#someone: literally kisses her

[tvrningout-a]

The demon is just watching her, silently admiring how she looks when she's focused on drawing. He had promised to stay out of her but he can't help it. "Hey Chiyo." She's only given those words, enough to catch her attention and gaze, but that's it. He moves quickly, leaning down to place a soft kiss upon her lips. It's quick, barely lasting a couple of seconds before he breaks it. Yet he's slow to pull away, only blinking at her as he processes what he's actually just done. "Sorry. You just... You looked really pretty."

unprompted | @cursedblessed kisses chiyo!

she doesn't usually have anyone over when she's working. it's just too easy to be distracted, to procrastinate. and she'd like to say that having james beside her is different, that she's completely focused and not at all bothered by the gaze she feels upon her face. she'd like to say that she isn't embarrassingly aware of the warmth just a few inches away from her and that she hasn't thought about scooting closer. she'd like to say that she's comfortable as can be, but it just isn't true ( she thinks too much, puts too much effort into pushing the thoughts down and out of sight ).

she responds to her name much too quickly, she thinks -- or, rather, she would have thought so if not for the lips that gently press against her own. it's chaste, fleeting, but her heart jumps all the same. she stops breathing all the same. she stares up at james all the same, brow furrowed and lips slightly parted.

sorry. you just... you looked really pretty.

anxiety flares to life in chiyo's chest even as butterflies flutter inside her stomach ( or is that anxiety, too? ). she breaks eye contact, gaze falling to james' mouth and then finding a spot off the the side to focus on instead. " you could've just said so, " chiyo utters, and she wants it to sound much more casual than it does. the way she says it makes it sound like she's asking a question. why did you kiss me? what does this mean?

she should ask him plainly. she shouldn't hope james will understand what she isn't saying, but the closest chiyo can get is, " you don't normally kiss your friends to compliment them. "

[inkskinned]

you said you were stuck in a time loop, which was fine. i feel like late-stage capitalism has us all in a time loop, ammiright? you came barging in at 5:33. in the morning. i hadn't even processed the idea of coffee.

but you had this look of utter panic in your eyes. terror like the ocean. you grabbed my cheeks. im in a time loop.

i don't know why in movies the first reaction is to deny it. when someone is panicking like that, it's not appropriate to ask them to calm down. it didn't matter if i believed it, what mattered was that you believed it so much that it was consuming you.

so here we are. i pour you some of the dark roast. "you look like utter and entire hell," i say.

you push your fingers into your eyes. "you always say that."

i try to think of something funny to say that i wouldn't have said on previous time loops, but jokes don't land without the proper timing (lol). "remind me to think -"

"-yeah, of a joke that only works in the future. and before you say anything, i know you're pissed i just stole your punchline." you bolt the coffee, which is wild. it's very hot. you don't seem to notice.

i blow on mine to cool it down. i both am very pissed at you and also i can't see you in this amount of panic without wanting to help. but i'm also not really sure what we are, not since i saw you kiss her like that, no offense. it just was like, kind of rude when you knew i liked you.

and besides. i'm just like, barely a person. i write omegaverse fanfiction. i love the concept of a time loop, but what the fuck am i gonna do? send an alpha in there? i open my mouth.

you point at me. "you're about to ask why me. and then say some disparaging shit about yourself. i'm just a nerd who plays dnd or something. that self-own is slightly different each time." you sigh. "i know you think you can't really help me. i don't know who can help me. i only came to you because you fucking believe me." you check your watch, sigh, and throw your head back. you cover your eyes with one hand. "i've come here on 26 separate revolutions," you say. "you have believed me every time. and yeah, i have no idea how you fit into this but i just -" you sigh again. "i just like fucking talking to someone about it."

"do you need more cof-" i start, but you're already holding the empty cup out. i frown at it. "you're not getting any more until you promise not to bolt this one like an animal."

you laugh a little and sit up, pushing your hair out of your face. "okay, that's new dialogue. but to be fair to you, i'm not usually this rude. i'm still pretty new at all of this." you check your watch again. another sigh. i guess you're cruising for a personal best in the Sigh Olympics.

i almost tell you im not an NPC but i've played enough video games to know i'm very much an NPC. i pour you another cup. "so what happens in the loop?"

"really bad explosion." you mutter into the mug. you put your elbows on the table (rude) and bury your face in your arms like an angsty teenager. one hand floats up while you talk, because evidently you literally can't talk without your hands. "i have to save the day and there's this bomb and i have no bomb training and it keeps moving, you know."

"do i die?"

you peek up from your arms. "yeah. bigtime. you keep trying to run or stay or do anything and you always super die."

"oh."

"to be fair, like, everyone dies in it though.... so you're in good company."

i hate that you make me laugh. i hate that being around you always feels tingly and strange, this electric tension between us. something that is evidently (given how you stuck your tongue down a stranger's throat literally 3 days ago) (well. 3 for me) super one-sided. i take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes.

i die today, i guess. a little spark of panic starts at the top of my hands and starts whipping up my wrists.

"shit," you say. you look at your watch and jump to your feet. "i have to go. if i can come back, i will. i am still trying to figure out when is best to do everything, you know? the order of stuff. maybe morning isn't good for us."

i look up at you and think about how you keep kissing me in the back of my car and in alleyways and in the dark. and i can never fucking get a read on you. and i also think about how incredibly panicked you look. how broken. how long have you been doing this? "i don't want to die," i say.

you glance downwards. "well, you're not really dead, you'll come back in the loop."

"but i will have died." my hands are shaking. i am trying really hard to stay calm.

you push your hands through your hair again. "i really have to go. i will have this discussion with the next version of you, though. it is like, something i am thinking about."

"but i don't get a next version," i say. i don't really have the language for this, because i haven't had 26 tries with you. i only have my memories: you, a week ago. drunk and telling me you loved me in my ear. you, kissing her anyway. you, months ago, throwing up on my birthday, whispering to me i ruin everything i touch, always, over and over. please don't ask. i can't ever fucking have that be you.

i run my finger along the rim of the mug. "i don't want to die in this one."

you seem baffled by this. "i get that but - time will reset, you'll be fine, you won't even remember we talked about this."

"but i know now." i stand up too. "i have to live the rest of this day knowing i could die. knowing i probably am going to."

"you could always die, to be fair."

i feel my hands get out of control. "earlier, you said i always say a different insult about myself. what if you're just going through different parallel universes and those are all just different - but real - versions of myself? what if you're not in a time loop, you're in a fucking universe loop?"

"if it helps, i've wondered this too. also, you're hot in all of them. if that helps."

i point at you. "no flirting. i'm trying to figure out if i die today."

"who's flirting?" you catch my wild hands and give me that long, perfect smile. like we're in this together. "i won't let ya die." you check your watch and sigh again. "well. maybe not this time."

i grit my teeth. you are so not making quips at me while i try to explain the existential dread i'm having. "does the time loop reset if i fucking kill you?"

"honestly i don't know how long it continues after i die, because i just wake up. it could be that the loop goes until the explosion for everyone, and we're all in the loop, or it could be that when i die, the loop restarts. when i die i wake up, is all."

i pull away from you and stalk into the kitchen and start doing all 3 of my dishes. "okay, first, you know i was joking. and secondly, this is exactly my point. you don't know if this is just a parallel universe. maybe in the ones where you died, the explosion happened and nobody reset and it's just you travelling." i have to stop and push my heel into my eyeball. "... how often have you died?"

i look at you. you look at me. you give me this very sad, halfway smile and a little what can ya do shrug. something in that action seems so old and weary that i want to burst into tears.

"i have to go," you say. "really. for real. there's this family of five i save from getting into a car crash. and i know it's like oh but we're all gonna die in the explosion anyway, what's the point. and..." you shrug again. "it matters to me, is all. at least i saved them for now. at least i saved anything."

you pad over to me and wrap me in a tight hug. you always seem so tall against me. i feel your cheek rest against the top of my head for a moment. for a second, it's just us, and the space is warm, and my heart is a little broken hare.

you leave me there, and i stand in my stupid badly lit kitchen with my stupid mugs. i think about you. i start texting my mom that she needs to get out of the city, but it feels pointless.

i don't know what to do. tomorrow is the same day for you. but i have to prepare to die in my today.

[dykesevika]

arcane give her to the lesbians pls .

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

YOU DRINK YOUR COFFEE BLACK AND WE ARE AFRAID OF EACH OTHER ; SHOKO IEIRI

synopsis; shoko makes you a morning cup of coffee; turns out she’s not very good at that, but it’s the thought that counts.

word count; 4.2k

contents; shoko ieiri/reader, gn!reader (but written w a fem!reader in mind), fluff fluff fluff!!, just normal morning shenanigans at the ieiri household, implied stsg (my brand), shoko can be a girlfailure. as a treat, reader is absolutely whipped (and so am i)

a/n; been writing too much gojo n geto lately. neglecting my wife :((((((( let it be known that i am a shoko stan first human second. this one is for my wlws pls eat up!!!!

you wake up to the sound of your girlfriend’s voice.

melodic and soft, low and saccharine; almost like she’s coaxing you out of hiding. a sound so lovely you wish you could drown in it, laced together with a distinctly raspy tilt, one you can only attribute to the copious amounts of cigarettes she smoked back in high school. a leftover residue, bittersweet memories ghosting her lips — one that gets you a little bit weak in the knees.

in the mornings, it’s particularly prominent, a little intoxicating. manifesting itself as a shiver down your spine, a jolt of your heartbeat, a flush on your skin for every word that she speaks. it’s enough to have you slipping from sleep’s embrace, carried back into the cradle of reality.

why you notice her voice first, and not the smell of something burning — or the sound of insistent beeping — is honestly beyond you. 

it doesn’t take long for your sleepy brain to react, however, a pang of anxiety rushing through your slumbering veins. hurriedly stirring you awake. abrupting your dreamlike, drowsy state, tangled up in silken sheets with your neck smudged by lipstick marks; an alluring red, one shoko typically favors when she’s going out for a drink. coming home just a tiny bit tipsy, affectionate and giggly.

and when your eyelids finally flutter open, your mind melting into the motion of the waking world, you shoot up in a sudden bout of panic.

because fuck, you belatedly, groggily realize — that’s the fucking fire alarm.

and shoko is spewing curses, from afar, loud enough that you can hear it even through the fog of fatigue that clouds your brain. a raspy string of words that you don’t quite catch, but they’re enough to have you scrambling out of bed, nearly bumping into the doorframe as you kick the blanket off your legs.

”what happened?” you croak out, chest heaving a little, having stumbled into the smoke-filled kitchen. disgruntled, reeling with the aftermath of your deep slumber, cold air nipping at your bare skin. the balcony door is open, and the smell of rain invades your apartment.

when you look out the window, all you see is a gray sky, blanketed by a thick coating of wool. smothered by clouds, not a single ray of sunlight slipping through the cracks. the world smells dewy and sweet, asphalt and flowers melting into a nostalgic fragrance, one that reminds you a bit of high school smoke breaks — huddling under the slide at the nearest playground, watching a pretty girl wrap her lips around a cigarette, exhaling smoke just for it to melt into the pouring rain.

one that reminds you a bit of the woman right in front of you, balancing on a chair and stretching her goosebump-ridden arms towards the ceiling, wearing nothing but a lacey bra and a pair of unbuttoned jeans. messy hair that cascades down her back, brows furrowed, eyes simmering with irritation — before flitting over to meet your own.

shoko blinks. then sighs. ”you woke up?” she mutters, and you try not to shiver when the tremor of her voice deepens, morning-fatigue seeping into the syllables. “fuck. sorry, i —”

she stumbles a little, shifting her weight from one foot to another, and you take a step forward. on instinct, as if getting ready to cushion her fall. ready to be of service, in any way you can.

”don’t worry,” she fumbles with the fire alarm, clicking her tongue. nails scraping against plastic. “it’s fine, i just need to — there we go.” 

finally, the beeping stops. and your shoulders relax, immediately, the tight little ball inside your chest untangling. with a deep inhale, the fragrance of espresso and smoke fills your nostrils, and a sense of calm washes over you. rooting your feet to the floor. 

shoko settles down, too, seating herself on the wooden chair. a huff slipping from her lips. they’re smudged, a blurry red she still hasn’t found the energy to wipe away. 

bringing a hand up to card through her hair, lithe fingers in between her messy auburn locks, she exhales. a blend between fatigue and relief.

”god. i need a cig.”

a moment passes. she raises her head, and sees the sleepy little pout playing at your lips — her eyes softening. blooming with something fond. giving you a smile, tired, small. but reassuring. 

”i’m just kidding, love,” she chuckles. “relax.”

”don’t joke about that,” you frown, rubbing the sleep from your weary eyes. stifling a tiny yawn. ”.. took me so long to get you to quit.”

(sometimes you can still see the smoke leave her lungs when she exhales.)

shoko keeps smiling, but doesn’t say anything else. the pitter patter of rain against your balcony railing fills the silence of the kitchen, still brimming with a light layer of smoke, slowly dwindling. cold air drawing it out. clad only in one of suguru’s old t-shirts, you shiver, and shoko seems to notice.

“good morning,” she coaxes, opening her arms slightly — and you move forward, a moth to a flame. without thinking. “sorry for waking you.”

she wraps her arms around your waist, attaching her jaw to the curve of your shoulder, and you melt into the embrace. leaning close, to tuck yourself into her neck. she smells like lavender shampoo. “‘s fine,” you mumble, a yawn muffled into her collarbone. “what happened? are you okay?”

when her plump lips press against the sensitive skin of your neck, right next to one of the kiss marks she left there last night, you can’t help but shiver again. she must feel it, because you can hear the smile she’s trying to bite back in her voice when she answers.

“mm,” she hums, a gravelly noise that makes your throat clog up a little. “just burned something, it’s fine. don’t worry.”

tentatively, you take a step back. just to see her. gazing down at her, into her hazel eyes, the fading crescents beneath them. not as dark as they used to be, not as heavy with lost sleep.

shoko is gorgeous. always, every single day, but you think she’s particularly breathtaking like this. when it’s early, and she’s groggy and a little disheveled, eyes weary and lipstick smudged — bra strap close to slipping off her shoulder, black lace against pale skin, moles littering her forearms and chest like star clusters. oversized jeans that expose the curve of her waist, the fat of her hips, and you don’t notice how intently you’re staring until shoko’s raspy voice reaches your burning ears.

“eyes up here, baby.”

you do as you’re told, and she stifles a chuckle. eyes rich with amusement. you try not to blush.

“sorry.” you chew at the inside of your cheek. eyes trailing to the houseplants by the windowsill. “.. you’re just so pretty.”

shoko tilts her head, an exasperated little breath rolling off her tongue. almost a coo. she’s incapable of blushing; but if she wasn’t, you’re sure she'd blush. 

“thanks.” her touch is light, fingertips trailing down the expanse of your arm. “you are, too. red is a good colour on you.”

you blink. shoko’s eyes are crinkled at the edges, soft lines of crows’ feet, and you huff when you realize she’s talking about the marks on your neck. suddenly a little self-conscious, you bring a hand up to rub at the skin — as if hoping to wipe them away. you doubt it works. shoko just breathes out an airy chuckle, getting up from her seat.

she looks tired, still. stretching her limbs out, sleepily, blinking drowsily.

and it’s odd, you think. that she got up this early, that she didn’t cling to you and make you stay with her in bed like she usually does. you don’t know anyone who loves sleeping in more than shoko does. especially after a night out.

so it’s strange. very strange.

“hey, sho.”

“hm?”

you tilt your head. “why are you up this early, anyway?”

she blinks, and then glances at the clock on the wall. ticking idly, counting down. when she looks back at you, she’s got a single eyebrow raised. “it’s not really early.”

“for you it is,” you quip, something resembling a grin tugging at your lips. and she rolls her eyes, smiling, before linking her arm with yours. bringing you to the stove.

“i was, uh —“ a pause. she does a little cough under her breath, clearing her throat. “trying to make coffee.”

silently, you look at the mess in front of you; what used to be your squeaky-clean stovetop, now stained with a muddy, rusty residue. an unassuming coffee pot sits to the side, having seemingly boiled over, smoke still drifting up into the air.

shoko cringes, a little, before a wry smile makes its way to her lips. ”it was…” she clicks her tongue. sighing softly. ”an attempt.”

”… wait.” you turn to look at her, dubiously, and she avoids your gaze. ”that’s what you burned? coffee?” still no answer. a tiny smile tugs at your lips, and you can’t help it if your voice comes out sounding a little teasing. ”how is that even possible?”

”look,” shoko exhales, heavy. ”i don’t know, okay? i think it was the coffee grounds, or something. i look away for one second, and it’s just —”

a little giggle slips from your lips, and shoko shoots you a glare. mostly harmless, but she untangles her arm from your own. ”sorry, it’s just —” you apologize, failing to hide your amusement. ”why didn’t you just use the espresso machine, honey?”

she bites her lip, and you think she might be just a little embarrassed. averting her gaze, briefly flitting towards the machine in question. ”… i didn’t know how to use it,” she mutters. ”i’ve seen you do it, obviously, but i never paid attention to the steps.”

a smile graces your lips. “it’s not that complicated once you know how it works,” you nudge her arm with your elbow. ”it just looks that way.”

she hums. a click of her tongue, as she adjusts her bra strap. ”well, anyway. i tried. so.”

”right.” you try to stifle a grin, to no avail. ”so… you burned your coffee.”

”and woke you up.” she grins, herself, just a tiny bit self-deprecating. but pretty, always, hair falling over her eyes when she tilts her head. ”a mess, aren’t i?”

”not at all.”

shoko looks at you, and your eyes meet hers. unflinchingly. tired irises falling into the gentle hue of your own, trickling down to the curve of your lips. there’s an honesty to your voice that she’s never quite been able to deal with. 

(love, she thinks. a kind of love she finds somewhat hard to stomach. a sea of acceptance that she fears she’ll eventually drown in.)

before she can properly fall into a morning spiral, you stretch your neck a bit, idly, and she gets a good look at the red marks littering your skin. the way your pulse beats at the base of your throat. tender, slight, a mantra she’s grown just a little bit addicted to. 

”why, though?” you hum, and shoko blinks. snapped out of her thoughts, and back into reality. back into you, the faux pout on your lips. playful, but a little confused. ”i thought i was the coffee brewer of this relationship…” 

and it’s true. you’ve been making shoko’s morning cups of coffee for a while, now, even before you moved in together. she likes it black, sometimes with a drop of cream, sometimes with a cube of sugar. never both. you think it’s very like her, to tiptoe that line between bitter and sweet — never entirely giving in to one or the other. there’s a balance to shoko, something stable. something for you to hold on to, a bitter tinge or syrupy taste that always leaves you yearning for more.

truthfully, your coffee brewing skills aren’t anything special. but it makes shoko happy, to wake up and stumble into the kitchen, being able to hug your back. being handed a cup of fresh coffee. sipping from it in silence, muttering out a groggy good morning that makes your heart flutter.

(to you, it’s precious. that lilt of her voice, that bittersweet tinge. the dearest thing in the world.)

plump bottom lip trapped between her teeth, shoko furrows her brows. ever so slightly. nails tapping at the edge of the kitchen counter, a series of satisfying clicks against the marble. “… well.” 

she clears her throat, but doesn’t say anything else. a moment passes. you try to find the answer in the curve of her lips, the crease of her brow, in the depths of her eyes — but you don’t succeed.

something discomforting settles in the bottom of your throat. almost uncertain, maybe a bit anxious. sheepish, as your tired mind spins in circles. parting your lips. hesitant.

“do you… not like the way i make it?” there’s a dejected tilt to your voice when it spills out, one that makes you feel a little silly. so you smile, or try to, eyes trailing towards the windows; you note that the rain has grown heavier. “i can change how —“

“what?” shoko cuts you off. “no. no, of course not — your coffee’s perfect. honestly.”

again, your eyes meet. and again, shoko seems to be struggling with finding the right words. or maybe she’s struggling to voice them.

“i just… haah.” she brings a hand up to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. you just watch, silent, hungry to hear the thoughts she’s not letting you in on.

a beat. again, the sound of the rain against steel railings, the scent of honeydew and concrete. espresso-flavored smoke, almost entirely faded, leaving only cold air to nip at your thighs. 

and again, as always, inevitably, your eyes are fixed on shoko — a moth to her flame. helpless to the cinders that ghost at your skin whenever she looks at you. a certain contemplation swims inside her eyes, simmering beneath the surface, as she chews gently at the plush of her lips. before turning to face you.

you can only blink. but shoko finally speaks, clearing her throat in a way that strikes you as rather sheepish.

“well — you’re always the one doing all the work. aren’t you?” her voice trickles out into the air, low and saccharine, a blanket pulled over your shoulders. so soft you hold your breath and strain your ears, just to make sure you hear it. “i guess i figured… i don’t know.”

shoko pauses, again, and you can almost delude yourself into thinking there’s a cherry red tint to the tips of her ears. when she parts her lips, that usually carefree voice of hers sounds almost meek. almost, but not quite. more like unsure. embarrassed?

another moment passes, entirely silent. shoko swallows her pride.

“.. satoru always brags about suguru making him those fucked up sugary drinks he likes,“ she mumbles. turning around, to rest her back against the counter, looking out at the downpour. “says it makes him feel so loved. or whatnot. so i just —“ 

she waves her hand, haphazardly. 

“you know.“

a beat. then another. you can physically feel your lips part, a kind of surprise weaving itself into the contours of your face. 

and when you finally speak, your voice comes out a little garbled, scrambling for the right words. not sure if you should feel deeply amused, or just a tiny bit horrified. “wait. you’re saying you…” a moment passes. silent, slow, and all you can do is blink owlishly. in disbelief.

“… got inspired by suguru?”

shoko groans, deep and gravelly, almost comically agonized. covering her face with her pretty hands. “don’t say it,” she pleads, “you’re making it sound as dumb as it is.”

a little giggle slips from your lips. accidental, but she still shoots you a displeased look, huffing under her breath. crossing her arms just to tap at her forearm with her nimble fingers. frowning.

“don’t laugh at me.”

“sorry,” you search for her gaze, but she keeps looking ahead. so stubborn. “i don’t mean to, ‘s just — not very like you, y’know?”

shoko exhales. nearly a huff, but not quite. and you think she must be embarrassed, gnawing at her lip like that, fingers eagerly searching for something to fidget with. it makes you soften, impeccably, the blood inside your veins warming up beneath your skin. stirring you, coaxing you into soothing her. your very own heartbeat seems to be a little enamored with shoko ieiri.

”i appreciate the thought,” you smile. a tender tone, sincere. lingering with amusement. “really. but let’s not base our entire relationship around satoru and suguru of all people, alright?”

and again, she sighs. brittle, a little fatigued. brows scrunching together. ”look, i —”

a pause. she gnaws at her plump bottom lip, eyelashes fluttering like a battered heartbeat. her voice comes out sounding soft, all duvet pillows and fresh lavender, a lilt that anchors you to earth. sweet words. so honest it makes your breath hitch.

”i want to take care of you.”

and this time, you’re the flustered one. burning under her gaze, feeling a heat blossom on your skin. feeling the fervent pitter patter of your heartbeat, as her pretty eyes look into yours. a nice mocha brown. 

but even with the fresh embarrassment trickling through your veins, you find it in you to speak. desperate, maybe, to cross the distance between you — even when it borders on non-existent. desperate to feel your heartbeats synchronize, figuratively or literally. to stitch them together.

“i want to take care of you, too,” you echo, looking down at the floor. and then back at your girlfriend. hesitant, a tad shy. but sincere.

a sincerity so palpable it makes shoko feel a little jealous. 

(sometimes, she finds herself wanting to put a hand inside your chest. dig around your organs, run her fingertips down every single one, until she finds what she's looking for. that miraculous something that makes you stick around, that makes you so frighteningly easy to love. that makes her want to safeguard you so terribly.)

”then let’s take care of each other,” she breathes, a small smile slipping into the curve of her lips. reaching out to brush against your knuckle, weave your fingers together. delicate. 

she clears her throat. “… i guess.” 

and you can’t help but smile. somewhat cheeky, a little teasing. “ah,” your eyes crinkle, and you stifle a coo. “did that embarrass you?”

a sharp little scoff. shoko gives you a lazy grin, paired with a soft roll of her eyes. brushing her thumb across your knuckles, even still. “oh, shut up.”

the world seems to still, ever so slightly, as you look into each other’s eyes. like everything else is just background noise, from the pitter patter of the rain to the fading smell of coffee all around you. shoko looks at you like she’s trying to see inside your brain, see what makes you tick, see you for what you are.

and when she eventually leans in for a kiss, you’re pliant. expectant. her lips against yours, breathing you in, as soft as ever. like she’s afraid of getting too greedy. she tastes like nectar and cosmetics.

“give me some time,” she says, after pulling back. hands on your waist, squeezing softly. “i’ll make you another cup right now.”

”sure you don’t want me to do it?” you ask. “i don’t mind.”

another little scoff. offended. ”look, i’m not incompetent, okay? i’m just not used to it.” she untangles herself from you, warmth slipping away. you will yourself not to chase it. “just stand there and look pretty for me.”

and she smiles, when those words make you giggle, infected by your sleepy joy. something soft and silky blooms inside her ribcage, mirrored by the glimmer in your eyes when you intertwine your hands again. fingertips brushing against each other, delicate, a love that’s handled with care.

”.. i like making you coffee,” you whisper after a beat. smiling. under your breath, like you’re telling her a secret. ”it makes me happy.”

a moment passes. something in shoko’s bones still, for a second, enough for you to notice. and her eyes fill with a kind of hesitance. doubt, maybe. or fear.

when shoko opens up to you, it’s always like this. sleepy, rainy days, or tipsy afternoons. in no more than a whisper, a fragile breath, the ghost of a confession. when you can feel her heartbeat, one finger on her wrist, listening to the rhythm of her pulse. intimate. a little clumsy, but…

”i just don’t want you to spend too much of yourself on me.”

the words are spoken in passing, almost casually, a lighthearted kind of resignation. a hungry ghost. one that follows her, follows you. suguru and satoru, too. there’s a lump in her throat, you can tell, something that makes it a little harder to say what she means. an intimacy that frightens her in a way nothing else can; frightened to hold it in her palms, to keep it close without having it break apart.

(not just her — you all are. all four of you. that’s why you've always been together, you think, why you always will be. four hedgehogs huddling together in the cold of night, too desperate for warmth to stay away from each other's spines.)

carefully, almost cautiously, you bring her hand to your lips. as if you’re handling a flimsy sheet of glass. featherlight, a touch so tender you hope she knows what you’re about to say before the words leave your throat.

“you’re worth it,” is whispered against her skin, your lips against her knuckles. shoko softens, but you think the sigh that slips from her lips sounds just a little shaky. “always.”

and finally, you know you aren't deluding yourself. it’s there, visible, the cherry red of her ears; a red that matches the lipstick on your skin. a flush that never travels down to her face. but it’s enough.

she clears her throat. voice beginning to change shape, slowly but surely, morning fatigue peeled off with the ticking of the clock. there’s still a raspy residue, leftover smoke that’ll never quite leave her lungs, but it’s silkier now. trickling like honey from her parted lips.

and it’s terribly soft, her tongue twisting around the vowels, a low lilt that drips with tenderness. she wills herself to smile. tired, but fond. “just let me make you one cup, then.”

so you do.

you let her, after briefly pointing out the functions of the far too expensive espresso machine that satoru bought you when you first moved in, and she listens intently. those pretty eyes, the intelligence behind them, her lips pursed in focus. shoko’s a genius, you’ve always thought — so effortlessly good at memorization, at figuring out how things work. what ties everything together. 

you think it’s a little comical that she struggled so much with making coffee, of all things, but you choose to attribute it to her slight hangover.  

because she’s focused, when she begins to fiddle with the machine. attentive. as if she’s dissecting it. a satisfaction in the way she moves, the way everything clicks into place as she works. everything serves a purpose, every single part in the machinery, every tube or pump of caffeine. she compares it to the human body, a glint in her eyes, and you can’t disagree.

all you can do is watch her. silently, entirely mesmerized. sitting on the kitchen counter, bare thighs against the marble, swinging your legs. telling her about the dream you had, while she listens. always.

a fresh, thick aroma of espresso and rainwater begins to waft through the apartment. one you drink in, greedy, steam filling your lungs. as you admire how the tiny droplets bounce off the hyacinths blooming on your balcony.

and when she’s finished, producing one cup of espresso, tailored to your liking, you can’t still the beating of your heart. unsure if you should blame it on the caffeine yet to enter your veins, or the proud smile that lingers on your girlfriend’s lips. maybe the way her fingers curl around the handle, the way a soft here, baby, spills from her smudged lips. all of the above, probably.

she’s gorgeous. breathtaking. sometimes you want to give her everything, more than you could live without. your heart, your lungs, your eyes. anything she asks for.

but she would never. all she’ll ever need is for you to keep sticking around, keep telling her about your silly dreams, keep letting her feel the beat of your pulse at the base of your throat. a mantra she’s fallen a little bit in love with.

and when you put your lips against the ceramic, and a bittersweet scent fills your lungs, you think you can taste it. that care, a love soft enough to mend all the jagged edges of your heart.

shoko smiles. smoothing a stray eyelash from your skin, thumb against your cheekbone. “how is it?”

(you swear it’s the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had.)

[mushroominaforest]

CHAT CHAT CHAT

ONE OF MY FRIENDS ACCIDENTALLY SPILLED SOMETHING TODAY THIS IS BIG

I was chatting with one of my friends at lunch today and the topic of my crush came up, and then one of my other friends (who I’m not as close to) was like “wait you like her back?”

When I tell you I almost broke my neck turning to face her because I moved so fast-

Anyways her eyes widened in horror because apparently she wasn’t supposed to tell me that top secret information, and she’s the only person my crush has ever admitted this to but (I’m still not entirely sure if this is still accurate her feelings might have changed by now and I’m trying not to get my hopes up) SHE LIKES ME BACK

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

I am trying not to get too excited too fast BUT she did give me this really pretty ring as a gift on Monday morning SO THERE MIGHT BE HOPE

[codenamethebird]

More Hades 2 rambles from me! Though this time round it's a continuation of a point I made in this post.

Specifically, that I think the final boss of the Surface will be a living human mortal.

A couple people on that post disagreed that it would be a human, mostly just because of boss fight mechanics. Which I do get, but this is my not so little refute of that idea (all in good fun of course, I very well might be wrong! I just have thought a bunch about it since then and wanted to ramble about it).

I'll be getting into later how the game could have a hard mechanically satisfying human final boss later, because first I want to talk about how it would make sense naratively. Not because anyone remotely argued this point, I just think it's interesting haha.

So let's go back for a moment to Hades 1, and it's final boss, Hades himself. On a mechanical sense, it makes total sense, Hades is the god and master of the underworld Zag is trying to escape. He would be the final obstacle. But what really makes Hades work as the final boss, is the story and emotional reason he's there.

The plot of Hades is ultimately about Zag's messy relationship with his dad. And that final boss fight is an ongoing conversation with him. While irl you and your questionable dad constantly fighting to death is not a great way to fix your problems, these are weird bound to underworld greek gods. Death is their weird love language for like half this cast haha. There is a reason Death is one of, if not the main love interest.

Okay now that I've established that, let's look at the one final boss we do know from Hades 2, Chronos. Now it's Grandpa's time to shine. Unlike Hades 1, he fits a lot cleaner into a more traditional villian role. The monster who literally takes over your house and takes your family hostage.

In that way, it is a personal fight for Mel to save her family, but Mel lacks a specific personal connection to Chronos himself. Obviously there's the whole Grandpa thing, but she wasn't like raised by him or anything. He is a convient big bad she can hate simply and wholeheartedly. While he does try to challenge her beliefs at times, Mel will never listen to him because of the whole family kidnapping thing, and Gramps equally doesn't want to engage with her either. He just wants to be a dick to her.

While I'm a firm believer in the "We (the gods) are actually the bad guys" theory, I don't think Chronos is secretly an angel. He did you know eat his kids and that entire scene with Hades and him just reeked of shitty dad vibes. While Chronos might be better for humanity, I think he really is using them as a prop and doesn't genuinely care about them. (This is a derail, but I do think the human army side of things including Prometheus will turn on Chronos at some point. Specifcally that they are already planning to).

But yes, basically, while I adore Chronos as a villain, you get none of the character growth from either party that you got between Zag and Hades in the first game. Obviously, we are still in early access, so there's more dialouge to be had. But from what we have seen, those two are not changing the other. So this is my roundabout way to say that must mean the Surface boss is the one that is going to be all about Melinoe's character growth.

I don't think I need to explain why fighting a human would be a fascinating place for character growth for humanities #1 hater Melinoe. Mel's the Hades equivalent in this game (not the Zag), who will not listen to anyone who disagrees with her. Getting beat up by a human might actually start to get it through her head.

But also I want to dig into why I don't think the final boss will be another Titan. I've seen Atlas thrown around a bunch as a possible final Surface boss. Also Typhon... I'm certain there are others. But I don't know what they would add to the narrative, especially as a final boss? I think there's more evidence for Atlas, so I'll focus on him.

It would make some sense, he was the leader of the titan rebellion and much like Prometheus, in certain versions of the myth he was also freed from his punishment by Heracles! Which considering Heracles suspicious lack of dialouge so far, and the dialouge he does have being a god hater, I do think he's the one who freed Prometheus in this game.

But other than those connections, what does Atlas add to make him an interesting antagonist to Mel? He's not particularly tied to humanity, and while his punishment sucked he did lead a rebellion against the gods (and traditionally the reasons have nothing to do with humans).

Mostly, in my opinion, if the game was going to have a titan also be the final boss for the Surface, it wouldn't be Atlas. It would be Prometheus. He's the powerful titan who has a legitimate gruge against the gods and who can engage with Mel in interesting ways, challenging her stance against the gods. But they have already used Prometheus, I don't know how they could write Atlas (or whatever titan/god) in a way that would be more interesting than Prometheus, and rival the Hades boss fight for thematic weight. Also, it would be 2 titans in a row, which isn't nessisarily a bad thing, but still.

I've also seen people throw around it might he Ares, which I will admit would I would be way more excited for that another titan. Theres some interesting ideas to be had with an Olympian who has betrayed the gods. But we already have dialouge with Athena where she says how Chronos' armies motivations wouldn't line up with Ares'. And I feel like going from a dude only obsessed with war to someone fighting for some kind of higher cause would be a jump in character. Not impossible, but a little weird.

And ultimately, I just think that a Human would serve the purpose better as an antagonist to Mel who would shake her worldview on living mortals in particular. A fight with Ares would mess with her relationship with the gods, but not as clearly with humans.

Okay now that I've talked about themes, how about what people actually had an issue with lol, how would a final boss with a human make sense from a boss fight perspective. I have three main ideas, that don't really contradict each other and could all exist in the fight.

1st idea: multiple enemies. We've heard that there are human armies, the final boss could possibly be a leader of them. We could have hords of enemies, could have select recognizable commanders that have different skill sets, etc. None of the Surface boss fights have multi bosses in them (they have random mobs but none like the sirens or Theseus and Asterius), so I don't think it would be strange to have it. And while stretching the definition of a human boss a bit, these other bosses could be ghosts and other kinds of beings (I just think the main boss should be a breathing human).

2nd idea and tbh my main one. Have them be a Witch! Or some other kind of magic user. I feel like this should be obvious, but a lot of the theming around Hades 2 is witchy/magic stuff and it's wild we don't have a major witch enemy yet (other than obviously Hecate, but for obvious reasons I don't count her).

I'm thinking some kind of High Priestess of Chronos kind of character, we still don't know exactly how Chronos was revived and this could tie in, but there's a bunch of ways you could spin a magic user! I think it would be a prime place to put a narrative foil to Melinoe. A fellow Witch whose family was stolen away by the gods who is looking for justice. Maybe when finally looking into a mirror, some of the stuff Melinoe's been told will finally breach her thick headed skull haha.

I don't think I really need to get into the technical about how a witch fight could be cool. But one idea, tying into my first point, a magic user could have mind powers and compell powerful beings to fight for them. This could be the Zag boss fight of borderline crack theories or even maybe the aforementioned Ares who maybe got captured during his war path. A magic fight doesn't need possessed enemies, but it could be cool.

And finally, my 3rd idea. You might be going, but how could a human be more powerful than Prometheus? Well first point magic, but more seriously, just have them be boosted by Chronos and/or other allies. I mentioned a theory about a high priestess sort of character (the power of God and ani--), but more specifically, if they do go the route of a foil to Melinoe, she has her boons from the gods. Much like Theseus in Hades 1, the final surface boss could gain the boons of Chronos/Prometheus/and the like. Maybe even a Chaos boon, they have already aided Chronos once, and there's a decent chance the humans might betray Chronos at some point so Chaos might be chill with them. This could also be a way to introduce more titan characters and the like without needing to make models for them haha.

But yes, tldr, magic human gives us both the thematic weight of it being a human, witch stuff to parallel Melinoe, and just cool powerful magic fight as a final boss (and it could parallel the Hecate boss fight, the first boss u fight and the last being magic based).

[child-of-the-danube]

For no particular reason

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

(you get the idea)

SPOILERS IN THE TAGS

[mutantjellybeans]

The psychological damage all that queerbaiting in the 2000’s and 2010’s did to me is crazy because I spent all of Agatha All Along going “I think they’re lesbian milf ex-wives haha” and then I was somehow SHOCKED when I found out that yes, canonically, that’s exactly what they are 😭😭😭

[nohr-selphias]

despite not knowing anything about his character at all ive decided that davrin is a gallant chivalrous gentleman who will give my self-hating, "world-is-my-punishment" Rook the sweet gentle love that she deserves

[wexhappyxfew]

Hihihi!!!

I am absolutely floored by these prompts, seriously. So to start it off, I humbly request:

“this isn’t up for discussion. i know you’re used to looking out for yourself, but i need you to understand that you don’t have to live like that anymore. i’m here. for as long as i’m around, i’m going to come between you and anything that wants to hurt you.”

For Kennedy and Bucky if you feel so inclined. They are one of my fav couples (although it is so close let me tell you), but obviously only write if it speaks to you!

Can’t wait to see these pieces, Shannon!

-☀️

HI SUNSHINE ANON!!!! (enthusiastically waves) thank you so much for sending this in (plus your others, thank you so so much)! i got so excited seeing this kennedy x bucky request as i was already half-way through writing and realized how well things lined up when i got this request and decided to use it! thank you for the kennedy x bucky love truly!! they are seriously so fun to write and craft and getting to look at a more intimate, raw and emotional side of them here (with that lovely dose of angst and whump and comfort) was exactly what we needed with them! so i humbly present kennedy x bucky in the Stalag :) thank you so so much again! TRULY!! <33333

she'd fight a war herself

(a/n): HELLO FRIENDS!!!! if you recognize any of the few lines here and there from things i've posted related to kennedy and bucky here in the past few days, this is the piece! and the request really lined up with what i was going for here, so i combined the original kennedy x bucky piece i was working on with this one! and here we are! and im sobbing! okay! please enjoy! :)

"Knock, knock."

Kennedy's bruised knuckles tapped against the wooden door to the small library in their bunkhouse, where Bucky Egan was currently sat with one of those older wooden chairs pulled up against the window, staring out into the hazy afternoon. His large overcoat was wrapped around his body, hands shoved deep into the pockets, his hair a little more unruly than normal, and a sour look on his face.

Kennedy had been looking for him for at least an hour since she had left the group which had shifted outside - Annie and Buck's idea of 'getting some sunshine' into the group now that it was finally out.

Gray skies and storm clouds had been their friend for the past few weeks, with muddy pathways and cold winds. Now, with the sun out and a warm breeze in the air, there also seemed to be hope floating about.

Bucky, however, was here, sat inside, closed off, and completely alone. Bucky's eyes slowly shifted from the dusted window, his look both stern and far-off all at once, and his shoulders stood tall. She watched his eyes trail to her hand there on the door - the bruises, the ones she had earned herself, along with the one underneath her eye - and offered nothing but a small smile.

Ever since the kiss, in this very room, Bucky Egan had suddenly become everything.

At breakfast or dinner, where she tried to get herself by his side, or out when they managed to get outside, she'd find a way for just the two of them, to talk, to work through whatever the other was feeling, to take hold of the other's hand. Sometimes, when the nights were long and cold, she'd find herself in his bunk, soft kisses being shared back and forth between the two, his warm hands roaming her body underneath her overcoat and button-up and blanket, keeping her both sane and alive all at once. Things were different. And she tried to hold onto every bit of that in every way. The bruises though were different now. And Bucky had been a pistol about them ever since.

"Whatcha doing in here all alone?" Kennedy said, some of the voices outside coming through the walls, the sunshine coming in through the hazy window, half-reflecting off of Bucky's face in a way that made his skin glow in a way it hadn't in a whole, "I was looking for you." At those words, the corner of Bucky's lips curled upwards a bit. She always seemed to get him to grin.

"Just doing some thinking." Bucky said slowly, a nod to follow, "In my thinking spot." Kennedy chuckled and stepped into the room more, shoving her hands in the pockets of her poor, tattered A2.

"In your thinking spot, huh?" Kennedy said, tilting her head to the side, a small smile on her face, "What's bouncing around in your brain?"

Bucky watched her deeply for a moment, it felt like he was looking at her as intently as he could, as if memorizing her face, her dimples, her freckles, her hair the way it was (and it wasn't pretty). He seemed distracted, off-guard, on the low. Her smile fell and instead, worry began to consume her. Bucky was usually far from the person sitting in front of her now. Her heart pounded a bit.

Moving closer, Bucky looked up at her as she came to stand beside him - she offered an attempt at another smile - before reaching forward and running her fingers over those few loose, wild curls of hair against his forehead.

"What's going on?" she asked quietly, a bit more urgency to her voice, retracting her hand, the touch having been, evidently, both gentle and welcome, "You're never this quiet, Bucky, you're worrying me."

"C'mere." Bucky said, voice low and gruff as he reached out his hands and spread his knees a bit. Kennedy watched him for a moment, the desperation in his eyes, making her heart hurt a bit, as she stepped forward and settled between his lap and leg, wrapping her arm around the back of his neck and reaching up her other hand to cup his cheek.

Softly, she guided his face to her own and watched his eyes again, her thumb brushing gently on his stubbled skin. His hand found her waist, thumb brushing back and forth against her jacket as his other hand came to her knee, the warmth of his hand tingling her skin underneath her pants. It felt so natural to be like this, so close and intimate. If it weren't for the war and their circumstances, she would've said it felt like home.

But with Bucky, she was home.

No matter where they were.

"What's going on?" she asked quietly again, her voice soft as he continued to watch her, gripping her like his life depended on it.

Slowly, her leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips - soft, sweet and slightly desperate, but longing enough that her stomach flipped - she was still getting used to this between them. After everything they said to each other, that moment they shared. Pulling back, he watched her again. She offered a small smile.

"We can't just stay here forever." he said quietly, "This place. Now with the SS showing up." Bucky continued to hold her gaze, the look in his eyes both stern and persistent. He looked crazed deep-down inside. "After hearing what the British did…..those holes. We gotta find a way to do something. To get out. Or even just try….." Bucky whispered, his voice dropping, "There's so much more than this place, Kenny. I know that." Kennedy watched him, cheeks warmed from his touch and his presence and him. She slowly nodded.

"I know." she said softly back, "And we will. But for now, it has to be kept on the low. Nothing crazy. You don't want yourself hurt or killed."

"Just like they did to you?" Bucky said back to her, reaching up to take her hand on his face and gently hold it out beside him, fingers tracing the delicate, broken skin on her knuckles before looking back at her, "I don't want them touching you again." Her insides twisted warmly at his words, that protective bite to his voice that made her warm all over.

"I know, baby," she whispered quietly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead, a sigh escaping his lips as he leaned his head back against the wall behind the chair, "we'll get through this. You know that." Bucky watched her, the corner of his mouth lifting upwards.

"How many more times do we have to say that before it's true?" he asked her quietly, his words almost hollow, like he was fighting to believe it, "I wish I was more like you with that." Kennedy watched him with a small smile and shrugged.

"Ask Annie Bradshaw and maybe she'd know. She's got quite the effect on a person." Kennedy said and Bucky managed to smile a bit at that.

"You've got quite the effect on me." he said, as she felt her cheeks warm at his words - something she was always trying to fight away - since when did she blush? Bucky continued to watch her and she let him; watching as his eyes explored her face, his hand coming up a few times to wipe back the ginger hair falling from the poorly done braids behind her head. His eyes rested a few times on her own eyes, before they'd fall to her lips or freckled cheeks and then back to her eyes. It seemed to calm him. Keeping him steady. She wanted that for him.

"I've never wanted to get out of a place more," Bucky whispered quietly, a catch almost in his voice, "you know that?" The thoughts just seemed to cycle and he seemed to spiral.

"I know." Kennedy whispered, reaching up to drag her fingers gently through his hair, his grip tightening on her waist, "We all do." Bucky watched her and leaned closer.

"Do you want kids?" he asked her, catching her the slightest bit off guard there - suddenly she felt every part of him touching her, his eyes on her face and she felt her body warm. Watching him for a moment, she nodded.

"Yeah," she said, "always have." Bucky suddenly seemed to grin at her, genuinely grin and she watched as he reached up and ran his fingers over the end of her braid.

"Bet they'd have your hair color. Bright red hair." Bucky said with a small chuckle, "Our kids." Kennedy watched her, her heart hammering in her chest, her eyes fighting to well with tears.

The thought of being a mother had always been a dream of hers - she had a girl in middle school tell her before that she didn't seem like someone who could be a mom. And Kennedy carried that quote with her everywhere she went. Even when she was dating boys from the country club and they'd tell her about the fortunes and promise rings of her future and the chances of what their kids would inherit. Even when she was home, broken-hearted over that loser from her father's business who had told her 'she was too much'. Kennedy always wanted to be a mother, always.

It was something inherent to her very being, to her entire make-up as a woman. To her.

"Your eyes." Kennedy said, testing the waters right back, her voice sounding strained and choked as she spoke, silently hoping Bucky didn't realize too much, "Definitely your eyes." Bucky met her gaze and smiled at her.

"Nah, nah," he said, "your eyes, my ears. Probably." At that, Kennedy let out a snort of laughter and sniffled a bit, looking towards him again.

"I don't want this to sound dumb, but I promised I'd never try to hide things from you…but, you want to have kids? With me?" she asked him quietly, watching as worry and concern built up in his eyes, straightening his shoulders a bit as he did so. She tried a joke. "But I'm a Red Sox fan." Bucky watched her, jaw set, eyes on her.

"I do." he said quietly, entirely serious, "I hope you know this-" gesturing between them, "isn't just nothing to me. You know that. I'm serious about you, Kenny. Why do you think I want to get out so bad? I sit here, day after day, knowing what we could have outside of this shit hole. I'm real serious about this. About us." Bucky continued to watch her. "You know that." Kennedy melted against him a bit, leaning closer, cupping his cheek as she tilted her head to match his.

"I know, I just…." she started, "I didn't know if I'd ever get the chance to be a mother in a world like this so….hearing you say that. It just, ya know, made me want it more. With you." Kennedy's big eyes trailed up to Bucky's and she watched him watch her back.

"Why'd you say it that way, Kenny?" Kennedy stared at him, those words from middle school ringing in her head. Over and over. Like a bell toll in the church, an echo off a never-ending cave wall.

"Someone, who clearly was very upset with their life, once told me I wouldn't make a good mother." Kennedy whispered quietly, "And I took it to heart and believed it. For a period of time. For a while." Bucky's eyes grew dark and his grip tightened on her.

"You still believe that shit?" Bucky asked her, voice louder than he seemed to want it to be.

"No." Kennedy said, "I used to let it get to me, but….not anymore. Not after being with this group. With you." Bucky watched her, his gaze softening a bit more as he watched her grin.

"Good." he said quietly, a silence falling between them as they watched each other, these small, shy smiles on their lips in a way Kennedy had never seen Bucky even be before. It was honestly enough to make her giddy inside.

"I just know our kids would be Red Sox fans." she whispered and she watched a wild grin appear on his face as he shook his head.

"No! Nah, nah, you've gone too far there," Bucky said, his face starting to glow, "the second they're able to walk, I'm taking them to a game, Yankees, alright? They're getting the playing cards, all that happy horseshit, okay?" Kennedy let out a laugh as Bucky held her closer.

"But what happens if they choose Red Sox, huh, what would you do?" she said, holding her chin high as Bucky smirked and shook his head.

"Wouldn't you like to know." he said softly back and Kennedy nodded with a grin, "Either way, you'd be the best mom those kiddos would ever have, I know that." Just hearing words like that, some deep and genuine and truthful from someone like Bucky made her heart race and her emotion take hold.

"I don't usually go soft on Red Sox fans anyway, but you might've gotten me, Kenny." Bucky whispered softly, catching her gaze as she stared at him. She brushed her thumb across his cheek again and leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.

With how close they were, she couldn't help but feel him deepen the kiss there, this cracked-open rush of feelings enough for her to feel starved for him as his tongue swiped her bottom lip and a sigh left her lips.

She pulled herself as close as possible to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her hands exploring his hair as she tilted her head to get more of him to her.

Breaking apart, slightly gasping for breaths of air, his lips danced across her jawline, dotting along her neck before he was there, sucking gently on a spot near her collarbone. It made her giddy, sitting here, despite the situation, with a man, tall, brooding, and a little goofy, kissing her neck and her of all people, like it was life itself.

It made her a little crazy inside - that he wanted her? He wanted a future, a life, kids…with her? Maybe it made her a little crazy, but it was true. Kennedy let out a giggle leave her lips and Bucky pulled back, eyes soft as he looked to her and grinned lazily.

"What are you laughing about?" he asked her, his voice making her insides twist again.

"Us." she whispered back, "You and me." Bucky watched her with a smirk.

"What about us?"

"Our futures." she said quietly, "God, imagine what our lives could be like."

"You see why I'm pushing the get-the-fuck out narrative now, right?" he said and Kennedy cackled at his words and nodded. Bucky watched her fondly and grinned.

"Well, since the door has been shoved wide open, no longer just a foot in the door, you gotta hit me with those baby names, Kenny, let me have 'em." he said, winking at her and grinning effortlessly, like some cool guy in a movie, "I gotta know what little Egans we'll have."

"You're leaving the naming to me?" she asked him with a laugh and Bucky grinned.

"Hell yeah I am," he said with a wider smile, "seriously, what are they." Kennedy softened and then smiled.

"I always thought Florence was a pretty name. For a girl - Flo for short. Margaret - Maggie for short. Charlotte - Charlie for short." Kennedy said and Bucky grinned, "For boys, well…..Gregory for sure. I've always loved Clark or James, Jimmy for short. Robert….Bobby for short."

"You sure are a nicknames type of girl aren't you?" Bucky said and Kennedy grinned.

"What can I say?" she said, "I thought your name was actually Bucky before I found out that was only a nickname and your name was actually Major John Egan. I was convinced, I'll tell ya." Bucky chuckled at that and smiled at her, reaching up to run some strands of hair back away from her face. He watched her in that sickeningly sweet way that made every part of her body melt in a way she couldn't describe.

"What'd they do to you?" Bucky whispered, reaching up to brush his calloused thumb near the tender part of her bruise, his touch gentle on her skin and her body inviting his touch; she felt in every lifetime, she'd invite his touch like a warm spark, a match with a flame waiting to blow.

Kennedy's smile fell as she watched him - the memories raw, it all seemed fresh in her mind and usually nightmares chased reality away. Instead this time, it was both a mix of reality and nightmares that were her everyday waking truth.

"I knew those Kraut doctors would have something for Bessie's cough." Kennedy whispered, pretty mater-of-factly to him softly - she liked this, whispering with him like things were a secret and that for once it was just the two of them - and she liked hearing his voice whispered back, so low and quiet and soft on her ears. She loved his voice. Bucky watched her, thumb brushing on her bruised cheek gently as he did so. She wanted him to look at her like that forever, however long forever could be if it were him.

"I would've done it for you," Bucky said quietly with a nod, "scrounged it for you-"

"No." Kennedy whispered softly, her eyes flashing to his, "You've already done enough for me, Bucky-"

"You got hurt, Kennedy." Bucky said, his voice thick with emotion, choked somewhere in his throat, "They hurt you." Bucky's eyes flashed with pain and Kennedy shut her mouth slowly.

"I know that." Kennedy whispered, "I've gotten hurt before. All the time. Even when I was a kid. And for a friend, for someone like Bessie, I'd do it again." Bucky watched her still.

"They hurt you." Bucky repeated, this time his voice firmer, but shaky, like he was standing out on a balance beam, waiting for the wind to take him and tip him towards the abyss.

Silence fell between them and suddenly Kennedy felt more emotional than she had in days. He cares, her mind seemed to scream, he's saying this because he cares! But her mind couldn't seem to make sense of it, she couldn't seem to get that picture in her mind. She was still in that flightless mode, that build-up-your-walls-and-you-are-fine mode.

"I know." Kennedy whispered her voice shaky, "But I'm okay." Bucky's eyes moved back and forth frantically between hers for a second before focusing on the bruise on her cheek again.

Being this close to him, staring into his gaze, his eyes, knowing that if felt like he could see the deepest parts of her, scared her. In so many ways. In ways she didn't want to have to think about.

Sitting in this silence with him wasn't something she was entirely used to - and she couldn't get her mind to work, to get words formed on her lips. Instead, all she could do was stare right back at him. Convince him with a look that she was okay.

"I don't want you to have to worry about me." Kennedy said quietly, looking up slowly at Bucky with a shy look, "You shouldn't have to worry." Bucky's face moved with a near-grimace, a pained expression flourishing on his features in a way that made Kennedy want to eat her words.

"But I will." Bucky said, his voice louder this time, "Kennedy, look, I…." Bucky's eyes trailed towards the window again, before pulling back to her, "You know, me worrying about you. It….it isn't up for discussion. In my eyes. I know you're used to looking out for yourself, but I need you to understanding that you don't have to live like that anymore." Kennedy's eyes watered.

"I'm here," Bucky said, cupped her cheek firmer this time, looking right into her eyes, desperation flooding his own, "for as long as I'm around, I'm going to come between you and anything that wants to hurt you. Okay?"

"Bucky…." she whispered, but he shook his head and adjusted his grip on her before leaning closer to her.

"They hurt you, Kennedy," Bucky whispered, "and the thought of them laying a single fucking hand on you makes me wanna lose my mind. Touching you. Because you were doing something for a crew member-"

"I don't want you hurt because of me." Kennedy told him quietly, watching as his eyes flicked to hers, pausing mid-sentence.

"Kennedy, I'd taking a fucking bullet for you," Bucky said, watching her with a steady gaze, "I'd do anything for you." Bucky grew quiet. Kennedy watched him back with big eyes.

"Fuck, Kennedy, I love you, I'm in love with you," Bucky whispered, looking up into her eyes, with the purest form of grief and pain and love swirling in his vision, "you worry about the people you love. I'm always gonna worry. Even if you're right beside me."

Kennedy's heart slammed against her chest as she sat wrapped in his arms, breathing the same air he breathed, watching those eyes, memorizing each freckle on his face, every time the muscles moved in his face to make him smile or frown.

Love was a word that had physically hurt her to even say in the past - to her mom, her dad, her brother, to those few guys she had dated and sworn promises and lives with.

Love had never been a word she used well or even understood well.

With Bucky though, she felt she understood love in every which way. In ways that were still to be explored. And no one had ever looked at her with a love like he had - even when she had come to the Stalag, dried blood up half her face, dirt and mud caking her form, starving for life and food and touch, barely being able to acknowledge anything but a bed for a few days, craving everything that was both human and not.

Scorning the world and the place they were in, and every single person.

And Bucky had been by her side and fed her soup and told her stories and held her in the dark as the nightmares and reality seemed to clash in her mind, wrapping her in calming words and blankets made of nothing but thin wool and telling her everything that came to his mind.

It had been Bucky. It'd always be Bucky.

"I'm so in love with you Bucky, you don't even know," Kennedy managed out in a sped up version of what her mind had managed to come up with, "I love you so much. And I don't want you hurt." A tear squeaked out down her face as he watched her.

Slowly, their foreheads met in the small center of space between them, inches between them as Bucky pulled her as close as he physically could to him, the clothes on their very bodies almost too much between them even now.

Slowly and almost achingly, Bucky pressed his lips to hers and she let herself go in that moment. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, hands mused into his hair, his own hands pushed up underneath her shirt and warming her cold skin, dancing near her bra strap and holding her in such a delicate manner, she was sure she could cry about it 10 years in the future.

Bucky's lips were soft, but hungry and by the time his tongue had slipped inside, she couldn't think about anything else. His soft sighs into her mouth, her own mind going a thousand miles a minute with him there so close to her, Kennedy was sure she had entered a world she never wanted to leave.

They came apart gasping for breaths of air before his lips were trailing her jawline, before settling on her neck, and she giggled, curling into his own neck - his jacket nearly smelled like home.

Like Thorpe Abbotts - that hug they'd shared that long night when bombs were going off overhead and Bucky couldn't seem to contain his words or his alcohol.

And God, she had stared at him and sworn she would never think of him again, but here she was, the two of them holding each other in a way she'd never been held before and was thinking of every outcome of their lives past this very point in time.

Bucky's teeth grazed a bit at that soft spot on her neck, before he softly pulled back and kissed her skin gently, peppering that same spot with soft kisses that made her grin into him.

Then, she couldn't help it - giddy with the feel of him there with her and the way he had kissed her, so desperately and hungry, she let out a laugh into his neck and he seemed to feel much of the same of whatever energy she was feeling, because he laughed, too. A low rumble that she felt against her cheek, from his throat, which made her hold onto him so tightly that she never wanted to let go.

"Bucky?" Kennedy whispered against his neck, listening to his heart pulsate - she loved the feel of him right here beneath here - every inch.

"Kenny?" Kennedy pressed a soft kiss to his neck and watched goosebumps appear and a shiver run over his entire body.

"I've never loved someone more than you." she whispered quietly. Bucky tilted his head back and watched her and seeing his eyes so big and soft and there, right in front of her, made her suddenly feel like everything was worth it.

"I love you," he whispered, pressing a peck to her lips before pulling back and smiling at her, "the thinking spot has never let a person down now, has it?"

And then, she was laughing again, clasping a hand over her mouth as she launched her head back.

Laughing with Bucky, God, she'd fight a war herself just to live in this moment with him every night there was in her life.

[notcsk]

i have to ramble about this bc i've seen no one bring it up (Boonboomger)

I think it's so fucking sick to see Mira and Jou's very different reactions to Taiya's lies and reckless behavior in the newest episode. Jou's just a big puppy, we know from the toilet episode that he sincerely wants to save people and protect the innocent, so he's really upset because he joined the Boonboomgers expecting to be a superhero. Mira's not heartless at all, quite the opposite, but I genuinely don't think that's what mattered to her at all in this case.

Because of episode 1.

"Let me guess. You don't like someone else taking the wheel for you."

I'm still on my OT3 + accelbrake bullshit, dw, but I knew from that moment that Taiya and Mira's relationship would be the most special to me. I'd bet anything that this quote is going to repeatedly come back and be relevant for the two of them in particular, because it clearly deeply resonated with Mira, who had previously just kinda gone with the flow, as shown with her ex-boyfriend and her various part-time jobs, but also with Taiya, because the scene makes it clear that quote is coming from somewhere significant to him as well (and hopefully episode 9 will shed more light on this through revealing some of Taiya's backstory, fingers crossed).

Not only is that romantic as hell to my sappy ass brain (especially since not even Chasshiro and Genba questioned Taiya's ruse or motives in episode 8, only Mira did. You even see Chasshiro falter and hesitate once Mira calls them out in the cage.), but also it makes Mira being the one to yell at Taiya so much more significant. Mira is canonically the biggest driving prodigy among the Boonboomgers. It's not about the team not being started for the sake of defending the earth, they're doing the right thing anyway. It's the fact that Mira finally found a purpose to dedicate herself to, one she's truly one-of-a-kind good at, but it was all for the sake of an unspoken agenda. Someone else took the wheel. If Taiya had told her the truth from the start, I know she would have taken to the Big Bang Grand-Prix like a fish to water, and doing hero work on the side would just have been a happy bonus! But he didn't. He made the decision for her without involving her in the process.

And look i just think that's a really fucking juicy dynamic unique to the two of them, and I can't wait to find out what made Taiya, the person who told Mira that quote in the first place, willing to go behind her back after that. We're going to be digging into this further, I'm so sure of it, with how Mira was singled out in episode 8, and I cannot wait for the angst but also how good their particular dynamic is going to be once she makes Taiya see that the team is willing to stand by his dream if he's willing to stand by them.

[flowers-in-my-eye]

if Jude and Inej didnt had male love interests, TRUST that i will immediately headcanon them as lesbians (Jude as a manhating one even) like omg theres no way these girls dont want other girls (i had to resort to hc jude as bi and inej as queer 🤥)

[maybebi47]

its so rare to find an accurately represented autistic character with truly an insane amount of rizz and yet ayda aguefort exists!! peace and love on earth !

everybody say thank you brennan

[possamble]

Do you have any plan to make some kind of bonus chapter or oneshot about marcille's perspective in little creature? It's not like I'm asking you for it ofc!! it's just that i think it'll be interesting to read, and especially since you had those tags about marcille after her fight/outburst with falin and how you couldn't add it to the fic because the fic is from falin's perspective

Probably not about anything that happens during a little creature, but maybe something before or after? Sometimes I do like to do "the other character thinking back to events while doing stuff in a sequel" oneshot type thing, but we'll see how it shakes out!

[giantchasm]

"It turns out that sometimes the future actually belongs to someone else."

Happy Taransusie Tuesday, everyone! Here's...

Content that only ostensibly focuses on Taransusie and is more than anything character analysis of a third party?

How romantic! 🎉🥳

Okay, but no, seriously. Joshing aside, the other day I posted a meme about Sectonia and how she might feel about the idea of Taranza eventually moving on from her. And it was funny. We all laughed. But things can't always be goof-goof "If everyone started saying 'she sent her for you' I would start haunting literally everyone here because no I didn't." I'm a serious guy. I like exploring concepts that make me go "OUCHIE!" and so let's look at that sort of idea through a more somber lens for a moment.

...How would Sectonia feel if Taranza eventually moved on?

Now, I don't know if she's out there... somewhere in Hades or haunting his ass, but either way I think about her a lot. How she might feel in death, especially if she was returned to her right mind.

I think... Sectonia would have a lot of complicated feelings. Like, before we even get to the relationship nonsense. Let's toss all that aside for a second. I think Sectonia would be simultaneously be crushed by the state she left Taranza in and still... upset to eventually see him heal from it. She'd be glad, of course, to watch the scars she left on him fade, but all the same... seeing him make new friends— leave her behind...

That would have to hurt a little bit, wouldn't it? After all, it's not like she'd be afforded the same opportunity. She died young. Via circumstances that were hardly her fault. Of course she'd be a little bit jealous. Of course she'd be a little bit depressed. Maybe even a little bit angry. And she'd feel bad about it, but she would.

So when you factor in the idea of Taranza entering another relationship... oh my gosh, those complex feelings would only intensify. Taranza deserves to be happy. Taranza deserves to move on. She would know that rationally, but at the same time, the heart isn't always rational.

I do think ultimately she'd support him. In whatever he chose to do. Even if it hurt her a little. The least she can do is give him her blessing after everything that happened.

But that's something that applies to just about any Taranza ship. Let's talk about Susie for a moment.

I... think Susie and Sectonia are people who have some similar issues. At least in my interpretations, they're both people who have warped and maimed themselves in an endless search of perfection hoping it will grant them acceptance from others. But this hasn't granted them peace of mind, and in fact all it's done is pull them further from 'themselves.'

I don't know. I just think they'd have a lot to talk about, even in contexts that don't flagrantly disregard the Bechdel test like this one. They're both girlies who would, like, really vibe to both "Oh No!" by Marina and the Diamonds and "Body" by Mother Mother if that's a sentence that makes even a lick of sense. Their mental illnesses aren't the same, but they're like cousins. Their mental illnesses went to school together.

I think this sort of... self-recognition through the other would both make things easier and harder on Sectonia. Because on one hand, I think it would further be a reminder of all the things she'll never have no matter how badly she wants them, but I also think it would help her... have more empathy for this person she's initially inclined to see as her enemy, and maybe even help her eventually want good things for her.

It's kind of a complex scenario. More serpentine than I could possibly portray in a single comic or Tumblr post. Eventually, I'd like to write a fic from a deceased Sectonia's perspective exploring these sorts of ideas. But for now, I'll leave you with one last preposterous observation:

Perhaps this, too, is yuri. 🤖🐝

[dodecademons]

Get two sapphics to touch foreheads and I will go feral