#bigge apologies

[6lovelytenders]

Forever upset we never saw this face mask used.

LOOK AT HIM I AM LOSING MY MIND

[pieflavoredartz]

( CLIK FOR THAT SWEET then sour THE SWEEET QUALITY‼️)

🎶guess whos back back back, back again again🎶

🎶TOADIES BACK!! TELL A HOMIE or a friend frien frien (つ≧▽≦)つ🍄🍄🎶

[ask-bellringer]

can you sound american for exactly one question for the funnies (of your choice)

You won't know when, and you won't know which one it'll be for. But it will 'appen eventually, whether it's tomorrow, or a week from now, or any other time.

You 'ave been warned.

[pine-needle-shuffle]

For the request thingy, could u do Biggs and Jessie from FF7 for number 8? I just really like the idea of those two being absolutely silly with each other, personally I am a full believer that they are in a platonic relationship and are in love but in the most platonic way possible<3 Thank you! Don't worry about it if you can't! Thanks for reading this!! ^×^

I love them so much (and they're so so silly)

[bruhstation]

I’ve finished watching tugs. and I’ll just say.... it’s a wonderful show. it’s genuinely mind boggling that it’s incredibly underrated with how it’s characters and themes are portrayed absolutely well.

where do I even start? it’s considered a sister show to ttte, and they share a lot of similar features (talking vehicles with faces, them getting into situations each episode, both shows using models and on-set technologies to bring each character to life, michael bay explosions) but tugs and ttte have incredibly distinct themes.

just like ttte all the characters are incredibly distinct, both personality-wise and design-wise. but I will stop mentioning ttte at this point. I want to talk about the things that made tugs leave an impact inside my cranium.

I love the fact that the characters are much more mature (???) and realistic. like you have ten cents, the guy who’s cheeky but knows when to stop and prioritizes hard work and getting the job done over getting into silly childish situations. there’s hercules, the classy smooth talker who can get everyone together during tense times and can get serious in handling awry situations. there are characters who are stuck-up and kind of snobbish, but it’s not over exaggerated. like top hat, he doesn’t like getting dirty and complains over dirty smells AND panics whenever he’s about to be in danger, but still does his greatest to be of use and help.

the antagonists aren’t just there to show the audience the forced lessons in black-white morality. the characters aren’t there to teach the audience “that’s why you listen to people older than you! or else you’ll get into silly situations!” lessons.

there’s the z-stacks like zorran who’s the main antagonist (though he is definitely far from being the biggest antagonist or straight up a villain) but there are several instances where he’s efficient and can command his coworkers well. he’s reliable, he’s sharp-tongued, he’s smart because he knows how to keep his shit together. he also knows when to put his rivalry aside for the greater good and work together in order to get rid of a bigger threat, like in the munitions episode (he even tells ten cents to stay away from the burning barges and leave bluenose be). and there’s bluenose who initially could be mistaken as a distant ally, but his foolishness and bossiness and inability to keep his mouth shut are what kickstarted the events of the munitions episode. he literally stacked an entire trail of dominoes that lead up to two characters dying, multiple barges and tanks exploding, and several locations in shambles, and knocked said domino trail down by himself. none of these two are malicious, they are driven by their own sets of morals and thought processes and what they believe is the most important.

remember that part when the first oil tank is set on fire and when everyone is panicking, these are what zorran and bluenose have to say on the situation:

bluenose: “I’m in charge, stay where you are!” zorran: “no way, I know what’s on that barge - get clear, the whole thing’s gonna blow!” bluenose: “stay where you are!”

you know straight up these two factions - the star fleet and z-stacks - don’t exactly hate or despise each other. the star fleet aren’t sagely, perfect heroes, and the z-stacks aren’t evil, bad, or whatever negative adjective there is in the english dictionary. they’re just business rivals (more like their captains). zorran, zak, zebedee, and etc aren’t cunning because they’re part of the z-stacks. they’re cunning and just happens to be part of the z-stacks.

I’ve sensed the elements of death and mortality throughout the entire season as well. there’s burke and blaire with their whole thing with OJ, the entire ghost episode, how sea rogue is forced to carry out dirty work for the sake of his uncle, how big mickey and krakatoa just straight up fucking died during the munitions episode? good lord.

it’s quite a shame that due to the company’s bankruptcy, the second and following seasons cannot happen.... I’ve heard that they have scripts that are enough for 7 or 8 seasons! oh well, I’m still happy with what’s given to me.

overall, I couldn’t recommend this show enough. it’s just. man I don’t know how to describe it. and yeah there are some things that aged poorly but it’s still quite an enjoyable show.

also if you’re wondering, my favorite characters are top hat, hercules, and zorran.

[nanamis-baker]

The Bold Stroke

Chapter 2 | Whisper of the Petals

Pairing: philosophy student Geto x art student f!reader (College AU)

Summary: A mystery blooms on your doorstep. A breathtaking bouquet of white flowers, a silent whisper of apology… but it's not for you. Delivered under the name of a man so handsome he takes your breath away, the mix-up sets your heart racing.

Fate seems determined to keep throwing you together, and soon you're caught in a whirlwind of chance encounters and undeniable chemistry. It was almost as if it was trying to bring you together.

Content: Fluff | slow burn | Light angst (I am not sure) | Mention of scars and accident | Mention of family issues | Reader falling for Geto | Geto being a gentleman but also a big big idiot.

Status: Ongoing

Word Count: 10.2k

a/n: okayy it's here!! This chapter took me a while to write because writing conflicting emotions is something new for me lol.

But a big big bigg thank you to my girl @whereflowerswenttodie for reading and rereading it and helping me out with it!! 💙

← Prev. Chapter | Series mlist | Next Chapter →

“So, are you meeting up with someone?” you asked Inumaki as you fixed your hair a little, the elevator mirror being perfect for it. The two of you were going to the library. Well, you were going to the library, and Inumaki had some work on the same floor, so he accompanied you.

Inumaki nodded, a small smile gracing his lips as the lift opened with a ding. The two of you went separate ways, waving each other goodbye as you went into the library. But as soon as you entered, your legs halted. What you saw was… unexpected, to say at least.

The library had transformed into a bustling marketplace of stressed students. Every table, including yours and Suguru's usual spot, was now occupied by unfamiliar faces. The studious quiet you'd craved was replaced by murmured arguments, frantic typing, and the occasional frustrated groan. This wasn't exactly how you'd envisioned making the presentation format with Suguru.

You had texted him earlier about the presentation format, but there was no way you could get any work done in this chaos. What could you do now? And what other option did you have? You could go to the cafe but-

Just then, a warm hand settled gently on your shoulder. You whirled around, heart leaping into your throat, only to find Suguru standing there, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he chuckled, his voice soothing amidst the library's chaos. You shook your head, the disappointment momentarily forgotten.

"No worries," you managed, forcing a smile. "But seriously, what do we do now?" You gestured towards the library, the silent question hanging heavy in the air.

Suguru's smile faltered, replaced by a knowing frown that mirrored your frustration. "I kind of expected this," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Apparently, a bunch of students submitted the same assignment, thinking they could fool their teacher."

A flicker of surprise shot through you. "The same assignment? How did you…"

"Long story," Suguru interrupted with a wry smile. "Let's just say the rumour mill at this school is efficient." He paused, his gaze flickering around the library before landing back on you. "The good news is, I might have a backup plan."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in your eyes. "A backup plan, huh?" The unexpected turn of events had certainly piqued your interest.

Suguru chuckled, a hint of mischief dancing in his dark eyes. "It is a Top secret," he declared, smiling to himself. "But trust me, it's worth it." He reached for your bag, gently relieving you of the weight. "Just promise me you won't breathe a word of it to anyone."

"Can't guarantee anything until I know where we're going," you teased, the disappointment at the ruined library session fading with each passing moment.

Suguru grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. He reached out and gently grasped your arm, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine. Suddenly, the crowded library seemed miles away as Suguru led you on a detour.

The corridors twisted and turned, a confusing maze that would make recalling the route later impossible. You found yourself relying on Suguru's confident strides, a comfortable silence settling between you broken only by the rhythmic click of your shoes against the polished floor.

Finally, you arrived at a seemingly nondescript wall, the only hint of something unusual was a small, silver panel nestled discreetly within the plaster. Suguru pressed a button, and with a soft whirring sound, the elevator door slid open.

Your eyes widened in surprise. You had no idea this elevator even existed!

Suguru stepped inside, beckoning you to follow. It was a maintenance elevator, you realised. The cramped space barely accommodated the two of you comfortably, and the close proximity did little to deter you. He punched in a series of numbers on the keypad, and with a slight jerk, the elevator began its ascent.

"This elevator," you began, looking up at him, unable to contain your curiosity any longer. "How did you find it?"

Suguru chuckled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he looked down to meet your eyes. "Let's just say Satoru and I stumbled upon it during an… 'unforeseen circumstance'?" He rubbed the back of his neck, a blush creeping up his cheeks at the memory. "Someone was rather displeased with us - him, actually - at the time. Finding this secret elevator was a happy accident." His gaze lingered on the keypad, “And figuring out the pin wasn’t difficult, especially when Satoru is with you,” He finished, smiling fondly at the memory. You found yourself smiling too.

The elevator came to a halt, the familiar ding echoing in your ear. With a sense of anticipation, you watched as the doors slid open, revealing a sight that took your breath away. No longer confined by the walls of the library, you found yourself standing on a rooftop terrace bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun.

The sky stretched out before you like a canvas splashed with luminous hues of apricot and peach, with a hint of purple, the sun beginning its descent towards the horizon. Below, the sprawling campus unfolded like a miniature world, with buildings and pathways etched in the golden light. A gentle breeze ruffled your hair and caressed your skin, carrying with it the scent of drying leaves, with a hint of muskiness.

For a moment, you were speechless, captivated by the unexpected beauty that lay before you. Turning to Suguru, you found a wide grin plastered across your face.

"So this is what you meant by 'Top Secret'?" you exclaimed, your voice brimming with excitement.

Suguru chuckled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Yeah," he admitted, nodding confirmation. "This place is a bit of a hidden gem."

His gaze swept over your face, searching for your reaction. "Do you like it?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Like it, Geto?" you repeated, the question almost comical. "I absolutely love it!"

This secret terrace, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, felt worlds away from the unexpected chaos of the library. It was a private sanctuary, a place just for the two of you.

A satisfied smile spread across Suguru's face. "Good to know," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. He gestured towards a nearby bench, its weathered wood and faded brown paint promising a comfortable perch. "We should have plenty of light for some time now - enough to complete that presentation, at least."

Grateful for his thoughtfulness, you readily took a seat on the bench. Suguru settled himself beside you, the air crackling with newfound energy. "Perfect!" you declared, clapping your hands together. "Then let's get started."

The sun, it seemed, had a favourite today. You sat beside Geto, bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon light, as it casted a golden halo around you. He found himself mesmerised, his gaze drawn to the way the light danced on your skin, turning it a canvas of shimmering bronze. Each flicker in your eyes held a spark more captivating than any gemstone, a tiny fire that seemed to ignite a warmth deep within him.

A golden aura surrounded you, and in Geto's eyes, you became the most exquisite treasure the world had to offer.

He struggled to focus. Every few moments, his gaze would snag on the way the sunlight danced in your eyes, igniting a flicker that stole his attention. Geto found himself mumbling a request for you to repeat yourself. Surprisingly, you didn't seem annoyed, simply repeating your point with a gentle smile.

You intrigued him – a captivating puzzle he couldn't seem to solve. Your thoughts, a fascinating mix of unexpected angles and surprising echoes of his own, kept him constantly engaged. During discussions, you'd throw out a witty remark that had him stifling a laugh, a sharp observation that made him see the topic from a whole new perspective. He'd marvel at the way your mind effortlessly weaved humour and insightful analysis, a combination that felt refreshingly unique.

There was a depth to your intelligence that went beyond mere academic prowess. You possessed a genuine curiosity about the world, a thirst for knowledge that mirrored his own. He found himself drawn to your passion, the way your eyes would light up as you delved into a subject that truly interested you. It was as if you held a mirror to his soul, reflecting things he hadn't even realised were there.

The more he interacted with you, the more he realised how much he craved your presence. It wasn't just the conversations; there was a spark between you, an undeniable chemistry that left him both exhilarated and strangely vulnerable. He found himself wanting to impress you, to share his thoughts and ideas in the hopes of eliciting another one of those dazzling smiles.

"Okay!" you said, a triumphant smile lighting your face. The last rays of the setting sun cast a warm glow on the terrace, painting the cityscape in hues of lavender and gold. "We are done now," you declared, gathering your things. You turned to him, and your smile was even brighter, “Suguru, I can’t thank you enough for your help with this - I couldn’t have done this without you” Gratitude and sincerity shone brightly in your eyes, but that wasn't what held his attention.

Suguru. You had called him by his first name. It was a simple gesture - you probably didn't even realise it - yet it resonated within him like a physical touch. The sound echoed in the twilight, a melody far sweeter than the chirping crickets. He craved to hear it more and more.

"You don't have to thank me again and again, you know?" he managed, his voice a touch rougher than usual. He cleared his throat, hoping to dispel the unexpected feelings that bloomed within him. "I enjoyed working on this project too," he added, hoping to convey his sincerity. It was true – it had all been stimulating for him. But a deeper truth lurked beneath. He enjoyed simply being near you - in your presence.

A pang of sadness, sharp and sudden, twisted in his gut. Here he was, enjoying the afterglow of a shared experience, yet a looming shadow threatened to engulf it. The project, the reason you were here with him, was done. When would be the next time the two of you see each other? Would you, like the last rays of the sun dipping below the horizon, simply slip away too?

The weight of his unspoken thoughts pressed down on Suguru as you walked towards the elevator. The last embers of the sun had faded, leaving the sky a canvas of deepening indigo. As he reached to press the button, blinding darkness swallowed the world whole, leaving him momentarily disoriented.

"What happened...?" He heard you murmur, a whisper lost in the sudden quiet. Suguru turned towards your voice, his eyes straining to adjust to the absence of light. He found you, a faint silhouette framed by the faint glow of the rising moon.

Concern flickered across him. He couldn't see you clearly, but he didn’t miss the slight tremor in your voice. He gently grabbed your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours, hoping to calm you.

Needing to confirm his suspicions, he took a tentative step towards the railing and peered over. Darkness. Not just the terrace, but the entire university grounds were shrouded in an inky blackness. The distant hum of activity that usually filled the evening air had been replaced by an unsettling silence.

"There seems to be a power cut in the area," he replied gently, his voice sounding hollow in the darkness. "But don't worry, we should have power back soon." He said, but for some reason, he had a hard time believing his own words.

"Can we use the stairs or something?" you asked, the slight tremor he had heard in your voice earlier was still there.

"Unfortunately, no," he sighed. "Satoru and I found it earlier, but they are blocked - inaccessible."

You didn't say anything, but Suguru heard a small, defeated 'Oh' escape your lips.

"But don’t worry, we can go and sit on the bench?" he offered, trying to shake away your worries. He could see the outline of the bench as his eyes had started to adjust to the darkness.

"Yeah, let's go," you agreed. As he guided you towards the familiar wooden seat, he felt your hand tighten around his, drawing his attention towards you.

Suddenly, you stopped, your voice tinged with awe. "Suguru, look up!"

He followed your gaze, tilting his head back. And then he saw it. The unexpected darkness had stripped away the veil of artificial light, revealing a breathtaking spectacle he hadn't even realised he'd been missing. A vast expanse of midnight blue stretched above them, a canvas sprinkled with a million shimmering diamonds. The stars. So many stars, each one a tiny beacon in the infinite darkness.

The darkness, once unsettling, now felt strangely beautiful. He stole a glance at you, your face bathed in the ethereal glow of the starlight, a look of wonder mirrored in your eyes. Maybe this wasn’t a bad thing.

Not at all.

An unexpected idea sparked in Geto's mind. He gently released his hold on your hand and reached for his jacket. He knelt, spreading the garment on the cool ground, making sure it was properly spread out.

"Here," he said, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked up at you. He could see you better now, bathed in the faint moonlight, and a flicker of curiosity played across your features.

"What are you doing?" you asked, And Geto could hear the amusement in your voice.

"Come on," he said, extending out his hand, offering it to you in the dimness. "This way we can see the stars better, without straining your neck."

Understanding dawned on you, and a delighted smile spread on your lips, mirroring his own. Taking his hand, you allowed him to gently guide you down onto the makeshift blanket his jacket provided. A warmth spread through him as the two of you settled on the jacket, laying down side by side. Geto could feel the heat radiate from your body against his arm.

A comfortable silence descended, punctuated only by the occasional chirp of a cricket, a sound that seemed louder than usual in the quiet. Geto kept his hand intertwined with yours, the warmth of your skin a surprising comfort against his. His thumb, as if possessed by a will of its own, began tracing lazy circles on your palm.

Stealing glances at your face, bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon, Geto searched for any sign of unease, a flicker of disapproval that might suggest he had crossed a line. Thankfully, he found none.

"Suguru?" He heard you say, your voice, soft as the night breeze. He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze in the dim moonlight.

"You know," you began, a playful glint dancing in your eyes, "you never really told me why you were nose-deep in all those business books in the library that day."

A surprised chuckle escaped Geto's lips, despite the topic you were referring to. "Yeah? And you never told me why you chose to drown yourself in the world of arts," he countered, his voice betraying a hint of the unease he felt.

You let out a laugh, the gentle sound echoing in the dark. "Well, you never really asked!"

"But I am asking now," he countered, amusement dancing in his voice.

"Okay, okay," you said with a grin. "Fair enough. First, you answer my question, and then I'll answer yours. Deal?"

Geto hesitated for a beat, the darkness both a shield and a prompt. So Geto had to offer a part of himself to get to know you better - sounds interesting "Deal," he finally agreed.

You looked up at him expectantly and taking a deep breath, he decided to be honest. "The thing is," he began, trying to hide the disgust he felt about this topic, "those business books weren't exactly what I wanted to be reading. You see, my family owns a pharmaceutical company, one of the biggest in the country."

"Oh wow," you said, a hint of surprise in your voice, “I didn’t know that.”

"Yeah," he said, a humourless scoff escaping his lips. "They expect me to join the business after graduation. Here's the real thing though," he continued, feeling his voice drop low, "They see me as a puppet, someone to inherit their greed and continue their ruthless practices."

"What kind of practices?" he heard you ask, concern flickering in your voice.

He felt his jaw clench slightly, the darkness a welcome shroud for the anger simmering within him. "They price their life-saving drugs at exorbitant rates," he spat, the venom of his words sour on his tongue. "People who desperately need them can't afford them, all because of my family's insatiable thirst for profit. It goes against everything I believe in."

A heavy silence descended. He stole a glance at you, unsure how you'd react. But your expression was open, devoid of judgement, and held a flicker of understanding. It was an unspoken invitation to continue, a safe harbour for the storm of emotions brewing within him.

"They wouldn't listen to reason," he continued, his voice low and defeated. "I've tried, believe me. But logic and compassion seem to be foreign concepts in their world." But still, Geto had to do something right? "Maybe, just maybe, by learning their game, I can break this system and change it from within. But honestly," he admitted with a bitter laugh, "I don't even know if that's possible. Their control is absolute."

The darkness seemed to press in on him, a reflection of the despair that threatened to consume him. He yearned for a way out, a way to break free from the gilded cage his family had built for him.

Your hands squeezed his, bringing him back to the present. "That's a lot to carry," you finally said, your voice soft but firm. "The anger, the frustration, the feeling of helplessness." You paused, letting your words sink in. "But Suguru," you continued, your voice gaining strength, "don't let them steal your compassion, your beliefs. As long as you hold onto them, you’ll find a way. I know you will”

Geto smiled. You were so sweet, so kind, trying to comfort him. It was a small, tired smile, the kind that held the weight of the world but acknowledged a sliver of sunshine breaking through the clouds. Your words, laced with a quiet strength, resonated deep within him. It was true. He couldn't let their greed and corruption taint the core of who he was. But, at the same time, he knew it wasn't wise to hope for much when it came to his parents. Still, he wouldn't burden you anymore with his issue. Maybe a lighter topic would chase away the shadows that had crept into the conversation.

"You're right," he said, his voice regaining a touch of its earlier playfulness. "Now, answer my question from earlier." He raised an eyebrow in mock seriousness, hoping to lighten the mood.

He saw you smile, but it wasn't your usual, happy smile. A faint shadow flickered across your features, a subtle shift in your demeanour that sent a wave of unease through him. "I was in a car accident a few years ago - both my mom and I," you said, your voice softer than usual, your fingers twisting a loose thread on your shirt.

The playfulness drained from his face. An accident? The image of mangled metal and shattered glass flashed unbidden in his mind. "Oh," he stammered, unsure of what to say.

"Another car crashed into ours," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "The driver was drunk. Thankfully, the major impact was on my side, so my mom wasn't hurt too bad."

This wasn't what Geto was expecting to hear. He watched as you reached for your phone, a hollow feeling blooming in his chest. With slightly trembling fingers, you lifted the hem of your jeans, the phone's cool flashlight revealing a constellation of scars that snaked across your calves. Geto's mouth went dry.

You turned towards him, a flicker of vulnerability in your eyes. Hesitantly, you reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, revealing a faint scar that traced a jagged line along your hairline and the back of your neck. The moonlight glinted off the raised, pale flesh, a contrast to the smooth skin surrounding it.

Geto thought he had memorised the expanse of your face, every little detail like the map of a cherished land. But god, was he wrong. He had missed such a big part of you.

Shame washed over him in a sickening wave. He'd been so caught up in his own problems, that he hadn't noticed the silent stories etched across your body. His fingers moved to trace the scar, to feel it under his fingertips, but retracted his hand before it could reach you.

You continued, your voice quiet, "I was bedridden for months, Suguru. I couldn't even speak because a shard of glass had damaged my vocal cords. Hell, I wasn't even supposed to survive, but I did." You let out a humourless chuckle. "I could barely move, I couldn't speak at all, and the frustration – I can't even begin to tell you." You shook your head slightly, a ghost of the ordeal lingering in your eyes.

"My parents were worried, you know, and that's when I started painting," you continued. A small, bittersweet smile touched your lips. "It was horrible at first, of course," you added with a self-deprecating laugh, "but with time, I got better. It became my voice, a way to express the things I couldn't say. Even after I healed, I kept up with it. I wanted to know more – about other people's work, their thought processes, and why they painted what they painted. And so, I chose art as my major." You finished with a shrug as if it wasn’t a big deal or anything.

Geto didn't really know what to say. Words felt hollow compared to the weight of your story. "Does it still hurt?" he asked, the question tumbling out before he could stop it. He mentally face-palmed himself. Really? That was the best he could offer? It sounded insensitive, trivial even, in the face of what you'd been through.

You offered a small, understanding smile. "Sometimes," you admitted. "Not the scars themselves, thankfully. But half of my body is metal now, thanks to the accident. That gets achy sometimes, especially when the weather gets cold." As if on cue, a cool wind rustled through the leaves, and Geto saw the way you flinched so slightly, a shiver running down your body.

Geto's heart lurched. He cursed himself for his obliviousness. Here he was complaining about his family, while you carried the physical and emotional weight of a traumatic experience. Without thinking, he shifted closer, offering you the meagre comfort of his body heat. "Here, let me shield you from the wind a bit."

A warm smile graced your lips as you leaned into him slightly, accepting his support - accepting him. The gesture ignited a spark within Geto, a warmth blossoming in his chest that rivalled the one he offered.

Geto's fingers, which had hovered awkwardly in his lap, found themselves drawn to you again. This time though, they didn't hesitate. With tenderness, they brushed against the cool expanse of the scar on your temple, then trailed down to the faint jagged line along your neck. Your skin felt cold under his warm touch.

You inhaled sharply, your breath catching against his chest. Geto's touch was light, almost reverent, as if he were tracing a sacred map. He met your gaze, the moonlight and stars reflecting in your eyes like a million scattered diamonds. At that moment, it felt like he was peering into a whole new universe, one filled with unspoken stories and hidden depths. A universe he desperately wanted to explore, to get lost in, and maybe, just maybe, find a way back to, together.

His thumb grazed the soft skin of your jaw, a gentle nudge that tilted your face up a fraction. He wanted to see everything, to re-learn every detail etched on your face, the scars, the way the moonlight glinted off the moisture gathering in your eyes. He wanted to learn all your secrets, or at least the ones you were willing to share.

You responded instinctively, leaning in further until the space between you evaporated. Your warm breath mingled with his, a silent question hanging in the air. The stars seemed to wink in approval as the distance between your faces continued to shrink. Anticipation flickered in your darkened eyes, which then fluttered shut as Geto leaned in even closer. Slowly, the space between his lips and yours became nonexistent, a mere breath away.

Just as your lips were about to meet in a brush, The world erupted in a harsh burst of fluorescent light. Both of you jolted back, blinking away the temporary blindness.

It took Geto a moment to realise what had happened. He cleared his throat, the sound rough in the sudden quiet. "We got the power back," he mumbled, his voice thick with the unspoken desire that hung heavy in the air moments ago. His gaze darted away from you for a moment, then returned, searching your eyes for any indication of how you felt about the interrupted moment.

He took in your flushed cheek and your dilated, glossy eyes. That was all the indication he needed. A small, frustrated sigh escaped your lips. "Yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The moment, the intimacy between the two of you, was shattered like a dropped glass, leaving behind a thousand shimmering shards of unspoken desire.

The silence stretched, heavy with what could have been. Geto watched as you began gathering your things, a subtle shift in your demeanour that spoke volumes. You turned to face him, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite the lingering frustration in your eyes. "We should go now, it's getting colder."

He nodded in agreement, his voice thick when he finally spoke. "Yeah, definitely." He grabbed his jacket and dusted it off, the simple action taking longer than necessary. He watched as you reached for your bag, then blurted out, "Here, let me get that," as he grabbed the bag, relieving you of the weight. It was the least he could do, anyway.

Geto had spent hours with you today, yet it felt like mere moments. "Let me walk you home, please," the words tumbled out before he could stop them, fueled by a desire to prolong this stolen time, this unexpected intimacy.

He held his breath, bracing himself for a polite refusal. But then, a bright smile bloomed on your face, a smile that lit up the terrace brighter than the harsh fluorescent lights that had shattered their moment. "Thank you, Suguru," you said, your voice soft but filled with a warmth that sent a thrill through him. "I'd like that."

“Okay, so what happened next? Did you invite him up?” Maki leaned forward, her eyes eager. She glanced at Yuta, who was also listening intently.

Your friends—minus Inumaki—were gathered at the campus café for a small celebration. You’d just received an A+ on your presentation, and of course, you had to share how Suguru's help had played a crucial role. The moment you mentioned his name, their ears visibly perked up.

It had been two weeks since that night on the rooftop, two agonisingly silent weeks. You and Suguru had barely exchanged any texts, and you hadn’t even seen him around campus.

A blush crept up your cheeks as you shook your head. “Of course not! It was just something we felt in the moment. I don’t think inviting him up would have been a wise decision.” You took a sip of your iced tea, the coolness soothing the flutter in your stomach. Every time you replayed the scene in your head, your heart skipped a little. But the silence that followed since then was deafening.

“It doesn’t sound like ‘something in the moment,’ especially with the way you described everything.” Yuta pointed out. One might think he wouldn’t be interested in such stuff, but when it came to his friends, Yuta was always supportive.

"Maybe," you admitted, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. The truth was, the interrupted kiss felt less like a missed opportunity and more like a promise waiting to be fulfilled. But what if you were reading too much into it? The thought sent a pang of disappointment through you, a feeling you quickly brushed aside.

Maki scoffed playfully. "Girl, you were practically glowing when you talked about him! And no one does what he did just to be friendly, you know."

Your cheeks burned even hotter. Maybe Maki was right. Maybe there was something between you and Suguru. A tiny flicker of hope ignited within you, but it was quickly washed away by a wave of uncertainty. Here you were, falling for him, yet his silence indicated that he probably regretted things—didn’t want it. But then the gentle look in his eyes, his silent support, and the way he held you oh so tenderly, shielding you from the cold...

Ugh, it was all so confusing. "But what if—"

Yuta cut you off with a gentle laugh. "Hey, you never know until you try, right? And besides, even if things don’t work out romantically, you made a great new friend. Win-win, I'd say."

You couldn’t help but smile at your friend’s statement. Yuta always knew how to see the bright side. Taking a deep breath, you decided to focus on the positive. Suguru was interesting, kind, and surprisingly easy to talk to. You could confide in him as a friend. But the way his touch comforted you, ignited you...well, that was definitely more than friendly.

"Yeah, you're right," you agreed, a newfound determination settling in your voice despite the nervousness you felt. "Maybe I'll just...see where things go."

Admitting it out loud felt a lot easier. "I like him, you know," you said, looking at your friends with a small smile. "He’s someone who seems to be interested in something that’s not superficial—like he wants to know me, understand me. And it just seems so rare for someone to be genuinely interested in you, right?"

Your friends looked at you with knowing smiles, a silent encouragement hanging in the air. It was probably more than just liking him, you knew. But admitting it out loud, even with just a hint of the deeper feelings swirling within you, felt like a huge step.

The art exhibition buzzed with a quiet energy. The gentle notes of classical music filled your ears, punctuated by the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses from the nearby champagne bar. 

You stood mesmerised in front of a large, abstract piece. It was a puzzle, quiet literally. Fractured squares of vibrant colours and captivating strokes hung on the stark white wall, making an incomplete puzzle, while its other pieces were scattered chaotically on the floor below. The missing pieces created a gaping emptiness in the artwork, a void that tugged at your emotions.

Was it a metaphor for loss  - longing? a commentary on the incompleteness of experiences? You longed to discuss it with Yuta. He'd always loved puzzles; his apartment was filled with framed pieces of puzzles he had solved so far. His mind was a kaleidoscope of unconventional interpretations, making you look at things with a different perspective.

A pang of guilt lanced through you. You were supposed to visit this exhibition with your friends, but Maki wasn't feeling well. Yet, here you were, lost in the beauty of the artwork displayed. Although Yuta had assured you he was taking care of her, telling you to not miss this exhibition, a part of you still yearned to be by your friend's side.

“Intriguing, is it?” A voice interrupted your thought. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The voice, once a source of comfort and playful teasing, now startled you. It was him, the man who had vanished after nearly kissing you under the twinkling stars, leaving you with nothing but lingering confusion and a heart full of unanswered questions.

And now, after almost two months, he was here, asking you this bloody question.

Suguru Geto.

Well, if he wants to play it this way, you can entertain him. After all, two can play this game. "It is," you began, your eyes finally meeting his. "But I'm trying to figure out what the artist is trying to show here."

Geto hummed thoughtfully. "You know what I think?" He paused. Was he expecting a response from you? Well, he wasn’t getting any. You remained silent, your gaze fixed on the artwork.

Undeterred, he continued, his voice taking on a philosophical tone. "This artwork seems to be a metaphor for life. Life throws pieces at you, like the ones scattered on the floor. It's all you need to make your life meaningful and beautiful. Opportunities, people, love..." he trailed off, the last word hanging in the air unspoken.

His gaze shifted back to the painting, his voice softer now. "But it's up to you how you make use of those pieces, to put in the effort to fit them together. If you're not careful, if you wait too long..." He paused again, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something akin to regret and longing passing through them. "The pieces might be lost to you forever."

You sucked in a breath. No, he couldn’t mean what you were thinking. After all, the only conversation the two of you had after hanging out on the terrace was when you told him about your assignment and the grade you scored.

Yes, you had texted him a couple of times after that, but the reply seemed…dry. So, you stopped, hoping Geto would reach out to you when he was ready, but the man beside you never bothered to do anything about it.

But your mind replayed the memory of how he held you that night, a tender embrace that spoke volumes without words. It was a gesture that made you feel cherished, as if you were his most prized possession, far above any material wealth the world could offer. And when you shared the news of your accident, his reaction was unexpected - a mixture of regret and concern, as though he wished he had been there for you, even though he didn't even know you at the time.

No.

You couldn’t allow yourself to go there again.

Not if he wouldn’t follow you, keeping up with you.

Your mind buzzed with Geto’s words, his interpretation of the art piece lingering in your thoughts like an unshakable presence. Was he a piece that life had flung your way, meant to enhance the beauty of your existence? Or did he hold some other significance, perhaps serving as a lesson - a piece that doesn’t enhance the beauty of the puzzle, but serves as a guiding force for other pieces? Was he a fleeting moment of joy, destined to fade into memory like the strokes of paint on a canvas? Or was he a constant, a steady presence meant to shape your journey, to teach you lessons you had yet to grasp?

Stop.

You wouldn’t allow yourself to go there. Not again and again.

This man almost kissed you after you told him one of the deepest truths about yourself, and then disappeared, leaving you alone to deal with the darkness so similar to the inky blackness of that night. But this time, even the stars weren’t there to keep you company.

Leaving the painting behind, you moved towards a different section of the exhibition. Here, the air shimmered with vibrant light. Holographic projections of the paintings danced around you, painting your surroundings with the artist's colourful strokes. These ethereal brushstrokes, magnified and swirling, seemed to come alive, transforming the space into a kaleidoscope of the artist's imagination. 

However, the original artworks remained untouched. Hung on the wall next to their holographic counterparts, they offered a more tangible connection to the artist's hand, allowing you to study the physical texture of the canvas, the subtle nuances of the brushstrokes, and the deliberate choices of colour.

The projections painted your off-white dress in different colours, the fabric a soft caress against the skin of your calves as you walked from one painting to another.

Geto followed you closely behind as you navigated through the section, his silence a palpable presence behind your back. You felt his gaze track your movements, but you paid it no mind, completely enthralled by the painting before you.

It was a complete mess. It was a riot of colour, a whirlwind of strokes, a storm of emotions, yet it held you captive. The longer you stared, the more it seemed to transform, the chaos morphing and shifting before your very eyes. What initially appeared as a meaningless jumble began to hold meaning, revealing a hidden order within the frenzy. The chaos formed a structure - The structure within the chaos.

It was almost as if the holograms mirrored your feelings - Confusing, chaotic, shifting.

Lost in the painting's mesmerising chaos, you barely registered Geto's approach. He stood so close behind you that the warmth of his body radiated through your clothes, his upper arm brushing against your shoulder. His voice, soft and low, shattered the silence.

"What are you doing at this exhibition?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Turning around to face him, you finally took him in. Dressed in a brown turtleneck that mirrored the depths of his eyes, his attire accentuated their warm, inviting hue. He wore a casual blazer on top of it, the colour slightly lighter than the colour of his turtleneck. His raven hair, noticeably longer, was tied back in a simple half-bun, the remaining strands cascading down his shoulders. The change, subtle yet noticeable, added a touch of softness to his features.

But what stood out the most were the circles under his eyes and the hollowness of his face. Even as the holograms danced all over his face, they did nothing to conceal his worn-out state; they almost amplified it.

A pang of concern flickered in your chest, a fleeting thought about his well-being. However, you quickly pushed it aside. Geto was the one who decided not to keep in touch anymore, so now it wasn’t your job to be concerned.

But of course, it wasn’t easy to just get rid of your feelings for someone like they never existed, was it?

"This is an art exhibition, open to all," you finally answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "and in case you forgot, I am an art student, Geto." Your voice was filled with sarcasm, and Geto chuckled. You smiled sweetly at him as you asked, "What about you?"

"Well," he began, his voice laced with a playful drawl, "as someone just said, this is an art exhibition, open to all." He shrugged, smirking. You gave him one final, unamused look before your eyes turned back to the painting.

For a few minutes, neither of you said anything. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken questions and the lingering warmth of Geto's presence. Finally, he spoke, "What do you find so captivating about this painting?"

His voice, a soft melody laced with genuine wonder, resonated with a yearning that transcended mere curiosity. It was as if you held the key to answering the storm of questions swirling within him, your insights holding a weight far greater than anything else. A hunger to delve deeper, to peel back the layers of your being until he could see the very essence of you, consumed him.

A ghost of a smile danced on your lips. How could you deny the man who held such profound significance in your heart, the man who yearned to truly know you, to unravel your soul until there was nothing left to be discovered?

No, of course you couldn’t keep away, no matter how hard you tried.

Finally, you answered him. If he wanted a piece of your mind, you would gladly offer it to him. "For me, it’s those golden strokes," you began, "It was definitely a risky move for the painter. Those strokes could have ruined the painting, but it didn't. Instead, it made this painting what we see."

Geto hummed, "So, you feel like that stroke was a bold move for the painter?"

You nodded your head in response. Geto continued, "But what if that stroke ruined the painting?"

A slight smile played on your lips. "Well, then the painter would have learned something important. They'd know they could create the painting again if they wanted to, and that's a power in itself. They'd know they have the skill and the confidence to reach that level of greatness again." You looked him in the eye, your gaze pinning him, "Even if the stroke ended up ruining the painting, the artist could always put in the effort of making it again, and that in itself is a form of victory. They wouldn't be afraid to take that bold step again and again, till the painter gets what they want from the painting."

Geto's gaze drifted away for a moment, his brow furrowed slightly as he processed your words. It was as if he was engaged in an internal debate, weighing the implications of your statement against his own judgement.

“I wish I could look into your mind.” He finally said, his eyes slightly wide in wonder.

But oh Suguru, little did he know, he has been settled there since the two of you met in the cafe.

A soft buzz from Geto’s phone brought you out of your thoughts, making you realise how quiet it was around you. He pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he typed a message. As you watched him, the silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and met your gaze. "It was good seeing you again," he said. Were you overthinking, or was his voice a touch more formal than before? "I have to go now. Enjoy the exhibition."

With that, he turned and walked away, his steps hurried, leaving you standing there with a lingering feeling of unease. You hadn't had a chance to say goodbye, and the abruptness of his departure left you wondering about your interaction with Geto.

Soon, you were done with the exhibition, the vibrant colours of the holograms still dancing behind your eyelids. Your mind buzzed with inspiration, the beauty of the paintings displayed sparking a flurry of ideas in your head.

The puzzle painting seemed to mock you as you passed it one last time, the question echoing in your mind: where did Geto fit in your life? What piece of the puzzle was he?

Exiting the building, you descended the stairs, the chill in the winter air making you shiver despite your sweater. As you reached the bottom, your steps slowed, coming to a halt. There was Geto, standing by the entrance. But he wasn't alone. He held a woman close, his arms wrapped tightly around her like he never wanted to let go. Her head rested against his chest, and his eyes were closed, almost nestled against her shoulder. The intimacy of their embrace was undeniable, a silent language of comfort and connection that spoke volumes.

Despite the prickling suspicion in your chest, you knew better than to jump to conclusions. This wasn't your place to pry. Yet, the image of their closeness branded itself into your brain, a searing feeling that left your heart burning.

"Well, don't you two look cute," a voice boomed. You looked up to see a man with white hair and sunglasses approaching them, a wide grin plastered on his face.

Gojo Satoru - the name echoed in your mind - Geto's best friend.

You watched as Geto and the woman pulled away, the woman playfully swatting Gojo's arm. But it wasn't the playful interaction that held your attention. Even from a distance, you could see the lingering longing in Geto's eyes as he looked at her.

It hit you like a punch to the gut. This was what he'd been preoccupied with. This is why he had kept you in the dark. This all felt like a cruel joke, life playing a twisted game on you. Of course he had a girlfriend - a guy like him probably had women lining up around the block.

You shook your head, a humourless chuckle escaping your lips as you made your way down the remaining stairs. Yeah, it was pretty obvious what kind of piece Geto was. A missing piece, a piece that belonged to someone else's puzzle, not yours.

You stood outside maki’s wooden front door, finger hovering over the buzzer.  But, before you could ring, the door swung open, its hinges creaking slightly as familiar black, tousled hair came into the view.

Yuta lifted his head, momentarily startled to see someone standing right outside the door, before his eyes met yours. A small smile graced his lips. You took note of the black duffle bag hanging on his shoulder.

You returned his smile, “Leaving now?” you asked him, watching as a small blush crept up his cheek. “Yeah, Maki is feeling better now, so I figured I should go home.” He answered, relief clouding in his eyes before his expression turned curious, “Oh, how was the exhibition yesterday? Again, I am so sorry we couldn’t make it.”

You shook your head, dismissing his apology. “No need to apologise, Yuta.” Despite the events of last night, you found yourself smiling. After all, you saw some works by your favourite artists. You cannot let a man - no matter how much he meant to you - ruin something that you have been looking forward to so eagerly.

“The exhibition was great, Yuta,” You said, as you told him about the puzzle artwork. “I really missed you guys there, you would have loved it too.” You finished, hoping to convey your sincerity with your words. 

Yuta’s eyes lit up and his smile widened, “That sounds amazing! I hope next time all of us can go” He said, before gesturing towards his bag, “Anyways, I gotta go now - Maki’s in her room, by the way.” With a final wave, he moved towards the front door, the door shutting behind him as he left Maki’s apartment.

You made your way towards her room, the minty smell of ointment filling your nose. You found Maki sitting on her bed with a small crochet blanket draped over her legs. The vibrant colours of the blanket reminded you of summer. 

Maki looked up when you approached, a small chuckle leaving her lips as she rolled her eyes, inviting you to sit on the bed. “I knew I would see your face today.” she said, causing you to smile. Her voice today was a far cry from the shaky, tired voice she had yesterday.

Yeah, Yuta was right, Maki was definitely feeling better.

You also noticed that some colour has returned to her face, and Maki looked better now than she did at college, and this observation somehow soothed and comforted you. You enquired about her well-being and got to know that Maki had a cold and fever, but thanks to Yuta’s support, she was feeling far better. 

Oh, Speaking of Yuta…

“So Yuta stayed the night, huh?” You finally asked, an eyebrow raised and a smirk gracing your lips. 

Maki rolled her eyes again but she didn’t shy away from the topic. You watched as the top of her cheeks turned slightly pink. It was a rare sight, something you found so cute. Both Yuta and Maki had a similar reaction to a similar situation.

“Yeah, he was just making sure the fever doesn't get worse or anything,” she said, a small smile on her lips as if she was recalling last night. “He was really sweet about it, actually.” She said it as if she just realised it too.

You smiled for your friends, “So, do you want something with him?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Maki’s expression turned thoughtful, though a hint of playfulness remained, “I do like him,” She admitted. There was no hesitancy in her voice. “But I don’t want to force things with him or anything. Just go with the flow, you know?” She met your eyes as she said, “Besides, he is a great friend - that matters above everything else.” 

You admired Maki’s clarity. She knew what she wanted. 

Nodding your head in response, you reached out to squeeze Maki's hand. But just then Maki let out a small cough. You quickly reached for the glass of water on her bedside table and handed it to her, "Here, take a sip of this."

After a few sips, a sigh of relief escaped her lips. "Alright," she said, her voice slightly raspy, "enough about me. Tell me what’s going on between you and that Geto guy?" Her gaze, even dimmed by illness, held its usual unwavering intensity. It burrowed into yours, leaving no room for secrets. “And don’t lie, I can tell something is bothering you.”

Your heart sank at the mention of Geto's name, the emotions from last night bubbling back to the surface. You avoided them, though. "I think he's seeing someone else," you admitted with a bitter chuckle.

Maki's frown mirrored your own confusion. "But from what you told me…?"

"Yeah, I know," you sighed, your voice heavy with resignation. "But then again, we didn’t speak for two months. I don’t really blame him for pursuing someone else."

But the ache in your chest refused to dissipate, stubbornly clinging to the remnants of hope you had tried to bury.

You recounted the events of the exhibition, the cryptic nature of Suguru's words, and the sight of him with another woman. Maki listened attentively, her unwavering gaze conveying understanding as you poured your heart out to her.

Maki sighed, her disappointment evident in the furrow of her brow. “The woman you are talking about,” she began, her tone tinged with frustration, “I think I saw her and Geto at a cafe - the description sounds the same. But I didn’t think much of it because I just assumed they were friends or something.” Another sigh escaped her lips, laden with exasperation. “But from what you're saying… man, that guy is so clueless!”

"Now, there’s no point in that anyway," you murmured, your shoulders slumping as you shook your head. "I’m just disappointed because I thought we had something, but I guess I just misunderstood things."

Maki's eyes flashed with indignation. “I saw the way he looked at you in the cafeteria - like a teenage boy looking at his first crush. It was so sweet it was almost disgusting,” she said, her nose scrunching up slightly. “So no, you did not misunderstand things. That guy turned out to be an asshole.”

Maki reached out and squeezed your hand, a gesture so unexpected from her that it caught you off guard. “You deserve better than someone who doesn’t know what he wants.” Her gaze was intense, taking in your slumped shoulders and tired eyes. “You know what?” she began, determination clear in her voice. “Give me your phone.”

“You are not texting him,” you said sternly, though you unlocked your phone and handed it to her anyway.

“Of course not,” she replied with a humourless chuckle. “He isn’t worth my time.” You rolled your eyes at her statement, but the corners of your lips twitched upwards, feeling a bit of the weight lifting off your shoulders.

You peeked over your phone, curiosity getting the better of you. Maki was busy downloading - “A dating app?” you asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Maki nodded in response, her fingers flying over the screen as she added a description and prompts to your profile. “But Maki, I don’t want to date someone just like that,” you protested.

“You deserve to meet someone new and exciting. It doesn’t have to be serious,” Maki replied, her voice firm but caring.

You had never used dating apps before, so you felt hesitant to try it out. The idea of swiping left and right felt strange, almost impersonal. But another part of you was curious to see how things would turn out. After all, college was ending soon, you had barely dated anyone until now, and then the thing with Geto...

Maki looked up from the phone, her expression softening slightly. “I know it feels weird, but sometimes you need to step out of your comfort zone. Just give it a try. If you don’t like it, you can always delete it.” She angled the phone towards you, the dating app now downloaded and ready to go. “Think of it as an adventure. You never know what might happen.”

Maki began swiping for you, her eyes occasionally flicking up to check your reaction. One particular profile caught your eye. “Wait!” you stopped her just as she was about to remove the profile.

“What? Him? Really?” Maki asked, her nose scrunching up in mild disgust.

“Hey, he looks good, okay? But that’s not the point,” you said, leaning in to get a better look. The picture of a familiar white-haired man stared back at you. “That’s Geto’s best friend, Gojo.” You told her, swiping down on the profile to see more.

You came across a picture of him and Geto, seemingly from a beach trip. Both of them were wearing floral shirts and sporting big grins. The sight of them together stirred a mix of emotions within you. The carefree happiness on Geto's face contrasted sharply with the confusion and heartache you felt.

The text with the picture read:

Yeah, that’s my best friend, but you won’t find him here. His heart is already taken, but mine isn’t ;)

You shook your head, ignoring the icy feeling that crawled up your veins; a feeling that didn’t have anything to do with the cold, biting wind outside. After a few more swipes, you got some matches. Maki took over, texting them on your behalf.

“‘Are you free tomorrow?’” Maki read the text from one of your matches out loud. Yeah, you were free, but was it wise to go out with someone you barely knew? As if sensing your hesitation, Maki said, “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but I think you should.” Then, she added, “It might help you deal with your feelings for Geto.” You noticed a hint of bitterness when she said his name, as if it left a sour taste in her mouth.

You bit your lip, considering her words. Maki has always been your rock, her advice helping you through the toughest situations. Finally making up your mind, you said, “Yeah, I guess I’ll go out with him - see how it is.” Then, with a teasing tone you said, your voice light, “But I am going only for you.”

Maki smiled at you, her expression lightening. “Great! I’ll text him then.” Her tone turned serious. “But keep texting me, okay? He seems okay, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be worried about you.”

You smiled at your friend’s protectiveness. “Yeah, I will Maki, don’t worry about it.”

A small part of you felt like this was wrong, especially since there was no communication between you and Geto to clear things up. But he had started dating someone else, hadn’t he? His heart was already taken, wasn’t it? So did it matter what you felt for him? Clearly, it didn’t mean anything to him, so the sooner you got over it, the better it would be for you.

The sudden crack of lightning jolted you, sending a streak of black liquid across your eyelid just as you were applying your eyeliner. A muted curse escaped your lips as you grabbed a makeup wipe, determined to fix the line. But the damage was done – a dark smudge now decorated your under-eye. With a sigh, you opted for a clean look, wiping away the eyeliner completely.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed by a low rumble of thunder. Your brow furrowed as you pulled on your clothes for the date. Winter rain was a rarity, but the damp air and earthy scent were unmistakable signs of a downpour.

You had to hurry now. Getting caught in a winter rain shower was the last thing you wanted, especially with your already achy legs. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed that you were looking presentable. Despite the eyeliner disaster, you felt satisfied with your hair and makeup.

You made your way towards the restaurant, taking the subway. As you emerged from the station, the warm, stale air was replaced by a blast of icy wind that stole your breath. It was raining now, but thankfully it was misty; the droplets of water barely felt like anything. The rain clung around your face, blurring the city lights into shimmering halos. The rhythmic rumble of the train faded behind you, replaced by the traffic honks and the murmur of people walking around.

Your legs felt like lead as you trudged towards the restaurant. You'd chosen a cosy Italian place that was a little far from your apartment. Your date had insisted on a ‘middle point’ since he lived far away from your place, and you couldn’t protest.

Doubt gnawed at you. Was this the right way to get over Geto? The memory of his supportive glances and gentle laugh sent a pang through your chest. This date with someone you barely knew, suddenly felt like a flimsy shield against a tidal wave of longing. Yes, you and your date had exchanged some text, but could you really judge a person just through texts? But cancelling now felt like a betrayal – you couldn’t bring yourself to leave someone hanging like that while they waited for you.

With that in mind, you pushed open the glass doors of the restaurant. The smell of molten cheese and basil greeting you, followed by the gentle clink of glasses and happy murmurs. The whole place was bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights. 

Once inside, you navigated through the crowded space until you spotted a familiar-looking face. Your date's blond hair was combed neatly, but there was something different about his hair compared to the pictures you saw. Still, you paid it no mind as you made your way to the table.

As you reached the table, you noticed an almost empty lowball glass that sat in front of him. It had a single ice cube clinging to the bottom of what appeared to be bourbon, given by its amber colour. Before you could dwell on the obvious red flag, dark hazel eyes met yours.

You forced out a smile. “Hey, you must be –”

The words died on your lips as he cut you off, his voice clipped. "You're late."

Huh?

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Looking forward to your feedback 🌷

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I know things take a turn here, and even I wasn't expecting this to happen but it just happened, to the point I had to change the storyline lol

@whereflowerswenttodie @celestie0 @lostfracturess @nakariabnrb @yungbloode

@peppertoastuniverse @hopefulpeachcolor

Stained glass and heart dividers by @/saradika

Line divider by @benkeibear

Galaxy divider by @/cafekitsune

[greg-montgomery]

Ivy - Part 11

gif by: @hotch-girl <3

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader (Sean Hotchner x Fem!Reader)

Series summary: Your relationship with your boyfriend, Sean, is going great. Well, that is until you meet his older brother, Aaron.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

i am back!!!! <3333 we're getting close to the end my besties <3 if you missed the previous chapter, i'm sorry i didn't tag anyone! but now my blog is fixed and everything is back to normal!!

i think i’ll only write one or two more chapters on this story and we’re done 🫶🏻

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“She’s gonna be alright.” Those were the words Aaron had said to him after getting you back. Sean was holding onto those words like his life depended on it.

“Thank you for reaching out to me for help, even after everything we’ve done to you,” his brother had said. “It means more to me than you know.”

“I would never put my pride above her safety.”

“I’m really proud of you for that.” That statement should have not made his chest swell the way it had. Seeking validation from his older brother seemed like a trap he still fell into; even after being betrayed by his own blood.

“I don’t know if you’ll ever find it in you to forgive me, but I don’t want to lose you.” Sean remembered the way Aaron’s voice had broken after saying those words. “Just know that you’ll always be my family and I’ll always be by your side if you need anything. You can still hate me, I don’t mind, as long as you know I’m always here if you need help.”

“I know.”

“Hot chocolate is ready!” A bubbly voice snapped him out of the memory of that phone call.

“How can you be this energetic at 4 in the morning?” he groaned, taking the cup of hot chocolate from Penelope’s hands.

“Well, my job doesn’t really have a schedule. So I’ve been trained to be alert at any time of the day. Or night.” She smirked.

Penelope had insisted on staying with him after hearing the news that you were safe. Sean couldn’t even imagine how awful he must have looked for a stranger to make an offer like this. But he was glad she did. That woman was full of warmness and light; things that had been missing from his life.

He had only managed to bring the mug on his lips, when he heard his phone ring. It was you.

“Hey,” he said, breathless.

“Hi, Sean.” Your voice was weak, tired; he could tell. But you were alive and that was all that mattered.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. I slept, I showered, and now I’m having something to eat.”

It stung that it was Aaron who had probably cooked for you; that it was Aaron’s embrace you had found comfort in that night. It was all clear to him now. Sean was the reason you had been kidnapped. Aaron was your knight in shining armor who had come to your rescue.

It would never be Sean again for you. It would always be Aaron.

“God, I’m so sorry,” he cried. “I don’t know what to say. I feel like the bigg-”

“Don’t you dare apologize for this,” you interrupted him. “How could you have known?”

Sean wasn’t able to reply, his sobs choking him, preventing his voice from coming out.

Penelope was quick to sit next to him and take his hand in hers. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“Sean, do you think we could meet at some point? And just talk? I think we both need it.”

You were right. “Yes, we do. I’ll text you when I can.”

“Thank you,” you said.

There was an awkward pause. The times you were giggling on the phone asking him to hang up first were long gone.

“Um…try to get some sleep, please,” you spoke again. “I’ll be doing the same.”

“Okay, Y/N. Good night.”

“Good night.”

--

A kiss on the forehead by Aaron calmed your beating heart down. “I’m proud of you.”

“I can’t tell whether he hates me or not,” you admitted, letting your phone drop on the couch next to you. “Last time we talked it felt like he didn’t wanna see me again. And now it’s…”

“It’s all very complicated,” he said, leaving another kiss on the side of your head. “He’s hurt, but he still loves you. And now he feels guilty on top of everything.”

“I don’t want him to forgive me because he feels guilty.”

“We need to give him time, my love. Let him reach out to you when he’s ready. He needs to process his emotions first,” Aaron said. “We all do.”

“Thanks for the input, Oprah.”

“Ah…” he said, throwing his head back. “I missed that nickname.”

You laughed and kissed his cheek with all the love in the world.

Brining your attention back to the soup you had left, you brought up a little detail from the phone call you just had.

“As I was talking with Sean…” you started, “I swear I heard Penelope’s voice at some point.”

“Penelope as in…”

“As in Penelope Garcia.”

Aaron raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I guess she stayed there for moral support?”

“Can she even do that?” you wondered.

“Well, your case wasn’t official so I guess she can,” he argued.

“Hmm…interesting.”

At least you were gonna sleep easier now, knowing that Sean wasn’t all by himself.

--

“Shh…Try not to wake her, okay buddy?”

“Okay.”

After a sleep full of nightmares that you were back in that basement, being woken up by the whispers of your favorite people was a blessing; even if they managed to do the exact opposite of what they had just said.

You opened your eyes slightly, being met with a little Jack climbing up the bed.

“Daddy, I woke her up,” he said, turning to face his dad with a guilty face.

“It’s okay, my angel. Come here,” you said, softly, opening your embrace for him.

Jack was soon in your arms, and to the sight of Aaron smiling at the two of you, you fell back asleep.

This time, without bad dreams.

--

My family: those two words were on your mind the entire day you spent with them.

Normally, you would be irritated if the people around you acted as if you were going to break at any point, but how could you be mad when those people were Aaron and his son?

Aaron told Jack you were a little sick and that was all it took for him to act as overprotective of you as his dad did. They didn’t let you lift a finger, and somehow, this treatment felt comforting. You felt loved and cared for. You were important to them.

“Need some tea, maybe?” Aaron asked, as you rested your head on his shoulder. Jack was playing in his room, finally giving you some time alone.

“All I need right now is my man to hold me.”

“Okay. I’m sorry if I’m being too much.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you said, placing your palm on his chest. “Thank you for taking care of me.

“I would lose my mind if something happened to you,” he admitted. “I don’t even wanna think about it.”

“Then don’t,” you replied, kissing his jaw. “It’s over now.”

“It is,” he said softly, his nose brushing against yours. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

You cupped his cheek and brought his face close to you, giving him a deep kiss. “My love…”

“Y/N, look what I made!” Jack’s excited voice made you break your kiss abruptly, but not fast enough for him not to see what was happening. To Jack, you were still his aunt – not his dad’s girlfriend.

Embarrassment and surprise were written all over his face as he stared at you, before running back to his room.

“I’ll talk to him,” you told Aaron before he even had the chance to speak.

--

You knocked on Jack’s door and entered his room after hearing his soft, “Come in.”

Jack was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, a superhero figure occupying his hands.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Why were you and daddy kissing?” he asked, staring at the toy on his lap.

“Honey, uncle Sean and I are not together anymore,” you said, taking a seat next to him.

“You don’t love him anymore?”

“I love him, but not the way I love your dad,” you answered honestly. He was a kid, but you weren’t going to hide the truth from him. Children understood everything anyway.

“You love my dad?”

“Very much.”

“And does he love you too?” Jack finally looked at you.

“He does.”

“So now you’re my dad’s girlfriend?” His tone was curious, not judgmental like you feared.

“Yes, my angel,” you said.

“Isn’t uncle Sean mad at you?”

His question hurt, as innocent as it was.

“He is. And we deserve that.”

“I’d be mad too.”

Thanks, Jack, you thought.

“Max is my best friend,” he said after a small pause.

“Okay…” you said, uncertain where he was going with this.

“But after Christmas break, when we went back to school,  he only played with Alex, and not me anymore. And it made me really sad and angry. But then…then…they said they were sorry and we started playing all together. And now we’re all friends.”

You furrowed your brows - trying to ignore your protective instincts that wanted you to fight two children named Max and Alex – and focused on the moral message of his story.

Yes, the three of you would never be best friends. But Sean deserved an apology. The one you hadn’t given him the day you broke up, because you thought it was worthless. An apology wouldn’t fix anything, but Sean deserved to hear it anyway.

Jack interrupted your thoughts by moving closer to you. “I know that uncle Sean is mad, but I’m happy you’ll be here with us a lot. I love you.”

That kid had the ability to melt your heart like butter. “I love you too, buddy.” You leaned in to give him a hug.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he whispered against your shoulder.

“Of course.”

“I kept wishing you were my mom and not my aunt. And I think that my wish came true and that’s why daddy fell in love with you.”

You squeezed him even tighter.

Part 12

ivy tag list: @preciousbabypeter @buckysmainhxe @galaxyofmyown @ssamorganhotchner @romanogersendgame @elhotchner @louderfortheback @northschild @iammirrorball @rousethemouse @kishie8 @save-the-sky @ssacharcoalgrey @realdirectionx @itsmytimetoodream @art-and-thoughts @red-red-rogue @dellalyra @feetgypsy @stella95827 @katieslotherford @jazzymariexoxoc @quietlyignoringyou @justarandommom @sebastiansstanswhore @lelifesaver @aaron-hotchners-girlfriend @whyamihere96 @sylvieofasgard @redbleedingrose @222brooke @xoprincessmel @girlintheredscarf @radical-gecko @yeehawbitchs @jazzerbelle14 @jayxox @adrienette715 @fudosl @sardonic-courtney @emlynblack @kizzywh @formulapierre @crocodilefeet2707 @mojo366 @spicysimpura @twelfthnightorwhatyouwill1998 @mrs-ssa-hotch @clairedragonessbaker @n0t-yours-you-w1sh @tipsyteenstoday @potatoesonacouch @the-fantasy-loving-angel @my-beel @lex13cm @chibsytelford @crimsonincursive

[sageteapost]

hello!

May I request that you do a cloud strife x reader where the reader uses duel blades? These blades actually have short range and long range attacks and ( with enough force) can propel the reader forward? I would like them to meet in the scene where Jessie is seeing Biggs and wedge on bikes, but they see an extra bike and that’s the readers? The whole scene plays out and the reader is super badass, pulling enemy’s back with their duel blades and throwing them into a wall. Then after, they talk a bit and find out that they are a SOLDIER aswell..? IDK if this could be written so I’m sorry I’m advance if it can’t so feel free to tell me if you can’t!

| Cloud Strife & A Dual Blade User Reader |

[ Cloud Strife x GN! Reader ]

TW & CW + Tags: Violence (not super detailed). Mentions of firearms and blades. Reader is a SOLDIER as well. [No relationship mentioned. GN! Reader.]

Summary: A small fic of Cloud Strife meeting the reader who uses duel blades and eventually finds out that they are also a SOLDIER as well.

[(A/N): Hey there anon! My apologies for the late reply to your request. Not gonna lie, the reader gives off a bit of Ignis Scientia from Final Fantasy XV! I was in a mood to write a small fic for this one. I'm not sure if you wanted a fic request, if not let me know! As always, enjoy!]

"Looks like we got more company!" cries Jessie, Shinra infantrymen catching up close behind the others. The smell of rubber creating friction on the road was strong, and the roar of the motorcycle echos throughout the tunnel. "Quit moving around, or you'll fall off the bike," Cloud says while maintaining full attention on the lit road ahead of him.

"Hey Cloud! Take care of them, will ya?!" Biggs yells as Wedge holds onto Biggs for dear life. "We cannot let them ruin the mission!" Cloud hums in acknowledgement, making a cue for Jessie to take over driving the bike. She responds swiftly, and Cloud makes a leap onto onto one of the infantry's bikes and quickly taking him out.

"You!! Avalanche scum!" shouts an infantrymen, moving his bike closer towards Cloud so he can strike.

"Not so fast!"

A sharp object swiftly flys into the back of the man, earning a shout of pain from him and losing control of his bike.

Cloud makes a face of confusion for a moment, but before he could do anything he hears a motorbike pull up from behind, breaking him from his thoughts. "You guys abandoned me back at the meeting place! I was looking for y'all everywhere!"

Cloud turns to his left, and he sees you. As you're fighting one last infantrymen with your blades, your (H/C) hair lights up from the bright overhead lights in the tunnel, your mako green eyes are as sharp as a hawk, and he notices the daggers on your side as you slam the infantrymen hard into the wall.

The biggest thing he notices instantly however, is your outfit. A SOLDIER uniform, actually.

"Sorry (Y/N)! I thought you were right behind us the whole time," Jessie says with a sheepish laugh. "Glad you caught up with us! You would have missed out on our SOLDIER boy there! He's badass, don't you think?"

You turn your head slightly towards Cloud, making eye contact with his mako green eyes. Cracking a small smile, you reply, "Oh no, I saw. He's pretty good!"

Cloud quickly shifts his eyes back to the road. "C'mon. We're almost at the end of the tunnel."

"Right. Let's get a move on!" Jessie shouts out with pure energy.

...

Mission success! Now it was time to get the hell out of there and go home. Before you could drive off on your bike, Cloud stops you.

"Nice job back there."

You look at him in confusion, before replying with a smile. "Thanks, just what I do. I could say the same thing about you too." Cloud hums quietly, before asking, "...You're a SOLDIER, aren't you?"

Your smile drops just a tad bit and your eyes drift away from his. "That obvious, huh?"

"It's the uniform. And the trademark mako eyes."

"Right. Figured you should have known, since you are one too."

"Ex-SOLDIER. I'm just a mercenary now. I quit a long time ago."

You chuckle lightly, the cool night breeze of Midgar brushes away a strand of your hair. You look up towards a mako reactor, its bright light beaming up into the night sky. "It's getting late. We should go home," you say.

"Right," Cloud adds moving away from your bike and hopping on to his own and starting the engine.

"Wait," hearing your voice and looks up. "I never got your name. Who knows? We might meet again someday."

Cloud stays quiet for a moment. Only the sound of the humming engine fills the brief silence between the two of you. And with that, he finally replies.

"...Cloud. Cloud Strife."

[sofasoap]

Two regrets

Pairing : John Price x F!reader (aka OC Mini MacTavish) Summary: Twice the regret, twice the heartache. Part 4 of Five Times

Warning: Mature themes. if you don’t like the idea of age gap story, turn around NOW.

Thanks to mother of my Mini MacTavish @saltofmercury for lending me the character “Mini” from her story. Go read her “The Favorite MacTavish”  !

“masterlist” for Mini MacTavish expanded verse.

“You miss him don’t you?” Your brother knows you too well.

You tried to put it all behind you. You buried yourself in work. Taking all the extra shifts you can. Started post graduate studies. Anything to let your brain overruns so you don’t have to think about him. This is what you are good at, pushing yourself on with life, until you are utterly exhausted, the only thing you do is get up, go to work, eat, and drag yourself home. Wash, rinse and repeat. 

Your colleagues even try to set you up on a few dates. Few of them are nice enough, but you just don’t feel the connection. None of them want to know your interest. None of them look at you like you are the only person in the room that they want to focus on. None of them spend the time listening to what you really want to say, your opinions on certain events or topics. None of them are Price.

“I've never seen you so unhappy Mini.” 

“.. how did you two do it?” you lean onto his shoulder, whispering. “It was hard. I have to admit.” Soap patted your head. “It took a lot of work. From both sides. We had our fair share of disagreements and fights. We got there at the end.” 

Between the two of you , you are always the one that wears your heart on your sleeve. Action before logic. All the troubles and misadventures that you got into because of it. Soap on the other hand, despite his carefree and casual manners, is actually more observant and calculating. He is always the one that pulls you back, has you on the rein. 

“ THINK before you act Mini.” He always joked he needed to stick that reminder on your forehead. “Don’t act so irrationally.” 

You regretted not listening to him. 

You regret not listening to yourself. You regret ever meeting Price, the only man that can twist your heart like this, leaving a huge hole in your heart and yet, cannot erase him from your mind. 

“How’s Mini? I haven’t heard you talking about her for quite a while.” Price stopped in his tracks when he heard your name being mentioned.

“She’s doing fine. Working way too much for my liking though.” He could just hear Soap’s reply to Gaz’s question. “Even my parents hardly see her nowadays, and she doesn’t live that far away from them.” Hearing a bit of pause and continued on, “ One good thing she has is the determination and drive to push herself on in any situation, but she will run herself haggard someday.”

Price has to force himself to walk away from the door, not to listen to anymore of the conversation.

Soap has stopped talking about his sister after the unpleasant meet up. There were no changes in the professional relationships between them, but knowing Soap, he could feel the slight hostility behind his words from time to time.

There aren’t many things Captain John Price regrets about. He always comes to terms with every decision he makes in life. Always find a valid excuse to justify it, and move on.

With you? He couldn’t. Not even trying to convince himself with the lame excuses of you are a civvie, he is a military man. You are too young for him. You are his suborident’s family.  

He regretted his words as soon as he saw the flash of hurt immediately replaced with anger in your eyes. He regretted sitting there, watching you leave, not stopping you and apologising for the worse failed apologies he had made moments ago. 

Deep down he doesn’t want to admit he longs for you. The only one that can make him forget the atrocities in the world, the dirty works he keeps convincing himself for the good for humanity. That little soft smile you give him every time your eyes meet. Just for him. This biggest regret right now is letting you slip away from his hand, with the possibility of losing you forever.

[glitchysquidd]

So now we're talking about man, huh?

Let's seeeeeee

What's your opinion on big man with Blue eyes, soft skin, soft long hair and bigg butie? 737

BWAHAHA YALL ARE TRYING TO FIGURE OUT MY TYPE NOW????

Listen eyes are really pretty like any color of eyes but brown, golden, or green eyes are probably my favorite eyes to stare at. Apologies that I make intense eye contact just to stare at pretty eyes.

Skin type doesn't matter to me, soft, rough, etc.

I'm not extremely touchy feely in the first place. My haphephobia is extremely mild in comparison to how it used to be, like nowadays I can give an occasional hug. I think something that does matter rather than soft or rough skin is how gently their touch is ig. I love the thought of holding hands w someone or holding pinkies w em :)

Long hair, I'm running my fingers through it and giving them a scalp massage honestly. Consider your head in my lap as I smother you with love lmao.

Long or short hair doesn't matter tho bc im still giving them a scalp massage.

And now you're asking my opinion on man ass.

I have to sadly refrain from giving my opinion on man ass for the safety of your ears.

[minecraft-cake]

Since a few people seemed interested and the first chapter won't be out for awhile longer as I make some transitions irl, here's some extra detail I can reveal on Scar and Grian's characterization in WWGH! Specifically some detail on Scar's background and one of his aids in this fic, along with some minor things about G.

So! I'll get on with it :). Before the apocalyptic outbreak:

After suffering a severe sickness—having already been immunocompromised—Scar was rushed to hospital urgent care. Unfortunately on the rush through an infected person that was being subdued made contact with him. Medical professionals feared the worst of his condition. While the original virus did take multiple weeks of hospitalization to recover from, doctors were baffled to see the skulk virus took no affect at all. Scar is asked to engage in a government medical program to see if they can find a cure to the alarmingly fast spreading skulk virus, since he is one of the few cases of being completely immune to it that theyve discovered. He accepts under the terms that there will be no physical harm to his condition.

This is where Scar meets Cub. Cub is a professional mad scientist, if you will. He works on finding antibodies and developing vaccines for the skulk virus, but specifically in Scar's case it comes with trying to find ways to recode and strengthen the DNA samples he's taking. He's asked to research whether or not his prior illness is part of the cure, the consequences of making it part of a vaccine, etc. Cub also runs experimental devices with the energy and experience produced by Skulk. Effectively: he's able to make advanced leg bracers and a spinal sensor that runs on the stuff. Very little of it is redstone, and because it's an organic material, he was able to fashion it like muscle. It reads the electromagnetic signals and various ""sound"" produced by the nervous system through a surgically implanted catalyst device in his lower spine, and once attached the bracers are able to guide his legs and desired movement. The main issues as that while it does not infect it still does feed— Scar needs a large supply of regeneration elixirs and experience gain for the skulk to not emaciate him. This also does not make it easy for him to re-adapt to walking, physical therapy was and still is necessary to continue to use the advanced prosthetic.

This is all quick pulled from my notes, so if they're messy or a bit unclear I do apologize, lol. But onto some minor analysis and summarization of both Scar and Grian's main trauma points in this plot! Besides, well, getting stuck in the zombie apocalypse.

Note: The following paragraphs have the characters' self-talk embedded in them, I don't think illy of any sort of mental or physical conditions and personally struggle with my own every day :) lol.

Scar:

Scar was incredibly self confident in himself and was never ashamed of his disability until the world ended. After being forced to use an untested prosthetic with little to no experience, and survive the apocalypse with very little help or compassion from others, his disability becomes a largely insecure part of him. The high tech prosthetic he has is the only thing that allows him to function semi-normally, and without it he would be dead. He would be useless. It devolves his sense of self and his own humanity; he gradually believes himself to be subhuman, unimportant without the prosthetic enabling him to walk. It also becomes a large anxiety point when trying to do any form of self-care. Bathing requires a lockdown to remove the braces, and he keeps the tech on while sleeping. It exhausts his body to have it continuously feed, but the idea of an emergency compromising his base while he is vulnerable is too encompassing for him to consider ever removing the bracers.

He refuses to let others know about the braces, and keeps an uplifting attituide to avoid confrontation about any personal issues or his life before the apocalypse.

Grian:

The biggest factor in Grian’s decision making is the fact he is near-constantly in a state of fight or flight. With an avoidant attachment style and a lot of PTSD from the relationships in his teen years, it’s difficult to become deeply connected to another person. It feels inherently traumatic to commit to any sort of relationship, no matter how much he wants to pursue friendships and otherwise intimate situations. All of his close friends either disappearing, dying, or ostracizing him after the end of the world does not help this. Despite all of this however, he is increasingly blind of how close he becomes to others (from their perspective) due to constantly masking and appearing friendly and approachable. He lets people near, but not inside, and fails to communicate wholly even if it would be to his own benefit. He doesn't believe he deserves second chances, but his desire to live allows him to take them as offered without thinking against it. He doesn't thank people for them, and guilts over that, failing to see the common sense as to why others (excluding Martin, naturally, that man really should kill him some day,) give him one in the first place.

There are secondary paragraphs I'll reveal later on, but keeping to myself for now since they have heavy spoilers as to how these two are characterized and their foils.

Hope this was an interesting little insight, feel free to ask questions! When I know the first chapter will be out, I'll give an update <3.

[minzart]

Hi, how are you? Have you been taking care of yourself? I hope you have!

Anyway, for the 'Bad beginnings AU' I was wondering, what would happen during the Ghost marriage event? Cause personally I like to think that Yuu totally wins the 'Composition' I think this is how it goes:

Eliza: STUPID, ALL OF YOU ARE IDIOTS!

Yuu, being pushed to the front by Crowley: Uhmmm, Madam Eliza. If I may, I don't have a kingdom, a wolf or a castle, but I'm here to ask you, and I mean it from the bottom of my heart, will you marry me?

Vil: They'll blow it-

Eliza: Hmmmm, YES!

Ghosts: What

Yuu: What

Everyone: What

You don't have to do this, but if you can please do, thank and take care!

Trying my best wich isn't a lot but it's enough :D

Also thank you for asking and my deepest apology for the long wait

Shoroud was in trouble, bigg trouble, he literally just wanted his game for seven sake, he had things to do! Games to play! Movies to see and cameras to watch! He can't be stays trapped here with a goddamed gosth bride THAT WANTS TO MARRY HIM OF ALL FUCKING PEOPLE!

His selfsteen doesn't need more blows in it hell, only a dead person showed interest in him, it that was the bar then what could he even do if he ever daydreamed of having the littlest of chances with the magicless annoyance that was the janit-wearenotgettingintothatyet, goddamed it he could feel and see the pink sparks in his hair.

... were are they bringing him anyway?

[Meanwhile at Ramshackle]

Yuu was trying their best to not be kicked out of the only place they could sleep, bc seven know the headmaster wouldn't provide another room and all seven dorm leaders are dieing for the chance to have them in their grasp and lord knows very well Yuu couldn't take more of their daily weird bullshit than they already take

So if what it takes to stay in their only home is negotiating with... ghosts... great....

"Look what a second! Please! Listen! I-"

"NO MORE WAIT! Our princess needs her room for our stay to her wedding! She has waited too much already!"

"DOES SHE NEEDS A SERVANT?!"

".... what? She has many already"

"Buttttt one more couldn't hurt right? I already do many chores here, I have experience then! And and and! I heard that there's going to be a wedding! I could help her with... wedding stuff... right..."

"... the groom is a living being..."

Yuu sweats, the ghost guard continues to concider

-----

As the time comes for the boys to storm in the weeding, Yuu makes sure the preparation and food is editable for the groom, wich means, Idia, trapped as he may be, is having the most stressful evening of all time, for his crush looks like a servant... and by the seven they look so good and proper and this is the longest they both have been alone... together

It's silent, mostly at least, Yuu cleans and, most times, tries to make themselfs useful, even if the ghosts already did all there is to do, and then there was Eliza... oh dearest ghost princess, sweet and kind, even if she's a little bit too obsessed with the idea of a perfect prince

The stories Yuu hears are of her past, of loves never blossoming and kindness ever lasting. And the few interaction they had had been... good.

For running and felling always watched, with Eliza they felt almost at peace, so a bit of their true personality shines at her presence, tired, hardworker, soft, and so much more

And Eliza... she takes such a liking to Yuu, they speak as in fear of anger, wich makes them clearer in their words, and their eyes, tired eyes screaming gratitude at her, as if she's a goddess of eternal mercy, her subjects always said she was/is such a kind person, but they have always lived in her reing, not knowing hardships of another ruler, Yuu whoever... Yuu confirms to her, how her kindness is true... so much alike... a love of a servant to their mistress...

And Idia, he's in awe, he saw it, shining brighter than any star, rarer than any character he has wished for, Yuu's smile... oh he wishes he had a cellphone, he wishes the ghost apearence didn't interfere with the cameras, he prays to hear their laugh... but the burning feeling of jealousy... Eliza... not only is she trying to speared him of Yuu but she... the glimmer of want... he knows it well, as a distorted mirror in a sweet face, she wants Yuu... wants them as he and many other wants them... and... she has them...

That smile was never show, never seen, never existed to any others after Yuu had finaly understood how things work at school, too soon for any of them to see their true self... but Eliza... merely a day has passed and she has already cracked them... a smile... Idia wonders... if he accept the proposal... would Yuu came too?

---------

They were there...

The boys saw at the right side of the so famous Ghost Bride, Yui hasn't been seen I'm campus for a day, they tried to argue with headmaster about the insue, to unburden them and scearch for the poor magicless handyman of the school... but there they are...

Proper, quiet, servant of Eliza, and desire of thousands... oh how lovely how cruel, how... perfect. Why act, if it can be true? They glanced at Yuu at every sentence, a clearly attempt to signal to them, this can be us, this will be us... can you picture it Yuu?

Oh Idia is fuming, he knows what they are doing, each and every single one of them were rejected, Yuu continues silent during it all, eyes downcast, but then... he felt something droping in his hand, small, cold... circular. A whisper in the loveliest sound made his spine tremble "propose"

His breath was rapidly, his face contorted in a frown only to hold the panic and euphoria inside... Yuu smelled like lavender, their hand harsh from work but in their head such a cleaver being... how can he let Yuu down? Not after that... not after he felt Yuu's breath in his neck and hand in his even for a brief moment

"T-that's not fair..."

"Oh? Did you said something love?"

"I mean-Shouldn'tIproposetoo?"

"What?"

"Princess, I think your prince has been overtaken with jealousy" Yuu interfered, bowing gently and placing their hand in Idia's shoulder, if they felt him tremble they didn't say "Perhaps letting him propose would quell these feelings"

The whole hall echos with "WHAT???"

"has he accepted his fate?"

"ARE YOU TELLING ME WE WASTED TIME AND EFFORT FOR NOTHING?! "

"my skills wasted for nothing"

"He has lost it"

"A... proposal?"

"I... never understood how someone in the real world could make the kinds of actions Videogame characters did so flawlessly in games. Saying their love out lound so noisy... but with you it almost seems possible, heh. I dream of whisking you away like in "the queen of the underworld" your voice your laugh everything about you hunts me to my very core" his eyes focused beyond Eliza, boring into Yuu's soul, his smile sharpens and his hair sparkles tiny amber's of pink

"I-I... I want to-tobewithyouforethernity I-i" trembling he gets on one knee"w-wouldyouhavemeasyourplayer2?" Presenting the rin

"STOP THE WEDDING!"

The shout frightens all, Idia drops the ring, only for Yuu dive fro it grabbing the princess hand and sliding it into the proper finger "sorry"

The ghosts disappears

"At least the headmaster didn't lie about it... this ring realy does send the ghosts back..." turning to Idia Yuu gives him a sheepish smile "you did great... Idia Shroud was it?"

He can't stop replaying that smile over and over again in his mind... it was for him...

Asks for the AUs are still closed

[leeus-writing]

Curve Ball

Request for a: funny story about Biggs teasing Female reader for being madly in love with cloud and female reader throws a big giant orange at Biggs but he doges it and hits cloud on the face so female reader apologized to cloud but she accidentally confesses her feelings for him while she apologized to him I hope this is Okay and have a great day/night

“Go ooon tell him,” Bigs shoved your arm.

You returned a glare, one of your famous ones, and he mock cowered in fear. It was pretty much the same every night since he found out your crush. You’d go in, sit in a corner and Biggs, your childhood friend, would come over and tease you.

It was tiring really; however, you didn’t want to stop going to the bar. You wanted to see Cloud. You swallowed a little, “Yeah, yeah, Biggs, let’s not go through the same routine. I like Cloud, you want me to admit my feelings. I won’t. Can we change the routine now, please?”

Biggs laughed and leaned back grinning waving to Tifa who brought over some chips. You snatched them from Bigg’s reach before he could grab them and put an orange down in front of him.

“An orange?” He questioned.

“You wanted me to make sure you were still eating healthy. So, your snack is an orange,” you said popping the chip into your mouth and munching.

Biggs rolled his eyes, “I can keep that promise. Unlike you who promised a few times you’d tell Cloud you really like him.”

You snatched the orange from under Bigg’s hand and threw it at him like a prize-winning baseball at a championship game. Unfortunately, it was a curve ball and it smacked Cloud square in the jaw. You felt like you died there and then.

Cloud turned around frowning and spotted you. You sat there mouth over your hands. Biggs’s eyes were wide, and a small smile of mirth played on his lips. The bar went quiet.

“Oh… Oh…” you stammered.

“Cloud I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you. I was after Biggs for teasing me for loving you and I just threw it, but it missed. I’m so sorry I wouldn’t hit you on purpose because you’re so perfect!” you blurted out.

Clouds face turned from a frown to a look of surprise and confusion. He started to laugh a little along with Biggs.

Your face went even redder if that was even possible as you realised, you’d admitted your feelings.

“You could have just asked for a date not chucked an orange at me,” Cloud laughed, “But sure, this Saturday will be fine.”

You nodded and slowly started to smile.

| |

@renohasbigtits

@electric-turks

@kittyplier95

@mandysfanfics

[bruhstation]

I've been thinking about the setting of my TUGS au, the prequel to casa tidmouth, and by extention I began thinking about the show TUGS itself.

it's kind of depressing to know that TUGS is most likely set during the years RIGHT before world war 2. I remember watching a TUGS iceberg video a long time ago, maybe last year-ish. after a series of callbacks and alludes to the little environmental details right at the end of the video, the creator said that the show is possibly not set during the 1920s, but the 1930s, nearing another war period, and that's why I've changed the era of what this AU is set in many months ago.

mitton and cardona claimed that the show is set during the "booming era" of the 1920s, but I can't help but think that maybe the 1920s isn't the most fitting era with how the tone of the show is.

the 1930s setting really does make sense though -- the atmosphere in TUGS is much more, I dunno how to exactly say it, gloomy? serious? it's still a mostly lighthearted kids show, but, to quote some things indirectly from the iceberg video; what's with the munitions? the flammable barges? johnny cuba? the constant mention of broken ships? characters dying right on the screen in such a macabre fashion? burke and blair's whole job? then my mind thought about the star tugs and z-stacks, their relationship and purpose and how it ties to the pre-ww2 feeling of the story.

the conflict between the star tugs and z-stacks isn't fueled by personal grudge against each other. I apologize for comparing TUGS to ttte, but in comparison to its sister series where the engines of sodor have personal banter against each other selfishly, still manage to fool around during their jobs, get into accidents due to their own hubris, and end the day where they learned their lesson, TUGS is much different. they're just there to work and carry through their contracts. they still banter with each other but they know their priorities. they are also driven by their conscience and rationale, not just some "oh he made fun of me so I'm not gonna help him out. I'm bigger and more important so I refuse to do this job and go back to my berth".

zorran dislikes the star tugs but knows that the contracts are much more important and he is willing to work with them if it means the job will be done. top hat, despite his personal distaste for anything smelly, QUICKLY changes his mind about lord stinker and works with him to save the goods engine. zebedee is a character more driven by his personal view on what's good or bad -- he helped the star tugs push princess alice back into place and showed concern when ten cents was pushing the oil barge to the sea, but there's a part of him that's definitely concerned for his own well being.

they have their personal opinions on both their teammates and their rival company's tugboats, but they know better than to let those feelings get in the way. not working means their presence as tugboats will be jeopardized.

these points, added to the very high possibility that TUGS is set during the late 1930s, creates another layer to the overall murkier feeling of the show. the characters know the times are dire. the characters know that they have contracts to go through. they know that something big is coming. they've went through world war 1! with how bluenose and the navy inserted their presence in bigg city port, there's also an idea that there's gotta be at least one character with a sense of foreboding amidst the business.

I also reckon they've grown some kind of fondness (???) for their rival company? it's like when there's a kid at school who keeps annoying you, but next day they're not there and you got a bit worried on where they might be. the two factions don't necessarily like each other, but their rival has formed a place in their normalcy that to get rid of them entirely is not going to do any good, really.

so yeah. that's all I have in mind right now.

[jangofctts]

Bloodsport (Din Darin x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature 

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: nothin much. no smut. canon typical violence, explicit language, blood, Mando being Mando. im posting this bc im petty and because I feel bad that I never posted it in the first place. also this is over a year old so I apologize it’s not great 

Never, in the entirety of your life did you think you’d return to Tatooine. Tatooine for fuck’s sake. A literal sandbox that upholds no feasible joy unless you count the annual womp rat raid or the pod races in Mos Espa. Even then—yikes.

Didn’t think a kid nicknamed Wormie would be the one to blow up the Death Star either. Or yknow, dethrone Jaba the Hutt with some fancy laser sword. Or was it a chain? Ah, whatever—good riddance to that slimy pile of sentient boogers. 

Anyway—

You should have followed Wormie’s example and steered clear of this place—taken up that permanent post as Red Leader for the Alliance and live out your days in a cushy position on Naboo or something. But, you never did enjoy taking the path of least resistance, you’re a pilot after all. Live and die for all that risky shit—the thrill of a fight and near brushes with death. You’d rather stake out your own journey in life—forge out a path so bright that other’s cant help but envy.

Growing up on Tatooine, there weren’t many kids your age—you were always the youngest by nearly four years (not that it ever stopped you from nipping at the older kids’s heels). To this day you can still recall every face, every dumb nickname and inside joke you all created—all the dares and stupid challenges like licking a womp rat’s tail or eating a handful of sand (you always won). Wild and free like a pack of yipping dogs—smiling, dirt stained faces and scuffed up boots worn down to the sole each month. Scrapes and bruises were flaunted as trophies, a chipped tooth like a shiny metal pinned upon the chest. Trouble wasn’t in the vocabulary of your mouth’s—back then it was just fun.   

But time has a way of twisting and mangling the glimmer of childhood. Everyone grew up—more responsibility and less time to play on the dunes. School instead of riling up a nest of whatever doomed creature you could find. Petty arguments that turn into venomous resentment, culminating rifts in friendships and the battle of loyalties between friend groups. 

You’re not sure when the bitterness of living on Tatooine settled in. Sometime between your first schoolyard fight over who would get the desk near the window and the gossip of your upbringing that followed you around like an ugly second head. Or maybe it the way everyone assumed you’d morph into the collective—a moisture farmer or maybe a mechanic like your aunt. One thing always stayed the same. You never outgrew the snarling beast that festered in your chest, it only grew with you over time.         

Call it the age difference or the simple fact you were more feral creature than child, the two people who stuck around for the long haul were the neighbors’ kids. You chased off everyone else—decided that being alone was better than falling in step with mediocracy and someone else’s footsteps. If anyone would leave Tatooine first, it was going to be you. 

Then Biggs left. 

The Skywalker’s farm burnt down, the entire family too, shortly after Biggs’ departure. Everyone assumed Luke died along with them—you believed it as well. Scoured the farm and the corpses with blurry eyes and the hurt, worse than ripping off fingernails with tweezers, bloomed in the cavity of your heart. The worst part of it all was no one cared. No one gave a shit about the culprits or impeding war that was always glossed over on the local radio—they were all fine with sitting and becoming complacent.       

A year passed—and the night of your sixteenth birthday you jumped ship the second the opportunity presented itself. Living in a space port had it’s perks—someone was always going somewhere. You snuck on board of a clunky freighter headed towards Takodana and that was it. Fueled by spite and the need to be part of something bigger. 

The rest happened in a blur. You joined the Alliance—you found Biggs and Luke, alive and well, only to be ripped apart by different destinies another time over. You became a pilot—Red Leader in fact, and damn good at it. Helped blow up the Death Star (the second one that is) and that was that. 

No one tells you that returning home is the scariest part of it all. But—it’s Tatooine for Kriff’s sake. Hardly anything had been touched, the people all the same and uninterested in the outside world. A relieved hug from Peli had been expected—no anger at your unapproved departure—just a resentful frown at the stitched up laceration over your brow and part of your cheek. She didn’t yell about how worried sick she’d been or the lame and infrequent, encrypted holovids you sent to assure that you were still alive and not blown to bits. You told her you didn’t expect to stay long…funny how it’s been five years since then.  

Look at you know, you think with a bemused scoff. Washed out and living in your aunts hangar in the prime of your youth. Guess your glory days had come to a lazy, halting stop.  

The life of a mechanic in Mos Eisley is never overwhelmingly busy—a day or two off every now and then if you so choose. Only thing you frequently find yourself doing is participating in a long standing rivalry between you, a broom, and and the congregation of overly curious Jawas. One night—one kriffing night you left a rusty speeder and a couple power converters out and now they think it’s easy pickings—  

Whatever.

As long as they don’t start physically manifesting inside the spaceport it’s fine. Totally cool. 

Besides swatting the little creatures away with your trusty broom each morning to clear a path, there’s not much to do on Tatooine—not unless you fancy throwing in on a Sabaac tourney or brushing elbows with none too desirable folk. You stick to the landing dock and work. Busy hands keep the mind occupied after all.

But it’s Tatooine—

Dust storms that’ll scrape up the insides of you nostrils and make your nose bleed or leave you blind, Imperial sympathizers, smugglers, you name it. You never make a habit of familiarizing yourself with whoever lands in your hangers—bad for business and honestly? You’d rather not get kidnapped and sold off to the Spice mines on Kessel for opening your big fat mouth. 

So, naturally your only option for a cheap drink and the affirmation that, yes, you can in fact still leave Tatooine whenever you’d like, is to go off-world.  

Bakura is a hop away—far enough you never run into anyone twice and close enough that the charter fare is dirt cheap. It’s always the same cantina, same back left corner that provides an excellent view of the exit and the neighboring lavatories that boasts amusing in-house drunken brawls. What’s better than this? Guys being dudes—petty squabbles over fragile masculinity and an urge to prove something dumb.       

Tonight is slow—regulars night you suppose. Or is it a weekday? Maker you don’t even know what day it is. 

Sighing, your eyes lazily crawl over the drab decor in the cantina, sipping on a neon blue drink that tastes like those little blue candies. Y’know—the ones that grandmas always have stashed away in delicate glass bowls and insist you take a handful even though the candies are the same age, if not older than grandma. 

You pinch the little black straw between your fingertips and take another sip. Too sweet for your liking, but a damn good chaser for the Corellian fire whiskeys you’ve amassed. In fact, just as you’re putting the rim of the shot glass to your lips, the liquor already bright and hot against your bottom lip—you see him.     

There, in the opposing corner of the dingy cantina, you spot the familiar sheen of tempered beskar.  Neon lights from the nearby exit reflect off his cuirass, hyperspace blue that switches to fuchsia pink then back again like a dizzying light show. His helmet is tilted in the direction of the bar, analyzing the couple lingering near the last two stools. You know the little lime green Twi’lek—not by name—but because she’s always somehow wrist deep in her target’s pocket while they all but drool over the deep cut of her cleavage. None the wiser as they’re robbed blind. The poor bastard currently playing into her finely spun web is no different.  

Good for her—

You flick your eyes back over to the Mandalorian and force down a surprised cough as the full weight of his attention settles on you. The likelihood of him being here on matters concerning you are high, but Stars, you weren’t expecting him. How’d he even get inside without you noticing anyway?

The guy is a walking armory donning beskar that sparkles brighter than kriffing diamonds and worth more than than the entirety of Tatooine you’d bet—he’s not an easy thing to miss. Mando is broad—even more so with the added bulk of armor, and in theory that much metal should make some sort of sound.

You scratch your brow with your thumb and sigh. Fuck. You must be loosing your edge or you’re drunker than you thought. 

Well, no use just sitting here and having an awkward staring contest you certainly won’t win—might as well invite him over. You raise your hand in a begrudging wave and pull your face into a mask of an indifference. Mando places his hands on the table and pushes off to stand, tattered cloak scraping along the sticky floor as he covers the short distance between you. 

Gesturing to the open seat on your right, Mando takes up the offer and sits with a muted grunt—guess that armor is heavy. 

“Funny seeing you here,” you sigh, kicking back a shot of another fire whiskey. The glass clinks against the sticky table and joins the growing array of crystalline tumblers. One of those nights where the pain of the past stings worse than alcohol splashed into an open wound. “Did Peli send you? I left a note, y’know.”

“I’m not here for you,” he assures, a smooth rasp even with the static distortion of the vocoder. He turns his head and sweeps the room with poised nonchalance—your heart jumps as the darkened visor returns to you with a weight heavier than the catch and pull of a black hole. “You got a habit of running off?”

Your bottom lip tastes bitter as your tongue passes over it. “Depends on who you ask.” 

“Hm.” Mando’s pensive hum tapers off into stagnant silence. 

This is why, you think with a miserable frown, you always drink on your own. Too many awkward pauses like this and the embarrassment of being tipsy in front of a sober person—you’re off your guard. Plus—you’re not even sure why he’s here— 

You clear your throat and beckon over the bartender with a wave of your hand—Ekah is working tonight. A Mirialan around your age—skin the color of fresh honey and pale green eyes to compliment. Ekah taps two fingers to his temple in acknowledgment and finishes scrubbing down a tumbler with a rag that’s seen better days. He steps around the bar and wanders to your table, his right brow quirking in curiosity at the sight of the Mandalorian.    

“Finally making friends, Skitter?” The hexagonal tattoos inked into the sharp slopes of his cheeks crinkle as he smiles. “And here I was, thinking I was special.”

“Fuck off, Ekah.“ You scowl. “Neither of you are my friend.” 

Ekah gasps and places a hand over his heart in mock offense. “So cruel for such a sweet face.”

Your eyes narrow. “Ekah—“

He sighs, roll his eyes and waves his hand in a shooing motion. “Alright, alright—what is it you want?”

“Closing tab—“ you spare a glance at Mando. He cocks his head to the side. “—uh, unless—do you want…anything?”       

Stars that was awkward. 

Mando lifts his palm off the table and shakes his head in a no. You figured, because of the helmet and all…Worth a shot. 

“Great—“ You nod, shifting onto your weight to fish out the credits in your pocket as Ekah announces your total.

Yet before you even have the physical money in your hand, Mando reaches into his supply bag and pulls out the full amount, plus a hefty tip. “I’ve got it.”

Mando hands it over much too quickly for you to protest and Ekah, opportunistic as a bartender is, collects his credits and shoves them into his pocket, never to be seen again. 

“Cheers, metal man,” he grins. He spares Mando a salacious wink and spins on his heel, a couple midnight black strands of his hair falling out of place as he hurries back to the bar. “See ya ‘round, Skitter.”

Your brows furrow as you puff out your lower lip, head swiveling to glare at Mando. “Why’d you do that? I can pay for myself.”  

Mando has the audacity to shrug. “Wanted to. We’re friends aren’t we?”

He knows damn well where he stands. You clench your jaw and jerk your eyes back to the table. It never sits right with you when someone offers to pay—feels like a slimy rock in the pit of your stomach. On Tatooine you learn to fend for yourself at an early age—leaning on the help of others tended to land you in more trouble than you could shake off. Worst case you ended up at Jabba’s Palace as a nice little side dish for the local rancor, best case you payoff the favor working at a moisture farm for a couple days. 

Simply put—no one does a favor simply for free.   

Anyone who offers is cause for suspect. 

But then again—Peli trusts him…

You exhale loudly, irritated by the sudden bout of silence, and shift to move from you chair, but he stops you with a question.  

“Why do you call yourself Skitter?” He says it softly, not meant to offend or demand your compliance. Whatever he picks apart, he does it with precise and patient skill—simultaneously seeking insight on who you are while granting that thin veil of anonymity. Simply wedging his foot into an already cracked door. 

Your eyes slip from the harsh lines of Mando’s helmet to the splotchy grease stains covering your knuckles. No matter how much you scrub or pick at them, the dirty smudges never seem to disappear—permanently ingrained into your skin like a gods awful tattoo. Doesn’t stop you from roughly rubbing the pad of your thumb over your index finger in hopes that it might just work this time. You sigh and curl your fingers into fists—no use. 

Lying to him crosses your mind—spin some absolute bantha shit story about how you won the Boonta Eve Classic and how you earned the name. Or maybe you could tell him you’re a part of a highly covert crime ring and speaking your name aloud will assure you a one way ticket to the grave within the hour. You’re not sure how well that one will fly, but hey—you’ve convinced a couple of morons here and there.    

However—Mando is no moron.  

He wouldn’t pry the truth out of you like a crooked incisor with rusty pliers—no. This is a game of trust. By extension on Peli’s behalf you’re reliable—one of the good guys that offers safe heaven for himself and the little green terror each time he lands that literal pile of scrap metal in hangar four—always hangar number four. 

 It still doesn’t negate the fact that Mando knows jack shit about you. Just a grouchy mechanic with bloody knuckles and a mouth sharper than a bowl of tacks. This is him offering an olive branch of his personal trust. By choosing to lie you would be severing the rare reveal of a kind heart with a vibroblade dipped in venom. You don’t know what he thinks he’ll find or what’s to gain from you revealing a bare thread of yourself but—  

Whether it’s the blend of spiced rum and fire whiskey that helps loosen your tongue into speaking, or just the simple fact that you actually kinda…enjoy Mando’s company—you tell him.  

“Peli—“ You begin, your lips quirking at Mando’s unsurprised huff upon hearing your aunt’s name. “I was, like, a little kid when I went to live with her—four or five maybe?” 

You spare a quick glance at Mando. His vambraces chink against the edge of his cuirass as he leans back in his seat. He laces his fingers together and rests his hands just above where his codpiece should be; and as you draw a breath he tilts his head ever so slightly to the right, exposing more of the metallic earpiece to better hear you. 

He’s being polite—

You blink and drop your eyes back down to the empty glass you fiddle with. You never dwell or find it in your to care about what others think of you—too much energy wasted on perceptions that you’ll never be privy to. Say what you mean and repercussions be damned. So why is it that your heart begins to flutter like a distressed creature in the clumsy palms of a curious toddler? 

A wildfire blush races up your neck and burns hotter than a miniature sun in your cheeks. You swallow and reach up to toy with the loose baby hairs that curl next to your ear. “Y-you ever, um, see a sand skitter before?”

Mando shakes his head.

“They kinda look like slugs,” you say, separating your forefinger and thumb to show Mando a guesstimate of their size. “Fast little fuckers though—they like to hang out around Jabba’s Palace. B-but anyway—“ 

You clear your throat and continue. “Peli always said I looked like them back then—squishy and small. It didn’t help that I ran around around like a wild waste creature either—got into more trouble than you can even imagine.”

Mando’s amused huff crackles out of the vocoder. “I think I can.”

Another blush heats your cheeks. It’s the damn alcohol—it must be. You should tell him to fuck off—take his metal, bucket-head looking ass straight back to Tatooine and leave you alone. What makes him any different from all the other people you’ve batted away? You don’t  know—you don’t know—

Instead of all the things you should say, you wrench off another branch of yourself and gladly put it into his outstretched palm.   

“I..uh—I don’t think I’ve used my name—my actual name in years,” you confess quietly. The admittance is a strange one—makes the back of your throat tighten while plucking at tender heartstrings you didn’t know existed. “Even in the Rebellion I was just…Skitter.”

In the Rebellion everyone has a number, a nickname, a call-sign—no one cared who you were because when they risked doing so they opened themselves up to pain. It’s easier to be nameless—keeps you focused on the task at hand. 

But it’s over now—it’s done.   

He lets the silence settle and you know what he’s going to ask. You see it in the way his armored shoulders raise to take a breath and the crackling curiosity that practically sparks off the metal. Nonetheless, it’s still like getting shot pointblank in the chest the second he asks.   

“Will you tell me?” 

Such a simple question shouldn’t scare you. Pure and simple fear that better belongs on a feral fyrnock backed into a corner with only it’s sharp teeth to protect itself. Joining the Rebellion should have scared you—hoisting yourself into that worn cockpit every day with the promise of death and gut wrenching adrenaline should have terrified you. The crash on Endor that left a scar over your left brow and broke seven ribs is far more daunting than someone asking you for your name.           

“I’m willing to trade.”

You’re clever enough to realize that this is his way of assuring you that trust is a two way street. He knows the importance of a name better than anyone else—how these sorts of things aren’t meant to be traded—but both of you are making exceptions tonight, even if it’s dangerous. 

You’re both playing with matchsticks around a barrel of coaxium, one slip of a finger and you’d both go up into volatile flames that will rattle the very seams of the galaxy. Mando is showing you how willing he is to offer a piece of himself at your feet—so long as you do the same. 

You sigh and close your eyes. “O-ok…yeah—yeah.”     

As you lean to the side he folds at the waist to meet you. You take another inhale—the last breath before plunging into an ice cold sea—and maybe…maybe it’s not as scary as you once thought. 

The chapped swell of your lips brush along the frigid beskar as the syllables of your name bubble past your teeth. It tastes foreign and odd in your mouth, like cotton or the creaky hinges on a rotting window pane. 

You like it better when he says it.  

The slow drawl of your name repeated back to you is the first breath of spring in the unending winter within your chest. There’s always been a slowness, a stillness in the delicate redwood needles of your bones that glitter with a thick layer of frost. No clever fox or brightly plumed bird resides here—no whispering, pushing wind that dances with the slow creak of ancient tree trunks. Here there’s only overgrown, dark rooted trees and bone white snow—something mistaken for being alive.

Skitter is the name of a girl who drowns in the acrid smoke that bellows from her lungs and disastrous flames that spill from the gaps in her ribcage. It outmatches nebular implosions, leaving behind entrails of embers that burst and flake off from her skin like brittle wood thrown into a funeral pyre. Even the sharp curve of a rabid smile shows something of that all-consuming hunger—something never meant to survive for long. No life has ever made its way into her bones, but the flames that transform blood into ash and anger shine in her eyes.

Your name—the one that sun speckled light touches and spreads inside of your lungs, urging Mando to whisper in quiet tones meant only for your ears. It promises that this is only the beginning—that there is gentle starlight instead of war smoke and here there is something beautiful waiting for you. Someday the heavy snow that buries your body under its weight will melt and give way to the delicate bloom of ferns and creeping lichen. Hope crackles in your blistered palms, transforming into the wings of a sparrow and the very same warmth that you dream of holding.   

Goosebumps rush down your spine and every inch of skin as Mando repeats your name a third time—speaking it as if it’s a prayer to some long lost deity wearing a circlet of stars and a mouth made of rose petals. But it’s only you. You who sits in the back corner of a shitty cantina, dressed in neon light while you and a Mandalorian whisper secrets that are long since forgotten to the world into each other’s ears.   

But the slow grace of become gentle is a long one, and there’s much to learn. “You call me that in public and I’ll strap your tongue to a belt sander and set it on high.”

Mando chuckles at your empty threat and leans more of the broadness of his shoulders into your space. “My turn.”

The icy cold beskar touches parts of your ear and jaw, his even breathing amplified by the static crackle of vocoder. This close, you can feel the helmet buzz over your skin. 

“Din.”    

It suits him—sweet and simple. 

And like he knows you’re itching to shy away from the chilling unfamiliarity of bearing your heart, Din leans closer. You’re not trapped, but he’s forcing your hand to either flee like you’ve always done or confront him. 

You stay.      

He moves his hand glacially slow so as not to startle you, granting you an opportunity to slip free, but you hold steady. The padded leather covering his thumb touches the side of your chin, and out of habit you flinch. The weight of his thumb immediately retracts, but with a mumbled apology and a weak smile of encouragement, he returns. 

Mando—Din—cradles your chin between his forefinger and thumb and traces a light back and forth pattern, the worn leather soft against your skin. Desire bubbles in your chest like heartburn, and all you know right in that second is you need more of him—hungry for any scrap he offers. You lift your hand and curl your fingers over the top of his knuckles and with a little tug, you coax Din’s open palm over your cheek.

Staring into that endless black visor, your eyes flutter shut as you lean into his hand. Vulnerability tastes strange on the tongue—still have to wrestle back the urge to snap and chase him away. You’d be content staying like this all night but… 

Tonight is not the night for it apparently—

Fuck—

All those drinks hit you with a gut wrenching wave of dizziness worse than clipping a short corner in the Diablo Cut—same kinda feeling you get after pigging out on starcherry pies and then taking a high-stakes joyride on your dad’s spiffed out speeder. 

You squeeze your eyes until you see little bursts of light and suck in a deep breath, beating back the nausea with sheer willpower and the very present dread of puking all over Mando’s chest plate. What a fucking spectacle that would be.  

You cringe and slump from his palm and into the dark fabric of his cowl, the sharp smell of ozone and something woodsy a pleasant surprise to your senses. Maker—you could stay here all night, breathing him in. You’re lucky he’s wearing his helmet—you fucking stink.You’ve been marinating in the acrid stench of cheap spirits and cigarette smoke for hours and you know it’ll take days to scrub it off your skin and clothes like shitty perfume or spilled jet fuel.  

“Are you taking a nap?” Mando accuses—the lip of his helmet knocking against your ear as he tries to confirm his suspicion.

“No,” you grumble, “‘m smelling you.”

“What?” Din’s shoulder jump with a unbelieving snort. 

You huff and bury your nose deeper into the swath of fabric. “You smell good. Like—like one of those…those candles.”

You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh. “I think it’s time to go home.”

“So you are here for me,” you scoff, raising your head to shoot him a weak glare. “How’d Peli convince you?”

“Offered to take it out of your pay.” 

“Damn, that shit sucks.” You retort, lifting yourself from the stiff beskar to rub at your tired eyes. “Lemme—lemme guess—“ you hiccup and point an accusing finger. “That piece of junk ship got fuckin’ trashed and—and you expect me to fix it.” 

Din cocks his head to the side, shrugs and moves out of his seat, offering you a hand. You shoo it away with a feeble glare and help yourself up, albeit a bit wobbly.

“You have talented hands.” He purrs next to your ear as you attempt to stomp past him. “I’m sure you can manage.” 

“Yeah—“ You sniff, each step a blurry stumble towards the exit. “You bet I fucking do.”

His soft laugh whispers behind you—

You hate how much you like it. 

Din ushers you onto the very ship you vowed never to take a ride in, solely due to the fact that this thing has been trashed more times than you can count. You cringe just thinking about the innards of the Crest you so begrudgingly fixed—probably all fried to hell and busted up again—     

Surprisingly, the ship flies fine. Suspiciously smooth sailing, enough that you even manage to doze off in your chair. Until you’re so rudely awakened.    

It’s a little tickle on the side of your temple—like a stray hair pushed out of place by a breeze. Half lucid, you grumble and furrow your brows at the sensation, hoping it’ll piss off and leave you be—

The bluntness of calloused fingertips caress over the ridge of your brow, then sweep to the shell of your ear, thumbing at a lock of hair in muted wonder. The same kind of fascination you’d see on someone who’s never felt the texture of another’s hair because of the heavy gloves they wear like a second skin. You crack an eye open, confirming the culprit just as his bare hand dances over your cheek and skins along your jaw. 

Din’s hand freezes, hovering in midair the moment your sleepy eyes catch over his visor. You roll your lip between your teeth, attempting to solely focus on his helmet instead of the brown, sun-kissed hand inches from your face. You’re not sure what’s considered rude or blasphemous in Mando culture, but airing on the side of caution with things like this is best. 

“You snore.”

You blink. “What?”

“I said you snore in your sleep.”  

Din spins on his heel faster than you can process and exits the cockpit. Huh. 

Alrighty then. 

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you stand and follow after him. You squint as the loading ramp is lowered, the change in lighting creating a dull ache behind your eyes. Mando hovers at the end of it, patiently waiting for your sleepy self to join him. He’s docked just on the outskirts of town you note—he’s not staying for long. You were just a detour.      

You sigh, face souring as the first rays of sunlight whisper across the glittery yellow smudge of the horizon. Sand scrapes your cheeks and tickles the inside of your nostrils as a gust of torrid air sweeps down from the nearby bluffs, promising another scorching day that’ll make the skin on your nose peel and flake off. Absolutely putrid. “I fucking hate this town.”

Mando makes no comment on his end, just rests his palm over your lower back and guides you forward. This shouldn’t be miserable— 

He isn’t marching you off to your death or anything—just an end of a chapter you didn’t intend on closing so soon.

 Isn’t it funny when you’ve got an entire speech’s worth to say and yet all of it decides to stay stuck on the roof of your mouth? But that’s the problem—you’d have no idea what to say—just an endless turmoil of emotions you aren’t able to pin down and decipher. You’re not even sure if you want to anyway—

All too soon you’re reaching the blast doors that lead into the space port. Din stays outside when you offer to go get his kid from Peli’s care. He’s bundled up in a spare blanket, tucked against Peli’s side—both asleep. Without waking your aunt, you slide him into your arms and make your way back to Mando. The baby whines and cracks his large eyes open. 

“Hello, Creature,” you greet, sweeping a thumb over his large ear. “Dad’s here to pick you up.”

His eyes slide back shut, nuzzling deeper into the swaths of blanket as you hand him back to Din. The Mandalorian happily accepts the little creature and tucks him against his side. Cute.    

“How long are you staying?” You’re cracking open another door for him, letting the soft glow of an imaginary future spill past your fingertips even though you know it’s far fetched. He shuts it with a gentle sigh and a weak shake of the head. 

“We’re leaving today. It’s not safe for us here.” 

Your brows furrow. “You’re being followed?”

The way his shoulders stiffen tell you that it’s a long story. That it runs deeper than just a mere skirmish and bad blood. You don’t like his answer when he tells you the short version of things. Don’t like the way your whole body seizes and doused in a vat of ice water.  

“That’s…no. That’s not—the Empire was destroyed.” Your breaths turn sharp like frayed lungs hacked at the stem and the cold dread of a returned horror. That part of you, the one that fought tooth and nail for the galaxy perished in the flames of war alongside every friend and ally you’ve lost. To say that something you played a part in ripping to shreds for good, is back—it’s digging up ghosts and dusty skeletons you’ve buried long ago. “Din—the Empire is gone."  

“Not all of it. They’re after the kid.” The baby, now awake, squeaks and looks up at Din, his little fingers wrapping around his thumb. “If I stayed any longer I’ll be putting you both at risk.”  

You wrap your arms around yourself and study the tips of your boots. “You’ll be gone for awhile then.”

You lift your head and study the sharp lines of his helmet and the dark strip of visor. His silence carves out the fragile hope cradled in your chest with a rusty knife—throws it at your feet with bloody uncertainty. He chooses silence over hollow promises—could be years or three weeks the next time you see him. Or never.   

“Take care, Skitter.”

“Yeah…se ya around, Mando.”  

You watch him leave, the beskar glittering in the early morning sun until he disappears from view.   

You should’ve asked him to take you with.

[serceleste]

Pairing: Biggs/Cloud

Rating: Explicit

Words: 2.2k

Summary: Biggs needs to get out of his head; Cloud helps.

This is the first fic I've finished in almost a year and a half! So... apologies for the result, lol.