#that accusation has been thrown my way a number of times and i can never bring myself to disagree

[river-taxbird]

Moomins is such a pre-ironic piece of media. It does things with characterization that I don't see much in modern stuff, because if you did them you'd usually be self aware or subversive about it now that irony is popular. Moomintroll is a total mama's boy and has a stable and very affectionate relationship with Snork Maiden, it's never a joke and his masculinity is never called into question over it. How many modern things would just play those traits off as a joke?

He's also kinda misogynistic. It's a consistent trait that Moomintroll has in both the books and the 90s series, and he's consistently proven wrong. Of course I'm sure that's how nearly all boys were in the 40s in European cultures, and it's likewise not played off as a joke. I feel this would be an extremely unusual mix of character traits to have (and not be the butt of the joke) in modern, post-ironic cartoon that is rooted in modern culture and has to point and laugh at itself. I think the main reason I'm enjoying the moomins so much is it comes from a genuinely weird and very sincere place.

[petrichorium]

Quid Pro Quo

in which you attempt to seduce il dottore in the desperate hope that he will save your life, and come to realize it’s not entirely faked

dottore x fem!reader

word count: 7.2k reader: afab, leaning fem (no pronouns, neutral names, feminine clothing, pussy/cunt/clit/breast used) tags: EXPLICIT CONTENT, blood, violence/chopping off a hand (not toward the reader), possessiveness/jealousy, manhandling from both parties, corruption vibes, biting, idk what to tell u man it’s dottore, established relationship but also they’re getting together, chronically/terminally ill reader (kept vague; dottore is treating it), reader is called “pet” and dottore is called “my lord” but it’s not a kink thing they’re just emotionally constipated, heavy petting, fingering, edging, pls don’t be fooled genuinely the smut is so vanilla compared to the rest of these tags KDNFKENF, implied oral (reader receiving) at the end but it’s fade-to-black

“my lord, this is absurd. have i not been dutiful? have i strayed?”

“very different things from devotion and affection, i’m afraid.”

who is he, you think bitterly, to demand those of you? to demand you tell him at all, let alone here and now with so little warning?

“well?” his voice is merciless. it has you panicking, desperate not to disappoint.

“i—” the words catch in your throat. you choke on them, swallow them down before they can ruin you. frankly you can’t even be certain what you’d have said.

dottore frowns, slumping back in his chair and lifting an arm to rest his chin in his hand as he regards you. “pity. i thought you less delicate than this.”

“you’re being cruel,��� you say in a desperate attempt to make him relent, but he scoffs meanly.

“i’m a cruel man.”

“not to me!” this time it’s a wail. your lip quivers involuntarily, and even to your ears you sound like a petulant child as you cry, “never to me.”

“don’t pout. don’t—” he cuts himself off with a long-suffering sigh. when he speaks again it’s low, muttered; less to you and more to himself. “damn it all, what you do to me…”

you might find it flattering if you weren’t so riled up. tonight, once your blood cools and you return to your room, you’ll let your mind stray to it—the growl of his voice, the tempered emotion, the way his fingers twitch as if to reach out for you.

perhaps you’d have let him, if he’d done so rather than turn his eyes back to you with a glare and spit out yet another accusation.

When you’d first approached Dottore with a proposal, you never anticipated he’d accept it.

You’d been desperate, alone and moraless, shackled with an illness only curable to those more fortunate than you. You weren’t fool enough, not even back then, to think he’d accept out of pity, or even something as human as lust for you. Even now you don’t quite understand why he’d agreed.

But by some miracle he did, and now you stand here months after you’d thought you would die, bundled up in a heavy wool coat lined with plush fur, dragged out to the main palace just to be ordered to sit and wait until his convening with a number of other Harbingers has ended.

You have no right to complain. Being paraded around like a glass doll—or rather hoarded like a priceless jewel, never left in the company of others long enough to consider abandoning your promise—is the price you pay for who you’ve thrown your lot in with. And you can breathe freely without coughing. You can move without growing weary, you can stand without pain. These are the true luxuries Dottore has given you. You’ll wait for him, even if you grow bored in the meanwhile.

Two guards stand watch over you. For a time they were regular, familiar faces who shadowed you whenever you went anywhere beyond Dottore’s wing in the palace. Then you made the mistake of calling one by name in front of him, and now they change every few days.

“Boys,” you call out to them, louder than you mean in the silent, cavernous hall. “Would you come with me to take a walk? Just in the arboretum, nowhere far.”

They exchange a brief look, certainly debating the chances of trouble from such a proposal, before seemingly coming to an agreement and nodding in unison.

You stand, eager for a change in scenery. What happens next, however, you couldn’t anticipate.

A guard’s hand finds your shoulder. As soon as it touches you realize your mistake; you’d started down the wrong way, headed deeper into the underbelly of the palace rather than towards the grand conservatory in the center. If you had more time you’d turn on heel and apologize sheepishly, and he’d remove his touch, and all would be well.

But a second is all it takes. His fingers brush the thick wool covering you and a moment later you feel a whistling blade followed by the horrifying sound of flesh being severed in a single brutal strike.

You scream, lurching back—the severed hand is still on your shoulder, limp, and the horror of that doesn’t sink in until your sudden movement makes it slide off and fall to the floor with a sickening thud.

Before you can get far, though, an arm slings itself around your waist and drags you back in an ironclad grip. Your shoulder slams into the wall first, and then your back, so sudden and forceful that it knocks the wind out of you.

Dottore has you pinned against the back of a recessed niche. You’re tucked away like this, hidden to all eyes except his, which you’re certain take in your disheveled form greedily though you can’t see beneath the mask to confirm—and your gaze stubbornly remains pinned over his shoulder either way. Your chest heaves, still catching your breath, but the heavy beating of your heart is hardly from terror anymore.

His fingers find your jaw. They’re big as they splay across your cheek, grasping firm to tilt your head upward and force you to look at him. That gloved hand is covered in blood, hot and slick; you can feel it smeared over your face and neck.

“My lord—“

He’s kissing you before you can finish the word, teeth clacking against yours, licking in past your lips before you can close them. On instinct you bite down, but despite the taste of copper flooding your tongue he doesn’t pull back—in fact, he presses in closer, groaning into your mouth.

“My lord,” you try again, voice muffled entirely, “you’re out sooner than anticipated.”

He kisses you harder, drawing an embarrassing noise from your throat. It’s all you can do to keep up, but you attempt to speak more anyway.

“What is this? You—“

The sound he lets out is feral, growling; it stops you in your tracks, throws every word out of your head. But it’s too late. He pulls back fully to look at you, unreadable even to your discerning eyes.

“I return to find you attempting to leave,” he says, low and dangerous. “And another man’s hand upon you.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “If anything he was stopping me. I only wanted to visit the arboretum, my lord—“

“The arboretum is the opposite way.”

“Yes, which would be why my guard was directing me the proper way. And you cut off his hand for it!”

Too impassioned. Your mistake. Dottore shoves you against the wall again and you wince, eyes slamming shut. This time he goes for your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down the taut surface as you angle your head to give him ample room. Soon enough they turn even more heated, nibbling at you with those sharp teeth and sucking harshly at the dip of your jaw.

You melt against him, weak-kneed and floating. His lips leave your skin momentarily. He’s still close enough for his breath to puff against your neck with each pant, but he hovers, waiting until you’ve opened your eyes and let your half-lidded gaze meet his own to lean in again and sink his teeth into your shoulder.

The noise you let out is obscene. You have no control over it; it’s wrenched from your lips instantly, something like a yelp that trails off into a breathy moan. All things considered he hasn’t bitten you too deeply—you’ve certainly received worse by his own hands—but he breaks skin with those teeth, and when he releases you the sting is only slightly soothed by his tongue lathing over the mark.

“Lord Second!”

He pulls away from you with a snarl. You’re left panting, legs shaking, relying on his hold to keep you up as you close your eyes and let your head fall back to rest against the wall. It’s Pulcinella who has played savior long enough for you to catch your breath; you can hear his chiding, the annoyance in his tone, the sternness as he demands Dottore let your unfortunate guard leave to get his wound tended to.

“I’m hardly stopping him,” Dottore says dismissively. His hand comes up to your face. You aren’t anticipating it, jolting and opening your eyes when the leather of his glove makes contact. His grip tightens, fingers pressing into your cheeks and pursing your lips. “No need for you to get involved, rooster.”

You can see how he intends to return where he left off before he leans back in. His grip is so secure you couldn’t turn your head to escape his kiss even if you attempted it, but you know better than to try.

“Wait!” you gasp out against his lips. “Not—ah, in front of—“

“Oh, now you’re feeling demure. Didn’t care about your guards, did you?” His hand slides down to wrap around your throat—not quite choking, but undeniably present. At the same time he bites down hard on your lower lip. “A decision for you, then. Would you like me to stop, or to dismiss the boy?”

“Dismiss him,” you say without hesitation, not entirely altruistically. Dottore is always put in a far better mood if you allow him to do as he pleases with you.

“Listen to your companion, Dottore,” pipes up Pulcinella from the other side of the hall. “Pierro would be displeased by this scene.”

“Lucky, then, that he hasn’t stumbled upon it.” Again, Dottore turns away from you to face Pulcinella. Again, you take the moment to catch your breath. “Why are you here?”

“I was sent to fetch you. Lord First would like a word privately.”

Another snarl. This time, however, he seems to understand he has no choice. When he returns his attention to you it’s clear that he intends to pull away entirely.

Beneath that damned mask, his eyes aren’t visible. Still, his grin is sharp enough that you can imagine the wild look they likely hold, the one that never fails to send a thrill through you. The blood on your skin has dried somewhat to become tacky. He leans in once more, licks a long stripe up the column of your neck, lips coming away covered in scarlet. Something settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Go clean up, pet,” Dottore says, low enough that it’s meant for only you to hear. “I can’t stand the stench of another’s blood on you.”

Frowning, you pry yourself from his hold as much as he’ll let you, unfulfilled though you think you ought to be grateful that he’s willing to let you compose yourself. You huff. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”

Somehow, that grin sharpens. He reaches out with a hand again, fleeting—gentle, even—as he crooks his finger beneath your chin to lift it slightly. “As you wish.”

And with that he pulls away. The hand on your back nudges you over towards your remaining guard and then Dottore is gone, with a final keep your hands off growled at the poor man (who assuredly does not need the warning, not with his partner’s blood still staining the floor beneath his feet) before he stalks off to follow Pulcinella deeper into the palace.

Hours later, after a long bath and attendants having dressed you in clean clothing, Dottore summons you to his lab.

Though it’s located in a separate building, it takes you mere minutes to arrive; you know the path by heart, and while there will always be assigned guards and the occasional assistant lurking, few fatui agents linger longer than necessary in the halls belonging to the second harbinger. Such dallying always increases the risk of being purloined for use as a test subject in some fatal experiment or another.

You’ve been told that when you’re not around the place is crawling with segments, too. You know of their existence, of course—have even seen a few from a distance—but Dottore has long refused to let you near any of them.

His lab always runs on the colder side, even for a Snezhnayan facility. If you regularly wore clothing in it you suppose it might be more bearable, but he rarely summons you for reasons which allow you to keep anything on.

You think longingly back to your chambers, made cozy and warm with the help of your personal effects and a number of mechanical heaters in varying levels of prototype courtesy of your eccentric lover. He can be considerate, you’ve learned, when he truly wants to—though he would never willingly admit it. In the case of providing you warmth he maintains it’s merely because he can’t stand your shivering when in bed with you.

You’ve refrained from pointing out that you never shiver when he is there to keep you warm.

Dottore’s office door is open, and you know you can enter without announcement, but you choose to linger in the doorway and reach out to rap knuckles against it twice.

You can see him sitting at his desk across the room. Despite how you’re the only one who would approach him now, he wears his mask, gloves still on, dutifully paying sole attention to his work—or rather seemingly, because he shifts as you enter, and you feel his eyes on your back when you turn to close and lock the door behind you.

The shoes you wear are soft slippers, flat upon the ground. You almost regret not wearing anything with a solid heel; perhaps if your approach came announced by the loud clacking of metal upon marble he wouldn’t ignore you so. Either way, you note how his arm shifts as you elegantly step past his chair, clearly itching to reach out and hold you.

You settle yourself upon his desk, legs crossed demurely, the chiffon fabric of the nightdress you’d been tugged into pooling prettily around your thighs and draping over the edge.

His eyes might be concealed but you can tell by the angle of his head that he’s staring. You’re glad for it—the little show you put on, leaning back to emphasize your chest and angling to draw attention to your legs, should not go unseen. You sigh dramatically, reaching up to pull the dressing gown from your shoulders and let it fall to your waist, and that’s what ends it.

He huffs (you might be so bold as to call it fondly exasperated) and turns back to his work without a word.

Perched on his desk like this, you can easily lean forward and reach out to lay hands on the mask he wears over his eyes. He stiffens, head snapping up, one hand catching your wrist in a harsh grip just shy of aching.

“Did you lock the door?” he hisses, all too used to your insistence of not fucking a masked man to even ask what you’re doing.

You roll your eyes and stubbornly continue on your mission. “Yes, my lord. When have I ever left it unlocked?”

Nobody but his fellow harbingers would dare to interrupt one of his appointments with you, and a locked door has never kept the likes of them out, but you’re not entirely keen on the idea of being interrupted either, so you dutifully turn the bolt every time.

“I seem to recall my last assistant.”

“That woman had a key and far too much nerve for her own good.” It’s true—you had locked the door that night, though you’d also goaded her privately beforehand just to see the look on her face when Dottore gave her no mercy like every other person unfortunate enough to have walked in on you nude.

Dottore’s eyes glint as you remove the mask fully, his mouth tugging into a pleased little smile. “Jealousy becomes you, pet.”

Your scowl does nothing to deter him. As penance you set the mask down on the far side of you. If he wants it back, he’ll have to lean over you to reach—even with his absurdly long wingspan—and almost certainly end up with his face in your lap.

A very bold part of you hopes he does.

For now, though, your annoyance is unquenched. So you tilt your head, letting his eyes fall to the slope of your shoulder, and speak. “If you called me here for anything, tell me or I’ll simply leave.”

He dips his head as if focusing on the papers before him. “And if I merely wanted you to pose on my desk like a pretty little ornament while I work?”

“You think I’m pretty?” you tease without missing a beat. “Truly?”

He doesn’t deign that with an answer, though he allows himself one more lingering scan of your form before turning back to his work.

When he does, you shift and recross your legs. It’s pointed, timed for the moment his eyes flit over to you; an uncross and a shift to the other leg on top, fast and smooth but with enough time to give him a good look of what’s between your thighs.

Or rather what isn’t, because you’d refused the undergarments your attendants had tried to throw on you. The movement bares your cunt to him in its entirety; you see his eyes hone in on it, his mouth slacken, the reaction involuntary and borderline feral in the fleeting seconds before your legs close again.

And then you watch him frown, as if witnessing his very thought process dawn upon his face—the realization that you’d made the trip without anything beneath your nightdress has him irritated.

“Presumptuous thing you are,” he growls. “What if I’d called you here for treatment?”

“You said we’d finish that talk.”

“This,” he gestures at the entirety of you, and you snicker in return, “does not suggest talking.”

“I didn’t choose what my attendants dressed me in.”

It’d been laid out for you when you’d come out of the bath; all gossamer layers and intricate lace, low in the front and short at the bottom and held together by only a satin ribbon. You’re inclined to think Pantalone is the true culprit. Dottore likes such things on you, though he insists he holds no preference, and therefore one of the tried and true ways the shrewd man has come to flatter your capricious lover is to throw luxuries at you—lavish jewels and thick furs and long billowing dressing gowns—and instruct for you to be dressed up in them like some spoiled, pampered lapdog before you next visit the lab.

You can’t say you mind. The dress you wear now is the kind of soft only an exorbitant amount of mora can buy, perfectly tailored and clinging to every curve that should most be flattered. Calling it a nightdress, while you’ve been doing so, likely does it more credit than deserved. The intent is assuredly not for sleeping. With the matching dressing robe it proves modest enough, though not as you wear it now; pulled low and teasing over your arms, the tie fallen loose to give no coverage.

“Your attendants send you off like a lamb to slaughter.”

You shrug. “A willing one.”

“Fair enough. Tell me, then, willing as you are to enter this wolves’ den. You were particularly appalled by my actions this morning—the longer I’ve had to ruminate, the less remorseful I’ve become. He ought to have known better than to lay hands on you. Unless, of course, you encouraged it.”

“Oh, please.” Now you roll your eyes openly, toss your head with the motion just to emphasize it. “My lord, I don’t even know the boy’s name. I simply believe removing his hand was a punishment unfit for the crime.”

“And yet you kissed me. You threw yourself at me, really, despite all those tepid protests. Would you have let me fuck you there, I wonder? In front of your guards, knowing that I would never let them live after?”

Your cheeks heat at the accusation. “No, I—”

“Is this not what you wanted? My infatuation? Don’t tell me you’re second guessing now that you know exactly what it entails—it’s too late. The thought of another man touching you…” he trails off, but you hardly need him to finish. You’re well aware of just what he’s thinking. “Why do you think I never allow my segments to come near you?”

Your brow furrows. “They are younger than you, of course. I assumed their volatility posed too great a risk.”

Dottore scoffs, low and dismissive. “Hardly. The true reason is that the resources required to remake them are so great.”

It takes you a moment to understand the meaning, but when you do it has your mouth parting. Should a segment interact with you, he’s so certain he’d kill it that he’d determined it simpler to keep the two parties separate. A shiver runs down your spine—to your chagrin, you doubt it’s horror.

“Your segments are yourself, my lord,” you attempt again. “They are bolder than most agents, and guaranteed to be attracted to me as you are. You cannot hold the guards you assigned to the same scrutiny. The boy was merely leading me away.”

“What of my poor assistant, then, hm? What is the difference between the boy and the girl? I should passively allow every warm body to touch you and cannot even have a lab assistant? She was a quick one—certainly not at the caliber of my segments but decent enough in their absence.”

“You regret disposing of her, then?”

“No need to sound so bitter, pet. I have no regrets. Your company is far more preferred, and…” Dottore trails off, letting out a low chuckle, voice a purr laced with meaning not well hidden, “I hardly need to tell you that you paid me back thoroughly for whatever loss I might have incurred that night. But my point remains—the boy easily replaced, the girl less so. What difference do you see?”

“That the boy would not have dared compete with you, even if he’d found me alluring,” you hiss. “The girl had intentions that insulted me.”

“Intentions?”

“With you, which you knew, so I should hardly need to say it. I almost pity the poor thing—you intended all along to kill her, you simply decided to have fun with it along the way.”

“Only when I realized just how much I enjoy your jealousy. Truly, I ought to bring another in. Any agent hungry enough for the position would naturally desire an even higher one at my side…”

You frown and, in a motion so fast you can’t really think it through, reach out to hook your finger into the ring of that harness and yank him upward.

The noise he lets out is something between a hiss and a groan, rich and growling and heated. No shock is clear on his face; rather, he stares up at you with a grin that exposes sharp teeth, teeth which part to let a pink tongue run along his lower lip.

When you speak it’s steely. “Few people in this world would find you standable, my lord. I must be touched in the mind to feel for you as I do.”

“Oh?” You’ve stumbled into some kind of trap, you realize by the tone of his voice. “Tell me, then, what do you feel for me?”

“What?”

“Be candid, now.” His grin only grows wider. “Don’t hold anything back. Admit that you’ve come to love me.”

You recoil, yanking your hand away as though you’ve been burned. He falls forward rather than back, arms against his thighs, laughing harshly while you shuffle further away.

“What?” you say again, poisonous in tone. “Where did you—who said anything about love?”

“Is that not what you were implying?” His words are smug, incapable of being swayed. Still, you have no choice but to try.

“No.” You’re stern, leaving no room for question.

“No? You refuse to admit it? Perhaps we ought to revisit our arrangement, then—“

“No!” He raises an eyebrow at the outburst, but you’re far too panicked to be ashamed. “My lord, this is absurd. Have I not been dutiful? Have I strayed?”

“Very different things from devotion and affection, I’m afraid.”

Who is he, you think bitterly, to demand those of you? To demand you tell him at all, let alone here and now with so little warning?

“Well?” His voice is merciless. It has you panicking, desperate not to disappoint.

“I—” The words catch in your throat. You choke on them, swallow them down before they can ruin you. Frankly you can’t even be certain what you’d have said.

Dottore frowns, slumping back in his chair and lifting an arm to rest his chin in his hand as he regards you. “Pity. I thought you less delicate than this.”

“You’re being cruel,” you say in a desperate attempt to make him relent, but he scoffs meanly.

“I’m a cruel man.”

“Not to me!” This time it’s a wail. Your lip quivers involuntarily, and even to your ears you sound like a petulant child as you cry, “never to me.”

“Don’t pout. Don’t—” he cuts himself off with a long-suffering sigh. When he speaks again it’s low, muttered; less to you and more to himself. “Damn it all, what you do to me…”

You might find it flattering if you weren’t so riled up. Tonight, once your blood cools and you return to your room, you’ll let your mind stray to it—the growl of his voice, the tempered emotion, the way his fingers twitch as if to reach out for you.

Perhaps you’d have let him, if he’d done so rather than turn his eyes back to you with a glare and spit out yet another accusation.

“You lie to yourself more than you lie to me—convincing yourself you find me disgusting, telling yourself your interest is faked. But you and I both know you enjoyed that incident this morning just as you enjoyed what I did to that girl. You enjoy me. You want me, so cease this foolishness and let me have you.”

“You have me,” you say automatically, and the scoff he responds with makes you recoil. It’s snarling, animalistic, accompanied by him lunging up from his chair to corner you in the curve of his desk.

“I don’t mean this scheme.” Dottore looms over you, arms on either side of your body. The hard wood of the desktop digs into your ass as you lean back precariously. “I don’t mean your little stratagem, which I only entertained out of amusement—”

“Yes, of course,” you snap in return, suddenly enraged as the shock wears off and you lunge forward, forcing him to reel back, “this shrewd scheme of mine, desperately selling my life to you lest it be snuffed out, which you only agreed to because you found the concept fascinating. Except now you say it isn’t enough to own my body, you are owed my heart, too—and I must serve it to you on a gilded platter because you are too cowardly to give me yours first.”

“I have no heart to give, stupid thing. This is for your benefit.” Still, you see his jaw tense. He returns to his chair, and the movement is heavy; he sinks back as if in a trance.

No heart, he claims, as if he is still satisfied with the arrangement. No, he can hardly hide such things from you. He has become too fond and now burns with the need for you to tell him you feel the same—you know this, know it like you know his touch against your skin and his body easing into your bed next to you during the night.

But you also know how volatile he is, both at his core and, more precisely, when discussing this very topic. This is not something you can push too far; unfortunate for the both of you, then, that you are just as stubborn, especially in the face of inequity.

It isn’t fair. You shouldn’t have to bare yourself if he’s unwilling to do the same.

Crossing your arms, more for self comfort than any determination on your end, you slide yourself down from the desk and make to leave. You doubt he’ll let you, but you’ve made up your mind to try—and sure enough he sits forward, ready to move.

“Come here,” Dottore demands, and tenses when you shake your head and take a bold step away. “You’re not leaving, pet, we haven’t finished this.”

“I have no interest in discussing anything with you if you’re going to be so callously selfish.” It’s a futile attempt, you know, but you try to dart off anyway, leaving your dressing robe behind to flutter down and settle on the floor. He lunges over and catches you immediately.

You struggle against him, really just to make him work for it now, and he meets the challenge in kind, lifting you easily and dragging you back to his chair despite your squirming and incessant protests. Soon enough he has you sideways on his lap, a heavy arm around your waist to deter any further attempt at escape.

“Are you going to stay put?”

You cross your arms again and stubbornly turn your head away. “I don’t suppose I have a choice.”

Instead of speaking, he lets his hand find your neck, scruffing you like a troublesome kitten and forcing you to face him with a thumb and forefinger on either side of your jaw. For a moment he scans your face. Whatever he sees there excites him somehow; his free hand tightens against the dip of your waist, groping at you, trailing down over your hip to the curve of your thigh and squeezing there, too, as he draws your legs even closer.

Initially, when he leans in, you think he’ll go for your neck. Instead he captures your lips in a surprisingly subdued kiss—closed-mouthed, slow, lingering. Something you might call sweet if it came from anyone else. He doesn’t part much when he pulls away; he stays close, foreheads nearly touching.

“If threats won’t work,” he says, lips brushing against yours with every word, “then I’ll simply try a new tactic.”

When he kisses you again it’s what you’re used to from him, all heavy and hot, his tongue delving into your mouth eagerly. You feel the need to gasp for air within seconds, but he never gives you enough, and always leaves your head spinning.

You wish you could hold out and let him work himself up trying to get you to respond. But it’s as if your very bones cry out for him now, as if your blood sings for his attention. You return the kiss in kind despite the lack of air, coaxed into it without him even trying, only spurred on by each sharp-toothed nip to your lips and suck to your tongue. Soon enough, however, your lungs begin to burn, and you tear away from him to pant desperately, lips parted as you struggle to catch your breath.

Never deterred, his tongue darts out to lick up your chin—you’d been drooling, you realize, and your nose wrinkles at the thought that he apparently hadn’t had his fill of your spit even with a kiss like that. Then he nips at your cheek, hard enough to make you jolt in his lap, which in turn causes that hand on your legs to press you down against him, though none of those things give him pause as he kisses down the line of your jaw.

His hand tilts your head back now, or perhaps it falls on its own, baring your neck. Your eyes flutter closed and your breath hitches as his teeth graze your pulse point, the barest hint of pressure, followed by an open-mouthed kiss, both of which are accompanied by his other hand dragging you closer against him.

Dottore’s gloved fingers are deft (when are they not, you ponder fleetingly) as they slide up your thigh to dip beneath the ridden-up hem of your dress. His thumb finds its mark first—he dips it between your folds, trailing up through the wetness there to slick it before brushing higher against your clit. Already that has your breath hitching, the sensation of his leather gloves against you there always odd; when he presses more firmly, in quick little circles, you gasp and squirm in his hold, your hand instinctively flying to clutch at the wrist that disappears under your skirt.

“My lord—”

He turns his thumb just the right way to have you keening, bucking up against him and turning your head into his arm. His hand has moved from your neck to your back, and he uses it along with a grip around your thigh to pull you up until you’re straddling him entirely. All the while his thumb never stops; the motion has pleasure steadily building in your core, golden-warm and only getting hotter. You can feel how wet you’ve become already.

“We’re still talking, pet.” He might be, but if he thinks you’ll say a word then he’s sorely mistaken. “I’ll draw a confession from you somehow. Perhaps if you phrase it as a demand, you so love to give me orders. What do you want from me?”

That free hand slides further down beneath the nightdress, cupping your ass briefly before sliding higher. It drags the dress with it to reveal the entirety of your legs and presses against the small of your back, urging you to grind harder against his hand, sending white-hot sparks throughout your body.

It’s a slow and steady task, working you up to the edge, but he throws himself into it with vigor. Soon enough you feel yourself coming towards it, climbing up so high you can see the peak, almost inevitable.

“What do you want?” Dottore asks again, and you shake your head in mindless refusal. His thumb dips down to slick itself again, sending a shiver through you as the pad presses just barely into your pussy and brushes over your folds on its way back up to your clit.

You nearly lose control over your voice when it returns with a vengeance, hard and fast, just on the good side of painful. He knows your body acutely well by now; can feel every twitch and writhe, hear every bitten-back moan and breathy whimper, rewarding you for them all until you can feel just how close you are to tumbling off into bliss.

His thumb stills. You whine, struggling against him, determined to get that final bit of stimulation and push yourself over the edge, but the attempt is futile. His hold on you is steadfast; you feel the high fading, desperation seeping in.

“What do you want?”

Not enough for that.

“I want you to make me cum,” you demand petulantly, fingers digging tighter into his arms.

It earns you a disappointed little click of his tongue. You’re forced to sit like this until you’re pulled entirely from that precipice, the sensation bringing tears to your eyes as you bite back a wet sob.

He takes the time to release his grip on your thigh and lift his gloved hand up. The black leather shimmers in the light—you hadn’t realized how wet you were—and he takes his time bringing it up to his face to lick it clean with meticulous fervor.

Then he reaches out, placing the very tip of his thumb against your lip.

“Bite,” he commands, so you do, teeth catching hold of just the folded leather over his skin. He pulls his thumb away, tugging his hand free entirely with the glove left dangling from your mouth.

The glove is removed from your mouth to be replaced with two of his fingers. Even you so rarely get to see his bare hands—you have many more chances than most, to be sure, but it’s always a treat—and you open eagerly to allow them entry, sucking, swirling your tongue around them and grinding down against his lap for stimulation.

Soon enough he’s pulling them out to lower his hand and ease a finger into you. If he’d kept up his rubbing at your clit that would have been enough to bring you over, you think miserably, back arching at the feeling. It fills you up so much better than your own. His thumb returns, warmer and softer and so much more intense without the leather.

Already he’s building you up again, starting off harder than before, prodding at the rim of your cunt with a second finger once you stop clenching so tightly. His other hand moves, reaching up to the thin strap of your top and tugging it over your shoulder. It allows him to free your breast, peaked in the chilly air of the room; still gloved, you squirm when he brushes his thumb against your nipple, then pinches lightly. The mild pain makes you jolt—he takes that moment to lean in and suck it into his mouth, at the same time pulling his finger from your cunt and pushing it back in with the second.

Dottore’s arms don’t hold you anymore, you keep yourself balanced on his lap by clinging to his shoulders. His still-gloved hand slides in to squeeze at your other breast as his teeth graze your nipple and his fingers assault your cunt. It’s all too much, too quickly; you throw your head back and he lets out a muffled groan as the motion presses you further into his mouth.

When you’re openly moaning he can tell you’re nearing the end again. With one final nip at the tender skin of the underside of your breast, he pulls away just enough to speak.

“What do you want?” he tries again, but you can hear it in his voice now—the heady lust, thick on every word. His fingers don’t stop their movement at first, not until he seems to remember what his intentions are, and even then they only slow.

Before he can remove them you reach down to grab his face in both hands and pull him up to kiss you. He returns it with the same vigor you give him; his fingers delve back in, pressing deep and full, thumb coming up to rub at your clit again, and you cum hard.

The wave that washes over you has you moaning into his mouth. His free hand leaves your breast to find your back, big and warm between your shoulders, pulling you even closer as you buck into his still thrusting fingers. Your whole body is buzzing, hot pleasure coursing through you.

You go limp against him when it finally subsides, breaking the kiss, boneless and satiated as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. He eases his fingers out of you; you clench involuntarily as they exit, whimpering a little and receiving a soothing rub from just his thumb between your shoulder blades for your troubles.

For a long moment you let him hold you like that. Panting, shaking in the aftershocks, you cling to him and he rearranges your dress for some semblance of modesty, pulling the front back over your breast even as he continues to leave sucking kisses to every available part of your shoulders and collarbone and neck. His hands trail across your body, greedy and groping, less to calm you and more to take full advantage of how limp and pliant you’ve become.

And perhaps it’s because of that, or perhaps being satisfied has put you in a more agreeable mood, or perhaps you simply want to reward him for being so weak to you (because, certainly, all those many months ago when you’d first come to him cold and desperate, he wouldn’t have been so lenient), but you give in.

“I want you to court me,” you say, muffled against his shoulder. The moment the words pass your lips you feel him relax beneath you, tension fading from his shoulders. Dottore says nothing, however, and so you continue. “I want to be your lover in actuality, rather than because of an arrangement. I want you to give me treatment because you care for me—I want you to fuck me because you care for me, not because I owe you a willing cunt.”

“I care for nothing, you simple creature.” Still, he shifts beneath you, and for the first time tonight you feel him hardening against your thigh, brought on not by you cumming on his lap but by your confession. “Tenderness is beneath me.”

“Yes, of course, my lord,” you tell him smugly, just to be a brat. “You gave in just now because you do not care for me at all. In fact, this entire conversation was initiated by you because you were completely satisfied by our arrangement, and it didn’t make you seethe every time you thought about my affections being faked to avail myself of your—”

He interrupts you by sinking his teeth into your neck, just a few centimeters above the scabbed-over bite he’d given you earlier, and you break off with a wrecked moan as you fall limp against him. You claw at the back of his neck in retaliation; a poor attempt, as it only seems to rile him further. He laps at your weeping wound for a moment before fixing his mouth to your pulsepoint and setting about leaving another kind of mark.

When he finally pulls away you can feel the low throb of blood blooming beneath your skin, his heavy gaze burning against you as he stares. For a beat he’s silent, and then he’s leaning in to lick at your neck more, hot tongue running over every blemish—you’re quite certain more of your skin there is stained than not, angry black and blue and purple beneath the surface. The wide, low neck of the dress gives him ample access.

“I will allow it,” he finally mutters, muffled with his mouth well occupied.

“Hm?”

“I will court you,” he clarifies, low and annoyed at having to say it. “Though make no mistake, it is entirely for your benefit.”

“Of course. You have no desire whatsoever for courting.”

“Careful, pet.” He shifts you now, positioning you more comfortably on his lap. “If my hearing were worse, I might think you were asking me to throw you out and let you return to your quarters alone for attendants to dote on you rather than me.”

“Don’t you dare.”

You expect him to return to his work with you dozing away on his lap—it would hardly be the first time—and wiggle, shifting against him to rest your head against his chest. Eyes fluttering shut, you settle for the many hours to come.

And then you’re jolted back into the world of the waking when he stands, taking you with him.

Yelping, you scrabble for purchase, grabbing at his shoulders as they shake with mean snickers, but he doesn’t go far. A moment later your back is hitting his desk and he’s sweeping his piles of papers aside to lay you out on the solid wooden surface.

For half a moment, Dottore stares. Those eyes drink in the sight of you—chest heaving as you catch your breath after the scare he’d given you, pretty nightdress pooling at the top of your thighs, which are still trembling from the shattering release he’d drawn from you earlier.

“Epsilon is overseeing the transfer of your belongings to my chambers,” he tells you clinically. “You’ll live there from now on.”

“Oh,” you say, all breathy, sounding more than a little brainless even to your own ears; your mind is admittedly still a haze of endorphins and, stupidly, the giddy high from your newfound status. His hand is soaked with your cum, slick as he grips your jaw and turns your head toward him to look at you as you struggle to keep your heavy lids from closing.

“I don’t imagine they’ll be done for quite some time. In the interim…”

He lets go of your face to bring his hands to the hem of your nightdress and shove it up over your stomach, nipping just beneath your navel as he kneels down.

And then his tongue is sliding through your folds, big and hot, and he’s latching lips to your clit in a sucking kiss that has you gasping and your back arching and your hand flying to grab at his hair. When he pulls away the look on his face is smug; his hands pry your thighs from around his head and pin them to his desk with a strength you’ve never hoped to fight back.

“Perhaps I can draw out a true confession if I bring you to completion a few more times.”

With that Dottore buries his face back into your cunt, and you let your head fall back with a soft thud against his desk.

[fubuwu]

Fuck it. Since I'm being spat on and tarnished by jc antis I'm unashamedly doing call out posts as they have harassed me on all my posts and got their little friends to gang up on me. Starting with this "lovely" person

Calling me an abuse apologist just because I said that madame yu had tough love methods..... I was in no way excusing her abuse towards wwx with that FYI. Wwx wasnt even mentioned in the og post.... Never once denied she was abusive in the post either (in fact i ackowledged her abuse numerous times in the post and how her children act around her. But apparently you willfully missed that part). I said she had tough love methods towards her children. NOT WWX. Wwx was not her child or have you forgotten that? She has a tough love attitude in the sense that she toughens up her kids, expects no nonsense, wants them to strive to do better, get on with it, stiff upper lip attitude etc. This does not mean it's a good parenting tactic.

---

Using tough love to describe her parenting technique isn't a compliment. Apparently some of you don't know what it means because tough love, whilst there is love and good intentions behind the actions, it can also have unintended bad consequences on your children and is not a form of love you should expose your child to if you want them to become normal, emotionally stable people.

---

It can lead to unhealthy coping mechanisms and suppressing emotions amongst other things I won't go into. I was in no way complimenting her. It was a critique. That should have been obvious. But in your words, ig some of you don't have reading comprehension.

---

To accuse me of something so extreme as excusing abuse over a FICTIONAL CHARACTER and trying to get all your friends to agree and jump on my posts because I never explicitly made the above points obvious is what a bully would do. You know nothing about me and decided to make such allegations over a single post. I will not stand for this bullying.

---

YOU should be ashamed of your behavior. I've seen your other posts and how you talk about and to REAL PEOPLE.

---

You acting all morally superior whilst attacking me and many others like this makes you an abusive person FYI. And I won't sit there and take it from you or your friends.

---

Moving on to specimen number two

This person has been spamming my notifications jumping on EVERY post, being disrespectful and pretty much accusing me, an ace person, for being ignorant about MY OWN IDENTITY and using ace stereotypes just because I surmised that jc could be ace due to his lack of interest in romance.

---

Echoing the words used by another user in the thread, but denying that such ace persons exist is acephobic in itself. I'm an ace person who isnt interested in relationships outside anything that is close, platonic but meaningful. Many others in the jc fandom say the same thing which is why they see themselves in him. A large portion of the jc fandom are actually ace in fact and we love to see him used in ace rep posts. We're already made to feel like freaks, so to have that thrown in my face is very hurtful. Above all twisting my words and making out I said every ace person hates romance is very disingenuous. I NEVER once said that in the post. I wont have my character attacked and lied about like that.

---

Also, once again TWISTING my words, implying I was pissed off about the incel claims when it was so obvious that I was merely asking out of curiosity where these claims come from?? Because it was never implied in the canon text. There was no anger or malice behind my questions. It was all open discussion. I can see now that this was mental gymnastics at play here to justify your hcs that you know are not canon and use it as an excuse to attack my posts with your friends, all because you were proven wrong. You lashed out on what was an otherwise polite discussion. That behavior is all entirely on you.

---

Ive only ever been respectful in my posts and they were never done to provoke arguments or hate on others opinions. So to wake up and be accused of all sorts over a fictional character is very hurtful and just shows how terribly low your side of the fandom has to stoop just to prove a point and hate on jc.

---

Im not tolerating it and these blatant LIES any longer. I hope other jc antis read these posts and see how nasty you all are. And if anyone thinks this sort of treatment is okay, then you need to look inwardly and step away from the computer. I'm done here.

[bijouxcarys]

I really didn’t want to have to do this, as the last thing I want to do is get into any kind of drama in the wrestling fandom on Tumblr. But it seems as though there’s a certain narrative going round regarding me and other writers on this app.

No idea where to start with this to be honest, but I want to make it abundantly clear that I am not the anon that’s been sending transphobic/insulting asks to anybody in the fandom. I don’t even know the person who’s been receiving these asks.

I didn’t even know there was shit going on until I suddenly became suspect number 1 last night.

mysticreigns2. acknowledge-reigns.

I have nothing to do with any of the hate that’s being thrown anyone’s way.

These people digging into all my other socials, screenshotting things, crossing boundaries etc is not something I had on my bingo card for 2024, but here we are.

With that being said, I’m going to have to address posts that people are now seeing I’ve made.

It’s unfortunate that these people have taken my posts about transgenderism and used it as evidence of me sending anon hate. And I hate that I have to explain myself and my opinions for this stupid situation.

Yes, I made a post about a popular/highly discussed situation. And yes, I shared a meme that indirectly rejects GAC for children. And I have my own reasons for believing these two things, but I don’t go out of my way to terrorise anyone over it.

Those two opinions are not indicative of me sending hate to people online. I don’t think someone is a bad person based on their identity, I don’t care what someone chooses to do with their own lives, as long as they’re not harming anyone else. I’m not anti-trans, anti this or that, because I don’t care enough to put that energy into it.

Regarding my supposed “racism”… I made a post a while back talking about how people—people, not poc exclusive—on certain areas of the internet instantly judge the quality of one’s writing based on the colour of their skin. The post was not even extreme, and one read of it will show a whole different picture to the one that’s being painted.

And the post about “gay tumblr” was a fucking inside joke and a reference to something going on at the time in an entirely different fandom that has nothing to do with you, so idk what to tell you there.

I’m not racist. I’m not transphobic. I’m not homophobic (literally gay as fuck). I have never sent hate to ANYONE on Tumblr in all the years I’ve been on here. And I absolutely am a safe person to talk to.

Anyone who’s actually had a conversation with me knows that.

Usually I would let things like this lie and move on, but I’m not about to be accused of something quite serious that I didn’t do. Last night was the first I even heard of someone receiving hate via anon asks. I didn’t know any of this shit was going on and now suddenly I’m the one that’s been doing it all?

Very confused at the situation. Nothing I can do to prove it wasn’t me. And if there is anything I can do to prove it wasn’t me, I’ll fucking do it. Because this fandom is one of the only things I have right now that gives me a sense of being apart of something, and I don’t for a second want people to start thinking I had anything to do with this.

Anyway… I don’t know what else to say. And if anyone wants to talk to me about all this, my DMs are always open.

Love you all 💕

[trainerspiral]

I spend the rest of the day in my hotel room, watching TV with Coba and the V4ST and trying not to overthink my conversation with ASH. I'm largely unsuccessful.

The hope of Coba being an old box Pokemon isn't completely crushed, but I'm certainly not encouraged. ASH is right--there are too many other, more likely explanations. It irks me to be accused of magical thinking, but I can't claim innocence there. I know for a fact Coba isn't one of my old Pokemon--I've never owned a shiny Trapinch--but of course the possibility of getting them back would push me into the realm of crazy ideas.

I resolve to put the idea out of my head and focus on finding Coba's owner. I can't let him pay for my inability to move on.

Sometime after sunset, as I'm contemplating whether I'll order room service or go out again, my Roto-phone flies out of my pocket and hovers in front of my face, chirping. I jump, causing Coba and the V4ST to look around and make startled noises.

I seize the phone, intending to find a way to shut that feature off immediately, but forget as soon as I see that it's showing me a message from ASH:

I'm trying to find this coordinator named Esther Flowne, do you know any coordinators in Slateport?

I don't know any working coordinators, but I know Rosette is involved in setting up contests with the league every year. I send a message to her asking about the name.

She answers quickly that the name isn't familiar off the top of her head, but she wants to know how I'm doing, and I decide it's easier to call her.

"Helloooo!" she sings.

"Hiiiiii," I say, the sound of her voice lifting my spirits just a bit.

"So? How's Coba? Is he passing his test?"

"So far," I say, and give her a quick rehash of my journey up to the point I left the Berry Master's. She's a great audience, interjecting with enthusiasm at all the right beats, especially when I describe Coba's first fight and the capture of the Grimer.

"That's so great, Spiral! Aw, I knew that little guy was going to be fine!"

"Well, we're not done yet, but it's looking a lot better than it was," I admit.

"Are you any closer to finding his owner?"

I sigh, and launch into my meeting with ASH. She grows a lot more serious as I recount that conversation and try to sum up the theories he's thrown out. I don't mention his depressed mental state or my own emotional outbursts, but I'm sure she can read a lot of the underlying emotions on my face.

"Well, like I said I don't think I recognize that person, but you can give him my number if you want and I'll try to help him," she says when I'm finished.

"That would be amazing, Ro, thank you."

"No problem!" A brief pause. "I'm really glad you were able to talk to him. I know that last fight you two had has been bothering you for a really long time."

I nod slowly. "Yeah. It's...it was really good."

We say our goodbyes and hang up. ASH doesn't answer his phone, but I text him Rosette's number and turn my attention to the room service menu.

-----

I get up early the next morning, have a quick breakfast in the lobby, and head out into the enclosed city, eerie and echoing at this time of day. I restock on healing items and travel rations and pick up a few Repels in case the going gets too tough. I still only have two usable Pokemon, after all.

As I'm heading toward the south exit, I pass a familiar shop: Pokemon Reflexology Services, a grooming and massage parlor for Pokemon. It has grown larger since the renovations to the city and certainly looks more modern than it did the last time I was here, but a quick glance at my phone shows it still has rave reviews. It's just opening up for the day, and while it's not completely empty it's not slammed, either.

I decide to go inside, where a friendly blonde greets me and informs me they are having a two-for-one special. I take a ticket and am on my way to a massage room in under twenty minutes, where a pair of pretty young masseuses tells me let out my Pokemon.

I think about including the Grimer, but I'm worried about its tameness level and odor. Instead I release Coba and the V4ST. Coba settles down eagerly under the violet-haired masseuse's hands, but when the redhead reaches for the V4ST, it rocks backward and gives a sharp tone of alarm.

"It's ok," I tell it. "It's just a massage." It makes a hectic series of tones at me. "Look," I say, pointing at Coba. His eyes are closed in ecstasy as the masseuse rubs the muscles around his jaw.

The V4ST still seems uncertain, but it allows the masseuse to guide it to an adjacent table. It's alert and tense at first, but as the young woman works her fingers into its body it settles down, and soon it's making what I can only describe as an electronic purr.

I smile, but the reaction puzzles me. The V4ST is trained to a remarkable level of competence, capable of independent decision-making and complex analysis. Yet it seems unable to differentiate a friendly human gesture from a hostile one, something most Pokemon know instinctively.

When I reflect on my own attitude toward it, though, it makes sense. I can't be the first trainer to grow attached to a potential Missingno. There is a nonzero chance this Pokemon has had to face aggression from humans before. I can only hope its handlers at Sypherbase treat it well, but I have no idea what the training up of a V4ST entails.

Either way, watching it enjoy this moment of care, I'm glad I made the decision to be kind to it. It's a tough, clinical little creature, but it's still just a Pokemon.

-----

Unlike the people of Mauville, the triathletes on Route 110 are early risers. As soon as I'm in sight of the cycling path's gatehouse, chatter and bike noise and the distant sounds of battling fill the scene. A group of swollen-calved trainers in spandex and helmets are circled up outside the teal building, chatting and sipping from water bottles and scanning their surroundings in a pointedly casual way.

Nuts to that. I tug the brim of my hat down over my eyes and veer sharply to the right, into the weeds of the lower path.

A few coastal plants are still blooming, but much of the brush is autumn dry. Wingull drift over the embankment to the sea beyond, dark shapes in the low morning fog. I find a sizeable enough area of clear space in the scrub and mark its edges with Repel. I rub a little scented lotion under my nose and pull on my gloves. Then I release all three members of my scrappy little team: Coba, the V4ST, and the Grimer.

My Roto-phone has informed me the Grimer is a female, with an estimated power level of 23. I've decided to call her Bluk.

I've raised a few poison-type Pokemon in my time: Garbodor, Vileplume, Weezings of both the Galar and Kanto varieties, and a handful of others. I briefly spent time with the Alolan variety of Grimer and Muk when I was over there, but the Kanto variety is not one I've ever gotten familiar with.

I learn two things very quickly.

One: the Kanto variety of Grimer is the worst-smelling poison type I've ever trained.

Two: Kanto Grimer are huggers.

I've hardly tossed her a berry and told her the nickname I've chosen before she's all over me. I stumble back to keep her from taking me out at the knees. Her gloopy face is adorable, but the smell is pure madness. The lotion does nothing.

"Hode on," I plead through my sleeve, eyes watering as I signal for her to stay back a pace. "Don'd dock be ober. Das a good--glaaaah!"

My ass hits the dust and I go sprawling back into the weeds. I try to crawl away but she is shockingly heavy and strong, and the odor is making me weak.

A sharp, alarming tone rings out, and I feel Bluk slump off of me. When I'm able to look up, I see that the V4ST has positioned itself over me with its beak pointed at Bluk, who has shrunk back into a faintly quivering puddle.

"Id's ogay," I choke out, scrambling to my feet. "Id's ogay. Stand dowd."

The V4ST draws back, grumbling in low metallic tones. Coba rushes up behind Bluk, hissing. She looks back and forth between the two with a whimpering gurgle.

I stagger over and pick Coba up under one arm. Once he's calmed down, I squat and approach Bluk again with an Oran berry in my hand.

"Sorry," I say. "Led's dry dis agaid."

One eye peers up at the V4ST, but she only hesitates for a second before moving forward to slurp up the berry, her mouth engulfing my left arm to the elbow. I shudder and look at the arm with concern, but nothing looks melted or gangrenous. The V4ST whirs disapprovingly and Coba growls.

"Be dice," I tell him. I hold out another berry, and this time I pet her on the head while she swallows it. She's happy to lean into my hand for a moment, but she quickly decides it's time for another hug.

"No," I say firmly, holding my hand out in front of her. "Stay. Stay."

Once she settles, I reward her. After a few repetitions she stops trying to tackle me, and I'm able to walk away a few paces to take some deep breaths and apply more lotion. It doesn't help much, and I tell myself I'm just going to have to acclimate until I can find a better solution.

In the meantime, it's time to move on to the main task.

I step back toward Bluk and crouch down, commanding her to stay once more. She burbles and quivers eagerly but obliges. I carefully hold Coba out. He gives an anxious squeal.

"It's ok, buddy," I say. "This is Bluk. We're going to be friends."

Not since my early twenties have I had this problem. When you're an experienced trainer with a lot powerful Pokemon, new recruits tend to understand that they need to behave. Introducing low-level Pokemon to one another is a lot harder. In the absence of a clear hierarchy, they naturally want to fight it out.

All things considered, I'm lucky. She might be smelly, but Bluk isn't mean. Coba is understandably nervous, but he's more inclined to retreat than attack, and the smell doesn't seem to bother him. If I can just convince Bluk to sit still for a minute without trying to grab him, it should be fine.

"Stay!" I say in a sharper tone as Coba dances back from her groping arms, but the possibility of play has excited her and she keeps advancing. He keeps out of her reach, snapping and hissing, but when she ignores my command for the third time the V4ST suddenly swoops in again, delivering what sounds like a harsh scolding in binary. Bluk shrinks back. With the V4ST's backup, I get her to keep her hands to herself long enough for Coba to approach on his own.

We let him circle her, wary and curious. When he starts nudging her with his head I take a few steps back, and before long the two of them begin game of tag in the brush.

The joy of watching Pokemon at play. I'm not prepared for how good it feels.

I glance up at the V4ST, tracking the antics with machine-precise movements of its head. "Thanks," I say. It makes a low whistling noise, but stays focused ahead.

An impulse comes over me, a likely bad idea that I can't resist. "Hey, I don't want to call you 'Hey You' or 'Porygon2.' Will you answer to 'Vast'?"

The V4ST whirls around so quickly I almost trip backwards. It makes a clipped alarm sound, but as I start to backpedal I realize it's looking past me. I whirl around and find myself staring into a gleaming pair of glasses.

"You've met my gaze!" the trainer bellows. "Prepare for battle!"

@novelistash

[itsdappleagain]

CS WEEKLY: The Hot Rocks of Rio Caper Part 1

WOW am I late on these ones- almost a month behind. Oops. Finals season and being sick and all that. I’m getting these guys done on a plane…lets hope there aren’t too many typos w/out wifi. Alright- here we go with the Hot Rocks of Rio Caper (part 1)!

I actually adore this episode. This season is where we really get the ball rolling!! Like I said, we sort of have the formula and introduction out of the way and we can really start playing now >:)

Also some great capture scenes at the end/start of the two episodes

This is such a beautiful opening sequence. I LOVE that Carmen here is an unreliable narrator. That’s not something a lot of kid’s shows often do (I think b/c they think kids won’t be able to pick up on the fact that something they were shown was fake) but since then TOH has done it as well. It’s just a great look into Carmen’s mindset and it immediately sets the premise for the rest of the season (/show?) concerning looking for Carmen’s mother.

Pls she did poor young Shadow-san so dirty- she doesn’t remember him that young so I guess she just figured he had this super spindly beard/mustache combo which I find hilarious

LIL BABY CARMEN AND DADOWSAN…I know it isn’t real but damn is that cute

It’s also great to see Carmen be thrown so off-kilter by the S1 finale. It’s fantastic consequence to the whole…mother figure tried to murder me but she never saved me in the first place/guy who has sucked most of my life was the one who cared most of all the whole time scenario she uncovered

Le Chevre gets his casual wear!! Out of Carmen’s original classmates I think Antonio is the only one who doesn’t have a civilian disguise (until the taco truck)

I love this scene- its such a fun dynamic between Carmen and Player, plus it gives us a little insight into how they plan their capers. Carmen shrinking against the wall and putting her hood up, sneaking around- it shows that she isn’t always so bold and that she knows how to be subtle (ish- the red hoodie is a bit of a giveaway) when she needs to be.

(Side note- as I write this I’m technically in casual cosplay for Carmen’s outfit here with the red hoodie. I love wearing it!!)

CARMEN PUN UNAPPRECIATOR

After all these years….we’ve found Carmen AND Waldo

Carmen really is off her game here, even before she starts hallucinating. Right is the ONLY way Bowtie could have gone with that little disappearing trick- Carmen should know, considering all the lightpost/bus/whatever disappearances she pulls off with the same method.

The first time I watched this episode I didn’t notice that Carmen picked up two but only handed back one. Cool little trick she did

That shifty side-to-side look Bowtie does is always so funny to me

The way its only been a week are you kidding me. She got DEMOLISHED in that basement she was struggling to BREATHE a week ago she should NOT BE BACK IN ACTION

Also its been a week and the faculty are STILL asking Brunt about stuff wheeze

I do like the visuals, though- usually the faculty are all seated and stationary, but Brunt is pacing and Mael is faced away from her, standing and looking out the window (btw thats a window???). Cleo and Bellum are seated like normal, going through the regular rounds, but the positioning shows the suspicion of both Brunt and Mael.

RIP maelstrom asking brunt if she killed shadowsan and hid the body the tv-y7 was never good enough for you 

Im just imagining shadowsan going “your tracksuit is an ugly piece of shit”

Maelstrom is actually using a great manipulative tactic here- offering a mitigating factor with maybe some disagreements. He isn’t going all the way- still accusing her. But he’s offering her something to latch onto if she wanted to confess to a murder

Damn it seems like in this show you DO betray family

Do they even get the chance to accept/deny calls or see caller ID or could the police just call them and it would just patch through with no choice. Do they have a phone number

Why are maelstrom’s eyes kinda pretty though 😳

Damn

Julia’s head is so round

Not julia using the mints like smelling salts im CRYING i love her so much

The despair music only starts when chase doesn’t respond to “LA FEMME ROGUE” and i think that is SO FUNNY its not supposed to be but the comedic timing of the sad music and the zoom on devineaux’s face is so

“We need you” weak, unsupported, will immediately be proven wrong as julia takes the reins and SLAYS this season on her own

“And we need you to tell us that she did not do this to you” STRONG, SLAY, IN CHARACTER, DEVINEAUX DOES NOT FUCKING MATTER ITS ALL ABOUT JULIA TRUSTING CARMEN TO THE VERY END

Btw why is his heart going so fast

This show could have flourished even more without the tv-y7 rating. Player definitely thinks Shadow-san is going to capture or kill her, but Carmen trusts Shadow-san, which is why she looks so horrified near the end when Shadow-san “betrays” her

CS AU where carmen is the daughter of elon musk SAD

Were they just standing there staring at him or what

Where is his heart monitor attached

That wild boars searching for truffles speech? I was sick a couple weeks back and I FELT that

The zoom into the pupil flashback thing was cool

This show and its ability to make ANYTHING child friendly always astounds me. The seven year olds are going to be like “can we go to Carnevale mommy?? Can we go to Oktoberfest??”

Oh my god.

Brazil nut

I JUST GOT THAT JOKE BRAZIL NUT

“Ahh the favelas” that line plays in my head so often i dont know why

Thank god for carmen sandiego now i know how to say “no thank you” in portuguese

ITS OVER LE CHEVRE I HAVE THE HIGH GROUND

What experience does chase have with the backside of a reptile and why does he think shadowsan looks like tortoise butt

Look at that fabulous cross-hatching from agent jawline he’s got some talent yas

We came this close to having to witness chase devineaux with no pants

SAD. oh well NOW WE GET THE JULIA SEASON THANK GODDDDDDDDDDDDD

Does el topo’s VA voice the shady gem expert 

We love autistic zack

I LOVE ZACK that was a fantastic joke about the bride

Zack just stealing from the guy and giving it back to him is so funny im crying

Love how julia was just chilling in the hospital. Actually shows that she really does care- wanted to make sure he was okay

OR THE HOOD OF HIS CAR

JULIA IN THE ACME SUIT. SO HOT. ALSO AGENT ZARI PARTNERSHIP. NEUTRAL LEVELS OF HOT

The tourists watching some random lady watching their baby with binoculars: 👁️👄👁️

I also love the silent acting they animated with Carmen here- she drops the binoculars, looks up like ???, looks again, sees that the binoculars were not the only thing tripping, and shakes her head with a smile. Its a really cool little moment with no dialogue

Imagine if they had that exchange in new york city and ivy was like “the big apple aint the apple of my eye, if you know what I mean! The streets just keep goin’ forevah!!” like yes you two are in a residential area this is how cities work

The children just aggressively leaning towards him and then walking away

Le chevre just wants to live his furry dreams be nice to him

Yeah DAMN the character acting on carmen is good this episode. Next episode too actually

The tourists watching some random lady change clothes in the middle of the Christ the Redeemer statue area and then jump off a cliff: 👁️👄👁️

They actually animate carmen pulling the zip cord to release the glider again!!! I love when they do that

Yeah someone else said props to le chevre for finally recognizing them and hard agree its only like the fourth time

So if its not a disguise why were you confused about carmen. Being able to see who you were

That family is so chill about two strangers running through their house the kid is just like. Damn bitch keep staring i guess and then plays with her dolls some more

She doesn’t even look around the house

ALSO OUGH SHE’S SO FRUSTRATED I LOVE WHEN SHE GETS MAD ABOUT SHIT you are not immune to having emotion she is just THROWING herself around that house she is MAD

Not only is that the chillest family ever its the nicest one too. My god they even followed her to ask if she was okay and invited her to eat with them

THE LITTLE KID IS SO CUTE THO

Shadowsan: locks zack and ivy in a bucket

Carmen: SSHSHHLURRPP

Wait omg i forgot she eats here this is like one of two times she eats ever

The family is so sweet I love them they’re so. They’re so

“It is safe” sir I really hate to break it to you but there is an illegal mining operation on the next street over

SHE HAD THE HAT ON BACKWARDS

Ogh carmen you were being so nice to them and then you had to go and be quippy about it again

I dont know how she didnt trigger that thing BEFORE

Yessss carmen jump into the murder hole with no signal and no one knowing where you are and no tools…yes…smart…

Poor el topo was walking down the path with his eyes closed the whole time

HEHE I LOVE THE TONE CHANGE THERE- the normal caper-y atmosphere suddenly changing to carmen being cornered with nothing, signaled by that sinister little shift in el topo’s voice i LOVE THAT. carmen is on the defensive REAL fast

ALSO LE CHEVRE IS SO FUNNY he doesn’t even go to help he’s just like “I FUCKING TOLD YOU TIGRESS DIDN’T I FUCKING TELL YOU”

Tigress knows better than to fight carmen with her goggles on now

I also like the little display of carmen’s fighting style. I think this is one of the best examples of it in the whole show. She tries at first to just get out/past El Topo at the door. Then she tries every exit she can think of, only fighting where she has to. She is TERRIBLE in tight/closed spaces…really a defensive fighter. Great fight as always and I LOVE fights where there are more than one person involved we get them so rarely 

Btw carmen taking off the hat and coat? BAD idea everyone knows an absence of red means she’s going to lose REAL bad smh 

WILHELM SCREAM

She protected the face

The outrage when tigress “aww”s at her fshgfgf

Fedorable

Pls el topo is so gentle with her he just lowers her to the floor very nicely

Carmen is also SO emotionless about it she’s just like :| hmm yes they are going to inform coach brunt they have captured me i see this is interesting

MMMGH CARMENS FACE WHEN SHE REALIZES PLAYER WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG (SO SHE THINKS. SO MANY LAYERS OF DECEPTION)

OKAY thats the first episode done. MAN what a solid episode I love it!!! Okay- not much else to say, I’m movin on to part 2!

[broodyjoey]

tw // sui ideation

This house just makes me want to fucking end myself, but my therapist said that it was good when I was using my little mantra to divert the sui feelings and urges into tangible sadness instead of letting it pent up inside my mind. She said it was alright to cry but I can't even cry now, I'm constipated emotionally again...All the effort we put into making me much better at handling my emotions and defending against abuse has gone down the damn toilet during these past 2 years I haven't seen her. I feel like I can never get out of this hell hole anymore.

She used to make me feel like I was walking towards a good path, filled with progress but now that the insurance lapsed. Now that I'm no longer in therapy, I'm constantly depressed. I can't seem to get out of the house when it matters the most. Or take care of my daily personal hygiene, or eat properly. I have no appetite on most days and I can't stay afloat of my chores, I feel like I'm constantly drowning...

I need to find the time now, to crawl out of the house on time to the national clinics, with these cursed ass opening hours that nobody can make time for...I don't know how I used to be able to make it there after school, even tho my school is in a whole other district...Plus the waiting times in my town's clinic are abysmal - a whole fucking 3~5 hours mfr

That's fucking crazy, I don't even know what is the lunch hours for these cursed ass national clinics with fuck knows when opening hours...Somehow I always arrive during their break hours or when they're closing. Idk how I keep doing that but I followed the Gmap timings for it...they still kick me out early depending on the busyness of the day. I've had enough of that!! Scam opening hours, fake news...How tf do they expect people to get the necessary national clinic documents if those stupid ass national clinics won't even let me see a doctor... T.T

I need to go to the clinic soon; it'll be a whole 3 months wait for the recommendation letter to go thru and the waiting list for psych is crazy (pun not intended) long. I'm surprised anybody survives this wait. No wonder why my work friend from one of my previous jobs entered the National Mental Institute, and so did my ex, Isaac. (No real names are used online heheh :) ) My ex was having sui ideation but got thrown into the grippy sock land because he called the wrong number (I called the mental health hotline, and he called the ambulance...) Our country has the most terrible ways of handling mental health problems. You have to be raised a certain type of vigilant, to be cautious enough to skip through all these process-traps that will throw you unwillingly into the grippy sock land. I'm both vigilant and paranoid enough from my abusive childhood that I'm good at sussing out what to do to get me on the safest path to my goals. I won't say that every mentally ill person has the exact same balance of cautiousness and being able to mask so well, So well that officials gave me the green light to go for outpatient care.

Somehow I always arrive during their break hours or when they're closing; the doctor that I got was just pure luck tho. That I can't deny, but I am very good at making people think I'm fine enough to function. I don't tell my family anything vulnerable, people like me with this type of upbringing will die if someone gets a hold of my secrets. No matter how benign people with healthy childhoods think it is. I've almost been attacked by my mother for speaking well of a guy classmate and my father has accused me of dating my guy friend who is gay...wtf.

I got ratted out by my distant aunt and had to pull a gaslighting manoeuvre that I learnt from my parents, holy shit I've never hidden my meds in such an awkward position, in such a secluded place that sometimes I forget that it's there. I've also run a burn campaign against my distant aunt, just to cover up that reveal. Sorry not sorry, if you put my wellbeing in danger, you're done. Dead to me. I warned her against informing my parents but she didn't listen. I don't want someone to get away with such actions against me. I don't need such people attacking my well-being in my life, especially not when I'm from an Asian country and will have to live with my parents even when I'm married.

That shit will have me killed, not even my distant aunt, no matter that she's also mentally ill, NOBODY should treat my safety as a damn joke.

[lawfvlhunter]

Her jaw clenched, frustrated he had any idea of how she thought anymore. He didn't deserve to read her that well, especially not the way this meeting had thrown her off-kilter. Maybe it was best if this was a one-time thing. "You," she snapped, hoping the force of it would make him leave it alone, "I'm never emotional. That's how this business kills you."

She narrowed her gaze at him as he accused her of not knowing what she was talking about as if she hadn't been on this very path since she was eight years old. "Don't know the meaning of the word?" She parrotted back, offering him a scoff of her own. "Go fuck yourself, Dex. I have seen monsters, I have killed them. I have been thanked for it." She rolled her eyes as he blamed their family for his only kill, happy to inform him, "you are an exception then. Most wolves do have multiple kills on their records. We are protecting this city! Humans are educated now, able to at least attempt to defend themselves. The chaos we're facing right now is from witches, not us. But of course, we're the monsters, right? I'm the monster."

He was defending them. After she'd done the waiting, she'd--no, that was emotional. "If you'd like to see my trophy case, you can count. I've lost track," she replied, deadpan in her delivery. "Vampires are dead before we kill them, so if you want to place blame, maybe the actual killers? You do know they have to die first? It's step one to vampirism. Well, step two, actually." His further examples were more complicated, of course, but she didn't back down. "No, I don't care. We're making the world safer, and yes, I enjoy it too. Is that what you want? You want me to admit that I like my job? I do. I am proud. The tattoo was my choice. I didn't feel guilty then, I don't feel guilty now. I have done what most people cannot do, and I don't think it's wrong. Someone has to die: the supernaturals or the humans. It is as simple as that. Who do you want to live? You mix in feelings and 'oh they're people' and you get very confusing shades of grey. When in actuality, it's simple math. Are people going to die who were living nice, quiet lives? Sure, fine, I'll admit that for you too. It's the price of war. We cannot eradicate in effective numbers if we're playing judge and jury too. It's not possible."

Her heart--one she claimed she did not possess--ached in her chest as he continued to speak, told her his side of the truth. How her father had kept them apart. Even as she spoke of the price of war, a small voice said it wasn't fair he was part of that price. The child in her, dead as she was, wished for only a moment she could just hold him. Just for a minute. Rewrite the story where she'd looked out the window to no result...to this result. His own admission that he was lost to her. "I'd lose more than another family member, and you know that." And that's all she'd give him. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't get out.

They were lost, she thought again. It was like talking to a gravestone, fruitless and painful. Nothing would change, nothing could change. "We could have done that together, you know," she voiced aloud before she thought better of it so she quickly moved on. "Are you married? Kids? Not going to tell me?"

Strangers was a difficult term for Dex to digest. In his head he’d kept the memory of his sister very much alive, but he could tell that Laine had choked the innocence out of herself, or at very least the hands their relatives had done that for her. Delainey’s words caught him off guard and for a moment he stopped browsing through her records as he turned to ask “me or you?” 

An unamused scoff urged from his lungs, doing his best to maintain some kind of composure. “You talk about monsters, but it’s like you don’t know the meaning of the word." The wolf shrugged, his eyes finding his sisters "but hunters? The literal definition is to pursue and kill,” Dex shook his head, unable to look away. “I follow the rules, I chain myself up. But you know what? I've only ever killed, because our family made sure of it. The only time that i’ve ever hurt somebody was when I was fifteen years old and handed a goddamn revolver." Dex hesitated, feeling an unsteadiness coarse through his veins as he admitted "never once as a wolf. Take a look at what the OEA has done to the city. What you have been a part of. Who's the real monsters, Lainey?” 

A scoff passed Dex’s lips, exasperated by just how desperately Delainey believed herself. “What does that mean for you? How much blood has been on your hands? Those basic vampires were people too. Are still people.” Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he continued to make his point. “What about the others? Witches, the untriggered wolves? What are they?” lifting his hands he shrugged “let me guess, just a means to an end? Because you don’t care, do you? Any of you. For you, it’s just a sport. A game if you’re anything like mom” his tone dropped to a dramatic whisper “it’s a thrill. But it’s wrong Delainey. You’re wrong.”  

Dex kew that fighting Delainey’s beliefs was a losing battle, but the harder she pushed - the harder he found himself pushing back. “What fifteen year old choses to be on the run?” there was spite in his words, but the subject had been one that remained untouched until now. “Your father packed me a bag and handed me whatever cash he had in his wallet” the wolf’s features hardened, his own words causing for his chest to ache “but hey, at least he gave me a head start before he’d come looking. Believe what you want, Lainey. I’d hate for you to lose another family member.” 

A moment was needed for Dex to find a middle ground, calming himself in the process, but Delainey’s explanation for her life didn’t offer him that. He should have been able to talk to his own flesh and blood about the family he had made for himself, but he chose not to. “I moved around. Slept rough through most of my teenage years, but I found somebody who took pity on me. Straightened me up, got me an education. Then I moved here.”

[phoenixyfriend]

Rey Gives No F*cks About the Grandfather Paradox

Okay so since nobody’s suggested a fic under these terms, I ended up expanding on this post on discord and things snowballed. We kept to the basics of the entire plot revolving around Rey really hating her grandad and leveraging her blood relation to not be unalived about it.

With contributions by @atagotiak​, @dracothulhu​, @thepallaspalace​, and several others. The title comes from @gelpenss​.

The basic thing I absolutely need is this: Rey gets thrown back to the middle of the clone wars, and the subsequent plot leans in really heavily on her being, genetically-via-clone-dad, the daughter of the guy running the entire galaxy.

Nobody knows what to do with her.

The timing is mid-TCW for the past (because I want Ahsoka there) and vaguely between Episodes 8 and 9 because I... never watched E9 and don’t want to worry about the timeline. The only things that matter is that Luke is dead (he can die as he did in canon) and that Rey knows she’s Palp’s granddaughter (not the way she does in canon).

We'll say Luke found out from Anakin's panicked force-ghost and just went "well, fuck, okay, I should tell her this before she ends up in a situation like mine and finds out mid-battle or something."

Luke, prior to time-travel: Okay, so, now that I'm dead I know some things I didn't before. Like who your parents were. In the interest of full disclosure because I was in a very similar situation and I don't want you learning the way I did, I'm just going to come right out and say that your father was a clone was Sheev Palpatine. Rey: ... Luke: Are you okay? Rey: I don't know who that is.

(She grew up on Jakku, the history education was a little subpar.)

Setting The Scene

Imagine Rey showing up during or immediately before the clone wars. There’s this phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater who tells you that if you ran a paternity test, it would probably pop up the Chancellor. She may or may not bring up cloning. She accuses said Chancellor of being a Sith Lord.

Your other phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater, who may not be a teenager anymore but only barely, is very offended by this because Palpatine’s a Very Nice Old Grandfather Figure, but also he’s a little full of side-eye because if the blood test comes back as proof, then Palpatine had a kid and didn’t even know about them, or lied to Anakin, and that’s! Bad! Family’s important!!!

Palpatine hears about this daughter he apparently? Has? And is very confused because the timing doesn’t match up with ANYTHING he was doing, so the kid isn’t natural, and he says as much. (There is an explanation! It’s not a correct explanation, but he does come up with one.)

Finn and Poe and BB-8 all get dragged along because why not have the gang there? Nobody that’s already born, because [handwave] conservation of souls or something, IDK, point is the only person dragged along that’s even remotely close to already existing is Luke’s Force Ghost, who mostly hangs around begging Rey to be less impulsive. Finn is good because he is a nice polite boy, but for actual useful information they need Poe. The unfortunate situation is that the three do not land together. They land at the same time, in completely different corners of the galaxy. This means that nobody is there to curb Rey being her most impulsive self.

Time travel Rey knows two things. Luke’s dad ends up evil. Palpatine has always been evil.

She can solve one of these problems by killing the other, yes?

Rey: Ready to Rumble

See, the initial idea was this: Rey tried to break into the senate to kill Palpatine, got arrested, and then used the "he's biologically my father" card to get out of jail free. (Force Ghost Luke follows her like “please take five seconds to think this through.”)

But.

But.

It would be very, very, very funny if The Force just dumps her in a flash of light in the senate building and she just attacks Gramps on sight. Just a shouted "YOU!" and no-hesitation attempted murder.

Palpatine has no idea what's going on.

Rey took maybe two seconds to get identity confirmation and then started swinging.

[Image Description: An individual in a green metal helmet with an eye slit, holding a pistol. In the upper left, upper right, and lower middle are the phrases “I do not know who I am...” “I don’t know why I’m here” and “All I know is that I must kill.” End description.]

Of course, she gets arrested. There are Master Jedi in the Senate. There are Clone Troopers. Palpatine isn’t the weak old man he pretends to be. Of course she’s stopped.

But she isn’t executed in time for Palpatine to stop her from ruining his entire reputation.

Immediately after Rey fails to kill her Shitty Granddad, Luke's ghost shows up and begs her to not talk about the Sith thing because it will completely undermine everything she's trying to do. Pass off the attempted murder as something else!

Rey, panicking: "that fucker left me on a desert planet for 10 years!" "You owe me 19 years of child support you son of a Hutt!"

The Jedi have to do the investigation, because the girl showed up with a laser sword, and the conversation is, uh... interesting. (“Where did you get that lightsaber?” “I got it from a mysterious old pirate lady I never met before. I don't know, I was being shown around by a smuggler and a Wookie.”)

Interviewer: Why did you try to assassinate the Chancellor? Luke: Say it wasn't assassination. Rey: It wasn't assassination. Int: You weren't trying to kill him? Luke: Assassination has to be politically motivated. Rey: This was, um... not political. Assassination is political, right? Int: You mean this was personally motivated? Rey: Yes. Int: I see. What personal motivation? Luke: Jakku! Rey: He's my grandfather. Int: ... Rey: Possibly father. Nobody was very clear on that. Int: ... Luke: Tell them to run a paternity test. Rey: Oh hey, a blood test would tell us which, right? Int: ............ Rey: I spent ten years as an orphaned scrapdealer on Jakku. He's my father. I'm kind of a little angry. Int: ........... Luke: Good job, kid. You bought yourself some time. Int: I'm going to get a medic to see about that parternity test.

Obviously, it comes back positive. Congratulations, Sheev, you’re the father.

Rey comes with a ready-made built-in excuse for hating Palpatine that nobody can question or fault her for!

Rey, pouring Truth into the Force: I didn't even know I was related to the Chancellor until a few months ago, but it's his fault I grew up the way I did, and he should take some responsibility!

The entire thing is mostly kept hush hush but someone leaks it to the press and Palpatine's ratings tank.

"Chancellor, I think we'll need to waive family visitation until she wants you a little less dead." "I would like to find out why she wants me dead, and indeed, where she came from." "...sir, for your own safety--"

Who would win? A master plan years in the making spanning decades of manipulating and work? or One (1) paternity test

"Okay, so, Rey Palpat--" "Ew, no, I don't want his name." "You--okay. Sure, we can understand that. Is there a name you would prefer to put on the paperwork?" Rey, who would have gone by Skywalker in honor of Luke but can't do that when Anakin is right there and all: "Can I think about it?"

Rey: I don't know what I want my last name to be but I know I don't want his, and most of the people I’d want a name from have famous families like you... Luke's ghost, pointing out the Literal Nobody that she cares about a lot: How about Solo? Rey: ...Solo, then.

(A few months later she runs into Poe again and he offers for Finn and Rey to both take his name because honestly they need SOMETHING but at that point she’s already decided on Smuggler Dad.)

Backtrack a bit. We’ve got a bigger cast.

They all arrive separately. Poe, for one, does better than Rey, who is aiming for a murder, but not quite as well as Finn, who is currently being adopted and hidden like a secret cat by a bunch of Alpha Clones on Kamino. He vibes with the names-or-numbers thing. He doesn’t necessarily tell them where and when he’s from, but he’s very sweet and a great liar and they adopt him wholesale anyway.

The Finn situation is just... "Buir Ti, we need you to hide this man, we've decided he's our little brother but if Nala Se finds out she'll make him leave."

Of course, this leads into Shaak Ti teaching Finn how to Jedi.

Maybe consider Finn needing to almost be tricked into learning Jedi things because he willfully forgets it could apply to him. Finn does not like to think of himself as special, which is super valid, but frustrating for Shaak Ti when it comes to, you know, getting him to acquire knowledge. Finn's training at some point is "here, levitate objects with the Force to entertain the tubies." It’s a lot easier to convince him to practice when it involves the babies.

(Everyone on Kamino looked at Finn and went “oh I love him I’m keeping him and teaching him things.”)

(He’s just very lovable.)

Poe, meanwhile, buys the trust of Anakin Skywalker via R2D2 declaring BB-8 the absolute most baby of droids. R2D2 met BB-8 three hours ago but.

"Hey Obi-Wan this is Poe I met him like five days ago but R2D2 says he checks out because his droid is a baby." "That's nice, Anakin, did you know the Chancellor has a daughter who tried to assassinate him in broad daylight yesterday? Because guess who had to stop the Chancellor from getting assassinated by his daughter in broad daylight yesterday."

A summary so far:

Finn, on Kamino: Hey, um, I don't know where this is, but it's not where I was a few minutes ago. Do you think you could get me a comm? What's your name? Poe, on [dice roll] Denon: Oh, hey, you're General Skywalker? Nice to meet you, I'm so sorry about my droid, she's a little excitable and thought your R2 unit looked like a friend of hers-- Rey, on Coruscant: DIE, GRANDFATHER

Finn: [Peacefully vibing on Kamino, unaware of the chaos and bonding with the clones] Poe: [Trying to explain how he knows someone who tried to kill the chancellor and defend Rey] Rey: [Arrested for trying to kill the chancellor]

Just... just...

Anakin: Some guy ended up lost on base yesterday with his droid, how’s your day going? Obi-Wan: I had to stop someone who claims to be the chancellors daughter from murdering the chancellor after she seemingly blinked into existence in the Senate building. Poe: 😐

(Poe: Oh, so that's where Chaos^2 went.)

Poe: In her defense, she is his... well we don't know if she's his daughter or granddaughter, but she's definitely related to him, and she definitely grew up in a shitty situation that was his fault, so...

(Poe is trying very hard to explain this and not get arrested on the military base.)

As you’ve probably guessed, what's especially funny about all of this for me is the fact that Palpatine is fully aware that this girl shouldn't exist, but can't find a single piece of evidence about where she came from. He didn't start any experiments that could result in a female child, and he didn't have sex in that period of time, so where the hell--

Rey spends so much time in jail... BUT they do eventually assign her a Jedi Master. Possibly before she actually proves her evil grandfather is in fact evil. Most votes went to either Plo Koon or Obi-Wan. Plo, because he’s dad-shaped, and Obi...

"Obi-Wan, you already raised one feral desert child with implausible amounts of power, you handle this." Rey in return is very "Sweet, you vaguely remind me of Master Luke," and nobody knows who the hell she's talking about. Obi-Wan is NOT on board with this plan, she'd really be better off with Plo or like........ Mace.

Reunion Tour

What I need out of this is the eventual Finn and Rey reunion scene that is just excited screaming while someone in the background explains to Shaak Ti that yes this is apparently Palpatine's terrifyingly force-sensitive daughter who hates him.

(Finn senses Rey’s approach and just. Gathers the everyone to wait. He’s just :D REY MY FRIEND REY GUYS MY FRIEND REY IS COMING.)

Anakin shows up with Poe--just a guy who signed on to the military, no big deal--and then Poe and Rey are EXCITED and everyone's just like "Cool, how do you know this literal terrorist child?" And Poe has to scramble and "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh she saved my droid from a scrapheap once and BB-8 is basically my child so I owe her one."

Rey knows that Anakin ends up evil so she’s maybe not actively hostile but definitely very “I’m watching you.” That said, she vibes with him on a lot of things that he maybe doesn’t actively notice.

Rey picks up a snake, snaps off the head for venom avoidance, and starts biting off chunks. Obi-Wan's reaction: [undisguised horror] Anakin and Ahsoka: Ooh, where'd you find that? (Obi-Wan: And now I’m up to three feral children.)

What Does Palpatine Even Do?

OBVIOUSLY at a certain point, Palpatine is just phoning up every ally he has to figure out who broke protocol to synthesize a daughter for him.

So of course, Palpatine blame Plagueis.

She'd have been born five or so years before Naboo, just a few years younger than Anakin. It's such an EASY theory to build a conspiracy around. It is ENTIRELY WRONG, but it’s plausible! And anyone who might have been involved to say otherwise is probably dead!

A random bio-kid shows up you can’t possibly have contributed genes to? Maybe it’s the evil bio spark that did it.

Palpatine tries to placate her with the ‘my genes were stolen for an experiment and I didn’t know’ thing. It doesn’t work because her actual main complaint is he’s evil in her future but he tries.

It'd be a struggle to even get access to her, because of the aforementioned “maybe don’t try to talk to the daughter(?) that hates you” thing, but you know who Palpatine does have access to? The Chosen One.

Rey kind of decides on her favorites early on (she gravitates to Dad Energy and Sad Old Men so Plo and Obi-Wan are on her list, and that means decent time around Anakin and Ahsoka). It's really easy to talk Anakin into helping to some degree because "he'd like to connect to a daughter he never knew" and "a child of her power on a planet like that, you'd know her struggle, my dear boy" and so on. Anakin tries to connect! He tries to play up Sheev’s kind political work and how it can’t have really been his fault! It doesn’t work. Rey does not believe a word of it. Mostly she doesn’t even seem to hear him.

Rey's just like "...oh right, you're the melted mask that Kylo Ren was always ranting about," which means absolutely NOTHING to Anakin, but he mentions it to Palps, who loses his goddamn mind trying to figure out what she's talking about, because it also means absolutely nothing to him.

Here’s the thing: Rey’s already decided that Obi-Wan is cool, because Luke said so, and Plo Koon is dad-shaped, and she also gravitates towards earnest kindness in general, like she made friends with Finn real quick, so Ahsoka? Already getting along great.

She doesn’t dislike Anakin, really, he isn’t evil yet, he’s just... meh. She’s a little suspicious and she likes him less than the others but... Anakin.

Rey, to Anakin: You are my least favorite. Anakin, to Palpatine: YOUR DAUGHTER HATES ME???

And he goes from “she’s a lil standoffish” to “she doesn’t like me” to “she hates me” as is normal for Anakin.

It’s just an escalation of this one time Palpatine wants Anakin to not have rifts and trust issues with a person, at least not until later, because he needs information.

Meanwhile, that very moment, Rey is just like "huh, nobody here is listening to me about how make a sixth-hand carburetor work, where's Luke's dad?"

Anakin is venting to Palpatine about how hard it is to talk to Rey, and she's over in the Temple just like "Hey, that guy was useful last time, I should ask him," but also she only ever thinks of him as Luke's Dad.

(At one point, Obi-Wan is having a bit of a break down, and then Anakin starts having a breakdown about that, meanwhile the clones are (badly) trying to hide Finn behind their backs, Rey is watching Ahsoka practice and being like "I want two lightsabers," and Poe is trying to keep R2 from stealing BB-8 and Force Ghost Luke is just face palming in the background.)

(Rey deserved a saber staff, maybe one that can detach and turn into a jar’kai set. Possibly a pike. Mostly I just wish she got more chances to whack things with a big stick.)

[plush-rabbit]

Protecting Mammon - Headcanons

Request: Hc for Mammon with a s/o that is usually very laid back and calm,, but whenever one of Mammons brother's mock him, reader gets super defensive of him, they're somewhat of a guard dog for him? And reader goes out of their way to compliment and be affectionate towards him in his brothers presence? (Also could you do Male reader? Thank you, i love your writing!!)

A/N: Let MC say fuck!! Please, i wrote a similar one, sort of,, like a while ago but i really want MC to stand up for him, please (aso i left this gn i hope you don’t mind!!) (one too many insults breaks my heart, like if my mc were there id make them all give away their possessions to him)

-

It isn’t easy to hear the brothers argue. Their voices boom that you think that the walls are going to collapse onto themselves, but you grow accustomed to it as you have with everything else about them. However, something doesn't come as easy. While they all insult each other, there’s always a playful toone attached to their words,a gentle shove and a wicked smile as they laugh when the other bites back. It’s different with mammon. It’s always been different with him. At first you assumed that was how they talked with each other- every sibling fights, lovingly known as the Cain Instinct in the Human Realm, not that you’d ever mention it to them. But, their words hold venom, they hit where it hurts for him, they tease and treat him horribly and it leaves a horrible taste on your tongue- it reminds you when you were small and you were forced to swallow that awful purple medicine that no matter what you drank, the taste just lingered. You wonder how long Mammon has had to hear those words.

You can always tell when the insults get taken too far, when they start to get personal and the words aren’t jokingly said or even in a teasing way, but they’re said out of anger and like the brothers that they are, they all start to gang up on the second eldest. The brothers joke and you can tell that it bothers Mammon by the way his jaw tightens and the roll of his eyes, the way that he starts to get quiet. You can only do the one thing you can think of- you hold his hand. He looks at you quickly, his brows raising and eyes glancing down to your interlocked hands as his lips quirk upwards. During that time, you pull him away, asking in a very loud voice that you need him to accompany you to your room or to a store. When the other brothers try to intervene, stating that they’ll walk you, you shut them down, pulling Mammon close to you, standing in front of him acting as a shield to protect him from his brothers. You want to protect him, to take him away from the insults and the mean words of his brothers.

Perhaps you’ll never know how much the words truly affect Mammon, everytime that you ask him, he just gives you a tight smile, shaking his head and squeezing your hand- a subtle hint to drop the subject. It makes you lay awake at night, wondering how a demon could be hurt by words. Everything about the words and brothers starts to leave a horrible taste in your mouth. A part of you even blames yourself- you know how he was teased mercilessly when he was tricked into forging a pact with you, but the thought of not having a pact with him makes your heart ache in a way that you didn’t know it could. He’ll like in your bed, a loose t-shirt on him as he lets out deep breaths, his chest rising and dipping with an arm over your stomach. Soon it becomes when there’s a snide comment, you give a curl of your lip and look of disgust.

The lack of sleep that you gain from overthinking about the pact and the brothers leaves you in an irritable mood. You start to resent the brothers, frowning and pulling away from them and even if Beelzebub isn’t involved in the teasing, he isn’t too bothered by it unless the insults really start to hurt. Leviathan and Asmodeus are perhaps the worst, Satan a close second- or third- if were to tattle on Mammon, but the two aforementioned brothers remain the cruel ones, insulting him and spewing filthy words that makes your face burn with anger that you wonder if Satan could feel it stewing deep in you. It hurts to pull away from the brothers but you don’t like how they treat your demon.

At a certain point, pulling him away from the brothers isn’t enough. Holding his hand is something you enjoy, and it must be a sort of release for him because you take notice of how he remains staring at you despite the onslaught of words thrown his way. With a careful glance given to the third eldest who rants on about how Mammon had stolen something- which you were sure he hadn’t, you’d been with him during the time frame that Leviathan accuses- you lift his hand and kiss his knuckles, letting your lips ghost over them. When you feel his breath hitch, your smile, turning his hand over and placing a kiss to his palm, moving to let his palm cradle your cheek as you lean into him. The arguing stops and you can feel eyes on you, but you can also feel the way that mammon’s heart echoes softly against your ear, how his hand slowly moves to hold yours once more.

No matter the amount of times that you’ve complimented him, he always reacts the same, as if it were the first time you told him something nice. His cheeks are tinted in a dark color, his face burning and heart beating erratically despite you telling him sweet things. You sit on his lap, pulling him close as you play with his hand, each line traced over carefully with a touch that tickles his palm. He jokes at first, telling you that of course you’d compliment him, he is after all The Great Mammon, but there’s a smile that lingers, stretched wide across his face as he leans back and keeps a hand on you, taking great pleasure in hearing you say something nice.

Every insult is refuted with a compliment. He’s called a scumbag, you call him your protector. He’s called greedy, he’s reassured that his sin is something that is difficult to control. He’s told to never come home, you cup his face in your hands and tell him that you’d follow him anywhere- a heavy implication that stays on your tongue and when he nods slowly, you hold him tight, grateful that he understood what you wanted to tell him. You hold him close, his door locked as the movie plays, the colors flashing across his room until they fade. The desperate part of you needs to tell him everything, to repeat every compliment until they drown out the insults. You need him to smile.

They’re brothers and you know that, but it doesn’t lessen the blow. You make sure you spend more time with him, to show that he’s your number one and your favorite. It might be cruel, but they’ve been cruel to him. You want to keep him safe. When the insults start to worsen, you bite back. You scowl and tense your shoulders, your hands fisted tightly leaving crescent shaped marks against your skin. The words might not be cruel- you don’t think that you would want them to feel that sort of pain, nor would it do any good towards Mammon- but you tell them to be quiet, glaring at them and looking away immediately.

Sooner rather than later, the brothers catch on. Every insult is met with a kiss, your lips pressed against his cheek or your hand pulling him away, locked behind a door where they cannot enter. They sulk and pout, they try to pull you away, but you can’t leave Mammon’s side. Not that you would ever choose to do so. You stick by him, pulling him close and sitting beside him, your attention stuck on him. He’s your demon, why would you ever want to be pulled away from him? You keep him close, hugging on his arm and telling him how he’s been so much help to you. Mammon keeps you in his arms, you smile shining at him, and you pay attention to him. You kiss at his wounds and run your hands through his hair. You pull him close to your chest, your words soft as you tell him how warm he is. He loves the attention, the kindness that you give to him, the way that such a small and delicate human can stand up against demons and fight back all to protect one. He lays against you, sinking into your own warmth and taking it greedily, loving the way that you feel pressed against him.

Greed personified is not easy to please- he wants it all, craves it and yet, he can’t have it. It sits on his palm but he is unable to close his fist to truly claim it. Yet, you sit beside him, eating a meal at the dinner table as the ruckus continues on, your hand clasped tightly around him and when he turns to look at you, he squeezes your hand. He holds it tightly, feeling your hand tighten a moment later as you turn to him, your cheeks puffed with food still your mouth as you smile at him. You remain in his hand- whole and ever beating with a smile that is forever etched in the demon’s mind.

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

Hi hi! I was wondering if you could do a dick Grayson x Avatar like fem reader with either a jealous Babs or Zatanna I hope that made sense🥲

True Love’s Kiss

Pairing: Dick Grayson as Nightwing x Reader

Warnings: I don’t think so

Word Count: 4.1K

@writing2sirvive : Hi love, me again but with a request this time. If you have time of course. I was thinking true love’s kiss with Dick Grayson. You can go crazy with it because I know you love Dick Grayson as much as I do. Btw I love your writing so much.

A/N: I think I did it wrong...cuz even though this is a Dick Grayson x reader fic, it’s mostly centred around reader and Zatanna???? Sorry about that???

You were fine with knowing that Dick was still friends with most of his exes. You completely accepted that he was able to keep functional relationships with most of them. In fact, it showed you how amicable and neutral Dick was and how he never held any grudges against people.

Of course, you were surprised by the sheer number. And the fact that he seems to interact with them practically every day. But eventually you managed not to let yourself get too bothered by it.

I mean, how could you? Barbara was the smartest, funniest, most approachable person you had ever met. She always made sure not to overstep her boundaries and was unusually open with you, given that Dick was her ex-boyfriend.

Raquel was adventurous and fun and you always had a good time when you were around her. She was another one who was respectful of your relationship. She never brought up her past flings with Dick, nor did she ever try and put you down. In fact, she was one of the people who really shipped the two of you.

You liked most of his exes. To the point where it made Dick kind of uncomfortable.

You liked most of his exes.

Ever since you had joined the team, being introduced as Nightwing’s significant other, Zatanna had been a constant thorn in your side. She was nice and sweet but there was something about her that rubbed you the wrong way. You could tell almost immediately that she wasn’t quite over her relationship with Dick. Short as it was.

Or maybe she was just the type of person who didn’t want someone, but didn’t want others to have the same person either.

Nonetheless, being around her put you constantly on edge. You lost count of how many times she redirected a conversation to be about her previous relationship with your boyfriend. ‘Oh, Dick took you to a fancy restaurant for your birthday? Well, I remember back when we were dating, he threw a huge party for me on mine.’

‘Oh, you celebrated your one-year anniversary with Dick in Paris? Well during our 3-month-aversary he bought me an expensive necklace.’

It didn’t bother you in the slightest. At least, not in the way that she hoped. It didn’t make you insecure or doubt or feel intimidated by her. It was just an annoyance that you couldn’t shake off, like the teacher you didn’t like or your annoying neighbour.

Unfortunately, Zatanna couldn’t take a hint that it made you and your friends (Barbara and Raquel included) uncomfortable and slightly irritated. Yet, everyone was just waiting for you to express the slightest distaste, not wanting to step on your toes. However, they were quick to change the topic in case they thought she was going too far.

Dick had been blissfully unaware of everything and you wanted to keep it that way. The last thing you needed was this turning into some sort of issue, especially since Zatanna was still his teammate.

However today you had enough.

You could look past Zatanna’s petty jealousy but allowing the jealousy to come to the forefront during a mission was where you drew the line.

Dick, M’Gann and Conner had been on a covert mission for Batman and out of the country and under team vote decided that you should be made in charge until he returned, since you were the only other older member (other than Zatanna but you were voted leader unanimously. Something you were extremely proud about). That was well and good, until you had been given a mission.

Regardless of how much you did not want to work with Zatanna without the others there to wrangle her, you had to put your personal feelings aside when you had a mission to complete.

You thought you could both be professionals about it and act like mature adults.

You were dead wrong.

If it wasn’t disagreements, it was insubordination. If it wasn’t insubordination, it was blatant arrogance. She questioned your judgment in front of the other members and even had the nerve to argue with you about mission strategies. You were trying to look out for everyone and put yourself in the line of fire since the squad members were better at stealth.

Zatanna seemed to think you were trying to steal the show and insisted that she be partnered with you even though you wanted someone with the younger members to keep them safe.

When you relented and agreed to go stealth, she accused you of ducking out and intentionally trying to put her in danger. The others had to watch as steam practically came out of your ears when you relented once again and decided you’d be with her because you honestly couldn’t argue with her much longer.

As if that wasn’t infuriating enough.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was when she refused to work as a team, putting the mission at risk and nearly getting the both of you hurt. She was fighting on her own, not bothering to have your back and going into it alone. Obviously, the two of you were overpowered quickly once they realized that you were pretty much behaving solo.

Luckily, the others pulled through and got you both out of there before anything horrible happened.

You sat in the ship, jaw clenched so tightly that they swore they could hear your teeth cracking, fists nearly white as you tried to control your anger and keep yourself from screaming at her while you were still in the air.

Once the ship landed in the docking bay and Zatanna was the first one to leave without saying another word, you snapped.

“What the hell did you think you were doing today!” You growled out, fisting her collar and stopping her in her tracks.

“What are you talking about?” She feigned innocence and you felt your skin burning. Everything around you faded out and all you could feel was fury. In hindsight, you would have liked to handle this issue in a more refined manner, but you honestly couldn’t care.

So, you didn’t notice the rest of the team, along with the a few members of the Justice League watching you chew Zatanna out.

Whatever would keep you from lighting her on fire was enough.

“I’m talking about putting the mission, not to mention ourselves in jeopardy, all because you can’t stop acting like a spoilt brat!” You hissed.

She rolled her eyes and you and the thought of strangling her briefly crossed your mind before she shoved your hands off her, dusting herself off like your fingerprints were dirt, “You need to stop blaming others for your inadequacy.”

She turned on her heel sharply and walked away. Blood pounded through your ears and your fingers twitched by their sides before you formed a whip of water from the bay and lashed it against her feet.

Zatanna, caught off guard, was thrown across the room before she caught herself with a muttered spell and turned around, glaring at you furiously.

“We’re going to settle things, right here, right now!”

“If you would stop being so insecure, then we could sort out our differences like mature adults!” She screamed back at you and before you could control it, flames erupted from beneath your feet and raced towards her, scorching the ground beneath it.

Each puff of breath you took released sparks. Zatanna immediately got into an offensive stance, levitating one of the weapons crates and chucking at you. You blocked it effortlessly using a wall of earth before throwing an inferno at her.

You kept fighting, flames and splashes of water going into the air every time you collided. The others watched in fear as you both raced towards each other, it looked like neither of you were holding back.

Before you could strike her again, you were being pulled away by Superman and as Zatanna was by Batman, they both pulled you yards apart. Even with his strong, authoritative grip on you, you couldn’t stop thrashing in his arms, throwing gusts of air at her.

“(Y/N). Enough.” Superman spoke in your ear and you calmed down, relaxing in his grip. He let you go after and you winced, feeling your skin bruise where he grabbed you. He gave you an apologetic glance at that.

“You both have to put your differences aside and work as a team or you won’t be allowed to go on any more missions.” Batman told you, voice firm but it didn’t shake you.

“No, Zatanna is going to have to put her issues with me aside and learn that when I have been elected as leader of the squad then you are supposed to put your petty jealousy aside and know your place.” You spat.

“You weren’t right for the position!”

“I did everything right! And if it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t have been under open fire tonight!”

“You’re not the boss of me!”

“When I am the leader of the squadron then I am! And you’re meant to listen and not question my judgement because you’re being blinded by your pathetic jealously!”

“I’m not jealous of you!”

“Oh, please! That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve heard from you and it was all proved today! Admit it! You were immature and fucking stupid because you can’t get over that fact that you dated Dick for what? 3 months?”

“That’s because he’s supposed to be with me!” 

“LIKE HELL HE IS!” You roared.

Batman felt a little helpless watching the two of you scream at each other. All this fighting? Over a boy? His son, no less? He had other sons and you were free to have your pick. But at this point, he wasn’t even sure what to say.

“You just can’t seem to accept the fact that he doesn’t love you anymore! Get over it! Because he certainly has!” You shouted, spinning on your heel and stomping away from her, determined to have the last word. Superman sighed in relief. He thought another fight would break out.

“You’re just insecure because you know that if he had the chance, he would come crawling back to me!”

A chill went done your spine and you felt cold fury run through your veins, turning around to glare at her murderously and clenching your hands tightly. You were so angry your feet were rooted to the floor, body seizing up slightly.

The others looked anxiously between the two of you as you glared at each other for a minute before you spoke with the calmest, yet most terrifying voice they’ve ever heard from you.

“Zatanna, you can try your damn hardest to win him back. But I promise you, you’re never going to get what you want.” You told her darkly, before walking away.

As Zatanna glared at your receding figure she decided she was going to prove you wrong.

***

To keep you from fighting with Zatanna again, when Batman came to you with a solo mission you couldn’t agree fast enough. Even though you knew you’d miss Dick’s homecoming, you still wanted to get the hell away from here. Not like you’d be missing anything important, other than Zatanna fawning over him.

You’d get to tell him how much you missed him in private anyway.

As soon as you were out of the cave, you couldn’t help the relief that filled your bones. You had been so on edge the past few days, still furious with her so the distance between the two of you was appreciated.

When Dick got home, he was ecstatic to see you again. It had been nearly 3 weeks since he had last held you and his skin was practically buzzing with excitement when he reached a cave, desperate to hug you, kiss you, touch you.

He got to the mess hall quickly, running all the way there and when he opened the door, he was instantly disappointed. You weren’t there.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” He asked Beast Boy, hoping he would tell him that you were just back at your apartment or that you had gone out for a while and would be back soon but he felt his heart sink when Gar gave him a sympathetic smile.

“She’s on a mission for a week.”

“A mission? Who’s with her?”

“No one. It’s a solo mission.”

Now he was worried. You usually didn’t take solo missions, liking to work in a team, knowing that there would be people who would be watching your back was reassuring. He knew you were more than skilled to handle a solo mission but not being by your side made him nervous and slightly antsy.

He was also upset that you weren’t here. So, he decided to do the most adult thing. Go home and sulk in bed while holding your sweatshirt that smelt like you.

But apparently the world had something against him because when he was about to go through the Zeta tube he was intercepted. By non other than Zatanna.

Now, poor clueless Dick had no idea that you had thrown hands with Zatanna just a day ago and was the reason why you weren’t there to welcome him when he got back. If he had he would’ve sulked at her and whined loudly for her to hear while he dragged his feet.

But, poor clueless Dick had absolutely no idea Zatanna was the reason he was being deprived of your kisses. So, he just smiled brightly at her and asked her if she needed anything.

“As a matter of fact, I found an old spell and I need someone to test it out on!”

“I don’t know how I feel about being your non-scientific experiment, Z.”

“Come on, it’s totally harmless, I promise.”

“I don’t know...”

“Don’t you trust me?”

He did. But there was just something about this situation that made him uncomfortable. Maybe it was because he missed you like crazy and just wanted to go home and sulk until you came back. Maybe it was because he felt uncomfortable to go somewhere private with his ex-girlfriend without telling you first. Or maybe it was because of the way Zatanna felt the need to guilt him into it.

Nevertheless, he agreed, albeit reluctantly and went to her room. Inside Zatanna had a bunch of ruins written on a paper and some weird poultices beside it.

“Now this isn’t going to work unless you give me your consent.” She informed, bustling about the room and Dick suddenly felt the air was a little stuffy.

“What do you mean by consent? Consent for what?”

“It’s a love spell.” She told him, smiling slyly but he couldn’t quite understand why. His hands got a little clammy at the announcement. What did she mean by love spell? Was she trying to get him to fall in love with her? Why would she be so open about it then? Especially when she knew he was in love with someone else?

“What do you mean?”

“Oh relax, stop being so tense. It’s just a love spell that proves who you truly love.” She said, immediately noticing how stiff his body was. Though she chalked it up to confusion. Dick was simply confused about who he loved, he was clouded by his attraction to you and he felt guilty about being unfaithful. But deep down, he really loved her. And this spell would prove it.

“In the olden ages, people would use it on their wedding to prove that their significant other truly loved them.”

He nodded, mouth falling open with realization. He already knew what the answer would be so why even bother? He assumed it was because Zatanna was curious to whether it actually worked.

“Too bad (Y/N) isn’t here, I mean I know who I love but I’d like to try it out on her. I mean, who takes a mission the day before their boyfriend comes back to town.” He complained, more to himself but Zatanna still heard it.

“Anyway, can I cast it on you?”

“Sure, couldn’t hurt.”

Oh, how he’d come to know just how wrong he was.

***

You raced through the halls, panicked, hearing your heart beat out of your chest as you sprinted to the Med Bay. Even though you were running as quick as possible you still pumped your legs to run faster, needing to get there quickly.

As soon as you saw Zatanna outside the Med Bay, you skidded to a stop in front of her and grabbing her collar, pinning her against the wall. She hit it with a thud and she saw white for a second when her head collided with the hard surface.

It was then you got a good look at her face. Her eyes were red and face wet. Her lips were bitten until they bled. You gritted your teeth, grip tightening around the collar as tears pricked your eyes.

“What the hell did you do!”

She whimpered, eyes getting glossy again before she started crying, incomprehensible words leaving her lips and you snarled before shaking her again, “You don’t get to cry! What the hell did you do to him!”

“It was a love spell!” She cried out, “It was supposed to reveal who he truly loves.”

“AND?!”

“It’s activated by a kiss.” She sniffled, “And I did.”

“Is it done?” Dick asked just as she finished casting the spell. His body was enveloped by a slight glow that was only visible to her and Zatanna’s lips curled when she realized it had worked. Now there was only one thing left to do.

“Yep.” She said, slinking over to his side and he pouted curiously.

“Are you sure? I don’t feel any different. You said it was supposed to reveal who I love. What happened?”

“We’re gonna find that out. Hold still.” She said, smiling and wrapping her arms around his neck to press a kiss to his lips. Dick froze, feeling her lips move against his and his mind went blank for a second before his chest contracted painfully.

He gasped against her mouth, before his legs buckled and he tumbled to the ground. Zatanna’s eyes widened when she saw the way his body twitched, pained gasps leaving his mouth and tears began falling from his eyes.

“Are you okay?!” She panicked, wrapping her arms around his thrashing figure but he couldn’t choke out an answer.

“Someone help! Anyone! Please!”

“A kiss doesn’t put people through cardiac arrest!” You screamed, feeling your chest tighten as you heard it out loud for the first time. Your eyes began burning and your throat contracted, feeling tears build. It was the first time you had admitted it to yourself.

You were scared. Emotions that you could barely process or understand swirled around you in a dark cloud and you were scared that Dick wouldn’t make it out of his critical state. If he was taken away from you because you hadn’t been there to stop it, you would never forgive yourself.

“I’m sorry.” She whimpered, sobbing and her body went limp in your fists. The urge to rip her head off her shoulders resurfaced. She didn’t get to be upset, not when this was all her fault.

“I don’t give a shit.” You hissed, “How do we save him?”

“A true love’s kiss should stop all the side effects.” She whispered, looking up at you with wide eyes, “If Dick truly loves you, then when you kiss him, it’ll reverse the spell.”

You needed to get in there.

You released your hold and Zatanna and she slid to the floor pathetically, holding her body as she cried. But even with her heartbroken sobs, you couldn’t feel any sort of remorse to her, glaring at her instead, “You better hope this works. Or I’ll kill you myself.”

And then you rushed in.

When you got to Dick’s side your breath stuttered when you noticed just how many things he was connected to and you felt your body shake. Batman was carefully watching him from his bedside.

You carefully walked to his side, gently brushing your fingers against his cheekbone. He looked like he was in so much pain. He looked so weak. You wanted to help him but a part of you was scared. For the first time in your life, you doubted Dick’s feelings for you.

The time you needed his love and devotion to be true the most, you were doubtful. A million thoughts rushed through your head and for a second you were tempted to just avoid doing this at all. But you knew that you had to at least try.

So, with trembling hands, you held the ventilator fastened to his mouth, taking a deep breath before tugging it off. Batman, already knowing what you were about to do, let you pull it off him before pressing a fluttering kiss to his lips. Tears gathered underneath your lashes when you didn’t feel anything happen.

Just when you were about to pull away, Dick took a deep breath through his nose and panted against your mouth, kissing you more firmly. You couldn’t help the sob that bubbled out of your throat and he swallowed it without any qualms.

Even through bleary vision, you were able to make out his blue eyes and the small smile on his face. 

His hands came up to weakly cup for cheeks, gently wiping away the tears with his thumbs, “I missed you.”

You sniffled, letting more tears fall because you knew he’d be here to wipe them away, “I missed you too.”

***

Bonus:

You walked into the mess hall quietly. Dick had just fallen asleep in the Med Bay where he would be kept for a couple days under observation. It was past 1 in the night and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed but you had some unfinished business left to handle.

It was dark and it was hard to make out your surroundings until your eyes adjusted to the darkness. As you walked to the kitchen island, your eyes landed on the sorceress that had her head in her arms and wondered if she was asleep. Batman had said you were free to deal with her anyway you liked and that had been exactly your plan.

“He’s okay now, if you’re curious.” You told her. Her head shot up and she looked at you out of the corner of her eye before bowing it away shamefully. But you caught a glance at her face. She looked like she had been crying for hours, eyes bloodshot and face red and blotchy.

“Thank god.” She croaked out.

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m so so sorry, (Y/N).” Zatanna whimpered out before crying again, “You were right. I was jealous. And I did a crazy, wrong thing. And I’m so sorry.”

You sighed, nodding at her apology even though you knew she couldn’t see you. You weren’t sure if you accepted it, and you didn’t have to. For now, it could remain in the air.

“He really doesn’t love me....” She whispered out and you sighed once again, stepping up beside her and setting something on the table.

Zatanna glanced at the bottle of tequila and the two shot glasses you left. You didn’t look at her, instead choosing to stare straight ahead. You opened the bottle, pouring yourself a shot before tilting your head back and downing it, hissing at the burn.

“Obligatory break-up drink.” You mumbled, pouring her a shot and passing the glass to her.

She sniffled, looking at the glass in her hands before gulping it down. You took a deep breath, refilling the glasses. You still didn’t look at her, didn’t speak to her, just poured a refill when either of you finished and downed it in one gulp. The excitement from today and the tense feeling from sitting beside Zatanna kept you from getting drunk too early.

You two ended up finishing half the bottle, drinking in the dark until she passed out first and you followed soon after.

The others found you the next morning, passed out at the kitchen island, clutching empty shot glasses.

***

Bonus bonus:

Batman sighed, smelling the overwhelming scent of tequila as he came closer. None of them were able to wake either of you up. You were out cold, face scrunched up and head against the table in a position that would no doubt have your neck in a crick.

Zatanna was no better. Her hair was a mess, tequila spilt on her clothes and she was drooling all over the table, snoring unattractively.

“All this over a boy?”

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

DC Taglist:

@emmacata

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

[qqueenofhades]

this is a bit of a political landmine, so I totally understand if you don’t answer this. do you think the US/NATO should send troops to Ukraine?

Welp x2. Well, I have already started talking about this whole mess, so I guess it's too late to stop. As for this, the up-to-the-minute news is that NATO is getting ready to activate their dedicated Response Force for the first time ever. These forces won't be going into Ukraine itself, since it is still not a member, but are meant to provide reassurance to other NATO members in Eastern Europe, especially small former Soviet republics such as the Baltic states, that they are willing to protect them from any further aggression.

I feel that the Biden administration, while it has made a strong initial start on sanctions (you can read the full list of actions taken and their consequences), does need to do more, just because this is an unprecedented situation that demands a united and stringent response. There has been a lot of talk about expelling Russia from SWIFT, the global banking system, which is a step that Germany, Italy, and a few other EU members are reluctant to take due to their reliance on Russian energy (which has been a sticking point for years due to warnings of Putin using it as a geopolitical weapon in exactly this way). Since Germany already cut off Nord Stream 2, it feels to some degree that it has made sufficient economic sacrifices, is wary of appearing too aggressive (especially against Russia, given that Putin is getting propaganda mileage out of supposedly "fighting Nazis"), and if Russia does get kicked out of SWIFT, it will have an undeniable impact on the German economic and energy sectors. Ukraine's foreign minister is pushing hard for Russia to be thrown out of every international organization, which is understandable, and naturally, some elements of the Twitterverse are bad-faith spinning Biden's decision not to pursue SWIFT removal (yet, as he has said that it remains on the table for a potential third package of sanctions) as "weakness" or "refusal to deal with Russia" or etc etc. You know, since everyone is now a foreign policy and international finance expert. The US government does not control SWIFT and cannot eject Russia unilaterally. The UK has pledged to talk the EU into agreeing to this, but a) the UK is the number-one biggest international banking destination for Russian oligarchs and their black cash and therefore has a lot more steps to take to get its own house in order, and b) it's doubtful whether the EU is overly impressed by the UK's insistence on anything, especially in regard to trade regulations. We'll see.

As for troops on the ground: Biden has been repeatedly and deliberately clear that the instant Americans and Russians start shooting at each other, it's a world war, and everyone knows the nuclear shadow that would hang over this Cold War revanchism. The US has said that they still don't think Putin has any intention of using nuclear weapons, and Russia has recently signed several accords committing to never using the nuclear deterrent, but then, it's clear that they currently regard their international treaty commitments as entirely fungible. But Biden, who has been in American politics since the 1970s, is very, very aware of this aspect, and honestly, he should be. Putin, as noted in my last ask, is clearly getting increasingly deranged, and while it doesn't mean he's going to try it, it is something that Biden is right to take seriously. Besides, after the disgraceful spectacle and turbulent withdrawal of America's two-decade occupation in Afghanistan, there's absolutely no way in hell the administration wants to get bogged down in another ill-judged foreign adventure. Especially one with the chilling aspects of this one.

Basically, NATO is in a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" situation right now, where sending physical troops would escalate the conflict to untenable levels, but where not doing so causes people to accuse them of not doing enough to support the Ukrainians. On that note, I'm still puzzled by everyone calling this the worst conflict in Europe since 1945; have they all totally forgotten the Balkan wars of the 90s, including the siege of Sarajevo, which was the longest in all of recorded history? But then, NATO and the West were pilloried for deliberately looking the other way and allowing the Bosnian genocide to be carried out without interference, so it's not a memory or a comparison that they really want to draw. President Zelenskyy has said that Ukraine is essentially on its own in this fight, and I don't think he has any realistic expectation that the West is going to send troops for all the reasons listed above, but damn. That is a hard spot to be in.

Anyway, the West is still supplying weapons, training, and "lethal aid" to Ukraine, which means anti-anticraft missiles, anti-tank missiles, and other heavy artillery to at least give them a fighting chance. The feeling seems to be that they might have to keep arming and funding the resistance if Ukraine falls to Russian military occupation (because while Putin has said that Russia doesn't want to do that, every word out of his mouth about this whole thing has been a lie and he has been openly calling for the Ukrainian military to overthrow their democratically elected government). In short, I don't see (and don't want) American/NATO troops becoming active combatants, but they might be drafted in in some other role, whether as observers, support, or so forth. We all hope it doesn't come to that.

[wakaoujisenhime]

I’m home - Bakugou x reader

Synopsis: Day after day you return home from work to either find your apartment empty or your husband asleep. Your last joint day off is also quite a while back, so you can’t help but feel rather lonely. And as if that wasn’t enough, you read an interview where your man had to give an insight on his married life with you and the questions he had to answer weren’t as pleasant as expected ...

tags/warnings: Bakugou x reader ✅  fluff ✅  (more or less) some domestic bliss ✅  minimal angst ✅  

crossed off square: Take a day off

A/N: This has been in my WIPs for waaay too long, so I’m finally happy to have finished it. Hope you’ll enjoy it! (°◡°♡)

→ BINGO Event masterlist

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

“Katsuki..“

“Hm?”

“When was the last time our day-offs were on the same day?”

——

You unlocked the front door to your apartment and stepped in as you silently announced that you were home, waiting for an answer which sadly never came.

So he’s still at work, huh?

With heavy steps, you slowly moved towards your living room, fully expecting to see your husband lying utterly exhausted on the black sofa. Much to your dismay, the only thing you saw was his Ground Zero themed jacket you had surprised him with on Valentine’s day last year.

A sigh escaped your mouth as you let your eyes scan the emptiness you called home, and that’s when you noticed something peculiar peeking out of one of your trash cans. 

Upon taking a closer look at it, you realized that it was the latest issue of the monthly ‘My HERO!’ magazine, you always made sure to buy so that you could keep track of what your husband, as well as his friends, were up to.

“Katsuki, you dummy, I still haven’t read it yet, you know?” you mumbled to yourself while you took it out of the waste-paper basket and glanced at the cover picture. 

A tall and bulky man whose red shirt emphasized his toned muscles perfectly took up almost the entire space of the booklet. His long black hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and if one looked closely, it was evident that there were still some red streaks left from back in his student days where he used to maintain a completely crimson hairstyle. 

There were some of this issue’s top stories listed on the front page, so you skimmed through the short extracts.

Earphone Jack: A life between a hero and a rockstar

“With Sensei’s help”: The way someone from the general department became one of the TOP 20 heroes

ICY-HOT: How to not only follow into your father’s footsteps but completely obliterate them

“Let me show you how it’s done”: Red Riot’s guide to becoming the manliest hero of society and women’s hearts

Some of these headlines were quite funny to you, but that positive mood only lasted until you saw your husband’s name.

Exclusive interview: How is Katsuki Bakugou’s married life going?

Even though the title wasn’t anything exceptional, you couldn’t deny that it felt a bit suggestive and provocative at the same time. Curious as you were, you immediately looked up the corresponding pages and began reading through them.

The questions didn’t differ that much from other typical Q&A sessions with other prominent figures of society. Still, some tried to imply that Bakugou didn’t seem as happy as some other married pro heroes, and that implication was making you quite sad. 

At some point, this little questionnaire got quite personal, and even if your husband was trying his best to maintain at least some kind of privacy, the reporter just couldn’t take a hint and continued prying. You could’ve only imagined just how mad he must’ve been at this point, but what interested you most were his answers.

Q: So, how are the two of you managing the housework?

A: It heavily depends on who comes home first, but both of us are trying to take as much load off as possible from the other.

--

Q: Do you suspect there might be a different reason for your wife’s late returns?

A: I don’t know what you’re trying to point at, but no, I don’t. She might not be a hero like me, but she’s still a very busy woman, and there are some days on which she even comes home when I’m already asleep. 

--

Q: Aren’t there times when you wish to come home and see that everything’s been taken care of by her?

A: If I wanted a maid, then I would’ve simply hired one.

You angrily closed the magazine and stomped towards the sofa, where you plumped down and began pouting like a small child. 

Now I know why he threw it away…

Those questions were nothing but pure incitement from the reporter who tried to subtly accuse you of being unfaithful and imply that whatever you were doing was insufficient for such a great hero like him. 

Exhausted, you lay down and held onto your man’s jacket, the mix of his favorite cologne, and his scent instantly managed to calm you down a bit. You began imagining how he was kneeling in front of you, running his fingers along your hair while trying to calm your raging heart down by saying that these people knew nothing about his or your private life, and slowly but surely your eyelids grew heavy until they completely closed. 

——

“I’m home.”

After quietly announcing his return, Bakugou disrobed his coat and kicked his shoes off his feet. Upon noticing your footwear, he immediately headed for the bedroom to see if you had already gone to sleep, but much to his surprise, you weren’t there. The thought that you were still at work crossed his mind as he scratched the back of his neck, a disappointed sigh escaping his mouth.

He dragged his feet across the floor and headed for the kitchen. When his red eyes fixated that magazine he had thrown away some hours ago, the unpleasant memories returned.  

I thought I threw that garbage away.

Just as the man was about to repeat what he’d done today, a particular figure caught his attention.

(Y/N)...

Looking at your sleeping form while tightly holding onto his jacket was both calming but saddening as well. The question you asked him some days ago was still haunting his mind.

When was the last time our day-offs were on the same day?

He knew that this question wasn’t supposed to hint at something, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty. In truth, Bakugou had always requested that his day-offs were on days where you would work so that he could at least help you out even a little bit with the housework. The happy and surprised facial expressions you did when you saw just how much your boyfriend had done around the house always filled him with enormous self-satisfaction, so he figured: why not continue that way?

But now that this stupid interview had planted a small seed of doubt in his mind and after seeing you desperately clinging onto a piece of fabric that bore his smell, it made him realize that he’d lost sight of something quite more crucial than just simple relief of fewer dishes to wash.

His calloused fingers gently caressed your cheek while his red eyes focused on your slightly parted lips. He’d given everything to wake you up with a kiss on the lips, but there was no way he could cope with the guilt he would’ve felt from robbing these small but much-needed minutes of rest. Instead, he carefully picked you up like the princess you were for him, gently leaned your head on his shoulder, carried you to the big and fluffy bed the two of you had picked out together some years back. He was relieved to see that he’d been successful in not waking you up while he’d laid you down as carefully as possible.

After tucking you in like a cocoon, Bakugou shut the door behind him and pulled his mobile phone out of his jean’s pockets, frantically searching for a particular man’s number, and when he’d finally found the one he was looking for, he made no halt. He straight out called it while completely disregarding the fact that it was almost 1 AM. 

A tired and grumpy voice picked up after the fourth ting, demanding to know just what the blond needed at such an ungodly hour. 

“A favor...it’s about this week’s day-off.” 

——

The next day you woke up to someone gently poking your cheeks, and when you finally managed to squint your eyes open, the first thing that stood out to you were spiky blond hairs.

“Katsuki..?” you asked in a silent voice, still unsure whether he was truly standing before you or not.

Said man changed his tactic and softly moved some of your hair from your eyes as he answered: “Yeah, it’s me. Now stop dawdling and get up or you’ll be late for work.”

Just as he was about to make some space for you to get out of bed, you wrapped your arms around his waist, which almost made the both of you fall over...almost.

“You little...what do you think you’re doing, huh?”

A muffled giggle was your answer to his rhetorical question, and no matter how hard he tried to get you off of him, you refused to let go, so for better or worse, he had to return your embrace and stay that way until you were satisfied.

After that short but wholesome cuddle session with your husband, you finally started doing as told and prepared for the upcoming workday.

“Alright then...I’ll be leaving,” you announced half loud, conscious of being a possible disturbance for your still sleeping neighbors while looking back at the already dressed up man behind you. Bakugou was standing there, and after seeing the desolate expression on your face, he immediately spread his arms, initiating the embrace you were so desperately looking for. While his arms rested on your back, rubbing it ever so gently you took his scent in, kissing his neck ever so gently, and wished him a good day.

——

“I’m home.”

You took a look around your dark apartment smiling sadly at the fact that your husband hadn’t come back yet, so you did what you always do on lonely evenings such as these: prepare some dinner, run a bath, surround yourself with soft blankets and watch your favorite shows and movies until you eventually drift off to sleep. The last thing you did before sleep caught up to you was check your phone’s calendar and check whether your partner’s day off matched yours and it sadly didn’t.

Alone tomorrow as well, huh…?

You had fallen asleep on such a sad and rather negative thought that it had killed your entire motivation for the following day. The moment you opened your eyes you immediately wanted to fall asleep yet again, so you turned yourself and were now facing your lover’s bed part. Suddenly something rather peculiar caught your eye. His bedside was way messier than when you slept alone, which could only mean that he had come home at some point and that’s when you heard a silent thud coming from beyond your room. 

Could it be..?

You slowly got up and when you opened the bedroom door you were greeted by a rather funny sight. Bakugou was holding onto the kitchen counter with one of his hands and with the other he held his foot and was swearing silently something about how the ‘shitty counter’ had been in his way. He at first didn’t notice your presence but the moment you giggled softly his red eyes darted back to where you were standing.

“S-Shit…! Sorry babe, I didn’t mean to wake you!” he apologized in a silent voice. Instead of answering you simply jogged up to him and wrapped your arms tightly around his neck. This gesture was all he needed and his former anger was instantly blown away. 

His strong arms glide along your back while his lips plant multiple gentle kisses on your temple. This gentle way of treating you wasn't something so uncommon and every time he did it it made you incredibly happy.

While you cuddled a sudden question crossed your mind that you couldn’t help but ask.

“Say Katsuki...it’s not like I’m ungrateful for you being here, but...isn’t your day off tomorrow?”

You expected him to get grumpy or insulted, but his reaction was quite the opposite of what you braved yourself for. The grin that appeared on his face was one full of pride and satisfaction, it was as if he had waited for that question. 

“Well, what a coincidence of you to ask! Best Jeanist called me yesterday and said that he has to reschedule my free day for today, so I figured that I’d surprise you with some pancakes and grace you with my presence!”

His arrogant way of proclaiming this was a rather exaggerated attempt to hide the fact that he was actually the one who called up his superior at 1 AM in the morning, requesting the switch in days. 

Normally such a sudden change wouldn’t be possible, but Best Jeanist had a hunch that his sidekick’s decision was most likely because of that interview he had a few days. The pro hero still remembered the way the blond had stormed into his office, screaming something about the audacity of the interviewer, about how these extras were lucky he held back, and how he’d make sure to ‘accidentally’ blow up their main building the next time he fought a villain. Considering his outburst, the older one figured that the questions must’ve been entirely different than anticipated so he decided to wait for the magazine’s next issue to release so that he could have a look as well. 

You simply smiled to yourself and pressed your cheek on Bakugou’s trained chest, while the soft and pleasant smell of pancakes and sandalwood reached your nose. The two of you stayed like that for a couple of minutes until your husband gently pet your back, a subtle signal to signalize that it was time for the two of you to let go. With his warm hand still on your back he softly navigated you to one of the chairs he’d placed around your kitchen island and waited until you sat down so that he could serve you his fluffy creations.

“Et voilà! Katsuki’s extra fluffy and freshly prepared pancakes...hope you’ll enjoy them” he announced in a warm tone and kissed your cheek. 

Looking at these soft goddesses you couldn’t help but lick your lips in anticipation, but you decided to wait for your beloved to join you so that you could dig in at the same time. It took a short while to persuade the blond who insisted that you start without him so that he could enjoy your blissful expression, but he yielded in the end.

His red eyes studied your positive reaction to the warm breakfast he’d prepared and a loving smile adorned his lips as he listened to the countless positive comments you uttered in regards to it.

Good thing I managed to escape her grasp this morning, ‘cause this expression is so worth it.

While you happily ate one bite after the other, Bakugou recalled today’s morning and how you had subconsciously wrapped your arms around his body and were cuddling up to him. The temptation to just lie there with you and shower your face with kisses until you woke up on your own was truly big, but he repeatedly told himself that your expression when you met him in the kitchen would be ten times cuter and more satisfying...and he was right.

“Hey (Y/N)...I love you, I really do” he said in a silent and almost soothing voice as he gently wiped off some crumbs from the corner of your mouth. You looked at him with slightly widened eyes. Your husband wasn’t that good with words as some so you often had to read between the lines and yet, this time you knew exactly what brought this sudden confession on.

The interview…

After swallowing that small bite of pancake which you’d been chewing on for a tad too long, you got up and walked around the edges of the island that separated you from your loved one.

The blond seemed to follow your line of thought and got up from his chair as well, already spreading his arms and readying himself for your embrace. When you were standing face to face with him you instinctively went for a hug and squeezed him as hard as you could while he placed his forehead on your shoulder and took in your pleasant smell.

It was at times like these where the thoughtfulness of your usually brash and impudent husband came to light and managed to cosy you along with his actions rather than his words. 

While you were clinging onto his shirt the trash bin at the corner of your kitchen caught your eye and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you recognized the familiar and slightly wadded front page of a certain magazine… 

[kaistarus]

One Bed Mix-Up

Pairing: NishinoyaXReader

Words:2.5K

Summary: Nishinoya insists he’s the world’s greatest traveler, so you decide to visit him during your spring break vacation. But due to his inability to speak foreign languages Nishinoya messes up and gets you both a room with only one bed…

A/N: How could I not find a way to write the fanfic classic with my favorite boi? The fact that even took me this long?? I’m ashamed… Seriously tho I love this fic so much lmao

Masterlist

This could not be real.

You examined the room that had been essentially what Nishinoya explained-on the small side, but an open concept that made it more than comfortable. However, you immediately froze because where you were expecting some sort of living space was instead just one bed shoved against the wall. A detail that had been conveniently left out of his description.

You side-eyed Nishinoya’s amused smile with a glare.

“You did this on purpose,” you accused.

“I swear I didn’t,” he snorted, tossing his bag onto the bed nonchalantly. “Well, it’s possible I accidentally did, but it wasn’t on purpo-”

“What do you mean you ‘accidentally’ did this?”

“I’m not very good at Italian, okay?” Nishinoya threw his hands up. “I called last minute and there were so many words,” he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the bed. “I guess ‘full’ meant bed size and not a room ‘full’ of beds, huh?”

“I feel like numbers would’ve been a better indicator,” you mumbled, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“In hindsight, probably, but here we are.” He fell back onto the bed. “I’d go to talk to them, but it’s late and I don’t think I know enough to haggle.”

“This sucks,” you groaned, placing your bag beside him on the bed. He grinned up at you seeming unbothered by your circumstance.

“It could be worse. We could have no room at all,” he shrugged, digging through his own duffel for night supplies. “I did that once in Thailand because I tried to last minute find a place but couldn’t. Now that sucked.”

You raised your eyebrow at how casually he spoke about the situation, and he just ruffled your hair before heading toward the bathroom. Your stare lingered on the bathroom’s door before flickering toward the bed, narrowing your eyes at it and giving it a petty kick. This was a worst case scenario you had never planned for when you agreed to this trip with Nishinoya.

When you casually mentioned you were thinking about taking an actual vacation for your last spring break Nishinoya jumped on it. He eagerly told you how his travel expertise made him the best guide and after several years he could make it the cheapest trip possible. You were a little skeptical at first, but you had saved enough for a round-trip to Italy and he swore he’d pay for the majority of your food when you got there. It was the best deal you’d get.

The only problem was even after over three years of not seeing him your heart still did acrobatics when he wrapped his arms around you at the airport.

You glared at the bed that the universe had planted for your demise and huffed, grabbing Nishinoya’s bag and dropping it on the floor before climbing atop the plush mattress. His words continued to echo throughout the small room as he rambled from the bathroom, but you paid little attention as you dug through your suitcase for your own nighttime supplies.

“Does that sound like a good plan?”

You glanced over and tensed, quickly snapping your eyes back to your suitcase. Nishinoya had poked his head out of the bathroom with his hair now plastered down on his forehead which had always been your kryptonite. You cursed yourself, rubbing a fist over where your heart pounded against ribcage.

It hadn’t even been six hours since he picked you up from the airport and you were already freaking out. How were you supposed to handle the next two weeks?

“Are you even listening?” He pouted, then pointing his toothbrush to his duffel bag. “Why is my stuff on the ground?”

“‘Cause you’re sleeping on the floor.”

He was silent for a half a minute before asking with genuine confusion, “why am I sleeping on the floor?”

“Did you actually think we were sharing the bed?” You looked at his puzzled expression in disbelief. “It’s barely big enough for one of us.”

“I guess… you’re right.” He avoided your eyes and you swore his cheeks tinted pink, but he turned away and threw a thumb inside the bathroom to signal you could get ready. You left him grabbing stuff off the bed and tossing them onto the floor as you walked away with supplies cradled in your arms.

Once finished you stretched your arms high above your head while exiting the bathroom. You cocked your head to the side as you took in Nishinoya lying on the hardwood, one arm tucked under a pillow and a flimsy blanket thrown haphazardly across him as he scrolled through his phone. The sight sent an ounce of guilt coursing through you as you crawled on the bed, wondering why he left the comforter regardless of the already uneven circumstances.

He mumbled goodnight before crawling across the room to flicker off the lights and you shrunk into yourself at the lopsided grin he sent you. As you wiggled under the warmth of the comforter you grimaced at the cold that filled the room outside your cocoon. Was Nishinoya freezing on the floor?

You frowned, turning toward the window that took up a large portion of the wall beside you. The moonlight crept in and illuminated the room in a soft glow that allowed for vision despite the hour. You closed your eyes, listening to Nishinoya’s uneven breathing which informed you that he was far from sleep-not surprising given his uncomfortable position. You groaned internally as butterflies tickled your stomach like you were back in high school.

It wouldn’t be fair to force him to be miserable because you still harbored immature feelings. You slung your arm over your eyes, taking a calming breath before crawling toward the edge of the bed and peeking your eyes at him. His already open amber eyes flickered to meet yours and after several moments of contact a wicked grin spread on his lips.

“You better not move around in your sleep,” you grumbled, shuffling over as far as you could without falling off.

“No promises,” he laughed, pulling the comforter back and wasting no time wiggling underneath. Your cheeks warmed as he adjusted his pillow, shoulder pressing firmly against your back.

He could at least pretend to be uncomfortable with the situation.

Unlike him, it hadn’t taken you long to regret everything. You spent every second he’d been there counting the bricks in front of you hoping that if you bored yourself to sleep you wouldn’t keep having a heart attack everytime Nishinoya adjusted his position. 

“Can you stop freaking out?” Nishinoya asked annoyedly, you felt him roll to face your back. “You're making it hard for me to sleep.

“I’m not freaking out,” you scoffed, tightening your grip on the comforter.

“You haven’t relaxed since I got up here.” He poked your side and you jumped obnoxiously, helping prove his point further. You furrowed your brow frustratedly and pulled the comforter higher up your face.

“You’re looking too deep into nothing,” you lied. “I couldn’t care less that you’re here, Noya.”

You realized that came out meaner than you intended as the room filled with silence. You opened your mouth to correct it, but it slammed shut when you felt his forehead rest gently between your shoulder blades.

“Liar,” he said slyly.

You didn’t know how to respond because you were lying, but you didn’t think Nishinoya would ever call you on it. You sighed, glancing over your shoulder before mustering the courage to shuffle around and face his crooked grin.

“You’re making this more difficult than it has to be.” You deadpanned.

“Well, you’re acting like it’s torture.”

You rolled your eyes, but internally you wanted to scream that it practically was torture. He had no clue how long you had liked him and apparently, despite all logic, still did.

Nishinoya poked your fist that laid between you both. “I’m really glad you came,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Me too,” you whispered. It was bizarre how much he’d changed, yet felt exactly the same. A little taller, less baby faced, but still the exact same sense of humor and goofy smile-even keeping his signature hairstyle.

You furrowed your brow, staring at the blonde strip of hair that rested on his forehead. You used to think it was dyed until seeing pictures of him post-high school, doubting his upkeep abilities without his sisters’.

Perhaps it was the late hour or the soft smile that rested on his lips, but you were filled with an usual bout of courage as you slowly lifted your hand to run your fingers through the strands laying on his forehead. His eyes widened at the contact, but he did nothing to stop you-even leaning down to give easier reach.

“I missed you,” he confessed under the cover of night and your fingers faltered.

You frowned when you met his eyes filled with sudden adoration. “Is this a scheme, Noya?”

He blinked, taken aback. “A what?”

“Like, invite me to Italy and then uh-oh one bed? How did that happen? Now I’m gonna smooth talk you while we’re in bed. ” You rolled your eyes pulling your hand back.

“I swear I’m not smart enough to come up with all of that.” He said, grabbing your hand and placing it back on his head. “I would never rely on my ability to smooth talk.”

You narrowed your eyes, “I guess that’s true.”

“I’m way better than I was in high school.” He nodded proudly, which honestly wasn’t saying much. “I mean, if we were still in high school I wouldn’t be able to handle being in this room. Especially because I was, like, in love with you.”

Time froze as those words left his mouth. Your mouth hung open as you tried to process them and when he waved his hand in front of your face you sat up, pointing an accusatory finger down at him.

“What the hell do you mean you used to like me?”

“Uh,” he pushed your hand away. “I had a crush on you? It was pretty obvious. Everyone knew about it.”

“I didn’t know about it.” You stared down at your own hands in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He looked up thoughtfully, “well, the last crush I had was in love with my best friend, so I wasn’t on a great streak.”

“That’s a stupid reason,” you frowned, poking his chest angrily. “I’m not Kiyoko. You had no idea what would’ve happened if-”

“Why are you so mad?” He grabbed your hand and held it tightly. “This was like four years ago.”

“Well, it was just… I sort of liked you too so that would’ve-.” You felt your face heat up as Nishinoya’s grip on your hand tightened and he shot up, as well.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wha-you liked Kiyoko,” you poked his forehead with your freehand and he clasped that one as well. “After she started dating Tanaka you were all ‘I’m gonna travel the world’. The timing never felt right.”

“That’s stupid!”

“It makes more sense than, ‘I was on a losing streak’.”

“No, because I just figured there was no point in trying!”

“Well, I assumed you were leaving forever and didn’t want to be dead weight that-”

You were cut off by Nishinoya pulling you down to press your lips together. Your eyes widened at the sudden contact, staring at his squeezed shut eyes as you stiffly wondered what you were supposed to do. Definitely not having your eyes open like a creep, and kissing back would be a good idea too.

Just as you started getting yourself together Nishinoya pulled back with a concerned crease to his brow.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just… Was that okay?” He tilted his head, loosening his hold on your hands. You were too flustered to form a proper sentence and he took your silence as a bad sign. Panicked and without a plan you pulled your hands from his grasp to cradle his cheeks.

His eyes flickered down your lips and he leaned close; eyes drifting closed while he rubbed his nose lazily against your own, waiting for you to close the gap. The room’s silence felt deafening as you leaned the few inches forward to press your lips gently against Nishinoya’s. You felt the corners of his lips quirk upwards briefly before he wrapped his arms around your midsection to pull you closer against his chest.

Your heart reacted faster than the rest of you, leaping around your chest uncontrollably as you tried to focus on everything else: tangling your hands in his hair, matching the oddly skilled pace he managed to set, and remaining calm when he pulled you both back onto the bed. As the kiss’ languid pace grew in intensity you pulled back, catching your breath and he watched you lovingly, pressing his forehead against yours and rubbing his thumb against your cheek.

“You should visit more often,” he said with a dopey smile.

“Yeah, with all that money I have,” you deadpanned.

He pouted, wrapping his arms around your midsection to hold you impossibly closer while nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, “well, I should visit you more.”

“With all the money you have?” You snorted, running your fingers through his hair. He groaned against your neck, sending a vibration down your spine. Then he pulled back, his face lit up with some revelation as he smashed your cheeks together.

“You can just travel with me after you graduate,” he laughed elatedly.

You blinked once. Twice. “That’s a pretty bold suggestion.”

“You didn’t say no.”

Your cheeks warmed and a dopey smile forced its way onto your lips, “I didn’t say no…”

Another breathtaking smile covered his face and he pulled you back to his chest,nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head. “I can live with that.”

You rolled your eyes, but revelled in the warmth that filled your chest as you gripped the fabric of his t-shirt. You couldn’t believe it took all these years to work through your feelings, simultaneously with someone like Nishinoya this was probably the only way it would happen. And even if nothing came of this in the end you were more than satisfied to have these next few weeks with him.

You snuggled against him, closing your eyes with a content smile resting on your lips. Just lying with him like this? It would be more than enough.

Tags: @nathalie707

[libermachinae]

In Touch

Exes Week Day 7 - Free Space / lonely

Later that evening, the building’s management would get noise complaints from their residential tenants. Optimus’ voice was the kind of bass that carried easily through walls and under carpets, but Prowl hadn’t bee n selfish in his contribution either. Most reports mentioned him, and a very small number noted a third voice, trying to silence the other two like a creek pushing against the tide of the ocean.

“Don’t try to tell me that went well,” Chromedome warned as they stepped outside. It was the first time he had spoken since Prowl had thrown one of Optimus’ datapads through the window.

“I wasn’t going to,” Prowl said. “I was only planning to mention that we got results. I can’t always say that for these discussions.” More often, it would go much like today had, except it would end with Prowl leaving his work in the office for the Prime’s eventual consideration, or Prowl would get kicked out entirely and be forced to return the next day to start the process over again. “Well done.”

Chromedome didn’t respond. Side by side, they didn’t have to look at each other. Prowl could have pretended he was alone at the top of the steps, looking down on the city, and he wouldn’t have had to try that hard.

“I’m going home now,” Chromedome said. “I’m… glad you’ve found a place for yourself, Prowl.”

“Did Rewind really send you?” Prowl asked just before Chromedome could walk away.

Chromedome froze with his back to Prowl.

“Don’t,” he warned, unconvincingly.

“I’m not making any accusations,” Prowl said, adding a shrug with his doorwing. “No need to get defensive. I’m just wondering what other motiv—”

The shove didn’t send Prowl tumbling down the stairs, but it could have. Chromedome was above him now, fans roaring like he’d just dropped out of a 100 mph sprint. Prowl still couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and it was so frustrating.

“You haven’t changed at all, have you?” Chromedome asked. His arms were shaking, and not from the force he had put into his push; Prowl knew he was much stronger than that. “You think exactly the same way you always did. The only difference, the only reason you’re not already in charge of everything is because the people around you finally figured out who you are.”

“And who is that?” Prowl demanded. He advanced forward, driving Chromedome back. “Someone who understands the problems, who is willing to do what it takes to solve them? Cybertron is ready to shake itself apart, and all the leaders want to sit back and play politics together!”

“So you’re going to fix it?” Chromedome asked. “You? Alone? When has that ever worked for you?”

“I’m not—”

Prowl had never felt a silence before, but it settled over them like the fog from earlier, heavy and caustic. His head was full of things he could say (He would have his own department soon! He had contacts in the council!) but none could make it out. The orange light of the sunset glinted against Chromedome’s visor, giving him a sharp glare.

“I’m going home,” Chromedome said, “to my conjunx. You’re clearly so out of touch with everything that nothing I have to say is going to make an impact. I don’t know what you’re going to do next, but that can’t be my problem. Don’t make it my problem.” He did turn away then, fully, walking away from Prowl with a rushed step.

“You’re deluding yourself if you think things are that different now!” Prowl shouted at Chromedome’s back. “People don’t change!”

“I can see that,” Chromedome said, low enough Prowl wasn’t sure whether he’d been meant to hear.

He didn’t stay to watch Chromedome leave. With one case closed, a new one could be opened, and the queue only grew longer each day. He retreated up the stairs and into the apartment building, back through crowded hallways and snug stairways. There were fewer people around this time of day, and those he did see did not stop to say hello.

This was the way he liked it. He had built himself a life in which people left him alone to do his work, and it was exactly like he’d imagined. So busy, not nearly productive enough. Not worth the price of a war, but then, he hadn’t been the one to start that bit.

Situated in his office at last, surrounded by scraps of investigations he had yet to pursue, he settled in. The city and its makeup might have been new, but Prowl and Cybertron were not. He knew how these things worked, how easily corruption could lay deep roots, and he would continue doing what he always had to root it out.

He was the only one who could.

[joaquinwhorres]

Treacherous Waters (Leonard McCoy x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› After finals at Starfleet Academy all of the cadets flock to local bars in search of a good time. Which is exactly where you meet Leonard McCoy. And you are more than willing to show him a good time with the understanding that come Saturday morning he'll be gone, and you'll never see him again. Which is exactly what happens...until five years later your starship has a massive failure and the only ship around to save you is the Enterprise.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,072

WARNINGS ››››› Drinking and mentions of sexy times. 

A/N ››››› Sooooo originally this was just supposed to be a “dancing in a bar with Leonard McCoy” fic but then I got an idea and well, it’s this. 

Prefer OC’s? Read it on AO3.

Finals Week at Starfleet Academy was a glorious occasion.

Or perhaps, more accurately, the Friday evening after Finals Week at Starfleet Academy was a glorious occasion. Because the Friday night of Finals Week was when the beautiful, young, pent up cadets flooded the local bars in desperate search for some unbridled fun.

Which Y/N was more than happy to provide

"Kirk's here," Kiesh hissed, her fingers digging into Y/N's arm in her excitement. Y/N flinched, and Kiesh released her quickly, but was too distracted to mutter an apology, her gaze fixated on the near mythical figure of San Francisco nightlife.

The tales that followed Jim Kirk were outlandish and obscene and wholly captivating.

There was the story of his birth aboard the USS Kelvin minutes before his father saved the lives of everyone who'd been aboard the ship.

There was the story of how he'd earned his spot in the Academy by taking on three security Lieutenants in a fist fight and walking away with no more than a bloody nose.

And of course there were the stories of his romantic conquests. Although romantic was probably not the right word for it. Carnal, sensual, lustful, and erotic all seemed a bit more descriptive of what transpired between Jim Kirk and the girls of San Francisco.

And like any mythical figure, these tales were enough to warn off a good number of girls from falling into his sheets...while prompting others to search for him to either worship or conquer themselves.

Kiesh fell firmly in the later category. She was no Kirk acolyte, but he had become a point of fixation for her because he was what no other man had been to her--unattainable.

Y/N scanned the crowd for the golden haired casanova, but the bar was too packed. It was an ocean of voices and species and color, all flowing to the electric undercurrent that ran throughout the bar. Y/N's eyes caught on the blood red uniforms of cadets too eager to indulge their youth to waste any time by going home and changing clothes.

Two palms pressed into either side of Y/N's face as her roommate turned her attention away from the cadets, past groups of people wearing the colorful and patterned designs native to their home planet, and to the end of the neon purple bar. There, just visible between the bodies of two friends having a chugging contest, was Jim Kirk with his head thrown back laughing.

"He's gorgeous," Y/N murmured. She'd figured he had to be, but it was one thing to hear about Adonis and another thing completely to see him in person. Kiesh's hands fell from Y/N's head, allowing the other girl to turn back to her. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"I might not make it to breakfast." A coy smile curled Kiesh's lips up as she started off through the crowd, disappearing amongst the crowd.

Y/N followed her progress, watching the other girl choose a space at the bar directly in Kirk's line of sight, sliding into the chair and tossing her long purple hair over one shoulder to reveal the expanse of skin from her neck to her chest, and then below the crop top.

And then she waited.

Watching Kiesh work was a sight to behold. Each trap was delicately set, carefully tailored to the man she'd picked on that given night. She planned each movement--the way she walked, the angle of her body against the bar, the look she painted on her face--to snag men like a siren, luring them into her dangerous waters.

As much as she wanted to see this play out, Y/N had other more important things to accomplish.  Like finding her own catch for the night. And she wasn't going to do that by standing in one spot all night.

If Kiesh was a siren, then Y/N was a shark, moving constantly throughout the room in search of the perfect prey. She weaved in and out of small groups, eyes scanning the members therein. There were groups of friends laughing together, cadets challenging each other to drinking games, girls who like her and Kiesh came with one purpose in mind, and others who came to have a good time by themselves, cadets be damned.

But it wasn't until her fourth slow, methodical lap that she saw him. Or rather, she saw Kirk slap him on the back with a large grin before making his way over to where Kiesh leaned on her elbows. More than the broadness of his shoulders, the tussle of dark hair, and the deep red color of his uniform, it was the scowl he was shooting at Kirk's back that caught her attention and drew her across the bar to him as if smelling blood in the water.

"You look like a man who doesn't dance," Y/N said, folding her arms on the back of what was once Kirk's chair. It took him almost three seconds to realize that she was talking to him, and when he did, he lifted his eyebrows--the look an interesting combination of amusement and apprehension.

"Well, that's a first," he remarked. There was just a trace of an accent under his words that Y/N couldn't quite place.

"I highly doubt I'm the first person to notice," Y/N said, rocking on the balls of her feet. "Unless of course I'm wrong, and you're constantly barraged with requests to hit the dance floor."

He exhaled a laugh, the sound sailing past his lips, and into the glass he lifted up to his mouth. "You're not wrong," he said, taking a sip of his liquor and then placing it back down on the bar in front of him.

"Didn't think so. I rarely am."

He gave her a cautious look out of the corner of his eye as if still unsure where this conversation was going and why she was talking to him. As if people chatted up strangers in bars just to pass the time.

"So, since you don't dance, that begs the obvious question…what's a man like you doing in a place like this?"

He cracked a smile then, slowly tilting his head to look at her, really look at her, for the first time. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

"Only if you subscribe to archaic 20th century gender norms," Y/N shrugged, smiling back at him. "Besides," she leaned closer, tipping her head towards his conspiratorially, and he shifted closer as well. "I don't think it's much of a mystery for me. I mean, look at our clothes."

His eyes wandered down to her deep V halter before seeming to realize he was still in his reds. "Fair point," he conceded, pulling back a little to take another sip of his drink.

"So?"

"A friend dragged me out," he admitted, eyes sliding back over to her. She raised both of her eyebrows as if she was surprised and didn't see Kirk abandoning him just five minutes ago.

"And left you to fend for yourself in a dive like this?" She shook her head as if scandalized by the idea. "You need better friends."

The cadet snorted and nodded his head. "You've got that right."

"Well, you're very lucky I found you before another girl did," Y/N said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"That so?"

She nodded. "They may try to take advantage of you in such a defenseless state. All alone by the bar nursing a...what is that, whiskey?"

"Bourbon, actually." His eyes sparkled with an intoxicating warmth similar to the liquor he was drinking.

Y/N rolled her eyes lightly. "Same thing."

"Only technically."

"Technicalities are everything," she grinned. "Anyway, I'm willing to offer my protective services as a long time San Francisco resident to navigate these treacherous waters."

"You're from here?" he asked, genuine curiosity overtaking his features for the first time in their conversation. Y/N's smile turned a bit strained, but she nodded.

"Not quite. But I've been here for fifteen years. Just haven't figured out how to drop the accent," she shrugged.

"So are you from England then?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Next round's on me if you can guess where."

"Lon…" he started, and a grin grew across Y/N's face before he switched course. "Birmingham?"

She shook her head. "London."

"You tricked me," he accused lightly, his brow furrowing slightly but into more of mock offense and surprise at her cunning than anything else.

"You're highly suggestible," she shook her head, fighting to keep a smile down. "Which brings me back to the fact that you absolutely cannot remain alone in this bar tonight. It's far too dangerous for you."

"Guess I'll have to take you up on that offer then, darlin'." His smile was more subtle--apparently the fight to keep it off his face was going better for him.

"Y/N," she corrected, lifting her hand to offer it to him.

The man took it, his fingers surprisingly soft for a cadet. "Leonard," he answered.

Y/N let her hand linger in his, not pulling back until his grip loosened and his fingers trailed against hers to go back around his glass. She leaned her elbow on the back of the chair, placing her chin on top of her hand. "So Leonard," she asked. "Are you going to buy me a drink or am I working for free?"

He smirked, lifting a hand to call the bartender over as Y/N slid into the seat next to him, leaning her arms against the smooth chrome bar. The Tellarite bartender made his way over, and Leonard looked at Y/N.

"Well are you going to order or sit there staring at each other?" the bartender snapped. Leonard shot him a dirty look, and Y/N snorted.

"I'll have a Samarian Sunset on his tab," she ordered, pointing a finger at Leonard, and the man grunted. Leonard still looked rather displeased with the exchange but ordered himself another bourbon. The bartender walked away grumbling, and even Leonard looked rather grumpy.

"You know that's just his way of greeting right?" Y/N asked, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Tellarites consider it polite to attempt to start an argument when meeting someone. If he wasn't mildly insulting I would have been majorly insulted."

"And I thought you were kidding about being a guide."

"I would never," Y/N said with mock indignation, placing a hand over her heart. "Leonard, I take my promise to you very seriously. I will be at your side all night."

"All night?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

"All night," Y/N repeated with a nod, keeping her eyes locked on Leonard. He met her gaze with an intensity that made her stomach twist with delight.  And of course it was right then that bartender reappeared.

He placed a martini glass full of clear liquid in front of Y/N, and a rocks glass with amber liquor in front of Leonard before making a derisive noise in his throat and walking away. Leonard didn't seem to mind as much this time.

"Cheers," Y/N said, reaching forward with her glass, and Leonard clinked his against hers, lifting it to his lips. She watched intently as she swirled her own drink so that a luminescent gold wisp spiraled out, turning the clear liquor the color of a burning sun. He pulled the glass from his lips, and she returned her attention to her own drink, taking a slow sip before placing it back down on the bar.

"So, Leonard," Y/N let the name roll off her tongue teasingly. "Tell me about yourself. Where are you from? What are you studying?"

"I'm a medical student," he said, setting his own glass down. "And I'm from Georgia."

"Ooh, a doctor and a southern gentleman," Y/N teased, shimmying her shoulders. "My mother would be so proud of me."

"Who said I'm a gentleman?" he asked with raised eyebrows, leaning closer to her. Y/N's mouth fell open slightly before she caught herself, stopping her body from melting completely right there in the seat.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Leonard," she quipped, taking a sip of her drink.

"If you didn't want a good time then why did you come over here?" he asked, and Y/N grinned at him.

"Because you look like a man who doesn't dance."

"Well darlin," Leonard started, his eyes sparkling with the slightest bit of mischief and a look on his face that was enough to make something delicious twist in the pit of Y/N's stomach. "The night's still young."

The night grew in both the amount of time passed and the amount of drinks finished. It was hard to state exactly how much of either had slipped away from the two of them as their glasses had been cleared a few times, but the world was just a bit lighter and hazier at the edges than was usual and the crowd slightly thinner than it had been when Y/N entered.

"Well, darlin'," Leonard's accent had grown heavier with the liquor, words dripping like molasses from his lips. "I should be gettin' back before curfew."

Y/N exhaled, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Leonard," she said slowly, dragging out the word. Her own accent adding a richness to her words that had been precise and sharp earlier in the evening. "I thought I made it quite clear that I wasn't leaving your side all night, so you can't go running off to the dorms on me now."

"Need me to walk you home?" he asked, pausing from putting on his coat to settle the tab.

"Such a southern gentleman," the words rolled like waves from her, her voice rising and falling as he lifted an eyebrow at the screen he was signing. "Yes, I require an accompaniment home," she mocked. "And then I need you to pick a side you want me on for the next part of our night: top or bottom."

Leonard's eyes darkened, pupils blown wide before grabbing her hand and leaving the bar behind.

The cab ride to her apartment was...restrained. The two of them sat shoulder to shoulder in the backseat, eyes focused ahead through the windshield. Even as Y/N's hand drifted from her own lap into his, venturing up his thigh, both of them remained focused on the passing San Francisco streets. Leonard's hand came on top of her own. "Just wait, darlin'," he said, his words dripping with the richness of molasses as he folded his hand around hers.

"It's not polite to make a lady wait," Y/N quipped, shooting him a look out of the corner of her eye.

He snorted but made no attempt at a retort, instead patiently holding her hand until the cab stopped. Y/N opened her door, dragging Leonard by the hand and towards her apartment building.

The ride on the elevator was just as restrained as the cab drive, only instead of the beautiful lights of downtown, the pair stared at their distorted reflection in the sleek chrome doors.

There was a hum in the elevator though. Inaudible, but she could feel it singing across her skin, radiating from each part of her body that touched Leonard's. She bit her lip, and could feel Leonard look down at her. She allowed her gaze to slide over to him, drifting up to his face, meeting his eyes, already dark and boring into hers.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the doors slid open, pulling their attention away from each other and out of the elevator.

The pair walked down the hallway, stopping outside of her door so she could punch in the code. It took two tries for her to get it before the door clicked and she pushed it open, revealing her dark apartment. Y/N ventured in first, turning to invite Leonard in, but she'd barely opened her mouth before her face was in his hands, and he was walking her back into the wall.

The light switch jammed into her shoulder blade, and she felt a bit off balance, but his lips moved over hers with such a ferocity, it pushed everything else from her mind. Instead, all she could focus on was the feeling of his lips against hers, the taste of the sharp tang of alcohol he'd been drinking all evening. He invaded her senses, making it impossible to think of anything other than pulling him closer to her.

Y/N wound her fingers into his hair, urging him nearer to her, which he did, stepping forward, and moving a hand from her face to her waist, pulling her flush against him. His other hand wandered down to her chest as his lips began a journey down the curve of her neck. "I don't usually do this type of thing," he murmured against her skin.

"Go home with--ah--a strange woman from the--fu--the bar?" Y/N panted, pushing her hips into his for a taste of the friction she needed.

He pulled himself away from her collarbone to look up at her with hooded eyes. "Exactly."

"You're missing out," Y/N grinned, chest heaving. "Now take off your clothes so I can prove it to you."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of bare skin and desperate sounds and more pleasure than Y/N had gotten out of a night out in a while.

It almost made her sad to see him go in the morning. Almost.

But him leaving was always a part of her plan for Saturday morning. Whether it was before or after breakfast, he would walk out of her apartment, never to be seen again. Instead, he'd fade into a memory of lips trailing against skin, fingers tangling in hair, bed frame rattling into the wall.

At least that's what was supposed to happen.

She wasn't supposed to see him again.

And she especially wasn't supposed to see him in a starship's transporter room, rushing towards her as she pressed her hand into Kiesh's side, desperate to keep the blood inside of her friend's body and not spilling out onto the transporter pad. He wasn't supposed to be there. And neither was she.