He can’t place the expression on Johnny’s face. It’s grim, sure. But there’s something underneath that’s gleeful, excited. It puts him on edge, and he grunts.

“What?” There’s something in Johnny’s hand, a folded piece of paper, and he thrusts it into his chest. “What’s this?” It’s a picture of a blob with some dates at the top. There’s a name too, one he doesn’t recognize.

“Your son.” 

Simon doesn’t remember a lot after that. He remembers finding a chair to slump over in, remembers staring at the ultrasound picture for a long time. Long enough that the sun went down, Johnny’s voice filtering in and out of his ears as he fought the rising panic in his chest. “- she’s doing okay but seems tired. She was trying to put the nursery together when I showed up-“  Nursery. A Nursery, like where a baby sleeps. A baby. His baby. His kid. Your kid. You were having his kid. “and she gets sick in the mornings, I could hear her throwing up from the couch but other than that she says she’s got it handled. I think-“ You were having his baby. You were making him a…. father. His mind stumbled over the word. Buried memories of his own father fought to rise to the surface, and vomit tried to crawl up his mouth. His lungs felt like they were drowning in concrete. His ears were suddenly ringing. “Ghost?” Johnny reached for his shoulder, and he pushed him away, harder than he needed to. “Whoa. Hey, LT.” 

“Johnny. Shut the hell up.” 

He spent the next month with the picture tucked close to his chest. He pulls it out at night, or when he’s sitting in the same spot for an extended period of time, waiting. He stares at the image, trying to work out if those are toes, or fingers, or a face. He wonders if you’re okay, if you’re taking care of yourself, if you need him. He stares at your name printed at the top, the name that he didn’t know, until now. The one you never wanted to give him, and he never understood why.

“You don’t show me your face.” you countered him one night after he made you come until you lost count, and he glowered in response, lips still wet with the taste of your cunt. The truth was, he wanted to show you his face. Wanted to take you away from the god-awful city the 141 was working through, hide you away somewhere safe and show you his face, let you memorize it the way he memorized yours.

He realized, with a carnivorous pit opening in his stomach, since he knew your name now, he could find you.

And if he could find you, others might be able to, too.

He parked two blocks away because he didn’t want to spook you. He didn’t think you’d take too kindly to a stranger pulling into your driveway at night, and he figured you’d take less kindly if that stranger was him. So, he walks. He walks down your street, eyes cataloging every house on the block, every car. Which houses have soccer nets and toys in the yard. What the speed limit was. When the last time the street had been paved or had its potholes patched. He listens to how many dogs are barking, how many engines are starting or already running. He distracts himself with it, the awareness, until he’s stepping up onto your stoop, hand hovering above your doorbell.

When you open the door, your mouth goes slack, and you stare at him like you’re seeing a ghost. He swallows, throat dry, words jammed behind his tongue. You look… off. Different. Sick. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes, and you seem exhausted.

“Simon.” You say, voice half a whisper. He’s about to say hi, say sorry, say ‘can I come in?’ when he looks the rest of you over quickly and sees your belly for the first time. It’s swollen behind a sweatshirt that’s just a little bit too big, and he watches as your hand moves to rest on top of it protectively.

“Sass.” He croaks. You sigh.

“Want to come in?”

You’re dreaming of a memory. You know you are. You remember, this, this night, like it just happened yesterday. You’re on your knees, crowded against Ghost in a shitty dive bar bathroom. The music is thumping loudly through the walls, the floor sticking to your boots. 

“Thas’ it.” He mumbles, hand folding over your hair as you rock back and forth. Your mouth is stuffed full of him, lips stretched and cracked, drool dripping down your chin. So full, you can’t even flatten your tongue against your molars, but you think he likes the scrape by the way he groans every time he touches the back of your throat. “Bloody hell, Sass.” His fingers flexed against your scalp, and you feel the muscles is his legs tightening. He���s close, you can feel it, so you swallow him deeper until your eyes are leaking tears and he’s panting harshly. “That’s a good girl, just like that, so-“ He floods your throat with his come, salt and sweet and metallic filling your senses as it spills down into your stomach. He pulls you up to standing, pushing your back against the wall while he tucks himself back into his pants, and you’re about to tease him for being so quick off the mark when a fist pounds against the door, Soap’s voice on the other side. 

“We got a hit.” 

“Now?” you whisper, and Ghost shrugs. The 141 has been here for three weeks, tailing some small fish arms dealer, waiting for him to meet with his big fish buyer. He rights his mask, calloused fingers coming forward to adjust the collar of your shirt. 

“You keep your eyes open for me, yeah?” His touch traces along your cheek, and there’s something wild running beneath the surface of his skin, something you can just barely see. You nod quickly. 

“Yeah, Simon. I’ll keep em open.” 

The dream shifts. You’re sprinting down the street behind little fish, after he got spooked and tried to take off. He ran in your direction. You were the only option.

“Northwest!” you spit into your comms, rapidly changing direction as he does. He turns left, and then right, and then left until you’re in an outdoor market, turning in a circle as you realize you lost sight of him.

“Sassy, report.” Price calls and you swallow against your heaving breaths.

“Lost him. I’m at… don’t know. Don’t have coordinates. Some outdoor market.”

“Roger. Make your way east, we’ll scoop you.” You sigh in relief. You were a bomb tech, not a sprinter, and certainly not a stealth operator. You give another cursory glance around before turning to leave.

That’s when the shots ring out. Small pings that turn into loud screams as people run in every direction. Inwardly, you groan, and find yourself wishing you were still on the sticky bathroom floor with Simon’s cock in your mouth. Instead, you’re out here, out of breath, dodging bullets.

You duck behind a stall to pull your gun free.

“I’m taking fire.” You speak into the comms, fidgeting with your gun as you hunch over.

“Repeat.” It’s Ghost. His voice is tense, strung tight.

“Taking-“ bullets whiz by you and you pause, but keep the line open. “fire. They’re on top of one of these buildings.” It’s radio silence for a few seconds as you crawl along the stalls, low to the ground. There’s an alley a good hundred feet away, and you definitely could make it.

“Hold your position, Sass.” 

“Affirmative.” You sprint for the gap between buildings, pinning close to the wall and settling into a crouch, finger light on the trigger. You want to ask why you’re holding, but the answer comes when you hear responding fire, echo for echo against whoever’s on the roof. Price calls for you, seeking your location, and you answer quickly.

Two minutes later, Ghost is kneeling in front of you, gripping your tac vest and shoving you behind the blockade that is his body. He leads you out of the alley, steps slow and sure, confident…  until you hear a pop, and then a shout. 

The dream shifts, again. You’re standing in the med tent with your arms crossed while he’s getting a slug dug out of his shoulder, eyes tight behind the mask. He’s saying something to you, but the words are mush coming out of his mouth, slurred together and off beat. The medic gives him a nod when he leaves, and you release a breath

“I’m alright, Sass. It’s nothin’. C’mere.” A big hand finds yours. More words, jumbled nonsense. 

A doorbell rings from behind you, towards the front of the med tent and you frown. 

A doorbell. 

Your eyes open and you sit up in bed, curling over your ever-present bump that seems to get in the way of everything right now. You had heard a doorbell, right? You pull the ratty old sweatshirt over your body and creep down the stairs to check the door. It’s ten o’clock at night, for Christ’s sake. Who could it be? 

Fucking. Soap. You curse the Scot in your head. No good, piece of shit, sweetheart John MacTavish and his bleeding heart of gold, god damn him, you’re gonna- 

Simon clears his throat behind you, from where he stands, his massive body shifting uncomfortably in your living room. You close your eyes and try to breathe through your nose. Anxiety builds in your stomach, fear prickling along your scalp. What does he want? A dark thought shudders through you, the realization that if Simon Riley wanted, he could take your son. He could wait you out, disappear with him, and never be seen again. Two ghosts.

“Simon-“

“Were you gonna tell me, Sass?” He has the gall to sound put out, indignant, and you take another deep breath to calm yourself.

“That’s a joke, right?” You turn, face pinched with irritation. “You know, maybe I could have told you, if you hadn’t gotten me fired, if you hadn’t gone and destroyed my credibility with Price.”

“You went on bloody leave, and your credibility is not destroyed.”

“Yeah, sure.” You roll your eyes and then take a second to look at him, closely. His massive legs are straining in a pair of jeans, black sweatshirt with a hood pulled over his head and the infamous balaclava. He’s not wearing the paint, which surprises you, but you keep it to yourself. He looks good, and your hormones rush in your blood.

You don’t care. Just deliver the speech and give him what he wants. The out. 

“How-“ he starts but you cut him off. He’s not in control here, you are. 

“Am I? Or how far along am I?” He says nothing. “I’m okay. And I’m just over six months.” Your hand strokes your belly almost subconsciously, trying to settle the incessant kicking. He tracks you with his eyes, watching your palm move back and forth. You sigh. “Do you want to sit?” You motion to the couch, and he nods, slowly, lowering himself down next to you, posture rigid and stiff. He looks so uncomfortable, you almost laugh. “Look, Ghost-“

“Simon.” Simon. His accent is thick when he corrects you, and something tightens in your heart.

“Simon, you don’t have to do this. We don’t need anything from you. You’re off the hook.” His head snaps from the clenched fists that sit in his lap to your face. “I can do this. You don’t even have to be on the birth certificate. I have it all handled.” Lie. You’re lying to him, straight to his face, but he doesn’t know that. You don’t want him to know that you don’t have it handled. That you could be on bedrest in a matter of weeks, that you’re sick all the time and your PTSD is lingering in the back of your mind like a monster, waiting for you, watching for the moment you break so it can devour you whole.

“Who’s we?” his question snaps you out of your spiral.

“What?”

“You said ‘we don’t need anything from you’, who’s we? Is there someone else?” The words cut. They’re sharp, expectant, and he takes another look around the house. You know he’s already catalogued it, already looked for signs of another, checked to see if anything was amiss.  For a moment, you’re tempted to tell him there is someone else in your life, someone else in your bed. Someone holding your hand at all the appointments, someone rubbing your back as you chuck your entire stomach into the toilet every morning.

“N-no. It’s just me and-“

“Our son.” He finishes for you, and you close your eyes again against the swell of anger.

“My son.” You snap and if possible, his body gets even more tense. Your skin crawls under the sweatshirt and you stand abruptly, desperate to put distance between the two of you. “He’s my son, my baby. You haven’t been here; you have no right to just waltz in here like nothing’s wrong or like you have some claim to him.”

“I put him in ya, Sass. He’s my kid too.” Your breath catches in your throat. His entitlement burns in your blood, and you want to lash out. You have half a mind to hit him, strike him as hard as you can in hopes that maybe he’ll get the hint and leave you alone.

“You screwed me, Ghost.” You hiss his call sign, reverting back to it, distancing yourself from the man behind the mask. “I don’t know why you’re even here. You used me, then you treated me like trash and kicked me to the curb. Don’t pretend like you care now.” He stands from the couch, fingers raking down his thighs. You take a step back immediately.

“I wronged you. I know you hate me, but we should talk about-“

“Don’t. Just, let’s not do this, okay? We’re fine without you. We’re okay on our own. You don’t have to be here.” Silence fills the air between you two, and you curl your fingers into fists before you turn on your heel and stalk into the kitchen. Your hands are shaking, and you lean against the countertop to steady yourself, head spinning when you close your eyes. Why is he doing this? The floor creaks beneath his steps, and he turns the corner into the kitchen, coming to stand in front of you. He dwarfs you, and the size difference that used to thrill you now fills you with anxiety. You were going to have to give birth to his baby, after all. His giant, 94% percentile “large for gestational age” baby, as your doctor called it. He huffs a breath, and you glance up at him, noticing the furrow of his brow, the tense lines of his muscles. He looks nervous. 

“I- I’d like… I want to show you something.” Without giving you a chance to respond, he reaches for the bottom of the balaclava, peeling it up his neck before pulling free of it completely. Your brain short circuits. What, did he just… what? Your mouth drops open in shock as you stare. You can feel your heartrate increasing, and you blink in disbelief. He’s so… handsome. Handsome in a way you weren’t expecting. Not soft but, gentle in a way that surprises you. Strong nose, small scar on his cheek.

“Simon.” You whisper. He takes a hesitant step towards you, and then another when you don’t move away. He says your name, your real name. Not Sass, and you freeze where you stand. He knows your name. 

“It’s on the ultrasound.” He murmurs. He’s still standing so close to you, you can smell him, can feel the heat radiating from his skin.

“Simon-“

“I’m mad for ya. Always have been. If you give me a chance, I’d-“

“Stop.” You cut him off before he can say anything else, before he can wear you down even more. “I… this… it’s complicated and… it’s late. I’m tired.” Cop out. You weren’t mentally prepared for this. You had hoped you would never have to have this conversation, you assumed you’d never see him again.

“Okay.” You breathe a sigh of relief when he relents so easily. Simon was used to executing and resulting, immediately and favorably. “I’m staying close.” Your sigh of relief catches in your chest. Fuck. “I’ll come by… tomorrow.” It’s not a request, but you’re too tired to argue.

“Okay.” You agree. You can button this up tomorrow. You can figure out what he wants and then send him on his way, get rid of him. You’re not giving into him, into whatever this is, so easily, just because he took the mask off. You can-

“Sass.” His hand is reaching towards your belly, and he’s watching you with an almost hopeful, longing expression. It’s hard to tell, because you’ve only ever been able to see his eyes. Now, the eyes that you were so used to interpreting on their own had suddenly become much more complex. “Can I?”

“Um. Uh… sure.” You’re treading into dangerous territory here, but you can’t find it in yourself to refuse him. Our son. His words from earlier echo in your mind. His palm presses to your skin, resting softly against the swell, thumb stroking into your sweatshirt. There’s a kick, a soft one, right near his hand, and you watch his face change, the mystery and wonder encompassing it sparking pesky hormone tears behind your eyes. Oh no. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. You try to hold them back, but it’s useless. You’re staring at his face, his whole, unguarded, unmasked face while he feels his son kick for the first time.

It's too much. You step back.

He clears his throat.

“Right. Well, tomorrow then.”

The next fic in this series is here.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

I Know.

A/N: Cursed with insomnia again. Here’s what I wrote last night.

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader (GN; reader has nightmares and nonspecific trauma) 

Rating: T

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings and tags: angst; nightmares (not described); hurt comfort

Summary: Sometimes, the people who have the most complicated history with you are the ones who know you best. Set pre-Skako Minor.

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You awoke with a flinch. Your heart raced as you stared into the darkness, the pulse of it thundering in your ears. Your breath came fast and hard, and you forced yourself to slow down and breathe through your nose. Gradually, your body let go of the panic, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. Not when you knew what waited for you once you drifted into unconsciousness.

You sat up slowly, pausing to clear your head before you slipped out of the bunk. As quietly as you could, you made your way to the front of the Marauder, grabbing your datapad as you passed the data terminal. Judging by the snores, Wrecker and Tech were out cold, but you’d be willing to stake every last credit in your account that your pounding heart had awakened Hunter before you even opened your eyes. Still, he was silent as you moved stealthily to the cockpit.

It was strange to be back on the Marauder after all this time. Familiar, yet different. The squad welcomed you back with varying degrees of enthusiasm—or at least acceptance—but there was a distance between you that had never been there before. A sense of caution, of unspoken but deep vigilance, as though you all felt a compulsion to weigh your words before speaking. The easy laughter, the banter, the closeness and connection—it was though none of it had ever existed.

The faint glow of the instrument panel illuminated Crosshair’s lean form as he sat in the pilot’s chair, arms folded over his chest as his long legs stretched out in front of him. He glanced up as you passed, but said nothing. Outside the viewport, it was far too dark to make out the landscape of the wilderness, but the stars above shone brilliantly through the unclouded atmosphere. You curled up in the copilot’s seat and wordlessly flicked on your datapad. 

You tried to read. The holonovel you opened seemed too daunting, so instead you scrolled through your usual collection of holonet sites for a long while, but your brain refused to process any of the text. Your eyes felt heavy and gritty, and the words seemed to blur together no matter how hard you squeezed your eyelids shut to try to clear your vision. Eventually, you closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the headrest.

“You all right?” Crosshair’s voice was barely audible.

“Can’t sleep,” you whispered without opening your eyes.

“Still?”

“Yeah.”

You both fell silent for a moment. The pilot’s seat creaked as he adjusted.

“Same nightmare after all this time?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

You opened your eyes and rotated your head toward him, only to find that he was already watching you, his dark, intense eyes unreadable in the dim light.

“You ever talk to anyone about it?” 

You shook your head. “Just you. The others—they don’t understand. They don’t know. The details.”

“They still care, though,” he said quietly.

“I know. I just…” You swallowed. “Can’t. I don’t want them to know.”

He didn’t reply, only watched you.

You took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t want them to see how broken I am.”

The silence stretched out for a moment, before he replied very quietly. “I never saw you that way.”

Your throat tightened, and your vision blurred for an instant before the tear overflowed from the corner of your eye and slid down your temple. You could barely see a damned thing in the dark, but Crosshair saw you. He always had.

Slowly, he reached out and smoothed the tear off your skin, then he dropped his hand to your wrist and gently but insistently tugged on you until at last you complied with his unspoken request, crossing the short distance to the copilot’s chair and settling onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around you and coaxed your head down to rest on his shoulder as you curled your legs up and around his body.

“I don’t want to fall back asleep,” you confessed, feeling slightly ashamed of your childish fear.

He stroked your hair. “Then… don’t sleep. Stay with me.”

You nuzzled softly against his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. It had been such a long time, but you’d know it anywhere. 

“You don’t mind?”

“Why would I?” he whispered.

The weight of lost time was heavy in the silence before you replied. “I thought you might prefer it if I left you alone.”

His jaw brushed against your forehead as he turned to look down at you. “I don’t mind having you here.”

The tension in your body gradually drained away as you relaxed against him, lapsing once more into silence. He rested his cheek against the top of your head as his thumb traced slow, lazy circles on your shoulder. Your heavy eyes began to drift shut, your anxiety lulled away by the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the steady thump of his pulse beneath your ear.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” you whispered.

His only response was a quiet, brief hum at the back of his throat, but he pressed his lips against your hair. You raised your hand slowly and trailed your fingertips from the corner of his jaw, down the line of his neck, to the notch at the base of his throat, and when you reached his chest, you flattened your palm against him, directly over his heart. His hand closed gently around yours, holding it there, and you brushed your thumb over his knuckles.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispered. “Holding you like this.”

“Me, too.”

You relaxed further against him, and he tightened his arms around you, holding you securely so you didn’t slip off his lap. When you spoke again, your voice was very soft.

“Cross?”

“Mhm?”

You hesitated a moment before you whispered, “Why did we end it?”

He didn’t move, didn’t react, didn’t even change the pattern of his breath, but you could hear his heart speed up at your whispered question.

“I don’t remember,” he replied.

You took a few slow, shallow breaths. “Me either.”

His hand glided slowly up your shoulder until he reached the back of your neck, and he stroked his thumb along the shell of your ear.

“We were good together, weren’t we?” he asked quietly.

You tilted your head and brushed your lips against his neck in a caress so feather-light it was almost imperceptible.

Almost.

“The best,” you whispered.

He swallowed hard, the sound plainly audible to your ears. The two of you sat unmoving for a long, long time, simply holding each other. He took a shaky breath.

“I—” his voice failed, and he fell silent again.

“I know,” you whispered, kissing his neck. “I know.” You pressed your lips against his jaw, and then the corner of his mouth. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Finding the right words.”

The hand on the back of your neck slid up to hold your head, and he turned to gaze into your eyes, your faces so close together that you could feel his soft, warm breath on your skin.

“What can I say that would be enough?” he asked, his voice quiet and unsteady.

You rested your palm against his jaw, feeling the rough, familiar prickle of his facial hair. Your thumb stroked across his cheekbone, then over his lips.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered. “I already know.” You kissed him softly. “I’ll always know you.”

He pulled you closer, cradling your head in his hands as his lips brushed against yours. His familiar taste flooded your senses. The kiss was gentle and slow, his tongue just grazing between your lips before the two of you parted reluctantly. He rested his forehead against yours as he brought his hand around to caress your cheek. 

“Do you think you could ever love me again?” he asked.

You were silent for a moment before you confessed, “I never stopped.”

The rise and fall of his chest paused for an instant, then resumed.

“Neither did I.”

---

Want more Bad Batch fics? I have two for Hunter: First Kiss ficlet (sfw) and "I Wish All Readers a Very Hunter Life Day" (very spicy).

Ragu list:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @mandos-mind-trick @littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @clonemedickix @marierg @idontgetanysleep @moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine @multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam @banksys-rat @skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist @cw80831 @kimiheartblade @meredithroseg @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal

[sforzesco]

CAIUS TREBONIUS AND MARK ANTONY, MARCH 15th

The Hetairia of Cassius, Luciano Canfora

Cic. Phil. 2

(taps mic) so as we all know, conspiracy is a kind of seduction, and actions not taken can be just as loud as the ones that are. so. uh. fellas! hey fellas. heyyyyyy.

like, I was looking at the Dolabella-Caesar-Antony mess yesterday, but something really fun and vicious happened here and I will be rotating it around in my head at maximum volume for the foreseeable future

the red panels are the Assassination of Julius Caesar by Vincenzo Camuccini (the pen and ink drawing, not the painting)

[xxplastic-cubexx]

There's like one good issue where a boy develops mutant powers overnight, but it's just the worst power, where he basically destroys all organic matter in his orbit. Like he wakes up and finds his parents' clothes crumpled on the floor and then he goes to school and his girlfriend and friends and teachers all start dissolving around him, and the more he freaks out the worse it gets. The rest of the comic is him hiding in a cave and Wolverine finding him. Wolverine, who can't die, who was purposely sent by Xavier to do what no one else could. Because the kid's power couldn't be controlled and was a terrible power. It was a really sobering issue, very sad and, I thought, very well done. It was like a gem among Ultimates. But then Ultimates also gives us fucking colonel sanders Magneto and I know he wouldn't be caught dead in that fit.

He does have one of his best outfits early on, too, which lives rent free in my head and has been part of my rotating phone backgrounds for weeks now.

He has two modes: The Theatre Drip is Immaculate, and I've Been Brainwashed Into Teaching 4th Graders

I REMEMBER THAT ISSUE- or i at least remember hearing that story summary from my brother i think that was like. Oneeee of the Ultimate stories i wanted to read cause i thought it sounded interestin....

also actually crying at this panel cause This Was Another One Of Those 'the ultimate universe has Some nice things' examples i had but you're so right the colonel sanders look has me gutted i CAANT with this scene because of that outfit alone (in general whenever erik has facial hair beyond stubble i shrivel up and die tbh)

this outfit tho ..... i think im with it ..... at the very least the sleeves are very much exuding I Really Fuck With Bishop Sleeves and I Too, Really Fuck With Bishop Sleeves because of the drama of it all ....