#(not that i ever had a great grasp on it to begin with bc again. lack of experience/exercise)

[j-esbian]

love being told that the tenuous grasp i thought i had on the social landscape is, once again, completely wrong

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Hello! Can I ask a jealous Hiccup bc f!reader spends time with the rest of the team (especially Snotlout)?

Plus, if you like, he does his best to get her attention and you end up confessed to her (a little bit of angst would be nice) <3

Thanks! I love very much how you write, I hope you have a nice day~

The Jealous One

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 3,170

An old friend starts to act odd. Snotlout is slightly less so.

Tags: fem!reader, jealousy, beginning of Snotlout friendship, ambiguous Post-first movie pre-httyd 2 timeline, part one

Next>

Your footsteps rung hollowly, the sound of thick leather rubbing against stone nearly drowned out by the distant sound of bustle and the ominous creaking of the Great Hall’s large doors.

Similarly, you remembered the way the wood sounded against your hard soles, the sound of the gently rushing water and mindless, careless chatter- how your heart felt as you very certainly ignored the small form of Hiccup and his Night Fury fading off into the skyline.

There was no one capable of avoiding your sour eyes as you meandered, feeling sort of potently, upsettingly upset in a way that you thought shouldn’t have been natural. It was so intense that you had no grasp on any part of the world, empty hands grasping at loose threads, slipping past all but the one that decided that, in this moment, you should struggle heavily against the full weight of years and more than a handful of nasty, lonely tears, all of which eager to burst past the safety of your eyelids.

You surely didn’t miss his griping, or his judgment, or any of his whining. You didn’t miss the feasts, the dark nights, the hiding away, the moping and you certainly didn’t- You didn’t miss- You grit your jaw holding steadfast in the same way a jailer did before a break, a warrior before he swung his sword, wishing dearly that you’d anyone else- any other friend. 

You wished you had some larger rocks to kick, too.

“Forgot my fucking coin pur-“ Your shoulders jerked as you startled, chests meeting with a force that was dull but no less breath-taking, not not nearly as startling as the feeling of stone cracking against the hard bone beneath your skin, the slamming of teeth against each other, deeper than you could have every though they could go, grit as they were, and the way the earth seemed to dissipate around you, making way for air and vertigo as you nearly slipped backwards down the stairs of the Great Hall.

 “Gods,” You hissed, thick bits of gravel digging into the sensitive skin of your palms, stinging as you lifted them. You pushed yourself upwards, running your hands down the backside of your skirts, urging away dust and grime.

You squinted. So we meet again.

“Watch it,” Snotlout ground out, looking quite annoyed with his arms crossed, standing as if he was a taller man than he was a step or so above you.

You glared at him… then you smirked. The first thing you noticed- Hookfang was missing. Absent.

It was surprising but not shocking. The Riders and their dragons had separate lives, of course, the Jorgenson Rider and his steed more so than the rest. Even as, in the minds of most, they remained so closely associated. 

Hookfang was quite the socialite, or at least a watcher. The Nightmare was also just as revolted with his Rider as he was foul when it came to others speaking ill in his presence, which usually made back-talk quite difficult. 

“What are you doing here?” You shot at him. It was a stupid question, a simple one. It didn’t matter what was siad, though, not really- it was more about the fight laying underneath, or the lack of, or the mix of both.

You’d been seeing him much too often nowadays, though truthfully, now more than ever, his face hadn’t been one you hated. It was as pleasant to look at as he was a wordsmith, which was to say that it wasn’t pleasant-looking at all. Still, it was a balm to your aching guts. And so, in place of genuine conversation, if his jeering was all you had to work with, you found you didn’t much mind it.

You’d never show it, though.

You took a determined step forwards, glaring straight into his eyes as other Vikings  came and went, brown-furred and tan-tunic-ed shoulders knocking into yours and passing through the open doors of the Great Hall like schools of fish.

Snotlout huffed, furrowing one large brow, open-mouthed frown exposing one large, missing tooth, “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

You adjusted your shoulders, stepping up with your other foot and crossing your arms, nearly meeting him chest-to-chest.

“None of your business,” You grumbled, feeling petty. “ Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“I’m here for the grub,” Snotlout scoffed down at you, “That’s where I have to be. Not my fault you’re too busy skulking to watch where you’re going.” 

“I don’t skulk?” You asked incredulously. 

“Not in a million years, and unless you’re offering to pay, then I got no time for you, small fry.” He grunted.

You hid your wince. That was a nickname born only after Snotlout had trained his dragon and the Riders had fought larger battles. You resented it, sometimes, just as much as you embraced it. It was a token of something else, a name perhaps mostly meant to show you how little you meant in the grand scheme of things.

“Like you’re much of a catch, either,” You shot back gleefully, roughly huffing away your discontent. It was easy to smother as you rolled your eyes and grinned for the first time in what felt like a long while, forcing the ends of your mouth tightly upwards.

Snotlout scoffed at you condescendingly, looking up at you with his arms crossed and stance stout, cocky as ever.

“I don’t have a dragon,” You grumbled under your breath, feeling scales catch against the rough padding of your fingertips, struggling to keep a hold as tough muscle writhed like silk between your fingertips.

You tossed down the Terror perhaps a bit too roughly, wincing as it caught on to your sleeves with dull claws, spine twisting as it made a valiant effort to land on its feet. It was by some miracle that it landed anywhere else, meeting flesh instead of dirt or hand, quickly grabbing hold of Snotlout’s face.

You hid your grin behind a pitiful wince, watching an already grumpy, irksome viking become frantic below. The Terror screeched as Snotlout hurried to try and push it off, shouting and irritated, both of them flailing around, fingers scrabbling at claws which dug into his jaws and cheek in turn.

His pain brought you joy. 

It was a malicious joy, one born partly from the feeling of victory, something small and petty left over from an old, fading rivalry, the other majority born from the fact that you'd been dragged along on a chore that had never been yours to begin with and it was his fault.

Your thighs relaxed slightly as you shifted, straddling a thick bark body and wooden spine. You sat up high in the trees, leaning against an old, heavy trunk, feeling the points of any branches and the folds of leaves pressing against you through your clothes, feeling quite loathed to make things easy for him.

It was by the hand of a tall, burlish woman that you’d been rushed into your quest, lips nagging with such an intensity you’d been startled into silence, pushing as if the crying mouth of her child had been a timer by which she had been bound and had then bound the two of you.

She had been quite standoffish and brash, preoccupied and frazzled, yet sharp- one of the more warrior types, covered in armor with large spiked helmets. The kind who, when they eventually had children with the least suited fathers, looked awfully out of place, busy and regretful. 

You were sure, in a few years, her kids would be quite the hellions. You almost felt a little bad for them, between your efforts to wipe their spittle from your face and back far enough  away with enough time to spare to keep your hearing intact.

So, you almost hadn’t held it against her. 

Of course, you were about the right age to be a Rider, the only demographic who was, in name, saddled with a duty to manage the dragons, to change the minds of many in favor of the good of all. However, you weren’t one, though you doubted she cared much at all what creed you belonged to as long as someone got her job done and it didn’t have to be her. 

You found conflict in the sentiment the same way you found conflict in the fact that you’d been robbed of any of the benefits of any title that came from living on Berk- you failed to understand why their hardships fell to you as well.

In regards to Snotlout, this was the one instance in which he’d offered no rebuke.

So, instead of leaving, which you supposed would have been a very viable course of action, and not at all because you had nothing better to do, you settled for trouble.

You smiled as the Terror left a particularly hard bite on Snotlout’s nose.

“You know what you need?” Snotlout complained, roughly tugging a branch from his shoe, hopping on one foot as he kicked aside a particularly feisty yellow-and-purple Terror.

“What?” You hissed, glaring at him stubbornly. Privately, for all the trouble it had wrought, you thought it served the little pest right. 

“You need a dragon.”

You snorted, looking down at your hands. You wondered when you’d stop being dragged along on chores with Snotlout. It was becoming a pattern. “A dragon?”

You glanced upwards. You had an idea of the load- of the tasks, the jobs, the chores, but good Gods. It was nearly getting to be too much.

“It would make things a lot more convenient. For me.”

“If you can get me one,” You rolled your eyes and your neck, shoulders cracking as you picked a long stick-with-leaves out of your hair. “I would be happy to have it. But I’ve not had very good luck yet.”

“Then-” Snotlout seemed to pause, but only momentarily before yelling again as the Terror launched itself at him again. 

You shook your shoulders loose then winced, stepping  forwards again, a pain both dull and blooming bursting through the sole of your foot. 

You lifted it up, hopping and pulling up your sole to see a hefty thorn stuck right in the middle, squinting, using dull nails to pick fruitlessly at it, efforts half hindered by the setting sun and dimming light. 

“Meet me back here tomorrow. If I’m going to be stuck with you, then-” Snotlout lifted a finger into the air, quite clearly still off-put by the terror’s attack, something odd and purplish bleeding where it had split skin.

He inhaled deeply before stumbling off the path.

You waited for a moment, watching, before shrugging gaily and deciding that it was probably fine. The paths here weren’t that steep, you knew.

“Sure,” You said simply, continuing on your way walking down the path. You decided that whichever foul soul thought Terrors would be a great starting dragon for the children deserved to be hung. 

You promised yourself you would give Hiccup a piece of your mind later.

“-Right, yeah, uh, so, I- well,” Hiccup said, shifting from one leg to the next, before stilling completely.

It looked like you’d caught him fresh from flight-and-crash as the browns of his leather were more mud than hide. His hair was a mess, more of an ugly bed-head than wispy and windswept, though you found it endearing all the same. 

“Hey,” You scuffed your feet awkwardly into the dirt. You had dressed lighter for the occasion, something less green and blue- you glanced down before staring straight ahead, meeting Hiccup’s eyes head-on.

There was an odd, reddened, blotchy quality to his face in a way he hadn’t had since he’d just started riding Toothless, before soft, land-bound skin had gotten used to the winds whipping past his cheeks.

You were careful not to stare too long lest you somehow accidentally revealed your affections, thin as a spider’s web though just as elegantly woven, spreading wide and reaching many parts of you you’d rather keep hidden. In many instances, you found it entwined with a braid of bitter something, knotting and pulling, weighted. In the moment, you were most focused on keeping your basket, and therefore its contents, out of view and out of discussion. 

Your nose twitched.

Dragon-training, to you, at least, felt as if it was a personal affair. In that sense, to involve hiccup, someone who was, at this point, an outside part, felt most definitely like interloping, and so, in that sense, he was most definitely not welcome.

Though you doubted he would, if he asked, you would loathe having to explain, or having to come up with an explanation for, well, anything. It felt sort of wrong to share something your heart urged you to hold so preciously, Snotlout aside, and so, in that sense, like most of your precious things, it was of the utmost importance that you keep it hidden.

From Hiccup to dragons, precious thing to precious thing, an affection prone to hurt and a bond intended to be, new and violate- perhaps it was exactly Snotlout’s apathy that made him easier to deal with, the certainly that each of his words would be just as biting, an equal amount sharp, all just as meaningless. The lack of hope a balm, each word more flat ground than a toe teetering on the edge of a string, wobbling and ready to fall either which way.

“Let me just-” You shifted to the side. The two of you were standing face-to-face in the open door to the newly minted dragon stables.

There was plenty of space for you to move, though you did so more to graciously cut through the awkward atmosphere, to split the spell that had broken between the two of you as of late, though you were hard-pressed to understand why.

You met each other step-for-step as you attempted to pass, and through that there was born a sparking frustration in your lower stomach. 

You weren’t sure where the feeling had come from, or maybe you were, but in that moment, you felt foully towards him. You cursed him, who had shown his face just as you had begun to muster up some excitement for something new, with the audacity to look so dazed and joyful after having the gall to leave you feeling so alone for such a long time over and over.

His fruitless search for things nearby would lead him to leaving, you were sure- leaving permanently without so much as a care or a goodbye, leaving you destitute, with nothing better to do than butt heads with petty cousins… if he didn’t take the cousin with him, that was.

“You should stop giving the children Terrors.” You wanted to say something worse, feeling sort of haughty, mouth twitching as you made a considerable effort to smother all the bitter feelings broiling in your gut.

“Uhm,” Hiccup nodded, twitching to life suddenly, as if he’d just come back into himself, “Right?”

You crouched behind a sizable rock, one hand clutching tightly at a sharp, pointed ledge, nose wrinkling at the sour smell of fish which had followed you even long after you’d discarded your hefty basket.

You were on the far side of the island where most of the dragons here lounged, unclaimed. 

Dirt and sharp pebbles ground into your palm as you peered over the top, rocky ledge giving way to reveal a vibrant, blue-looking Thunderdrum. It was standing in a way that was quite posed, on all fours stout as it nosed around in a small clearing, strong breaths pushing against a healthy dusting of grass with each exhale. 

Despite its oddness, it was quite frightening. The dragon was sort of small in the back, but its jaw was large enough to make up for it, and it had a large, beefy set of arms for a Thunderdrum, which made you a little nervous.

Its mouth opened oddly to grasp the small strands of grass and leaves, its neck clearly not built for that kind of consumption. It ended up tearing up dirt whenever it pulled too hard or bit too deep, and whatever it could get ahold of was only roughly nibbled before being quite accidentally dropped.

Thunderdrums didn’t come into the forest that often, so this was your lucky break.

Maybe it will work this time?

“Are you sure this isn’t going to be too much for us to handle?” You shifted, scales shifting against your own hand, which was feeling both quite damp and warm, slime dripping from the ends of your fingers onto the dry crushes of grass by your feet. 

You hoped you’d be able to please at least something with your meager offering before it gave your fingers wrinkled, though you were afraid you were much too late. 

Most of your morning was spent speaking away from Hookfang, who gorged himself quite readily on your catch, watching cautiously all the while as if he knew the two of you were about to do something stupid, yet too bored to do much to stop it. The rest of it was spent putting your ancestors to shame, failing at a great number of things- finding a dragon most particularly.

“Like I said. I’m not gonna help you tame some lame dragon,” Snotlout scoffed, “I don’t do small fry, small fry. So are you going to get it or what?”

“Alright, Chief, keep your trousers laced,” It took you a considerable effort not to make an ass of yourself as you spoke, scowling.

You furrowed your brows with determination, setting your jaw assuredly, shifting on your feet behind the rock. Snotlout peered over the top too, horns sticking out obviously over the edge of it.

“So I just, what- give it the fish?” You asked, half in a whisper, “Should I, like, toss it, or hand it over, or…?”

“How should I know?” Snotlout asked exasperatedly, at a pitch that was perhaps just a bit too loud, “Do I look like the ‘Dragon Master’ to you?”

He asked that last bit mockingly, shrugging his shoulders exaggeratedly, using his fingers to make air quotes.  

“Are you serious?” You asked, gritting your teeth. “But you have a dragon.”

“Well,” Snotlout shot back. The two of you turned to gripe at each other, barely noticing as you were overshadowed, though not caring very much as to what was doing it, “That’s wimp stuff. Hiccup did all the taming.”

You opened your mouth wide, tongue lit with a scathing rebuke. Before you could respond, a loud, malicious, echoey rumbling seemed to fill the air around the two of you.

Slowly, you looked up, shivers, dread and the phantom of a cold sweat gathering around your temples and your spine. You heard the shifting of fur against helmet that dictated that Snotlout was doing the same. 

“Oh, Thor.” You managed to squeak, staring up at a long row of sharp teeth and a wide, angry blue face.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 1/2/2024

it’s quite satisfying how the year started on a monday

listening

first song of the year: how could it be anything other than Sabata. this is the theme from the titular Sabata, i meant to pick the theme from Return of Sabata but im not mad about it.

-

reading

i read Tim Marchman’s Popping Tins newsletter (a newsletter about fish and seafood) less bc i enjoy locking Mack in the bathroom every time i want a tuna melt and more for the droll authorial voice. i have bought a tin of mackerel after reading some entries, and it was very good but much much richer than tuna.

What should I do with this can of krill meat?

after consulting the importer’s website:

This is accompanied by a photograph of the can featuring easily-discerned black eyes, which are nothing to be concerned about, according to the company that produces this can. The first question on its FAQ page is “What are the little black speckles in my can?” “No need to be concerned here!” the answer reads. “Your meat is not dirty, and you did not get a defected can. Our Antarctic Krill meat contains the most nutritious parts of the krill, which happen to include their eyes.

…

The risks here are clear: I could vomit when I open the can and see the nutritious black eyes staring at me; I could destroy the peace in my home by making it smell like sautéed and simmered krill; and/or I could ruin a perfectly delicious lunch by introducing nutritious eyes and hard bits of chitin.

i have no memory of how i found this newsletter.

i keep forgetting i have ten hoopla credits a month through my old library and i want to read more comics this year bc reading comics is fun. in the past in practice this means ive binged all ten credits over a weekend. this weekend i had time for exactly one.

The Riddler: Year One is an extremely direct tie-in to the movie and i think it’s neat they let the riddler’s actor paul dano go wild with his backstory and then turn it into a comic. it’s fun when actors get to do weird tie-in shit.

(non-sequential pages)

watching this forensic accountant’s brain crack and scramble like an egg as he struggles to really grasp the enormity of gotham corruption and why the city is such a dogshit miserable place to live in made me go “oh huh that was a pretty good writing decision in the movie”. not that the riddler was terribly stable to begin with but the despair and the unraveling were very effectively conveyed. this comic has a lot of fun with funky layouts (left) and an entire issue (right) is conspiracy board shit on top of accounting forms which is a neat artistic choice.

deeply depressing but an interesting new little window into the rpatz batman (god i hope we get more rpatz batman films) and fun to look at.

how i found this: trawling the popular comics page on hoopla

-

watching

this is the seventh year of starting a new-to-me classic black and white movie around 1030/11 PM New Year’s Eve and i am annoyed i didn’t like the movie that started this year but, according to the data, it’s been fifty-fifty so far.

previous years have featured: sunset boulevard, yojimbo, the thin man, it happened one night, bringing up baby, the big sleep, and now roman holiday (1953, dir. Wyler).

this is the platonic ideal of a classic movie. it’s not sterile but it’s so… unobjectionable. wholesome (derogatory) even. not particularly what i was looking for in a movie but, much like the gelato and champagne that pop up, it was kind of a sweet nothing. i don’t think anyone eats any real food this whole movie?

this is never a movie that feels rushed. it is two hours of watching beautiful people traipse around a beautiful city in beautiful edith head costumes. i would not say there is a lot of tension for the first hour and a half. however, imo, it does land its ending and for that i can forgive it a great deal. this is another beautiful movie that is simply not for me.

-

playing

have you ever wanted an open world rpg where you play as a shark? congrats, this was apparently free on epic a while back

Maneater has a tremendously fun prologue where you play as the soon-to-be-dead mother shark who is absolutely going to town on a crowded beach and destroying multiple spear-gun-wielding divers and multiple boats full of citizens exercising their second amendment rights. this prologue is an excellent choice by the game bc it locks the fun part (eating people) behind several hours of really grindy shit. i am not entertained by the grind of eating progressively larger muskellunge, avoiding alligators, and collecting license plates. the grind is EXCEPTIONALLY grindy, i put about three hours into it and have only gotten to level 5 (teen) and have only two mutations i can sink loot into (four types of loot gained from eating other fish. this is too many types imo). i am not anywhere near a recommended level to start fucking humans up. im also not super impressed with the open world aspects of it— there are not a lot of things to do, discover, or interact with in the first two areas.

this seems like a really fun game that clotheslined itself with a cripplingly slow upgrade cycle. im sure the mid and late game are hysterically fun, especially on stream. however i am not willing to put in the hours to get to the fun part when i could immediately be having fun in some other game.

-

making

a lot of profoundly uninteresting cleaning. after not being able to figure out why my office (where Phil [no longer in heat. for now] lives) still reeks of piss even after stealing a blacklight from a friend and cleaning with a blacklight, it is of course bc she has been pissing in secret places i didn’t think she could get to. upside down smile emoji. both the girls got their monthly flea goop yesterday and were deeply unhappy about it.

most of my plants died in the move and i am finally tackling the survivors. fan favorite giant snake plant (not pictured, tidied up and inside) did make it and pull through but is not happy about it. now that i have baby basil and baby dill sprouting in the kitchen i do need to do something with the balcony so they have somewhere to grow up study and strong.

also slammed that silly little blondeyes NFT thing up on the archive

[bottledpeaches]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five of your other fave writers. Spread the self-love!

omg ty for the tag kou pookie! DONT APOLOGIZE FOR THE TAG!!!!! and dont mind if I do hehehe >:)

hello, sailor!- aventurine

all aboard the lady luck and set sail for a new adventure! life on land doesn't satisfy you, so why not take to the seas instead? while working under captain aventurine as the primary nurse onboard, everything you've ever wanted is within your grasp, and yet the mystery surrounding your captain is still there, just short of being solved. just what kind of secrets lie hidden beneath that charming smile and silver tongue?

notes: this singlehandedly rekindled my aventurine obsession and I loved writing it as much as you guys enjoyed devouring it (ty for the once in a lifetime reblog kou pookie I still dream of it sometimes). one of the longest fics I've ever written but it certainly didn't feel like two months because of how much fun I had writing it. this was also a good exercise in juggling multiple main characters at once and I loved it but maybe that's my bias for the ip3 showing LMAO. I have also received some interest for a continuation so if the pirate aventurine bugs ever bite again...

all stars must die one day- alhaitham

it’s always been him- stupidly perfect and handsome Alhaitham who you saw as the bane of your academic achievements. Three years later and now so much has changed. He misses you. He misses your endless bickering and meaningless fights. Why did you change so much? It’s a mystery he makes up his mind to resolve.

notes: oh where do I begin with you... to this day it's still my most popular fic by note count. for being over two years old it's aged quite well. I had people pouring their hearts out to me in the comments section and my inbox and it brings me such great joy to know that my writing can have such an impact on people's lives to the point where they feel moved to leave some nice words behind. i hold this trilogy very dear to my heart <3

all hearts as one beneath the sun- aventurine

before kakavasha dissolves into the nihility, there is one hope he has to let go of. may you meet again in a kinder world and under a warm sun.

notes: ouuuufgggngngnnggnhhwhsndfnnahdsjlkfk........ vividly remember making myself cry with this one. this was one part exploration into memory and grief and how the two work together but also one part missing 2.1 aventurine LMAO. I came up with the idea for this after listening to had I not seen the sun one too many times miss robin the power ur songs hold over me should be studied...

love is concocted from esters and ketones ch. 02- robin

you’ve been commissioned to make a perfume that tells the life story of the universe’s most beloved idol. don’t let her down now.

notes: chat I will admit... I got a little carried away with this one... can't help it that I love robin and perfume and when you combine the two together? death sentence for me. immediately. but all jokes aside, this was a lovely dive into the first penacony character I fell in love with and her backstory, which while touched upon in the main storyline, was done so in relation to sunday's. I wanted to see my pretty angel singing queen have the spotlight she deserves and perhaps crash out bc she needs it

an eye for an eye- dr ratio

what happens when you stick your nose where it doesn't belong?

notes: I LOVE ME SOME GOOD MURDER MYSTERY!!!!! I rmbr thugging this out for the server halloween event and just BARELY making it in time. aside from that I had SO much fun writing this piece! it was a true test of my descriptive writing abilities and I think I did a good job nailing the 70s small mountain town vibes I was going for :D loved seeing people's reactions to the twist at the end too

tagging @tragedy-of-commons, @rainswept, @vxnuslogy, @aritsukemo, and @your-sleeparalysisdem0n (no pressure tags, lmk if you don't want to be tagged in the future)

fic authors self rec! when you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five of your other fave writers. spread the self-love!

thank you for tagging me @suguwu sorry this took me a sec to get to!! i have been cooking it up in my mind though !! hehe

Threefold | Honkai Star Rail — Mydei

When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

notes: this is my most recent project ergo i am the happiest with it atm HAHA i think my prose is at its strongest here!! honestly the idea for the plot really came to me in a vision…the image of mydeimos as the reluctant prisoner appeared so clearly to me that i had no choice but to build entire world to make it a reality!! (although in terms of world building i have done the bare minimum i feel LMAO very fast and loose fs) even though i haven’t met him in-game yet hehe he’s just very handsome yk haunts my waking hours and whatnot

Seabird | Blue Lock — Sae Itoshi

Thanks to a chance encounter on the beach, you spend your vacation trying to apologize to the famous soccer player you inadvertently offended. Unfortunately, Sae Itoshi has other plans.

notes: i feel like i would be remiss if i didn’t mention seabird!! this one was so much fun to write if only because reader and sae had the funniest dynamic i think i’ve ever written. they are so hater4hater and all of their conversations (plus the little brother’s snarky asides) had me giggling as i came up with them. i think in terms of prose it’s definitely a lot more functional compared to like threefold but that kind of lends it that silliness and charm?? so i still love it HAHA

Hierophant | Honkai Star Rail — Sunday

Sunday is your mirror, as you are his — or, how meeting him spells your doom, just like losing you spells his.

notes: did i know anything about sunday when i wrote this?? debatable (it was a birthday gift). forget about robin LMAOO this is definitely THE most ooc oak siblings you will ever see but i enjoyed it making it regardless!! it’s a 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓭𝓪𝔂 fic more than anything and very speculative/open to interpretation in its entirety which is what i was hoping to get across hehe like i have my ideas for what i think happened but truly it’s not clear at all and it was fun withholding everything LFKDJD if that makes sense…coming up with the differences between halovians and humans as well as writing sunday’s slow deterioration and eventual breakdown was very fun for me!! i also loved switching between past tense and present tense for the different povs hehe it was a fun exercise writing-wise as well!!

The Instrument | Blue Lock — Michael Kaiser

Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

notes: yes my opp michael kaiser is making an appearance here because unfortunately i actually do really love this piece LMAO i am not as much a fan of the part two because i only wrote it upon popular demand (i prefer leaving things open-ended) but part one i do by and large enjoy!! this was my first time ever writing in the present tense and i loveddd it HAHA it really unlocks a different style and vibe of writing for me so although i don’t always use it i def do like pulling it out every now and again which i wouldn’t have learned i can do without the instrument!!

Polar | Blue Lock — Nagi-Centric Genfic

This time, when Seishiro Nagi’s talent at soccer is discovered, it’s by a boy named Oliver Aiku — which goes about as well as you’d expect it to.

notes: this one is definitely a crazy one to put on here given that this is a genfic and i am a reader insert author but. i LOVE polar LMAOAOAO it was born of a silly conversation i had with one of my friends (jei if you’re seeing this hi) but it ended up being over 20k words of nagi character study in an au where he’s found by oliver instead of reo!! i love writing it hehe i think this is the proof nagi is my fav because like writing a genfic from a character’s pov is smth i’ve never done before and probs never will do again. but it was a blast at the time!!

no-pressure tagging: @luvether @loverducky @mewnbuns @kazucee @veraties (if any of you were tagged already i am sorry 🥹 i tried switching up who i tag too so i hope you all are okay with it please lmk if not so ik for next time 💖)

[kyber-crystal]

some things are better left unsaid || obi-wan kenobi

summary: one drunken night after a mission takes an unexpected turn and leaves you struggling to grasp your feelings

words: ~2.9k

warnings: some angst, cw: alcohol mentions, y/n being a dumb fuck that’s really it

a/n: so this definitely hasn’t been sitting in my drafts since late november 2020. i finallyyyyy figured out how to finish it so here we go, my apologies if this sucks bc i haven’t written anything in forever

Neither of you remembered how you’d gotten here to begin with. 

One moment, you were cleaning up the wounds you had from the battle. The next thing you knew, it was 3 in the morning, and you were alone together on his bedroom floor drinking Coruscanti whiskey straight from the bottle.

Even with the scrapes and scratches littered across Obi-Wan’s face, he was quite a sight to behold. And he could say the same for you, no doubt. 

You gave him a look and he passed the bottle over to you without a word. Tilting your head back, you took a long sip and gulped the warm liquid down your throat. It burned, but you paid the sensation no mind, as it at least helped you forget. 

You’re both drunk, drunker than you’d expected yourself to be. Somehow, after all that you’ve consumed and how tipsy you are, your eyes flick over to his. He’s already been looking at you. You could hardly find it in yourself to even breathe properly under his stare. It was drowning.

He sees your eyes glaze over and wants to assume it’s the whiskey making its way through your system, but something tells him it’s far from it. There’s a hint of longing and almost desperation hidden behind your facade. But despite how nervous you might’ve felt at the moment, you held your ground and didn’t break eye contact with him—although every fiber of your being was screaming at you to do the opposite. 

“You look tired,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Nope.” You took another long swig of the fiery liquor. “When am I ever?”

“You’re pretty drunk, Y/N.”

“Funny how you’re saying that when you’re in the same state...‘S not like I have anything better to do at the moment.”

“So you’re saying you don’t enjoy my company?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He raises an eyebrow at you as he continues to speak, clearing his throat. “Well, we did do pretty well out there, don’t you think?”

“Mhmm.” You let out a yawn. “Pretty great, although I had to save your ass, what was it, like, 4 times?”

“3 times,” he corrected, “I’m not that clumsy.”

“Sure you aren’t, General,” you teased, sending him a flirty wink. “It was in fact, four times, though.”

“Three. Y/N, you’re getting hurt more often than I’m in need of being ‘saved’.”

“It’s a twisted ankle and only one patched up blaster wound,” you held up a finger for effect. Your words slurred together as the side effects of the alcohol began kicking in. “Compared to the other disasters we’ve faced, that’s minimal damage.”

“You’ve got to be more careful.” His voice is so soft and the sound alone sends a chill down your spine. 

“I know,” you mumbled as you stared down at the floor, mindlessly picking at the sleeves of your tunic.

“You had me worried. I thought I’d lost you...”

Something about him is making you stay rooted in place and keeping you from pulling away. You feel your stomach flutter at his words. It’s an unfamiliar yet pleasant feeling that penetrates the heavy barricades you’d built to protect yourself from things like this—from him. It’s one that creates a stirring in your chest and scares you more than you’d like because you’ve never experienced anything like it before. Somehow—at some point in all the years you’d known him for, Obi-Wan Kenobi had successfully managed to tear down all your walls and defenses and wormed his way into your heart.

When his gaze fixes upon yours once more, time skids to a halt. 

You’re a wildfire, and he’s a moth drawn to the flames. And no matter how many times he says he’s not going to indulge, that he won’t fall any deeper, time and time again he finds himself crawling back to you. He’s more than well aware that he’s playing a dangerous game with himself—but your tantalizingly irresistible persona has him trapped and helpless in its grasp. 

The words slip out before he has the chance to stop himself. 

“I love you.”

You stop what you’re doing and freeze. 

He tells himself it’s just the whiskey talking, but that was a lie, and he knew it. He tells himself he’s still drunk and won’t remember any of this in the morning, but that too, was a lie—but he refused to accept the fact. 

“W-what did you just say?”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say things you don’t mean. You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.” His eyes flashed and darkened with a hint of something you couldn’t quite identify. Was it desire? Longing? Regret? Or all three? Maybe I’m hallucinating, and I’m just tired. It’s just the whiskey, you say to yourself. He’s not gazing deep into my soul and I definitely don’t feel anything. Anything at all. 

“I, uh...I have to go,” you mumbled, quickly setting the bottle down and getting up, dusting your robes off. “This was a mistake...See you in the morning, Kenobi.”

“Wait, Y/N—” You’re gone and out the door before he has a chance to respond and he feels the sting. You rarely ever called anyone—much less him—by last name, unless you were completely fed up. That in itself was rare. Even with all the shit you’d been put through you always had a bright smile on and a good word to spare. Obi-Wan lets out a long sigh and leans back against the edge of the bed, running a hand down his face.

What had he done wrong?

You didn’t sleep that night. You decided to spend the long hours wandering the halls of the temple. Occasionally, you’d run into another fellow Jedi who seemed to have the same idea as you—keep themselves moving so their mind stayed occupied. 

Obi almost kissed you. He was so close. And he wasn’t actually blackout drunk; both of you knew that. But like the coward you were, you panicked and fled—because you didn’t want to believe that he was actually sober. He couldn’t have actually meant what he said. He couldn’t have.

Nobody had uttered those words to you before. You associated them with nothing but painful memories. 

You’d been on your own for a while. You had a loving family, parents who cared about you more than they’d ever be able to explain. You had parents who did everything they could to make you happy despite their busy jobs. (Your father had been a well-respected general, your mother a high-ranking senator.). You had the best siblings anyone could ask for—until the relentless war took them from you. Since then, you shut yourself out and hardened your heart in the fears of it being broken again. You told yourself what you were doing was for your own good, but ultimately, it only ended up tearing you to pieces. 

It was hard trying to get through the day without running into Obi-Wan. You’d planned your daily routines around each other to maximize the time you had together, so avoiding him was much harder than it sounded. 

You were able to get out of seeing him by skipping breakfast and lunch, and were trying to find a way to sneak up to the meditation rooms, until—

“Y/N!” you heard someone call after you. 

You didn’t answer. You swallowed hard and kept walking, ignoring the pounding migraine bashing the sides of your head in.

“Y/N!”

“What in Force’s name do you want, Anakin?” you snapped as you whipped around.

“You’ve been crying.”

You shot him a death glare as you hastily wiped at your eyes. “Seasonal allergies.”

“It’s the middle of autumn. Nobody gets allergies during the autumn months, much less you. The only things you’re allergic to are bothersome diplomats, nysillin plants, and people who suck at flying. Don’t even try lying to me.” He grabbed your wrist and tugged you around the corner. 

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, and Anakin continued speaking in a lowered voice. “Now you’re going to tell me what’s wrong because something’s obviously bothering you and it’s messing you up. I’m worried for you...Obi-Wan said I had to look out for you when he couldn’t.”

He noticed how you froze at his name. “Did you and Master...have...a fight?”

“No,” you muttered, an edge of bitterness to your tone. 

“Tell me what happened. And don’t lie. You’ve been avoiding him all day.”

“You’re babying me. Stop it. It should be the other way around; I should be the one doing that.”

“Tell me, or I’ll have to figure it out in other ways.”

You scoffed. “Fine—”

“And start from the top,” he added. 

“We came back from the mission later than anticipated. Got held back as we were trying to leave.”

“Uh huh…”

“After we finished patching each other up, it was around 3 am. Obi-Wan got up, grabbed a bottle of whiskey he’d snuck in from the kitchens one time, and offered to share some of it with me. We were both tired, we didn’t know what we were doing and just wanted to forget all that went down that day. One thing led to another, and next thing y—”

Anakin’s eyes widened. “You got som—you’re saying you and Obi-Wan did WH—”

“Shut it!” you hissed, slapping your palm over his mouth. “I don’t need the entire Council finding out what happened.”

He nodded, and you lowered your hand. “We didn’t do that. We just got drunk...really drunk. I was completely tipsy, so was he. So we were prone to saying things we normally wouldn’t. He said he loved me and I left because I didn’t know what to do...I didn’t want to hear words of affection from someone who had been drinking moments before. I can’t remember what I did after that? I’m not sure—”

“So what you’re telling me is...he said ‘I love you’ and in response, you chickened out and fled? Are you serious?”

You snorted. “Yeah, like you’re any better at flirting with Padme.”

“That’s different!” Anakin raised his hands in surrender. “Look. You screwed up, Master Y/N, and you know it.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “you think I didn’t know that already?”

“You’re crying...over Obi-Wan...ha. Who would’ve thought.”

“Shut up, or I’m taking away your lightsaber.” You shot him a death glare as you reached up with your robe’s sleeve to wipe at your eyes again. “I’m not crying. I’m sweating.”

His jaw dropped. “Force. You’re in love with him!”

“Shut up! I’m not.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he feels the same way.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Aha! So you DO care!”

“ANAKIN.”

“As a Jedi, you sure are terrible at concealing emotion.”

“Anakin! You’re acting like a little kid. Grow up.”

“Okay, okay! But you know you’ll have to talk to him eventually because you can’t ignore him forever. Can’t keep pretending the whole ordeal didn’t happen, ‘cause guess what? It did!”

“Just to make it clear, him and I—we’re not a thing.”

“Yeah? You sure about that?”

“Yes!” you yelled as you opened the door and began walking out, casting him a ‘look’. “Bring this up in front of either of us one more time, and I’ll see to it that you won’t be going on any missions for a month.”

“Aye aye, captain!” 

You were too busy being wrapped up within your own thoughts to notice where you were going, and accidentally bumped into something solid—and warm.

“Look, we need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.” You shook your head and picked up the pace as you felt the lump in your throat grow.

“Yes, we do. You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“No.”

“Y/N—”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Your voice cracked as you turned around, feeling a wave of guilt wash over your body at the sight of him. He looked so tired, so worn out. And you caused that. “Please, just—leave me alone.” 

By now, the conversation between you two had drawn the attention of several Jedi milling around the area. 

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Obi-Wan—”

“Please.”

You let out a sigh of reluctance. “Fine.”

He sighed and gently gripped your forearm, forcing you to follow him as he led you down the hall. The others around you were confused as they watched you disappear along with him.

The elevator ride was silent—and all of a sudden, you were back in front of his place and he was leading you inside yet again. You stayed silent. The bottle of whiskey was still there, right at the foot of his bed, completely empty and laying on its side. 

“Care to tell me why you walked out on me like that last night?” Obi leaned against the wall as you sat at the edge of his bed, looking down.

“I had work to do,” you lied.

“In the middle of the night? Nobody else was awake.”

“...Yup.”

“...If I did anything wrong—anything to hurt you, please let me know, darling,” he said in a gentle tone.

“Don’t call me that,” you muttered. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“Was it something I said?”

“I think we both know what happened last night, Obi-Wan,” you finally looked up at him, feeling a lump form in your throat. “You said something you didn’t mean because you were wasted. I panicked...nothing else happened. You didn’t know what you were saying.”

“Y/N, I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you. I wasn’t drunk.”

“You’re telling me you drank half a bottle of whiskey and still remained sober.” You were only lying to yourself at this point. You saw it in his eyes—he knew exactly what he was saying but you didn’t want to accept that it was true.

“Why did you walk out on me?”

“...I can’t keep loving you like this anymore.”

“So you do feel the same way,” he concluded. 

You didn’t say anything, but your eyes told him enough.

He continued on. “I didn’t tell you that I love you because I wanted to hear it back. I told you because I needed you to know.”

Something in Obi’s expression softened. Without realizing what he was doing he reached out to brush your hair away from your face. He paused midway and let his hand fall back at his side. You let your gaze follow. 

“What are you doing,” you said quietly.

“You don’t have to mean it yourself, but I did. I meant what I said. Every word.”

You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes trained downward as you absentmindedly fidgeted with his leather bracelet around your wrist. 

“I wasn’t lying either. I can’t…not anymore, Obi. I don’t think you understand how—”

Before he could stop himself, Obi-Wan reached out again, placing a gentle hand against your cheek. You don’t have the heart to push him away—you don’t want to. He slowly took a step towards you, then another, right until you were almost flush against him. With one small move, your lips would be on his. Only one inch. 

Your heart raced. You prayed he couldn’t hear it given what little distance remained between the two of you.  It was impossible, it seemed, to escape his presence, and you weren’t sure whether to hate him for it more, or yourself.

“Only if you want to.” His voice was gentle; quiet, as he noticed your hesitance and his hand faltered, eyes still curious. 

He didn’t slash you with his lightsaber. He didn’t punch you. And yet, you staggered backward. 

Obi-Wan mirrored your movements, stepping backward as well. 

All of a sudden, a half-shattered bottle of that Coruscanti liquor rolled to your feet. The little alcohol that remained began to trickle out. You bent down and gingerly picked up a dull shard of glass, rolling it around in your palm for a bit before dropping it in the trash can. 

“Screw it,” you muttered to yourself. 

You couldn’t just let him walk away like that. You’d let him go too many times before and it never ended well. Like the time when he was injured and you forced yourself to stay up for three days to watch over him and then confess your feelings, only to chicken out when he woke up. The other time where you were laying down next to him and staring up at the midnight sky, and your hands kept brushing together and you were a mere second away from rolling over and pressing your lips to his.

And you didn’t want another repeat of that—of getting so close only to realize you couldn’t do it. All because you were a little scared. You had enough regrets to deal with, and you didn’t want him to be a part of that. 

So before you got a chance to have any more second thoughts, you grabbed Obi by the shoulder and turned him around, tugging him towards you until you were nose-to-nose once more.

Then he kissed you. Or you kissed him. You weren’t sure who took that last step and initiated it but you couldn’t care less. His hand slid down to the back of your neck, and you could still taste remnants of that damn whiskey on his lips. He was intoxicating and you never wanted to let go. No matter how many times you fantasized about moments like these, nothing seemed to prepare you for the way he made your heart feel like it was plummeting through open air. 

“This is a bad idea,” you mumbled against his lips.

“I know,” he replied, pulling you impossibly closer.

taglist!: @arkofblake​ @obiwns​ @dameronology​ @hellotherekenobi​ @groovy-lady​ @obirain​ @darthkruge​ @kelieah​ @dindjarinsspouse​ @lam-ila​ 

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[socheckitout-mikey]

Could you do hcs for dancing around with Dallas as his s/o? Like dancing around the kitchen or in the car or something silly and casual

heya, thanks sm for requesting this. i really enjoy writing for dally so it's always a pleasure! so sorry that it took me ages to write, but i hope you enjoy what i came up with! (': <333 - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Dancing with Dallas Winston Hc's:

° Dal is a great dancer, although he often needs convincing to do so. He knows how to have fun, and he's as wild as ever - even when he dances. He's the type to make a statement, as if to make you either regret it or not regret it. It's exhilarating and you're always left breathless.

° "Ain't this what you wanted, sweetheart?" he'd grin at you, holding you a little too close.

° Either you love it or you hate it. There's no inbetween lmaoo.

° "You flashed me to the whole student population!" 

° "It's better than streaking the gym like Two-bit."

° or you're all starry eyed which makes Dally go, "Now don't go on gettin' any ideas. This ain't gonna be a regular thing, wise ass."

° When Dally's in the mood to dance, you bet your ass it's gonna be a great time! He likes the high energy stuff when he's had a few drinks in him. Then there's not so much as a care in the world. It's great to see him smiling and laughing bc he's always just so… grumpy. Just don't point it out lmaoo.

° He's good at slow dancing too. Especially when he's taken you to one of Buck's parties. He holds you close, swaying you guys both left to right. It's a whole mood as you lean the side of your face on his shoulder, drunkenly nuzzling the crook of his neck. Your breath tickles, he feels your smile against his skin.

° "You fallin' asleep there, skippy?" he grins and dips you back so hard you scream!

° Man does he get a kick outta doing unexpected things like that! He doesn't even care if you make a stink about it.

° He's just grasping your wrists in his big hands, laughing with tears streaming down his face as he brings you close, "Alright- alright! Last time I promise-"

° It's not lmaoo.

° With all the wild and reckless, there's always an underlying tenderness that he reserves for just you. However only when it's just the two of you with no possible way for anyone to walk in on the moment. That'd just ruin Dally's bad boii rep™.

° He has the potential to be just as spontaneous, but there's a sweetness and silliness to him. It strikes typically when you're busy doing something in the kitchen or standing up, focusing on anything but him. It's an impulse that he can't shake and it just brings the biggest smile to your face.

° He pulls you close, which makes you giggle or smile.

° "Whatchu smilin' for eh?" He rasps out, wiggling his eyebrows a little goofily.

° It only serves to make you laugh more.

° If you ever try to pull away, he lets you for a moment, but then pulls you back in almost roughly. You spin into his arms, which is when the fun begins!

° Dal's the shithead™ that deffo flips you about, just narrowly having missed your ankles bashing the edge of the kitchen table.

° "Giddy up cowgirl/boy!" He hollers wildly. 

° Sometimes he's sneaky and flops you onto the table to begin a make out session. Other times he accidently drops you dbdhdhdhd. Again, no inbetween.

° He always dares you to try and flip him. Man you were like a tank this one time, flipping him over fast! He fell on his ass by the couch, just looking up at you dumbfounded bc that hurt his tailbone!

° Then that impish grin dawns across his face. You don't even think, you run! He chases you around the house until he's got you in his arms, having flopped the both of you on your bed. You're both laughing up a storm but he won't let go.

° He's the type to turn the radio up in Buck's T-Bird all the time. You'll both rock out to some Elvis or The Animals, especially when you're going on late night drives or even when it's a day trip around town!

° It's mandatory that the radio is blasted. To hear each other you gotta yell loud asf! It's sm fun.

° Y'all are dance partners at parties. Just tearing it up! Well that is only after you convinced Dally to join you bc you threatened to dance with Tim one night he was being particularly difficult. You never did make that half ass threat again.

° Dallas lays his pride down for two seconds in order to take you to school dances. It's lame asf but he loves you, and if it makes you happy then he guesses it makes him happy too lmaoo. The sacrifices he makes for you.

° It's one of the rare times he will really show off just to make the night memorable.

° Ofc he doesn't abide by any of the rules and y'all go wild just to piss off the chaperones lmaoo!

° You may or may not have gotten kicked out.. buuuuut it was worth it!

° Idk why but I know for a fact that after big arguments, when you're really upset with him, he pulls you in for a slow dance. He doesn't let you resist too much without just saying, "C'mere! Listen, I'm tryin'..." and it's usually bc he's come back outta the cooler. Your disappointment and anger upsets him for some reason. He just wants to make it right. (I'm ready to fight people on this. Even my old self who didn't think Dally could be soft. Pppfftttt wth was I thinking?) 

° He does so when you're sad too. It's not often. Once in a blue moon. He pulls you close and in the silence you both sway softly, left to right. Not any words are spoken, but it's his presence and actions alone that speak volumes, providing you with the utmost comfort. Dally ain't good with comforting, but he tries his best. Sometimes that fruits a beautiful moment that you treasure forever.

° Also you bet your ass he dances terribly just to embarrass you for the hell of it. Especially if you've been begging him to dance with you fifty times in a row. He makes you regret it. He stops soon after, and this typically happens when he's drunk as a skunk.

° 12/10 would not recommend bc it's bad.

° Overall, dancing with Dallas can be an 11/10 experience. Expect the unexpected as they say, because nothing will ever prepare you for it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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[philtstone]

Aragorn/Arwen, 33

#33 -- your laugh is the best sound I have ever heard meleth = love/my love. a missing scene from fellowship of the ring bc i had to write some arthurian level yearning or whatever

They cross paths in one of Imladris's many halls, as she is exiting a room. Not the room, wherein the small Halfling is fluttering back from the edge of doom under her father's careful ministrations. But a room. Arwen was folding clean bandages, for something to do.

There has always been some quietly striking thing about Estel, the way he is at all times, even covered in grime and with an expression that does not well hide his fear. He looks as if he ran the entire remaining distance to Rivendell on foot, with three panicky Hobbits in tow besides. Which, in part, she is sure he must have.

"Arwen," he begins, not quite on a pant, but startled by her appearance and desperate enough for her to inhale and step forward, reaching for him.

"Unharmed," she says, of herself, and then, "healing, under my father's hand. We made it across the river in safety."

He makes to grasp the hand she offers him but Arwen reaches for his cheek instead. She watches his eyes close and feels the tacky, bristly jaw beneath her fingers. Here in the gentle, clean glow of her father's house he stands out in a way he had not in the wild, yet unwashed and so very obviously a man. Very warm, as he always is, but the damp heat under his skin confirms his carefully-hidden distress further. His cloak is hanging lopsided from familiar broad shoulders and his hair is a nest. She wishes to tease him again, as she did in the woods, but finds in this moment she cannot; she's missed him dearly.

They inhale, together, her hand upon him. Arwen is no fool; his trust in her did not discount the real danger and magnitude of their last several hours.

"You're injured," he says, even through his closed eyes. "And you've been weeping."

Arwen touches her free hand to the mostly-faded cut on her cheek. An injury it is not. She allows his lover's perspective nonetheless.

"You know that I weep often," she chooses to say.

"Do you?" Rhetorically, in a restrained murmur.

"Yes; I am quite as tender-hearted as you are, my love."

Estel opens his eyes, startled into a sudden laugh, which stretches crooked and a little pained across his face. It is then that they both relax. They are alone in the corridor; dear Frodo is alright; she wishes very much to kiss him.

"Unharmed," Aragorn repeats, on an exhale this time, one further bout of confirmation. Arwen has come to learn this about men -- this man -- the small stretch of time required to come to terms with a simple truth. There is something soothing about its necessity. But her peace is disrupted almost immediately; quite suddenly she is feeling the strain of want in her throat as he smooths rough fingers over her wrist, then her palm, lifting her hand away just so from his face.

"Arwen," he says a second time, very differently. "Meleth ..."

Oh, to fall into his arms ...

"You are very filthy, Estel," she says instead, allowing a touch of that teasing to return.

He turns his head and kisses the inside of her wrist in response, long and lingering and silent and warm, and holds her gaze all the while.

Her name is called, once, twice, from the room she only just exited.

"My lady Arwen!"

She sighs and he releases her, offers her the smallest of bows and another tired smile, and goes, presumable to check on his charges. But she is smiling in return. Time is not something she had great consideration for until she met Estel. She thinks of it now -- its brevity, its urgency. For now, Arwen hopes, they have escaped the danger, and may see each other happy for a short while longer.

[yesimwriting]

The Needs of Pain

A/n as promised,,, here is my gift to you bc I finished ap gov today :))

The darkling x heartrender!reader story based on the whole ‘no one but me can hurt you’ thing :))

Warnings: sexual innuendos,, attempts to sexualize pain if you squint, kinda lemon-y

I kinda want to write a smutty part 2 let’s see lol 

Summary: after a training injury, Kirigan reveals how he views the dynamic of your relationship and figures out how to best help you work through the pian 

--

In an odd way, the most painful part of my injury had been the wound on my pride, not my shoulder. Though the pain that begins beneath my collarbone and continues down my left shoulder is not exactly pleasant. I can’t bring myself to pity myself too much as I stare at the extent of my burns. There’s a war going on. People die, people lose loved ones, I have to tolerate pain for an hour or two before a healer can be sent to be. 

I told Genya I’d be fine in the medical wing, but she insisted that I wait for a healer to be sent to me. The people here look up to me, if news of my injury got out, especially considering it’s a training wound, morale would take a blow we can’t currently afford. Genya had looked relatively sympathetic when she told me that many healers were occupied considering how difficult training had been and I had told her I could bear the weight. 

Now, in my room, staring at the basin full of water, I’m starting to regret my desire to be self sacrificing. I dip the towel in the water, squeezing out the excess before daring to dab the fabric on the outer edge of the wound. The feeling is fire against my skin all over again. An instinctual curse leaves me as I drop the towel on the counter that surrounds the basin. 

Arthur hadn’t meant it. I can still hear the frantic apologies tumbling from his full lips. He should have been more focused on the task at hand, he should have never stopped to look at me, at the way I could control so many living things at once. In some odd sense, his distraction had been a compliment. Many of the girls here would sell anything to have Arthur’s attention, even if it resulted in such a careless mistake. 

I grimace, picking up the towel and preparing to start again. I should at least clean it before the healers have to deal with both a physical injury and an infection. The sound of my door flying open and then shutting angrily is enough of a distraction for me to accidentally dab the towel against my skin too harshly. I curse again, turning my head towards the bathroom door. Did Genya exaggerate the severity of my wound? Are the healers that desperate to get to me? 

I turn on my toes, towel forgotten by the basen full of water as I approach the door that connects my room with the bathroom. “I’m--” Words meant to calm a frantic healer stick to the back of my throat as soon as I register all the black in the room. General Kirigan. Great. He no doubt heard about my injury after prying it from Genya and now he’s here to scold me for the childishness of it all. To be injured because a boy and I just couldn’t help ‘make eyes at each other’. All he does is insult my refusal to become bitter just because I was born possessing power. 

“You’re what?” His words are a different level of callous, darker than the shadows he creates with the will of his mind alone. “An idiot that let herself be sent back to her room instead of demanding to see a healer?” 

That’s an odd thing for him to focus his anger on. At least it’s not fully directed at me. On instinct, I half turn, attempting to hide my injury from his piercing eyes. My instinct tells me he should never see me so mortal. “Genya recommended it,” my words are determined yet calm, “It’s such a small injury it isn’t worth risking everyone’s morale. A healer will come here when one is available.” 

His face tightens in what must be some kind of disgusted disbelief. “Foolish girl--have you no instinct for preservation?” 

Every decision I’ve made since being injured made sense before he spoke to me. The fierceness of his voice leaves my face warmer than it was a moment ago and reminds me of the stem of my dislike for him. General Kirigan speaks and I am left a clumsy child. “Some things are more important than one’s self.” I expect he’ll turn that into something else to mock or belittle about me. “And it’s not a grave injury it’s barely--” 

The distance between us seemed so great less than a second ago, but he’s closed it so quickly, grabbing my left wrist and extending my arm forward so that I can’t hide anything from him. “You’re burned.” There’s the slightest bit of surprise coloring his words along with something else I can’t interpret. “How did you get burned?” 

Kirigan doesn’t know. My stomach knots, anticipating embarrassment. “Training incident--I was standing too close to an Inferni.” 

His grip on my arm tightens. I grimace as he pulls me forward with no regard for my injury. “Who?” The voracious way he says the word leaves my thoughts trembling. He is a void of darkness, starving for a victim to snuff the light out of.  

When my thoughts settle, I cannot bring myself to tell him the truth. “I didn’t see, I was distracted by the burning.” I exhale slowly, desperate to escape the flames behind his eyes the way I could not escape the fire of earlier. “It doesn’t matter, I’ve been injured worse in training.” His hold on my arm doesn’t loosen, I glance down at his hand, his firm grip on me somehow worse than the burn. “You’ve injured me worse in training.” 

“I may push you, exhaust you, and leave you mad--but I have never done anything that comes close to--that!” The last of his words carry themselves louder than the rest. 

If the skin of my shoulder wasn’t so sensitive I’d try fighting his tightening grasp. The accusation on my part had been a little much, but it was meant to serve as a reminder that he’s not one to care about my comfort or well being. “Why does it matter?” I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze. “You’ve never cared about any of my injuries before.” 

Kirigan releases my arm in a stiff trance, raising his hand to brush his thumb down my cheek. The contact is reminiscent of an extremely different moment. “The first night here you only let a few tears escape you when you were convinced that no one could see them. Do you remember how I turned and wordlessly wiped them away?” His gesture had not been comforting then and it isn’t comforting now. He never wanted to comfort me, he wanted to assert some strange power over me. “I let those tears fall because they were because of me and I knew it was for the best.” I say nothing, letting his thumb ghost tears that will not come. “The moment I discovered you, what you could be, you became mine.” 

“I am no one’s.” The reaction is instinctual, a pride my mother instilled in me. My voice is too loud, too brash. “I am my own.” 

I brace myself for his anger, but all I receive is the slight relaxation of his lips. “It’s things like that give you so much potential in other ways.” His voice is a jagged rock caressing my skin, not minding the scrapes it leaves behind. “You’re a fair plaything, as well as useful.”  

He’s speaking so gently his voice borders on vulnerable. Something in me warms, but I can’t tell why. I know that Kirigan finds joy in my discomfort--why else would he belittle me so often? “The healer will be here soon.” 

“Yes,” he makes no move to leave, instead Kirigan grabs my wrist again, forcing me to turn so that he can analyze the extent of my burn, “Which is why I will ask you again…” I try to catch his gaze, but his stone stare is focused on my burned shoulder entirely. “Who did this?” 

“I told you.” He can never know. “It was a training accident.” 

“And someone is responsible.” 

I let out a breath, tired of feeling so incomplete. I just want to be healed and go to sleep. “Why does it matter?” His fingers trail up my arm patiently, my body betrays me by shivering. “Accidents happen, you’ve put me in more risk than--” 

“I’ve always intended to break you one way or another,” his voice is more supple than it’s ever been before, “Your goodness is too tempting to not tarnish.” He turns my wrist over easily, ignoring my slight wince. “But if someone else were to do it…” Kirigan trails off, expression tightening in a way I can’t read, “I don’t let others break my play things.” 

Some strange resolve in my chest cracks at that. “Kirigan--” 

“Who are you protecting?” He moves his free hand, placing it without reservation on my shoulder. “Not telling me will only make it worse.” 

Thoughts of Arthur paying for such a small mistake leaves my stomach rolling in guilt. “Make what worse?” 

His expression tightens again. I wait for some kind of rebuke. Kirigan’s lips part as if he expects to criticize my naivety, but instead of speaking he turns sharply. He doesn't release his grip on my wrist as he leads me into my bathroom. 

“What are you doing?” 

Kirigan ignores my surprise, releasing me to pick up the towel I was so quick to abandon. “If you’re too good to take a healer from someone, you should at least avoid infection.” 

“I’m not an idiot, I was cleaning it.” The sharpness of my tone is ignored, Kirigan simply places one hand on my forearm to keep me in place. “Wha--”

 He brushes his thumb over my pulse gently in an effective attempt to silence me. I part my lips in hopes of protesting, but something odd reflects across his eyes. It must be some trick of the light because his expression seems...hesitant. Maybe even concerned. And then cool fabric is pressed into my burn. I bite my tongue so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t bleed. 

“Saints.” 

His expression shifts to that of almost amusement. “I think I’d like to hear you curse in a,” he exhales softly, fingertips trailing up my forearm, “Slightly different scenario.” 

The shock of such a bold innuendo clears my mind from thoughts of pain. But the most startling thing is that the innuendo isn’t entirely unwanted. In the wake of my surprise, he presses the wet towel into my wound again. I fight against a grimace, but that doesn’t go unnoticed by Kirigan. Instead of mentioning it, his free arm touches my uninjured shoulder. For the first time since he’s come here I’m aware of how improper my attire is. I changed out of my starched kefta and into a silk nightgown in order to leave my shoulder unbothered. Genya had helped me change, bearing all of my grimacing and pained curses. 

I should push him off of me. Kirigan can get away with a lot because of his status, but I by no means have to allow something like this. I should not feel shy, I should not be embarrassed. He’s the one that’s out of line. I look up into his eyes, prepared to yell at him for being so out of line. But when I meet his eyes, I see something so un-monstrous I am left breathless. There’s a gentleness to the way he tilts his head downwards, eyes never leaving mine. Is he asking for permission? Permission to--to what? I stay frozen as his lips brush against the unmarred side of my collarbone. His touch is almost enough to make me forget pain ever existed. He pulls away enough that I can feel his breath against the base of my neck. Thoughts I’d never dare speak are banished as the towel presses against my skin again. My face cringes immediately, but he’s quick to press his lips to the base of my neck, lingering kisses melting into my skin. 

“I thought you said you were fine.” His chiding is half-hearted, whispered between two brief kisses against my bare ski. 

He dabs the towel on the burn again, but before I can think to complain, his lips are against my skin again. This time, his lips part slightly allowing his teeth to graze over my pulse. Kirigan pulls away slightly, expression hardening, “I’m almost sorry about this part.” His words leave him in a whisper as influential as sin. 

“What part?” My voice feels foreign in my throat. 

Kirigan doesn’t reply, but then I feel the sharpest pain yet. The towel is cleaning the worst of the burn, the ruined patch of skin that will never recover without supernatural intervention. The gasp I let out is that of a bird with shattered wings. A cry forms in the base of my throat, but before it can leave me, Kirigan’s teeth bite into the skin above my pulse. The pained sound is reduced by my shock, twisting in an odd combination of some kind of pained sound and something dangerously close to a moan. 

He releases me with one last soft brush of his lips, straightening his back and retracting the towel. “There.” Kirigan drops the towel onto the bathroom counter. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

I can still feel the ghost of his lips, tongue, and teeth against my skin. I understand now. Each kiss had been a way to distract me, to lessen the pain. Something odd swells in my chest as I try to will my eyes to stop watering in pain. 

Kirigan presses his lips together, pressing his hand against my cheek again. His thumb brushes the few stray tears that escape me. “Don’t cry,” his tone is pure velvet, “I won’t tolerate tears in your eyes caused by anyone else.” He tilts his head oddly, hand sliding down my cheek before gripping my jaw, “I can provide reason for your tears if you’d like.” 

Inhaling deeply, I continue to stare at him. Today has been so sudden. He’s flirted with me through strangely sexual insults and threats before, but never has he been so forward about it. 

“I’m fine,” I force my voice to remain clear. He nods once. A soft rap at my door has me turning away from him. “The healer--I shoul--” 

“Come in,” he calls, voice clear and leaving no room for argument. 

My eyes widen. To be caught with him here could be detrimental for my reputation. Kirigan pulls away, something sharp playing at his features, something almost humorous. 

He leaves the bathroom like this is his own room. “Her wound is clean, work quickly.” I walk out of the bathroom in a strange trance. Kirigan’s gaze lands on me as I enter the main part of my room, “I need her at her full strength for what I have planned.” 

There’s a heaviness to his words, a weight that tells me he means more than what his words imply. Goosebumps erupt across my skin as I try to banish the thoughts of his mouth against my skin between inflictions of pain, blending together to create the most intense sense of fight or flight I’ve ever experienced. 

Kirigan begins to approach the door to my room. “I’ll be checking on her later.”

--

People that asked to be tagged in this/expressed interest:

@luminous-99 @voyevoda-thejoy @voidmalfoy @i-padfootblack-things @all-art-is-quite-useless @buckverse @mandowh0re @uhanddreag  

@we-love-our-bandz 

[whatisthiswritingthing]

Get Over Yourself - Lindsey Horan x Reader

Prompt: The Great Horan x reader? Where she and R aren’t a thing, but there are some feelings there. R always flirts with her and asks her out a lot, but Lindsey always rejects her. Eventually, R stops doing it bc she doesn’t want to continue being hurt and disappointed by the rejection. So, when R gets shipped with another teammate (you decide) by the fans, R has to flirt with them as PR stunt. Lindsey gets jealous and realizes that she wants to be the only one R flirts with. Cue an angsty fight between the two until she finally tells R how she feels and they make up.

“Hey Linds, do you believe in love at first sight?” Y/N smirked, slowly walking past Lindsey, pausing, waiting for the midfielder to acknowledge her. Once Lindsey looked up, cocking her head to the side, she continued, “or do you need me to walk by again?” Y/N winked, giving a slow, dramatic strut past.

Several players rolled their eyes, some boo’ing, while others squirted Y/N with water. Lindsey just rolled her eyes, fighting a smirk, “come on, let’s pass,” she reached a handout for Y/N to help tug her up.

Y/N grasped the offered hand, tugging Lindsey to a standing position. Lindsey, not expecting Y/N to actually pull her up, pushed herself up at the same time, crashing her body into Y/N’s.

“If you wanted to feel me up, you just had to ask,” Y/N smirked, hands on either of Lindsey’s hips to help steady her.

“You gotta buy me dinner first for that,” Lindsey gave Y/N a gentle shove to the chest before jogging away, tapping a ball with her.

“Yea?” Y/N hesitated, biting her lip, watching the blonde to see if she was serious or not. The friends had such a flirtatious relationship, the lines between friends and more had been blurred, were blurred. Hands would wander, hugs lingered, eyes always finding each other in crowded rooms. Y/N was the first person Lindsey would seek out when she needed to talk about something, needed comfort, or just needed to hear Y/N’s voice.

Anyone watching the two women could easily interpret the interactions would assume the friends were a couple. But they weren’t. The concept of a romantic relationship had never been discussed. Y/N had been working to feel out if it was more than harmless flirting for Lindsey, like it was for herself. But their friendship had been like this for so long, Y/N didn’t know how Lindsey felt.

Y/N knew how she felt, how she couldn’t help be drawn to Lindsey, and would be more than willing maintain the friendship as long as it meant she still got to be with the midfielder. Worried if Lindsey knew the true intention behind Y/N’s flirting it would push her away.

Y/N was brought out of her musings when Lindsey flipped a ball into her stomach.

“We playing or not you weirdo?” Lindsey smirked.

“Oh yea,” Y/N kicked the ball back, still only half paying attention. Her thoughts still on her feelings for the blonde, distracted by Lindsey implying she might want to go for dinner with Y/N, “so you, me, dinner. Then you can feel me up as much as you want,” the soccer player smirked, but her eyes critically watching the midfielder.

Lindsey scoffed, rolling her eyes, “What, like a date?” thinking it was a joke, laughed, juggling the ball a few times before passing it back, “like I would ever date you,” she continued to laugh alone.

Y/N felt her entire body heat up. Lindsey thought it was a joke. A joke they would ever date. That she was a joke, the concept of them as a joke, “hey, I was just trying to give you free access to touch all this,” she awkwardly motioned the length of her body, “your loss, “she tried to play it off, hoping her voice sounded more nonchalant than it really felt.

Thankfully, Y/N was saved from having to hear what Lindsey would say or do by practicing beginning.

For the next two hours, it was Y/N could do to avoid Lindsey. Switching lines for drills, have to re-tie her cleats several times, even requesting more work with the defenders to avoid all the midfielders. Everyone gave Y/N strange looks when she darted away at the water break and Lindsey reached out to touch a bruise forming on Y/N’s leg.

Somehow, Y/N managed to avoid the team for the next two days. Arriving just on time to meetings, meals, and practices. Leaving as soon as she could. She spent two days putting in extra workouts, extra training, or just wandering the mall. Anything that would keep her put of the hotel and away from the team. She was only trying to avoid the blonde, but she knew it was near impossible to avoid one person in the close group of women.

“Y/L/N!” one of the media coordinators called her as she tried to rush out of another meeting on the third day, “you and Mewis are up for media, let’s go.”

“Fuck” Y/N mumbled, slowly turning around to follow the media person.

“Don’t sound so excited!” Kristie slung an arm across Y/N’s shoulders, “we’re both hot, funny, and supposedly really good at soccer. We are a triple threat!” she tugged Y/N to a stop to jump on her back for a piggy back ride, “we get stuck, just flex these guns,” Kristie teasingly squeezed Y/N’s arms, “and they’ll all be so distracted we can just run away.”

That drew a genuine laugh from the soccer player, she tightened her hold under the blondes’ legs and carried her into the media room.

The media team all laughed as the pair walked in, Kristie having wrapped her legs around Y/N’s waist and around her shoulders., holding so tightly Y/N didn’t need to hold her. Looking similar to koala on a branch.

“USWNT presents ‘Koala or Kristie’. Where we show you a picture and you decide if it’s a koala or a Kristie,” Y/N announced to the media staff as she turned so Kristie could let go and drop right into the chair. When Kristie didn’t let go right away, Y/N reached behind her and began tickling the blonde until her grip let go and she fell into the chair.

The staff all laughed at the pairs antics, “you guys are already live,” one called while the two finished settling into the chairs, handing a phone over so they could read the questions being sent in.

Y/N smirked while she scrolled through the comments, letting Kristie introduce them and officially start their session.

“Alright Y/N/N,” Kristie leaned into Y/N’s side to attempt to read the phone and choose a question, “start off with a good one.”

“I have one of my own before I get to the fan ones,” Y/N giggled, grinning at the blonde while she tugged the phone away, “do you think you have the right koala-fications?”

Kristie stared at Y/N before glancing to the media staff behind the camera, “I think I’m busy today guys, I am available when I can do this with anyone else.”

Y/N maintained a serious expression, “that answers that, Kristie Mewis does not have the right koala-fications,” she began scrolling through the phone looking for a real fan question while Kristie turned and mock gasped at Y/N, “if I could play any other sport professionally, I would be a basketball player,” she continued on, ignoring Kristie staring at her.

Y/N deliberately focused on the phone, waiting for Kristie to say anything, her serious expression slipping and a smirk cracking through.

Kristie shook her head, “no way you could be a basketball player, you’re way too short,” she held a hand up next to her, drastically exaggerating Y/N’s height.

“But I’ve got mad hops, and big feet!” Y/N put her hands under her knee and lifted her leg, so her foot was in view of the camera.

“That just means you have big feet, not that it will make you a good basketball player,” Kristie laughed, pushing Y/N’s foot away from her.

“My mom said I’ll grow into them, there’s still a chance,” Y/N shrugged her shoulders. She knew she wouldn’t get any taller, but it was fun working Kristie up.

“You’re 28, you’re not growing into your feet at this point,” Kristie rolled her eyes, shaking her head, “read a question!”

Much of their live session went that way, very few questions being answered. The friends easily distracted, telling stories or just bantering, forgetting the camera was there entirely.

By the end of the say, the video had been picked apart, screenshots were made, and new a secret couple was formed.

Y/N had gone back to avoiding the team, her thoughts even more jumbled now that everyone assumed she was with Kristie. She didn’t have feelings for Kristie, she loved her like a friend and loved their easy going dynamic, but it would never be anything more that. And she knew Kristie felt the same.

“You’re avoiding me,” Lindsey said as greeting when Y/N walked into her room the next day.

“Fuck!” Y/N stepped back into the closed door, her body crashing against it, “what the fuck Lindsey?” she stomped further into the room.

“You’re avoiding me,” Lindsey repeated, sitting in a chair in the corning, watching Y/N move around the room.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Y/N continued to rummage around the room, mindlessly moving things around in order to look busy, “how’d you get into my room?”

“Kicked your rookie out, convinced the poor kid medical needed to redo their testing,” she answered quickly, “you’re avoiding me,” she said it a third time.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Y/N began to refold her suitcase to keep her hands busy and continue to avoid looking at the blonde critically staring at her, “but just to clarify, if I was, you thought the solution was to corner me in my room?”

“Is this because of practice the other day?” Lindsey pushed out of the chair and closed the distance between them, “because I know I’ve felt you up for less than dinner before,” she chuckled softly, stepping close, pressing her body against y/N’s placing a handout to land low on Y/N’s hip.

Y/N abruptly dropped the shirt she was folding and took two large steps away from Lindsey, “Fuck Lindsey, it’s not always about you. I’m not avoiding you. I haven’t hung out with anyone else,” she snapped, her jaw clenching while she stared hard at Lindsey.

Lindsey stared wide eyed at the sudden outburst before gathering herself, snapping back, “yet, Kristie gets to hang all over you.”

“You hang all over me all the time Lindsey, it’s the same thing. Besides, it was for the live thing we did,” Y/N didn’t know what she was so angry all of a sudden. She was avoiding Lindsey and Lindsey was just calling her out on the immature behaviour. Y/N really didn’t understand why she was upset, Lindsey had a right to confront her avoidance. Y/N was the one that had decided to pull away when it seemed Lindsey didn’t see their friendship as anything more. But what Y/N really didn’t understand, was why Lindsey was so upset about Kristie being on her.  

Lindsey knew why she was upset. She had spent the last two days always just missing Y/N and had replayed all their interactions before Y/N seemingly disappeared. The only thing she could come up with when she joked about them going out and shooting down Y/N’s dinner invite. Then she watched the live session Y/N did with Kristie, a few other players planning on throwing in their own obscure questions. The feeling she got in her chest watching Y/N carry Kristie in was a feeling she couldn’t place; she’d never felt it before.

Jealously was what Alex said.

Longing was what Kelley said.

Infatuation was what Rose said.

Gross was what Sam said, thinking it was directed at her sister.

Realization was what Sonnett said.

She sat silent the entire time, that feeling growing throughout. She ruminated on what her friends. None of the words fit, yet, they all fit. That was the problem, they all fit. She was realizing her feelings for Y/N. She was infatuated with how effortlessly funny she was. Longed to be the one Y/N was making smile the way she was making Kristie smile. And she jealous Kristie got to be the one Y/N was with while she had been avoided for two days.

So, Lindsey knew why she was upset. She was frustrated at herself because she wanted to tell Y/N how she felt but she couldn’t get the words out. Could only make a joke that didn’t end up being a great joke because now Y/N was upset too.

“Get over yourself Lindsey. You don’t get a say in who hangs on me and who doesn’t,” Y/N said, her voice had started firm, but sounded defeated by the end. She looked down before shuffling back to the bed to resume folding her clothes.

“But what if I did?” Lindsey rushed out, crinkling her face at how that sounded, implying Y/N was something someone controlled, “fuck, that came out wrong! I meant, I want hang all over you and you to hang all over me. And dinner, so I can feel you up. And I don’t want you avoiding me anymore.”

Y/N’s hands paused while she folder her shirt, before continuing, her eyes never leaving the shirt, “Lindsey, you don’t get to come in here pissed at me because you got jealous, then expect things to be alright.”

“I don’t want that or expect that! Yes, I got so jealous when I saw you and Kristie together and I didn’t even understand what it meant. But then I figured it out, I wanted all our banter and jokes about being together to be real. I don’t want to call you at the end of bad day, because I won’t have to because you’ll be in the bed next to me,” Lindsey saw Y/N’s hands stop moving and the shirt slip back on top of the suit case, Y/N’s arms dropping to her side, but she still wouldn’t look up.  

Lindsey took a tentative step closer, not wanting to spook the girl away like she had initially.

“I want it all to be real. I want everything we had a couple days ago again, but I want it to be real and more. I want this gross longing feeling to stop because I have you again,” taking a risk, she gently held Y/N’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

Y/N squeezed back before letting go, “Linds, just because you got jealous doesn’t me this is what you want. You like the idea of me, you don’t like me. And we can try and go back to how it was before, but my feelings are real, Lindsey, I know how I feel about you.”

“My feelings are real too!” Lindsey gripped Y/N’s hand again, tight, “this isn’t just me being jealous, watching you with Kristie was just what I needed to realize that I was just too scared to admit how I felt about you. I know how I feel about you,” she finished with conviction, reaching for other hand and squeezed both tight.

“Ok,” Y/N nodded, seeing the sincerity on Lindsey’s face.

“Ok?”

Lindsey was confused, she poured her heart out and she gets is ok?

“I don’t know your feelings Linds, but I trust you, and if you say they are real, then they’re real,” she smiled.

“So, can I take you for dinner?” Lindsey asked, still shy even though she knew the answer would be yes.

“And you can feel me up all you want after.”

[lilac-writes]

Good god I feel the need to yell at you!!!!

I just spent the las 3 days binging your Haikyuu!! works, I can't even begin to explain to you what you did to me. Okay so I first read "It Wasn't Meaningless", a long time ago, but since I binged HQ two months ago I have ventured in the various (so many) ships, and it has been so much fun! So one day, when I felt like I was neglecting my SNS brainrot, I went to my bookmarks and saw "It Wasn't Meaningless", so ofc I read it again, it's like religion at this point (seriously that fic is a masterpiece👏(I have also read some of your GaaLee and they are also amazing!)), and imagine my delight when I found that you also write HQ, I was so happy and excited! Now, up until that point, I had only ventured with KageHina, IwaiOi and KuroKen, it's not like I didn't liked the other ships it's just that there's so many I wanted to take it slow, so I decided to ventured with your TsukkiYama and your UkaTake and THAT'S WHERE IT ALL CHANGED! You made me ship them so hard, I kid you not, I've been reading them nonstop! (If you have recs of both ships I'd love to read them💘)

I can't explain how much I loved your TsukkiYama detective fic, it was hilarious and so dynamic, you had my full attention, evey turn, it was an amazing read, I have read it like 3 times already. Your UkaTake fics are such a vibe! I really really love how you write them, you have a great grasp on their characterization, it's just so good!!

But the one who takes the crown for me it's No Angels Could Beckon Me Back. THAT, THAT FIC, UGHHHH you had me pulling my hair, the characterization, the angst, the feelings, you had me screaming at my phone in a literal sense, I can't believe how good it was, I was pulling my hair, with a lump around my throat, and the biggest relief at that ending, it was just perfect 😭 (I left you a little comment in that one, I hope you read it but don't feel pressured, that's why I'm here 😂) So I guess I just wanted to let you know that I loved every work in your HQ repertoire, I will definitely stick around for more bc I can't get enough! If you decide to bless this world with your talent I'll be there front row, thanking you for making me so happy with your stories 🧡🧡🧡

I also hope you're doing great irl, and when ever you post is okay, I know life happens and, when you decide to post and write you'll have me there, in no way this is me telling you to post more or telling you what ships to write, write and post what you want, when you want it, regardless of that, I know it'll be good ✨

sghjkghsjfh hello!!

Sorry for taking a hundred years to answer; things have been way too busy lately. But this message, and the lovely comment you left on NACBMB, have made my entire week!

I'm so happy you've been enjoying my fics! And that I got you reading tsukkiyama and and ukatake! I love those ships immensely and definitely have more planned for the future. Please feel free to yell at me about those, I could use some motivation from time to time lol.

But I'm just soooo glad that NACBMB is still being appreciated. That fic started as just an inkling of an idea based on a friend's sketch and then consumed my life for several months. I literally thought about it every waking moment while I was writing it. I still think it's one of my best works to date. So just thank you so much for reading it!

I hope you're doing great as well, and I'm hoping to have another chapter of my ongoing work up soon (soon, I swear!).

[wearywinchester]

Tempers

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: When a hunt goes wrong, anger flares and feelings come out.

Requested by Anonymous: This is sooo ''let's pretend they're all alive' but I think we all need something nice now, could you do one where reader is bobby's daughter and she's your typical I like makeup, short skirts and heels girl and they're all (reluctantly) working with the ghost facers for a case, dean gets protective around her bc she's bobby's daughter and not at all bc he likes her no no what gave you that idea hehehe

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: little bit of jealousy, injuries, mentions of blood, swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, fluff, kissing

Hunting with the Winchester’s.

No matter the case, hunting with those two never failed to be interesting. You’d like to think you were a good hunter, in fact you knew you were. You might not have been the best there is but there’s not one hunter out there that hasn’t made a handful of mistakes on the job. It was bound to happen sometime. But you’ve had a pretty good hunter to learn from—your dad.

He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of you hunting, not in the slightest and he tried his hardest to get you to go another direction with your life. But Bobby Singer was as stubborn as they come, so he should’ve expected his daughter to be just the same as himself. With all of the reluctance in the world, he taught you to be the hunter you are today, and that’s something he can feel confident in even though he might not admit it.

Dean hadn’t taken you too seriously the first time you’d accompanied them on a hunt for a vamp nest, treating you as if you were a child despite the mere one year age difference the two of you held. That quickly changed when you saved him from a great deal of danger that night; three vamps against a disarmed Dean surely wouldn’t have gone very well.

That was something you very much held over his head, giving it a good long while before you finally let him live it down save for a few mentions here and there.

Even then Dean was just as protective as he’d been since you were teens nearly ten years ago, you were Bobby’s daughter. That was always his reasoning for insisting you stay close to him on hunts, for losing his temper should the smallest of things happen to you. That was his reasoning for being adamant that you stay back on hunts he deemed too dangerous, trying his hardest to convince Bobby to stick with him on it. Bobby never disagrees with his reasoning, but he also knows you’re too stubborn for your own good.

Dean was the very same way.

The old house looked like something straight out of a movie, the stereotypical haunted house as boards stick haphazardly over broken windows and the grass is far too overgrown. Nearly every corner was littered with spiderwebs, the siding on the house covered in years of neglected dirt and moss. It was only perfectly fitting that it’d be haunted, otherwise that’d be a waste of an abandoned house.

You squinted up at it as you got out of the backseat of the Impala, turning back to look at the long driveway you’d just driven up, lined with old trees on either side before glancing back at the house. Your gaze shifts to Dean as you smooth out your jacket, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a grin.

“What?” You ask, eyes narrowed as you look up at the older Winchester.

“Nothing,” he chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a pair of those ridiculously tall heels on. I have to say I’m shocked.”

You roll your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek as he nudges the toe of your tattered old boots, his smile still remaining as he looks down at you in amusement.

“Well I guess I’m full of surprises then, aren’t I?” You say as you rub your gloss in with a smack of your lips and brush past him to get to catch up to Sam, the smile you’d tried to stifle now tugging at your lips once your back was to him. But he knew it was there just as much as you saw his was when you turned back around to catch his expression.

He chuckled, brows soon furrowing as he shook his head. “Wait—what’s that supposed to mean?”

He slung his bag over his shoulder and quickened his pace, grumbling to himself about what your words could have meant as his brows furrowed. In a matter of moments you nearly smack into Sam, stopping just in time.

“What is it?”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean mutters, and when you look at him that crease between his brows deepens and his jaw tenses, eyes rolling and you follow his gaze to the ever familiar van that sat parked on the other side of the trees. “Looks like the ghostbusters beat us to it.”

Ghostfacers.

You were more than surprised when Dean had caved on working the hunt with them, not without a couple of eye rolls and a few choice words for the pair mumbled not so discreetly under his breath. But all things considered, after what happened the last time, you were surprised he’d gone through with it. Although, Harry and Ed weren’t planning on leaving anyway. They may have been more than just a little intimidated by that ever famous Dean Winchester glare, one that never worked on you, but they weren’t scared enough to back down much to Dean’s dismay.

The more people there were, the better, but that didn’t stop the older Winchester from being protective over you. In fact, you were certain he was even more so.

“Stay with me,” Dean said, his words serious as he put his arm out in front of you, his gaze over at the two less than desired guests and their cameras having been less than pleased. Especially with the way they smiled at you and acted like a couple of fools with a crush.

“What am I five, Dean?” You say, pushing his arm down as you quicken your pace to walk with him rather than behind him.

He narrows his eyes down at you as his lips purse till those dimples appeared that you’ve come to know oh so well, and rarely were they not from discontentment.

“Would you slow down?” He huffs, a smile tugging at your lips.

You sigh, shaking your head in amusement.

You failed to miss the way the back of his hand had brushed over your knuckles as you walked along the shadowed hallway, thick with cobwebs and rubble scattering across the scratched wood floors. You were starting to wonder if the action was a simple accident or if he’d felt the same spark of something you couldn’t quite pinpoint in his chest as you felt in yours.

It could have been nothing, probably was, but you shook it off when you turned around the corner and tried not to think about it again.

The hunt was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be a simple salt and burn, and it was one spirit against five people. Harry and Ed weren’t the best of help, not really, but it was more than you walked in with and it should have been better. But it wasn’t.

The spirit turned out to be far more vengeful than she let on, and as Dean suspected, it wasn’t a good idea to split up. Not in a house that was three times bigger than it seemed with a more than violent spirit on the loose. It most certainly didn’t help that the sun had finally dipped below the horizon, the house dark enough to begin with even in daylight, it’s boarded up windows and burnt out lightbulbs working against you.

Had you not been there, Dean would more than readily have split up to cover more ground with the extra set of hands accompanying you this time, it only made sense to do so. But you were. You were there and you were just as stubborn as ever as you stood there in favor of the very idea that was just the opposite of what Dean wanted. What was a good idea to you and one to most was the worst thing he could possibly think of. He didn’t want you to stray far from him for reasons he’d never admit, not to you or himself, instead reasoning with a simple ‘because I said so’.

But that phrase didn’t work on you. It never did.

He knew. From the moment those two barreled down the stairs looking paler than the spirit you were after, holding all the hesitancy in the world in their body language he knew. The apologetic look Sam had given him wasn’t one that helped either, anger quick to spark within him as he closed his eyes for a moment. He should have known better than to believe they’d offer you any form of protection even though he knows you can hold your own. He should have known better than to quit arguing with you on the matter because maybe, just maybe you’d have given in and split up with him instead. Maybe you would still be with the group and not who knows where in this maze of a run down mansion.

It was a mess of maybe’s and what if’s that clouded his every thought.

But he didn’t argue and you were gone. You were swept away by Casper the not so friendly ghost and he was to blame. Bobby would be livid if he knew, he gets that, but Dean himself didn’t know what he’d do if something happened. He could deal with the wrath of Bobby Singer any day but he couldn’t deal with even just the thought of something happening to you and he couldn’t find it in him to grasp just why it was he felt that way. Maybe he could, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

“You what?” Dean asked, anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. His question was low and the two words were more than venomous, more than telling of just how angry he’d been. He heard exactly what Ed had told him not thirty seconds before, he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He could believe it actually, because it was Ed of all people, but that wasn’t the point.

Ed swallowed thickly and offered a nervous laugh in an attempt to stave off the tension that’d been building the moment they came back to Dean without you, backing up from the green eyed Winchester who’d been staring him down with a narrowed gaze. It wasn’t hard to see that his patience was wearing thin, and he knew he was pushing it the more he stalled. “She—she went ahead! It’s not like we could talk her out of it!”

His fists clenched and relaxed at his sides at the reasoning he just heard, crescent shaped imprints of his nails left behind on his palms in the wake of his increasing anger.

“You let her out of your sight?” He said, far louder than before. He grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pushed him against the dilapidated old wall, the wood creaking under the newfound pressure against it and a cloud of dust forming. He’s more than tense as Dean crinkles his shirt between his fists, knuckles ivory white and jaw clenched tightly. He could see every freckle and every ounce of emotion in Dean’s eyes, that’s how close he was. He could see the angry quiver in his bottom lip and the flare of his nostrils, could feel his breath hitting his face as he stood pinned to the wall and his glasses even fogged up.

“What, you thought you’d play ‘Mr. Tough Guy’, try and protect her? Huh? Cause you sure as hell didn’t do a good job,” Dean grits out frustratedly.

“She said she’d kick my ass if I didn’t let her go ahead!” He splutters, nearly nose to nose with him.

Dean nodded, the smile on his face bitter as he slid his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” he says, sweating bullets by that point as he buckled under the pressure of Dean’s distress. He let out a noise when he shook him slightly and he knows that’s not the answer Dean needs to hear right now. “We were on the second floor when a door slammed around the corner!”

“Actually, they all closed so it’s kinda hard to tell which one,” Harry chimed in, growing timid the more he spoke as he stepped closer to Sam as some form of protection. He scratched the back of his neck and laughed nervously when Dean’s stare fell on him.

“Dean, we’ll find her, okay? Right now we’re just wasting time,” Sam says, noting Ed was two seconds from fainting from the anger radiating off the older Winchester.

Dean pushed him back once more before releasing his grip on his shirt, wrinkled and disheveled from the tightness of his fists. It was becoming increasingly more apparent that this was about more than just protecting Bobby Singer’s daughter. It was about more than just his annoyance with anything and everything that has to do with Ghostfacers. It was you.

He was angry, livid, as he snagged the flashlight from the table, storming off on his own. Not without his anger getting the better of him, a nearby chair taking the brunt of his frustration as it hits the wall. He remembers just what happened the last time he got stuck working a hunt with them, and he tried his hardest not to think about it.

Meanwhile, you found yourself stuck locked in a room you knew you weren’t in before you were taken. A room you didn’t even know existed in this house to begin with. For being a run down old building, the flimsy doors were stronger than they looked, but you suppose the powers of the supernatural didn’t really care about things like that.

Your knuckles were an angry shade of red, fists sore and throbbing from having pounded them against the door for the better part of what had to be ten minutes in an attempt to escape or at least grab someone’s attention. You were tired as you slumped back against the wall, tucked within the sparse circle of salt you managed to make. Your phone was dead and your flashlight was gone, your energy seemingly just as drained as everything else.

You could feel the I told you so’s coming from Dean, you knew they’d be there ready and waiting if you get out of this. It’s not like it had been completely undeserved, but you didn’t want to hear it. You knew you more than likely looked worse for wear as you sat within that circle, knew by the way you saw smears of crimson on your fingers when you wiped your cheek. It was no secret that you messed up big time with this one, you’d admit that, but admitting it to yourself didn’t help you in that moment and you certainly wouldn’t say it to Dean.

You found there were a lot of things you were hesitant on admitting to Dean, and in the current moment you weren’t so sure if you’d have the chance to bring any of them to light. Maybe it was for the best anyway, could save yourself the embarrassment of having feelings for the older Winchester in the first place. Though you can’t tell what was scarier, the thought of his inevitable discontent with you and your hunting capabilities should you make it out alive, or the very real possibility that you wouldn’t make it out alive.

Yeah, you definitely couldn’t decide that one.

You weren’t sure how or when you found yourself pining over green eyes; the two of you bickered more often than not each and every time you saw one another. If it wasn’t over the smell of your perfume filling up the Impala, it was the way his cologne hung on you after he gave you a hug just to make that happen, just to ruffle your hair after you’d just done it. It was the softer smiles you shared with each other without even realizing it.

But it didn’t really matter, not now it didn’t.

You were caught up with the sting of embarrassment coursing through you from having gotten lost in the first place—you were so adamant that you could do it on your own. It happens to Sam all the time, it happens to Dean all the time, but you couldn’t stop the heat burning in your cheeks or the frustration building in your stomach.

You didn’t know how much time had passed nor did you have a second to think on it before she appeared in front of you in a matter of seconds. The look on her face had you sitting a little straighter, back pressing to the wall behind you as you eyed the pitiful salt ring around you. She laughed tauntingly and you were beginning to think even that wouldn’t protect you, you knew it wouldn’t judging by the way each and every granule began to sift away and break apart it’s protective ring.

You swallow thickly as your eyes widened, both your gaze and hers shifting to the door briefly as it rattled. “Y/n?”

Your breath hitched, only the smallest bit of relief washing over you as her attention returned to you almost immediately. “Dean!”

She didn’t seem to mind his attempts at busting the door down, nor the axe that split through the wood. She knew full well she could send him across the room with a simple twitch of her finger should he break through, watching as you scramble to your feet.

In a matter of seconds she’d appeared mere inches from you, her hand grabbing your face, cold and unforgiving. You didn’t know just what it was she’d been doing, but you were more than aware of the pain beginning to lance through you the moment she touched your skin.

It was near unbearable, a sharp burn radiating through you as a pressure squeezed in on you, intense and unwavering. You were quite sure you’d never felt something so intensely, the feeling nearly taking your breath away. Of all the hunts you’d been on, of all the injuries you walked away with, they’ve got nothing on this.

One thing she didn’t count on was the handful of salt you gathered in your palm, too caught up in your demise to see you’d snagged it from the protective ring she broke. You pressed your hand to her wrist and watched her face twist and contort in discomfort, the action searing her arm where you’d touched it and releasing her grip on you in an instant as if you were venomous.

She pushed you to the wall in retaliation with a simple move of her hand, and if you thought she’d been angry now, you surely were mistaken. You groaned as the fragile old wall behind you cracked and crumbled around you, slumping on the ground once more in exhaustion. You caught sight of Dean’s face as the door began to give way, livid yet holding something you couldn’t quite place as your heart hammered in your chest.

But luck seemed to be on your side just this once, fear flashing across her face as she stood mere inches from you. Her yelp was shrill as she stumbled backwards, having burned up in a blaze of misery and screams. Your chest heaved as your shoulders slumped in relief, the heat of her disappearance having fanned over you and the door breaking loose in a heap of shards and splinters.

The pain she’d caused had begun to ebb away and subside, leaving the ache to remain and the fatigue you felt to rest heavier in your body as you stood to your feet with a bit of unbalance.

Dean had crossed the room in a matter of a few strides, the axe clattering to the floor as his hand settled on your cheek. You looked miserable, mascara smudged and a frown on your busted lip.

“You okay?” He asked, the furrow deep between his brows.

“Do not say ‘I told you so’,” you grumble, half humorous as you look up at him.

His lips purse, his thumb swiping over the cut running along your cheek that he was less than pleased about. Any other time he might’ve laughed, but not this time. The worried crease between his brows and the way his lips pointed downward at the corners had been telling enough that he wasn’t happy with the predicament you’d gotten yourself into, that he was the complete opposite of thrilled at the close call that had his heart pounding and his stress in overdrive. But right now he was relieved. You were here and you were okay, attitude and all.

Sam was first to rush in, Harry next and Ed hot on his heels as they stepped over the rubble and splinters of the broken door.

Ed’s own relief washed over him, happy to not be on the receiving end of an angry Dean Winchester’s punch. “You found her—”

“Shut it.”

It’d been quiet the whole car ride home, no music on the radio, no conversation, no quick witted jokes or typical conversation. It was quiet and it was tense, near uncomfortable as Sam was stuck in the tension between two people he knows have something brewing between them. But he said nothing, pretending he didn’t see the way his brother’s gaze flickers to the rear view every other minute to see if you’re okay, his jaw tense and his grip on the wheel nearly too tight.

Bobby wasn’t thrilled to see the way that spirit roughed you up, more than a few choice words thrown Dean’s way with anger in his tone. He expected that much, having braced for it the whole ride back. He didn’t argue, didn’t do much more than nod and clench his jaw, and he didn’t say just how it was that it happened in the first place either.

Now you were wandering through your dad’s house, quiet unlike it had been just two hours earlier. Your dad and Sam had both been asleep, the early hours of dawn beginning to roll around as dawn approached. You knew better than to believe Dean would be sleeping too, your thoughts confirmed when the door to the bedroom he’d been crashing in was still open, bed empty and still untouched from when he’d haphazardly made it the morning before.

You sighed when you saw him, sitting by himself on the back porch swing and the moment you stepped outside you saw the half-drunk bottle of beer in his hand. His gaze lifted to you when he heard the creak of the door, averting his stare moments later.

“It’s late, sweetheart. Go to bed.”

“Then why aren’t you in bed?”

“Not tired,” he says, tipping his bottle against his lips as he takes another sip of his beer.

You huff out a soft sigh, arms crossing over your chest. That’s when he looks at you again, the dimness of the porch light having illuminated the jagged scratch on your cheek, freshly cleaned as well as the mascara that smudged under your eyes earlier. The tension in his jaw had yet to go away, obvious as ever.

“Are you going to be mad at me forever then?”

“‘M not mad anymore,” he says, and you knew for a fact that’d been a lie.

“You’re not that good a liar, Dean,” you say, watching him set his drink down and stand to his feet, leaning his weight on the wooden railing. “I had it handled, you know,” you say, watching his expression sour at your words.

You heard his scoff as you brushed past him, a sigh leaving your lips because you knew he’d react just the way he’d been acting. You were right with him, you were always right.

“Had it handled, my ass,” he said, quick to follow after you. “I told you not to do that.”

“Yeah, well I did it,” you said, and he turned in front of you and spun around, keeping you from walking any further.

“Would you quit it with the tough guy act? You’re hurt and you damn well know it, I know it. Hell, anyone can see that. So do yourself a favor and stop pretending like you had everything under control because I know you better than to believe that.”

Your brows furrow as you look up at him with a squinted gaze, watching as his chest rises and falls, at the way there was something more than anger pooling in his eyes as he looked at you. You’ve never seen him quite this upset over you before, not really, never seen him look at you that way before. He was angry, sure he was, but it was different.

He wasn’t wrong, you were hurting, it’s not everyday you’re on the receiving end of a vengeful spirits’ wrath. You went off on your own when you shouldn’t have been so bold and daring. But you were here. You were here and you were okay and you knew you were bound to do it again on another case. It was what being a hunter is about. You didn’t get this far by sitting back and letting the monsters out there come to you, you had to go out and look for them and if you got a few bumps and bruises then so be it.

“Why are you so mad, Dean?” You ask, watching his eyes roll. “You go out and do the same reckless things on a hunt, you’ve come out on the other side way worse than I did. But since it’s me, suddenly it’s a problem.”

“Exactly, it’s because it’s you!” He repeats, frustrated as ever as he throws his hands up. “And yeah I’m mad. I’m freakin’ pissed. You come in here thinking you’re invincible and you’re not Y/n. I’m mad because…” he paused, letting out a breath as he rubbed his face, hands running through his hair.

He looked at you then, expression softening as he calmed down a fraction. “Forget it.”

“No, not forget it,” you say, grabbing his wrist as he starts to walk away. His jaw was clenched as he looked down at you, swallowing thickly as the heaving of his chest slowed and his grip on the doorknob was tighter than ever.

This was the first time since you’d gotten back that he’d looked in your eyes for longer than a mere second or two. You knew he was on the brink of storming off to sulk in his own anger and guilt because that’s what he always did. You knew there was something more to it than just what he’d told you. He’d like to think that you’d believe that he wasn’t angry anymore, that he was over it. But Sam told you what happened back there, how upset he got with Ed and just how worried he’d been. It was growing increasingly obvious that there was more to it than that.

It was then that you noticed you’d still been holding onto his wrist and he didn’t pull away from you, didn’t make a move to.

You tilted your head to the side when you mulled things over, and that was when the sudden realization hit you like a ton of bricks, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of your mouth.

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t do that thing where you try and ‘read’ me,” he says, quoting the word.

“You were scared,” you said, smile widening a bit and he huffs, pulling his arm from your loose grip. You hit the nail right on the head.

“I was just doing what Bobby asked me to do,” he says, adamant that that was his reason for being as upset as he was. Definitely not over the feelings bubbling away in the pit of his stomach, just waiting to go ahead and boil over.

“No, you were scared, De,” you say as he starts to turn away from you in an attempt to hide the smile threatening to show. “You were scared that I got lost.”

You always did that. You always took his anger and made it something else entirely and he’d try his hardest to keep that wall up. He was mad at you, mad at you for putting yourself in the same kind of danger he allows himself to be in with every hunt he does. But if you keep poking and prodding him and calling him out on his true feelings with that smile that makes him weak in the knees he does know how long he’ll last.

“You got this all wrong, sweetheart.”

“Sam told me what happened with Ed back there.”

His expression changed, softened a bit before he played it off with that familiar smirk. “Yeah, Ed’s an idiot and he pushed my buttons.”

You nodded then, your smile more than telling that you didn’t believe a word he said. You heaved a sigh, a bit of disappointment burning in your chest at his words. Because maybe you did have it all wrong, maybe his stubborn reluctance to be honest was just him telling the truth. Maybe he was just doing what your dad asked him to do. Being protective was in his nature, you knew that for a fact.

You brushed past him on the porch and headed to the door, the chirping of the early morning birds sounding and giving you enough of a reminder that maybe you should go to bed. That maybe you’ll feel better with a few hours of sleep. That maybe they would be gone, Dean would be gone by the time you woke up and you wouldn’t have to face the fluttery feeling and the ache in your heart until the next time you see him.

You spin on your heel to find him already looking, your smile soft. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Without so much as a reply you twist the old brass doorknob, pushing the back door open before his hand grips your wrist. You turned back to look at him, brows furrowed as you gazed up at him. He swallows thickly as he looks at you, lips parting to speak but the very words he’d been thinking of so vividly were stuck on the top of his tongue.

His hand loosens around your wrist and the tips of his fingers slide down to your hand to envelope yours, calloused and warm and hesitant. He takes all but a few seconds of your curious gaze, of the questions sitting on your tongue before he dips down and presses his lips on yours. It’s soft, featherlight almost as he pulls away just as quickly.

He doesn’t stray too far, his nose brushing against yours as he swallows nervously, but the sight of your smile put him at ease. Had him kissing you with just a little more vigor as his hand drops yours in favor of pressing to your cheek, your own having settled in his arm. Your smiles mingle and press into each other, the kiss soft and languid as your cheeks burned under his touch.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” You murmur, and the way he hummed softly, the way he stole another kiss in favor of admitting you were was telling enough.

He pulls back to look at you, his lips kiss swollen and pink as the beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. His eyes bounce between yours and down to your lips, looking at you once more before he kisses you again. The anger he held is quick to melt when you look at him the way you do and he hates it, he loves it but he hates it because he really should be mad. You nearly got yourself killed and here he was weak in the knees and he knows you’ll be just as brave on the next hunt. He knows you’ll do just the same thing.

“Your dad’s gonna kill me,” he mumbles, smiling against your lips.

“Probably,” you say with a grin, his quiet laughter immediate as he pulls you closer.

But you were right. There was more to it than just protecting Bobby Singer’s daughter, there always was. As stubborn as Dean Winchester could be, you knew him better than that, and he knew you better than to believe you won’t make his heart race and his worry spike on every hunt after that. It’s just in your nature to be braver than ever.

But he’ll protect you each and every time.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @lanea-1 @campingmonkey

[saturnsstufff]

okay as a chubby girl myself I struggle with how I see myself and this idea makes my heart KSHDHSJS

okay so imagine IMAGINE

Request maybe 🤔🤔🤔

Okay,, you’re standing in the mirror yk in your mirror at technos house/cottage in your underwear and stuff, grabbing at the chub and stuff looking upset and not feeling good about yourself, and techno walking into the room and seeing this. yk him being upset that you feel that way Bc he thinks youre just so pretty 🥺.

IT COULD EITHER GO INTO A SMUT( 😏 where he SHOWS you how much he loves you and how pretty he thinks you are in the mirror) OR FLUFF WITH SOFT WORDS AND CUDDLES or both idk

*slams hand on desk* IVE BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS

I went with both, because I like options. I also based this off a little personal feelings so I hope it works!

My Goddess- Technoblade

Warnings: self conscious reader, swearing, NSFW

   The mirror. Your best, but worst nightmare imaginable. Some days you could look into it and see beauty within your curves. Spend endless minutes hyping yourself up. 'Man I look good' 'I am the fucking shit' 'damn look at that' all little things you tell yourself in pride. Because in those moments, you feel powerful. In those moments you feel like you own the world, that others are just lucky to breathe within your presence.

   However, there are bad days. There are days when looking into the mirror brings shame. Days when all you can do is grab at your stomach, and ponder of what you could have done, or what you will do. Its pressed that everyone is perfect in our own imaginable ways. Yet when you look at others, you cant help but be envious. Others can get away with wearing tight clothing, baggy clothing, any type of clothing. Yet when you try it on all you see is a box, if you wear tight clothing, every roll and muffin top pops out. It can be embarrassing.

   Techno never saw your curves as embarrassing however. He loved them. He loved the plush, soft skin of your tummy or your thighs. Your hips? don't even ask what he thought on hips, as long as they were yours. They were perfect.

   With that said, when he saw you saddened about your form he was slightly hurt. You thought he was beautiful, a hybrid of a monster. But yet you couldn't find the beauty within your rolls? Your plump little form? The very thing that made up you? If he ever found out who planted these seeds of lies in your mind, he would have words.

   If you felt confident enough to take the world by the horns, he let you. He would build you up with sweet words of encouragement. 'Well don't you look amazing...' 'you are looking beautiful as ever'. They were small phrases but they meant a lot to you.

   Techno isn't verbal with his love, or compliments really. He chooses to show it, words are just that. Words. Actions are done, are shown. They are physically put into motion. That's why he prefers it. But he also understands sometimes words are needed. They are needed to ease your nerves and doubtful mind.

   when he catches you glaring at your plump form in the mirror, he cant help but quickly move to your side. Kneeling and kissing up your body. Your arms, your thighs, everything. In the beginning he would let you look away. The idea of someone liking your body type left you uncertain, many times you would ponder if his endless kisses were done as a joke. But each and every time he would reassure you that it was real. That him loving you, loving your body. It wasn't in pity, it was in genuine love.

   Tonight was one of those bad nights. With Techno in the bath, you were left to change for bed. Wait for him to come out, and then cuddle the night away until the sun kissed the horizon.

   But well you changed your eyes fell to the mirror. Your eyes casually roamed your body. You were used to looking at it so nothing stood out of course. But as you shifted, you caught a few stretch marks within the candle light. They looked like streaks of lightning that were dragged across your skin. With a quick glance away, you pulled something over your form. Wanting to cover your body and deal with that mental baggage later.

   Of course the Hybrid that stood tall within the door frame held other ideas about that moment. The one thing that always put you at ease was Techno's size. Before you were in a relationship with him, you feared you wouldn't be able to wear your lovers clothing. Being a bit plumper meant "one size fit all" did not fit all. But luckily, with your roughly 6ish/7ish foot Piglin Hybrid of a lover, all of his clothing was a bit baggy on you. Technoblade was a very Built man, this came from his never ending training and his natural born strength of course. But even with him being built and big, the first time he asked you to sit on his lap had you hesitant. What if he found you too heavy? The idea of him asking you to move off would leave you completely mentally ruined. Of course when you finally sat he didn't utter any words besides praises. His hands running gently over your thighs, with a tight grasp he kept you close. When Techno saw you ease into his lap more often, he took pride in knowing you were comfortable enough to do it on a daily basis. That was when he upped the bar again. The day he asked you to sit on his face was the day you had a heart attack. You were so paranoid you would crush him. Of course he was all bemused smirks well you tried to think of excuses. Yet this man was able to ease your nerves and reassure you until you were comfortable once again. You would never forget how giddy he was to be between your thighs. That was the day he found his favorite spot.

   Before you could ease some bottoms over your underwear, this man had his arms around you. Pushing against your hands. His nose was nuzzled into your neck muttering gently "Please, leave them off for now..." with a brow raised you complied. You let the shorts drop to the floor, assuming you would be coming for them in a brief moment. You could smell the lingering sent from his shampoo. The fresh smell giving you great comfort.

   Techno moved you back to face the mirror, his head moving briefly so he could see you face yourself. With a light stubble scratching against your neck you felt the goosebumps rise. Your eyes met his ruby ones within the mirror. "Do you know, how beautiful you are?..." he asked rhetorically. Dragging out the words that he felt were important. You wanted to say no, but knew he wouldn't want that answer.

   "I think I'm alright..." you said softly. He hummed and pressed a loving kiss to your neck. His hands slowly fell down to the buttons of the shirt you were wearing. Skillfully he undid them without thought. When you had pulled a shirt on you didn't think much, but now saw that it was his you wore. Of course he didn't mind, he never minded.

   With the buttons undone he opened the shirt to expose your naked form. Every curve and roll on sweet display for him "You are beyond 'alright'... alright is basic. You know my goddess is beyond mortal definitions..." you gave a gentle smile at his charm, glancing away from his eyes. He didn't allow this tonight however. Instead he took your jaw and gently redirected it to the mirror. Meeting his gaze again.

   "My love... My goddess, you know your body rivals the gods, yes?..." you slightly shrugged, unsure if this was true. With another loving kiss he continued. "Persephone had rolls... She was just as plump as you my love..." you fallowed his eyes gently. Him comparing you to the beautiful goddess left you feeling better. If someone so divine could have rolls why couldn't you?

   He didn't stop there however. "If you cant see your beauty. Let me show you how beautiful you are..." his tone was pleading. Like a animal begging for spare scraps. You watched his eyes, his finger and thumb having control over your chin. You thought on his words and gave a brief nod to him. Trusting him and whatever he had planned.

   Instead of immediately kissing you all over, he pulled away. Firmly telling you to keep your eyes on the mirror. You felt a bit awkward standing there, your legs shifting closer underneath you. He soon came back however, his crown in hand. You could also see he had a simple gray towel around his waist, showing he was fresh from the bath.

   Your curiosity with the crown lingered, but you watched as he put it on your head. "You are a queen... My Queen... You will always be reminded of your everlasting beauty for as long as you are with me..." for not complementing a lot, tonight he was on a roll. Your eyes ran over the crown. The delicate and bright stones contrasting the shimmering gold well against your skin.

   He walked around to the front of you, leaning down to meet your lips in a loving kiss. His hand found a firm places on your hip, and on the plush skin of your ass cheek. With a gentle, but firm grasp he moved and rolled the skin beneath his hand. Loving how soft you were. With his hands working soft whimpers and moans out of you, his mouth devoured them. Eating every noise you made, cherishing them deep within his heart.

   Leaving your lips swollen he moved down. Kissing your jaw and neck. Planning to leave you a work of art. A show of how much he loves you.

   After your neck it was your chest. Soft plump breasts fitting ever so sweetly within his hands. With firm grasps he had you flushed red whimpering. Your eyes half lidded with the sweet lingering pleasure. Yet you still watched yourself and him, knowing to not disobey him.

   With soft kisses placed to the tops of your breasts and nipples he moved to your stomach. This is where you craved to look away. Wishing to hide yourself in his neck.

   "T..T-Techno..." he hummed acknowledging your words. But he still pressed light kisses down to the hem of your underwear.

  “Keep your eyes on the mirror." He said, pulling them down. Helping you step out of the discarded clothing. You couldn't see his face. Only his backside was facing the mirror, and even then his long wet hair hid most of his toned back.

   His fingers ran through your slit briefly. His rings offered a major temperature difference between your heat and the cold metal. With a little squirm his hands moved and held you in place. Desiring to keep you in place before he moved his head in and started to devour you. Eating you out like it was his last meal on earth.

   With a ever so sinful cry, you gripped at his hair. Begging for your knee's to not give out. With one hand on his head, the other one flew to the crown on your head. Trying to keep it on well you easily hunched over from the overwhelming pleasure. Techno never failed to leave you speechless- or should we say, he never left you quiet. Even if you could see yourself, you didn't think you would be able to focus much. Your eyes were tightly shut well your mouth ran between being in a 'O' and being locked shut.

   He did pull back from your folds to speak. Earning a cry from you. You were getting close and him pulling away was painful. "You can cum. But you have to keep your eyes open" you nodded profusely. Agreeing to anything if it meant feeling his lips back on you. He lingering a moment. Making sure your eyes opened before he leaned back. Taking his time to show your clit attention before going back to his main course.

   With your eyes looking back at you. You were unsure if you were ashamed with how blissed out you looked or happy. The whole scene in itself was erotic. You were incredibly small compared to the giant between your legs. His only drive to please you completely. Your eyes never left the mirror as he ate you out to your climax. Your hips stuttering and bucking, but proving no use to his iron grip. When you came he waisted no time at cleaning it up. He had no shame, that your cum was running down his chin. He was happy when you were pleased. And he knows you are definitely pleased after that climax.

   But he wasn't finished. With your legs weakening he helped you down onto his lap. He let you collect yourself against his chest for a few moments his hand ran over your back.

   "Doin' ok there Princess?..." you nodded slowly. Your chest rising and falling fast well you try and calm yourself. "Think you can do one more?" You nodded again well he pressed a kiss to your forehead, acknowledging your response. Adjusting his crown on your head, he moved so the mirror was beside you two. Showing both of your bodies, with the towel acting as a thin barrier.

   When you both were situated he did remove the towel. With a strong arm he lifted you up and positioned his hardened cock at your entrance, wasting no spare moment to fill you up. Well you did try to hide within his neck, it proved no use. He made sure to turn your head to the mirror.

   With your eyes hitting the mirror you saw how his head was beside yours. Your cheek was pressed to his chest well his was pressed to your forehead. His eyes lingeried your body. Drowning in your blissed out form. He found you utterly perfect.

   Well your bodies were connected, it almost looked like art. With techno's sharp gaze and your blissed out reddened cheeks, the contrast was there but yet they went together in perfect harmony. With the roll of his hips he made sure to keep your eyes on the mirror. Wanting to drag out every cry and moan you could utter. He set his pace at a rhythmic thrust, wanting to not only pleasure you, but himself as well. Well you griped to his sides, he kept his hand on he back of your head gently. Wanting to keep your head facing the mirror. With sweet sinful praises he coached you to a second orgasm, his fallowing close behind. He kissed your head gently, keeping you close to him well he felt himself soften. when his eyes met yours in the mirror he smiled softly. 

“Look at how beautiful you are... Always so, so beautiful Princess...”

[ootahime]

what is utahime’s role in the future? — a prediction (manga spoilers)

part 1 (unedited)

I WAS ABOUT TO POST IT BUT I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT AND I WAS SO HURT FR!!!!! I HAD REWRITE THIS ENTIRE THING </33

part 2 is here!

in this post, i will be analyzing the information we’ve been given about utahime so far to form a prediction about her future role in the jujutsu kaisen series. if you’re as interested in utahime’s character as i am, please feel free to keep reading :3 (i’ll also be talking about her relationship with gojo a bit too)

soukatsu_ on twt!

kaikaikitan on twt!

utahime iori is a semi-grade 1 sorcerer working as a student supervisor/teacher at kyoto jujutsu high school. she loves drinking beer and going to karaoke. she’s also close friends with shoko and she’s not particularly fond of gojo most of the time. what else do we know about her?

hates sweets (funny she’s the complete opposite of gojo)

she’s great at singing and it’s a huge part of her technique

squabbling with gojo became a reflex :3

everyone absolutely adores utahime

loves watching soccer and baseball

a terrible drunk (worse than naobito zenin)

gojo is her main source of stress

let’s dive into her personality and abilities!

chapter 65

before i get into it, i think it’d be best if i were to explain the timeline because a lot of people seem to be confused about this one particular thing. utahime is born on february 18th, 1987. contrary to popular belief, she is not 3 years older than gojo. it is november 2018 in the story because gojo was sealed on halloween. if gojo was born on december 7th, 1989, that would mean that right now, he is only 28 years old. he has yet to turn 29.

the year is 2007. gojo satoru is a second year at tokyo jujutsu high school. the japanese school year begins in april which suggests that gojo is only 17 at the time (even if it’s not april, it doesn’t look like winter yet so it’s unlikely that he’s already 18). utahime is 20 because it is past february. she is a 2nd grade sorcerer at the age of 20. that’s not bad at all!

chapter 65 introduces young utahime and mei on a mission together within a cursed site. in real time, they’ve been gone for two days which is a cause of concern for gojo, shoko, and geto because the two haven’t contacted anyone since the beginning of their mission.  the two begin to suspect something is wrong because the hallway markers they’ve set in place disappeared, and no matter how far they travel within the halls, the end is nowhere in sight.  mei theorizes that the cursed spirit is overlapping the space as they travel forward.  utahime agrees with this speculation and proposes a plan to escape the cursed spirit’s grasp by moving erratically.  notice how she says that if one of them should escape, they can try to attack from the outside or call for help.  if utahime was not capable of inflicting damage on anything then she would have told mei to escape and attack if she can while she waited to be rescued.  however, she didn’t.  she included herself in the sentence which leads me to believe that she is capable of going on the offense if needed.  

keep in mind that at this point in time, mei is a grade 1 sorcerer.  she is knowledgeable about all things involving jujutsu because she is experienced and skillful.  we can see this aspect of her character illustrated when she theorizes that the cursed spirit is messing with the space they’re in.  she chooses to go with utahime’s plan because she agrees that it’s the best action moving forward.  this verifies that utahime is an intelligent girl that’s able to get along with pretty much anyone.  

her intellect is demonstrated once again in chapter 79.  she was able to deduce the possibility of there being more than one traitor and the fact that one is probably a higher up.  she also narrowed down the mechamaru as the mole of kyoto not because he was acting suspicious but by process of elimination.  she thought thoroughly of his technique and how easy it would be for him to manipulate devices small enough to be undetectable.  

sure you can argue that she should already know all her students’ abilities and whatnot but you have to admit that it’s hard trying to sniff out the traitor when no one is acting suspicious.  in addition to that, how did she know that there was a traitor in the top brass?  i would have never guessed that tbh LOL (maybe bc im an idiot).

okay, now that we have established that she’s intelligent, let’s answer a more important question.  is utahime weak?

chapter 33

if gojo calls utahime weak, does that mean there is some truth to it?  well it is true that she is weaker than him because he’s the strongest and all.  in my opinion, he’s just teasing her.  he probably found that calling her weak is what really riles her up.  maybe i’ll talk about why he loves teasing her so much in a later post.  but anyway, gojo calls everybody and their mom weak.  he even said jogo was weak and we know how powerful that guy is.  gojo’s words alone do not indicate much about utahime’s power.  in fact, i don’t even think he has seen her use her technique yet.  he’s probably only ever heard of how it works.  this is what i think their conversation about her technique was like:

gojo: hm?  ur cursed technique is singing?  can u show me?

utahime: what!  no way!  

gojo: why not?

*one of the classmates tells him that she can only use her CT once in a while because it consumes a lot of energy*

gojo: hahaha!  u have to conserve cursed energy to use ur CT?  why are u so weak, utahime?

utahime: i!  am!  your!  senpai!  respect!  me!

what i’m trying to say is that gojo loves poking fun of people.  we should not believe him when he calls someone weak because compared to him, everyone is weak.  

this is a little off topic but let’s examine him telling her, “and you don’t have the nerves, utahime.”  i think he’s trying to say that there’s no way she’ll ever do something like that because she’s not the type to put her students in danger.  remember the soft expression and relieved smile on her lips when she said that she was glad the students were safe after the kyoto incident?  gojo was directly in front of her so not only did he hear her say that, but he could have seen the look on her face too.  even if he told her that she didn’t have the guts to betray the school to get on her nerves, he knew that utahime simply cared too much about the students so he ruled her out as a suspect right away.  this is why he ultimately decided to confide in her and ask her to help him.  

i’m a person who loves over-analyzing things.  i really enjoy the dynamic between gojo and utahime.  they’ve known each other for more than 11 years and although they always bicker, there is an unspoken feeling of trust between the two.  gojo can do anything and everything by himself because he is truly the strongest person alive, but he still knows when to rely on others.  him deciding to entrust utahime with such a job implies that he believes in utahime’s abilities.

chapter 52

she’s not using any cursed energy here--not to our knowledge at least.  this is just pure skill.  she was able to swiftly evade the swing from haruta.  he was surprised himself considering the fact that he was right behind her.  how do we know her CT isn’t speed?  after haruta swung at her, we can see that some of her hair got cut off.  if she was using her CT then speed should be her specialty.  she should have been able to completely avoid the attack altogether but she didn’t.  of course this isn’t a wow moment because jujutsu sorcerers should know how to dodge attacks, however, i’m just trying to get the point across that she’s not a defenseless person without her technique or others.  let’s not forget that semi-grade 1 isn’t a weak rank either.  you can’t simply be recommended to be a grade 1 sorcerer if you only can support others.  

chapter 48

i want to bring up this panel. it suggests that utahime and takuma are sorcerers who have not experienced black flash and therefore, do not understand the essence of cursed energy as well as those who have like gojo and nanami.  i find it strange how takuma and utahime were used to represent sorcerers who haven’t experienced it yet.  is the purpose to demonstrate that there is a clear difference in skill between adult sorcerers like utahime and takuma compared to gojo and nanami?  i could be nitpicking but the order of todo’s statement doesn’t line up with the sorcerers being shown.  let me explain in depth.  todo starts off by saying, “for those who have experienced black flash as compared to those who have not...” wouldn’t it make more sense to show gojo and nanami on the right side to represent sorcerers who have experienced black flash?  that was mentioned first, after all.  gojo and nanami should appear when todo says “for those who have experience black flash” while utahime and takuma should be shown right after to personify the second part, “as compared to those who have not.”  i’m just making it more complicated than it actually is LOLOL i’m sure it really just means they haven’t experienced black flash yet, which is completely fine.  i also find it fascinating how they used utahime to contrast gojo.  with nanami and takuma it makes sense.  nanami is someone takuma looks up to, he wants to gain nanami’s approval before he deems himself worthy of a promotion. what about utahime and gojo?  what’s the purpose of comparing those two together when it’s obvious that gojo knows more about the essence of cursed energy more than anyone else?  i might be delusional whoops

----

let me know what you guys think?  this is only a part 1 so i haven’t gotten around to answering the question.  i’m pretty much done with the second part, i just need to revise it a little.  i think after i post part 2, i’ll try to interpret all the gojo and utahime moments in the manga >.<

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

idk how many people would even want to see this BUT i wanna yell about Leela and Brax so here's a list of all their scenes togethr/scenes pertainng to them that i can recall (pLEASE add on if i missed anything/ you have any additional thoughts!! i could talk about these two all day!)

right off the bat in Weapon of Choice when Leela is on the outskirts of the Citadel and Brax goes to bring her back (which is interesting in and of itself, bc usually i would imagine a chancellery guard would go do that so what made Brax decide to instead??), Leela kinda goes off at him bc she's hurting and instead of trying to actually explain what's going on Brax doesn't even try to argue he just says "we need you" which is great bc Leela has that instinctive desire to be needed and to help people and he's speaking right to that -- also as far as we know, this is Leela and Brax's first actual meeting in canon? it's implied that they know of each other, which makes sense, but it doesn't seem like they've ever directly interacted before: Brax seems almost slightly uncertain, and Leela is combative, but when he's gentle with her she's actually quite receptive

the literal next scene after that, where the OT4 is all in one room for the first time (they still kinda hate each other at this point but still !!!). Narvin explaining Gryben and being a real jerk about it and Leela (understandibly!) questions if Gryben is a prison world, and Brax (who to this point has been mostly quiet as Narvin and Romana brief Leela) jumps in to both clarify Narvin's previous xenophobic statements while also maintaining the inherent questionable/negative connotations

(btw it's actually pretty important to note that Romana self-edits herself a lot when talking to Leela, especially in the earlier seasons; you can actually hear her revising the things she says to put it in terms that she thinks Leela will better understand. and i mean she does it out of genuine consideration for her friend associate but it often comes across as varying levels of patronizing. Narvin also obviously "dumbs things down" when dealing with Leela early on, but like... Brax never does that on any level. the only difference i can tell in how he addresses Leela vs how he talks to anybody else is that he seems much more kind with her than almost anyone else???)

their conversation about the Matrix in The Inquiry: this is REALLY important (and if you've ever talked to me on ao3 i've probably gone off to you about it lol) because it's layered. they're talking about the Matrix but they're also not because in answering Leela's question Brax is making a very thinly veiled allegory (which he outright states a minute later) to Time Lord society/politicians/most importantly HIMSELF -- he's actually strangely open about his morals/beliefs in this scene and i'm living for it tbh -- and i find it very interesting that even though he does directly explain what he means ("how do you know all this?" / "because i am a politician.") he also leaves it for Leela to work out the implications. like it's a very nuanced conversation bc there's double meaning in it and most people on Gallifrey seem to think that Leela is tone-deaf and can't pick up on that stuff (even Romana sometimes oversimplifies things to her) but Brax totally just lets her take from it what she will bc he believes her intelligent enough to understand. he doesn't think her any lesser because she's human.

ALSO on a secondary note to the above: the fact that Leela has a question/needed clarification (sorry, haven't listened to this in a while i forget how it actually happened) and actively sought out Brax to talk to about it?? like she knows Romana better she could have gone to her but i feel like Leela kinda imprinted on Brax and someone she can go to for help if she needs it; maybe it's partly bc she knows he's under marginally less pressure than Romana is but also the truth of the matter is that Brax was the most genuinely helpful person to her in the previous stories and that probably means a lot to her (esp. bc he acts like the essence of everything she hates about Gallifrey but he doesn't treat her the way she would expect from that). btw this topic is gonna come up again in a hot minute

that part where Brax gives her that information that might help her re: the Andred thing, even though he really probably shouldn't have done that -- it kinda makes me think about what he must have been like with Theta tbh???

actually this is mostly my own conjecture but there's some neat stuff in Spirit bc during the *waves hand vaguely* bodyswap dream sequence thing, Romana is very "!!!! Brax can help us !!!" which is tecnically Leela brain talking, so like there's the implications of the stuff i've said above about Leela having this idea of Brax where she knows he's someone she can go to for help

can u tell i'm soft for them

Leela sounding really sad/distracted when she talks about how Brax isn't there YES i'm grasping at straws but a lot of this relationship really is conveyed through the voice acting bc of how little direct focus there is on the characters. there's actually several scenes in Mindbomb where she mentions him and she outright says that she misses him during her discussion with Matthias

that implied scene with them in Mindbomb!! i have a Lot of thoughts about that!!! it's all conjecture and fanfic fodder!!! but the reason i mention this is because it seems pretty meta that out of the whole Gally Gang, it's Leela who first sees Brax when he comes back to Gallifrey and in turn she's the first person (besides Matthias, i guess) that he sees upon his return?? idk i just feel like that's somehow a meaningful detail??? also her reaction of utter shock after spending the entire episode missing him and how worked up she is when she tries to tell Romana, like I desperately need to know what happened in this missing scene MR RICHARDS PLEASE TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED

Leela insisting on going with Brax when Pandora starts hurting him and their whole conversation there is just. so good. like they're both just so soft and then when Darkel comes in Leela instantly goes into protective mode. like they just have such an open relationship bc Brax doesn't even try to be all pretentious with her, like he doesn't even try to keep up any facades when he's with her he's just very genuine and it really says a lot about both of them -- Leela is so good at seeing people, like getting down to the core of who people are and what makes them them (which is why she's good for Romana, btw, bc Romana has a lot of identity issues) and Brax is so tangled up in who he presents himself as that he barely knows who he actually is anymore but Leela can see that and she makes it so he can truly be himself and he doesn't have to hide. also she's so gentle with him when they talk about Pandora, she's very caring and empathetic and wants to make sure he's okay and i am WEAK

it's been a hot while since i listened to Panacea but I think i remember Brax being really soft with Leela when he first brings the gang to the Axis, like just sounding really glad to see her

ok other than the fact that Brax is lowkey relatable in Reborn (daydreaming fanfic about yourself/people you know? simping for Mary Tamm Romana? yeah mood, my man) there's that scene where they're first appraoching the Citadel on the alt!Gallifrey and it seems like none of them, and Brax specifically, have seen it from the outside in a good long while bc he's very in awe and he tells Leela that he wishes she could see it and he sounds sO hEcKiNg sOFT oh my word-

and once again with Leela thinking of Brax as someone she trusts for help: in Dissassembled when everything is going to crap she straight-up says that she wants to go find Brax bc he'll know what to do/be able to help

at the beginning of Annihilation when Romana is depressed and questioning if Brax truly was her friend and Leela INSTANTLY, NO HESITATION assures her that he was; i lost where i had her exact lines written down but she actually kinda goes off to make sure Romana gets the point

literally forcing myself to talk about this bc it makes my brain stall out but like,,, the Brax Hound in Annihilation,,, Leela being like "goodbye, Braxiatel... again" she sounds so sad and like UGH i always kinda forget how sad it actually is for them to lose Brax in Dissassembled bc like, it was so sudden and they didn't get to say goodbye and Leela is always losing people and i have many many feels about this scene and how all that emotion is made very clear in how they each respond to the Hound (might make a separate post abt this later if anyone is interested ::eyes::)

Enemy Lines is utter bullcrap about these two and I will never stop being salty about how they not only sidelined the very good, very subtle friendship they had in s1-4, but they??? made Leela acutally not trust Brax??? when literally this entire time she's been the one person who probably genuinely trusts him the most?? what the heck, David

I haven't heard TW3 or 4 yet but i'm assuming there's nothing worthwhile in those with regards to this duo (correct me if i'm wrong tho lol, i would love to be mistaken in this assumption)

TL;DR Leela and Brax mututally imprinted on each other and have probably the most open and healthy relationship within the OT4 and it is an absolute CRIME that nobody besides Gary Russell and Justin Richards cared enough to actually build on it in canon

[stuckinthefloor]

pale blue eyes: obi-wan/reader

hey so i fell in love with ewan mcgregor recently and proceeded to watch all of the prequels and started the clone wars. how dangerous! probably more obi-wan content in the near future. sorry if this isn't canon compliant...i don't know enough about star wars and i'm so sorry!! give me tips if you have any

obi-wan is also probably totally ooc and i’ve definitely disregarded the jedi code (bc screw the code!) but...i don’t care...obi-wan is too beautiful for that lmao. if anyone can handle a little temptation from the darkside and still be a good jedi, it’s obi

tags: smut, fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort, grief/mourning (mention of death), master/padawan dynamic (sorta), possessive sex/behavior, rough sex, marking (hickies), smoking, implied age difference, porn with feelings (and maybe plot), dirty talk

There was something oh so terrifying about being a Padawan. Of course, it was all you had ever known, but realizing that there would be a day when no one would be there to hold your hand as you traversed the daily experiences of being a Jedi was overwhelmingly terrifying. But, what was even more terrifying was the thought alone of losing your Master.

Actually losing her before you’d finished your training could only be described as unquantifiable.

Obi-Wan broke the news to you soon after reporting to the council after the mission on some outer-rim planet went wrong and led to several Jedi being killed. He spared you the details as you broke down in front of him, apologizing immediately for letting your emotions get the best of you. You tried your best to keep everything in, especially in front of one of the best Jedi Masters. Obi-Wan looked down the hallway before slowly walking you back into your quarters. He sat you down on your small bed, taking a seat next to you.

“I know how you feel right now, as I too lost my Master. But, you must remember your Master has returned to the Force. She has become something better and will always be with you. It will be difficult, but as time passes the intensity of your emotions will fade.”

You looked up into his blue eyes, the truth behind them reinforcing what you sensed in the Force. His statements were genuine, facts that had been seen in countless other Jedi who had experienced what you did; but, his eyes (and the Force) held a sadness that seemed as if it was too big and too fragile to even consider touching. Having heard some pieces of what had happened to Master Kenobi and his Padawan, it seemed as if he never had enough time to grieve. He never had time to consider what loss meant and how to deal with it. The words he spoke seemed to be monotonous, as if they were a mantra he thought to himself often. An attempt to rid himself of emotions that council members told him that he would be drawn to the darkside because of them.

“And yet,” you said, pausing to control your breathing, a few tears escaping your eyes now and then. “Those emotions will never go away, huh?”

Obi-Wan broke your gaze, sighing and rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m...I’m sorry, I’m not helping, am I?” He let out a sad chuckle before looking back at you. “It’s just...I know too well how you feel. And yet, I cannot bring myself to tell you that you must rid yourself of these emotions because they will lead you astray. I so wish that one person would have allowed me to feel, just for one moment.”

You take his hand into yours, unable to bring yourself to look him in the eyes. “You’ve helped me more than you know, Master Kenobi. And I only hope that you are able to take your own advice, too.”

“I will try, young one.”

After this moment, you found yourself drawn to Obi-Wan in the late hours of the night. Master Windu took over the last few weeks of your training before your trials. When you were not training or sleeping and Obi-Wan was not training his Padawan, you were together. This often caused you both to spend late nights in one of your quarters (most often his, as they were bigger). At first there was nothing sexual or even romantic about these meetings. They allowed you both to explore your grief and help each other control emotions most Jedi would consider distracting or unwanted. It was nice to feel safe in your emotions.

At least, until your emotions became romantic feelings for Obi-Wan.

This realization hit you like a podracer a few weeks after you became a Jedi. You had been given a mission to protect a queen from an outer-rim planet visiting Naboo for a week. The distance alone is not what caused you to realize these feelings. Obi-Wan and his Padawan had been sent on small missions in the past few weeks, causing you to go days without seeing him. Sure, you missed him, but training for your trials could fill the void he left. But, now, being away and nearly bored out of your mind in your down time was horrible. You felt a constant sense of longing and desire that you could only trace back to Master Kenobi. Your thoughts would drift back to late nights you spent with the sweet man who could comfort you with only a smile. Thoughts of running your hands through his auburn hair as you begged him to keep growing it out, especially with the beard. Watching his eyes flutter closed as you gave him a massage through his undershirt. He lets out little groans and moans, telling you to push harder in certain spots. Holding his large, calloused hand in yours as you cuddle close together on his bed. It wasn’t until the final day of your assignment that these thoughts turned sexual.

You laid in bed, too excited over going back to Coruscant and having a few days off. A half-dreaming vision formed in your mind of Obi-Wan laying in his bed. The image became clearer and you realized that his sleeping pants were pushed down slightly, his hand grasping his cock tightly. A moan slipped past his lips, the words he choked out indecipherable as he thrusted harshly into his fist. You attempt to will away this vision but it’s stuck--almost engraved--in your mind, drifting in and out like a boat rocking back and forth on waves. His thrusts seemed desperate, as if he had been attempting to reach his climax long before you created this vision. He moans again, this time it is clearer and louder than before: your name. It slips past his lips smoothly as he finally tenses slightly, forcing his hips upwards. Cum shot out of his cock as his thrusts stuttered to a stop and his hand took over. Some particularly thick shots hit his lower stomach, covering the hair above his cock. The rest flooded slowly over the tip and down onto his hand. He groaned all through his climax, panting once he had finished completely. Your mind often drifted back to these images as you fell in and out of sleep throughout the night.

Getting back to Coruscant was a welcome return home. After your report to the council, you saw Obi-Wan and Anakin waiting for you outside of the chambers. You found it difficult, at first, to hold Obi-Wan’s gaze as he greeted you.

“Hello, Master Kenobi. What are you doing here?”

“I heard you got back. If you’d like, Anakin and I would like to take you to Dex’s,” he says simply, a wide smile on his face. Anakin gave you a toothy grin, excited to gorge himself on greasy diner food.”How was your mission, young one?”

You smiled widely, slightly forgetting about the waking-dream that had been plaguing your mind. “Sounds like a great idea. I can tell you all about my mission over dinner, then, I suppose?” Obi-Wan nodded in response, a smile (albeit smaller) on his face mirroring yours and Anakin’s.

After dinner at Dex’s, Obi-Wan dismissed Anakin to his chambers (though, Obi would confide in you that he knew for a fact his was talking to his fellow Padawans late into the night, to which you would chastise him for doing the same thing with you) and invited you to his own to meditate. The walk there was quiet, yet comfortable. But, as you reached his quarters, you saw the bed that was ingrained into your visions from the night before. The panic and embarrassment ran through you, piling heavy in your stomach and causing you to stop in your tracks at his doorway. Obi-Wan took off his boots quickly and made his way to the large window at the opposite side of the room.

“You can come all the way in, y’know?” Obi-Wan said once he realized you had not followed, his tone light and playful. He was teasing you, like he always did, always a flirt. And yet, tonight, it made you nervous. You took slow steps towards him after taking your boots off by the door, meeting him at the window he liked to meditate at. “Are you okay? No witty comeback for your favorite Jedi?” He moved to cup your face but you turned away, noticing it was the hand he had so elegantly wrapped around his cock in your vision.

You looked back at him and shook your head, your eyes becoming watery out of embarrassment and fear. You knew you needed to talk to him before this got any worse. “C-can I talk to you about something?” He nodded, his face becoming serious, and sat down on the plush cushions he used to begin meditating. He patted on one next to him and you sat after taking off your cloak. You two sat almost too close, knees touching. You could almost smell him and could almost feel the calming warmth radiating off of him. “I...During my missions I was plagued by visions, Master Kenobi.”

He frowned slightly at what you said, worried about the potential dangers of visions Jedi see. “You do not need to use my title in my quarters, young one,” he said, calmly, so as not to scare you or make you feel he was reprimanding you. “But you can tell me anything. What were in these visions, young one?”

You sighed, attempting to muster the strength in admitting what you saw. Obi-Wan could sense your struggle and reached out to touch your knee gently. You placed your hand over his and squeezed gently, closing your eyes to center yourself. The minute you opened your mouth, the word-vomit flowed fast. “They were of you. They began as nice and comforting. Domestic moments. Like holding your hand or cuddling. I could see myself doing that with any friend. But...last night, it was sexual. I, uhm, watched you...pleasure yourself. Y-you moaned my name. Maker, I feel like I’ve used you, I am so sorry, Master Kenobi.”

“This happened last night?” he asked, blushing slightly under your curious gaze. You nodded slowly, unsure of where he was going with this. “Then I don’t think you were making these visions up, darling.”

Your jaw dropped, with Obi-Wan only smirking back at you. “W-what do you mean?”

“I think you saw me, somehow. I saw some of those visions you described earlier in the week, too. Perhaps we are connected, young one.” He looked at you processing what he just said and smiled. “I like you, a lot. I admire your work as a Jedi and I am so proud to see how much you have grown since I first talked to you that night your master died.” He moved the hand that was resting in his lap to cup your cheek. “I believe I have fallen for you. I am sorry that you had to see me in such an inappropriate state, however. I would understand if you didn’t want to be with me.”

“No! I mean, I do. I want to be with you. I never imagined that you would ever want to be with someone like me.” You smiled brightly, giddy about this change in your relationship with Obi-Wan. “And, if I may say, you looked quite beautiful last night. I am honored that you thought of me just as I have thought of you. Although, you have a much different imagination than I do.” The man in front of you blushed and chuckled brightly, almost proud of what he had done.

The hand on your knee tentatively moved further up your thigh. “Perhaps I can spark your imagination?”

You shifted to be on your knees, placing your hands on his thighs. You leaned close to him, almost brushing your lips against his. You were able to feel the tickle of his beard on your face as you whispered out, “Perhaps I can fulfill yours?” You pressed your lips against his as he shoves his hands through your hair, tugging on it slightly. Even as he moaned, you tasted the strawberry milkshake you shared with him at Dex’s. But, as you kissed him deeper, tongues exploring each other’s mouths, you tasted tabac, causing your mind to wander. You never thought of Obi-Wan indulging in the toxic substance, but you can’t bring yourself to be surprised. Images of Obi-Wan shirtless, just-fucked and sweaty, his hair a mess, flooded your mind. A cigarra hung from his mouth, barely hanging on to it as he took puffs from it.

A nasty habit Obi’s voice rings through your mind, almost embarrassed, I can’t seem to kick it, young one. I hope you aren’t angry.

You pulled away and cupped his face. Not wanting to ruin the tender moment of vulnerability, you kissed him lightly and projected your thoughts to him, I could not be mad at you. I find it shamefully attractive, but if you are ready to quit, I know you can.

He smiled into the kiss as you pulled away to begin stripping. “Allow me to help you,” he said, moving to push your robes off your shoulders as you took off the belt around your waist. You shrugged the robes off of you completely and threw them to the side, followed by your undershirt. Obi-Wan moved to help you take your pants off, but you stopped him.

“Allow me to help you, Master Kenobi?” he blushed and leaned back, copying your actions by starting with his belt. You help to shrug off his outer robes followed by his undershirt. You admire his chest, speckled with freckles. You pushed him down lightly, his back hitting his carpeted floor lightly. “You are truly beautiful, Master.” You kissed his chest lightly, kneeling at his side and helping him to shove his pants and undergarments off. Even though you had seen his member the night before, it was different in person and being able to see it uncovered by his hand. Semi-hard, all you could think was that it would look even more beautiful in the moonlight and neon lights streaming from the window. You flicked your hand, flipping the light switch by the door.

“I was going to ask if you liked what you saw, young one, but it seems I was wrong,” Obi-Wan hummed.

You smirked, taking his cock in your hands. “Oh, I do, but I am one for aesthetics and I would prefer to be fucked under the moonlight.” You jerk him off slightly, getting him hard. As your movements become a tad more difficult, you hold your hand up to the man’s mouth. “Spit, please.” He looked at you with a raised brow but spits. You rubbed it up and down his cock, making your movements much smoother. You squeezed lightly around his cock and he began to thrust lightly under your touch. You moved to lean down and use your mouth on his cock, but Obi-Wan stopped you.

“Let me get you ready so I can fuck you under the moonlight, just like you want, my young one.”

He moved you down to lay on the floor, pushing one of his cushions underneath your head. After helping you out of your remaining clothes, he shoved the other pillow under your hips, angling them upwards. He then kissed down your chest, as if attempting to kiss away the moonlight with how fervently he pressed his lips to your skin. Yet, as you pushed his hair back to get a clear view of his serene face, you thought he may be trying to pin down the moonlight to your skin. The way his gaze locked with yours showed how intensely he cared about this moment. His kisses acted as an attempt to encapsulate you in the light, an attempt to preserve this moment forever. You were not just another nightly escapade (not that either of you had many of those, both unknowingly too caught up in being smitten by the other). Rather, in this moment, Obi-Wan was declaring he was going to make love to you with each and every kiss pressed to your skin. The final kiss he pressed to your skin was your clit. Once this was finished, he began fingering you, stretching you with two fingers immediately and suckling on your clit. You gasped and moaned under his touch, fingers diving into his hair.

I want to make you mine, young one. After we began talking I wished I had fought with the council more to train you instead for the remainder of your time as a Padawan. Perhaps we could have been here sooner.

“Master Kenobi,” you moaned aloud. Not being able to form words verbally, you responded with the Force. How I began to wish the same. I suppose, then, I was always yours?

He pulled off of you, but added a third finger to his thrusts, smiling up at you brightly. “Yes. And I suppose I was always yours, then, too?”

“Yes,” you moaned out, high pitched, almost squeaking. You hummed and tried again, regardless of if Obi heard you the first time, “Yes, Master, you’re mine.” Obi-Wan’s smile somehow grew, but he quickly went back to working on you with his mouth. However, this time, he leaned more on his arm that he’s using to finger you. That way, his other hand was free to jerk himself off. You only noticed when he moaned against your clit lightly. “Master Kenobi, are you--”

Yes, he sent you, almost strained as if he was speaking, I think I could cum just by eating you out, I wouldn’t even need to touch myself.

“I wouldn’t want that,” you said, pushing his head lightly, “so why don’t you fuck me instead?”

He pulled his head up and smiled, “Anything for you, my darling.” He stood up, pulling you to join him, and guided you toward the bed, stopping by his drawers to grab a condom. Laying down on the bed, you watched him roll the condom over his cock and climb onto the bed with you. He kneeled between your legs, pulling up your leg to rest it on his hip. He used his other hand to grip your hip and pulled you towards him. You gasped, both at the sudden movement and his member pushing into your pussy slowly. “Such a good girl, taking me so perfectly. You can take me all, right, my young one?” You nodded your head fiercely, unable to form a coherent thought as he continued to thrust in and out of you, each thrust going deeper than the last.

Once he settled into you completely, your hands fisted his bedsheets roughly. “So full, you fill me up so nice, Master Kenobi.” You shifted your hips against him, attempting to get him to thrust into you. His grip on your hip dissipated as he moved to push down on them. You moved your hand over his, pushing down on it lightly while also gripping his hand.

“Is there something you need from your Master, young Jedi?” Your grip on his hand tightened as you nodded. “What do you need? You can use your words.” You blushed as you attempted to quantify what you wanted him to do. You attempted to shift your hips as the position became uncomfortable from being held for so long without moving. “Please, princess. I want to give you what you want, but I will not move until you tell me.”

“I want you...I…” you trailed off, becoming embarrassed for what you were trying to ask. You threw your head to the side and thought to him, I want you to mark me. I don’t care if it hurts. I want to know, as long as the bruises last, that I am yours. I want to hold on to this moment.

“Is that all, young one?” You nodded in response, trying not to embarrass yourself more than you felt you had. “There is nothing to be embarrassed over, sweet girl. I want to please you, and the only way I can do that is if I know what you want. Never be embarrassed when asking for what you want.”

You smiled as his hand moved back to your hip, his grip stronger than before. Timidly, you add on, “Can you also move, Obi-Wan? I...I need it.” He silently responded by squeezing your hip and thrusting into you. He quickly picked up speed, however, thrusting into you desperately. Obi-Wan shifts, dropping the leg he held at his hip to be able to lean over you. Moaning at the new angle, you wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping him close. Your fingers delved into his hair, tugging at it as he thrust into you just right. Obi-Wan moaned at that, flicking his hips faster in response.

“Where do you want me to mark you, hm? Maybe a place above your robes so all the other Jedi Masters will see and know you’re mine?” You tensed slightly under him, even as your pussy clenched. “No, darling? I didn’t mean to worry you. I will make sure no one can see.” Obi-Was pressed light kisses to your collarbone, as he had before, but quickly began to suck on your collarbone and lined it with love bites.

Too overwhelmed with the pleasure, you think to Obi-Wan, Perhaps another time, you can make them more visible. Let everyone know I am yours and yours alone.

He only hummed in response as he busied himself with bruising your skin. You shoved a hand between the two of you, rubbing your clit in small circles.

Am I not good enough for you, young one?

You stopped your movements and began to stammer out an excuse.

I am only teasing, darling. I want you to cum on my cock. And, you’re making it much easier for me to achieve that goal.

You both continued like this, attempting to reach your climaxes by pulling on Obi’s hair, him suckling on your skin to leave marks, and you circling your clit. Eventually, your legs tensed and you lifted your hips up towards him. You gasped, the inner walls of your pussy fluttering around his cock. “Obi-Wan, I’m cumming,” you exclaimed, moaning even more as you flung your head back against the pillows.

“Let go, love. Cum for me, show me you’re mine.”

Your hips stuttered against his, legs tensing and shaking on either side of the Jedi Master. He pulled up and off of you, shifting back onto his knees. He thrust through your orgasm, attempting to reach his own. He moved his hands again to grip your hips tightly, bringing you against him roughly. Obi-Wan moaned as he thrust into you as fast as he could, wanting to cum so badly. “Cum for me, Master. I can sense how desperate you are, n’ I wanna know I made you cum. You came inside your young Jedi’s cunt, all for her. Only for her.” His hips began to stutter irregularly against you as he came, moaning your name just as he did the night before. Obi-Wan eventually stalled against you, collapsing slightly. “After that show, you can put your full weight on me. You deserve it, and I don’t want you to pull out just yet,” You said, rubbing his head gently..

“I always had a feeling you’d be insatiable,” Obi-Wan chuckled. He leaned his full weight on top of you. It was surprisingly comforting, especially after his rough grip and bruising kisses. He snuggled into your neck, pressing sloppy kisses against it, as your hands settled at his waist. “I can only hope to completely satiate you, one day, I suppose.”

“You did perfectly fine, Obi-Wan. For now.” He finally pulled off of you, forcing you to come to his refresher with him to clean up. When you finally laid back down in his bed, both of you naked and comfortable in each other’s arms, you were too tired to do anything more than hum in content. Just as you were trailing off to sleep, a warm thought entered your brain.

I love you, young one. Never forget that.

You responded quickly, though you assumed the sleepiness that would have been present in your voice was also present in your thoughts.

I love you, too, Obi.

[yersina]

okay, hear me out: blacksmith!jaskier.

like, maybe he’s the owner of his own shop (smithy? forge?), maybe he’s apprenticed to someone else—either way, he works in a little town, proooobably somewhere close to kaer morhen?

(sina, you may be saying that this point, jaskier loves to travel! he likes to see new things and meet new people and cause trouble! how could he stand to stay in one place his whole life? not a problem! shopkeepers aren’t confined to their shops, are they? especially if he’s an apprentice. i propose that he takes semi-annual journeys to travel to more far away towns and sell his wares there and maybe chase a few skirts while he’s at it)

so anyway, blacksmith!jaskier. he’s actually more of a jeweler sort of person—he likes beauty, likes art, and while he can see and appreciate the skill it takes to create a sword or a kitchen knife, he doesn’t really find his calling in creating chamberpots. but alas, see: small town, so this is the best place for something approaching an apprenticeship that he can find.

one day, he’s minding his own business in the back of the shop (smithy??), re-sharpening a knife for a nice old lady who dropped it off a day or so ago, when the master blacksmith storms in and gestures for him to get out. jaskier has long since learned that the master blacksmith is a man of few words, so he troops out to the front with no small amount of exasperation and confusion.

and lo and behold, there stands a witcher in his entrance.

“fix it,” he grunts (bc jaskier is, of course, cursed to work only around people who can’t be bothered to string together more than five syllables at once) and drops the literally shattered remains of a sword on the counter.

jaskier stares. dented swords, he’s seen. they’re close enough to a big city that they’ve occasionally gotten the odd knight looking for a cheaper alternative to city-internal smithies. but shattered? and in so many pieces? “i’d really just advise you buy a new sword at this point, good sir,” jaskier says slowly. “i could use this as scrap metal and make you a new one, but it won’t be the same sword.”

the witcher grunts. jaskier waits expectantly for any more input, but only several seconds of silence follow. “great,” jaskier chirps, injecting as much false cheer into his voice as he can. “i’ll just... take that as a yes.”

so he gets the witcher a new sword (a softer alloy this time, and one that hopefully won’t shatter at low temperatures like this one did), deducts the price of the scrap metal from the asking price of the sword, and sees the witcher on his merry (sullen, silent) way.

except the witcher keeps coming back.

jaskier has no idea why—it’s not like they offer services that any other smithy doesnt. all he does is sell the witcher (geralt of rivia, he eventually learns from town gossip) swords, the witcher grunts through jaskier’s admittedly meaningless chatter, and then he leaves. occasionally, he shows up twice in one month (once before a hunt to get his sword repaired, and then once after for the same), and then he leaves.

it’s utterly baffling.

but then theodore moore, the cheapskate bandit who passes through twice a year in order to spend all of his illegitimate money, drowns in the river while he’s stumbling through the forest drunk.

and then people start disappearing.

it takes until the little girl from down the road disappears while she’s picking flowers in the forest for the townspeople to seriously consider the idea of hunkering down and waiting for someone to take care of the problem. jaskier even rides to the nearby city and posts a request for help. maybe geralt will see it.

they spend half a year avoiding the river like the plague, but then people start disappearing from the town square—next to the fountain. then there’s talk of killing the beast themselves, but none of them know what it’s weak to.

when geralt shows up in the smithy one afternoon, white hair brown with dirt and skin smeared with mud, jaskier nearly cries. “thank god you’re here,” he says, and he’d laugh at geralt’s look of confusion if it weren’t for the circumstances. “we have a job for you.”

if he’d thought geralt was a wall to talk to before, it’s nothing when compared to how quickly geralt stiffens and closes off. jaskier didn’t even know that geralt had been slowly relaxing around him until right then, and a pang of regret echoes through him. “what is it,” he says flatly.

“a man drowned in the river last year,” jaskier explains. “and now six people are dead.” when geralt turns around without another word, jaskier has to scramble around the counter and tug him back. “wait, you can’t just leave—people are dying.”

geralt stares at him, unimpressed. “do you want me to kill it from in here?”

oh. jaskier laughs weakly. “of course, how could i have doubted you, master witcher.”

geralt turns to leave again and actually looks a bit annoyed when jaskier holds him fast. “what is it now?”

“i’m coming with you,” jaskier says firmly.

at least geralt doesn’t laugh in his face. “no.”

“look,” jaskier begins, and swears that he sees geralt roll his eyes. “i’m not—trained in combat, per se, but i can strike a few blows. i work with swords for a living! i can be backup?”

“this isn’t a game.” the furrow between geralt’s eyebrows grows the slightest bit deeper, like the world’s tiniest frown. “you could die.”

“i’ll keep out of the way,” jaskier throws in cajolingly. he’s not sure why he’s fighting so hard to join in on an expedition that will very likely lead to his death, but now that he’s started, he may as well go all in.

geralt just grunts and pulls his arm out of jaskier’s grasp, but he doesn’t do anything to stop jaskier when he grabs a sword and a scabbard and follows on his heels.

(this is where geralt wows jaskier with his fancy silver sword, and jaskier hardly needs to do anything other than gape on the sidelines as geralt dispatches theodore moore—a drowner now, he reminds himself—with brutal efficiency)

jaskier ends up arguing for higher pay for geralt bc of course he does, and manages to get geralt to sit down for a pint of ale in the tavern. jaskier travels but he doesn’t travel, and although geralt isn’t the best conversationalist, he does have some tales.

this ends with jaskier puzzling his way around making a silver sword and maybe getting a mage to imbue it with some magical runes or whatever it is that they do in their ivory towers, and he presents it to geralt the next time he comes by. geralt, being geralt, doesn’t do much else than take it with him while he’s leaving, but jaskier sees it strapped to his back the next time he stops by in the town, and geralt actually asks him to repair it at some point (!!) which is not smth that he’s ever done before.

geralt also starts bringing jaskier things which jaskier is utterly delighted by because it means that geralt has been paying attention while jaskier rambles at him the few times that they manage to sit down in the tavern together. this continues on for years and years and jaskier steadily grows fonder and fonder until he has a Realization one day when he’s looking at a sunflower and thinking abt how it matches the color of geralt’s eyes that goddamn he’s in love with a witcher.

(my Actual Prose runs out here but i’m envisioning jaskier putting those jeweler skills to use in fashioning geralt useful but also pretty pieces of jewelry as courting gifts until one day jaskier is just like “god you’re so fucking dumb” and just kisses him happily ever after the end)