#this isn’t all my stuff it’s just all that would fit on a shelf

[arotesca]

autism wins

[shewrites02]

Forgive Me If I Break You | Zoro x Reader | Pt. V

Part I Part II Part III Part IIII

Trigger warnings: Drinking, Domestic assault, verbal abuse , physical abuse, graphic depictions of violence. THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT ! MINORS DNI

A/n: Thank you for everyone who has made it this far. I have appreciated the patience you all have had with my untimely updates, and hope that this chapter is everything you’ve hoped.

Request: closed

Word count: 5.4k

Leave a comment if you enjoy :)

The growing silence of the night is weighing heavily on your chest. Restless in the swordsman’s bed you toss and turn in search of a satisfying position. There isn’t one. No way to position yourself to feel comfort. To convince yourself this bed is where you belong. Your unnerve is only emphasized by Zoro’s absence. He said he would return soon, but soon passed hours ago. 

With a sigh, finally at your wits end, you throw the covers off you. Creep into the dimly lit galley in search of something to ease your mind. Something to quiet the thoughts that keep you up, that question your decision. The thoughts that tell you The Sunny will soon feel like the prison the castle was. The thoughts that doubt Zoro. 

You really do feel ashamed to be rummaging through the Strawhats’ pantry as if you were a part of their crew yourself . As if you had a claim to anything on this ship. But the insistent need to drown your thoughts out weighs your concerns of being caught. 

“You and Zoro are more alike than I would’ve guessed.” 

You recognize the voice, but that does not keep you from jolting up in fear at its sudden appearance. The navigator laughs seeing  your  hand rest on your chest as you slow your rapid breathing. Mutters a small apology for startling you. Once it seems you’ve gotten your bearings she joins you in the pantry. Scans the closet from floor to ceiling before landing on Sanji’s cookbooks. She moves them aside to expose the bottles of booze behind them. 

“Sanji tries to hide the good stuff from Zoro.” She announces standing on her tiptoes to inch two bottles from the top shelf. She extends a bottle out for you to grab. The two of you crack them open right away, taking a swig before leaving the pantry. 

“You okay?” She asks suddenly “I mean- given the circumstances. I can’t imagine any of this is easy.” 

The two of you have made it to sit at the table before you’re able to conjure up an answer. One that doesn’t feel like a lie, or people pleasing. One that won’t leave that rancid taste of false sentiments lingering in your mouth. 

“I will be.” 

Nami gives you a soft smile in response, one teeming with understanding. Silence settles between the two of you. It is not heavy, or uncomfortable, nor is it full of expectations to continue the conversation. The quiet is inviting, filled with the companionship of the navigator. 

You are almost halfway through the bottle when the mind numbing feeling you're in search of begins to wash over you body. In the past two months you’d grown so accustomed to drinking with the swordsman that it is embarrassing to admit how much you’ve missed the habit in the short time you’ve been home. 

“I forgot you're a lightweight.” Nami teases, downing the remainder of her bottle before slamming it onto the table.  An obnoxious smile on her lips. 

“Can I ask you a question?” You inquire. The alcohol eats away at your inhibition, greases your tongue. Nami’s brows rise to her temple in surprise. She leans forward resting her elbows on the table. Eagerly nods for you to continue before resting her head in her hands.  

“ Why would Zoro be willing to go through all this- just for me?”

The look she is giving you in return is difficult to read. To see if it is amusement in her smile, or utter disbelief. A giggle leaves her lip then there is a small pause before she loudly cackles. Her fit of laughter has her back pinned to her chair. 

“I’m sorry- I- I don’t mean to laugh.” She wheezes, trying to catch her breath. “It’s just, well- he let you touch his swords. I think that says enough.” 

Your eyes furrow slightly. Zoro granting you the privilege of touching his swords had always been a gesture of  trust to you. Trust you have undoubtedly shattered at this point. It’s implausible for you to think the situation is of any relevance now. 

Once Nami regains her composure, she glances you over with a grin. It drops along with her eyes when she sees the distressed look on your face. Immediately she is reaching over to rest her hand on your forearm. She squeezes lightly before speaking. 

"Let me give you a real answer. Roronoa Zoro would rather die than not protect someone he loves and Zoro loves you.” The smile she gives is warm. Genuine. One last giggle escapes before she quips. “Maybe even more than Luffy.” 

“Do you know where I can find him?” 

“I’d try the Crow’s nest. He’s probably there.” She informs. 

Softly, you knock on the door to announce your presence to the swordsman. The sound can not compete with the thrashing of his blades in the wind- or the grunts he lets out at each swing of his sword. Mercilessly shredding his imaginary foe with strIke after strike.

Zoro’s strength always left you in awe. Usually reserved for training sessions, or chores Nami berated him into, there were few moments on the beach you got to see actual displays of strength from the pirate. 

“Roronoa!” You shout! 

Zoro turns, baring his blades at you. His brows are scrunched to the center of his face, lips upturned into a snarl. It takes time before the darkness leaves his eyes. Before they soften and his features turn into something more amiable. Something recognizable. 

“Is this what our life is gonna look like on the ship- you ditching me for swords?” You ask playfully. 

Zoro wears his black kimono. The top drapes over the red band around his waist as his chest glistens with sweat. A weak smirk begins to spread on his lips, it barely peeks out over the hilt of Wado Ichimoji.

 He removes the sword from his mouth, before sheathing all three. Only then do you saunter into the room. His breath is still ragged as he draws you into him, wrapping a burley arm around your waist. 

“ Am I taking too long?” Zoro asks with a laugh coming soon after. 

Your nodding before his statement comes to an end. Lips pursed into a pout to show your dismay. You wrap your arms around the pirate’s torso. Even though the sweat makes him sticky, you rest your check against his chest. The theatrics grow the swordsman’s smirk into a full smile,one that wrinkles the edges of his eyes. He bends to give you a peck on the lips before mumbling an apology. 

“You’ve been drinking without me?” The swordsman inquires with a brow raised. He makes a show of licking his lips then nods at his own confirmation. “The good booze too.” 

“Will you forgive me if I tell you where to find it?” 

When the two of you arrive at the galley, the navigator is nowhere to be found. Which may be in your best interest. Don’t know if she’ll forgive you for blowing the cook’s secret, but it is worth the risk to see the smile on the swordsman’s face as he sings your praises.

“Of course Namie would tell you.” Zoro huffs, snatching the bottle off the shelf. “She tried to charge me 500 berry when I asked. I’m starting to think she likes you more than me.” 

“I know she likes me more than you.” you tease. 

The first mate rolls his eyes in frustration while forcing the top off the bottle.  After a few generous gulps, he is passing it back to you. He drags his forearm across his mouth to wipe the excess.   

“You wanna tell me more about our life on the ship ?” Zoro asks, taking a seat at the table. 

He reaches for your hand to guide you into his lap. His tone is playful, but you can see the desire in his eye. The way it borrows into yours watching, searching for the vision of your new life in your iris’. 

“We’re going to dance on the deck, and watch the sunset in the crow’s nest. I’ll get to see the whole world Zo, with you.” 

There’s a gleaming smile on your lips at all the possibilities life at sea can hold. All the possibilities life with Zoro could hold. Your eyes brim with nothing but adoration , and love as you stare back at the swordsman.

It makes your heart sting not to see that same reverence reflected in Zoro’s face. The somberness behind his eye is easily detected in his avoidance. In his inability to meet your gaze. The hold Zoro has around your waist tightens, keeping you firmly in place. A shaky breath leaves his lips before he speaks. 

“I wouldn’t be mad if you stayed.” The pirate announces. “If after all this you want to reclaim your village. Stay with your people to rebuild all that Lee has taken from them- from you.” 

Your mouth hangs open slightly agape in search of words for the swordsman. Your heart has fallen to the pit of your stomach. It is difficult to fish coherent sentiments out of all the nonsense swirling in your mind. 

DId the pirate change his mind? Is reality setting in forcing a change of heart?  Did he think you should stay? Maybe it is the alcohol that is making it difficult to comprehend, makes you hear that Zoro no longer wants you.

“Zoro I- I don’t understand…” 

“If you want to rule your kingdom, If you want to stay. I won’t be mad.” He reiterates. “It's your decision to make.”  

“I want to be with you Zoro!” You rebuttal fervidly. No hesitation in your proclamation. Your hand meets his cheeks, turns his head so he has no choice but to address you. “No where else.” 

You sure it is difficult for Zoro to hear your words and take them as truth. To really put stock into the sentiments you lovingly sprinkle him with. You lean in to crash your lips into the swordsman. Wrap your arms around his neck at the feeling of him kissing you back. 

“I love you Zoro. So much. I’m sorry I gave you reason to question that.” You mumble on his lip. You pull away slightly , so the pirate can stare into your eyes as you speak. So he can see the truth in your testimony himself. “ I can’t wait to continue our lives together. ”

Zoro doesn’t respond, simply leans in to place his lips on yours one more time. 

-

The good weather of yesterday has subsided. leaves only a haze of smoke. Storm clouds soak the island. Finally stifling the flames Lee allowed to continuously burn. Majority of the castle grounds have been reduced to unrecognizable ash. It is a shock the castle still stands strong in the wake of the destruction. The two stand before the tall wrought iron doors they walked through almost a week ago.

“You ready?” Luffy asks his first mate. 

The question is more formality than anything else. The captain already knows the answer. It Is evident from the way Zoro’s hand twitches over the hilt of Emma the same way a trigger happy sniper’s finger graces their trigger. Lies in the bloodlusting look behind his otherwise stoic features. Zoro is ready. He has been ready. 

Zoro can hear your voice in spite of your absence. It echoes from where you stood that day hand in hand with the chief announcing your marriage. ‘Husband’. It repeats incessantly. Grows louder with each passing second. It takes restraint for the pirate not to grimace. To shudder at all the memories of Lee kissing your lips. Holding your hand. All the idle touches he placed on you while knowing the swordsman was watching. 

It takes a considerable amount of effort for Zoro to focus. Push aside the scenes of you denouncing your love for him. Rejecting his pleas. To quail all the anger, and pain that threatens to bubble over at merely thinking of the turmoil Lee put him through, at your expense.  All with the sole intention of controlling you. 

Zoro gives Luffy a curt nod. Unsheathing his sword his eyes glaze over the entirety of the doors. If this is your prison then Zoro would destroy it. Leave it a semblance of itself to show you that locks can be broken. Enma cuts swiftly through the air, the strike splits the thick iron doors into shards. Leaving it in crumbles before their feet. 

The screams of household staff collide with the sound of tumbling rock. Zoro recognizes the pain in their eyes. Marked it the day of your return when the Strawhats marched the street. It mimics the very look you stare at him with today. A look he never wants to see again. There’s some relief in the eyes of the staff when they recognize the pirates. It glimmers underneath their otherwise fearful expressions. 

“Where is he?” Zoro barks.

No one says a word , but the two footmen in charge of guarding the castle doors are ushering the swordsman in the direction of the stairs.  The sound of footsteps approaching increases with each passing second- reinforcements for the calamity caused by their intrusion. 

“Go Zoro! I can handle them.” Luffy calls out. 

As Zoro searches for Lee, it is impossible for him not to note the evidence of the chief’s assault on you. The scuff marks leading to the grand staircase. The splintering on the wooden stairs. Claw marks on the walls and doorways. 

Zoro never did have the heart to ask you specifics on what Lee has done to you. Never wants to force you into reliving such traumatic memories for his sake. Now he would never have to. It is easy for him to piece this puzzle together. To see the truly malicious intent behind the chief’s attack. 

In the dark hallway the pirate is a glaring reflection of his former self. ‘Demon Pirate Hunter’. The name seems fitting more so now than it ever did then. Zoro’s rage blinds him too much to appreciate the irony. Too busy kicking in doors to reflect on the precise moment he became the pirate and the world became so full of demons. It merely takes three doors before Zoro finds Lee in his office. 

“Roronoa Zoro. What a pleasant way for you and your captain to make your entry.”  Lee mocks. “I knew she’d go running to you.” 

Lee sits at a wide oak desk, in a cushioned seat ordained so intricately it resembles a throne. Moonlight pours in from the tall windows paneling the wall behind the desk illuminating most of the space.  

Lee does not rush to his feet in urgency. won’t even bother to glance up at the swordsman. Simply continues to idly pour from the crystal decanter grasped tightly in his left hand. 

Once his drink is poured he lets out an obnoxious laugh, waving his hand in the air to show how little of concern it is. He brings the small glass filled with amber liquid to his lips to sip before finally addressing the swordsman. 

“I can’t for the life of me understand why a Swordsman of your caliber- first mate to the supposed future pirate king-  is chasing after my wife. Surely a man of your strength and stature has no use for such a weak woman.” 

“Weak?” It is now Zoro who is laughing. He strides toward the desk  for Lee to see his expression more clearly. So Lee can feel the hatred that seethes out of his bones. “That woman is a lot of things, weak has never been one of them. Besides- she managed to escape from you twice now!” 

Even in the dark, Zoro can see the clench of Lee’s jaw.  Displaying  his irritation even if his expression remains pleasant. Zoro notices the waiver in his sly smirk. Knows he is chipping away at the armor the chief thinks surrounds him. 

“Do you think she loves you?” He asks , a sinister smile plastered on his face. “That she won’t leave you just as she’s doing to me? Stupid swordsman- you're just her escape plan.” 

Lee reaches across the desk to grab a glass identical to his from the regal set. Refreshes his drink before pouring up a new one. He slides the glass across the table toward the pirate hunter in offering. 

“Y/n can leave me, it’s her choice to make . I’m not trying to trap her… that’s the difference between you and me.” 

“No?”  

Zoro’s proclamation has the chief stilling before he can bring the drink back to his lips. His brow is raised to his temple in speculation. Another laugh falls from him. 

“The guards say she told you to leave each time the two of you spoke. Begged you to get on your ship and go. Yet- here you stand. Tell me more Roronoa about these ‘choices’ you're giving her.” 

Zoro narrows his eye at Lee. 

Swish. 

The sound of enma slashing through oak is quickly followed by the screech of broken glass. Wood shards fly in the air. The large domineering desk sits split straight down the middle. A puddle pools at the Chiefs feet decorated with the shattered pieces of his drink set. 

“Me and you both know why I didn’t leave.” Zoro growled.

The chief jumps out of his seat. Attempting to doge the blow the best he can with his injuries.The sudden movement has blood seeping into the bandages wrapping his thigh. Finally showing some urgency Lee’s hand reaches for his pocket. Drawing a gun , he holds it pointed at the swordsman's skull. His hand tremors. The gun shakes in his tight grasp. 

“...tell me Roronoa, is this the part where I get to see this three sword style of yours?” 

Zoro chuckles sarcastically. 

“I won’t need three swords for you.”

The armor Lee struts is completely rusted at the swordsman snide remarks. His brows furrow in a frown. His jaw is tight. The vein on his forehead pulses. He shuts his eyes close before weighing his finger down on the trigger. Although anticipating the blast the chief still flinches at the ‘bang’ of the bullet leaving the chamber. 

A few seconds pass before Lee build the courage to open his eyes. To  assess the damage he’s done. They widen at  the sight of the swordsman still standing tall before him. Unscathed from his surprise attack. The bullet fired lays at the pirate’s feet. Sliced in a manner similar to Lee’s desk. 

“You think you can save her? Then what- she’ll abandon all this to chase a life on the seas with you?” Lee let’s a cynical cackle. His head shakes from left to right manically as he looks the swordsman over.

“A pathetic girl like that could never survive the life of a pirate.” 

Enma pierces the air again. The slash slices across the chief's torso. Sends him propelling through the window paneling behind him. His pained yelp morphs into a scream as he free falls from the two story drop. It is silenced by the ‘thud’ of his body smacking the ground. 

The pirate sheaths his swords before he leaps from the shattered window down to the ground below. Lee lays a few feet away muttering low moans and groans. Zoro stalks over, surprised the man is still alive. He bends at the knees to meet Lee’s face. Wraps his hand strongly around his jaw to force the chief’s eyes to his.  

“Watch your mouth!” Zoro snarls.  

Lee is shaking his head, the mirth in his expression never fleeting .A bloody smile spreads his lips. 

 “Tell me swordsman, is it the sex?  The murmurs she makes when she’s cumming? I get it- really! The head on that girl is some-.” 

The last thread of the swordsman’s restraint snaps .  Zoro’s fist is wrapping around the man’s tongue before his brain can herd all his emotions. With a single , finite tug Zoro rips his tongue from his skull. 

The chief's insults are punctuated by pained screams. Spewing blood covers the swordsman from head to toe. Hot. Thick. Sticky. Creeps into the woven cotton of his clothes. 

“You're done disrespecting my woman. “  Zoro barks , throwing the wet organ on top of the dying man’s chest. 

 “She will never be at your mercy again.” 

-

Aimlessly you swirl the bottle of booze against the top of the dinner table. Again, you find yourself anxiously waiting on the swordsman’s return. The alcohol can not alleviate the intrusive thoughts that plague you in his absence. Thoughts that swirl violently, chaotically convincing you whatever outcome, the consequences are all your fault. 

The low rumble of steps on the deck draws your attention. You don’t wait for the noise to meet you. You're pushing through the galley door to greet the sound before any good sense can tell you not to. The sun is beginning to breach the horizon. Its dusky rays dance on the ripples in the ocean. The rain has slowed into more of a drizzle pattering softly against the lawn deck.

It is Luffy you find first. A toothy smile spans the length of his face. There is some relief at the sight of the pirate, though your eyes still scan the deck in search of his first mate. Luffy gives you an innocent wave, before pointing his thumb behind him. 

A sharp gasp leaves your lips before you’re able to stifle it.  From his green hair down to those black boots, crimson covers the pirate. Blood splatters the grass trailing Zoro’s path. The look the swordsman stares back at you with, is similar to that of a cat who brings home a carcass for their owner. Dark. Hopeful. Desperately seeking approval.

“Zoro! Are you okay?” Your voice trembles as you mutter the question. 

“That’s not Zoro’s blood.” Luffy announces, his smile reduced down to a satisfied grin. 

Zoro pushes his hand into his captain’s back, shoving him forward in some weak attempt to hurry him along. Luffy rarely picks up on subtle hints, but this one is loud and clear. Alone, he’s off to the galley in search of a snack. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.” Zoro confesses. “... don’t be scared.” 

A weak smile graces your lips. Emotions overwhelm you so harshly, it is difficult to land on one. Searching your body you find no fear. No alarm bells ring at the sight of Zoro trying to shrink himself under your gaze. Only relief. 

“I’m happy to see you're okay.” 

 Your hand goes to reach for his blood stained cheek. The fluid is still warm to your touch. For a brief moment your mind wonders where the chief lies.  If he is in agonizing pain. Waiting, hoping someone will come to his aid. If he is embarrassed by his displays of strength, and wit still not being enough to defeat the pirate. 

Lee’s blood coats the palms of your hand, and all you can wonder is if Zoro forced him to feel a fraction of the pain he has been inflicting on you for so long. 

“Do you want me to tell you everything that happened?” Zoro asks. 

“...No.” You shake your head. “Just tell me it’s over.” 

Zoro tangles his hand in yours, removes it from his cheek to kiss your knuckles.  Then bends at the waist to plant a  kiss onto your lips. One soft, delicate. Tasting of iron. Drastically different from the rough passionate kisses you're used to receiving from him. 

“It’s over, you’re free.” 

“Thank you Zoro, for all you did.” 

“Don’t thank me.”  The pirate’s features morph into something more serious as he speaks.  “There isn’t anything in this world I wouldn’t help you do. No one I wouldn't protect you from. Next time, ask me for help- please.” 

“I promise.”

You squeeze the pirate’s hand tightly. Stand on your tiptoes to peck his lips. The tension held in his shoulders loosen at your touch. By the time your heels hit the ground Zoro’s expression has turned amiable. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

You force Zoro to stop at the galley door. Guarding the threshold you ask him to strip. Not naked of course- only top and bottoms as to not track blood through Sanji’s kitchen. Refuse to soil the cook’s pristine floors. Especially when you’ve already drunk his pantry close to dry. Zoro’s brow rises to his temple at your request. It’s impossible to differentiate the tinge on his cheeks from blood stains, or embarrassment.

“We could already be in the bath by now Zo.” You huff, arms crossed against your chest. 

“Why do you care about the shitty cook’s floors anyway?” He grumbles, pulling the edges of his damp black tee up and over his head. 

“It’s the least we can do for stealing his stash.” 

“The least we could do is nothing.” 

“Oh hush! I’ll give you the last of the booze when we’re done. "

The swordsman only rolls his eyes in response. Fiddles with the button of his black jeans before coming out of those as well. Zoro drops the clothes in your hands before gripping about ‘hurrying up’. He is moving so quickly he threatens to leave you in his dust while scurrying through the halls. Less than enthralled at the possibility his crewmates would find him in such a vulnerable condition. 

“Wasn’t this worth it?” You ask Zoro, hands tangled into his green strands. The bubbles finally foam clean after your third rinse of his hair. 

He hums reluctantly in agreement. In spite of him not wanting to admit it, you know the feeling of your sudsy fingers scrubbing away at his scalp feels good. Clear from how the swordsman leans into your caresses. In the way he aimlessly glides his hands up and down your legs he is seated between. 

“Tell me something.” You bend to whisper the request against his ear.  The pirate fails to conceal his smirk at hearing his words being echoed back at him.  

“Move in with me.”  It comes out as more of a question than a strong proclamation. Zoro’s hands stop to grip your ankle’s awaiting your response. 

“You’re asking me?” A confused giggle escapes.”I’m already here Zo.” 

“Yeah but- I mean-“ he fumbles over his words. Glares at the wall so your gaze is less intense on his profile. “Move into my quarters, with me.” 

The meek words of the ex bounty hunter blend into the soft trickle of the water dripping from the faucet. There’s a pause as your brain processes his request. The blush of his cheeks reddens to the tip of his ears as the pained silence prolongs. 

“If you don’t want to- if you would feel more comfortable with the girls...” He mutters allowing his voice to trail off until it is no longer heard. He takes a deep breath as if winding up all his courage to continue. 

“It’s okay. I don’t want you feeling like you have to do anything you don’t want, just to make me happy. Like you don’t have a choice.” 

You could not fight the smile smearing across your lips if you tried. The butterflies swarming your stomach won’t allow you to act that coy. You lean in to crash your lips into the swordsman’s cheek. When he turns to face you, you place another kiss onto his lips. A needy, passionate kiss that threatens to snatch all the air out his lungs. The flutter your heart feels in this moment has you thinking that life on the seas may be better than you ever imagined. 

“I’m most comfortable with you Zo.” You mumble against his lips. “I would love to.”

It’s the swordsman now who’s chasing after your lips. Claiming them hungrily, desperate. Professing all the sentiments and affections his words could not muster. When he pulls away he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Even if we- if things change between us, you will always have a place here outside of me. I would sooner leave the Strawhat Pirates than make you feel like you don’t belong here.”  

“I’m not going anywhere Zo.” You smile back at him Hoping to alleviate some of the grief off his face. 

-

The following day brings better weather. Not a single cloud is in the sky. Bright rays beam down, drying any remainder of the storm's presence. For the first time in a long time you look out at the coast and see a recognizable glimpse of the island you grew up on. A glimmer of the place you used to call home. 

You don’t know if you should find it strange- the lack of melancholy you feel at your departure. The lack of grief in your goodbye. Relief is the only thing washing over you as you ponder on your descent.

“Think you’ll miss it? Your home?” 

The sudden appearance of the Captain makes you jump. Luffy always managed to be everywhere and nowhere at once. You shake your head ‘no’ to answer his question. 

“I don’t think so…”

You will always miss them lemon orchids. The summer swings with your mother. Would always be searching for the sound of your father’s voice echoing down the halls calling out to you. The memories cultivated here with your family will always haunt you.  Forever ingrained in you shaping the decisions you make, but that is all they will ever be- memories. Staying in this village trying to rebuild, or start over will never change that.  

Luffy plops himself onto the lawn floor next to you. Clearly having more on his mind then just your departure. He wears a mischievous smile spanning the length of his face showing every tooth he has. A giggle falls from your lips consequently. The future pirate king's joy has always been infectious. 

"What can I do for you Luffy?" You inquire. 

"You know you're a part of my crew now ? That  you always have a place here , even if you and Zoro break up." 

“Thank you Luffy. I appreciate that.” 

Luffy’ s smile grows wider at your praise.  He lets out a laugh then shoots to his feet. Luffy  doesn’t give you an opportunity to stand on your own, he is dragging you to your feet as well. Wraps his arm firmly around your waist. 

“Luffy what are-” 

“We have a surprise, to welcome you to the crew.”

He giggles. Stretching his arm till his hand reaches the railing at the other end of the ship. 

“Hold on.” 

The breath knocks out your lungs the moment you're flying through the air. Burrowing white fingertips into Luffy’s arms trying to hold on for dear life. You would scream if you could catch your breath enough to force the air out your lungs. But it is of no luck. To your joy, you are on the ground staring at the rest of the crew before Luffy's antics can send you into a heart attack. 

“Luffy, I told you to stop doing that!” Zoro scolds. He reaches out for your hand drawing you away from his captain. Place both hands on your shoulder to look you over. 

“She’s okay!” Luffy reassures dismissively. “Look what we did!” 

The captain points over to Nami’s tangerine trees.A child-like squeal leaves your lips at the sight. It’s impossible to corral your excitement. To stop yourself from jumping up and down childishly. Sprinkled into the tiny grove are two lemon trees, identical to the ones that grow on the island. 

“You all did this for me?”  You choke. 

“It was my idea.” Zoro chimes, not giving his crewmates the opportunity to claim credit. 

“We just want to show you how happy we are to have you with us!” Robin coos. 

Before you can choke out a thank you, Sanji is approaching with a tray in his hand. It holds a bottle of sake, with a few red sakazuki cups stacked on top of each other. The cook passes a cup to each of his crewmates before filling their glasses. 

“To y/n!” Luffy Announces.

“We’re lucky to have you! “ Sanji adds. 

The crew raise their cups to toast, then swallow the drinks in one gulp. Zoro gleams at you with a smile on his face, bends to kiss your lips. 

“Welcome to the Strawhat pirates. “ He whispers.

—————————————————————————————-

A/n: I can not believe the series is over. Thank you again for all the reads, like, reblogs, and comments. It has all kept me so motivated. I will probably write an epilogue to really wrap things up but only if you guys want lol also if you submitted a request for my 400 followers event I pinky promise I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be posting those soo soon!

If you enjoy my content or if you have $5 to spare , please consider donating it to Besan . she is a mother trying so desperately to get her family out of Gaza. She is still so far away from her go fund me goal and her campaign has slowed so much!

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[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Ayo can we get a hot ass "keep my wife's name out your goddamn mouth" Kathy x John

Kathy does routine physical exams obviously and in the showers Price overhears some locker room talking about his wife, how they'd like those hands to go further, like how she bosses them around etc.

Cue him rounding the corner to give them a solid punch and "Don't you dare utter my wife's name again"

Up to you if she rewards him ☺️

yes you fucking can!!!!

That's My Wife!

pairing: F!OC: Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price words: 1.5K~ cw: jealousy, protectiveness, arguments, violence, injuries (mentioned), misogyny, sexually-charged comments, "locker room talk", smutless smut.

The worst time of the year for the army medical staff at Tidworth is September. Oh, how the nurses and doctors hate the month of September during which, for two weeks straight, they see nothing but soldier after soldier for health checks and physical exams to confirm that they’re fit for service.

It’s, unfortunately, repetitive, mind-numbing and time-consuming. It’s also, unfortunately, a whole hands on deck situation. So, everyone who’s not actively doing something else, gets called in to help process the soldiers.

That’s how Kathleen ends up, every year, in the clinic, helping physicians assess the soldiers. Her jobs tend to be easy. More of the same that she tends to already do: measuring heights and weights, calculating their BMI and body fat percentages, using the stethoscope to listen to their heartbeat and breathing, manning the blood pressure gauge…

And, of course, the most interesting stuff. Conducting stress tests and having to strap all sorts of machines and sensors to the soldiers and monitor how they perform as they run on a treadmill, as well as doing physical checks on old injuries, scars…

In short, she spends a long time in front of shirtless men… and even longer touching their chests, arms, backs, and sometimes their legs, to check for injuries, which often ends with her crouching or kneeling at their feet.

And, of course, the stupid soldiers can’t keep their mouths shut. More often than not they make a few remarks about taking her out later, about coming to see her more often, of being lucky they get her for their checks…

It’s a nightmare. Kathleen hates it. In fact, she wishes she wasn’t tasked with that every year… But the choice is her or risking one of the pretty new interns having to do it, girls who haven’t yet developed the thick skin she has, and would likely giggle and get flustered at the lads behaviour… instead of calling them out on it or just downright ignoring them.

September, as it turns out, is also a nightmare for John. But he only figured that out today.

After his Bravo team finished training for the morning, John allowed them to hit the showers and he stayed behind to finish some work and talk with Soap.

As they enter the locker room, the rest of Bravo team is already in the communal showers, talking loudly amidst themselves and laughing, their voices echoing amidst the spraying of the showers over them.

John pops open his locker and starts shedding his workout kit, tossing it into his bag on the shelf. Soap isn’t far from him, a few lockers up, in the adjacent wall, his locker door having his name ‘MACTAVISH’ inside the clear plastic name tag holder, with a post-it naming him ‘F.N.G’ scotch taped below it.

John doesn’t need to pay much attention to know they’re talking about women, especially, the nurses from the nearby Tidworth base. All of them had gone through their check-ups in the last couple of days and, as is typical, they couldn’t keep their traps shut about the pretty women with soft hands doting all over them.

“Oh, mine bent over and pushed those tits of hers right up to my knee.” One of them said.

“Lucky bastard. I got a bloke.” Another replied.

Oh, how many times John had told them to be quiet and keep those sorts of talks to themselves when they were at the barracks, and not in public… But did those knobheads listen? No, never.

John grabbed his towel and 2-in-1 shampoo and bodywash and headed into the showers, taking up one of the vacant spots and drawing the curtain after hanging the curtain just outside his stall.

“I swear she was giving me the look… Definitely wants a piece of me.”

“No bird would want a piece of yer ugly mug.”

The lads continued talking as he let the water run over his body and began quickly lathering himself up with his 2-in-1, washing his hair and face aggressively before running his head under the falling shower water.

“I’m not devout, but this new batch’a nurses they got this year makes me a believer.”

“That’s right, brother.”

One-by-one they started vacating their stalls, still chatting loudly about their check-ups and the young women that treated them, lounging about the locker room and making each other laugh.

“But that arse of hers… I just know she’d bounce so well on my cock-”

“Oh that’s nothing. You didn’t see her last year before they changed the colour of the scrubs… That blue colour just… mmmmm…”

John finishes his shower not long after, wrapping his grey towel around his hip and tying it up to stay still. Then, he collects his 2-in-1 bottle from its perch atop the metal piping of the shower and starts making his way back.

That’s when he hears it:

“It’s no wonder the Captain’s peacockin’ himself around like that… I mean have you seen the size of her tits?”

John’s blood runs cold. They wouldn’t fucking dare. They wouldn’t talk about Kathleen. 

No. 

Not they. 

Him.

Sergeant Ellis Evans. 

One he’s always had problems reining in.

“Captain’s lucky is all I’ll say… Body like hers… Hell, even I’d forgive that bloody attitude of hers.”

The others laughed as Evans continued.

“I mean, I’m sure Kathleen’s mouth’s good for more than just talking… Gotta be good on her knees.. They call her ‘Brass’ for a reason, right? Bet she leaves ‘em with a nice polish and shine once she’s done.” 

That did it.

John rounded the corner into the locker room and, abruptly, the room fell into silence, breaths hitching and the temperature dropping into an uncomfortable ice.

But John didn’t stop walking at the doorway… In fact, he beelined right for Evans.

“Captain, I-” Evans immediately tried backtracking. “We were just joking, we were just-”

“Keep my wife’s name out your bloody mouth.” John grits at him through clenched teeth before he throws a right cross to Evans’ face.

-

It’s just past 7P.M. when Kathleen comes in through the front door. John has made dinner for them and little Charlotte is already asleep in her crib by the time she does.

She sets her bag down in the entrance, takes off her shoes, and pads over to the kitchen in search of John.

“Hi…” She greets him softly as she approaches the table, causing him to swivel on his chair to greet her, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

She presses a kiss to his mouth, which he returns. “Hi, Da’lin’.” He murmurs to her once they separate.

“Is she down?” She asks in a soft tone as she looks at him.

“Mhm… Full belly and empty diaper.” He tells her, which makes her smile softly, seeming relieved.

Kathleen feels exhausted, as usual, still not used to the work-life balance that comes from having a 4-month-old baby who doesn’t like to sleep + and a physically demanding job that runs on a 12-hour-shift schedule. 

John swivels back to his previous position, nursing a glass of whiskey with his left hand, the right one resting on the table, the knuckles covered by a blue gel ice pack.

“So that’s what happened...” Kathleen muses as she glances at his iced hand, before backing away to grab herself a plate of food from the cupboard.

“What is?” John murmurs as he glances at her, watching her serve herself of some frozen lasagna and salad.

“One of your lads ended up in my emergency room after some ‘roughhousing gone wrong in the locker room’... I was musing about what he did all afternoon.” She quips as she pads over to the table again again.

“Hm.” John mutters quietly, seemingly a mix of embarassed and annoyed at that fact.

“So what did he do?” She asks as she takes a seat on his lap, perched on his lap, as she pops a cherry tomato in her mouth.

“Talked about you.” John murmurs, wrapping his free arm around her waist. “Only I get to say debauching things about My Wife.” He grumbles as he looks up into her eyes.

Kathleen rolls her eyes at him and shakes her head, but she can’t help the smirk that takes over her rudy lips as he calls her ‘his wife’. “My, Mr. Price, defending my honour, huh?” She jokes as she pops a bit of lettuce in her mouth.

“Defending my honour… and yours by proxy. Just an unforeseen consequence of it.” He tells her, trying to act nonchalant about the fact he broke a man’s nose, eyesocket and three of his ribs, for demeaning his wife.

“Right… Of course… How stupid of me…” Kathleen teases as she leans toward him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, which makes his blue eyes close, a smile taking over his features. 

“As opposed to… what exactly? There isn’t much up there other than thoughts of my cock, da’lin’.” John remarks, causing her to roll her eyes, annoyed, and flick his head away from her by pushing his cheek, annoyed.

“I can very well just stop thinking about it all together… And I’m sure you wouldn’t want that when I was just about to reward you for defending me…” Kathleen teases as she pops another cherry tomato in her mouth, eyes locked on John and the way his pupils dilated, his cock already stirring awake in his joggers against her ass in her green scrubs.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

Hey peeps. I'm really sorry but I actually have bad news and not a Valentine's Day chapter for today. I got diagnosed with tendonitis and I need to rest my hand and not write too much. I'm currently also working on my Master's thesis and that has priority, for obvious reasons I think, and I'm having a really hard time not being able to write some more König stuff, because really that's all I want to do.

I mean, I have found some speech to text programs that work pretty well (I'm actually using it right now to type this out), but it still takes a lot more time and then I still need to proofread manually, so it will take until the weekend or next week to post some more.

I have some chapters already written out that I finished some time ago that might not fit the plot exactly, but will work as random scenes. So I might fall back on some of those for the time being.

I hope you understand and thanks for your patience! 

I actually wrote a little scene about it when my wrist first started hurting, so I'm just going to post this today (I also read through it again and the big guy is still my comfort character), maybe some of you can also use a little fluff with König today <3

kissing it better <3

(domestic fluff, hinted-at smut, mdni)

Monday at 8, I go to work after drinking my morning coffee with him and I return to his house again in the late afternoon, finding him and Mimi cuddling on the couch, the little ball of fur snuggling into his broad chest. Seeing them like that, squeezes my heart a little bit.

I hop onto his lap, Mimi meowing because now she isn’t the only one occupying this space anymore. We laugh and I can finally give him a kiss. He kisses me back, his arms wrapping around my waist and thighs.

Next to him on the end table, there are three new bottles of black nail polish. “They didn’t have the brand you normally use, so I just bought a few.”, he explains, smiling at me apologetically.

And this small gesture makes me melt a little. I picture him, the ridiculously tall, scary looking metalhead standing in the boutique in front of the shelf with all the tiny bottles of nailpolish – and then picking out three of the same colour because he didn’t know which one I would like.

“Thanks, even though that wasn’t necessary.”, I say, pressing a little ‘thank you’ kiss onto his nose. I reach for one of the bottles but pull back when a pang of pain shoots through my wrist.

His eyes widen, just a bit, his look fixed on the spot where I hold it against my chest, slowly massaging it. “What happened?”, he asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know, my wrist just hurts.” I sigh. “It started today at work and it just doesn’t go away.”

He catches my hand, pulling my wrist from my hold, and inspects the joint, softly moving it. He stretches it down gently, my small palm between his huge, tattooed fingers. “Does that hurt?”, he wants to know. I shake my head and he pulls it into the other direction. I hiss slightly, as the light sting of pain spreads, and he lets go immediately.

“I think, you may have overworked it a little bit.”, he mumbles, softly massaging the muscles and tendons around the wrist. Pushing his thumbs into the sensitive skin, until I sigh and relax a bit.

König pulls my wrist closer, up to his lips, pressing them onto the joint. Placing soft kisses where it hurts. Kissing it better. I can feel his warm breath coasting over my skin as he slowly makes his way to the inside of my wrist, still rubbing the spots that hurt lightly with his big strong fingers. His eyes snap up to mine, holding my gaze that is already on him.

His tongue darts out, licking over the pulse point, like he can’t help himself. The soft wet touch sends a pleasurable shiver down my spine. My mouth drops open just a little bit as he puts his over the sensitive spot and sucks, gently. A little moan escapes my lips, and I can see the heat in his eyes intensifying.

He pulls back, pressing another kiss to my wrist, lingering a little longer than he needs to. Still holding my gaze. “A little better?”, he asks, with a soft smile. His little kisses seem to be the best medicine, even though they are pure placebo.

“Yes, thank you.”, I say as I lean forward and give him a proper kiss on the lips.

“Just let it rest the next few days and it’ll get better, okay?”, he suggests then.

I nod, but I can’t help myself, as I add-on: “So, no handjobs?”, biting back a grin.

He shoots me a look that tells me to stop being such a brat, but the corners of his mouth turn up. “Exactly, that was my point, Fräulein.”, he answers sarcastically, patting my ass.

His demeanor changes again before he asks: “Are you hungry? I cooked some pasta.” He already kinda knows the answer to that (I can always eat, especially carbs) as he’s getting up, just lifting me up in one swift motion, only to set me down on the floor next to him.

“Starving actually, I didn’t really have lunch today.”, I sigh. “More exhausting clients instead.”

“We’ll get you something to eat and then you can tell me all about it. How does that sound, hm?”, he suggests. His arm snakes around my waist while he presses a little kiss on the top of my head.

“That sounds great.”, I tell him, a small smile on my face, as I take his hand – with the wrist that doesn’t hurt – and follow him to the kitchen.

Mimi gets up as well and tipples after us, her tail flicking up in the air, as she meows again like she wants to say ‘I’m hungry too!’.

~ more stuff in the Masterlist~

[agaypanic]

ethan morgan with a short reader hc???? (gn or fem pls!)

Ethan Morgan With a Short Reader Headcanons

Masterlist

Request Something!

***

I think Ethan would love having a short s/o

He’s the shortest guy in the group 

I headcanon somewhere ranging from 5’6 to 5’8

Yea that feels right

But anyway, both of you being short makes you fit together so well

You were used to the boys towering over you all the time. Rory may have been just a few inches taller than you, but his tendency to float or fly made him seem larger. And Benny had always been a lanky giant.

But Ethan was the perfect height, at least in your opinion. He was the shortest boy in the group but was still a few inches taller than you, which you liked. You didn’t have to crane your neck to look at him, and he never had to bend down to hug or kiss you.

“Aw, you guys are like little dolls or something.” Benny teased as you and Ethan met with the group, hand in hand.

You looked at each other, both confused and slightly amused. “We’re not that small, Benny.”

“I don’t know.” Rory egged on. “I think Debbie Dazzle was bigger than you guys.” The blonde sighed, starting to look reminiscent. “I miss Debbie Dazzle.”

Everyone stared at Rory, but you were the one to speak. “You miss the doll that was brought to life, and then tried to suck out all of our energy and turn us into dolls so she could stay alive?”

“What can I say? I like complicated women.”

Sharing clothes with Ethan works out well

Bc even tho he’s scrawny, most of his clothes seem pretty loose

But half the time, his shirts are a bit long, so since you’d be shorter than him, you might still drown in his clothes a bit

Still comfy tho

“Damn.” You muttered, going through your backpack before looking up at Ethan. “I think I forgot my pajamas.”

“Wanna borrow some of my stuff?” He asked, already moving towards his closet. You nodded, and soon, your boyfriend tossed you a shirt and some basketball shorts before leaving his room to let you get changed.

After changing and setting your old clothes by your bag, you looked into the mirror by Ethan’s bed and laughed. You were somewhat drowning in the fabric of his shirt, and his shorts ended at your knees. As you bounded down the stairs to the living room, you wondered how you’d look if Ethan was as tall as Rory or Benny.

Hearing your nearing footsteps, Ethan looked away from the TV and grinned at the sight of you. Even though you’ve worn his clothes before, a blush always appeared on his cheeks. “Comfy?”

“Very.” You responded before settling down next to him on the couch and accepting the remote that he was handing to you.

You know how sometimes with short reader headcanons, the character reaches for stuff on high shelves for the reader?

Or purposefully puts stuff up there?

Ethan kind of does that.. But since he’s only a few inches taller than you, his help isn’t very effective sometimes

Ethan kept waving his hand around and lifting onto his toes, trying to reach the top shelf of a bookcase. You and your friends were at a mall, and you practically dragged your boyfriend to the bookstore to grab some books for your TBR list. You found a book that you’d been wanting for ages, but it was on the highest shelf.

You had already attempted to grab it a few times, and now it was Ethan’s turn. 

“Babe, should we just go get someone?” You asked, watching him struggle.

“No, I’m almost there.” He said adamantly, but you both knew he wasn’t.

Suddenly, there was someone laughing behind you. You and Ethan turned around to see an amused Benny.

“Need help?” He asked before sipping the smoothie he had gotten from the food court.

“Shut up.”

“Yes, please.”

Benny walked up to stand between you and Ethan. He raised his hand, grabbing the book you were after with extreme ease and handing it to you. “By the way, we’re gonna go to Applebee’s for lunch in, like, an hour.” Then he walked away, presumably to the comic section. 

Happy that you now had the book you wanted, you took Ethan’s hand and walked through other sections. 

“I almost had it,” Ethan grumbled, but you both knew better.

“I know, baby.”

[that-ari-blogger]

Deadly Simplicity (Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief)

The Percy Jackson series is one of those ubiquitous franchises that almost everyone has at least heard of. The books single handedly sparked a growing interest in mythology and history, with a focus on Ancient Greece. But there is more to them than that, suffice to say, you don’t get to be the first google search result for “Uncle Rick” for nothing.

I have never been one for rewatching or rereading stories I like. I have a ton of books on my shelf that I read once and then never came back to, but having this blog inspired me to start re-experiencing things from a critical lens.

I decided to reread the Percy Jackson books and genuinely wasn’t planning on posting about them until a thought struck me. Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief is simple by design, and relatable on a level I was not expecting it to be.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD: (Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief)

First up, a confession.

I got into the franchise in the weirdest way possible. The movie that we all try to forget came out when I was too young to understand why it was so awful, and my childish brain got hyped on the cool magic stuff. So, I read the first book, and then the Heroes of Olympus series that began releasing in the same year and I began to understand exactly how wrong I was.

This story would be unusual, if I hadn’t also done the exact same thing with Avatar: The Last Airbender. I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t do it on purpose. At least that one was a few years later, and my first experience of the true series was genuinely Bitter Work, take a guess at how quickly I worked out the difference in quality.

Anyway, Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief feels like a bedtime story, and that’s pretty much what it was. But I would propose that the story also functions as a legend, or a folk tale.

I want to prefix this by saying that I am not a semanticist. The word “legend” has a specific meaning, and my basic knowledge leads me to believe that it fits, but if someone with more understanding argues contrary, they are the authority.

However, I’m not arguing pure definition, I’m arguing more on vibes, which are conveniently more difficult to pin down, and leave me with some wriggle room.

In any case, Percy Jackson is a legend because of how it develops. It’s a simple story told with a purpose, that evolved over time. Like the legends of King Arthur.

The series overall is famous for making writing about heavy subject matter with respect look effortless, but looking at the first in the series, its noticeable how many of the themes that would become central in the later books are absent entirely.

This is a story of empowerment about ADHD and dyslexia, that abruptly gains some family thematic at the very end. It’s got a cool backdrop with magic and a sense of humour, and that’s it. This isn’t trying to be anything more.

Which, for the record, works uncomfortably well. I am not dyslexic, so I can’t speak for that experience, but I was recently diagnosed with ADHD, and with that hindsight, Perseus Jackson came to my house, knocked down my door, and said “I see you.”

In every behaviour, from the inability to focus except in moments when he can’t do anything else, to the struggle with school, to the unrivalled inability to read a room, I have seen in myself a thousand times. But the key here is that these are reframed as empowering with one majour exception that is actually quite funny.

Percy’s ADHD becomes an explicit divine gift that will help save his life time and time again, and his Dyslexia becomes a secret language that only a select few have access to. It doesn’t even ignore the issues of living with the two, it just adds on a few cool magical powers to make them feel special. When you are a kid, or even as an adult, sometimes you need the affirmation.

But I mentioned an exception, and that is the main conflict of the story. The book doesn’t have a main antagonist, and Ares is tagged on at the end as a boss battle. But there is an opponent, the Summer Solstice itself.

Filling the role of villain in a story about a character with ADHD, is the threat of a deadline. And from that perspective, the story about characters getting sidetracked by everything under the sun, before getting their arses into gear the night before becomes half funny, but also empowering. It says, “you can do this, and you will do it your way.”

When I watched the Disney + series, I was originally offput but unable to put my finger on why. But I think it’s the tone. The series feels like it was written from the perspective of an adult looking at the adventure and going “he’s twelve, he’s gonna get killed”, while the first book oscillates between that and “I’m twelve, I’m gonna live forever”.

Case and point, book Percy gets annoyed at his father about twice, and immediately forgives him, while series Percy is well aware of the situation, and reacts to it with that knowledge in mind.

Watch this space for my coverage of Percy Jackson and the Sea of Monsters for more details on this, because that gets really interesting.

My single biggest bugbear with modern internet discourse is the drawing of similarities between stories as if its some great revelation. Like, congratulations, you’ve discovered tropes, what’s your point?

In this context, the similarities being drawn are between Percy Jackson, Star Wars, and The Galbraith books (Harold Pots and the Spooky Triangle, Harold Pots and the Hole with a Snek in it. You know which books I’m talking about).

I’m not going to argue that there aren’t similarities, but I challenge you to write a story that is made up of entirely new ideas that nobody has ever thought about before.

All stories, for example, feature a young hero and a coming-of-age story. All have a tragic backstory and a wacky mentour. All have an introductory adventure to tie in a hint of worldbuilding, then lead into the greater story for the second act. All feel like they were written to be standalone stories with hints at a future added as an afterthought.

However, the differences between the three are so much more significant. Star Wars is trying to fit into the Hero’s Journey, the definitive writing stereotype, and it did so well at it that anyone trying to compare to the trope now compares with Star Wars.

Harrold Pots and the Life Rock of Live Giving Rockiness is trying to be a Bildungsroman, which is separate from the Hero’s Journey, but does have a fair few similarities. Notably the travel into a symbolic new world of adventure, and the return home as a changed person. But the theming is different, Harrold Pots, for all its many flaws, is a story with a solid theme. With friends, you can accomplish anything.

It also, as a side note, heavily implies the idea that forcing someone to be something they are not (I.e., the protagonist’s relatives trying to convince him that he is not a wizard) is impossible, and I chose to read that as trans affirming because I know Galbraith definitely didn’t mean it that way and I am petty.

To further back up this point, some people in the story aren’t born as witches or wizards (AMAB, assigned muggle at birth), but are accepted regardless. This reading is definitely based on the flimsiest of reasonings possible, but it’s a testament to what can happen when you see patterns in stories that aren’t there or aren’t as significant as the author meant.

Back to Percy Jackson, it baffles me that this gets lumped in with the two aforementioned franchises, because it’s truly awful at sticking to a specific structure. It’s a hero’s journey at parts, and a Bildungsroman by technicality, but it’s its own thing.

Percy learns about the stolen lightning, the title of the story, just before halfway through the book, and then he departs on his quest. I’m genuinely not sure to see the story as five act, four act, or even two act, and I don’t think it matters. That’s part of what I meant about this feeling like a legend, because it has the same meandering structure, it’s a story meant to be told, not marked on a scale.

Which leads me to my point about empowering. This book, by its very structure, backs up the simple theming of the story. You can do it, and you will do it your way.

Final Thoughts

There are so many little details in this book that I could talk about, so I’m going to focus in on two more before I leave.

Dionysus is my boy in the mythology, but in his introduction in this book, he manages to have more teeth than any other god in the series. Sure, Zeus is throwing storms around and being generally big (in a physical sense), but Dionysus comes across as powerful because he shows Percy just what he is capable of. Show don’t tell is a hell of a thing, and the choice to make the threat of “I can drive you insane with barely a thought” by literally getting in Percy’s brain and giving him examples of what Dionysus can do from the perspective of those he’s cursed shows a level of power and raw intimidation factor that nothing in the rest of the series will get close to.

There is one other similarity between this book and Harold Pots and the Oh-My-G-d-Its-Robert-Pattinson, and that is the one thing I dislike about the story. In this book, and only in this book, Riordan has a habit of indicating morality with appearance. Every evil person is ugly, every good person is beautiful. Once you notice it, you can’t unsee it.

But interestingly, this stops in the final few chapters with Luke’s betrayal, which is the series’ main turning point. Well, one of two. And this only works because the book has conditioned you to expect the handsome Luke to be benevolent, so the twist hits hard. It works, but I’m glad Riordan didn’t continue with the trope.

Next time, I will be looking at Percy Jackson and the Sea of Monsters and exploring just how much this book is the opposite of the one I just covered. So, stick around if that interests you.

[khlorhine]

Jjk Oc info dump

Cuz I'm weird like that and I've had this for a while. Also I shaded that drawing of her from my last post and I feel annoying posting it again but I needed a coloured image of her that doesn’t look fucked up because I can’t consistently draw her face right.

Tamaki Kitagawa 珍亀 北川

The first character in her name means rare, the second means turtle, third (or first in her family name) means north and the last one means river.

Innate technique: Mould

There are three states of mould (all of which branch off from the actual word mould)

Sculpt which is a state of cursed energy that can shape other people's cursed energy. While in sculpt mode it can only be used to shape (or mould hahaha) cursed energy, it's pretty much impossible to exorcise a cursed spirit since they're made of cursed energy.

Blueprint which creates an information graph of other people's cursed energy and techniques through contact. Like the six eyes but with contact. Obviously it doesn't work on people like Toji or awakened Maki. The user can also make their own blueprints from scratch or from adjusting previously existing blueprints. Too much information from the blueprints can give you a headache and possibly permanent brain damage. It works like computer memory, you can optimise a blueprint by deleting unnecessary stuff while keeping around about the same level of quality. She could change the way a blueprint is registered in her mind but she’ll have to either manually change her old ones to match or make a blueprint to do it all for her.

Mould which is the culmination of these two states, using blueprints as moulds (haha get it? I'm so cringe) and sculpt to shape them into the moulds. It'll only work in battle if the opponent is two grades below the user, which sucks considering the technique can't even be used to exorcise curses in its base form, and only work on the recipient if they're the same grade or below as the user if they're willing to. This can be used to change a cursed spirit into another cursed spirit if their grade is the same or higher than the curse the user wants to turn them into. Theoretically she could give herself multiple techniques but she'd end up with major brain damage so she'd need a medium to put those techniques onto (like Rika for Yuta's copy technique).

It sounds weird but imagine having the knowledge to build a shelf in your head compared to having an actual shelf in your head. You can't fit a shelf in your head without destroying your brain to make room for it.

Since she can’t use the techniques of other people, she wears a bracelet of reshaped curses, semi-first grades or above to apply cursed techniques onto so she can utilise them in battle. Of course, when a sorcerer has any kind of jewellery it’s usually safe to assume it’s cursed for the purpose of aiding the wearer so it’s better for her to shape her curses as weapons so people will just assume it’s an ordinary cursed weapon since the ones with techniques are expensive as hell and why would a high schooler even have that unless they're part of a well known clan.

She can manipulate others' cursed energy and by extension use their technique through their body but her cursed technique is contact based so she has to be touching them, skin to skin, the entire time. It takes a lot out of her when she doesn't have permission because their cursed energy will just end up clashing. It's really better for her to get their blueprint and apply it onto one of her curses.

Kinji Hakari’s rough cursed energy signature isn’t considered a technique so Tamaki will apply that signature onto her cursed energy though her blueprint technique during a fight. I'm assuming cursed energy application is kinetic and Hakari’s energy is just kinetic too just moving in a back and forth movement causing a cutting feeling while Kashimo’s is electric so going off of energy types like kinetic and electric, there's also chemical, heat, mechanical. Mechamaru developed a heat blueprint for her.

She also knows rct. Surprisingly it wasn't taken from another person; she actually learned it when her bf was dying. I don't know how rct works but Tamaki applies her rct in her stem cells and rebuilds her body bit by bit with the help of her technique. She really doesn't value her body that much because she can just heal it over and over again which is a problem when she tries to make a binding vow to exchange parts of her body for something else. Instead of sacrificing an arm she could make one that prevents her from regenerating her arm during the fight.

Her domain expansion is just her technique but instead of it being contact based, it now works if you’re within the range of her domain. It gives her guaranteed control over a third or more of all the cursed energy in the domain. She can do it but it still takes a lot out of her to manipulate a technique without permission. She can also apply your technique on someone else so if someone had blood manipulation she could use them as a medium and manipulate someone else’s blood.

All of this is just a way to say her technique is overpowered when applied correctly. If she collects a lot of blueprints and optimises the heck out of them she's a force to be reckoned with but at the start she doesn't think it's useful because in its base form it's main use is support through information gathering which is something Tamaki doesn't enjoy.

She's also a fucking Mary Sue. Really the only drawback she has is having less options for binding vows due to her mentality, very few options for ranged attacks, and high cursed energy consumption with her average sized cursed energy reserves which is negated by the fact that she can literally minimise the loss of cursed energy with her cursed technique just like Gojo with his six eyes. Does having to collect cursed spirits count as a drawback because she doesn’t have to consume them but having to collect high grade spirits for her technique is really time consuming.

Did I also mention she can hide her cursed energy signature by compressing all her energy deep in one part of her body? The only person who could even notice it is Gojo with his fucking six eyes. Really, I want her to be second or first grade but after writing all of this out I realised it’s better to class her as special grade.

Personality and backstory: Reserved and shy at the start. She knows she's different (wow guys she's different!) from most people since she's a sorcerer and she's been told by her uncle not to show off that side of her but she desperately wants to since it's the only thing she's good at.

She also knows she doesn't think like most people. She doesn't feel sad when people she doesn't know die and she feels more guilty over her lack of a reaction rather than the actual thing she should be reacting to which is a big problem in her mind because she understands what empathy is but she can't feel it. She has dead parents (and her bf also dies) and she's sad that they're dead, she cares about people close to her but she couldn't care less about anyone else and in her mind it's a bad thing because like her these people have people that care about them and care if they die but she's not apart of that group of people.

Her dead parents are the reason her uncle doesn't want her to practise jujutsu. Her mother died from a cursed spirit, her father had a heavenly restriction that weakened his body so he just died from sadness so she does it in secret and sneaks off and works for Geto.

After her boyfriend dies she finds his vengeful cursed spirit. She was really disheartened when he died and seeing it made her think that he really was back and she could fix him and rebuild him to make him human again.

She experiments with her boyfriend's spirit, transferring organs from his dead body to the spirit, essentially creating a half curse half human amalgamation which kick-starts her weird obsession with evil Noritoshi Kamo. It also makes her feel guilty-er about her lack of tact in this and any other situation, how a normal person wouldn't do surgery on a cursed spirit to try to revive their dead lover, how normal people shouldn't be obsessed with Kamo Noritoshi (idk how to even describe him cuz he's a rapist but saying that to make a point about my oc being gross and weird is just iffy) just because they wanted to experiment with half curses.

Her hair is naturally white from her mom. She grew out her eyebrows because people could see them when they are white so she needed to make it obvious she wasn't balding to the other kids. She eventually dyed it black and used makeup to hide her white hair for school but then grew it out after she left.

She gets a head injury during the night parade of a Hundred Demons. It fucked up her prefrontal cortex which further decreased her empathy skills, now she rarely ever feels guilt over not experiencing normal emotions unless someone points it out but, hey at least she's not as shy anymore. She also has a little change in her technique in the way blueprints are registered, not too drastic, just thought I'd point it out since that's where cursed techniques are stored.

She gets picked up by jujutsu high after Geto dies, thanks to Gojo but she's not a big fan of him and she attacked his students so she doesn't really want to attend the same school as them. She gets sent to Kyoto tech instead which was a decision from the higher ups to keep the new generation in line and it's something Gojo couldn't stand in the way of because this is what Tamaki wanted.

Inspiration/s

Shinsuke Kita from Haikyuu

I mean look at them and look at their names

Yuta Okkotsu

because her technique literally takes from others and she has a cursed spirit that is literally her first lover. I have to take traits for source characters and put them onto my oc because I have no creativity in me whatsoever.

The Black Tortoise

I based her whole name and general aesthetic on it. Her original name was Genbu, the Japanese name of the black tortoise because I changed it. "kita" means north and the black tortoise is associated with it. I'm gonna call it Xuanwu since it's the Chinese name for it. The second kanji in her given name means tortoise but the hanzi "wu" (or the kanji reading "bu") doesn't mean turtle, it means martial or warrior because Xuanwu isn't really Xuanwu if it's just the tortoise, it has to have a snake which is where her cursed spirit bf comes in.

Vaisravana/Bishamonten

her domain hand sign borrows from the God of warfare since she likes fighting (im not exactly sure if the image I took from him could be like his signature hand sign since idk how to actually pick one but the image is down below). It's similar to Kinji Hakari's domain hand since his hand sign comes from Benzaiten and both Bishamonten and Benzaiten are part of the seven lucky gods. They’re also both part of the twenty four devas originally being sixteen then twenty in Indian Buddhism before being twenty four in Chinese with Benzaiten being conflated with the god Saraswati who was called Biancaitien in Chinese where the name Benzaiten came from. Vaisravana is also one of the four heavenly kings which are all in the twenty four devas, representing the north. He has two names in Chinese, Pishamentian and Duoweng Tianwang, the latter meaning listening to many teachings.

Two of my ocs

her design was basically, if they had a child, what would it look like

Satoru Gojo

the appearance of one of the ocs was based on him but it changed so much that you wouldn't even think to relate him to the oc but he is the reason why Tamaki has white hair so Geto can project and imagine she's his and Gojo's kid cuz he's freaky and gay like that it's actually one of the reasons why he picked her up as a student

I got stuff written about her boyfriend too and I’ll post it either tomorrow or the day after that.

[penguinmerchant]

Death and the Prince

My next binding! This one is based off of @arahir​‘s lovely work, Death and the Prince. All of arahir’s stuff is great, but I chose to do this one because my (graphic designer) boyfriend offered to make the cover for me. And boy is it a cool cover.

Once I saw how ridiculous it was I also let him know he was going to be weeding it as well, which was a (predictably) terrible experience for everyone involved. He also designed some of the interior chapter headers, which turned out pretty neat. There’s a different one for each character.

(the text isn’t printed blurry, it just looks like it on my camera for whatever reason)

And here are the beautiful endpapers. I love buying golden marbledy papers, can you tell?

More info about the binding process under the cut.

This binding was a little more fraught with errors than my previous one (terrible weeding job of the fiddly cover aside) as I accidentally forgot to trim the covers before putting the cloth on. Which I’m pretty sure I only did because I messed up the spine and it came out super wonky, large on one side and small on the other, and I had to rip all that out and do it again and I got stressed out by the whole thing. Whoops.

I’m so sorry, beautiful duo cloth. At least I was forced to buy a crap ton of you due to Talas’ insane shipping (I had to make the shipping costs worth it!) so I still have a bunch left over. Maybe I’ll try and make a text block that will fit in there. The dimensions are almost 5x7, which is a respectable size for a book, it just doesn’t fit as well in my hand as much as the 4.5 x 6.75 one does. Ah, who am I kidding, they’re almost the same. I’ll make it work.

Anyway, this was a pretty easy bind except for the above nonsense, only 4 signatures which got sewn up pretty quickly. I used the 7mm gutter space again because I wanted the spine to be prevalent since it would have text on it, and I think it turned out looking great for such a small book. Bookcloth is duo (again, I love you duo) in grape, which is a lovely red/purple color that shifts in the light. End papers are marbled jute from Mulberry Papers. Cover is HTV and Cricut and was such a dumb idea for such a fiddly little design. I might try printing on cloth next time and using the toner reactive foil because this was just the hugest pain. But even with all the little problems it had it ended up looking great.

Look at it on my shelf there! So cute! (Also check out my first printing hardback copy of Goblin Emperor, that was the find of a century at $7.99, also that paper cut version of Emma on the end, also very cheap, I love you Half Price Books and your dumb pricing system)

Arahir if you see this thank you so much for all your great writing! Everything you write is incredible, there will probably be more bindings of yours in the future because I love everything you do. If anyone has any questions about the binding process please let me know! I’m still very new at binding and trying to get better so any criticism or help is welcome.

[sailormoonsailorstars]

Helloooo mutual✨

Since you sent me an ask in reference to the fandom ask thing we reblogged, I wanted to return the chance to rant. What are some of your favorite characters/ships for tbhk, and why?? Any particular headcanons you like for them??

I hope this isn’t too vague lol, I like hearing people’s preferences for things like this :3

Hi!!!

Okay so I’m an AkaNene shipper and a lot of people don’t get that ship (they tend to think it’s a crack ship or a rare pair just made up for fun)

I personally came up with this huge adoration of the ship over one side comic and then the severance / red house arcs era (so around chapters 70-90’s)

The side comic I’m talking about is the one where Nene asked Aoi if Aoi really didn’t care about Akane’s crush on her and if she wouldn’t mind if Nene went out with him instead (it’s the one where Nene skips school for like a week because of it)

And the rest :D rubs my silly little hands together

During the severance Nene loses two very important people! One being Aoi, and the other being Hanako. And for Akane, it’s Aoi too.

I honestly think it’s really interesting to see how their relationship would blossom after chapter 72- the Terunene “date” chapter. Akane seems really angry in that chapter because Nene is indirectly why Aoi was gone. But, I think by the end of it he would be much more willing to hear Nene out.

I think they’d be each others support systems as we know Nene got depressed after the severance, and Akane probably wasn’t any better either (I’m looking at you watering can Akane official art)

They wouldn’t see each other as replacements for each others love interest- but they would see it as something to have in common and help each other over.

My hc’s for the severance period are pretty dark so if I had to think of fun AkaNene headcanons:

Whenever Nene’s really upset Akane will redirect her to watch something she really enjoys. I love the idea of Magical Girl enjoyer for Nene (projecting lol) but I think knowing her canon interests she’d be more interested in things like Madoka Magica rather than Magical Doremi/Precure/Sailor Moon 💭 Akane wouldn’t be super interested in that sort of thing but after watching it with Nene a few times he finds himself wrapped up in the lore and maybe even starts relating to Homura 😭 given the time loop based losing a crush stuff

Unlike Aoi- Nene loves rain and storms! She likes the adrenaline. As long as she’s warm and under a waterproof jacket she likes it. She’s the sort of person to lay in the grass and just let the water hit her face to me. So, sometimes if a storm starts she’ll shoot Akane a text that she’s coming over and then drags him outside to dance in the rain :D

Nene usually ends up freezing cold after this so Akane has to dry her hair off with a towel and get the space heater and blankets out. He sort of lectures her about how she needs to listen to him and be more careful, but it’s out of concern - not to be mean.

on this note of hair , Nene has thick curly hair! I like to hc that she flat irons it to try and fit in with Aoi and the others because curl care can be a night mare as someone who struggles with it. Her hair gets super frizzy sometimes and she finds it easier to just iron it. Akane tries to tell her that he likes her natural hair, and helps her comb tangles out gently. This ends up leading to her deciding to stop straightening it every day.

As we know from one of the side comics, Akane has a book shelf full of books that all have a character named Aoi in it. I think Nene would find that a little silly, but drag her interest so much that she ends up slowly reading all of them and then discussing them with Akane- like an Aoi book club 🔥

I also think that on her own Nene would probably read some crazy stuff that Akane wouldn’t exactly expect. She’d be scrolling through an e-book on her phone until Akane finally looks over and realizes she’s reading a detailed murder scene from American Psycho

Akane on the other hand would read old timey romances I think. Stuff with Princes/Knights and Princesses. I also think he’d start getting into the psych horror magical girl genre because of Nene. He’d really love watching Revolutionary Girl Utena :) I do love transfem Akane hc’s so he’d either relate to Utena because he sees himself in her and gender euphoria OR he would just see himself and Aoi in it… like having the right spirit despite it being the WLW of all time

Whenever Nene’s too busy or depressed to take care of her hamsters Akane will take over. He tells her that it’s a chore and he only does it because he loves her- but he’s secretly really attached to them and gives them silly nicknames because Nene’s given names are usually pretty extreme haha

Okay that’s a lot but I hope it’s good to read >:D I adore these two I wanna put Akane under a microscope and psychoanalyze him

[rancidpancakebatter]

tasm!peter parker

like honestly i’m not sure how to exactly set this up, but like a mini series of like a friends to lovers but the reader already has been in a relationship for like three years or something and she finally realizes that her partner isn’t really fulfilling the role of her partner in the relationship and seeks out help from peter and gwen ? idk i just thought this quote from my favorite movie would fit that, like she should try to make her relationship work or just end it ? idk you know i love you so we’ll see what happens next, i’ll love any direction you’d want to approach it with ! 😊💗🫶🏼🫶🏼

🎥: before we go

brooke dalton:
it’s possible, isn't it? it’s possible that you could meet somebody who's perfect for you even though you're committed to somebody else.

nick vaughan:
no, no, see, i think if you're committed to somebody, you don't allow yourself to find perfection in someone else.

Another Way to Fly-[P.P.] | Chapter One

Pairing: TASM!college!Peter Parker x female!college!reader

 Summary: You've been dating Harry Osborne for three years. You love him...but maybe not as much as you once did. Maybe not enough.

AU Where Norman isn’t as sick- he’s just an asshole- and Gwen doesn’t go to Oxford. Harry is functioning as an apprentice at Oscorp (He graduated with a master's in two years because of his studying abroad). You, Peter, and Gwen are all seniors at ESU. Because Norman isn’t dying the whole “Goblin” thing is scratched from the record so Peter and Harry are besties.

Word Count: 3.8k

Content Warnings: Swearing, Drinking (Of age), Skeezy men, Blatant objectification of reader, Norman Osborne (I dunno if that's really a warning but like he's gross and a terrible father so I'm listing it)

Previous | | Next

A/N: So sorry this took so long @scorpiolystoned! I got caught up in a lot of stuff and it took a second but the first chapter is FINALLY HERE! I'm having fun with this one :))

You were at yet another fundraiser in yet another gown that cost more than your monthly rent, talking to yet another stuffy old man who felt the need to make his opinion known. You smiled politely as he continued to tell you how your generation's greatest issue was a lack of work ethic, which was rich coming from a man who inherited his ten-million-dollar mansion upstate. You were on your third glass of champagne and considering getting a brandy instead. Anything that might make this conversation less painful. 

Normally you would have no issue telling him off- rattling off about the lies sold to the working class by the privileged elite- but alas, you were here with your boyfriend, and you couldn’t taint his reputation. Harry would be inheriting Oscorp one day and would need these men to like him to keep it running. So you bit your tongue and plastered on a fake smile. 

You said nothing about how insane they all sounded. You said nothing about the racist comments they made about their housekeepers. You said nothing about the skeezy comments they would make about you. You said nothing, because here: women are trophies, not people. 

You hated going to these events but you loved Harry. You knew he didn’t like them much either, constantly having to defend his capability and intelligence to men who claim he’s just an idiot boy with a well-respected father.

He asked you to come to keep him sane. However, he was nowhere to be seen. There was no one to save you from this creepy man asking if college was really the right move because it would be better to settle down, “it would be a shame to waste all that beauty.” 

You politely excused yourself and made your way to the bar. One benefit of snobby, elitist parties: open bars. You ordered something top-shelf and strong while you fished your phone from your clutch. You sent out a text to Harry letting him know where you were and asking him to come back to your side. You sat there for an hour, nursing your second drink, until he came back. 

“Hey babe, sorry about that. My dad reintroduced me to some shareholders and I couldn’t get away.” He gave you a peck on the lips and he sat down next to you. 

You rested your head on his shoulder and his arm draped over the back of your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you’re more than ready to leave.” You told him you were and he nodded. 

As he looked at his watch he sucked his teeth. “If we leave now it’ll be too soon. Can you hang in another hour?” 

You pouted at him and he leaned into you, “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

You shivered as he kissed just below your ear. He placed his hands in yours as his kisses started trailing lower. 

“Okay, okay. You win.” A smile stretched across his face and you swatched his chest. “But you better not abandon me again. I mean it, Osborn.”

He playfully winces as he stands from his chair, “Ooh, last name. She’s serious.”

He gave you another peck on the lips, “I promise.” 

And with that, you let him lead you back into the horde. 

You made small talk and you played the role of a doting, hype man. To be fair, you didn’t really have to fake that. You loved Harry. It wasn’t hard to gush about his accomplishments, you were immensely proud of him. However you had to format your adoration differently for this crowd, and you hated that. 

An hour turned into two, which turned into three. Eventually, you pulled him aside and told him you were ready to go. You felt gross and emotionally exhausted. Harry said he still couldn’t leave but looking at your face he knew you were done.

He called you a cab and told you he would see you later. You hated leaving without him but understood. After a shower, you got ready for bed. You tried to stay up for him but the drinks you had made your eyes heavy and soon you were drifting off to sleep. 

You woke up the next morning in an empty bed. You checked your phone to see Harry had texted you. 

“I went home with my father last night. Have a good day of classes.” You pushed away the sadness you felt and sent him a text saying you would, asking if you would see him today. 

You got up and ready and made your way to a cafe just off campus. Every Monday, you went to Cafè Luna and met up with your friends before class. It was a lovely tradition that began about a year ago when you all discussed how abhorrent you found Mondays. This was a good way to make sure everyone started off on a good note. 

You pulled at the glass door and were greeted by the smell of cocoa, butter, sugar, bread, and coffee. A mix that always made you happy. You got in line, pondering what kind of breakfast you wanted today. You could go for the classic breakfast sandwich, or possibly a sweet treat would brighten your mood more. You decided on both, knowing Gwen would split whatever confectionary you got. 

As you got to the counter, you gave the cashier your order and handed her Harry’s card. You grabbed a table while you waited for your order to be called out. Just then, two of your three favourite people walked in. You smiled as Gwen waved, rushing towards you to wrap you in a hug. She kissed you on the cheek before separating. Peter beamed at you as well and enveloped you in a firm hug.

You would never tell anyone, but he was the best hugger in the group by far. He always hugged with just enough strength to make you feel warm and safe but not enough to hurt or feel trapped. 

Once in your unofficial seating chart, Peter looks around the shop. “Where’s Harry?” 

You force a smile, trying not to let your own disappointment show. “He’s at his dad’s. I’m not sure he’s gonna make it today.”

Peter huffed, letting his lips flap together at the end. “Bummer, I was hoping to see ole Harr-Harr.”

You nodded in understanding, wishing for the same. You couldn’t get too lost in your thoughts as you heard your name called from across the cafe. 

You stood from your chair, “Sorry guys, I already ordered. I was pretty hungry.”

They both reassured you that it was fine. Peter stood from the table as well. “I’ll go get in line.” 

He kissed Gwen on the forehead before walking across the store with you. You grabbed your food and headed back to the table. You placed your cinnamon roll between you and Gwen and passed her a fork.

She feigned innocence, claiming she couldn’t possibly take your food, but eventually gave in when you pointed out how big it was. This was a local shop, and they made all their baked goods in huge sizes. The cinnamon roll between you was almost as big as your hand. 

Peter soon returned with his and Gwen’s orders. Gwen thanked him with a kiss on the cheek as Peter casually draped his arm around her. You smiled at the couple and the domesticity they displayed. It was sweet. 

“So,” Gwen asked pulling you from your thoughts, “How was your weekend?” 

You told her about how you spent most of it preparing for Oscorp's last fundraiser. Norman did a fundraiser once a month, cycling through different organizations and causes.

Last night was for Cerebral Palsy. There was a giant check for a cool million dollars on display in the Osborn name. You hated that charity was thrown around in this way, as a power grab, but you guess there are worst things they could do with their money. 

Because of Harry’s absence this morning your friends could sympathise with you openly. 

“Yikes, I don’t miss those.”

“How many guys commented on your dress?”

You chuckled, “Yeah Pete, you’re real lucky and only two men commented on my dress. However, three commented on my hips, and six on how beautiful I was.”

Gwen grimaced while Peter looked between the two of you, confused. “I don’t understand. Being called beautiful is bad?” He looked directly at Gwen, “Should I not call you that anymore?”

She chuckles and places a hand over his heart. You watch Peter physically calm at the act. “No, but there’s a certain way in which some men say that doesn’t really mean ‘you’re beautiful.’”

“It means, ‘I see you as a sex object and I am imagining having sex with you right now as we are talking.’” You helpfully supplied. 

Gwen raised a finger and pointed it at you with a look of “she’s right.” Peter scrunched up his face in disgust. 

“Ew, men are pigs.” You both hummed in agreeance as you tore into your breakfast sandwich. 

They told you of their weekend: Dinner at Mays and a nice night in. You tried not to be jealous. You wished that you could do that sort of stuff with Harry. He always wanted to go out, spend money, be seen. You wished that your attention was enough. 

You almost got lost in your conversation about work when you caught a glimpse of your phone on the table. You usually kept it in your purse, but you were hoping to get a message from Harry. 

“Oh shit! Sorry, I gotta run or I’ll be late for class.” You gathered your stuff and hugged your friends goodbye. 

This was a nice tradition, you thought. Your Monday definitely felt a lot better. 

You walked out of your last class and sent another text to Harry. He still hadn’t replied to your earlier one from this morning. 

“Hey! Missed you at Luna’s today. I’m on my way home.”

You didn’t officially live with Harry, but you might as well. For the past four months, you spent almost every night there. He had made space for you and your things. You had your products in the bathroom and your snacks in the cupboard. Really you only went home for more clothes or if he was busy with work. You knew he appreciated his space when he was working. 

As you sat on the subway, you tapped your foot to the beat of the music pumping in your headphones while considering what you would make for dinner tonight, what Harry would want to eat. You scrolled through Pinterest to form ideas. 

When you got to the lobby, the doorman greeted you as always. You had given Harry a key to your place ages ago, and in return, he added you to his “list”.

Harr lived in a very expensive Manhatten penthouse, and with its security and staff, you couldn’t enter without him. He didn’t really use a key because he had a private elevator. So instead, he registered you with the building so you could come and go as you please. 

When you exited the elevator you called out for him, but it seemed he wasn’t home. You dropped off your stuff and took shower. You loved his shower. The water pressure was amazing and the water never got cold.

As you stepped out you wrapped yourself in his robe and reapplied your makeup in the mirror. Your hair was still wrapped in product, being shaped just right, when you started getting dressed.

Harry still hadn’t texted you back but that wasn’t unheard of. He often got caught up in his work. You knew it could be stressful for him though and you wanted him to come back home to no worries. You put on his favourite lingerie set and one of his dress shirts. You twirled and posed in the mirror, feeling quite good about yourself. 

He would be home in about three hours which gave you time to make something for dessert too. You rummage around the fridge and decide on homemade gnocchi, served with a white cheese sauce, asparagus, and buttered scallops. For dessert, you think, a simple fruit tart.

You get to work juggling various doughs and many burners. When you had a minute, you set the table and picked out a red wine that you thought would pair well with the dish. You wanted to arrange flowers for the table, but unfortunately, you didn’t have any, and you didn’t want to risk losing time getting dressed and running down the block. 

The penthouse smelled fantastic, and you were proud of your work. You had been dancing around a playlist comprised of “American Standards”. Your hips swayed to the likes of Etta James, Nat King Cole, Bobby Darin, and Doris Day as you made sure everything looked perfect. You missed Harry today and hoped this would put him in a good mood. 

You heard your name being called into the space and your feet carried you to the source. Your smile was grand as you jumped onto your toes to throw your arms around his neck. You buried your face into him, conscious of your makeup. 

“Hey, Harr-Bear! I missed you!” His arms slowly wrapped around you, but the hold felt foreign. 

“Uh, yeah, me too.” He stepped away from you, and his brow furrowed as he looked you over.

“What are you wearing?” Your fingers fiddled with the hem of the shirt, suddenly feeling small. 

“I…I know you like it when I wear your clothes, and I- I just thought that maybe you had a hard day, so I wanted to- to surprise you.” Harry looked more than stressed, he looked scared. 

He opened his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. His hand came up to his hair as he looked around. 

“(Y/n), I need you to-”

The elevator door opened, and it was too late. The warning he tried to give you was futile as you saw an all too familiar face walk into the room. 

Oh shit.

His dad. 

He wore a smile you hesitate to call forced. To force a smile, you must put effort into it, but in Norman’s endless quest to evade age- death, really- he had gotten a lot of work done. This resulted in a permanent crooked smile, and brows that looked just a little too high. You had no issue with people getting cosmetic surgery; whatever makes you feel more comfortable, ya know?

But you did have a problem with Norman Osborn. And you had a huge issue with him seeing you in your current state. Panic. Full blown panic. All you can think is “hide!” So you do.

“The scallops!” You ran back to the kitchen as the smell of them roasting wafted through the air. 

As you hastily flip them, you look down at your “outfit”. The shirt you picked was thin, almost sheer, making the black set you wore underneath entirely obvious. You might as well be running around naked.

The only way to get to Harry’s room is to cross the living room and run up the stairs, but that means you would have to pass Norman, who is no doubt, doing his surveillance of Harry’s space- being sure to throw in as many passive aggressive comments about his son’s life and design choices. 

“Smells delicious in here. Did you cook, Harold?” You hate when he calls him that, and so does Harry. It’s just another reminder that he will never be his own achievements, only his name. 

You look across the stove. There isn’t enough there for three. You wished Harry had mentioned bringing his father back with him. You would have prepared better.

You considered, for a moment, ducking into the pantry and just waiting for him to leave. He would never need to know you were here. But he probably heard your exclamation and saw you run. Hiding wasn’t much of an option. 

“Oh, well hello (L/n).” You felt your blood run cold. 

Slowly you turned to see Norman just in the threshold of the kitchen. His forced smile is now a smirk that makes you nauseous as his eyes trail over your body. 

“Dr Osborn.” You try to sound respectful, but it comes out curter than you intended. 

Harry is standing behind him, always in his shadow. His eyes were wide, full of shock and horror. 

“Is that what you’re planning to wear for dinner?” He still had yet to make eye contact, and it took all of your strength not to curl up in a ball and hide from his gaze. 

“I-No, I uh. I’m sorry I wasn’t expecting you. I was just about to change, but I didn’t want anything to burn.” You try to smile as you start pulling things off the burners. 

“Harrold, man the stove so your girlfriend can change into something that doesn’t look like it was made for a costume in an adult film.”

Only then does Harry jump into action to save you. He awkwardly enters behind his father, who doesn’t move to let him by, and grabs the tongs from your hand.

Your feet carry you quickly across the polished hardwood, and once on the stairs, you can feel Norman’s eyes on you. You pull the shirt down, a feeble attempt to cover your ass, but it doesn’t do much. When you finally close the door behind you, you feel like crying. This was so humiliating. 

You hate Norman. He’s so gross and has no problem ogling you (in anything you wear) while talking down to you. He was never much of a fan of yours.

You didn’t come from money, going up poor in Brooklyn. You weren’t a super genius. You weren’t even interested in science. When you first met Harry, you didn’t even know who he was, but obviously, you only liked him for his money. Norman had more than once commented on the idea of a prenup. 

The first time Harry introduced you to his father, it felt more like an interrogation. He grilled you on your studies and your prospects, and your past. Any answer you gave left him with his scowl well in place. Harry didn’t offer much comfort, but you quickly realised that Norman also made Harry upset, just in a very different way.

He held a lot of contempt for his father. He told you about how he shipped him off for school and never reached out. He didn’t like him, that was for sure, but he ran the chequebook. He ran the business Harry thought was his birthright, but Norman is a calloused narcissist, and Harry knows if he pisses him off too much, he’ll give the company to someone else, just out of spite. 

You put on an agreeable dress Harry had bought for occasions such as these. Dating Harry came with its own culture, in a way. Most of it revolves around a walk-in closet. This was a casual dinner, but in respect for the calibre of the guest you have to dress up a bit. But not too much. Additionally, it's an evening affair, so a certain colour pallet is in order.

This was a black sundress from some Italian import you couldn’t pronounce. Dainty straps rested on your shoulders, and the hem fell just above your knees. It had a modest V cut, and Harry had instructed you to always wear it with jewellery lest you look bare. You selected a thin gold chain with a small heart pendant, a gift for your first anniversary, and subtle hoops to match. You threw half of your hair up in a clip, and slipped on some black heels to go with it, the stark red on the tread peeking out with every step you took. 

As you made your way back downstairs, they were deep in conversation. You nervously joined Harry’s side, and he wrapped an arm around your waist. Norman commented on how you “clean up nice,” and you had to swallow the bile creeping up your throat to thank him. 

Norman made a comment in regards to what a terrible host you were, “I’ve been here nearly thirty minutes, and no one’s offered me a drink.”

While he said “no one”, which could be either you or Harry, you knew he meant you. You hadn’t served him yet. Harry tenses at the comment, and you quickly try to correct the mistake. You step away to the bar cart to fix Norman a whiskey with one large ice cube and make the same for Harr. Only Harry thanks you as you bring them back.

You all move to the seating area as they continue to talk business. You learned very quickly that you were not allowed to chime in on these discussions. You nodded attentively and sat by Harry. After a bit, you suggested they sit at the table for dinner.

You nervously plate the gnocchi and scallops, deciding you will take significantly less than Norman and Harry. You can’t always make something later. You just have to survive this. 

You set the plates in front of them and grabbed the wine, knowing you were served last. As you poured Norman’s glass, he cleared his throat. You looked up, and he pointed at his plate with an unmistakably fake smile. 

“Is this pasta?” You slowly nodded your head.

“I have celiac. This will wreak havoc on my body.” Harry immediately started apologising, throwing you under the bus, as Norman “kindly” explained that he couldn’t have gluten. 

You gripped the wine bottle dangerously in your hands. “I can have a steak ready for you in ten minutes.”

That seemed to placate the man as you filled Harry’s glass and took his plate back to the kitchen. You turned on the oven and put in your serving of asparagus before pulling a steak out of the fridge.

You practised the breathing exercises your therapist had taught you while the steak seared. Honestly, it could be worse. At least being in the kitchen gave you time away. 

You nuked the plate you had taken from Norman and plated the steak, throwing on the asparagus and putting the sauce in a little bowl on the side.

You replaced Harry’s plate with the warm one and presented Norman with his. Then pour yourself a hearty glass of wine, ignoring Norman’s stare, before sitting down with your cold plate of gnocchi. 

They talked about their days, occasionally asking for comments from you. You tried your best to answer and pay attention, but all you could think about was how your homemade pasta was cold. About how this was supposed to be a pleasant night with Harry, and now, you were dealing with this.

Taglist: @andrews-lovr, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @preciousbabypeter, @princesskittycatofmeowland, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3

[jennhoney]

I’ve been lost in a tiny madness of moving things around and around for days. It’s sort of my thing. I’m trying to keep the TV room as open as possible but also trying to cram in as much storage so I can live with as much of my stuff in the most organized way as possible. Yesterday I took some things to the attic that Murble never uses. And I mean it, she hasn’t thought about, used, or looked at them in decades. Unless of course I force her to look at them. We got rid of a lot at the end of 2022 when I scrubbed the house from top to bottom and we sorted through most of Uncleducey’s stuff. But she left piles of things that “someone should have” and a dollhouse that she started building almost 25 years ago and has not worked on since. I keep having to move it around. I took it to the attic yesterday. And there is this shelf I hate. I used to keep it in the closet to hold all the papers and books “someone should have”. I have been pretty certain for years that it was put together wrong (a thing that happens at the Murbleage a lot) but when I would look at it I couldn’t quite figure out what was wrong. It leans forward. So badly that one has to be careful what is set on it. Sometimes I would think that maybe it was actually the floor that was warped but I checked with a level yesterday. The floor is fine. As I was wrestling this stupid hideous fucking bookcase to the attic I finally figured out what the issue was- the second shelf is supposed to be the top shelf. It is slightly shallower than the top and third shelf so all the metal supports were forcefully bent to fit. Maybe one day when I’m feeling emotionally and physically strong I will go to the attic, dismantle it, reassemble it, and find it a home where it can be appreciated. Or I might hit it with a sledgehammer.

There is a door with a window in the tv room that I did not get a shade for. It felt too expensive to get a custom shade for such a silly useless window but it does need a cover. I happened to find a weird beige remainder shade for $12.99 and Murble agreed that was the perfect price to try. If it ends up being garbage it isn’t a huge loss. But I had to remove the old shade and of course the last screw was completely stripped. I didn’t have enough room to get at it with the hack saw and when I slid just a blade against the screw it didn’t seem to be cutting. I managed to get a hold of the screw shaft and twist it out but not without severely gouging the wood. I’ll patch it a bit but it will hopefully be covered by the new shade.

I attacked the monstrous trumpet vine, that is trying to pull our fence apart,with gardening tools I got for my birthday. It attacked me back a bit. Thats fair.

[dollsonmain]

Photos over the course of the morning:

So, this is the space I have to work with. The only thing I can think of why Rolly would have installed an over-large toilet in the basement bathroom is that he liked to sit there to poop and didn’t want his dangle touching the rim.

It’s very much in the way.

I NEED counter space to work, so moved some stuff around and added a tiny shelving unit that just barely fits into the space between the sink and the wall. The sink leaks so I keep the faux drawer front off of the front of the cabinet...

Wrangled a bench under there for extra storage space. The bench is wider than the table so doesn’t exactly fit.

There’s ONE power outlet. It is a small bathroom. It’s very funny to me that Scott was just shaking his head at his father having run power strips around the bathroom and here I am stuck doing the same thing. Mine’s not zip-tied to the wall, though, and the outlet part isn’t right above the sink. It’s on the back of the too-big toilet. I don’t like having a toilet in my workspace, but no one ever uses it, so it’s just a bowl of blue water. I flush it now and then to keep it fresher and that’s it.

But then I took my small utility carts down there and had to move the table and bench again to make room. I do prefer the table not cutting off half the walkway.

Drying rack is back in the shower. I have to be very careful what I put in the shower because it can and did leak. I also can’t put anything over the back of the toilet because I need to be able to access it if it starts leaking again.

I took out the toilet paper holder and the towel rack because both were in the way. I should take down the shower rod. It’s just tension and installed crooked, but everything I take down reveals lots and lots of holes and missing paint. Rolly didn’t take them down to paint (and apparently doesn’t know how to decide where to drill a hole for a screw swiss cheese walls what the fuck), and I didn’t, either when I repainted.

BUT Pony Cart also needed to go in there, which meant the table and shelf had to come out, and that sucks because that’s all of the counter space. I NEED counter space. I’m used to having an approx 1ft by 1.5ft segment of counter space.

If I hadn’t depressed enough at this point because I’m having to cram myself into a windowless bathroom, I was then. I’m claustrophobic. This was unpleasant.

Right now this is all the workspace I have. If I were able I’d get and install a different sink vanity thing that had some counter space. I can’t do that because money. I was going to put all of my bottles of T.A. on the bottom of this shelf thing but I don’t think it can take the weight, tbh. They’ll go in the shower.

Rearranged a little, again, and that’s better. Dehumidifier will probably be on top of that gold plastic table there, with the hose pointing at the shower drain which is just below it.

I need to take the pony bins down, still, and clean up the kitchen because I’ve made a mess up there dumping things off of workstations to get to the furniture.

I also need to find a place to store the small appliances when they’re not in use. I was keeping the mini crock pot and ozone generator on the table in there, but it’s gone. I’ll need to take my electric kettle down, too. It’s ONLY used for doll and pony hair.

I’m tired. It’s all futile. I comply here, he starts poking his nose elsewhere shrinking and shrinking my space.

Obviously, all work is off until the dehumidifer gets here or else the basement will explode into mold again.

Removing the resin jugs did immediately improve the air quality. Those are out in the garage.

I still need to move the SunBox down, two large and one medium storage unit, all of my dolls, and my computer and things (I’m not sure there even are enough outlets down there to accommodate my computer, not that I really trust Rolly’s electrical work), which I guess will go where the unused sewing machine is.

Act like my stuff is unwelcome in his space, see how he likes having no me near him at all.

[caffeinatedowlbear]

Unlikely Occupations for Handsome Jack

I played this on the soon-no-longer-twitter, and figured I like these too much to lose them when that site inevitably becomes an ex-parrot. This post will collect all the previous AUs I've made, and you can request new ones in the comments.

The rules are simple: name a job/occupation that would be very unlikely for Handsome Jack, and I'll try to come up with an IC(ish), (mostly) not crack explanation of how he ended up that way. All ideas generated from this exercise are free for the taking, as long as: 1) the prompt giver doesn't mind; 2) you let me know what you make of it.

Note: while any minimum wage job fits the 'unlikely' criteria, ideally I'm looking for suggestions of jobs/occupations that someone (but normally, not Jack) would conceivably WANT to do, and not just to survive. It's sad but true that people rarely end up in minimum wage jobs for interesting reasons. So please go easy on burger flipping, shelf restocking, call centers and the like.

Prompts filled so far: Janitor, DJ, Florist, Marine Biologist, Preschool Teacher, Pediatric Nurse (new!).

Outstanding prompts: cab driver; mortician; therapist/social worker (got ideas for this one); supermarket cashier (got half a plan)

Filled prompts below, starting with a fan favorite.

Janitor

Now, I know that ‘it’s just a front’ may sound like a cop-out because it can apply to any ‘Jack in a minimum-wage job’ scenario. So I tried to make it more interesting.

Setting: can be modern-day, can be sci-fi, but needs to be an AU in which Jack isn’t instantly recognizable by all and sundry. He is a rich and successful asshole, though. But there’s a certain shiny object he really, REALLY wants to get his hands on. Could be physical thing, could be information. Either way, something that money (of which he has plenty) can’t buy, because it’s held by another, even richer asshole.

Multiple attempts to infiltrate the guy’s home, where the shiny is kept, have failed. The mark is famously a recluse, his security systems are deadly, and all his staff are life-long friends and acquaintances. There’s only one tiny security hole: cleaning and maintenance. Now, most of it is automated, but once every few months, there’s a need for human labor. So every few months, a trusted and vetted housekeeping services agency dispatches some of its most trusted and vetted workers. And isn’t it lucky that Jack has a contact at said agency?

It goes off without a hitch at first. Agency Contact makes sure Jack’s fake identity passes all the background checks, and adds him to the next crew dispatched to Rich Asshole’s house. But then, Agency Contact is busted for an unrelated piece of shady business. Their latest acts in the company come under scrutiny. Jack’s employment status holds, but not his assignment. He is supposed to have at least six months of spotless (...sorry :p) record with the agency before he can get assigned to high-priority jobs like this.

So now Jack has two options. Say "fuck this shit, I'm out" and look for a different solution that might not even exist... or hold out for the sure-fire way in, even if it means spending six months pushing around a mop while toeing the company line. What’s it gonna be, Jack??

DJ

Going off the beaten track for this one, because I didn't want to do the obvious option of 'rich guy's hobby/vanity side gig'.

My take is, we're back on Tantalus and in Jack's (John's?) youth. It's a place full of poverty and violence, but also a colorful night life. Of course, many night clubs are fronts for drug and arms (and worse) trade. Getting in with the clubs is a solid strategy for a young guy with his head on his shoulders.

Jack tries to do different jobs that take him all over, to see the backstage stuff as much as possible. (He even has a brief stint as an unlikely bouncer: no-one expected the scrawny 20yo to throw some real good punches.)

His first DJ experience happens when he's a stage hand / gofer at a club, and the actual DJ goes off to screw someone, telling Jack to take over for half an hour. The music is cued up, just look like you're having fun, he's told. This is the first taste he gets of the kind of power he didn't think he wanted. Because the power that comes with money and access and control is one thing (and make no mistake, he wants that). But the power to stand in front of a room full of people and command their mood? To be cheered? To get them to chant your name, even? That hits something really, really deep inside young Jack. He knows that day that however he gets to the top, he won't just be the man behind the curtain. He will be the one whose name the crowd is chanting.

From there on, Jack's goal is clear. Not only is he going to get power and money and his slice of all the shady business, but he's also going to be a goddamn ✨celebrity✨ while at it. For bonus points, add a scar earned in a gang war ten years later and make Handsome Jack his crime name *and* stage name.

Florist

Setting: semi-historical or steampunk flavored Victorian. There is a war on, but it's pretty far away or a relatively cold one. So no immediate danger on the home front, but spycraft is in high demand. Jack is an era-appropriate Bond type who gets saddled with an assignment to...

"Make bouquets? Is this a joke?"

No, it's not. The flower shop Jack would be operating out of is a hub receiving intel from multiple covert informants. It will be Jack's job to pick out what's important, and pass it to the right people, encoded via flower bouquets. Sending messages via different flowers are already a thing in this society, as they were in our world's Victorian era, but obviously, the spy organization obviously has its own code book, so no harm done if a bouquet falls into the wrong hands.

"Except I'd have to bloody make it again, so, actually, plenty of harm done."

In order to maintain the cover, the flower shop also has to do legitimate business, so Jack gets to make plenty of "civilian" bouquets as well, and be all polite and gentlemanly with the customers.

There's only one silver lining to this dismal assignment. The assistant assigned to help Jack with sorting and aggregating the intel is pretty darn cute.

Marine Biologist

(Short write-up, but this is one of my personal faves!)

Canon-adjacent BL settings, but instead of Pandora, Jack is drawn to Aquator in his vault-hunting pursuits, searching for a vault rumored to be at the bottom of the ocean. Helios is a city-sized submarine!

For bonus points, add a Rhack plot featuring mercreature!Rhys, who has knowledge of the vault, but is reluctant to reveal its location, and whose trust Jack is desperately trying to win.

In a Preschool

Modern-day, Passable Dad AU. It's career day at Angel's school. Jack didn't want to come, what with being a currently unemployed head of a recently-failed startup. But he can't say no to Angel, so... sigh, here we go.

Jack is the last one to talk, his hope being that maybe they’ll run out of time and he won’t have to. Alas, his slot comes up. A few minutes in, the teacher gets an urgent phone call and steps out (don’t come after me about child safety protocols in this AU, okay :p).

Then the period is technically over, and the teacher isn’t back (guess the phone call was urgent enough to make them run out without telling people; they’re so fired). Other parents have left at some point during the period, because they have jobs / better things to do. Jack tries to send Angel to go find an adult, but she declares they’re not allowed to leave the classroom on their own (because she’s an ass). But, she continues, they can’t be left on their own, either (like I said, an ass).

So, Jack is stuck with a bunch of preschoolers for an hour. Once he runs out of failed startup stories, he just starts rubber-ducking new business ideas off of them. It’s surprisingly effective: kids are really good at poking holes in what seem like reasonable plans to adults.

And this is how, once a teacher finally comes to see what’s going on, Mr. Lawrence is offered a job as a substitute teacher at his daughter’s preschool. He will get fired once he deals with a bully by holding the offender up by the ankle until a believable apology is delivered.

Pediatric Nurse

(the prompt giver was very specific that it should be nurse, not doctor)

Setting: Tantalus, Jack is a single dad and dirt-poor. Angel is hospitalized with something that requires long-term inpatient care, and Jack literally doesn't have the money to pay for her treatment and rent, so he loses the apartment and starts low-key living at the hospital.

He's getting away with it pretty well. Angel shares a room with a few more kids, whose parents catch on pretty quickly, but don't mind that an extra parent is hanging around, because the hospital is permanently understaffed, and the kids like having company. (He gets more than an occasional meal from other kids' parents, too.)

When Jack's not doing gig work on his laptop, he's reading up everything about Angel's condition as well as all-purpose medical care so he can take care of her when she's finally allowed to leave the hospital. He's a fast learner, and soon ends up helping out the permanently overworked nurses with basic stuff like changing dressings, giving an extra hand with whatever, and even fixing up some medical equipment when something outdated inevitably breaks. It's not long before the kids in Angel's room (and the adjacent rooms) start calling him Nurse Jack.

The only one who's not thrilled about Jack's permanent presence on the ward is a young (and very attractive) doctor who's being a real stick in the mud about 'non-medical personnel outside of visiting hours'. The fact that, thanks to Jack's liberal use of nicknames, the kids start calling him Dr. Cupcake doesn't win Jack much love, either. Things between them getting more tense by the day, and Jack is this close to getting banned from the hospital outside of strict visiting hours.

That is, until one day, some Tantalus bandits barge in, demand that the whole floor is cleared so that their boss can get medical attention, and even take some medical personnel (including Dr. Cupcake) hostage to make their point. Little did they know that one of their hostages is: a) not a licensed medical professional, but b) real handy with a gun.

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 8

[Read on AO3]

“Don’t know what to say, sir.” The crew chief’s young enough that his knees don’t click when he levers up from the scaffolding, sandy hair made mussed and muddier still by the amount runnels his fingers have tracked through it. Youngest to ever make the grade, hand-picked by the Marshal himself-- though scuttlebutt had always painted that more as a punishment than a promotion, punitive action for a job too well done. “We’re still waiting on some of the diagnostics, and I’ve got some of my guys running over the wiring with a fine tooth comb, but I gotta say...”

It’s clear Shuuka’s never thought of it that way, not when he reaches out, giving Rex Tyrannis a chummy chuck on the chest plate. “There’s nothing wrong under hood here, far as I can tell.”

It’s difficult not to clench, not to let even the smallest nerve in his jaw jump, but if there’s one thing Mitsuhide knows how to do, it’s to pretend everything’s Situation Normal when it’s all Charlie Foxtrot. There’s a verve on the deck today, a current just beneath the skin of that scuffed up steel that puts a spring in every step clad in combat boots and coverall gray. The King’s out of his box, the air seems to buzz, and some big motherfuckers are gonna learn how to kneel. He’d hate to ruin it.

Shuuka’s palm presses flat against the plate, almost reverent, grease stains streaked so deep it’s hard to tell where skin ends and titanium begins. “Old girl’s fit as a fiddle for something two marks behind what’s rolling off the assembly line.”

Funny that he can place a man on this deck by just that: an old girl and smile. When the Marshal sat in the hot seat, no tech worth his tags would sling anything else but he’s and hims around the Tyrannis; there was just something about that edifice of titanium and tungsten and hubris was all male from the moment it rolled off the line. But a few years on the shelf and suddenly the memory of it goes soft; a monster made from miracles and mental turns into a spry she needing a little extra handhold to get past the finish line.

Kiki would have something to say about that, if she heard it. Probably several somethings, and all of them not fit for polite company. Not that there was much of it to go around here, but still-- most of these coveralls were a stone’s throw away from the academy. Didn’t need to demoralize them right out the gate.

“Good job, LT.” Kid must be holding a breath; a clap on his back knocks a hiccup right out of him. “Keep me updated.”

“Will do, sir,” Shuuka wheezes, rubbing at his shoulder. “Crazy stuff, isn’t it though? Whole deck would have been would have been FUBAR if Tyrannis let that charge go. Not to mention what would have happened to you all in Mission Control.”

Mitsuhide’s gone toe-to-toe with acid-spitting kaiju, with mountain-class monsters whose mouths have more in common with can openers than teeth, with actual hand-to-god nightmares from the deepest recesses of his childhood subconscious, and yet--

Yet none of them have thrown him from his bunk in a cold sweat, heart galloping a mile a minute behind the ragged cage of his ribs. Blue haunts the edges of his vision even now, waiting for him to close his eyes, to simply blink before it ambushes him, death painted on the back of his eyelids in scintillating detail. Even in his dreams, he’s only got one lifeline: some microphone smaller than his finger joint and the blind hope that there’s someone who can still hear him on the other side.

It’s the sort of thing that would land him on Shirayuki’s couch if he stopped to think too hard about it. Which he can’t; any second that siren could scream out and set them all scrambling to stations. His head’s hardly top priority when there’s more important parts needed in a rig.

A laugh rasps out of him, stilted even to his own ears. “Yeah, that’s for sure.”

“Don’t you worry, sir.” Shuuka hooks his hands around his hips, fingers painting gray streaks across even grayer coverall. “The whole crew’s real serious about getting to the bottom of it. A malfunction like that wouldn’t have been fun for any of us. ”

“Great.” That’s the sort of attitude he’d love to see if there were anything to get to the bottom of. Shuuka and his crew might be able work miracles on a mechanical failure, but they could do fuck all for a pilot one. Unless whatever’s wrong with Obi can be fixed with good old deckhand moonshine, which-- well, he’s heard of stranger things. “Glad to hear it.”

There’s a pause, a long one; a chasm filled up with speculation and secrets neither of them are at liberty to let loose. Instead, Shuuka just squints out over the floor, a strained concern stretching the corners of his smile as he asks, “Say, you think they’ll be sending anyone to take Tyrannis out for a drag anytime soon?”

It’s an innocuous question, just the sort the crew chief should be asking now that they’ve taken his baby out of its box-- there’s a difference between regular upkeep and active-duty maintenance, a world of it, enough to keep a kid up at night wondering whether his uncrossed T or his naked I will kill a man come morning-- but coming off a handshake as hot as that one...

Well, he wouldn’t be the first to park his fishing expedition on Mitsuhide’s pond today, that’s for sure.

“Can’t say anything for sure,” he tells him, face aching from the effort. “But if the Marshal says anything where I can hear it, I’ll be sure to pass it along.”

For as fast and high as Shuuka’s climbed the ladder these past few years, he’s not the sort to raise his voice-- hell, he’s not even one to frown. But the kid looks at him now, and there’s none of that happy-go-lucky left in him, just the hard evaluation of a man whose job is to find a nicked wire in rat’s nest.

“Just between you and me, sir?” he hums, voice pitched so low Mitsuhide can hardly make him out over the welders. “The old girl’s been up on the shelf for a while. She was built solid-- built to last, like all the Mark 3s, but--” a breath whistles through his teeth “--she was made to be used too.”

Mitsuhide keeps his posture casual as a he can bear it, being the officer on deck. Anything to make it look like they’re just shooting the shit, and not...whatever this is. “Something I should know about, LT?”

“It’s not anything to worry about.” Strange thing for a man to say when he’s checking his corners, stepping close enough for their arms to brush on the scaffolding. “Just...sometimes when the older ones sit on the shelf, it makes their suspension a little lose. Joints don’t quite move like they should. Parts aren’t always right where you expect them. Not like the newer chrome, you know?”

“Right.” He lets the word roll around in his mouth, fully tasting the flavor of it before he asks, “So what’s that mean for getting boots on the deck?”

His hands fly off the rail, waving off his worries. “Ah, nothing, nothing! Really, Rex is ready to take a walk the minute she’s off the leash. Fighting condition! It’s only...” Shuuka hesitates, casting him a long look from the corner of his eyes. “Something like that...sometimes it makes it harder for them to fight up close. Puts more kinks in the armor when they go hand-to-hand.”

Mitsuhide scrubs at the back of his undercut, stubble scraping at his palm. That’d be a death knell for a machine like their Redwood Dancer. But Rex Tyrannis... “Good thing Kain Wisteria designed that thing to dominate a battlefield, not dance on it, I guess.”

“Guess so,” Shuuka agrees, shoulders slumping over the rail. “A few days ago, I would have told you the girl’s better than new, but, sir-- I could have sworn we did every check on that plasmacaster the lot of us could come up, and still it nearly took out half the dome. I swear--” he lets out a huff of a laugh, almost fond “-- these older ones, it’s like they got a mind of their own. Or like they’re still haunted by the pilots, even after...ah, you know...”

Oh, there’s a lot Mitsuhide knows. He knows he’s never once stepped on stage, but if Shuuka ask him to chassé-sauté-pirouette right off this scaffolding right now, his body would remember how. He’s never once read Alice in Wonderland, but he can recite the Lobster Quadrille by heart. His hair has been military regulation since sixth grade, but he knows how it feels to have someone wrap their fingers through it at yank. “Don’t think it’s the jaegers that are haunted.”

Shuuka blinks up at him. “Sir?”

It’s not the sort of thing they talk about in the dome-- actively discourage, the Marshal would say with that smile of his, the one that never quite makes it to his eyes. It’s bad enough when one of them chase the rabbit in the pod, but to admit there’s something that lingers, that the ride doesn’t just stop when they hop out of the harness--

Well, the last thing people here need to think about is how thin a thread their lives are balanced on.

“Ah, sorry there LT.” He clasps him on the shoulder, smiling hard enough to make his molars creak. “Chasing the rabbit and I don’t even got my party clothes on. Hazard of the job, I guess.”

“Well, if you don’t mind me saying, sir, you’ve been going more hours than you haven’t.” Shuuka sends him a skeptical squint. “When’s the last time you saw your rack?”

Truth is, the last few nights he hasn’t so much seen his bed as stumbled to it, so exhausted he was asleep before he hit the mattress. But that’s not the sort of answer a subordinate wants to hear when--

“You know, if you gotta think about it--” a smile rucks up one side of the chief’s mouth-- “it’s been too long.”

“Ah...” Mitsuhide scrubs a hand across his hairline. It comes away moist. “I guess I could do with a break.”

“Not much that eight hours and three square can’t fix, major.” This time it’s the kid who claps his shoulder, not enough to sting but enough that he steps out of his stupor, suddenly exhausted. He’d be embarrassed by how much if only Shuuka wasn’t smiling, the kind that said he’d seen it all before and he’d see it a hundred times before he finally set aside his kit and coveralls. “Go hit the showers.”

It’s not that Mitsuhide doesn’t appreciate the sentiment. If anything, it’s just the sort of wall poster positivity Zen accuses him of giving on the regular, still wiping sleep from his eyes as he grouses, there’s something deeply wrong with you. No one’s this chipper in the morning without coffee.

It’s just that in his experience, there’s a good number of things that food and sleep won’t fix no matter how much of it a body get. No three course meal is going to soften the blow of a kaiju, no full night’s sleep is going to take the edge off losing someone out in the drink. It can’t help how many miles he is from home, how long it’s been since he’s seen his mother’s face on more than just a grainy screen. It won’t change that every time she giggles out bisous at the end of their calls, it might be the last.

And it’s certainly not going to help whatever went down in that Conn-Pod. Nothing this commissary can whip up, at least.

Or so he thinks, right up until the shower spray hits his back, and every muscle there relaxes.

“Jesus.” He bows his neck, letting more of the water sluice down his spine. “Maybe I did need a break.”

“Good.” 

For one, blissful moment, he’s sure that voice is inside his head, that it’s just that small sliver of Kiki that’s worked deep under the nail bed of his brain until it’s impossible to tell where it begins and he ends. A nice thought, a sane one, but he knows: that voice wouldn’t have an echo.

Mitsuhide turns, not-- not all the way, but enough that the water splits over his shoulder, spraying down chest and back with equal fervor, and--

And she’s just standing there, blank tank clinging to her like a second skin, her coverall pushed to her hips with a thin strip of pale flesh peeking through the gap between. “It’s dinner time.”

And of course, the icing on this particular cake: she’s got his towel.

There’s no secrets in the drift, no fantasies that get to stay hidden in the shadowy corners of his mind, and so there’s no use pretending that this isn’t how half of his start: showers steaming and Kiki catching him in a corner, both of them getting wet, as--

Ah, no need to make this worse. It’s, er, already hard enough to hide what’s going on below his waist, let alone if he goes and makes an event out of it.

“Kiki,” he gasps, scrabbling at the lifeline she tosses him. Stupidly, of course; the water’s still going at the only pressure it knows-- full blast-- and by the time he’s got it tucked around his waist, the towel’s as soaked as he is. “What are you--?

“It’s dinner time,” she repeats, slow as the stare she drags up him, mouth hooking into a smirk. “You hungry?”

The knot slips at his hip; only those ranger reflexes keep him from flirting with disaster. “W-what?”

“I am.” Her arms fold right under her breasts, and it’s a struggle to keep his eyes from tracking the movement. “Zen is too.”

Mitsuhide blinks, the shift in tone leaving him stymied. “H-he is? He told you that?”

“No.” Annoyance flashes in her eyes, lightning from a distant storm. “But he needs to eat. Whether he wants to or not.”

Her hip cocks, both the angle of it and her brows daring him to chide her. 

“Kiki,” he sighs, fist clenching tighter in the cloth. “You know as well as I do that the only way out of a hangover like that is through. If he’s not ready... we can’t just brow beat him into being better.”

Kiki’s spent the better part of a decade proving to the boy’s club here that’s she’s one of them, that there’s no need to relegate her to the personnel head just to keep the dress on the door, or for some private shower to be set aside for her own use. That she can go to the mat with any one of them and end up on top without special treatment. That her blood, sweat, and tears was just as real any anyone’s.

But she lifts her chin, and with every imperious inch she proves she’s General Seiran’s daughter.

“Not--” the edge of each word clips to a point “--with that attitude.”

The Academy might only be nine months, three trimesters spread across twenty-four weeks total before they roll their shiny new recruits into the grinder, but it’s not all just simulations and bushido. No, before they’re even allowed a glimpse of the combat room, they have to go through the basics-- engineering, K-science, tactics. And there’s no learning all that without talking about the greats.

Kain and Abel Wisteria. Haruto Jiran, usually in the same breath. Duc and Kaori Jessop. Mason Arleon and Ren Haruka. Lo Hin Shen and Xichi Po. Lata Forzeno, before he up and disappeared from the program. And of course, no tactics course would be complete without discussing Luke Seiran.

Most Rangers made a name for themselves by bold maneuvers and suicidal risks, half of them going out in a blaze of glory before they could rack up more than three kills. But General Seiran did it by living, dodging acid sprays and chainsaw teeth until those lizards left a scaly side open, waiting to spring until victory was no longer an opportunity but a certainty. He’d kept that reputation as a marshal, only losing two rangers from his dome during his five year tenure, until they bumped him up to top brass.

There’d been speculation when his daughter joined up that she’d be much the same. Slow to speak and hard to rile, everyone had seen her father in her, and yet--

And yet, the knock at his door is all the warning Zen has before she drags him through it, locking his arms in a hold he’d need at least six inches and eighty more pounds to break. A fact Mitsuhide’s learned through hard-won experience. Even still, his shoulder doesn’t sit quite right.

“I already said,” Zen grunts as she steers him through the commissary doors, “I’m not hungry.”

“Shut up.” Kiki’s never had much need for eloquence when her eyebrows can do so much of the heavy lifting. “Last thing you ate was a cup of yogurt, and that was last night. You’re hungry, and you’ll eat.”

If you knows what’s good for you, her tone implies, along with the dire consequences if he doesn’t.

It’s enough to get him on a bench. “Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I’m hungry.”

Kiki Seiran’s frown could make battle-hardened soldier spring for the head, but Zen just weathers it, drawing this stand off to a stalemate. “I’m gonna get you something. I’ll even make it green.” She glances across the table, scowl sending shivers down even Mitsuhide’s spine. “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

There’s not enough showmanship in a Seiran to stomp, but Kiki moves with a purpose, exuding the sort of don’t fuck with me energy that makes seas of servicemen part in her path. She might be one of the smaller rangers on deck, but everyone who has dreamed of sliding on a drive suit knows that an altercation with her is career limiting. Mostly for the joints. 

Or at least the ones that didn’t grow up with her being two doors down do.

“What crawled up her ass and died?” Zen hunches over the table, shoulders hiked up around his ears as sharp as pickets, like that might warn everyone to keep their distance. “All I say is that I’m not hungry, and she thinks she can get all up in my business. Like there’s something wrong with me just because I don’t need to eat all the time.” He glances up at him, annoyed. “I’m fine, you know.”

The thing is, Zen believes it. His eyes are jumping all around this room, not able to hold a gaze while saying it, but he’s convinced he’s okay. All his parts are in the right place, nothing’s bleeding, and he’s not waking up in the wee hours screaming, so what’s there to complain about? A couple skipped meals here and there, a few extra hours of sleep, none of that feels like trouble, not to a guy who has trained his whole life to climb into a Conn-Pod and leave it all to the drift.

So there’s no point in starting in argument, in scolding him for not taking better care. Instead, Mitsuhide hums, not quite an agreement, and not quite not. Middle of the road--

“Oh, fuck you,” Zen sneers, digging a fist through his hair. “I am. Just had one hell of a drift. You know how those are. It’s just like...”

Like your body isn’t your own. Or that there’s more of it, a whole person’s worth, that won’t work no matter how many signals your brain pumps out.

“A hangover.” That’s what they used to call it in the Academy. Made sense when the first trip through the Pons System usually ended with a cadet hanging over the toilet. “I still eat.”

Zen glares. “Of course you do. You’d die if you didn’t eat a whole cow every day.”

“Be fair.” A tray slams down on the table in front of him, leafy greens fluttering in disarray. “Sometimes he eats a whole turkey instead. For cardiovascular health.”

“Hey.” It’s always like this when the two of them snipe at each other; if he stands on the sidelines long enough, he’s the one bound to end up in their sights. “I abide by the PDPC’s nutritional guidelines. For a man my height--”

Zen snorts. “Don’t pretend this has anything to do with your height.”

“That’s--”

“You think all those calories are going into your bone structure?” Kiki folds her arms behind her own dinner, one perfectly plucked eyebrow rising with the sort of searing skepticism only a Seiran could manage. “Please, if they let Zen in, I think the PDPC isn’t concerned with inches on a yardstick.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zen forehead fouls up with the signs of a stormfront even the Pacific would be hard-pressed to match. “I’ll have you know that I grew at least two inches in basic, and after the Academy, I--”

His teeth snap shut with a clack, hard enough Mitsuhide’s molars ache with sympathy. Every inch of his body quivers with tension, alert the way a ranger is in his rig, ready for conflict to rear right up out of the waves--

And that’s when the doors swing open. The commissary is packed shoulder-to-shoulder now that third shift’s let out, J-techs and K-science and admins all bumping elbows to make some space; even a familiar faces could get lost in the crowd, and yet Zen whips around and fixes on this one right away. 

Not because of the full head of dark bristle, or the cheekbones so angular they could cut glass-- that’s par for the course in a place that specializes in picking clean the bones of other service branches, poaching only the best of the best. No, it’s how he slips through the door, not with the macho swagger the Academy breeds into its recruits, but with a cat’s boneless saunter, like his skin is just a suggestion of where he ends, not a hard boundary. He’s got that ranger confidence, the kind that says he could take down every body in the room, but on him it’s not hot air, not some way he gasses himself up to fight ten ton monsters, but--

But the truth. There’s a ruthlessness to him, an edge that says he’d be willing to turn that even onto himself if it meant he stayed breathing.

It makes Mitsuhide’s hands itch, makes him want to pick up a jo and see just how much of that really bears out on the mat. To see if he’s all attitude like most of the rangers that strut under the dome, or--

Ah, but another cracked chin isn’t what this situation needs. Not when Zen’s already half out of his seat, quivering like a dog at the end of his leash.

Not when Obi catches a glimpse of him, a flash of red hovering at his shoulder, and ducks right back out the way he came. Zen practically collapses back on the bench, all that nervous energy turned to despair.

“Oh, I get it,” Kiki hums, leaning a chin on her fist. “He’s ghosting you.”

Zen spears a spinach leaf. “It’s complicated.

“I gotta tell you, major.” Shuuka lifts his hands, something less than a shrug but more than a sigh. “This whole thing’s got me stumped.”

Mitsuhide hums, a toneless question, palm scraping across the bristle at his neck. “You don’t say.”

“We’ve gone over every bolt of the old girl and there’s not a thing out of place, not even a line of code left to bug.” He hooks his hands around his hips, squinting straight up into Rex Tyrannis’ sightless eyes. “Either this whole thing was a fluke, or...”

There’s a whole sea of things that aren’t said in that silence, a hull full of hunches that are too dangerous to air out. Shuuka struggles there, mouth working around an allegation with too much armament to bring into civil conversation. But they both know: he has to. It’s not his job to spit out what the higher ups want to hear, but to accurately assess the problem.

And by the pained look in the crew chief’s eye, he’s done just that. “I’m thinking that there might not be a problem with the plasmacaster itself,” he says, winding up so slow Mitsuhide can see every word before he hears it. “But maybe there is one between the pons and pod.”

Pilot error. Chasing the rabbit. His jaw clenches on reflex. “I--”

Red flashes, right down past his feet. He can see blaze through the grating, flitting from bay to bay like a cardinal in a bush. The same way it had fluttered by Obi’s shoulder in the mess, there one moment and gone the next. Haah, now there’s someone who might have some answers.

“We’ll have to pick this up later, LT,” he says, giving the kid a pat on the shoulder. “Something’s just come up.”

There’s no reason to rush; his target isn’t much of an elusive one, even when she’s got a purpose-- short legs and too many hours behind a desk don’t really promote hustle-- and she’s sure not in a hurry now. No, by the way that professional-style ponytail is idling down by Rex Tyrannis’s toes, she’s looking for a reason to stick around. One that might have to do with the six-foot shadow she’s conspicuously missing.

Still, Mitsuhide bounds down the scaffolding like there’s a fire under him, hopping down entire flights when there aren’t J-Techs to worry about on the rebound. It’s the kind of physical stunt he thought he outgrew when the Academy put their patch on him; the kind of showboating that had been smothered out of him when they stood him in front of a hundred ton killing machine and told him to protect mankind or die trying.

But one jump down rattles the scaffolding, enough that she looks up, big-eyes rounding as she lands on his face. Her mouth shapes itself around his first syllable, but he’s the first one to wave, to call out, “Shirayuki! Just...just a minute, please!”

“Ah...” Shirayuki doesn’t have the sort of voice that implies volume, the kind that only lifts itself to fill the space between two bodies, not a room. But she takes one look at him up on the grating and lets her chest expand enough to boom out, “Take your time!”

It’s a kind sentiment-- one he appreciates when the most common one he gets from up top is, and put some hurry on it-- but Mitsuhide’s got no intention of making the doc wait around. He cans the cadet-style antics, sure, but being a big man in a hurry tends to clear a path real quick. He pounds down the stairs two at a time, hitting the deck with a friendly, “It’s been a while.”

Weeks at least, if he doesn’t count the commissary. Not since he and Kiki spent a whole afternoon idling on the sidelines, watching some boys from Hong Kong skid to victory by the skin of their teeth. The dividing lines had come down, him on one side, and her on the other, and when they lifted, well...

“It has been.” Shirayuki smiles the way he wears his drive suit: easy, like she’s made for it. “Things have been going...well?”

“No kaiju.” That’s the only metric that matters under the dome; whether that’s good or not comes down to personal opinion. By the grimace on her face, Shirayuki knows it. “And you? Everything going...ah...?”

This should be it: his moment. The perfect place to insert a conversational elbow and steer this whole topic right around, to finally ask what’s been itching at him since last night. And yet--

He can’t. Maybe Kiki could just come out and ask if Obi’s tearing himself up, if he’s locked himself in his bunk and gone on some sort of hunger strike, the way dogs do when they’ve really got a mind to pine. Not without admitting that’s just the sort of thing Zen’s been up to these last few days, and considering what he thinks of Shirayuki, well, it seems a little cruel.

But Shirayuki’s standing in front of him right now, politely waiting for him to wrap up these pleasantries, so he settles for, “...Fine?”

“Oh!” That easy smile of hers strains under her laugh. “Keeping busy!”

They say rangers have an instinct, a gut feeling for opportunity. In a jaeger, that’s an opening, a sense for the weak spot on a body that’s made of muscle and scale and whatever spite the Pacific can spit at them. It’s the bleeding edge between success and failure, of limping home alive or being an empty box at your mother cries over at a funeral.

With two feet on dry ground, it’s listening to the whistle of a soft pitch as it passes you by. Which is what’s going to happen right now, if he doesn’t figure out how to put a question together.

Just blurting it out is too...blunt. Too much like vulnerability, a voice like Shirayuki’s opines in his ear. He’s got to switch up his tactics. More than one way to skin a cat, after all. Something more subtle, maybe.

“So I’d imagine.” He hooks an arm over the railing, casual. “Since there’s, uh, been a lot to sort out. After...everything.”

There, perfect.

“You, uh...” He coughs, so natural, into his shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”

All right, that not so much.

Her smiles twitches, too tight, before it melts away, a hiccup of a breath rolling right into a giggle.

“Oh no,” she manages around it, clutching her belly. “We’re doing it again.”

Mitsuhide stares. “Ah...we are?”

A small hand waves between them, utterly helpless. “We’re both asking around the same things again. Fumbling around in the dark from different directions!” She collects herself with a sniff, wiping tears from her eyes. “So I’m guessing you haven’t gotten much out of Zen? When I saw you out yesterday, I thought...”

“Ah...” He grimaces. “No, that’s as much headway as we’ve made all week. I thought since you were out with Obi, that maybe he had been...?”

Seeing you, he doesn’t say, which means there’s no need for him to rush to tack on, professionally. Not that personally seems to be off the table. Just a few weeks ago, Zen and the good doctor had seemed like a done deal save for some thorny professional ethics to work around on her part, but now--

“I’m sorry.” Her smile strains at the corners. “Even if had, I couldn’t tell you.”

Well, it looks like she might not be in a rush to be ethically complicated over this one.

“Welp.” He lets out a chuckle of his own, thumbs hooking hard into his belt loops. “Guess we’re both coming back empty handed after this fishing expedition, huh?”

There’s a rueful slant to her smile as she flicks her gaze away, not so much bashful but frustrated. “Seems like. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

“No, no!” He waves a hand between them. “Don’t worry about it. I’m the one sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”  

Her eyebrows furrow, a reflection of her frown. “That’s not a very generous interpretation. Zen used to be your copilot, it’s only natural that you would have strong feelings about his happiness.”

He used to be Zen’s copilot, but there no way to explain that distinction to someone outside the drift, to try to explain what having a jaeger means to someone who hasn’t dreamed of being in one.

“Everything’s going to work out on it’s own, I’m sure,” he says instead. “We just have to let it.”

There’s a dubious rumple to her mouth, a question in her eyes that she knows better than to ask. “If that’s what you think...”

He doesn’t, not a bit, but Mitsuhide puts on his brights smile when he says, “Of course I do.”

In a dome full of rangers and ranger-hopefuls, there’s no magic hour when the gym clears, when crowded machines and rubberneckers are exchanged for freedom and silence. Or at least, no reasonable hour; Kiki keeps suggesting he join her at midnight, but for a man raise on the military’s clock, that’s...way past his bedtime.

So instead he settles for an audience, racking up his plates while a tidy little crowd idles just far enough away for plausible deniability. Or it least it would be, if there weren’t so many of them, whispers gaining an edge as he loads a ninth plate on either side. By the time he sets his soles against the footplate, it’s a quiet roar, and when he presses through his first rep, it cuts to a gasp.

It’s the machine that does most of the work on a press; he squats half this-- well, a little more; last thing he needs is some J-tech fainting because he went to ten plates. But there’s no need to share that, not when the room’s actually quiet while he does his reps, letting him think for once, his thoughts as disjointed as they are in the drift, dwelling on--

Well, not Kiki cornering him in the showers, that’s for sure. They spend a whole trimester on mental hardiness at the Academy, on keeping that iron grip whenever they take a dip in the drift, but all it took was one handshake with Kiki Seiran to turn all that training useless. He’d like to believe she’s just kind enough not to say anything, not to mention how unprofessional it is for him to blurt all his sexual fantasies out the moment their handshake’s complete, but sometimes she looks at him, mouth hooked slyly like it was in the head last night, and he wonders...

“Well, well.” A shadow falls over him, just as oily as the smirk that casts it. “Lowen. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you hard at work.”

Mitsuhide’s teeth grit down into a smile. “Hisame Lugis. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, you know.” That floppy hair of his shifts-- not regulation-- baring the vicious glint in his eye. “If I’m going to be moving around ten tons of metal, I figure I can put in a few hours to prepare.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Good thing my right side has always been my best, I suppose.”

It’ll take more than a few bicep curls to replace me, Mitsuhide doesn’t say, struggling to keep that sunny disposition. “You don’t say. Hadn’t heard any news that we had a seat open in a pod.”

“Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.” The smirk hooks to a deeper slant, and Lugis leans, fingers close enough to brush his kneecap. “Better keep that leg in good condition, Lowen. Since it’s the only half of you that’s any use.”

That scarecrow of a man stalks off, and oh, Mitsuhide likes to give everyone a fair shake, to let everyone have their chance to grow, but he even he has to admit: he does not like that man.

“Wow,” hums a voice right in his ear. “He seems fun.”

Mitsuhide knows better than to startle on the bench, but he does jump, footplate dropping hard into his soles. “Jesus.”

“Easy there, big guy.” He’s never seen Obi up close, but now he’s got a a hand on his shoulder, patting him the same way a man might soothe his dog. “Guy could lose a finger like that. Maybe a few toes? I don’t know, I try not to think about how that stuff works with these things.”

“Ah, I...” It’s stupid how his chest heaves, how this has pushed him more than thirty reps. “I wasn’t really expecting...?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” The hand on his shoulder helps guide him up, making him level with that grin. Alright, maybe he does get why Kiki punched first, asked questions later. “Used to get told to wear a bell. Not that it would have helped here. Your eyes were for that snake and that snake only.”

“Hisame Lugis. He’s kind of a...” Bastard. “Prick.”

“Yeah, he seemed like a real barrel of monkeys.” Obi steps back once he’s upright, arms slung behind his head. “Have to admit, I’m a little jealous.”

Mitsuhide glances up at him, confused. “J-jealous?”

“Yeah, I came in here and saw you lifting, and I thought, he’s Master’s guy, he’ll be all on me like white on rice.” Those strange eyes of his narrow, only a flash of gold between the lids. “But snake boy got all the attention.”

He’s too busy trying to catch his breath to keep up with the conversation. “Zen wouldn’t like it if he knew you called him--”

“Listen, big guy, I know what you’re after.” Obi’s all grins when he bends down, but none of it reaches his eyes. “You’re thinking that if all your friends there took me to the mats, you want a spin.”

His first instinct is to deny it, to say prefers civil conversation to combat, but--

But his hands itch. He’s a ranger, after all.

“Yeah,” he pants out. “Why not.”

The gym isn’t as well equipped as the combat room, but there’s jo slung against a rack. None of them big enough for him, of course, but--

“I was thinking we might do something a little different.”

Mitsuhide squints over his shoulder. “Different?”

“Yeah.” There a sharp edge hidden in that smile, something that says it’s looking for a bloodier sport. “I was thinking...Big Guy like you must do well at hand-to-hand.”

His fingers curl, knuckles cracking as they settle into a fist. “I’m not half bad.”

[madam-wakefield]

Breaking of Habit

A little Drabble written for the @berenaadvent day 8 prompt “lingerie”

Not quite sure where my mind goes sometimes so I just go with it.

Read on A03

Bernie has never been one for fancy lingerie because well she’s never had the need. When she was growing up, she hated shopping for anything like that and had quickly learnt that a sports bra would never let her down and were much quicker to pick off the shelf. None of that different sizes come up differently in different shop rubbish. She’d kept that up, in the army it was much easier and more comfortable to wear a sports bra and at that point she’d even switched to wearing boxers too, they offered much more comfort when mixed with the army fatigues that quickly became her life.

She has panicked momentarily when she’d first taken that step with Serena. She’d been wearing a totally mismatched combination of an old plain black sports bra and blue boxers. It hadn’t stopped the fun they’d had and when they were cuddling in bed after Serena had admitted that it hadn’t at all surprised her in all honesty.

Bernie has been meaning to make an effort since then but she’s an awful creature of habit. She blames twenty-five years in the army for that. Still feels more comfortable to pop into a shop and grab a couple of sports bras when she needs. Isn’t even sure what size bra she’d actually need.

Her habit changes however when she’s out shopping for Serena for Christmas. They’ve done all of their other Christmas shopping together over a few trips into town, but then they’d both schedule a day to shop for the other, different days of course so they didn’t risk bumping into each other. Bernie is finished with the shopping; her arms are laden with bags, and she knows she’s easily got time to go home and wrap everything and even set about starting dinner before Serena returns from work.

She’s on her way back to her car when she spots it. The small but classy lingerie shop. She’s not sure why she’s drawn to it until she spots the lacy navy-blue bra on one of the mannequins in the window. She takes a deep breath and pushes her way it. The sight inside could easily make her feel overwhelmed, she’s seen Serena is lingerie like this of course but that’s hot and sexy and in those situations it’s normally much more about removing the articles than anything else. Here surrounded by bras and underwear of so many different shapes, types and colours she feels overwhelmed.

She scans the shop quickly, looking for section containing the bra she’d seen in the window. In the end she spots it at the back corner of the shop, proper retail tactic making buyers walk past everything else in the shop. She walks over not really paying much attention to the rest of the stuff, that’s the good thing about being the way she is, shes’s usually pretty decisive too.

It’s only once she’s gets over to the stand that she realises she doesn’t have a clue. She takes a couple off the hanger and holds them up, she’d love to say she knows which one would fit her but bras like this don’t come in small or medium but instead back and cup sizes. Her awkwardness much show because the shop assistant, a woman who appears to be only just a little bit younger than herself approaches. Bernie blushes furiously at first but the woman makes her feel at ease. The lady helps measure her for the perfect size bra, helping her with fitting and commenting that the plunge style cups will suit her figure the best. Bernie listens because this woman knows much more about it than she does and half an hour later she leaves the shop. A bag containing the bra and matching lacy briefs hidden inside on of the other larger bags.

Once she’s home and Serena’s presents have been wrapped, she places the bag contains in her new lingerie the back of her closet under her shoes, somewhere she knows Serena has no reason to go and proceeds to forget about it until Christmas Day.

Christmas Day is a family affair, Cameron, Charlotte, Elinor along with Jason, Greta and Guinevere all join them from Christmas Dinner, Serena is responsible for the turkey and Bernie takes charge of the vegetables and other trimmings. While dinner is cooking, they sit down and exchange presents, all of them loving the way Guinevere prefers the boxes to her actual presents. No one stays late, Guinevere gets tired and irritable, Cameron has the Boxing Day shift and both Charlotte and Elinor have boyfriends who they want to spend some of Christmas Day with.

Bernie is keen to get to bed, to give Serena her final present even if the idea makes her heart hammer nervously. When they head up to bed she changes into her robe, she’s never been one for sleeping in many clothes when she isn’t deployed, and she wants Serena to literally be able to unwrap her final gift.

Serena eyes her quizzically when she comes out of the bathroom. But Bernie just smiles at her with that cheeky edge to it that she knows Serena will pick up on.

“I may have one more present for you,” she whispers roughly, voice portraying some of her nerves, slight worry in the back of her mind that Serena won’t like what she’s brought.

Serena doesn’t hesitate in walking over to her, kissing her, hands coming to her waist to pull her closer. They can’t help but smile as they pull apart and Bernie places the ends of the ties of her robe into Serena hands. Bernie watches Serena’s face as she pulls, and the robe slowly comes open. And as she sees Serena mouth drop open slightly and her eyes go wide with lust Bernie knows she made the right decision. The “Fuck Bernie,” that follows in an octave lower than she ever thinks she’s heard Serena use before cementing it all. When Serena insists that she keeps the bra on while they make love well Bernie thinks it may be one of the hottest requests Serena has ever made of her.

And if Bernie returns to that lingerie shop at least three times every year after that, well it doesn’t take her long to have her own little collection of sexy lingerie that her girlfriend shows her repeatedly how much she appreciates.

[arvandus]

‼️JJK SEASON 2 SPOILERS WARNING ‼️

So normally I view shipping as kind of a fun silly thing to do when part of a fandom. Like yeah it’s be cute if these two characters ended up together but obviously that relationship isn’t the focus of the story and the creator focuses on the progression of the plot and conflict with the protagonist and antagonist, etc. So I’ve never really had an otp before, just a handful of ships that I’m like “yeah that makes sense and it’d be cute and stuff but I wouldn’t harass other fans and content creators about it”.

But…

SatoSugu is on a whole different level. For the first time you can’t convince me that Satoru and Suguru weren’t romantically involved with one another… I mean, the two are literally soulmates. Yin and Yang. One cannot exist without the other. Darkness in the light and light in the darkness. The betta fish in the outro for season two representing their tragic fate is perfect. Satoru follows the path of the black, sickly betta fish (representing Suguru and his struggle with depression) with concern, while Suguru barely acknowledges the white, healthy betta fish (representing Satoru and his constant upward progress). Male betta fish cannot be kept in the same tank because they are bred to be fighters (both of their powerful family lineage and high expectations placed upon them) and eventually one will kill the other (and we know how that went).

Fate of the Stars by Tally Hall plays in my head whenever I think of them. I feel it’s fitting and kinda sounds like an auditory version of Gojo’s Infinity, but also Geto’s descent into madness. Anyway I felt I needed to ramble bc I can’t explain this to anyone irl without going insane bc I love them so much. Like I got a really nice gojo figurine and there’s a matching Geto one coming out next year and I gotta get it obviously so they can be together on my shelf all happy.

(*´꒳`*)

Oh boy anon, I am so with you. I don't think their relationship will ever be given an explicitly canon romantic label (they never are sadly), but this is honestly the closest we'll get to it. Regardless, we all know that the history is there, the dichotomy, the light vs. dark and yin vs. yang. It's a story about tragedy, about love lost (whether romantic or not, although bruh... *gestures wildly*).

It's all the little details that went into their relationship to each other that really stand out for me. Like in the latest episode when Getou requests something sweet because he knows that Gojo will have some of whatever he gets. Like, not only does that tell us that they share food regularly (or more like gojo takes it lol), but that Getou is constantly considering Gojo's desires when it comes to his own decision making. He knows him better than anyone, and vice versa. It's what makes Getou's downfall so hard to take. Getou always requires purpose to everything, he's all about rules. He's incredibly disciplined. So to have someone who seems so incredibly rock solid turn around and make the decisions he made... It must have gutted Gojo. Because Gojo can understand it even though he doesn't want to, and it holds a mirror up to his own darkness, his own potential for violence. And with his ability, that would be catastrophic. So now Gojo is forced to step into Getou's shoes against Getou who used to be his rock. ASDF;ALSJFA I could go on forever about it.

For me, I find angsty pleasure in the tragedy of perhaps they weren't official; perhaps they never reached a point where they could explicitly express their feelings for each other before everything went south. But they were both aware of it, and its that energy that follows them everywhere until Getou's end, and it continues to follow Gojo even now. It's about regret, and loss, and loving even though we shouldn't anymore, because we can't erase their memory. It's about mourning what could-have-been, it's about hope and how it leads us astray, and it's about repercussions and consequences. It's all very human, tragic, and beautiful.