#and no ship will ever measure up

[theevilfishywizard]

I'm so serious keeperschampion is the best fucking ship in any jrwi series and by a LOT. Its not even close

[wallbeatjournal]

Pour one out for Reggie, always second choice for the Lodges after Archie

SECOND CHOICE FOR EVERYONE. like literally it is so hard to evaluate reggie (especially w/r/t the lodges) without bringing in The Tragedy Of The Side Character Rival-Foil who exists in the narrative to experience B-plot versions of the A-plot in miniature

riverdale-the-metanarrative is so blatantly full of guys who are different versions of archie and where his character could go in the story if he didn't have to be the protagonist-hero - munroe as the jaded star fighter with the same nickname hiram originally used on archie as an endearment, who could get out of this damn town if he commits to sports. eric jackson as the disabled vet with unmanaged ptsd who betrayed his unit for a manipulative man in authority who just gets to be a respectable figure in society while his groomed victims suffer (and he could speak up and get justice if he's willing to handle the social impacts of being labeled a survivor). kevin as the openly-gay damagingly-impulsive, validation-seeking, people-pleasing, insecure joiner with a nice-but-emotionally-distant dad who keeps trying to find happiness through in-group conformism. julian s7 as literal understudy, and the guy who died in war (also got targeted and negged by s7 reboot hiram lodge in the s7 reboot version of wrestling. dramatic monologues).

reggie is like. the most powerful and tragic of all of these archie analogs bc he's sometimes a rival, too. so his jealousy and inferiority complex towards archie exists both inside and outside of the narrative! all of those other archie reflections aren't also competing with him and comparing themselves to him and constantly getting handed his leftovers and cast-offs and feeling that that is what's happening. but reggie is :\

anyway. so tragic. love u reggie

[spotaus]

Late Night quick thing (New Age Sillies)

Bad news: That joke post about including Reset + Orchid is definitely not canon. (I legit got sad thinking about Reset being in a universe where Orchid isn't- because their stories are so so intertwined- but Nightmare 100% would NOT risk the whole twins exploding Error's soul thing.)

Good news: This means I COULD include Kane (Reset's older brother who usually dies in timelines where Reset is born) and use it to develope his character a bit more! Also! Perhaps a Blue × Dream kiddo is finally in the stars for me to design?

[iammissingautumn]

me when i walk into the Life Eater fandom and they’re thinking i want Johnny and Ralph’s relationship to be healthy

[orchideae]

1) Opens up drafts with my head empty, ready to be flooded, not knowing where I'll go. 2) 30 seconds later: Okay but I will go feral any day of my life over Perilous Trail, and the fierce dichotomy of Xiao and Yelan. While they're far from being 'the same', they both view themselves as soldiers in one way or another (it's a very difficult word to use for Yelan, so I'm using it very liberally and very loosely), they have both suffered losses on the 'battlefield' and carry the burden thereof in their own ways. And yet they stand so firmly in opposition throughout the entirety of that questline up until the very end of the 'the end of the line' conclusion of the quest. Yes, I know that she offers him her gratitude in its aftermath and it is genuine, but she still never agrees with him and the decision that he made moments earlier. It simply 'worked out' because of Zhongli's interference, he's the only reason it worked out. And it's because of that, that she doesn't give him a hell of a hard time (obviously she can't go down there, but imagine the inner frustration of severe extents; when you condemn someone who you can't even see anymore). In the same way that she would do to anyone who would sacrifice themselves for others, but in this case, I think it's 'beautiful' that it's to Xiao; the one who seems most adamant to do so (which honestly, fits into the contract that the Yakshas chose to sign with Morax; 'the ultimate sacrifice' to protect for Liyue; 'for Liyue', and Liyue has always centered itself around its people), the one who everyone reveres (and so does she, as she notes in her voiceline, 'if I ever have the honor to fight alongside') and respects for good reason, she stands against him, because in that moment, regardless of his status, he makes a call that she considers wrong. And he doesn't even... fight her on it very fiercely, and that's what actually hurts me the most, it's as if the following line hit the nail directly on the head?

"Besides, if you were really so determined to end it all, you wouldn't have given us the opportunity to share our opinions."

[musiquesduciel]

The wallpaper I've been aspiring to have on my walls for the last 3 years has finally been delivered ⚜️

[beastsovrevelation]

I do wonder whether underappreciating Adriel x Lilith is just the fandom being boring in rejecting m/f (sorry not sorry, no hate from this bi girl, but nothing will surpass the Satan and Lilith dynamic), or, is it because the ship is so underdeveloped.

We see Adriel "tempt" Lilith, I talk about it here. I'ts great, I loved it.

Then, there's the final battle. We see them be an evil villain power couple together.

We even see Lilith be soft towards Adriel for a moment.

But, that's it. She turns on him, without us even understanding why. It wasn't because he's evil and crazy, she knew he was evil and crazy. Also, I refuse to believe she woke from his spell, I refuse to believe she was under a spell at all. He offered her what the OCS couldn't (and by that, I don't mean his rod). That's why she chose him. Maybe Reya played with her head, I don't know, but that would be insulting to her arc.

There's a gaping chasm between Lilith turning to Adriel, and the final battle. What were they doing during their time together? Drinking brandy and scheming? Performing blood rituals? Going on dates? What did they talk about, how did they bond (more)? It would have been great, to see the situation from their angle, at least a bit. To find out what they're thinking. Lorena and William portrayed great chemistry, why not use it? Also, their interactions could've revealed more about the Other side to us.

Warrior Nun did a lot of things brilliantly. Adriel is a wonderful villain, he's one of my favorite characters in the world. But, his dynamic with Lilith was left barebones. They both deserved more screentime in general, it's such a shame the season was shorter. Some things seem rushed because of it. I would've loved to see Lilidriel fleshed out more.

Also, I'm still bitter the creators screwed with the Satan and Lilith pairing by having her ditch him. You don't sUbVeRt that pair. I forgive a lot in the name of an author's license, I don't forgive that. At least she went away on her own path.

[reasonsforhope]

When self-described “ocean custodian” Boyan Slat took the stage at TED 2025 in Vancouver this week, he showed viewers a reality many of us are already heartbreakingly familiar with: There is a lot of trash in the ocean.

“If we allow current trends to continue, the amount of plastic that’s entering the ocean is actually set to double by 2060,” Slat said in his TED Talk, which will be published online at a later date. 

Plus, once plastic is in the ocean, it accumulates in “giant circular currents” called gyres, which Slat said operate a lot like the drain of the bathtub, meaning that plastic can enter these currents but cannot leave.

That’s how we get enormous build-ups like the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, a giant collection of plastic pollution in the ocean that is roughly twice the size of Texas.

As the founder and CEO of The Ocean Cleanup, Slat’s goal is to return our oceans to their original, clean state before 2040. To accomplish this, two things must be done.

First: Stop more plastic from entering the ocean. Second: Clean up the “legacy” pollution that is already out there and doesn’t go away by itself.

And Slat is well on his way.

Pictured: Kingston Harbour in Jamaica. Photo courtesy of The Ocean Cleanup Project

When Slat’s first TEDx Talk went viral in 2012, he was able to organize research teams to create the first-ever map of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. From there, they created a technology to collect plastic from the most garbage-heavy areas in the ocean.

“We imagined a very long, u-shaped barrier … that would be pushed by wind and waves,” Slat explained in his Talk. 

This barrier would act as a funnel to collect garbage and be emptied out for recycling. 

But there was a problem.

“We took it out in the ocean, and deployed it, and it didn’t collect plastic,” Slat said, “which is a pretty important requirement for an ocean cleanup system.”

Soon after, this first system broke into two. But a few days later, his team was already back to the drawing board. 

From here, they added vessels that would tow the system forward, allowing it to sweep a larger area and move more methodically through the water. Mesh attached to the barrier would gather plastic and guide it to a retention area, where it would be extracted and loaded onto a ship for sorting, processing, and recycling. 

It worked. 

“For 60 years, humanity had been putting plastic into the ocean, but from that day onwards, we were also taking it back out again,” Slat said, with a video of the technology in action playing on screen behind him.

To applause, he said: “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, honestly.”

Over the years, Ocean Cleanup has scaled up this cleanup barrier, now measuring almost 2.5 kilometers — or about 1.5 miles — in length. And it cleans up an area of the ocean the size of a football field every five seconds.

Pictured: The Ocean Cleanup's System 002 deployed in the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. Photo courtesy of The Ocean Cleanup

The system is designed to be safe for marine life, and once plastic is brought to land, it is recycled into new products, like sunglasses, accessories for electric vehicles, and even Coldplay’s latest vinyl record, according to Slat. 

These products fund the continuation of the cleanup. The next step of the project is to use drones to target areas of the ocean that have the highest plastic concentration. 

In September 2024, Ocean Cleanup predicted the Patch would be cleaned up within 10 years. 

However, on April 8, Slat estimated “that this fleet of systems can clean up the Great Pacific Garbage Patch in as little as five years’ time.”

With ongoing support from MCS, a Netherlands-based Nokia company, Ocean Cleanup can quickly scale its reliable, real-time data and video communication to best target the problem. 

It’s the largest ocean cleanup in history.

But what about the plastic pollution coming into the ocean through rivers across the world? Ocean Cleanup is working on that, too. 

To study plastic pollution in other waterways, Ocean Cleanup attached AI cameras to bridges, measuring the flow of trash in dozens of rivers around the world, creating the first global model to predict where plastic is entering oceans.

“We discovered: Just 1% of the world’s rivers are responsible for about 80% of the plastic entering our oceans,” Slat said.

His team found that coastal cities in middle-income countries were primarily responsible, as people living in these areas have enough wealth to buy things packaged in plastic, but governments can’t afford robust waste management infrastructure. 

Ocean Cleanup now tackles those 1% of rivers to capture the plastic before it reaches oceans.

Pictured: Interceptor 007 in Los Angeles. Photo courtesy of The Ocean Cleanup

“It’s not a replacement for the slow but important work that’s being done to fix a broken system upstream,” Slat said. “But we believe that tackling this 1% of rivers provides us with the only way to rapidly close the gap.”

To clean up plastic waste in rivers, Ocean Cleanup has implemented technology called “interceptors,” which include solar-powered trash collectors and mobile systems in eight countries worldwide.

In Guatemala, an interceptor captured 1.4 million kilograms (or over 3 million pounds) of trash in under two hours. Now, this kind of collection happens up to three times a week.

“All of that would have ended up in the sea,” Slat said.

Now, interceptors are being brought to 30 cities around the world, targeting waterways that bring the most trash into our oceans. GPS trackers also mimic the flow of the plastic to help strategically deploy the systems for the most impact.

“We can already stop up to one-third of all the plastic entering our oceans once these are deployed,” Slat said.

And as soon as he finished his Talk on the TED stage, Slat was told that TED’s Audacious Project would be funding the deployment of Ocean Cleanup’s efforts in those 30 cities as part of the organization’s next cohort of grantees. 

While it is unclear how much support Ocean Cleanup will receive from the Audacious Project, Head of TED Chris Anderson told Slat: “We’re inspired. We’re determined in this community to raise the money you need to make that 30-city project happen.”

And Slat himself is determined to clean the oceans for good.

“For humanity to thrive, we need to be optimistic about the future,” Slat said, closing out his Talk.

“Once the oceans are clean again, it can be this example of how, through hard work and ingenuity, we can solve the big problems of our time.”

-via GoodGoodGood, April 9, 2025

[em1i2a3]

Fire For You

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: Bob has been head over heels for you ever since he met you, but he has never admitted it. Sentry is getting sick and tired of him dancing around the subject, so he goes to extreme measures to get Bob to confess.

Warnings: No warnings in particular, Sentry is an absolute menace in this though, and there is Fluff, but yeah that’s pretty much it :)

Author’s Note: I really enjoyed writing this little blurb, and the concept was cute as shit lol. Thank you @sol-lol for the request! Hope y’all enjoy! <3

Word Count: 3,801

Afternoon sunlight filtered through the high-paneled windows, casting long, golden streaks over the hardwood floors. Even the ever-present hum of the compound's security system felt muted–as if the entire building had exhaled, grateful for the rare stillness. Most of the team had shipped out at dawn, leaving only Bob and you behind, sentenced to stay and grind through mountains of post-mission paperwork.

You were across the hall in your room, with the door cracked, and music playing low. It was barely audible, but you were humming along out of tune. That little sound though had tugged at Bob like a thread caught in his chest. From his room he could see yours, and his eyes lingered there for a second too long before he turned away, running a hand through his dripping wet hair, closing his own door and padding barefoot across the hardwood floors of his bedroom.

He bent slightly, grabbing his black sweatpants from where they hung off the end of the bed, faintly warm from the sun that was beaming into his bedroom. Just as he was about to step into them–

“You should go into her room and tell her how you feel Robert.” The voice hit him like a low rumble in his chest, reverberating off the inside of his skull. Deep and rich, with that molten smoothness that made it impossible to ignore. It was a voice meant for command. Worship. Destruction. Right now, though, he sounded supremely annoyed. Bob groaned under his breath and pulled the soft cotton up his legs with an aggressive tug.

”I can’t te-tell her. It’s plain and simple, Sentry. How can you not understand that?” He hissed, keeping his voice low, casting a glance towards his door. The last thing he needed was for you to hear him arguing with himself like an exasperated older sibling. He crossed the room to his wooden dresser, pulling open the top drawer and grabbing a clean white t-shirt, yanking it over his dripping hair with more force than necessary.

“This is the perfect opportunity to confess your feelings…I’m getting sick and tired of watching your pathetic little mating dance. My patience is wearing thin.” Bob let out a small laugh under his breath–dry and crackly–shaking his head.

”Your patience?” He muttered, pacing towards his mirror, seeing the soft golden hue shimmering over the oceanic blue of his irises, “I’ve been waiting for these feelings to go away for six months, and we’re ta-talking about your patience?” The silence that followed was heavy, and for a split second, Bob thought that maybe he had stunned the sun god into temporary retreat. Only for him to come back swinging.

“You’ve been making yourself look like an absolute fool, and I’ve been allowing it thinking that you’d eventually grow a spine and do something about it. But I guess I was wrong. Guess you’ll just keep pining for your teammate in silence until the both of you die from mutual emotional constipation.” Bob pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing at them in frustration.

”Don’t try to pull that reverse psychology crap on me. I’m not that st-stupid.” He muttered. Sentry scoffed loudly, like a clap echoing through his head.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sentry shot back, “Only an idiot treats telling someone they love them like it’s the end of the world.”

“Wow…Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” Bob snipped, turning slightly to reach for his forest-green crewneck–the soft one with faint bleach stains, and frayed cuffs. He held it in both hands for a moment, running his thumbs over the texture as if it could soothe himself before tugging it over his head.

”Y’know, if you ac-actually thought about the consequences, I think you wouldn’t be encouraging me to do it.” He added, adjusting the hem of the sweater so it covered him properly. That earned him a sudden jolt in shoulder. Not pain, exactly–but a violent reminder of who he was arguing with. The Sentry rarely used force on Bob, but he always knew how to make his point felt.

“You’re not defusing a goddamn bomb, Robert. You’re just being honest. What kind of consequences are you building up in that overthinking brain of yours?” Bob paused, leaving on the edge of his desk, staring blankly at the sight of himself.

”If she doesn’t like me back…” He started slowly, “Then we’ll have to work together. We still have to live under the same roof, train in the same gym, eat at the same goddamn table. Do you have any idea how aw-awkward that would be?” For a long moment, there was no reply. Then came the laughter. Not mocking, but indulgent. Low and syrupy, warm like something dripping from heaven, curling through his spine like a lit fuse.

“It is painfully obvious that she likes you back. I have seen her through your eyes. I have watched how she looks at you when she thinks you're not watching. It’s not exactly subtle.” Bob snorted and shoved a hand through his hair again, tugging it slightly, his cheeks going hot at the thought of you sneaking quick glances at him. He never noticed and it was quite possible Sentry was just making it up to push him.

“Oh yeah? So why doesn’t she say anything then, huh?” Sentry let out a long groan that vibrated through Bob’s ribcage. It was almost like he was bored of the conversation, or he was sick of the predictability of his host and his line of thought.

“She doesn’t say anything because she’s a woman, Robert. You’re supposed to make the first move.” Bob let out a sharp laugh.

”Well that’s just not fa-fair,” He said, arms thrown wide for no one to see, he felt like he was going crazy in his own room–technically he was–but he couldn’t give in, “I’m not going to put myself in that position just to ruin our friendship, and that’s final.” He went to reach for his mini notebook, about to slide it into the pocket of his sweatpants, when Sentry’s voice changed.

Dropping into a lower, colder tone.

“…I guess I’ll have to resort to some extreme measures then.” Bob froze in his spot, as he slowly looked up, and glanced over at the mirror.

”…What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He asked warily, but there was silence, like a phone line being cut off midway through a call.

”Se-Sentry?” He whispered, taking a cautious step backward from the mirror, feeling his heart rate pick up. He didn’t understand what extreme measures meant, and he truly didn’t want to know, but he wasn’t going to go and admit something so sensitive like this. There was too much risk involved and he cared about you too deeply to put his feelings ahead of yours, because that’s just how Bob was with you.

Then a knock on the door made him jump up in the air.

”Bob, I’m making some iced latte’s, do you want one?” You asked. Bob pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, trying to will the fluttering in his chest to slow down. His pulse thudded hard in his ears–too loud for the quietness in his room. It felt like Sentry’s absence was a weighted pressure now, not a relief. Like something had just coiled back instead of vanishing. He turned toward the door, voice soft and strained.

“Um…Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice. I’ll be out in a se-second, thank you.” You didn’t reply, but he heard your footsteps padding gently down the hallway, the distant clatter of ice cubes being dropped into a glass, the hiss of the espresso machine warming up. He let out a long breath, fingers dragging down his face. He turned back toward the mirror above his dresser, stepping in close, peering into his own eyes. Blue. Clear. Normal. No trace of gold, and that only made it worse.

There was no way Sentry would just slink off like that without more sarcasm, more threats, more “divine push”–especially not after uttering a line like “I guess I’ll have to resort to some extreme measures.” Bob leaned closer, as if looking hard enough would summon the god back to taunt him.

“Wh-Where the hell did you go?” He muttered. “You never shut up this fast…” But there was nothing. No response. No flicker. No warmth in his bones. Just his own reflection staring back at him: flushed cheeks, frizzy damp hair, and a nervous tension coiled through his jaw.

He sighed and stood up straight, tugging down the hem of his forest-green sweater, smoothing it out even though it still sagged a little too loose at the collar. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to flatten it–pointless, really, but it gave him something to do.

Then he stepped out of his room.

The hallway smelled faintly like citrus cleaner and your perfume–orange peel and peach, you had told him happily when he had asked. The sunlight slanted in lower now, catching motes of dust that danced lazily in the air. The door to your room was still cracked, music still playing just because you wanted to keep listening to it even though it was faint–but you weren’t humming anymore.

He followed the sound of clinking glass and the gurgle of the espresso machine down the hall to the kitchen.

You were standing at the counter in a loose t-shirt and bike shorts, back to him, scooping ice into two mason jars. You had your hair pushed out of your face, and the late afternoon light that was pouring through the window kissed your bare legs, making you look like you belonged in a painting more than the compound's kitchen. You were a work of art to him, and he could admire you for hours if he could go unnoticed doing so. Bob swallowed thickly, and he could feel his stomach turn, a wave of nausea floating over him.

You turned when you heard his footsteps and gave him a small smile–soft and easy, like the two of you hadn’t been alone all day with miles of tension simmering between you. He watched as you poured a little bit of liquid sugar into the cup before adding a shot of espresso and some milk with the rest of it. You shoved a straw into the drink and mixed it around quickly.

”Here you go,” You said, handing him the jar, “Made yours a bit sweeter this time, cause you always make a face when it’s too bitter.” You added. Bob blinked down at the glass for a moment and cleared his throat.

”Oh. Th-Thanks.” He replied, wrapping both hands around the chilled jar, grateful that he was able to keep his hands occupied. The cold bit into his palms, but it grounded him enough to distract him from worrying about Sentry. You leaned casually against the edge of the counter, crafting your own drink with a soft rattle of ice against glass, throwing little glances his way. You didn’t seem to notice how stiff Bob had gone, shoulders locked and jaw tight as he lifted the straw to his lips.

The first sip helped. The sweetness, the cold. It settled like a stone in his stomach and gave his trembling hands something to focus on.

But it didn’t last.

A warmth bloomed beneath his skin–subtle at first. Then stronger. Not the warmth of sunlight or embarrassment. It was internal. Like standing too close to a furnace. Bob blinked, shifted on his feet.

And then–a bead of sweat slid from his temple, down his cheekbone. He wiped it away absently.

Then another.

And another.

He gulped loudly, his eyes flicking up to you nervously.

”Hey…Is it getting hot in here, or is it ju-just me?” You looked up from your drink, brows furrowing slightly at the question.

”They’ve got the AC on full blast…Can’t you feel it?” You asked, your voice laced with concern. Bob blinked slowly, almost like he was dazed. The cool air licked at his damp forehead, but it felt like nothing. His skin felt tight, hot, wrong.

“…I’m…I’m getting really ho-hot actually.” He mumbled, setting his glass down carefully on the countertop so it didn’t slip from his sweaty palms. With a clumsy, shaky tug, he peeled the forest-green sweater over his head, tossing it onto a nearby chair. You caught the brief glimpse of his bare waist as the hem rose–taut, pale skin, a soft line of hair trailing down below the waistband of his sweatpants–but you forced your eyes back up before he could notice. Your heart began to skip anyways. Bob ran the back of his wrist across his forehead, strands of damp hair sticking to his temples.

“Jesus,” He breathed, trying to shake the feeling off, fanning himself with one hand, “It really feels like I��m burning up.” He added, almost breathlessly.

“Bob,” You said slowly, eyes narrowing with concern, “Are you getting a fever or something?” He shook his head immediately, rubbing at the back of his neck, which was now slick with sweat.

”I was fine before. I-I don’t know what’s going on, I–“

“If you don’t tell her, I’m going to boil your insides until you’re a puddle of skin and blood.” Sentry said, his voice cracking like lightning inside his skull. Bob stiffened even more at the words.

And then–everything ignited.

It felt like his blood had caught fire.

One second he was upright, trying to breathe through the heat crawling up his spine, and the next–it was everywhere. Searing pain radiated out from his chest, licking through every vein like liquid metal. His nerves flared, his muscles seized, and his vision blurred at the edges with violent, pulsing white.

It was like being cooked alive from the inside out.

“Holy…Ho-Holy fuck,” Bob whispered, his voice barely audible through the rising static in his ears. His eyes darted around the kitchen like they couldn’t hold still, couldn’t focus. His pulse was hammering too fast in his neck. You stared at him, wide-eyed. His white t-shirt was plastered to his chest, soaked through as if he’d stepped into a shower fully clothed. Sweat dripped from his temples in heavy rivulets and the waistband of his sweatpants was already damp.

”Bob, what the hell is happening?!” You asked sharply, your drink completely forgotten behind you. He tried to answer, but his mouth opened–and nothing came out. Only a shallow, panicked gasp.

Then–his knees gave out.

“Shit-” You gasped, rushing forward and catching him before he hit the tile. Your arms looped beneath his, bracing his full weight as he sagged against you like a ragdoll. His head dropped forward, thudding against your shoulder with enough force to make you stumble. He was the weight of a boulder compared to you, but the angle you were able to catch him at really helped with your leverage. You eased both of you down onto the cold floor, your knees scraping the tile as you cradled him in your lap. His head lolled slightly, sweat-soaked curls sticking to you, seeping into the cotton of your shirt. He felt like he was steaming. Your hand flew to his forehead.

“Jesus Christ, Bob,” You breathed, barely holding back the shake in your voice. “You’re boiling hot–what is this? What’s happening to you?” His skin radiated heat like a furnace. Not fever-warm. Inferno-warm. Unnatural. You’d been around him enough to know what a post-mission stress spike looked like–what adrenaline did, what panic attacks did. This was something else. His skin was flushed, his breathing fast and shallow, like he was suffocating inside his own body.

“Bob,” You whispered, pressing both hands to either side of his face. He was slick with sweat, taking in shallow, desperate breaths, like all he was doing was inhaling thick humidity, “Look at me. Please, you gotta tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”

“Tell her or I’m going to keep going.” Sentry snapped. The pressure climbed again, cruel and sharp, curling beneath his ribs like a vice.

”St-Stop,” Bob gasped, voice hoarse, shaking his head against you, “Stop, please…I can’t, I can’t.” You froze at his begging.

”Who are you talking to?” He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t move. His hands were limp in his lap. His eyes fluttered closed, lashes clinging with sweat. His whole body trembled with the effort of not screaming. It felt like his bones were melting. You brushed his soaked hair back with shaking fingers.

“I’m not–“ He tried, letting out a groan of pain, arching his back and writhing a bit. You thought he was being possessed, like somehow a demon got into him, because that would be more plausible than him just going through this at random, “I’m not…Strong enough to fight him wh-when he’s like this…” You paused, breath catching in your throat.

”…Sentry,” You said under your breath. Bob didn’t nod for you to get full confirmation of this, because you could feel it now–something else lurking beneath his skin. Something immense and ancient and merciless. The pressure in the room had changed, the air grown heavier. You felt the way the light dimmed, like it was being pulled inward, like the very shadows in the corners of the kitchen were watching.

“Why is he doing this to you?” You whispered, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Why would he hurt you? He’s never done this before.” Bob’s eyes opened, barely. There was no gold in them, it was as if Sentry was camouflaging himself–but you could see the panic, the regret, and longing even.

”…It’s be-because I won’t tell you the truth.” He croaked, shivering a bit, twitching against you.

”What truth?” You asked, confused.

“Now, Robert. Say it, or I’ll peel your consciousness apart piece by piece and make you feel every single moment of it.” Bob winced at his words, as he let out another grunt of pain, his stomach aching, his lungs burning.

”Stop. Pl-Please stop.” He begged, his breath hitching in his throat. You moved fast, gripping his cheeks again, forcing him to look at you.

“Bob,” You started, voice breaking, “Whatever it is, just tell me. I’m right here. If it makes him stop, just tell me for god sake!” He stared at you. Pupils blown wide, almost eating the familiar blue he always sported. Sweat dripping down his neck in steady streams, wetting your legs beneath him. The heat had reached his ears, his fingertips. He felt like he was dissolving–turning into a puddle in your arms.

And finally, with his lips trembling and his body shaking in your arms, he whispered “…I’m in lo-love with you.” You stayed just where you were, cradling his burning cheeks, the sweat from his skin soaking into your palms. Your legs were going numb beneath him, but none of that mattered now. His chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths. His eyes were wide and desperate, waiting for impact.

But your expression didn’t change.

“That’s it?” You asked softly.

Bob blinked. “Wh-What?”

“That’s the truth that was going to kill you?” You shook your head a little, almost in disbelief. “You’re burning alive from the inside out because you didn’t want to admit you loved me?” He nodded. Quickly. Frantic. The heat still trembled beneath his skin like something half-released.

“I’ve–I’ve loved yo-you since I first saw you,” He stammered, words tangling into little balls of misunderstandings. “I thought it would go away, I tried, I really tried, but it just…It just got worse and I didn’t know how to…I’m so sorry.” You stared at him for another beat, your thumbs brushing instinctively along the damp skin beneath his eyes. He was flushed and shaking and somehow still apologizing. A soft laugh slipped from you.

“Only you would apologize about loving someone.” Bob groaned, like his body had finally started to come down, the tension bleeding slowly from his frame. His breathing began to even out, though he still looked like he’d run a marathon through a thunderstorm.

“Ye-yeah…” He muttered, eyes fluttering closed for a second. “Because I have a god inside me who wants to kill me and have me ruin all my friendships in th-the process.” He tried to breathe through the humiliation, through the cool air finally creeping back in. He was regaining himself, physically. But emotionally, he was trying to retreat, blinking away from your eyes, gaze dropping down to your chin, then your lips, then the floor. You leaned in slightly. The space between your mouths thinned. You could feel his breath–still hitched, still hot–against your lips. You didn’t blink.

“Who said the friendship was ruined?” You whispered. Bob’s eyes flicked up. He blinked at you, lashes damp and heavy.

“…Well…” He rasped, “Yo-You don’t…You don’t like me like that…” You raised your eyebrows, a dry laugh slipping from your throat.

“Who told you that?” You shot back, a smirk coming up on your lips. He swallowed hard.

“…My-Myself.” He replied, voice breaking around the answer. You let out a breath through your nose, equal parts amusement and affection.

“Then I guess you’re wrong.” That confused look passed over his face like a ripple in water–eyebrows scrunching together, lips parting just slightly like he was about to ask–

And then you leaned in, your lips finding his before he could finish the thought.

It wasn’t a rushed, breathless kiss like the kind that usually came after a confession. It was slow. Sure. A quiet answer. Your lips moved against his in steady rhythm, grounding him more than the cold tile, more than the sweat that was now cooling on his skin. His breath caught in his throat again, but this time not from pain–just pure shock.

He kissed you back like he was afraid he was imagining it.

Like he couldn’t believe he hadn’t melted for nothing.

When you pulled back, just slightly, his eyes were glassy again–but softer now.

“…You kissed me,” he whispered, stunned.

You grinned. “Yeah. I noticed.”

“…Can you do it again?”

You laughed.

And then you did.

[summerf0x]

Can you imagine being Captain Olimar. You’re in your late fourties’ working a trucking job for weeks on end all to provide for your wife and kids and dog that you barley see all for a president who treats you with disdain despite the fact that you’re one of his best employees and then a meteorite strikes your ship and you crash on a planet. You have thirty days to survive until your life support gives out but it’s ok because these little carrot creatures have mistaken you for their leader and are willingly following you into battle against the local wildlife for your ship parts. You return home by the skin of your teeth after experiencing the life of a general commanding troops in a great war that no one will ever know about. But it’s okay. You can see your wife and kids and dog again. The president immediately sends you BACK because he’s in debt and also makes you take some random employee back with you. Whatever. It’s fine. At least you’re not going to keel over this time. So you go back to commanding your plant friends to get treasure for your shitty boss. You pay off your debt and then realize the other employee isn’t with you. So you touch down and while that sucks it also means that you can see your wife and kids and dog again because you’re not qualified for getting someone back from an unfamiliar planet and you’re pretty sure you have at least a couple medical problems that should be checked out and you paid off his debt what more does he want AND THEN HE PUTS YOU BACK. HE GOES WITH YOU. So your shitty boss is now on the planet and it’s just you and the ship’s AI and the carrot people. So you go into a cave filled with horrors and kill some biomechanical bug thing that may or may not be puppeted by that coworker. But whatever. You got him. You can go home to your wife and kids and dog. And then. And then. HE SENDS YOU BACK. Because apparently you made so much money last time. So whatever. You’re going to make so much money you’ll never have to work for him again and you can go back to your wife and kids and dog and get checked out for whatever health problems you definitely have, and then you go into a stump. And this immaterial gold creature kills all your plant friends and kidnaps you. It’s toying with you, letting you wake up and try and escape only to get captured and forced into sleep again by the presidents’s cheap spacesuit’s forced sleep measure. Three guys happen to stumble upon you by accident when dealing with a different problem and rescue you and for some reason your shitty coworker is tied up. But it’s fine. You get to go home to your wife and kids and dog. And after all of that. You still have to go to Super Smash Bros.

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Prairie madness-Yandere outlaw x fem reader

Contains- violence, abuse, threat of noncon, gun violence, age gap, manipulation, set during American westward expansion 1865-85, reader is explicitly an Irish immigrant to the us, I am enforcing the yandere cowboy agenda.

It's your own damned fault for smiling back at the tall stranger who rode alongside your wagon. You didn't say nothing, only lifted your gaze to meet him with a fleeting smile when he called you a pretty gal. You liked his accent, nothing you ever heard before coming here, there's been lots of new discoveries.

You missed home something fierce, that cottage always smelling of the dried peat in the fireplace. You never thought that would be the smell you missed most, but when the evenings are spent searching for dry buffalo muck to fuel the fire, peat is a distant memory. You missed the closeness of it all, everyone knowing everything, when one person coughed the doctor would practically already know. That's the funny bit, the familiarity you once thought you would suffocate under, compared to here where you companions barely speak the same as you, and some don't take too kindly to folk like you. When your family got off the boat in New York, you couldn't begin to count all the “Irish need not apply” signs that littered the walls, not to mention how you heard some of the others on the trail loudly talk about how your kind bring nothing but disease with their lazy godless ways. After that you stopped trying to find friends amongst the other families, sticking close to yours.

So you smiled at the stranger, glad to be found pretty after three months on the trail, not to mention the six weeks on the coffin ship to get to this vast country. You only catch glimpses of your face in the reflection of rivers as you bathe or cross them, vanity doesn't do much out here where your body is already worn through.

And when your Mam tutted and told you to lift up your shawl you let it slip lower, wanting him to see more of your face, trying to be noticed for something good for once. He seemed kind, gentle even with how he handled his horse, cantering beside you at a steady pace while your mam drove the oxen. Was clean too, a great difference between him and many other men. It wasn't as though you even knew other men, sure there were the boys in your village, but those were but the elder brothers of your friends, but this cowboy was a man. Not quite your father's age but between yours and your father's you assumed, he looked practical, sure of himself and the sweet words he said to you.

When you camped for the night he asked you your name, giggling gently as he stumbled on the Gaeilge. He only lifted his stenton hat up in response, showing you the flash in his stormy eyes.“I reckon rather than butchering a pretty name I'm just gonna call you little bird instead.” His voice measured and deep. With your cheeks blushing you don't know what possessed you to talk back to him to ask him why he was choosing that of all things to call you. He only smiled back with sharp teeth, “cause I think that little Irish lilt of yours is the sweetest song I've ever heard.” Your voice got caught in your throat as you practically ran away, mumbling some excuse about needing to watch over the children. No matter what, he saw the red in your cheeks, heard the stammer of your voice, you were never smart enough to wear your emotions anywhere other than your sleeve. He wasn't the only one to see, despite how well you thought you hid yourself. Your mam pulled you off to the side one night to lecture you about how to act right around the men. Telling you nothing more to mind yourself and not get into any trouble, confused you asked for clarification about what kind of trouble she thinks you'd fall into. The only answer she said was to never mind the details and just to not be foolish. Without her letting you have the truth you posed the question again to the only other person you could.

“My Mam is telling me to not get into trouble, but I didn't think I was troubling you, was I?” You turn to him earnestly wondering if perhaps the fact that you followed him about like a duckling was bothersome. He didn't need to accompany you and the little ones out to go berry picking a ways away from camp, but when you told him of your plans he simply followed suit, gun on him in the case for bears. He snorted hearing your genuine worry, trying not to laugh in your face as he responded.

“Little bird, I don't quite reckon that was the kinda trouble she was meaning, but I'll let you know now that you are the opposite of troublesome when I see your sweet face,” before you can question what he even means by that your attention is pulled away, back to the littles you're meant to be watching over. Leaving him to watch over you. Sometimes now you wonder why no one said nothing, if anyone else could have seen the way he looked at you. Perhaps they were all so smitten as you, or they let you make your own bed with the expectation you'd have to lie in it eventually.

It was warm that day, a cloudless kind of heat where the sun almost makes you feel ill. The men having all ridden ahead of their family's, scouting for camp while the rest stayed by the lazy riverside. No use for all of you to ride when washing had to be done, with the absence of the men it was almost freeing the way the women congregated. Turns out months of the same dust do wonders for those who think they are better based on the language they speak.

You didn't expect to see your cowboy come riding over. Funny how then you thought of him as yours, no longer a stranger but as yours in a way. Only this time it felt odd, he was alone, with a hardness in his gaze once he dismounted. When he approached you, there wasn't even a sensation of anything wrong till he had one arm round your neck so tight you lost the air to scream, and the other pressing his pistol against your head, barking out as everyone else screamed.

“Now we don't need to stop being civil, cause if anyone tries something I'd have to blast her pretty little head open and we don't want that do we?” receiving a round of terrified nods, you trash trying to break free only to be hit across the temple with the barrel, over and over until you still against him, “now if you don't stop squirming I'm gonna do something I'll regret to you, so I'd appreciate if you'd calm the fuck down.”His voice has never sounded like that before, gone was the easy softness about himself. In its place was a coldness you had only ever seen in the eyes of little boys throwing rocks at penned dogs, knowing the poor things can do nothing but take the violence in hopes it will stop. You can barely register his words, ears ringing and head throbbing. You understand nothing as all the other women frantically hand over what little valuables they have, only somewhat aware of a dampness trickling down your forehead. He has never touched you before, and now all of a sudden he's done it with such violence you can't begin to separate the dissonance of it all. Where have all those sweet words gone, dripped into the dust like the blood down your face?

Suddenly you're being yanked backwards, you can't understand a thing that he is doing, everyone did as he said. Why won't he release you? Your Mam lunges forward, only freezing when he quickly moves the gun from your head to shoot in the ground, the sound as the bullet ricochets from the floor deafening you further and sobering everyone else. “I won't want to do it, but I will if you make me, and where would that leave me? If you make me shoot her I might have to go for someone else next to make sure you understand how I feel.” You can't move, can't breathe, only slump with a dead weight as he pulls you with him, throwing you atop his horse with the rest of his loot. Turning back to the terrified corral of women he just tips his hat with a smirk, “I can promise you I'll take care of her at the very least.” Before he mounts his steed and rides off, the last you see of your Mam and the littles clouded by the kicked up dust.

You don't know how long it takes before the thoughts come back to you, before you realise the man you always made sweet eyes with was nothing short of a rotten bastard.

“Aren't you gonna tie me up?” Your mumble is only received with a snicker, why is that the first thing you say to him after what he's just done. You say no word of his violence, curtsey and thieving, no word of the fact he's just stolen you from all the family you have left and he's riding deeper into territory unknown to not just you but to civilisation.

“I don't need to. You'd be smart not to run unless you want the wild to eat you right up little bird.” His light and easy demeanor is back, at first you thought these could have been two different parts of him, but you know violence comes just as easy as his smile, the only difference earlier was that he showed you the smile.

He only rests at nightfall, pitching the horse and building a fire for your sake. He makes a big to do of giving you his bedroll like a gentleman, that he will sleep on the cold ground and ruin his old bones further, you find no humour silently wishing his sleep is fitfull, without any rest.

“Why did you do it,” you ask quietly over the glowing flames, knees tucked to your chest. He looks at you as though you are soft in the head.

“Because I wanted too, sweet bird, I was always gonna rob you folk, that was a given. I ride alongside for a few days, gain trust and have you think I'm just a fellow traveller, then I rob the women when the men are far away. The only difference this time,” he outreaches a firm hand to lift up your chin “was you, and suddenly I began to think how nice it would be to hear your lilt every morning when I wake and every night when I sleep. Fuck, if I was a worse man I would have just had you out in the woods like a whore and left you with your skirts about your head.” The casual way in which he speaks of such a thing makes your stomach turn and you taste bile in the back of your throat. You know nothing of what goes on between couples, nothing but the hushes spread by other girls, or the mumbling of your Mam that marriage is first.

“You can't do that, we aren't married.” You don't know what even possesses you to find that is where the problem lies, not his threats, his easy violence, or the very fact that if you didn't respond back to him that awful morning you wouldn't be here. Wouldn't be bruised and torn from all those you've ever loved. Your voice is pitiful but he howls as though you've uttered the greatest joke.

“You'd like me to marry you little bird? Can't say I've heard any other women say that to me, but you ain't a woman are you? Just a sweet girl who doesn't know a thing of what she's gotten herself into, but I quite like the idea of having a wife. Might find some traveling reverend and make it proper like one day.”

“I'd need a priest, I'm Catholic” you don't even understand why this is what you're fixated on, the absence of a priest as though God wasn't looking away from you right this moment. But when you've lost everything else it's only the meaningless things you've been left with.

“Sugar, I think I'm doing enough by entertaining your proper ass, what the fuck would it matter out here for the specifics? This is godless country, you don't realise how good you have it that I'm such a gentleman to you.” he smiles despite his words, leaning down to give you a kiss atop your hair. “But I'll be a good husband to you, give you little trinkets and treats when I come home to you. You just got to be a good girl to me like you were a good girl to your family, maybe in time we will have littles of our own running about.” The thought made you feel ill, curling up on yourself further and refusing to give him an answer. He just sighs and tells you to get to bed before the fire dies out.

You wake sometime in the dead of night, confused about where you are when you open your eyes to see stars rather than the canvas tent that has been your bedroom all these months. Until it all comes crashing back to you, your forehead has scabbed over, strands of hair stuck to the dried blood. Other than the hoot or howl of some far off creature the prairie night is silent. The outlaw is silent too, turned on his side, his chest rising and falling with each breath he takes, doesn’t seem like the hard ground causes him to lose any sleep. You get up slowly, like a kicked dog slinking its way to the barn. He's left his belt off, close by his head but you could grab it, it would only take a few seconds to steal his gun. Without it he couldn't hurt you, or do worse.

Steadying yourself you crawl over, both hands reaching for the holster, it is heavier than you expected. Almost like a newborn, the same kind of warmth to it too. The moment you have it you start sprinting, the entire ride he only went north, facing far from the sun, with the moon gloaming above you only hope you're making your way south. Hopefully to some farmstead or town or anything. Anyone even who could help you, who could keep you safe from his wrath when he wakes to find you and his gun gone. You still, catching your breath. It is cold, you have no food nor water and are exhausted after barely half an hour at most. And your lost, lost in this stupid land of false promises and nothing but the fucking prairie for company. You should go back, crawl on your knees and tail between your legs and beg for what mercy he can give to you. Go back before he finds you and gives you an answer to those veiled threats. Perhaps he will forgive you, it wasn't as though he couldn't be kind, he made those promises like he meant them. Between death and the devil at least the devil offers you warmth, you turn around.

You hear him before you see him, the horse galloping as fast as it can, searching for you. The dust clouding up his silhouette as he comes into focus, before you can say a thing he is atop you. A hand wrapped tight on your throat pushing you further to the dirt, his eyes are a whirlwind of anger and fear fighting over each other, with the faintest flicker of relief.

“What we're you thinking?” He hisses, spittle hitting your face, he's that close. “You don't even know where you are and you thought to fucking run from me? You stupid little girl, you could have gotten yourself killed.” He is heavy atop you, hand squeezing sharper as if to punctuate his points. “Did you think I was just teasing when I said that you would die if I was not there? You know nothing of this land you little fool!” He heaves above you for breath, his free hand making its way up your skirt, grabbing onto your bloomers. “What will it take for you to learn huh? Should I fuck you in the dirt to teach you a lesson? Break your legs and cripple you? Ruin you so badly you'd never think something so stupid as this!” He screams with only the cicadas to hear you two.

“I'm sorry!” You howl with tears streaming down your face, he is so startled he drops his hand from your drawers, “you were right, I was stupid and so scared I didn't know what else to do. Please I'm sorry it won't happen again, please! I was stupid and ungrateful and you were right.”

He pauses, hands moving to wipe your face and his eyes turning tender once more as it was before all this. Your heart settles in your throat like a jackrabbit

“Come now sweet bird I only was worried for you, that's why I'm upset. When I woke to find you and my gun missing why, you made me mad. I can't lose you to the land or two some other man who wouldn't treat you as gentle as me.” As you babble your apologies over and over he slowly relaxes, dropping his shoulders and holding you tight. “Now now let's stop the waterworks, I understand you were scared but you still did the right thing to understand that without me there's nothing for you. I forgive you this time, but if you ever try this again I will need to take matters into my own hands.”

He helps you back up, climbing behind you on his horse as you soberly renew your journey. Eventually you come across it- a small homestead in a clearing. Surrounded with nothing but great trees as far as the eye can stretch. If you squint you could almost pretend it was the whitewashed cottage you left far behind you, how long has it even been since you've had the safety a house can provide? It is dusty and disused but he looks at you with pride in his eyes as he opens the doors. “Now I finally have a reason to return home so long as you're here.” He leans in again, a chase kiss upon your cheek as though the past few hours never happened. But you know there's no one to blame but yourself for giving up and accepting this as yours. For accepting those easy eyes and quick smiles without peeling them back to understand what could be underneath. For smiling back at a strange man who rode up one day alongside you.

[colouredbyd]

Broken Vases

poly!moonwater x fem!reader

Summary: When a vase slips from your hands, it’s not just glass that shatters — it’s years of fear, buried under a childhood that taught mistakes meant pain. Remus and Regulus are left trying to show you that love is gentle.

Warnings: Mentions of abusive childhood, abuse, hitting, scarring, broken vases, graphic mention of blood, mention of injuries, childhood truama, victim blaming, manipulative parents, overall graphic and has very intense mentions of an abusive childhood. read with caution!!!

Word count: 4.0k

Authors note: moonwater is my new fav ship idc what anyone says.

masterlist

You loved Remus and Regulus before you even understood what love was meant to feel like. It crept up on you slow and careful, the way sunlight softens a frozen field. Regulus and Remus held pieces of you long before you realized you had given them away. You trusted them because something in you recognized something in them — a bruised sort of knowing, a gentleness that came not from a life of safety but from surviving things no one should ever have to survive.

Regulus understood in a way that frightened you sometimes. His childhood had been lined with gold and knives, beautiful from a distance and lethal up close. Love in his house was something to be earned with obedience and silence, something sharp-edged and glittering that left more wounds than comfort. The Black name carried weight, and it had pressed down on his small shoulders until he learned to carry it without ever showing the cracks. He had clawed his way free of it, but the scars still clung to him, quiet and furious just beneath his skin.

Remus was softer where Regulus was sharp, but the softness had been carved out of him by loss, not given freely. He had known hunger and loneliness, fear and shame, but somewhere in the hollow spaces of his life there had been hands that cradled rather than struck. His mother’s touch, a father’s murmured apologies — flawed, yes, but real, and for all the ways the world had been cruel to him, he had tasted love enough to know it was supposed to be kind.

You had not. You had been born to a house where love was something shouted or withheld, where silence was a punishment and affection was a prize dangled just out of reach.

You did not come from grand halls or ancient bloodlines like Regulus, nor from hidden cottages and worn sweaters like Remus. All you had known was that whatever you received came with conditions, and you learned early that need was dangerous, that wanting too much could be used against you.

But you did not know it was wrong. Not really. Not the way they knew.

You had built a life out of survival, brick by brick, teaching yourself that pain was normal and loneliness was inevitable. You thought everyone grew up like you did. You thought every home was a battlefield stitched together with brittle apologies. You thought every child learned to walk quietly, to measure the weight of footsteps, to make themselves small and silent when anger crept through the walls.

It was not cruelty that kept you from seeing it. It was simply what you had always known.

There were things you said that should have been warning signs, sirens screaming into the hush between you, but you spoke them so lightly, so carelessly, that it broke something inside them every time.

You would laugh, thinking you were sharing something small and harmless, and you would not understand why Remus’s smile would falter or why Regulus’s hands would clench into fists small enough to leave half-moon scars on his palms.

You did not know. But they did. And they loved you too much to let you stay in the dark forever.

It slipped out in the way you laughed, head tipped back against the couch cushions, utterly unguarded, when you said, "Yeah, when we used to get locked outside, Mum said it built character." The words fluttered into the air so casually, so lightly, as if they weighed nothing at all.

Regulus stiffened where he sat beside you, the book he had been lazily flipping through falling forgotten into his lap. The soft thud of it hitting the cushion barely registered over the way the room seemed to tilt, the way the light seemed to dim.

Across from you, Remus's hand froze midair, the steaming mug he had been about to offer you tipping precariously in his fingers, a slow spiral of tea unwinding into the air.

But you only smiled, unaware, bright and easy, as if the memory was nothing more than a harmless anecdote.

As if it were a badge of survival you didn’t even realize you were wearing, the blood beneath it invisible to your own eyes. As if it wasn’t a wound at all, but a joke.

It kept happening, slipping from your lips like water through cupped hands, so small at first that they almost managed to convince themselves it was nothing. Almost.

"Dad said crying was for cowards, so he made us stay out in the snow till he eventually got bored and let us in." you said once, almost laughing, as if it were a funny little story instead of something that hollowed out Remus’s chest until he could hardly breathe. His knuckles went white around the spine of his book, holding it like an anchor, like if he could just grip hard enough the whole world wouldn’t split apart.

Another time you shrugged and said, "One time I forgot to say ‘good morning’ and had to sleep in the garage. It was funny, actually. I made friends with a spider," and Regulus, who had suffered the cold precision of a pureblood upbringing, felt his throat close like he was swallowing broken glass, sharp and merciless.

You didn’t notice. You only grinned, eyes bright, as though loneliness and punishment were things that built fairy tales instead of scars.

You laughed, light and unconcerned, when you said, "Everyone gets hit every few days. It's not a big deal," and missed the way Remus’s mouth tightened into a thin, colorless line, missed the way Regulus reached for you without thinking, fingers ghosting your sleeve like he could shield you from memories that had already happened.

Every word you dropped was another stone sinking into the river of you, another crack spidering through the foundation of what they thought they knew.

Another shard they had to pretend not to see, because you didn’t see it. You didn’t know. You had never known anything else. You had been too busy surviving. You had always been too busy surviving.

And then it all cracked open.

It started so stupidly, with Quidditch and pride.

You were stretched out lazily on the couch, bare feet tucked comfortably under you, a chipped mug cradled between your hands as you took slow sips from it. The faint scent of tea lingered in the air, mixing with the soft warmth of the evening.

Regulus and Remus were on opposite sides of the room, their voices rising and falling in playful debate, each word sparking the kind of heated exchange only they could have. You listened with half attention, smiling softly as their banter filled the space around you, a rhythm that felt almost like home.

The sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon, leaving behind the coolness of the night, but the warmth inside the house was a sharp contrast. The only light was the golden spill of the lamps, casting shadows on the walls that seemed to pulse with life. The house, the three of you, the rhythm of familiar voices, was like a second skin—protective, comforting, real. This was home.

"I am telling you," Regulus said, tossing a Quidditch paper onto the table with a soft thud, "if the Harpies had just switched Seekers at the start of the season, they would have wiped the floor with the Cannons."

"You cannot just swap out a Seeker," Remus said, half-laughing, arms folded stubbornly across his chest. "It is not a chess piece, Reg."

Regulus gave a soft, scoffing noise, a glint of something teasing in his grey eyes. "You Gryffindors are all sentiment. Sometimes you have to cut your losses."

"And sometimes loyalty wins games, not betrayal," Remus shot back, rolling his eyes and pushing off from the doorframe. He crossed the room in two easy strides, standing toe-to-toe with Regulus now, their words heating up, not cruel, just stupid and bright with old affection.

You smiled to yourself, watching them with a kind of fondness that warmed your bones. You loved them like this, alive and careless, sparking off one another like dry tinder. It was the kind of playfulness that had become second nature between the two of them, something you'd witnessed a thousand times and always adored. A safe, familiar rhythm of back-and-forth that filled the space between them, the unspoken bond of shared history and love.

You didn’t even register the way your heart started to beat harder, the way your muscles tensed, the way old instincts uncoiled themselves slowly from where they slept inside you.

"You are insufferable," Regulus said, jabbing a finger lightly at Remus’s chest, the action teasing but laced with warmth.

"And you are infuriating," Remus answered, swatting at his hand with a laugh that was more tired than amused, the spark between them alive but the edges worn down from time.

You hummed softly to yourself, feeling the weight of the quiet contentment that had settled around you. It was easy to feel at ease when the world was just these moments, when the only thing that mattered was the teasing back and forth of the two people you loved the most.

Then it happened.

You weren’t sure how, exactly. It was like a spark that ignited the room, and suddenly everything felt sharper, colder. You had been so used to this—Regulus’s dry humor, Remus’s playful frustration. It had always been just noise, a part of the air you breathed. But this time, it was different. There was a weight behind it now, something you couldn’t ignore.

It was Remus, laughing just a little too loud at Regulus’s remark, his voice cutting through the air with that familiar edge of mockery. "Sometimes you have to let go of the idea of being right," he said with a grin, eyes dancing with mischief.

But there was a flicker in Regulus’s eyes, something hard beneath the surface, and suddenly the tension between them seemed to snap tighter.

"Maybe you should stop assuming you know everything," Regulus bit out, his voice low but cutting, something raw edging into the words.

It was sharp. Too sharp. And the way Regulus’s eyes flashed made it feel like the laughter had been sucked out of the room.

Remus’s smile faltered, his hand falling away from his chest, his posture shifting as if he was sensing something in the air that had shifted.

"I’m not assuming," Remus replied, voice quieter now, just a touch of strain in the edges. "I’m just saying, not everything is as simple as you make it out to be."

Your breath caught, your chest tightening, the conversation somehow too close, too sharp for comfort. Your fingers curled slightly into the cushion beneath you, the urge to interrupt rising up from some deep place inside of you. But you didn’t. You stayed silent, watching, feeling the invisible line stretching tighter and tighter between them.

"You always have an answer, don’t you?" Regulus’s words were laced with something harder now, something that flickered just beneath the surface of their usual dynamic. "Maybe not everything is meant to be solved. Maybe some things are just the way they are."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was nothing but the pulse of the tension, heavy and thick, wrapping around you.

Regulus stepped closer, his movements sharp, pointing his finger at Remus with a precision that was meant to be theatrical, to emphasize his argument. The action was calculated, meant to be playful, to incite a laugh, to turn the moment into another shared joke between them.

But then Remus, always ready to match Regulus’s energy, raised his hand in a gesture of exaggerated defense, an act that was supposed to keep the air light, to stop the rising tension before it could break through.

You couldn’t breathe. The warmth that had once wrapped itself so securely around your chest suddenly felt suffocating, a weight pressing down, trapping you in a moment that had shifted so subtly, but so violently, that you couldn’t reconcile the warmth of the room with the chill crawling down your spine.

It was a blur then. You stumbled backward, your feet suddenly unsteady as your heart pounded too quickly in your chest, the world spinning just slightly too fast. Your hip slammed into the side table, the impact jarring, but you barely registered the pain.

The only thing you could focus on was the vase—the one Remus had given you for your birthday, the one that Regulus had looked at and said reminded him of some ancient art piece he saw in a muggle movie that Sirius used to make him watch.

The vase wobbled once, twice, each movement of the fragile porcelain making the world feel slower, as though everything had fallen into a brief moment of suspension. You could see the way it teetered at the edge of the table, teetered at the edge of disaster.

The world seemed to stretch, just for a heartbeat, and in that stretch, you could almost believe you could catch it, could stop it from falling. But it did.

The sound it made when it shattered was deafening, louder than anything you had ever heard before. It rang in your ears, a crash that felt like gunfire, sharp and cutting, as though the noise itself had torn through the fabric of the room.

Time seemed to hold its breath, the shattered pieces of the vase scattered across the floor like broken dreams, the wildflowers that it had once held now lost in the jagged shards.

Your hands flew to the pieces, trembling and frantic, moving in a blur of desperation.

The shards of the broken vase littered the floor, their sharp edges gleaming menacingly in the dim light. You tried to piece them together, each movement a frantic attempt to make it whole again, to make the world stop spinning, to put everything back into its perfect place before the inevitable consequence arrived.

You couldn’t let it stay broken, not like this. You couldn’t let it be your fault, couldn’t bear the thought of their anger, their disappointment, the crushing weight of whatever punishment you were certain would follow.

"I will fix it," you gasped, the words spilling out in a high, thin tremor, your voice cracking under the strain of the panic rising in your chest. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I swear. Please, please don’t be mad, I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it. Just give me a second, i'll fix it. I promise,"

You didn’t know who you were pleading with—Regulus, Remus, yourself—but you couldn’t stop.

Your hands shook as you gathered the jagged pieces of ceramic, your fingers too clumsy, too frantic, trying to make sense of the broken fragments scattered around you. The panic rushed through your veins like fire, sharp and unforgiving, and all you could think was that you had to fix this.

You had to make the brokenness disappear. You had to undo the mess you had made before they could get angry, before the shouting escalated, before it turned into something worse.

Your hand closed around a jagged edge, the sharp ceramic biting into your skin, the sting of it so sudden and intense that you flinched. A large line of blood bloomed across your palm, the red quickly darkening, but you hardly felt it.

The pain of the cut was nothing compared to the chaos spiraling in your mind, the frantic need to make everything right. You didn’t even register the blood at first, didn’t stop to assess the damage. It didn’t matter. You didn't even notice how the pieces of the once white and blue vase turned a deep crimson red.

Nothing mattered but the pieces of the vase in front of you, scattered like your thoughts, like everything you had ever been told to fix or endure or hold together.

"I’ll fix it," you whispered again, this time more to yourself than anyone else. The words were a mantra, an echo of the things you had been forced to say in other times, in other places, when things broke, when things were shattered, and you were left to pick up the pieces, no matter the cost.

You didn’t know how to stop. You didn’t know how to make yourself stop scrambling, stop trying to make the mess disappear, as though your very worth depended on it. All you knew was that the shards were too sharp, the blood too bright, the panic too thick in your chest. You had to make it right. You had to make it stop hurting.

The world felt like it was slipping away from you, the edges blurring and twisting as you kept reaching for the shards, gathering them up, trying to fit them together, trying to turn them into something whole.

But nothing fit. Nothing was whole. Nothing could be fixed.

Regulus’s voice reached you, soft at first, but thick with concern. "Stop, please stop," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "You're hurting yourself, amour,"

But it was too much. It was all too much. The shattered pieces, the blood, the suffocating pressure to make everything okay—it was all too much for you to bear. And the tears finally spilled over, hot and fast, as your chest heaved with the force of them.

Remus was beside you then, kneeling down in front of you, his hands catching yours gently, pulling them away from the shards. "Love, no, no, no, stop," He said sharply, horror strangling the words.

"Darling, please," Regulus said, his voice cracking down the middle.

They were both on their knees beside you, not caring about the broken shards cutting into their own hands, reaching for you with such tenderness it made the room tilt.

"Look at me," Remus said, reaching out slowly, palms up, voice gentler than you had ever heard. "You are not in trouble. You are not in trouble."

"You did nothing wrong," Regulus said, crouching low, his eyes wide and wet. "It is just a vase. It does not matter. You matter."

But you were still shaking, your hands red with blood and fear, your chest heaving with little broken sobs you could not swallow down. You tried to gather the larger pieces anyway, tried to fit them together with trembling fingers, crying harder when they refused to become whole again.

"I am sorry," you whispered over and over. "I did not mean to. I swear I will be better. Please, please do not leave."

Regulus made a sound then, a wounded, helpless noise. Because had he been that bad at loving you that you thought he would leave you over a vase?

Remus caught your wrists before you could hurt yourself again, holding them lightly, not restraining, just there, solid and warm and unmovable.

"Sweetheart, no," Remus whispered, his voice a soft caress that wrapped around you like a blanket. "We are not angry. We could never be angry with you, baby." His words were so tender, so filled with warmth, that they made your chest ache in a way you didn't know you could feel. His thumb brushed over your arm in slow, calming strokes, grounding you to the moment, to them.

"You are safe," Regulus breathed, cupping your bleeding hand with such care that it made you want to crumble, to sob harder, as if his touch could undo the years of fear and hurt that had clung to you for so long.

"You are safe, you are safe, you are safe." Each repetition was like a gentle promise, a lullaby meant to ease you, but you couldn’t breathe easy just yet. Your heart raced, a flutter of panic that was impossible to still, not when the shadows of your past still lingered, pressing against the edges of every moment.

You shook your head, trying to pull away, trying to slip out of their reach, lost somewhere deep inside, somewhere where love had always meant pain and mistakes had always meant loneliness. Somewhere where you had learned to protect yourself by pushing others away, never letting anyone get too close.

You didn’t know how to let anyone in—not like this, not with such tenderness. But Remus, with his steady grip, only tightened his hands on you, a quiet insistence that you didn’t have to run anymore.

"You do not have to fix anything," Remus said softly, his voice full of such conviction that it almost made you stop and listen. "You are not broken. There is nothing to fix." His words, so simple yet profound, hung in the air between you like a promise.

For the first time, someone was telling you that you were enough, as you were, and that feeling—such an unfamiliar one—made your throat tighten.

Regulus, always the quieter one, brushed the hair from your face with hands that shook just a little, as if afraid to hurt you, even in the smallest way. "Let us take care of you, please," he murmured, his voice raw, like it was a prayer whispered into the night, fragile and desperate.

The tenderness in his tone wrapped around your heart, pulling at something deep within you. His touch felt like a balm, soothing, even when it made your pulse quicken in fear.

Slowly, as if they were afraid to move too fast, they guided you away from the blood and the glass.

Regulus cradled your injured hand against his chest, holding it like it was the most precious thing in the world, fragile and tender. Remus gathered you into his arms with such gentle strength that it left you gasping. His embrace was safe, unyielding, but kind.

You didn’t know how to let go, how to lean into that kind of love, but somehow, in the silence that followed, you found yourself doing just that.

They sat you on the couch, close together, their presence wrapping around you like a shield. Still, they whispered to you, murmuring words you could hardly understand but felt deep in your bones.

Remus pressed a soft cloth to your palm, the cool fabric a contrast to the warmth of his hands, as he worked to stop the bleeding. Regulus, as if every movement had to be slow and deliberate, wiped away the tears that had escaped your eyes, his sweater sleeve gentle against your skin, as if trying to erase the hurt you hadn't meant to show.

"You are alright," Remus said over and over, his voice rhythmic, like a lullaby meant to bring calm. Each repetition was in time with the frantic beat of your heart, which was struggling to steady itself, to accept the safety they were offering you. "You are alright."

Regulus pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment, then another, his lips brushing against your hair, the air near your temple. His touch was so careful, as if you might break if he held you too tightly. "We love you," he said, his voice barely a whisper, but filled with a certainty that settled deep into your chest. "We love you more than anything. No broken thing will ever change that."

The floor was still littered with shards of glass, the blood a reminder of what had just happened, but none of it mattered. Not anymore.

The only thing that mattered was the way they looked at you. It was a look that made you feel seen, truly seen, in a way you had never known before. Like you were something sacred, something worth every broken part of you, even the ones you didn’t know how to heal.

They didn’t see your scars as flaws, they saw them as pieces of you—the person they loved, the person they wanted to protect.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe it.

You let yourself believe that you could be loved like this—completely, unconditionally, without fear. It was terrifying, but it was also beautiful in a way that made the tears feel like they were washing away everything you’d ever known, making space for something new. Something good.

[gav-san]

Pipe and Prejudice

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Oneshot Length: 3.5 K+

Pirate law says don’t screw the crew. Beckman says: Not unless it’s him.

To gently encourage @jintaka-hane to never stop writing Benn Beckman.

Benn Beckman doesn’t walk. He arrives.

Every step is deliberate. Every movement measured, like he has all the time in the world and no intention of wasting a second of it. He’s tall in the way that makes people straighten their backs when he passes, broad-shouldered and lazy-limbed like a wolf that hasn’t bothered to hunt yet. Everything eventually comes to him.

Salt-kissed hair falls in careless waves, streaked with silver at the temples in a way that shouldn’t be hot, but absolutely is. There’s stubble along his jaw, the kind that begs to be scraped against skin. His voice, when he actually chooses to use it, is low and smooth with just enough gravel to feel like sin you can’t afford but want anyway.

He doesn’t speak much. He doesn’t need to.

One glance from under those heavy-lidded eyes and people either shut up, shape up, or rethink their life choices. He carries himself with the quiet confidence of a man who could kill you with a look. He’d rather ruin you slowly though. A hand on your throat. A smirk at the edge of his mouth like the punchline to a private joke.

And that damn cigarette?

Always within reach. Cradled between his fingers or tucked into his mouth like a warning. He lights it lazily, exhales like he’s bored, and watches you like he’s anything but.

His lips are always slightly curled, like he knows something you don’t.

Spoiler: he does.

And his hands. Scarred, steady, infuriatingly controlled. The kind you imagine gripping the wheel of a ship or the curve of a thigh with the exact same precision.

Benn Beckman isn’t loud. He’s just there. In your space. In your thoughts. In your blood.

And if he ever really touched you?

You’re pretty sure the ship would burn down from sheer atmospheric tension. He wouldn’t even flinch.

He’s so hot. And it’s starting to make you a little pent up.

Okay. A lot.

Especially since, you know, it hasn’t exactly been easy being part of his crew.

And that hypocritical asshole Benn Beckman?

Still has the nerve to act like you’re the one who can’t behave.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. And he’s doing it on purpose.

You know it. The crew knows it. Even the damn birds flying overhead know it.

Ever since you glanced, and yes, it was just a glance, thank you very much, at that long-legged mercenary in port (the one with the smirk and the suspiciously clean fingernails), Benn Beckman has made it his life’s mission to personally torpedo every attempt at affection in a fifty-nautical-mile radius.

Which would be fine. You’d respect the effort.

If it weren’t his rule.  And if you weren’t quietly nursing the unspoken, increasingly loud need to climb him like a tree. 

But he said:

No crew hookups, he said.

No emotions. No entanglements. We’re pirates, not a soap opera.

No babies (Bold, and underlined three times)

He said it with all the smug wisdom of a man who could bed half the port with nothing but a smirk and a well-timed flash of abs. At the time, you thought it was pretty reasonable.

And yet, months later, you’re the one dry as the Calm Belt and twice as volatile.

It started subtly.

A look. A step. That pipe leaned too casually on his shoulder as he just so happened to be standing between you and a promising flirtation. Then, almost lazily, he tapped the ash right onto the poor man’s sleeve.

No apology. Just a low, amused hum and a look that said, “Oops. My bad. You were in the way.”

And then it escalated.

You tried to sneak off during docking to meet that handsome tanner with the kind hands and the stupid, endearing laugh. Benn suddenly developed a deep, burning interest in knife-throwing drills. Right outside the exact door you needed to slip through.

You tried a drink with a sailor from another crew. Benn sat beside you without invitation, then proceeded to clean his pipe with the slow, deliberate menace of a man gutting a fish. Somehow, soot ended up directly on your date’s collar. The man excused himself immediately. You didn’t even get a sip.

You flirted with a charming rogue who wrote you a song. Benn whistled the same tune behind him. Off-key. Loud. Deeply disrespectful. The poor man gave up halfway through the second verse and muttered that he “wasn’t feeling it anymore.”

You chatted with a quartermaster from a supply ship. Benn strolled past, eyes flat, voice cool. “Didn’t know you were into men who can’t read a tide chart.” He was gone before the poor guy could finish blinking.

You danced. Just danced. With a noble in a tavern.

Half a spin in, Benn appeared like a mid-boss encounter. He stole the man’s drink right off the table, took a slow sip, then leaned in and muttered something so vulgar it made you blush. You. Who once out-cursed Shanks during a hurricane and won a bottle of rum and a lifetime of respect from Lucky Roux.

It was psychological warfare. And he was winning.

The crew?

Of course they noticed. But they said nothing. They remembered the rule.

Benn’s rule.

No emotional or physical entanglements within the crew.

For harmony. For professionalism.

For reasons™.

Which would be fine. Noble, even. If Benn Beckman weren’t out here acting like you belong to him, without having the decency to follow through.

Every time someone flirts with you? Benn shows up. Every time you flirt back? Benn exists louder.

And you?

You haven’t even kissed anyone in months. Not a stolen kiss in a shadowed hallway. Not a drunken mistake after a raid. Not even a pity peck from a crewmate with too much rum and not enough self-preservation.

You’re going mad. Horny. Lonely. Emotionally blue-balled by a man who won’t even break his own damn rule.

And worse?

He’s not possessive in a way you can fight. He’s calm. Polite. Maddeningly composed. No theatrics, no yelling. No sulking in the corner like a jealous idiot.

And it’s not even jealousy. He’s not possessive.

He’s interfering.

Casually. Constantly. Confidently.

And the worst part?

You’re starting to think he’s enjoying it.

Every thwarted suitor. Every lingering stare. He plays the calm, superior puppetmaster of your dry spell every moment.

A one-man blockade.

A silent, pipe-smoking shadow who somehow appears at just the right moment to obliterate your chances at intimacy like it’s a goddamn hobby.

You're not even sure why anymore. Does he think he’s protecting you? Is it some twisted sense of duty? Or is he just a power-tripping hypocrite who enjoys watching you suffer?

At this point, you’re not sure whether you want to slap him, kiss him, or set his stupid pipe on fire.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You try. Gods, you try.

You flirt.

You flutter lashes. You laugh at jokes that aren’t even funny. You lean forward during card games and pretend not to notice when shirts ride a little low. You compliment knife skills. You fawn over his muscles. You even complimented a very unfortunate mustache because the owner had good calves.

None of it works.

Because Benn Beckman is everywhere.

Like salt in the sea, like mildew on wood, like some extremely judgmental barnacle that has emotionally latched onto your libido and refused to release it from the hull.

You try again with a visiting swordsman. A tall one. Sweet. Mutter's poetry when drunk.

Benn walks by mid-conversation, glances at your companion’s sword, and says, “Bit small for compensation, isn’t it?”

The man leaves instantly.

Then there's the shy medic from a nearby ship, who offers you flowers. Real flowers! You get one whiff before Benn “accidentally” drops his coat over them and says, “Allergic?” You aren’t, but the medic panics and runs anyway.

The next guy, you try to kiss. Try. You’re in a shadowed hallway, lips inches away, and a pipe taps lightly on the wall beside your head.

You both freeze. And Benn, not even looking at you, says casually, “Captain’s looking for you. You were going to report in an hour ago.” The man flees like a rat from a sinking ship. You’re left alone. Again. With a heat in your veins and a scream caught behind your teeth.

You really try to be normal about it, at first.

You flirt like a polite menace. You offer compliments. You even bake—bake—a pie for a carpenter who helped fix a busted plank near your quarters.

Benn drops the entire dessert into the ocean with a casual “Oops.” The carpenter pretends it never happened and never speaks to you again.

Fine.

You flirt harder. You wear a necklace with cleavage implications. You lean against barrels in suggestive ways. You ask questions like “Do you believe in soulmates?” with all the sultry poise of a woman about to commit crimes.

Each time, Benn appears. Never angry. Never loud.

Just present.

He looks at men like they’re bread left out too long. One man you try to woo tells you, “I’m sorry, I’m just not ready to be buried at sea.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures vaguely in Benn’s direction. “He looks like the type to anchor a man with weights.”

Eventually, you grow unhinged enough to ask Shanks for help.

Desperate times. Desperate measures. Spoon in hand.

“Shanks. I haven’t been kissed in six months. I’m going to throw myself off the side of this ship and hope I land on something hot.”

He doesn’t even blink. Just grins that ridiculous grin and takes a sip of his drink like you didn’t just declare a romantic emergency at sea.

“Sounds like you already did,” he says. 

You throw a spoon at him. Not hard enough to cause damage, but with intent.

He ducks, still laughing, and yells, “Yasopp, she’s officially snapped! We’re five days from a Beckman-related homicide!”

From the crow’s nest, Yasopp calls back, “I give it three!”

Down on the deck, Lucky Roux mumbles something about prepping a mop, just in case.

And somewhere behind you, you can feel Benn’s gaze burning into your back like a storm rolling in.

You don’t look.

You’ve got at least one more spoon in your pocket. And if he says something smug tonight, it’s going straight between his collarbones.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The celebration night starts simply.

Rum flows. Music plays. The Red Force is riding high off a fresh victory, and for once, you think…maybe tonight?

You wear your best shirt. The one that says, "I’m available, dangerous, and fully prepared to ruin lives with eye contact alone."

You lock eyes with a visiting sharpshooter. Dimples. Fast hands. Good aim. He makes a joke that’s actually funny, and you nearly cry from the sheer relief.

He invites you to dance. You accept before Benn can emerge from the shadows like the final boss of celibacy.

The deck glows with lanterns. The stars are bright. The music is rowdy, but melodic. The sharpshooter’s hands settle just right on your waist. Confident. Respectful. Warm.

You laugh at something he says. You lean in a little. It feels… nice. Not electrifying. Not dangerous. Just easy. Normal. The kind of moment you haven’t had in months.

He dips you in a practiced move. Eyes bright. Smile easy.

The air tightens. The laughter dulls, like someone turned the volume down on the world. The music still plays, but now it echoes like it’s coming from the bottom of the sea.

You don’t have to look. You feel it.

The storm has arrived.

You turn your head just slightly. And there he is. Benn Beckman.

Leaning against the mast like he owns the moonlight. Not borrowed. Not shared. His.

His coat hangs open, sleeves pushed to the elbows like he just handled something violent or intimate—maybe both. The lantern glow catches the line of his throat, the edge of his jaw, the slow drag of smoke curling from his lips like he’s sculpting the tension on purpose.

Hair tousled by the sea breeze. Scar barely visible under the lamplight. Cigarette balanced between two fingers like a threat. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t blink.

He just watches.

Not even looking at you. He’s watching him. The sharpshooter who unknowingly walked into his territory.

Assessing. Judging.Plotting a deeply personalized murder, with footnotes and a dramatic conclusion. Complete with a warning label and monogrammed body bag.

You try to ignore it. You force yourself to keep dancing. You laugh again, louder this time. Sharper. Petty. Just to prove you still have free will.

But Benn’s gaze doesn’t shift. He’s locked on you like you just committed high treason in full view of the mast. Like the moment you let another man’s hand touch your waist, you started a war.

The sharpshooter dips you again, still smiling, still unaware he’s dancing in a blast radius. You meet his eyes. And then, he kisses you.

Soft. Simple. Perfectly acceptable. You let it happen.

It’s not fireworks. It’s not poetry. But it’s something. And for one brief, fragile second, you think maybe the curse has been lifted.

But in your periphery, Benn straightens.

He moves with that infuriating calm. Like gravity, parts for him. One step. Two.

Towering. Broad-shouldered. All slow fury and sharp angles, radiating heat like he just walked out of a fight, or your last three fantasies.

His coat shifts with every step, open just enough to flash the knife-honed lines of his chest, sea-worn and sun-bitten. That scar along his side catches the lantern light, his cigarette glowing dim between his fingers like a fuse counting down.

His eyes, half-lidded and unreadable, flick to the sharpshooter with all the warmth of a storm cloud about to ruin someone’s year.

And he stops.

Just close enough to make your skin burn.

The sharpshooter opens his mouth to say something.

But nothing comes out. Not a word. Not even a breath.

Benn doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.

The look he gives is a sentence, a verdict, and a funeral all in one.

The poor bastard swallows hard, nods like it was his own idea to leave, and looks away so quickly you wonder if he regrets ever being born.

Benn turns to you. Slow. Unhurried. Dangerous.

His eyes drag over you with the weight of something that sees too much and dares you to flinch.

You say nothing. You can’t.

Not with that look.

Not with the way your pulse trips in your throat like it forgot how to function.

He takes another drag from his cigarette, eyes still locked on yours.

Then he exhales. Smoke, silence, and something that coils in the air between you like a wire pulled too tight.

He doesn’t touch you.

But your whole body knows he could.

And if he ever did?

You’re not sure the ship would survive it.

You’re not sure you would.

“Get. Off. Her.”

Benn doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. It slices through the music like a blade to canvas; clean, cold, and final.

Your poor dance partner releases you like you’re made of dynamite. He takes one last glance at Benn, stammers something about needing another drink, and vanishes like a man fleeing death.

You turn. Jaw tight. “What is your problem, Beckman?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “You.” His voice is low. Controlled. Deadly.

“You and your damn flirting. You and every bastard who thinks they can put their hands on you.”

The words hit like a gut punch, sharp and unforgiving. You’re too stunned to speak. Too furious to breathe.

And then he steps closer. Too close.

Close enough that the scent of smoke and sea salt curls into your lungs, warm and dizzying. Close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his skin like he’s been holding back fire, and you’re the match that finally struck.

His eyes never leave yours. They’re dark, hungry, infuriating. And his voice drops. Smooth. Dangerous. Unapologetic. The sound of a man who’s done waiting, and doesn’t give a damn about consequences.

Your voice is low. Shaking. With rage. With exhaustion. With months of unmet needs and tension wound so tight it’s a miracle you haven’t combusted on the spot.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just leans in, all six-foot-something of sun-bronzed, scar-marked, sea-weathered menace, radiating heat and bad decisions.

His shirt’s open at the collar, the dip of his throat catching the lantern glow. That scar along his ribs was just visible beneath the edge of his coat. His hair was tousled like he had just rolled out of someone’s bed, his cigarette was forgotten between two fingers, and smoke was curling lazily past lips you’ve spent far too long imagining.

And his eyes, dark, hooded, locked on yours with the precision of a man who already knows what you taste like. A man who could wreck you with a look. A man who is.

He steps closer. Close enough to feel. Close enough that your breath stutters, and your pulse has nowhere to run.

“You’re not mine.” He breathes the words like a vow, slow and deliberate. Low enough that they settle against your skin. “But if I’m not allowed to have you—no one is.”

Silence. Around you. Between you. Like the moment before a storm breaks. Still, sharp, electric.

And he just stands there, too good-looking to be legal, with the firelight turning him into temptation carved from smoke and salt and every bad idea you’ve ever wanted to make twice.

Someone drops a mug. Somewhere, Shanks mutters, “Thank the sea gods—I was two weeks away from staging a fake wedding.”

You don’t blink. You don’t breathe.

You slap him.

Hard. Sharp. Satisfying.

You kiss him.

Harder. Hotter. Meaner.

It’s not sweet. It’s not gentle. It’s months of frustration. Of sabotage. Of cockblocking so relentless it deserves its own bounty poster.

It’s a collision. Of ego. Of need. Of finally.

And he kisses you back like he’s been waiting, like every smug look, every quiet stare, every damn lit cigarette was just foreplay he’d been layering like kindling.

You don’t remember how you ended up below deck. One second you’re biting his lip; the next, there’s a wall at your back and Benn’s hands at your hips, kissing you like he’s starving. Like he’s been starving. For you. Specifically.

He doesn’t fumble. He doesn’t rush. He devours with the steady, unhurried confidence of a man who’s thought about this in excruciating detail.

Later, when you’re pinned against a storage crate, breathless, barely dressed, and actively questioning your spinal alignment, you pant against his throat.

“Is this against your rule?”

He doesn’t even pause. Just mutters against your skin, warm and wicked: “An exception.”

Clothes? Gone. Pipe? Dropped and probably rolling somewhere beneath a barrel. Your dignity? Folding like a busted card table.

You moan something that might be his name or might be a new swear invented on the spot, probably one the crew will adopt out of context.

He kisses your throat again, biting this time. A warning or a reward. Then mutters, “New rule. Just for you.”

“What’s the rule?” you pant, somewhere between delirious and ready to throw him down again.

His mouth brushes your jaw as he grins, slow and cruel in the best way: “No one touches you but me. Emotionally. Physically. Biblically. Twice on Sundays just to be sure.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. You’re too busy making absolutely sure he never rewrites that rule again. Possibly ever.

Up above, the crew takes bets on how long you’ll last before you both break something important.

Shanks wins. He bet on ten minutes and a broken table.

You wake up in a supply room. Naked. Sore. Smug.

And unfortunately? So is he.

Benn Beckman, in all his post-sin glory, is still half on top of you. Bare chest rising and falling, scarred and golden in the early light slanting through the hull beams. His hair’s a mess, his lips are kiss-bitten, and one hand is still resting possessively on your hip like he’s asleep but ready to fight anyone who looks at you wrong.

And he’s hot. So hot it’s personally offensive.

The kind of hot that should come with warning signs. All long limbs, sharp edges, and that low, lazy strength that screams if you run, I’ll catch you—and not in a healthy way. Even now, bruised from your fingernails and still smug from last night, he looks like he walked straight out of your most unhinged fantasy and into a problem.

You glare at his perfect jawline and whisper:

“You’re still an asshole.”

He doesn’t even open his eyes. Just smiles, the smug bastard, and murmurs,

“You can glare all you want. Doesn’t change who you woke up under.”

The worst part? You can’t even pretend to be mad. Not when your legs are still jelly. Not when his scent is still warm on your skin. And definitely not when his hand is still resting exactly where it shouldn’t be, curled possessively on your hip like he knows you’re not going anywhere.

Because you’re not. Not yet. Not when he’s this warm, this close, and just barely awake enough to be soft about it.

You sigh. "You’re lucky you're pretty."

He grins without opening his eyes. "That’s not the only reason you kept me."

You smack his chest gently. Mostly.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Upstairs, Shanks updates the crew manual. Section 6B now reads:

Crew fraternization is forbidden.

Addendum: Unless your name is Benn Beckman and you're a tall, pipe-smoking menace with sniper eyes and slutty forearms.

In which case, fine. But at least pretend you’re conflicted, you smug bastard. Also, buy her dinner, you coward.

[chibinasuu]

Zoro x Reader ― by the fire; cuddling

part of the cozy holidays event

🎁 ― @kyllium tags: sfw, pure fluff, established relationship, GN!reader, no use of y/n

Roronoa Zoro was not and had never been a cuddler. 

…or so he claimed. 

As you sat on a log by the bonfire, in a banquet after the Straw Hats successfully liberated yet another kingdom, Roronoa Zoro was clinging to you like his life depended on it. 

Sanji was running around trying to find a cam-snail, hoping to capture the moment for future blackmail material. Robin was giggling quietly to herself, amused by the swordsman’s uncharacteristic behavior. 

The green-haired man was too drunk to care. 

He had (foolishly) challenged Jinbe to a drinking contest, which he had obviously lost, badly.

The fishman was chatting happily with the locals across the clearing, seemingly unbothered by the unholy amount of alcohol he had just consumed. Meanwhile, his opponent had entered a relaxed, half-drowsy state that he always found himself in whenever he drank more than he should, which admittedly, was not often. 

You could only sit frozen in space, cheeks burning, trying to avoid Nami’s gaze as she teasingly made kissy faces at you. Your arms were tight on your sides, trapped by Zoro’s thick ones wrapped around your figure. His face was buried in your neck, and your breath hitched when you felt his lips brush once, twice, against the sensitive skin. 

You were no stranger to Zoro's touches. He had his affectionate moments whenever the two of you were alone, but in public? The most he had ever done was hold your hand in front of the crew. 

“Zoro,” You whispered, “People are watching.”

“Don’t care.” He mumbled as he nuzzled closer to you, “Let ‘em see how much I love you.”

You couldn’t stifle the smile that crept up your face, but Zoro was apparently not done talking yet. 

“Do you know how much I love you?” He slurred as he pulled his head back to look at you, his smile as soft as you had ever seen it, “I’m so in love with you, it‘s making me dizzy.”

You decided that you liked drunk Zoro. 

The man was not exactly vocal with his declarations of love, so it was always nice to hear him say it out loud once in a while.  

You laughed and wriggled your arms out of his tight grip, using them to pull him even closer to you. You gave him a small kiss on the top of his head, “I love you too, Zoro, but that’s probably the alcohol making you dizzy.” 

You know your beloved swordsman would probably be mortified by all of this tomorrow – if he could even remember anything – but for now, you gladly basked in his affection, despite being slightly embarrassed yourself. 

You let him lean on you as he rested his bones  – he deserved it after today's long battle. The crackling of the dying fire only added to his drowsiness, and you could see his eyelid fluttering, struggling to stay open. 

You stroke his hair gently, playing with the spiky ends on his nape. Zoro sighed out your name, muttering a couple more I-love-yous into your ear for good measure. His hand on your waist subtly slipped under your top, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your bare skin. 

As the flames slowly turned into embers, you were grateful for the darkness that hid your flushed skin and dilated pupils. 

“Zoro, are you asleep?”

A soft grunt indicated that he was still awake, but barely.

“Do you want to go back to the ship? You should get into bed and get some proper sleep.”

He answered with a deeper grunt. You were fluent enough in Zoro’s grunts by now that you knew that meant ‘yes’. 

After bidding good night to everyone who remained at the banquet, you half-led, half-dragged Zoro back to the Thousand Sunny, with your arm wrapped around his waist, and his arm slung around your shoulders.

You didn’t complain about his massive weight bearing down on you – not when he stopped every few steps to press tender kisses to your cheek.

a/n: this is practically a self-indulgent fic that feeds into my headcanon that zoro gets extremely affectionate whenever he was drunk

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[starlazergazer]

Separated

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Request: You could do a story where the reader and Anakin had something, but the order tried everything to separate them, and so Anakin wasn't there when she ended up dying. That will be the trigger for him to start doubting the order, and hating them, but it turns out that a reader from another universe, who is exactly the same as his, just shows up.

Warning: Angst! Almost character death, lots of swearing tbh my bad

Word Count: 7k

A/N: Changed the request just a bit hope that’s okay but obsessed with the overall premise! I’m thinking she needs a part 2 but let me know what y’all think!

There was something uniquely terrifying about a silent Anakin Skywalker.

Everyone knew the jedi had a temper, it wasn’t something he was necessarily subtle about, there were few who had been at one time or another on the other end of it, you included.

But Anakin’s temper always exposed itself in the same way. Yelling, pacing, ranting. There were a number of times you had sat down before him waiting for him to get his lecture out of the way, letting him explode like a volcano before being able to actually have a constructive conversation with him.

You honestly couldn’t think of the last time you had seen him as he was now. Quiet, still, contemplative.

Admittedly there was a part of you that wanted to poke the bear, to say something that you knew would make him explode, force him back into charted territory so you knew how to deal with the fallout.

“I just don’t see the big deal”

Still nothing, a harsh glare boring down on you, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw clenched so harshly you could see the muscle through his skin, not a word.

“You do stuff like that all the time”

Just the steady rise and fall of his chest as he took measured, deep breaths.

You were returning home a hero, the entire hanger had cheered for you the moment you touched down, a hoard of people circling you with congratulatory hugs the second your foot touched solid ground, and still somehow Anakin had the power to make you feel like you’d failed.

This was supposed to be your moment and still somehow Anakin controlled the temperature in the room.

“I told you to turn back”

You’d stopped expecting him to speak, so thrown off by the sudden change you physically jumped at the sound of his voice, at how unexpectedly quiet it was.

“That was the wrong call and you know it”

Anakin took a deep breath at your response, his gaze cutting suddenly to the left, a moment passing as he collected himself before responding, that act alone almost making you faulter.

“If it was the wrong call I wouldn’t have made it. I told you to turn back”

“And you aren’t my reporting officer”

“This isn’t a game Y/N!”

The sudden explosion from the man would have surprised you if you hadn’t been unconsciously waiting for it, coiled like a spring waiting for Anakin to snap, waiting for him to yell, a weird weight lifting off your chest as you returned to normalcy.

“I know this isn’t a game do you?” You shot back quickly, just as loudly “He had coordinates, locations of nearly every battalion in the galaxy, information like that isn’t simply a pawn you can choose to trade away”

“Neither are you”

The response came too quickly, too quietly, too seriously for you to fully comprehend the words as he said them, your body physically recoiling at the sudden drop in temperature.

“I was fine”

“You were within firing range” he argued back, his hands coming down to rest on his hips as he glared at you “an entire separatist fleet was on the other side of that moon waiting for him to drag whatever republic ships he could towards them so they could shoot it down and you fell right into that trap”

“I didn’t have a choice”

“You had multiple” he shut you down without ever raising his voice, a single glare enough to silence you “listening to me for one of them”

“And if you had been in my shoes” you prompted “if you had been close enough to chase him would you have simply let him get away?”

“I would have-“ you scoffed before he could get the words out, seeing exactly where he was going before he got there.

“don’t lie to me Anakin Skywalker you treat risking your life as if it were a paying job”

You watched his jaw tick at your response, his words dying on his lips before he changed routs “I told you to turn back”

You let a humorless laugh bubble out of you, a frustrated hand raking across your face as you shook your head “I can’t believe you’re being so blatantly hypocritical right now”

“It’s different” his words came out so quick he seemed almost surprised to hear them himself.

“How?” you demanded more than asked, silently daring him to give you a legitimate answer you weren’t sure he could supply.

“I can’t-“ he cut himself off before he could finish, a huff escaping before he took a deep breath and continued “I need you to listen to me. When I tell you what to do I need you to listen to me”

“Even if-“

“yes” he cut you off before you could get your question off “whatever context, whatever quantifiers I don’t care. Out there I need you to listen to me”

Again his tone was throwing you for a loop. Gone was the anger, the frustration, the ire. Now he seemed to be almost begging, pleading with you to listen to him, to agree, to promise something like today wouldn’t happen again.

But you had made the right call. That was what was sticking with you. You know what you did was risky, hell you could get behind even calling it a little reckless, but objectively it was the right call. You were talking about locations of every troop of clones in the republic in the hands of the separatist’s how could he not see that this was worth anything, that taking down this spy was worth everything.

“Ani what-“

“There you two are” a new voice interrupted you, the sudden appearance of Obi-wan pulling you back to the present moment, reminding you that you and Anakin were in the jedi temple, that you had just come back from a mission, that you still had duties to uphold.

“Master Kenobi” you quickly greeted the man with a small bow, watching the man you had practically grown up under break out into a proud grin as he clapped you on the shoulder.

“That was a great shot Y/N” he praised you shaking you softly “you saved the Republic today I hope you know that”

And though you could feel your chest warm with the praise you couldn’t help but feel a small twinge because of it, not missing Anakin’s small scoff at Obi-wan’s words.

Anakin was your best friend, a man you grew up beside as a padawan, a man you had been practice dueling since you could hold a saber, and you had just pulled off a major victory for the Republic. Was it really too much to ask that your friend take just a second to be proud of you.

“Thank you master” you responded warmly nonetheless nodding at him “believe me when I say it wasn’t easy”

The older man laughed warmly at your words, dropping his hand from your shoulder as he did “that I don’t doubt but believe me when I say we are all glad your maneuver paid off, what you pulled was risky”

You shot a guilty glance at Anakin only to see the man casting his gaze at the floor, arms snaked back around his chest physically distancing himself from the two of you in this moment.

“Anyways what I came here to say is that the council is looking for the two of you” Obi-wan continued on, either choosing to ignore or missing the tension hanging in the air between you and Anakin “you need to debrief before you’re free for the evening.”

“Of course master” you answered for the two of you “we will be right there”

Obi-wan gave you an appreciative nod before taking his leave, casting a questioning glance at his former padawan before exiting the room, casting you and Anakin in a thick silence you were tentative to break.

“Ani-“ you tried but he cut you off.

“Look we’ll talk later” he muttered over his shoulder, already making his way out of the room “we shouldn’t keep them waiting”

-

You could never feel comfortable in the jedi council room, something you were sure was done by design as you and Anakin were forced into the middle of the room, made the literal center of attention.

Even as you knew you were here to receive praise for your actions you couldn’t help but shrink beneath Mace Windu’s gaze.

“-you exemplified what it means to be a jedi knight perfectly today jedi Y/L/N” Master Windu droned on, his voice thankfully lacking the usual edge it had when addressing you with Anakin in the room “we thank you for your actions today”

“I was just doing my job” you responded humbly as you were expected to with a respectful nod “but I am glad to have been of help”

“Of great help you were” Master Kloon chimed in pulling your attention to him as he spoke “the republic owes you a great debt today”

You smiled politely at Mater Kloon, gaze again being drawn across the room as Master Fisto picked up where Kloon left off, a part of you wondering if they did this on purpose to disorient you “we do however have one question regarding this situation. Jedi Skywalker you tried to order Jedi Y/L/N back”

“I did” Anakin’s response was quick with an edge to his voice that had you mentally sighing, you weren’t eager to witness Anakin go up against the council today. “The spy’s ship had reached firing range of the rest of the battalion anyone who followed him was likely to be shot before they could reach”

“Called her back before she reached firing range you did” Master Yoda spoke this time, eyes planted solely on Anakin as he spoke

“She was far back from the spy’s ship, by the time she reached him they would both be within firing range” Anakin countered through gritted teeth, you watched him ball his fists at his sides from the corner of your eye.

“That ultimately however proved not to be the case as she was able to take down the spy without any harm coming to her own fighter” Mace Windu spoke carefully, clearly organizing a path down which he planned to steer this conversation.

A tense silence passed for a moment, a staring contest passing between the Jedi master and the general before Anakin spoke “a miscalculation on my part then”

“It’s a good thing she ignored your miscalculation then” Master Windu offered dryly “we do however have access to the flight com logs. Would you like to explain jedi Skywalker why you ordered jedi Y/L/N not once but five times to turn back”

“Her pursuing as she did was a risk I wasn’t willing to make at the time master”

“Even when aware of the information that ship contained” Master Windu prompted with a raised brow “every troop location of the Republics army. Are you saying you weren’t wiling to risk the life of one jedi for the fate of this war Jedi Skywalker?”

“I don’t trade in lives Master” Anakin challenged back quickly.

“One life versus the lives of billions across the galaxy the math should be easy Jedi”

“we’re here to be Jedi knights not martyrs”

“And it is your duty as jedi knights to do whatever it takes to protect the republic as Jedi Y/L/N did”

“And if she had failed? If the inevitable had happened and she was fired upon the second she came within distance? What good would a dead Jedi knight have done anyone” Anakin was seething at this point, the familiar white hot anger you had expected to be directed at you earlier finally making its appearance.

“We can stop pretending this is about just any Jedi Knight” Mace Windu’s words had Anakin physically recoiling, effectively throwing him off course having the two of you furrowing your brows “there is a reason the jedi code forbids attachments”

“Master we haven’t formed an attachment” you took this as your chance to chime in, keeping your voice light trying to dispel any lingering tension in the air.

Master Windu’s eyes took a second too long to break from Anakin’s to meet yours, a knowing silence permeating the air as if he meant to let your comment hang in it “what happened today, any possibility of letting that spy go, cannot happen again”

You furrowed your brow at his vague response, eyes snapping back to master Yoda as he spoke up.

“not a punishment this is” he chimed in softly, looking directly at you as he did so “remember that you must”

Your eyes snapped back to Master Windu “master what are you saying?”

Mace Windu’s eyes bounced back and forth between you and Anakin for a moment before landing on the latter, another small silence stretching before he spoke “Jedi Skywalker and Y/L/N going forward are forbidden from going on missions together”

A stunned silence fell over you and Anakin, your eyes casting immediately to him only to see his disbelieving gaze locked on Mace Windu “Master you can’t-“ gone was all edge in Anakin’s tone, an almost pleading one taking its place as he tried to talk.

“The council’s decision on this is final” Master Windu cut Anakin off with a single raised hand.

“but-“

“You are dismissed jedi” The doors to the council room opened behind you before Anakin could get out any more than a word. Master Windu leaving no room for either of you to plead your case.

Numbly you left the room with Anakin in tow, your brain still struggling to wrap itself around what had just occurred as you entered the hallway and stopped against the wall, Anakin not missing a beat as he started to pace back and forth in front of you.

“You have to tell me where you’re going next I’ll see if I can at least be close” he was already talking a mile a minute, almost mumbling as if talking to himself rather than you.

“I can’t even remember the last mission I did without you” you mused quietly.

“Under no circumstances can you go alone either take Obi-wan or I’ll give you Rex”

“I can’t believe the council thinks we need to be separated”

“And call me every day even if it’s just to check in”

“Ani you know I can handle myself right” Your sudden direct address of him brought Anakin’s attention back to you, his pacing halting as his gaze snapped up to meet yours.

“After today?” He laughed bitterly in response.

“I came back today” you countered defensively, at this point beyond tired of this same argument “not a scratch on my ship I am alive and well”

“And you almost weren’t” finally Anakin exploded on you, vein popping in his neck as he yelled, a frustrated hand tangling itself in his hair as his pacing picked up once again “you got lucky. That’s it. What you did was dangerous, it was stupid, it was risky, and it only paid off because you got lucky and I feel like I’m going insane because how can no one see that? You are only here right now because you got lucky and there is no guarantee on that a second time”

“Or I’m a good pilot” you shot back angrily “I’m a good pilot and a good jedi who trusted her instincts and accomplished the goal. Is it really that hard for you to trust in my ability?”

Anakin physically deflated at your words, the full meaning of his own hitting him for the first time as he crumpled slightly “Y/N I didn’t mean-”

“No that’s just what you said” you cut him off “I get it you think I can’t handle myself and shouldn’t be trusted. I’m not sure why you’d want to be sent out on missions with me anyways”

“Y/N please” Anakin begged softly but you had had enough, cutting him off with a shake of your head and a sigh.

“No Ani I’m done with whatever is happening right now. It’s been a long day and I’m just-“ You cut yourself off with a deep sigh, taking a second to take a deep breath before turning on your heel leaving Anakin behind as you made your way back to your room, calling softly over your shoulder “I’m done”

-

You knew who was behind your door before he had even knocked. Could feel him lurking behind it. Afterall who else would be at your room this late at night.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened, Anakin just showing up at your room. Sometimes it was to apologize, sometimes it was because he had a nightmare, sometimes it was because he could sense yours. It didn’t matter really because he knew no matter what he was always welcome here, you made sure of that.

It was why he wasn’t surprised when you opened the door before he could officially make himself known. The two of you looking silently at one another before Anakin wordlessly engulfed you in a hug.

You went willingly, melting into him as he wrapped his arms around you, not even bothering to exit the doorway as the two of you stood there and took a second to appreciate the feeling of being supported by the other person.

“You scared me today” the words were mumbled into your hair.

“It was a risk I had to take” you responded softly into his chest, his arms tightening around you at your words.

“I can’t-“ he cut himself off, readjusting slightly to tuck your head under his chin before he spoke again “I don’t like it when you do that”

“And you think I like it when you do” you responded with a laugh, pulling back slightly to look up at him, Anakin reluctantly letting his grasp of you go as you did so.

“I know I just-“ he sighed “I’m sorry Y/N”

“I know Ani”

Finally a comfortable silence fell over the two of you, a moment passing where neither of you said a thing simply enjoying the moment in each others presence before Anakin broke it “I mean it when I say I trust you just please, promise me you’ll be careful”

You smiled softly up at your friend, extending a pinky out to him “I promise Ani”

He smiled and hooked his pinky with yours, neither of you able in this moment to recognizing your lie for what it was.

-

He almost hadn’t answered.

That was the thought that ruminated in his head for weeks after.

You had called, it wasn’t your normal time to talk, and Anakin had almost ignored it, almost told himself he would call you back later.

Thank the maker he was never good at ignoring you.

Your face came up immediately on his hollow display, picture posed strategically to only show your shoulders and above. And even though a smile graced your lips the second he picked up Anakin could still feel it the moment he saw you. Like a punch to the gut, it suddenly hit him that something was wrong. Something was catastrophically wrong. How had he not sensed it earlier?

“Where are you?”

You had just chuckled weakly in response and any other time Anakin lived for that sound but not now, right now he needed you to answer “there’s nothing getting past you is there Ani”

“You were sent to the outer rim right” Anakin steam rolled ahead, grabbing his cloak already intending to hijack the next available ship. He didn’t care if Mace Windu himself was scheduled to be on it.

“That was two missions ago”

Your words halted him in place, Anakin freezing on the spot as he glared back at you, “Y/N”

“Anakin” Maker how could you tease him like this now? You were always stubborn and he loved that about you but right now was not the time to play with his emotions, not with all this at stake.

“I’ll go ask Obi-wan” he was talking more to himself than you at this point, mind whirling with every possible path forward.

He heard you sigh from the communicator but didn’t pay it too much mind, you could yell at him for it later, he would give anything to hear you yell at him later.

“It’s a direct shot to my abdomen” You sucked in a deep breath, gaze dropping to your torso with a grimace, looking at something Anakin couldn’t see “losing blood like this there’s no way you make it in time”

“You don’t know that” he was arguing back before he could properly process your words, his brain refusing to even allow for that possibility.

“I do Ani” you shot him a sad smile, bleeding out, in who knows where and still you were comforting him.

“No there’s got to be someone nearby, another jedi, a local, someone who can help” He was shaking his head, brain desperately clinging to any solution it could.

“I didn’t call you so you could try and solve my problems”

“So why did you call me then?” He knew he wasn’t mad at you, he knew you would know that to, but still he cringed at the way it slipped out, at the way you shoulders slumped slightly at his words.

“Do I ever need a reason to talk to you?”

And he realized then this was you asking for the only help he could give. He was planets away with no ability to reach you and you were asking not to be alone at the end. And even though it killed him he could never say no to you.

“Of course you don’t Y/N”

You smiled at that. A real smile, no undercurrent of pain or pity. Anakin found himself trying desperately to commit to the sight to memory.

“Remember when the council separated us because they thought we had formed an attachment?” You asked softly, head resting back against the wall behind you, your entire body rising and falling with each labored breath.

“Right now it’s hard to forget” he bit down the resentment, it wasn’t what you deserved.

Still you chuckled at him, wincing slightly as you did so “I think right now I have to admit they were onto something”

“I thought that was obvious when I tried to put the entire republic army at risk so that you would be safe”

A teasing roll of your eyes, a fond chuckle “shut up stupid I’m trying to have a moment here”

“I’m sorry please go ahead with your moment” a part of him resented how easy the banter came now, how easy it always came with you, it wasn’t fair.

“You’re my person Anakin” you practically whispered the words, Anakin’s heart swelling painfully in his chest at them “At the end of the day I will always choose you and for the first time I’m not going to condemn myself for thinking it”

“You picked a hell of a time for that revelation sweetheart” the pet name came naturally, he nearly choked on it as it fell from his lips.

You laughed in response, shifting positions with a grunt “Master Kloon did always tell me I needed to work on my timing”

Anakin chimed in before a silence could fully settle over the two of you, “Though I’m sure it’s obvious I will always choose you too Y/N” he took a small amount of pride in the soft smile that grew on your lips at his words.

“So what do you say after the war we leave the order?” You propositioned with a cheesy grin “You and me Skywalker”

It hurt how easily the answer came to him “where would we go?”

“I’ve always liked Naboo” How quickly your answer came made him wonder if like him this wasn’t the first time you had considered this exact scenario.

“I could get a job working on speeders” He proposed with a sad smile.

“I think I’d work at a cantina” you mused back “always thought it would be fun to get to meet people from all over the galaxy”

“It would be a good life” he could feel the truth of those words in his very bones.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you, both lost in thoughts of what if, before you broke it “Thank you Ani”

“Don’t thank me” he protested weakly “not for this”

“Then for everything else”

Another short silence, a quiet plea slipping unbidden from Anakin “please don’t” he knew where you were going next.

“I have to” you answered softly, solemnly “I think it’s time to say goodbye”

“You don’t have to hang up” he protested “not yet”

“I don’t want you to see me like that” And again he was never one to refuse you anything, a final request he couldn’t say no to. “I love you Ani”

Maker how could hearing those words somehow hurt worse than not hearing them ever did.

“I love you Y/N”

A single tear slipped down your cheek and then you were gone. The newfound silence of the room suffocating him as the emptiness in his chest leached out to fill the space in the room around him.

-

The republic has fallen.

The jedi are no more.

The empire reigns in its place.

Anakin Skywalker is dead.

There was a lot you were told upon waking up from your medically induced coma that was hard to believe. A lot of news that was broken to you that was difficult to swallow. The fact that your entire life fell apart in the mere two weeks you were in a bacta tank was something you weren’t sure you were ever going to be able to come to terms with.

Being with the rebellion helped, to know that despite everything there was still a group of people out there who were willing to put everything on the line for what was right. To a certain extent it felt like being home. It helped you learn to come to terms with those four impossible facts.

So now how were you supposed to deal with learning that one of those facts was actually a lie.

You had seen the trepidation on their faces when you walked into the room, the way the entire groups focus was on you the second you stepped in, it almost felt like being back before the council, you would’ve laughed if they hadn’t seemed so somber.

Now you understand why.

As soon as the words left Mon Mothma’s mouth you felt the ground buckle beneath your feet, felt the world around you start to drown out, felt your legs threaten to give out from beneath you.

You would’ve given anything to hear those words just weeks ago, would’ve wept at the thought of being where you were now, but to hear them so shortly after you had tried to heal the wound was nothing but another devastating blow.

“You told me he was dead”

The group shared nervous looks and your every doubt about the rebellion came rushing to the surface. They were no different than the council at it’s worst, wiling to do anything to separate the two of you, willing to lie to make sure you stayed under their thumb, willing to keep things from you because they believed they knew better. Why did it always feel like you were working for the wrong side?

“We believed he was”

“Bullshit” the word slipped from your lips before your gaze could even meet the speaker’s, anger flaring from your chest at the words “a fact like that, as large of that, there had to be rumors, you had to have guessed”

“We didn’t want to get your hopes up”

A bitter laugh rose to the surface, hands coming to your hair in exasperation “I was told the very republic I gave my life for had fallen, that the very group I was fighting against are now in control, and everyone I had ever known dead at the very hands of the people I had sworn to lead and you didn’t think I could’ve used a little hope?”

“We thought-“

“That wasn’t your decision to make” you countered before they could finish, eyes daring the group to say something “maker how can you not see that it was this very hubris that led to the fall of the jedi? Of the republic? Just because you think you know better-“

“He goes by Darth Vader” a new voice jumped in, your eyes snapping to the holo-projection of Bail Organa, the senator’s eyes giving nothing away but pity.

“no-“ the protest fizzled on your lips, barely enough breath behind it to properly get it out.

“The source is solid” it was Mon Mothma again, eyes practically begging you to listen. “Anakin Skywalker is Darth Vader”

And for a second your brain couldn’t comprehend it, wouldn’t comprehend it. How were you supposed to reconcile these two opposite people as one? “No that doesn’t make any sense”

“I’m sorry Y/N”

“No” you protested loudly, as if yelling could get it to not be true, could get them to admit they were lying, this this was all some sick joke “Someone is wrong, someone is lying to you-“

“The information is good” another voice interrupted but you were too caught up in your spiraling thoughts to even identify who it was.

“No the Anakin Skywalker I knew wouldn’t-“

“The Anakin Skywalker you knew died the day that you did” Senator Organa cut through all the noise in your head, his voice loud but not unkind as he drew your attention, the entire world seeming to fall deathly silent after those words.

“What does that mean” your voice was quiet, broken, you didn’t have it in you to care.

“It was an open secret” he explained softly, the senator façade breaking just slightly “the day you were reported to have died Anakin fought with the Jedi council, fought with Obi-wan, no one could get him to calm down, to think rationally. Eventually he made his way to Palpatine’s office, he hasn’t been seen since”

“We all knew of his distaste for the council before this” Mon Mothma chimed in “he blamed them for your death, drove him right into the arms of the current emperor”

Your mind had slowed, had calmed noticeably but still you found yourself dancing around the issue rather than actually dealing with it, your thoughts instead deciding suddenly to stick to something else.

“Why are you telling me this now?” You watched them all carefully, noticing the nervous glances they sent towards one another rather than answer “I wasn’t lying when I said you were just like the former council, preferring to sit on information until it could properly serve your purpose so what’s the purpose this time?”

Again Mon Mothma took the lead, hesitantly speaking up “he’s formed a group with the sole purpose of hunting down and killing any remaining jedi. It’s quite frankly only a matter of time before he finds you”

You furrowed your brow at this “so you’re warning me? Telling me I need to leave the base?” you shook your head slightly, not liking how either of those answers fit before it finally clicked “you want me to stop him”

“We want you to talk to him” Senator Organa corrected you “if there’s anyone who can get through to that man it’s you”

You eyed each of them skeptically, knowing as you were sure they did as well, that this question only truly had one answer “I’ve been told twice in this conversation alone that Anakin Skwalker is dead.” You took a deep breath, bracing yourself on the back of a chair “for all of our sakes I hope that’s not true”

-

Realistically you knew it was true the minute your ship touched down. Even if you weren’t conscious of it at the time you could feel that all too familiar force signature coming from the planet, seeping into your very bones.

To know it logically was an entirely different story.

You stayed hidden, following from alleyways and rooftops, you couldn’t make out the man beneath the costume but everything about him was just wrong. His gait was wrong, the way he held himself was wrong, the red saber at his hip was wrong, there was no possible way the man beneath the mask was that familiar jedi. And yet…

You couldn’t face him. You knew that. Even if it was Anakin under there you weren’t ready to find out, weren’t sure which answer would be more devastating to you.

So even though it meant failure you put your hood on and slunk away, leaving behind Darth Vader whoever he was, ready to tell the rebellion they would have to come up with another way.

You got little more than a flutter of a cape in warning before he descended upon you.

The black figure whipped around the corner faster than your brain could comprehend, having time to do little more than simply freeze in place before you were lifted off the ground by a force you were all too familiar with, invisible fingers tightening around your neck as you were lifted.

“You’ve been following-“ you got little of the figures voice through the mask before he suddenly cut himself off, the pressure on your neck easing just enough to allow you to gasp for breath, the world stilling around you as you looked out from under your hood at what was supposedly Anakin Skywalker.

The world stood at a standstill for a moment, you hovering inches above the ground, toes desperately seeking purchase, Darth Vader silently staring at you, hand held before him almost trembling. You were working yourself up to croaking out a question when his other hand raised suddenly and with a flick of his wrist your hood went flying back.

The second the light hit your eyes the force on your neck disappeared and you crumbled to the ground below in a heap.

Precious few seconds were given for you to gulp down breath before you were hauled back up by your neck again, this time an actual hand secured firmly around it as you were all but thrown against the wall, your head smacking against the brick painfully.

“who are you” even through the voice modulation you could hear the way he seethed beneath the helmet, ire barely contained by the black material.

“Y/N” you croaked weakly, clawing half-heartedly at the hand around your neck that held you in place.

His fingers tightened in response before he pulled you back and slammed your head once again against the wall, a soft groan escaping you at the impact “now is not the time for games now who are you”

“I’m telling the truth” you practically begged, unable to feel any shame in it as the edges of your vision started to black from lack of air.

“That’s impossible-“ you couldn’t really bring yourself to listen to the rest of the sentence, the only thing running through your mind was a grim acceptance that this was how you would die. Supposedly at the hands of the man you had once loved.

“Ani please”

And you hadn’t meant for the plea to escape you, barely even registered that the nickname passed through your lips. All you could focus on was the fact that after they came out into the open you had finally been released.

Again you crashed to the ground, hands splayed out to catch yourself before you could faceplant, lungs burning as you greedily gulped down air.

“Why would you-“ The words died in his throat and a strange, bitter part of you wanted to laugh.

Once you finally had better control of your breathing you sat back on your heels and looked up at the man clad in black before you, squinting slightly at the sun over his shoulder. “It’s true then”

He didn’t respond, simply looked down at you.

“take off your helmet”

“who do you think you are-“ again the urge to laugh surfaced, the way he reached for anger so readily was so similar to the man you once knew, how could you not have seen it earlier.

“Take off the helmet” He physically recoiled at the command. You softened your voice in response, practically pleading with him "I need to see your face"

Again the man before you went rigid, a tense few seconds passing in silence before he hesitantly reached up and pulled off the helmet.

The man standing before you looked somehow older than you remembered but unmistakably him, and every thought about your mission flew out the window the second his eyes made contact with your own. Your brain rejected the similarities outright, because despite being told Darth Vader and Anakin Skywalker were one in the same you still couldn’t handle this physical evidence linking the two.

You reacted without thinking, taking a single step forward and planting your hands on his chest, roughly shoving him backwards, Anakin allowing himself to be moved without a second thought “Maker Ani what the fuck were you thinking”

His helmet slipped from his grasp absentmindedly, his hand coming up to clutch at his chest where your hands had just been as he just stared at you, eyes swirling with too many emotions for you to pin down at the moment.

“Palpetine are you serious?” You demanded more than asked, hurling the implication at him with reckless abandon “I always told you I didn’t trust him and still you-“

“You weren’t there” he cut you off and his voice was so soft, so broken it startled you into silence, your body physically recoiling back a step as he spoke “You weren’t there, and he was all I had”

“You had Obi-wan, you had Rex, you had people who cared about you Ani”

“They weren’t you” his answer back came steadfast and resolutely, leaving no room for argument, followed by a much quieter, more broken statement “they took you from me”

“No one but that weapons dealer took me from you.”

“They did” neither of you felt the need to define the ‘they’ to which you both referred “If they hadn’t kept me from going with you I could’ve-“

“You don’t know that” you cut him off, this argument feeling much to familiar “Even if you had been there we don’t know-“

“If I had been there then you wouldn’t have-“ and he didn’t need to finish his sentence, the natural end to it evidence that this was an argument he has already had with himself too many times before.

“I didn’t” you begged him to listen to you, “I’m okay. Ani I’m right here”

Your words seemed to shock him out of his own personal bubble, his eyes darting frantically around him before he seized you by the wrist suddenly, surprising you, as he started to pull you further down the alley “you need to go Y/N”

“What” the question left you on an exhale, his sudden change in attitude giving you whiplash as he tried to pull you behind him.

“You can’t be here you need to-“ he whispered quickly, frantically, almost as if the words weren’t for you.

You pulled back on your arm forcing him to stop “Ani I’m not leaving you”

He furrowed his brow at your declaration, a hand on your shoulder trying to nudge you forward still “Y/N do you know what the empire will do to you if-“

“I don’t care” you declared back, halting his movements once again, using his grip on your arm to pull his attention back down to you “I already lost you once, don’t make me do it again”

His eyes bounced desperately back and forth between yours as he set his jaw, you could practically see a million different arguments running through his head.

“Halt” a new voice broke through the tense silence, Anakin’s gaze flickering to its source above your head. You barely had time to gaze over your shoulder at the trio of clone troopers that had approached, guns drawn, before Anakin had sent the lead one flying rapidly into the wall with a flick of his wrist.

You tried desperately to hide your flinch at the noise of his armer hitting the building.

The other two froze on the spot, blasters still pointed at you, but Anakin ignored them both, hand still held aloft as he stared down at you debating his next steps for a precious few moments before he spoke.

You could see him physically morph as he addressed the clone troopers, could see him become that other man, that Darth, in the way he squared his shoulders and straightened his back, the way his voice dropped an octave, the way his grip on your wrist grew almost painful as his gaze bore down into yours

“this one is force sensitive, she comes with me”

[inseobts]

Too Cool For Me

bartolomeo x strawhat!reader

he worships every strawhat… except for you

a/n: I didn't mean to post this today but it's too late now... ugh dumb me

words count: 1.3k

tags: misunderstandings, idiots in love, romance, comedy

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆ .:・☆°

The first time Bartolomeo meets the Straw Hat crew in person, it’s everything he ever dreamed of.

“Straw Hat-senpaiiiiii!!!” He falls to his knees, tears streaming, hands clasped in pure, unfiltered reverence “I-I’m not worthy to stand in your presence!!”

Luffy laughs, delighted by the over thetop reaction “You’re funny, Barto! Let’s go eat!”

Bartolomeo practically ascends to another plane of existence.

One by one, he fawns over each of your crewmates “Zoro-senpai! Your badassery knows no bounds!!” “Nami-senpai! A goddess of the sea itself!!” “Usopp-senpai, your legendary tales are the stuff of history!!” Even Brook gets a full five-minute monologue about his status as a rock star and a living legend.

And then he gets to you.

Or rather... he doesn’t.

Bartolomeo barely spares you a glance. No tears, no fangirling, not even a comment. Just a stiff nod before turning back to Franky and screaming about how “SUPER” he is.

At first, you think nothing of it. Maybe he doesn’t know as much about you. Not everyone gets the spotlight in every newspaper. But as time passes and Bartolomeo keeps ignoring you, doubt creeps in.

You watch how he interacts with the others, clinging to Luffy like he’s the second coming of the Pirate King (which, fair okay), showering Sanji in praise for his “divine cooking”, even giving Chopper one of those ridiculous “senpai” speeches. But when it comes to you? It’s like you barely exist.

“Hey, Barto” you try to start a conversation one evening. He flinches like you just threw a punch “How long have you had your Devil Fruit?”

“Huh?” He blinks at you, then shrugs, suddenly aloof “Dunno. Long time.”

“…Right.” You shift awkwardly “I ate mine when I was a kid. The—”

“Ah, crap, gotta go! Luffy-senpai might need a drink!” and he bolts before you can say another word.

Your Devil Fruit ability, one that allows you to manipulate gravity in a small radius, suddenly feels useless. Not cool enough. Not impressive enough. You’re not impressive enough.

Days pass, and it only gets worse. Bartolomeo is the loudest person on the ship, yet somehow, he speaks the least around you. He acts like you’re just… there. The way he hypes up the others makes it glaringly obvious that he doesn’t think you’re at their level. Maybe he doesn’t even think you deserve to be a Strawhat.

“Yo” Zoro drops next to you while you sit at the edge of the Sunny, staring at the ocean “You’re sulking.”

You snort “I don’t sulk.”

He gives you a look.

You sigh “It’s Bartolomeo. He never talks to me. Barely looks at me. It’s like I don’t measure up to the rest of you.”

Zoro raises a brow “You actually care what that guy thinks?”

“No!” You pause “…Maybe. It’s just weird. Like, I know I’m not as legendary as you guys, but I thought I at least mattered, just a little bit. Now I’m not so sure...”

“Tch.” Zoro leans back, arms crossed “You’re an idiot.”

“Wow, thanks.”

He jerks his chin toward the other side of the ship. You follow his gaze and freeze.

Bartolomeo is watching you.

Not just watching.... he's actually staring. Jaw clenched, fingers digging into his arms, looking like he’s barely holding himself together. The second your eyes meet, he panics and whirls away, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes below deck.

Zoro smirks “Idiot.”

Realization crashes over you.

Bartolomeo doesn’t ignore you because he thinks you’re uncool.

He ignores you because he thinks you’re too cool. And now, you have a plan.

The next morning, you corner Bartolomeo before he can escape “Oi” you step into his path, crossing your arms “Are you avoiding me?”

“N-no! What? Pfft, no way!” His voice jumps an octave, and he won’t meet your gaze.

You smirk “Really? ‘Cause it kinda seems like you are.”

“I... I just...” He grits his teeth, then groans, dragging his hands through his hair “Ugh! Fine! I am avoiding you!”

You tilt your head “Why?”

Bartolomeo groans again, this time slumping dramatically against the mast like you’re physically torturing him “Because you’re—so—damn—cool!!” He throws his hands in the air “Like, I saw you in the papers and thought, ‘Damn, this one’s gonna be strong.’ But then I met you and you’re not just strong, you’re awesome! The way you fight, the way you talk, your Devil Fruit—it’s all so—gah!!” He grips his head “And I... I get nervous! I don’t get nervous! But around you, I feel like a dumbass, and I don’t wanna say something stupid and make you think I’m lame!”

Silence.

Then you laugh.

Bartolomeo’s face turns bright red “Oi! What’s so funny?!”

“You! You’ve been acting like I’m nothing special this whole time because you’re nervous?” You grin “Dude, I thought you hated me.”

His eyes go wide “What?! NO! Never!! You’re...” He grabs your shoulders, shaking you slightly “You’re amazing! I could never hate you! I’m just a dumbass who doesn’t know how to act around someone that cool!!”

You blink “Wow. That’s… actually really sweet.”

Bartolomeo freezes, realization hitting him like a truck. He just admitted all of that out loud. To you.

He promptly screams, lets go of you, and sprints away at full speed.

You watch him go, shaking your head “Idiot.”

But this time, you’re smiling.

Bartolomeo avoids you even harder after his accidental confession, but this time, it’s not because he doesn’t know how to act, instead it’s because he’s utterly convinced there’s no way you could ever return his feelings. To him, you’re like an untouchable star, way out of his league. Just being near you makes his heart feel like it’s about to explode.

And you? You’re getting really tired of this his nonsense.

The entire crew notices. Luffy, as oblivious as ever, just assumes Bartolomeo is naturally weird. Sanji is too busy trying to flirt with Nami and Robin to care. But Zoro? Zoro is actively annoyed.

“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles one night, sitting next to you while Bartolomeo pretends to be fascinated by a wall on the other side of the ship “Are you seriously just gonna let him keep running?”

You scowl “Of course not.”

“Good. Because it's annoying to watch.”

It takes another day before you get him alone. You corner him in the storage room, blocking the only exit with a casual lean against the doorframe “Alright, enough of this.”

Bartolomeo stiffens like he’s been caught committing a crime “E-enough of what? Haha! I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“You’re avoiding me again.”

“I’m n-not—”

You step closer. He steps back. His face is redder than ever “Barto.”

His breath hitches “Y-yeah?”

You smirk “For someone who thinks I’m so cool, you sure keep running away from me.”

His brain short-circuits “I—uh—I—”

“Why?”

He looks away, gripping his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping him standing “Because someone like you… you could never…” he swallows hard “You deserve someone better.”

Your expression softens “That’s what you think?”

He nods “Yeah. Like Zoro-senpai... he—he takes good care of you.”

You sigh, then grab his hand. He jolts like you just shocked him with a lightning bolt.

“Barto, you dumbass,” you say fondly “If I didn’t like you back, I wouldn’t even be standing here.”

His jaw drops. He blinks once. Twice.

Then... “EH?!?!”

You grin “Took you long enough.”

Bartolomeo malfunctions entirely. His knees wobble, his face somehow gets redder, and he looks two seconds away from passing out “B-but—but I—I—”

You roll your eyes before pulling him down by the collar and pressing a kiss to his lips.

For one terrifying second, you think he actually did pass out. But then his hands snap up, gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. The kiss is messy, desperate, and so incredibly Bartolomeo that you can’t help but smile against his lips.

When you finally pull back, his eyes are wide with disbelief “Holy shit.”

You chuckle “Well, yeah.”

Then he promptly screams, lifting you into the air and spinning you around in sheer joy “I’M THE LUCKIEST MAN ALIVE!!!”

Somewhere outside, you hear Zoro groan, “Finally.”

Bartolomeo ignores him, holding you close like you’re the greatest treasure he’s ever found. And to him? You absolutely are.