#both are held together by their relationships with their comrades

[sidsinning]

*Squints eyes* do I have a type

[vampcubus]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐄

𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : kyojuro sure likes to stare, doesn't he? :ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : sfw, gn!reader, pre-established friendship, background obamitsu meddling. :ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 : 1.4k+

Kyojuro, bless his heart, is so hopelessly attracted to you in ways he’s never experienced. 

Everything about you draws him in, from your striking beauty to your quick wit, how despite your snark you always treated others with compassion. You were fast friends, not that Kyojuro was particularly difficult to get along with. You’d even argue that such a person as him was impossible to dislike, at least without feeling guilty about it. 

He was blunt, genuine, and brimming with so much enthusiasm it tended to unsettle some. But never you. You would look upon him with quiet acceptance, hanging onto his every word. You didn’t seem to mind his complete disregard for eye contact or his erratic conversational skills. 

You just get him, he muses. And he’s never felt a kinship like that with anyone.

Kyojuro has always felt like he was moving faster than everyone else, both in mind and body. The man couldn’t sit still or shut up to save his life, or so the other Hashira would say – endearingly of course. No matter the sentiments his comrades held for him, none of them seemed to keep up quite as well as you did. Which is why he presumed you worked so well together.

He could blabber on about anything and have you following along just fine. Though after a few roundabout conversations ranging from swordplay to street food, he musters the confidence to ask if he talked too much for your taste. 

You only quirk a brow and snort, “Pffft, of course not! I like listening to you talk.” and you see something shift in his gaze, the softest shade of pink tinting his round cheeks.

It’s around there when the staring starts.

It’s a subtle change at first, catching his wide-eyed gaze from across the training field. Feeling his eyes upon you as you shared meals together. Stumbling over your words when you realize for the first time that he’s actually looking you in the eye as you talk.

It’s a new and exhilarating feeling to be able to admire those honey-colored eyes fully fixated on you for a change. Too often you found yourself staring back. And the way he brightens when your eyes meet sends your fickle heart into pesky palpitations every time. You swore his pupils bled further into his golden-red irises every time he spotted you. 

The idea of his eyes dilating at the mere sight of you endears you even more fiercely to him. As if such a thing was possible. You’re already attached at the hip, not to mention the dozens of joint missions you’ve taken. 

His exuberance could be trying when your objective was to blend in, but his swordsmanship more than made up for it. He was incredibly good at taking the edge off when tensions were high, he was an emotional pillar of support, and you were honored to have his focus.

The beloved Flame Hashira was enthusiastic about many things, but you most of all it seemed. You’ve been told by several other Hashira that you were one of his favorite topics of conversation. The image of him gushing about you to other people is as embarrassing as it is flattering.

“Y/n is so easygoing, I cherish their company!”

“Did you know Y/n makes the best rice cakes?”

“Y/n is such a fierce swordsman, I am honored to fight at their side!”

“Y/n this, Y/n that. You’re all he talks about you know,” Iguro points a finger in your face one morning.

“So I’ve heard,” you hum, hand perched lazily on the hilt of your sword, though you’re unsure of precisely why he’s telling you this. Your eyes stray to Kaburamaru, who only flicks his tongue at you, leisurely slithering down Iguro’s shoulder from his coiled position around his neck.

You’ve always known the Serpent Hashira to be abrasive and confrontational, but the sudden interest in your relationship with Rengoku was uncharacteristic. Especially since he usually disregarded your presence unless he had something to criticize. You didn’t dislike him, but you wouldn’t say that you were close.

Did he know something you didn’t? 

You try not to make assumptions based on the worries of others, but Kyojuro’s childhood friend approaching you out of the blue to tell you something like that? It makes you wonder just what sort of things Kyojuro has been saying about you to warrant such an interrogation.

Was Iguro trying to discern your intentions as a way of looking out for him? Perhaps your feelings for Kyojuro weren’t as internalized as you’d thought. 

“Is this your way of saying you’ll snap me like a twig if I break his heart?” you ask, lips curling up into a sly grin, head cocked to one side.

Heterochromatic eyes blink in surprise, and then narrow.

“You catch on quick.” 

“You can relax, Iguro. I won’t hurt him.”

“Few can be entirely sure of that. For your sake, I hope that’s the truth,” he waves you off, turning away in disinterest upon hearing your response.

The encounter leaves you with mixed feelings. Would Iguro have asked if he didn’t already know how Rengoku felt in return? It's an unsettling and gnawing feeling. Not the idea that your feelings could be returned, just the uncertainty of it all. If Iguro noticed it, why didn’t you?

“Iguro approached me earlier,” you say as you sit across from the flame-haired swordsman, currently having lunch at one of your favorite spots to eat.

“Did he now?” Kyojuro acknowledges, eyes still closed as he stuffs another bite of octopus into his mouth. His round cheeks puff out cutely, the image of a chipmunk with its cheeks full of nuts forming in your mind.

“He told me you talk about me a lot.”

“All good things of course!” he assures, seemingly unbothered by the news.

“That’s the thing,” you chuckle nervously, poking at your food with your chopsticks. Kyojuro’s eyes fluttered open, now focused on your fidgeting hands. “He seemed concerned that you had feelings for me beyond friendship.”

It’s silent for a moment, and you stuff food into your mouth to escape it, eyes focused on your plate. You can feel his gaze, but you’re too intimidated to meet it.

“Would that be a bad thing?” for once, Kyojuro sounds nervous. 

It's a subtle strain in his tone that others who didn’t know him as well might have missed. But years of close proximity have made you perceptive to the almost invisible chinks in his armor. Kyojuro was heavily guarded for being such a friendly man, always eager to lend a hand or ear when others were in distress, but quick to clam up when it came to his own problems.

Your heartbeat skips, excited and terrified. Was that a confession? Were you reading too far into things? Was the question rhetorical? All these questions well up inside until you feel like you’ll burst. 

You can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re so hard to read,” you lamented, nearly jumping out of your skin when his fingers brush yours from across the table.

“Perhaps If you looked at me, you’d have an easier time,” he laughs, and your heart already feels lighter at the joyous sound. 

The anxiety in your tummy melts into giddiness, and you demurely tilt your head up to meet his eyes. They’re crinkled fondly, pupils large, and fully fixated on yours. His golden-red eyes consume yours, inspiring your fingers to twitch against his. You can only compare such an expression to a smitten puppy. 

You suddenly feel silly for entertaining any doubts that the Flame Hashira was any less enamored than you were.

“To be completely honest, I have been interested in you romantically for quite some time now, and at a loss of how to contain such strong feelings,” he confessed, and suddenly a lot of things started making sense.

He stared at you so much because he liked you. He talked about you so much because he liked you. He let you tag along to missions he could have easily handled on his own because he liked you. Iguro approached you because he noticed.

“Then no, I don’t think that would be a bad thing at all.” You turn your hand with your palm facing upward to accept his own into your grasp.

Kyojuro’s smile widens, and he nearly shakes the entire restaurant with the volume of his declaration of, “WONDERFUL!”

“See, Obanai? I told you they just needed a little push!” Mitsuri gushes from across the restaurant, just her green eyes and the top of her head peeking over the menu.

[maidenborn]

Detective Love-struck!

Shoto x reader in which Reader discovers a love letter in her locker, and recruits deku to help her. fem reader, maybe oc deku and shoto idk, reader has an older brother, first little fanfic thingy, I haven't written in god knows how long don't burn me at the stake plz

Word count: 1,707

When you were younger, stupider and shameless, you and your only friend Shoto, would play detective during your free time together. At the age of five, you and your comrade had already solved ONE case, the infamous 'who stole older brother's motorbike?!' case, which you and shoto apparently 'took credit for' or whatever that means. Despite how much you swore to your brother how you and Shoto knew where it was before the police. And how you tipped the cops off with your super secret telepathy quirk that no one but shoto knew about.

He responded with a, "well if you're so smart why don't you figure out where my old 3DS is?? by the way, you don't have telepathic powers, forehead." You'd clench your fist every time that cursed nickname left his lips, but anyways, you accepted his challenge, walking away cursing him with the most vulgar name you could think up, telepathically of course. you swear you heard his breath stifle in shock as you stomped off, coincidence? I think not.

Your winning streak of problem solving ended with anger at your rivals, the police down the road, when they refused to let you into the station after you relentlessly demanded that they let you see the files of fifty year-old unsolved homicide case. The next day you sulked to Shoto during lunch, who stared at you with that blank stare he always does."you tried to break in again?" An accusation?!?!?!? The tipping point.

You fake-angry threw your paper cut-out detective badge, that you and your best-friend made during arts and crafts, with all your strength, only for it to slowly flutter to the ground awkwardly. That day you announced your retirement from the force. Claiming all the hard thinking was giving you wrinkles, that only caused shoto to look more confused, tilting his head to the side. "Wrinkles?"

"On my forehead." You huffed.

Your interest for the antics of detectives on tv and corny live-action crime thrillers died off as your ambition and hope to become a real life pro hero ignited, as did your connection with Shoto, even if you started to see him less frequently as the years of your childhood passed by. It was a blessing that you managed to land a place in class 1-A alongside your companion. Your bond reinvigorated, grew stronger as you were reunited with the boy, the lingering figure of his father, Endeavour had dissipated, granting the boy a newfound freedom. You found yourself spending almost all your free time with him now, way more than you ever did when you were kids. And you were grateful for it. So very grateful.

Now, both you and him had matured, albeit not a lot since you were both fifteen, but in a fifteen year olds eyes, it was a lot. The boy's once chubby cheeks now had a more slim-chiseled appearence. His head of hair was the same length, perfectly split down the middle, not one stray hair misplaced on either side. His eyes were more narrowed and stern, still fronting that blank look that his eyes always held. However hard his stare was when he looked at others, he'd never dare look at you with that coldness, whenever he caught himself glancing at you his creased brow would almost immediately flatten. His gaze defrosted into liquid, a softness so delicate and reminiscent of the early days of your relationship. The days where he'd follow you around, craving the warmth of your presence, your smile, you, and everything a five year old brat could offer. In your case, it was friendship.

You and him were two peas in a pod, Detective Shoto and his partner, Sometimes in class you'd daydream about playing detective with him, like how you used to, but you guess you both were a little too old for that now. Besides it's not like there was any mysteries to be solved in the halls of Yuuei.

Not until today.

"a love letter!?!? oh wow!" Deku shrieked a bit too loud for your liking. His whole body shook as he held onto the straps of his backpack. A few students lingering around the halls looked towards the commotion.

"Yeah but shhh!" You leaned closer to the boy pressing your finger to your lips harder and harder. " I don't want anyone to know, it's embarrassinggg! What if they're messing with me? I don't even know who wrote it! I don't wanna get my hopes up you know..." You mumbled that last part, your finger silencing yourself made it hard to talk. You've never been popular with the male species, only ever receiving confessions as jokes from more popular, less disliked, boys. Not that you minded all that, you had a best friend after all, and he was a boy! You were considered popular and you were liked by him!

You tossed your head about to shake the thought of Shoto to no avail. You felt you cheeks heat up. "Can you read it out to me? Maybe they gave a clue as to who they are!" Deku ignored the redness in your face, chalking it up to nervousness. Yeah, you were nervous alright, nervous about what Shoto would think. He's always been relentless in the pursuit of your attention, you couldn't help but wonder how he would react to all this. Would he be mad? No why would he. He has no reason for all that.

You take your time reading out the letter you found in your locker, looking up to meet Izuku's eyes after every sentence, waiting to see if he caught on to any hidden meanings written in-between the lines of the confession. You'd read the letter countless times, scanning over every word to no avail. Only deciding to drag Deku into your conundrum as he was walking past. Whoever had written the letter gave no clue towards their identity. It was just a confession. No 'can you meet me behind the school later today?' or ' will you go out with me? Just an ordinary love letter. Apart from the last section. At the bottom of the paper read a slightly threatening, ominous quote:

"I'll set your heart alight. "

The words made your chest tighten, but not in a good way. It gave you a funny feeling in your stomach, such a normal letter ending so strongly, you were kind of unsettled. "Don't you think that last parts s'a little odd?" You mentioned after finishing up reading. "Kinda sounds like a threat to me." You suddenly gasp, "What if our undercover lover is a villain! They could be plotting to kidnap me ..or worse!" Due to recent events, everyone had the possibility of kidnapping looming over them.

" Umm.. I doubt that a villain could sneak into Yuuei, especially now. I think it was maybe just an attempt romance." Deku chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

"No I seriously thi-

"Yn. Midoriya." Shoto Todoroki stood behind you. You hadn't even noticed him sneaking up on you, whether it was his intention or not, he scared you straight.

"Oh! Hi Shoto!" You calmed yourself, turning your head to make eye contact with him. He only grew closer to you, taking the eye contact as permission to get closer. You could feel the air get hotter as he lingered next to you, reaching his head forward so he could peek at what you were holding so tightly in your hands. His eyes offering no insight to his current emotion whatsoever.

"What is that?" Tilting his head. Suddenly embarrassed you smushed the paper into your chest, crinkling it. "Uhhh.. I got a letter! I don't know who it's from though. Not that it matters." You shrugged. Nice, the nonchalant approach.

"What kind of letter?" He strained his neck for a moment longer before backing up. Face still, ice cold. You sighed at his retreat. Anxiety welling up in your stomach, 'why the hell am I so paranoid for?' You thought.

You were about to dodge the question when Deku asnwered for you, "Its a love letter! From someone unknown, we're actually trying to figure out who it could be from!" At that you crumpled in defeat. Thanks a lot Izuku. Why the hell are you trying to cover it up so much anyways? Huh?!? Your inner monologue accused you.

"Oh." He stepped back even more, No longer feeling his warmth, the hall seemed a whole lot colder without him so close, you urged to scuttle up to him, Only to turn to see Shoto preparing to leave.

"Would you like to help us Sho?" You offered, not wanting him to go so soon. Leaning at the hip towards him, head tilted down, eyes looking up at him.

"No thank you. I have to go, Goodbye Yn, Midoriya, good luck." And at that he started to walk away. You rushed to find something to say, deciding to just let him go, offering a small, "Bye Sho." Along with Izuku's cheery goodbye. 'Was something wrong? Did I do something wrong?' Your spiralling thoughts were soon interrupted by Deku," I wonder what that was all about." The look on Izuku's face mirrored yours, laced with confusion, only less angsty than yours.

"he's probably just busy with assignments or something, wants to get ahead." You chirped, lightening the tension.

"weird of him to turn down an opportunity like this though, he's usually all over this kinda stuff, he's a real hardcore theorist sometimes!... don't tell him I said that."

"oh really?" you jest. Tension dissolved, nice. As if you and him weren't attempting to solve murder mysteries during break time a couple years ago. The memory returning to you, you can't help but feel a little sad.

A couple moments of silence and then, "Ive got it! we could track them down through their handwriting!"

"yeaahhh... but the letters printed!" you retired the letter from your iron grip with an obnoxious groan, provoking a handful of glances from students passing by. "good idea though." You shrink into yourself a little, eye twitchy as you try to disappear through sheer willpower.

"the culprit has thought this out really well.."

"Yeah.. no clues or anything. Apart from the curse at the end."

"Yeah."

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH PLZ LET ME KNOW IF YOU ENJOYED THIS IM WORKINT ON A PART TWO!!!

I don't rlly know how to write stories like this, perchance ill turn it into a mini series or something

part 2

[kiame-sama]

Donut Rings- (Yandere!Chrollo x Chubby!Reader)

Warnings; this whole thing is almost entirely self serving, fem reader, short and busty reader, chubby reader, general perversion, cursing, adult themes, adult conversation, jealousy, possessive behavior, yandere, yandere relationship, yandere behavior, mention of aggressive behavior, unwanted flirting, slight objectification,

~~~~~~~~

"Can't fuckin' believe it..."

A long and frustrated sigh left the lips of the blond man standing with his arms crossed. The blue and green jumpsuit he wore seeming over the top given that he was not going jogging, but at an airport. He had an obvious scowl on his lips and certainly seemed less than pleased with the situation he found himself in.

"What has you so displeased, Phinks?"

A man with black hair in a fur lined coat glanced curiously at his compatriot, a single delicate brow raised in question. The two belonged to the larger group that seemed rather disjointed together despite being together. Twelve in total stood together as others ambled past them towards whatever gate would get them to their flight.

"You should have seen it, Boss, Phinks got flat out rejected by some chick."

The largest of the group- both height and muscle mass- snorted out a loud laugh that earned more than a few glances. His wild gray tinted hair made him appear to be almost feral in how he grinned in amusement at the dejection of his comrade. One may compare the large man to that of a bear or a wolf given the wide grin and decidedly feral appearance.

Phinks sighed loudly again as he pouted, clearly unhappy with his rejection and the teasing he received

"Not just some chick, she's the short one with the huge fucking tits at the donut place!"

He cupped his hand beneath his chest to emphasize his point and phantom-mime the size of the breasts in question. Even with the nonexistent chest he 'held' in his hands, he seemed to be yearning to touch the real breasts he was talking about. Hands slowly moving as if stroking the air where the soft globes would be.

"What do her tits have to do with anything?"

One of the smaller members of the group- a woman with bright pink hair and moderately sized breasts- frowned in the general direction of Phinks. She seemed less than pleased with the way the man was talking about the apparent attributes and almost seemed tempted to smack his cupped hands. Out of the group, the pink-haired woman had the smaller sized breasts compared to the other women present.

"You wouldn't get it, Machi," Phinks complained, dismissively waving his hand, "it's a guy thing. If you can get a big tiddy bitch to ride you, it's so fun to watch them bounce. Plus, probably the best thing to fuck other than pussy. So soft, like humping two giant marshmallows."

Phinks moved his hands to mimic holding two breasts at crotch level and thrusting his hips into them to show just what he was talking about. It wasn't as if any of the group were clueless to the intimate actions he spoke of, but he was content to show the action all the same.

The twelve stood near a donut shop inside of the airport, a constant stream of people entering and exiting the line with various baked confections. There was an apparent sweet scent wafting through the air around the bakery as more of the goods were baked and decorated. For every tray of decorated donuts, two trays seemed to be emptied every ten minutes.

Machi glanced up at the window that showed where the employees were decorating the donuts and putting the rich icing onto them. Behind the glass stood the woman in question as she worked to put the sugary icing onto the warm baked rings. She seemed oblivious to the group that stood casually discussing her and watching her work, though a slight glare took over her relaxed visage as Phinks thrust his hips provocatively.

"Is that the one who rejected you?"

Chrollo asked, gesturing to the woman behind the glass as she lifted the tray of donuts and walked away to place them out for sale. Phinks nodded with a solemn look, as if lamenting the fact that the woman was clearly less than pleased with his presence when she wasn't ignoring him.

"Yeah. I was even trying to put on the works for her, you know? Sweet talk her a bit, make a joke or two. But she couldn't even give a fella the time of day!"

"Good."

This caused a surprised laugh from several in the group as Phinks stared at Chrollo incredulously. If he didn't know any better, he would say Chrollo was intentionally being cruel for the sake of being cruel.

"Damn, Boss, that's cold!"

Chrollo shrugged in response to the amused and surprised remark by the feral man that gleefully teased Phinks. It seemed as if the raven haired man was not at all perturbed by the surprised words, glancing back at the window as the woman returned. She still ignored thr group and began decorating the next set of rings without glancing up at the onlookers.

"Spider or not, I don't feel particularly fond of others flirting with my girlfriend."

This made all of the color drain from Phinks' face as he took in Chrollo's casually stated words. If there was one thing that none of the group wanted to do, it was anger their beloved leader. Flirting with Chrollo's significant other certainly seemed like a surefire way to anger him.

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait, she's your-? Forget everything I said about her nice juicy tits! And what I said about humping them-! I mean- fuck!"

"Phinks, I think you should probably just be quiet."

The other blonde in the group laughed at the flustered reaction and stuttered words Phinks hastily choked out. Shalnark was as amused as ever with the quick way the other blonde attempted to retract his statement now that he knew he was talking about Chrollo's girlfriend. If Chrollo were quick to anger, Phinks would have been struck down for his words about the woman who still had yet to look back at them.

"Idiot."

One of the short men with black hair scoffed at the foolish behavior of Phinks, not needing to put effort into a greater response than the slight jab. It was frowned upon for the group members to try and start fights with the others and trying to take a significant other was sure to cause a fight. Luckily for Phinks, Chrollo was not witness to the brazen flirting.

"Didn't know you had a girlfriend, Boss."

The blonde female stated with a relaxed tone, masking the clear curiosity in her voice. Chrollo did not seem like one to keep a consistent partner as he often used sex to extract information from others. Regardless, no one in the group was about to question their beloved leader beyond simple comments and inquiries.

"I do. (Y/n) is not a plaything or a target to be hassled, nor should she know of our exploits. She is far too innocent for that and may try to flee if she realizes the full breadth of our actions. So, until I choose to enlighten her, no one is to mention what we do or where we come from, understood?"

The others were quick to agree to the unofficial order of silence, now more curious than ever to figure out just what about this woman managed to entrance their blood-thirsty leader. For the time being they decided to keep quiet and observe as the woman emerged from the donut shop, seeming rather tired and uncomfortable on her feet. Chrollo was quick to leave the group and approach (y/n) with an affectionate smile, surprising the shorter woman as if she had not expected his presence.

"Chrollo? What are you doing here?"

"Do I need a reason to visit my lover?"

"Only when I'm working. How did you get past security? They're usually pretty strict about letting anyone who isn't traveling or doesn't work here past the entrance."

"I have my ways."

"Right," she let out a short huff of amusement, "next you're going to tell me you have diplomatic immunity."

Chrollo chuckled softly, wondering just how his cute little darling would react to knowing even half of the truth about him and the things he's done. With everything he had done there was no way that he would be allowed into the airport legally. Of course, for those who knew his sordid past, seeing him casually flirt with the short, large-breasted woman was an unusual experience. One that Phinks couldn't help but pout at.

"No fair, why does he always get the hot ones?"

"I'm telling Boss you're talking about his girl again."

"Oh, fuck off!"

[writtenjewels]

Da ba

The baby's laughter filled the room, and Jason smiled too. He loved listening to Zain's laughter. It was high and it made Zain's face light up with joy. Jason tickled the baby again and Zain squirmed, squealing in delight. The two were so absorbed they didn't notice at first they were being watched. It was only when Jason paused that Zain looked up and held out both hands, making grabbing motions.

“Ba!” he cooed.

“I've got you, habibi,” Salim answered, bending to pick up his son.

“Now that's playin' dirty,” Jason remarked. Salim caught his eye and raised a questioning brow. Jason turned his head aside. “Two against one,” he clarified.

“You had an unfair advantage, Jason,” Salim told him with an amused smile. “Now Baba can help it be a fair fight.” He bounced Zain in his arms; the baby gurgled happily. Looking at them made warmth fill up Jason's chest. “But first,” Salim went on, “I think someone needs his diaper changed.”

“No!”

“I swear I didn't teach him that one,” Jason spoke up.

“It's all right.” Salim addressed his son again. “Now, Zain, it will only take a moment. Then we can play some more, okay?”

“No!” Zain cried out again. “Da!”

“What's 'da'?” Salim wondered. Jason shrugged; he had no idea. “Diaper?” Salim tried out. “Are you trying to say you don't want your diaper changed, habibi?”

“No!” Zain looked frustrated now. “Da! Da ba!” The two men exchanged puzzled looks. Ba was what Zain called his father. But what was Da?

“Baba,” Jason suggested. “Not Daba, Zain.” Zain craned his body toward Jason and made grabbing motions with his hands again.

“Da! Da ba!”

Jason's body felt suddenly cold. He sat frozen on the ground, his mouth open. Me, he realized. I'm Da ba. He swallowed and managed to get to his feet. His legs were numb but he managed to walk the few paces forward to take Zain in his arms. The baby calmed at once.

“He must have learned 'Da' from watching television with us,” Salim mused. “He didn't know which to say, so he used both.” Jason took a moment to get his tongue working again.

“I'm sorry,” he croaked out.

“Why?” Salim asked, frowning.

“Because he...” Jason swallowed before getting the words out. “He called me Dada. Or tried to.”

“And aren't you?” Salim's voice was quiet and gentle. Their eyes met, Salim's hand resting on Jason's arm.

Jason felt a stab of fear, and it wasn't at the idea of being a father for Zain. He would do anything for this kid. Salim was the one who scared Jason. Theirs had never been a typical relationship. Going from enemies pointing guns at each other to comrades willing to die for each other in a few hours, and all they trusted to each other in the dark. The more they were together, the deeper Jason could feel himself falling.

The weight of Salim's hand, the warmth in those dark eyes scared the hell out of Jason. He wet his lips nervously and watched as Salim's eyes slid down to settle there. Zain started squirming and Jason took a step away.

He didn't think he was ready yet to answer what Salim really asked with that question.

[nahoney22]

Hey I just hopped onto the bad batch fan wagon and I absolutely love ur blog! <3 I was wondering if I could request a little something about tech x reader who lost a limb/arm during battle or on a mission and he makes her a robotic prosthetic and routinely does maintenance or upgrades on it and each visit brings them closer until they realize they love eachother?

Optimisation

Tech X F!Reader

word count: 2.8k

When you lost your arm,you almost gave up hope. No longer feeling like yourself, you didn’t know what to do. But, when Tech introduces you to a prosthetic, both of your relationships take a turn for the better.

warnings: fluff and slight angst, friends to lovers, mentions of anxious and emotional reader, loss of limb. Reader is a little reluctant at first to having a prosthetic and is standoffish. Talks about feelings. Subtle cutesy glances and touches etc. female reader. Not proofread.

authors note: I’m so sorry for the delay. Lost in my inbox 😭 enjoy. Also notices you said ‘her’ in the request so assumed it was female reader??? Anyway, enjoy! 🤍

Your mind was swirling in a sea of thoughts. Most churned with memories of the mission that had forever changed you and some thought being nothing at all.

Perched on the edge of a small cliff, your gaze swept over the picturesque landscape, offering a fleeting moment of respite.

The loss of your arm had been an abrupt, harrowing experience, a fragmented blur that you could scarcely piece together. With one arm gone, a pervasive sense of uselessness had crept into your existence. You questioned your relevance in the squad – what purpose did you now have? How could you possibly help anyone?

Suddenly, a voice disrupted the chaotic maelstrom of your thoughts. You didn't turn to face him, but you recognised it was Tech.

"Ah, there you are," he remarked as he approached, standing beside you, his presence felt more than seen.

"Here I am," you mumbled, not particularly interested in conversation. It wasn't that you harbored any ill feelings toward Tech or your comrades for that matter; you were simply weary of being treated like fragile glass. Tech however, in his own characteristic manner, had always been rather direct in his approach.

"I'm here to assess you," he stated matter-of-factly.

Your brows furrowed in mild confusion, and you turned your gaze toward Tech, who was engrossed in his datapad. "...For what?"

"Just an annual routine check," he replied, raising his eyes from the screen. "But, given your recent loss of limb, it's essential to make this assessment more comprehensive."

You heaved a heavy sigh, momentarily glancing away. This was the last thing you felt like dealing with, but deep down, you understood it needed to be done. You pushed yourself to your feet and turned to face Tech, who began to examine you, asking questions about your health and emotional state. Your responses were typically laced with bluntness and sarcasm, which seemed to go over Tech.

Yet, his examination was momentarily halted when he noticed you involuntarily flinch as he approached the space where your arm had once been, now left hauntingly vacant.

Tech observed your flinch and remarked, "You're flinching, yet you have nothing to flinch for."

You responded with a deadpan stare, then shifted your gaze to where your arm used to be, saying with sarcasm, "Oh no, where did that go?" This earned you a disapproving frown from Tech.

"I will note that down as sarcasm," Tech said, inputting data into his device, while you rolled your eyes in response.

"Are we done now?" you inquired, eager to be done with the examination.

Tech nodded, replying, "Yes, for now. I want you to come find me in a few hours. I have an idea." His words held a hint of mystery, leaving you curious. Before you could inquire further, Tech had already turned and left. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret for your earlier tone, but you were indeed worn out. Nonetheless, you couldn't help but wonder what he had in store for you.

As the hours passed, the rest of the squad departed for a supply run, and though Wrecker had offered you the opportunity to join them rather enthusiastically, you weren't quite up to it. Not just yet. But Tech had stayed behind so instead, you decided to explore Tech's request.

"Hey," you called out as you entered the Marauder's cockpit. Tech had his back to you, but he swiveled the pilot chair around to face you. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw what he held in his hands – a prosthetic arm.

"What's that?" you inquired, feeling a surge of nervousness.

"I've created an arm for you," Tech replied in his usual matter-of-fact tone, seemingly unaware of the reluctance evident on your face.

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, and your palm grew clammy. "Oh, Tech... I'm not sure about this," you admitted, hesitating.

Tech lowered the prosthetic arm and arched an eyebrow at your apprehension. "But you are evidently unhappy about missing an arm, yes? Having a new one should be a suitable replacement."

You were torn. Undoubtedly, you yearned for your arm, but the idea of an artificial one felt invasive. Tech finally picked up on your reluctance, reading the uncertainty in your eyes.

"I suggest you take a seat, and we can discuss this together. It's just a prototype for now. Once we secure more income from Cid, I can enhance it," Tech reassured, adopting a more empathetic tone.

You silently took a seat across from Tech, perched on the edge of the chair as he scooted a bit closer. "I took the liberty of assessing Echo's cybernetic as a base plan," he explained.

"Are you going to give me a scomp link too?" you questioned, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

"That is a choice that is up to you," Tech replied, very gently rolling up your sleeve to assess the area. "Would you like one, similar to Echo's?"

"Is it bad if I say no?" you muttered, apprehension evident. Tech glanced up at you briefly and then shook his head. "Like I said, it is primarily your choice."

With efficient precision, Tech attached the prosthetic arm. You couldn't bring yourself to look at it. "Inform me on how it feels," he requested.

You remained in silence, feeling the weight of this sudden change press upon you. The experience felt unnatural, and you weren't prepared for the emotional shift it brought. Tears welled up in your eyes, and your throat tightened.

"You need to speak for me to—" he began to say, but then stopped as he saw a single tear slowly roll down your cheek. "Is it hurting? Uncomfortable?" He asked, panicking slightly.

You sniffled and confessed, "No, I... I don't know. I don't know how to feel, how it should feel."

Tech clicked his tongue as the realisation dawned that he might not fully comprehend your emotional state. He considered what Hunter might do in this situation and then carefully reached out, placing a somewhat awkward yet comforting hand on your knee. "If it's too much, we can revisit this another day. I should have been more transparent during the assessment earlier."

Wiping away a tear, you looked at his hand on your knee and then up at him, a mix of gratitude and regret in your eyes. "I'm sorry. You put in so much effort—"

"This was actually relatively straightforward," Tech assured with a hint of fondness, acknowledging his own exceptional skills. "But after twenty-two rotations of you missing your arm, I should have waited a bit longer or offered you this solution earlier."

This time, you managed a smile and watched as he carefully removed the prosthetic. As he packed it away in its case, you said nothing more. However, when you stood to leave, you hesitated and turned back to him.

"Tech?"

"Yes?" he responded.

"Can we try again? Maybe tomorrow?"

He turned to you and offered a faint, reassuring smile. "Of course. Come and find me whenever you are ready.”

Late in the evening, much later than anticipated, the following day, you mustered up the courage to face Tech. Wearing a sheepish smile, you found him alone in the cockpit. "I must say I wasn't expecting you to show up today," he greeted you as you took a seat across from him.

"I have to admit, I wasn't sure if I was going to show up either," you confessed. "I had to psyche myself up."

"Very well, let's get to it," Tech replied, reaching for the prosthetic arm that he had tucked away under a control panel. You quietly observed that he had been clearly tinkering with it today as it looked slightly different from the last time you saw it – this time it had a hand.

"May I?" Tech gestured to your sleeve, and with a nod, he rolled it up. You glanced away as he manually attached the prosthetic, still not fully comfortable with looking at the stump that remained. It was a bit fidgety this time, but you felt no pain.

"Now, how does it feel?" Tech repeated the question from yesterday. Slowly, you turned your attention to the new addition to your body.

"I don't know," you admitted.

He raised an eyebrow. "Can you enlighten me about the weight? Is there a perfect counterbalance, or...?"

You attempted to move the arm, but it was just a small, feeble motion. Deep in concentration, you struggled to get your brain to sync with your new limb. This time, Tech noticed your disappointment. "A simple alteration will do the trick, I assure you."

"Don't worry, I trust you," you reassured him softly, causing Tech to pause at your words.

"You do?" he asked, sounding somewhat surprised as he turned his attention to you.

You nodded, your sincerity apparent. "Well, yeah? Of course, I do. I'm... I'm very grateful for you doing this. You didn't have to."

A warm smile graced Tech's face as he fidgeted slightly with his tools. "No, but I wanted to. You've done a lot for us since you joined our squad. It's only fair that I give you something in return." He leaned in to assess the arm once more, ensuring the measurements were precise.

As Tech's deft fingers worked on your new arm, you couldn't help but feel something different. The proximity was unusual yet not unwelcome, and you found yourself intrigued. Has he always been this handsome? Breaking the silence that had fallen between you, you asked, "Have you always been good at this kind of stuff, or do you have expertise in other areas?"

Tech replied quietly, "I've always been good at everything. But statistics and data have always been what I've excelled in the most. This isn't second nature to me, so don't worry. You're in good hands."

"I can tell," you responded softly. This time, he looked at you, and the proximity between your faces caught both of you off guard. His eyes searched yours as he tried to decipher your thoughts and feelings, while he felt a strange fluttering feeling in his chest, “you've always been good to me.”

He gulped but he held your gaze a moment longer before turning his attention back to his work. Tech cleared his throat once more and tried to refocus on the work at hand, yet the distraction had left its mark. "I see that some of the measurements are a little off, so I will have to a-alter it again," he explained, sitting up and looking at you. The subtle stutter in his words caught your attention, and you found it surprisingly endearing.

You nodded in agreement, your heart racing a bit faster than you'd anticipated. "That's fine."

As the prosthetic was removed, you stood up, and to your surprise, so did Tech. The closeness was undeniable, and your breath hitched as you looked up at his tall, slender frame. Was he always this ridiculously handsome? Was it merely a fleeting feeling because of his help with the new arm, or had there been something underlying all along?

You intended to thank him, but in that moment, you caught him looking at your lips. Or so, you thought you did. Was the lights playing tricks on you or were you that delusional? But as the awkwardness lingered, Tech quickly realised his gaze had strayed and cleared his throat. "Same time tomorrow?" he suggested, avoiding direct eye contact.

You took a step back, creating some much-needed space between you, and nodded. "Uh, y-yes, sure." Your own stutter surprised you, and to avoid any further awkwardness, you retreated to your bunk. What on Kamino was happening?

Tech had worked miracles in just a few days, tirelessly devoting every waking moment to helping you adjust to your new prosthetic. And today was no exception as he had you practicing with various types of equipment.

"Tech, I think I've got the hang of it. I don't need to hold a holopad every five minutes," you protested.

"Repetition leads to full optimisation. So, do as you're told," he instructed, his gaze fixed intently on you through the rings of his goggles.

"Yes, sir," you replied, playfully rolling your eyes. You both avoided addressing what had happened the other day when you caught him gazing at your lips. Nevertheless, your attraction to him had grown, and he had become more than just a friend in your heart.

Spending so much time together, you had picked up on each other's quirks, likes, and dislikes. You had a genuine camaraderie, and you both had fun in each other's company. Tech made you feel normal, and it wasn't just the feeling of a comrade giving you an arm; it was the warmth of a friend, and perhaps something more, offering you some hope and happiness.

"What are you thinking about?" Tech asked, interrupting your reverie.

"Honestly?" you asked, your new prosthetic arm flexing up and down as your fingers tapped absently at a datapad, giving you an air of importance. "You."

Tech had picked up some tools as he continued to monitor your progress with the prosthetic. He was working on other projects simultaneously, but your words caught him off guard, and he stumbled slightly, dropping the tools to the floor. "Oh, well, is that a recurring thought… or something new?" he asked, his response laced with awkwardness as he fixed his clumsiness and pushed his goggles up his nose.

You shrugged, your nonchalance masking the true depth of your feelings. "I guess it's new... I'm just enjoying your company." Your heart pounded with a meaning that transcended the words. "And I don't know where to start on how to repay you for the arm."

"Nothing to repay," Tech replied sincerely, his voice a touch shy. He added, "I suppose,” he pauses for a second, hesitant for the first time in a long time, but goes ahead, “being in your company is enough for me, too."

Much like the other day, and sometimes throughout the days in between him fixing your arm, you both find yourself looking at each other. Really looking. Your eyes meet and it’s as if words were slowly being exchanged over, expressing how both of you were feeling in that moment.

However, Tech grappled with his feelings, unsure how to express them. He wasn't well-versed in emotions, and these thoughts about you were entirely new to him. He questioned if these inclinations were normal, the desire to kiss you, and the mere notion felt alien because he had never encountered such thoughts before. His brain was designed for well, anything but this. Not for pondering if a girl liked him.

"Have you ever felt scared before?" The question caught Tech off guard, making him think deeply.

"Yes, yes, I have actually," he admitted, surprising you. You raised a curious eyebrow.

"Mind telling me?" you asked gently, watching as his knee began to bounce restlessly.

He shifted his position and turned slightly away from you, an uncharacteristic shyness creeping over him. "It was quite recent. To be more precise, it was the mission in which you lost your arm."

You whispered a soft "oh" in response, feeling a mix of emotions as he continued to speak.

"You've always been a strong presence in this squad. Although you might not be as intelligent as I am, you're smart. You're well-trained in combat, you're good to Omega, and you're good to all of us," he explained, focusing on a small task in his hands rather than looking at you. "I feared that with you losing your arm, you would feel at a disadvantage. I suppose I was scared of you losing yourself. That's why I created the arm."

Tech's confession left you somewhat speechless, and his avoidance of eye contact spoke volumes. "You really care about me?" you asked, seeking confirmation.

He stilled, and you could see him swallow hard. "I do. Though, I feel that I care about you more than just a comrade. More than a friend." His words were careful, yet they carried a depth of meaning that you understood. He loved you, and you felt the same way.

With tenderness, you leaned closer, your new arm raising to gently turn his head to face you. There was a small gasp at the touch, but as he looked at you, his gaze focused once more on your lips.

You closed the gap, your lips pressing softly against his in a tender kiss. It was brief, but as you pulled back, Tech surprised you by dropping his tools to the floor once more and cupping your cheeks with both hands, bringing your lips back to his.

In the tender embrace of your kiss, your fingers lightly trailed along the contours of Tech's cheek, eliciting a soft sigh from him. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs tenderly stroking your cheeks as he whispered softly between your lips, "I believe that I… love you."

The warmth of his breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine as your kiss deepened. Your arms found their way around his shoulders as he used one arm to pull you across and into his lap, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw with a gentle caress. "I believe that I love you too.”

Masterlist

More Tech Works

Tags and those who I think may like : @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz z @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @imalovernotahater @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness @zoeykallus

[wombywoo]

anything more you can tell us about mr best friend danny?? 👀

A brief bio for you:

Danny Chambers, 33 (just a few months older (edit:) younger than Quinn). Born and raised in Sheffield, lived with a single mother and three sisters. Appearance-wise--he's black, usually sports a buzz cut, average height and stocky build, big goofy smile. He never excelled in school and considers himself rather dumb, so he thought the army might be his best option. He's got a good personality, very likable and talkative; seems to get along with everyone and always has something to say.

Early on in his service, he met Quinn and the two of them developed a strong dynamic both on and off duty. He's fiercely loyal, so he's always willing to stand up for his friends and comrades. I think at some point, he became quite protective of Quinn--not that he needed defending from others (for the most part), but rather from himself. Quinn is just a sopping wet dog of a man, lol, so Danny took it on himself to try to improve him, bit by bit.

He did get concerned when Quinn started dating Marc, as he doesn't care for the guy at all from what he's seen (seems everyone can sense this but Quinn). Quinn tried not to equate Danny's disapproval of Marc as an indication that he harbored feelings for him, but..poor guy was still hopelessly in love 😭 I don't think Danny ever fully understood the extent of it, but yeah...he did not approve, and this put a strain on things for them while Quinn was still actively dating Marc.

I've talked about this briefly, but at some point, Quinn asked him in a moment of desperation to assist in inducing a vision via self-drowning 🙃 As you can imagine, Danny was extremely resistant to this idea, but perhaps it's a testament to their deep level of trust that he agreed to go through with it. After much negotiation and a few attempts to back out, he held Quinn's head under the water, even as he started resisting, until his best friend stopped breathing. He then had to watch him writhe on the floor in a brief seizure after frantically attempting CPR. So, um...not a great friend bonding moment, but it was definitely a turning point in their relationship. Quinn swore he'd never ask it of him again, but he ended up forsaking that promise pretty quickly. After that, Danny grew more and more concerned for him, even threatening to report him to the higher-ups so he could just get some fucking therapy. That protectiveness turned into a guilty sort of obligation for Danny, and things grew even more strained after Quinn confessed his feelings and tried to kiss him. They talked about it though, and Danny didn't want Quinn to feel rejected despite his lack of reciprocation. He really does care about him so much, and that just made things all the more complicated during their service together.

Their final turning point occurred when Danny was bitten by a vampire during a mission gone horribly wrong. He'd taken the bite in his left arm, and Quinn arrived just in time to eliminate the bastard (after getting his shoulder rebroken in the process). Danny was already affected by the venom by then, screaming and thrashing as Quinn tried to find the source. Once he did, it was really just a matter of necessity. He had no choice but to amputate, severing Danny's arm just above the elbow. (another intensely traumatic moment for them both #bonding #bffs4life) Thankfully, Quinn's measures were able to stop the flow of venom before it became fatal, so he saved Danny's life.

After that, Danny was discharged and has been readjusting to civilian life back in Sheffield. With Quinn in the neighborhood, as it were, there is still that unspoken agreement that they'll remain friends, but it's...it's different and somewhat awkward now. Quinn's been healing from his own shoulder injury, but he's reluctant to check in on Danny even though he knows that he should. He feels guilty about the arm, and well..everything else. Danny had reconnected with one of his old girlfriends and they've become quite serious in the aftermath of his injury, so Quinn feels like he might as well take a step back and just...let him live his life without him. It's all very complicated and heartbreaking and whatnot :'D

With the new vampire bf now in the picture, there's even more complication--I think Danny feels immensely happy and relieved to see his friend with someone who takes care of him as well as Vincent, but.... like...vampire. There's definitely some resentment and awkwardness there, as his amputation is still fresh enough to serve as a constant reminder of just how dangerous this guy could be. It is a weight off Danny's chest to know that Quinn's happier and that he doesn't need his protection anymore, even if he doesn't quite know if he can trust Vincent yet...

[redivia]

'I think it's time for bed' Ghost x Reader

Summary: Simon fell asleep on the couch after coming home from work.

Authors note: Heyy! So this is my first ever story. I never thought I would write anything let alone post it, but here we are. Also it has to be said that I don't have a beta reader so if you notice any errors or mistakes kindly point them out in the comments. English isn't my first language so I might have missed some errors. Have fun reading! <3 This is also posted on AO3 .

You were sitting on the couch together with Ghost, or how he wants you to call him, Simon. Outside you could hear the wind blowing through the leaves of various bushes and trees surrounding your joint home. Since it’s been getting colder, the wind was accompanied by some light rain. Not the kind of rain that leaves you drenched if you even think about stepping outside, but the kind that makes the nicest pitter patter noises on your roof. If you listened carefully, you could even, make out the water making its way across the roof and cascading down the rain gutters that ran along the side of your home.

Simon came home a few hours ago, seemingly pretty tired and ready to go to bed, but his face lit up and adorned a fatigued smile once he saw you. You welcomed your boyfriend home with a much-awaited hug and a gentle kiss. Together you ate dinner. During your dinner you made sure to make light conversation with him. Talking about how the weather suddenly switched up on you while you were walking home, or how there was a sale on your favourite snack at your local store and you were therefore indirectly forced to stock up again.

Dinner wasn't really anything that took tons of effort, but it was still as comforting as ever. A simple one pot pasta had to make do for tonight, but for Simon, he might as well could have been at a Michelin star restaurant. Having to rely on MRE's as his main source of calories during his time at work, has set his standards for food very low. A warm meal? With his partner? At home? He might as well be in heaven. Simon made sure to show you his gratitude in the form of cleaning up the dishes afterwards.

Which in all honesty, could have just been shoved into the dish washer and called it a day, yet he insisted on doing them by hand. Meanwhile you were sat next to him on the countertop and listened to him complaining about some new recruits that were trying to turn everything into a competition.

Being able to look at his face and watch his emotions flicker across his face while he was telling a story has always been one of your favourite aspects of your relationship. Simon swore a long time ago that he won’t be wearing his mask around the house, and you’ve been grateful that he stuck to his promise. The privilege of getting to see his face wasn’t something Simon granted to just anyone, and you are well aware of the fact. Making it even more special to you.

The story about the recruits ended in them trying to sabotage and deliberately throw other comrades off of the obstacle course. Some poor rookie had to get stiches because he fell off of the wall they were meant to jump over. But Simon witnessed how the recruit behind him gave the guy in front a not-so-gentle push, because the poor guy was moving too slowly for his taste. It goes without saying that Ghost delivered a long and proper talking to and maybe some extra rounds of running for the saboteur.

While his story came to a close, Simon had also finished the dishes. You both agreed that you only had enough energy left for a movie before deciding on heading to bed.

So that's how you found yourself and your boyfriend sat on the couch in your living room, watching whatever action movie that was currently running on the TV. You listened to Simon ramble and rant about how inaccurate basically every single aspect of the movie was. How they held the guns wrong, shooting for 5 minutes straight without reloading once, not to mention the amount of ammunition they would need to carry with them for them to be able to shoot as much as they were.

All you could do was listen to him with a small grin on your face. Only Simon would be able to pick apart some movie that was clearly produced in some warehouse in Hollywood, with a plot that never even saw the inside of a writer’s room. But of course, you supported your boyfriend in his strong opinions and joined him in his rant.

It must have been about an hour into the movie when you noticed Simon had stopped talking to you. You risked a small glance over at him and saw he was properly passed out. The stress of the day at work must have finally caught up to him. Taking the liberty, you turned down the volume of the TV just a couple of notches, making it so that the movie was now just background noise.

When you were designing the living room you deliberately chose a three-seater couch, ensuring that there would always be enough space for you and Simon to stretch out without hogging the space from the other. Leaning into his side of the couch, your boyfriends arms sat limply at his sides, his right hand placed on your thigh just above your knee.

Normally he would be stroking his thumb gently from side to side as a reminder that he was still there. Honestly you should have noticed that he was asleep once his ministrations ceased. You took a moment to admire how is face changed depending on whatever light flickered across the screen in front of the both of you. In your opinion, he looked the nicest in a subtle orangish tone, the warm light bringing out his faint freckles and blond lashes. Although the universe refused to grace you with your all-time favourite feature of his, his eyes. You would have to make do with Simon’s for once peaceful expression.

Peaceful, but not relaxed, you noticed. There was still a light crease between his eyebrows, even while sleeping he still seemed stressed. Thinking of possibilities to diminish his stress, you gently picked up the hand that was previously placed on your thigh, without waking him up. Simon’s large and warm hand lay limply in yours, and you started to gently massage his hand.

Running your fingers across his knuckles and the back of his hand. Making sure to appreciate every single small cut and faded scar along the way. You carefully turned his hand palm side up and started to massage the palm of his hand with both of your thumbs. The rest of your fingers were supporting what was now the underside of his hand. Your thumbs dug into the muscles of his palm running across all of the folds and creases, before moving to his fingers.

Feeling his fingerprints underneath your fingertips made it feel like he was your missing puzzle piece you have been searching for all your life. Two separate people coming together to make a whole. You couldn’t stop the smile that was now plastered on your face.

Glancing back at Simon, his eyebrows seemed to have relaxed a bit, but not enough for your liking. You had to take drastic action. You lifted your dominant hand to his face you stroked your thumb across the space between his eyebrows in hopes of completely erasing his frown. Your mission was a success, he stopped frowning.

However, he was now blearily blinking awake. The universe obviously had chosen to show mercy today and decided to grace you with his dreamy eyes once again. Your hand slid a bit lower, now resting on his cheek, your thumb still lazily stroking the side of his face.

With a small smile you told him: 'I think it’s time for bed'.

[hinakazino]

Against Your Will || Sukuna/Gojo x Reader

summary: you and gojo were lovers, but not all is meant to last. especially with sukuna's existence.

warnings: MANGAAAAAAAA SPOILERSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, read at your own risk, yandere tendencies, kidnapping, forced relationship, MAJOR character death, angst with no comfort, tons of gojo/reader, but sukuna/reader happens.

You remember very clearly. The soft breeze blowing through your hair, looking up at the clear blue sky, and snapping out of your trans when he called your name. Ah, that's right, him, Gojo Satoru. You were standing in a beautiful garden, filled with many uniquely styled bushes, vibrant flowers, water fountains, and much more. It was like a magical place, and now, a loving memory. It was the place he had asked you to be his girlfriend, and as time passed you became his wife. Others considered you both young when you married, but you both cared less. You loved Gojo, his beautiful sky blue eyes, silky white hair, strong build, softness, as well as his rough spots. Satoru was someone you thought you'd only admire, but instead you found yourself entangled in his arms, in his embrace. Gojo had loved you just as much, he had to admit his ego was stroked a lot at first. However, he found himself breaking down the walls he built to shield his emotions for you. You were a strong and confident woman, he liked that. You were funny, honest, and reliable, he liked that. You were there for him during his highs and lows, he loved that. You both began dating at 20, and got married 3 years later at 23. Together, you moved in with him, fell into a daily routine, fought alongside one another, and gave happiness to each other. Everything was perfect, just right, despite Sukuna's revival. Everything was going to be alright, "I'm the strongest after all, you wouldn't doubt me would you?" Gojo said, smiling and proceeding to pull you into a tight hug, hammering you with kisses. You giggled a lot, fighting him off, "you goof!" you exclaimed laughing at his antics. It was a tough time, the appearance of Geto-- no Kenjaku. It was a horrid time, with Gojo being sealed. You held onto hope, it was just a delay. You remember the insane pressure that was lifted off your shoulders, your entire being, and most importantly your heart we Gojo was unsealed. The tears that fell as you saw him again. He was emotional too, you could tell, as he gave you the tightest squeeze you'd ever felt. It was like he didn't want to let you go, and you didn't want him to either, you just wanted time to freeze. You falsely believed everything would go back to normal. As you kissed him in a mist of chaos with pure love. How cruel the world is then, for nothing went back to the way it was. You watched as your friends died, and even after Gojo's return comrades still continued to die. One by one they all went, and then, he went. Your one true love, your light, your world, had been taken out by Sukuna. Sukuna Ryomen, you despised him, and now hated him with all of your existence. You were helping secure pedestrians and clear the perimeter of curses near the main battle. It seemed that most curses and people avoided the area though, and so you decided to approach. Maybe I can help him? Was what you had thought. Instead you came just in time to witness his downfall. Others say it was the death of Gojo Satoru, strongest wizard to arrive on Earth, the worlds doom, but you just saw him as Satoru. Your Toru, your love, your man, the one you saw a future with, who was practically all you had left. Love makes people blind, lose common sense, and in this case it's true. You didn't think before your legs began moving, rushing, purpling you towards him. You quickly knelt beside his upper body, in a state of panic, mouthing to yourself "no no no no-- Satoru please no," as you cupped his face with your hands. Tears fell from your eyes as you frantically tried to blink them away. You had a feeling he was still able to get a glimpse of you before he passed. His smile was somewhat comforting but he wasn't there anymore, you wept on his chest. Your hand reached down, and your fingers intertwined with his as you screamed your pain out. You did so for minutes, giving him kisses, praying that it was a joke he was pulling, and squeezing his hand. But that didn't last long, because you were pulled back to reality.

"Stop crying," Sukuna stated, as he towered above you in his true form. You hadn't even realized he'd gotten so close, or the fact he'd transformed, too caught up in your despair. You glare up at him in defiance, tears still coursing down your face. It was useless though, you knew, you weren't positioned to quickly remove yourself from the situation, and you didn't want to abandon Gojo either. Even if you did Sukuna could simply grasp you by your ankle and prevent you from running. His presence was terrifying, your tears began to dry up, now replaced with spots of sweat as you stayed still. Sukuna grinned down at you, one of his hands roughly gripping your left hip holding you down. He was significantly larger than you. "Don't touch me," you shouted, your hands moving to pry his off. Sukuna softly chuckled, his other hand snapping itself around your neck cutting off air. You let out a gasp and begin squirming, "I love people who put up a good fight, your husband definitely did, ah yes, your deceased husband," he emphasized. You couldn't help the way your blood boiled at his mocking words, your mouth opening to retaliate, only to gasp for air as he let you go. You dropped to your hands and knees taking in air desperately, "leave--hah--us--hah--be," you gulped. "You already defeated him," you stated, your hand going to feel your neck, no doubt there was Sukuna's hand mark. Sukuna laughs, a guttural laugh, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He grasps your chin lifting your gaze towards him. "He deserves a proper burial, yes, I'll make it fancy and spectacular, nothing short of perfect.." he spoke to you, eyes drifting temporarily towards Gojos lifeless form. "After all it is the least I can do, since I'll be taking you," he finishes now looking back down at you. His eyes are different, there is something sinister behind them, you don't want to know. Whatever it is, lust, enjoyment, or evil. You find yourself unable to breath, the truth now sinking in, your future oh so grim. You quickly sent a punch towards his stomach, attempting to jump backwards while in your shock. Only for his hands to clasp your body again, he was much faster than you were. This time one of his hands covered your eyes as his other two pulled you into a hug with him. Despite being blinded you could practically feel his cursed energy and smug smirk radiating. You were disgusted as Sukuna lowered his head to the crook of your neck taking in a whiff of your scent. "Mmh, you've always smelled good, you know how much I wanted you while in that other brats body?" he asks. Well, he doesn't really, because he answers his question, "and now you've got nowhere to run, hm, is that not right little human?" he says in a low hushed tone. You grit your teeth at the thought of not just Gojo, but Yuji and Megumi. Sukuna proceeds to lick a stripe up your neck, predatory, as he chuckles softly at the way you shiver.

Then you're knocked out. In the blink of an eye, you only find yourself later in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unknown people. Now known as the stolen lover and current wife of Sukuna Ryomen.

Back to it, with angst. Sorry y'all. 🥹

© 2023 by Hinakazino, do not translate/edit/claim or use my work in any form.

[staratdawn]

All friendships in the "pantheon" have such different vibes. Like—

Regulus and Pandora were soulmates. They always so easy together. She always telled, he always listened. They complemented each other. When he was angry, she was tranquil; when she was angry, he was tranquil. While one of them was mad the other one was calm. It was a perfect balance. No one can destroy it.

Regulus and Barty were lovers, but they also were found brothers, just not at the same time. The family. Family they both never had, but they found in each other. They were desperate in their relationship, clinging to each other like a lifeline and then were incredibly faithful their partners, rejoicing for each other, loving each other incredibly intensely, but already with an another love

Regulus and Evan were allies. They got it each other very well, being in the same position. Son from a shitty privileged family, a king crushed by his crown. They dreamed of running away as much as they dreamed of staying. They shared each other's joys and sorrows and when it was bad with the family and scars healed too long, they always had each other.

Regulus and Dorcas were comrades in misfortune, falling in love with gryffindors, so differently but also so the same. They found each other's eyes across the hall, when they heard something interesting, knowing that then they would share this information with each other. They shared secrets with each other, talked about fellings, talked about things that they never talked about with others. They talked at night, when Pandora fell asleep. They were platonically in love with all of them, wanting to admire from the side and be inside at the same time, dying from a tenderness that they had never felt before.

Dorcas and Pandora were best friends. Yin and yang, oil and water, fire and ice, and and everything like that. Little lovers before and absolutely friendly loving each other now. They always held hands, talked a lot, braided each other's hair, read books aloud, telling about favorite stories. They are the only thing left of each other at some point. And then everything was lost. And they lost themselves, lost each other.

Dorcas and Barty are absolutely another persons. They were a couple in other's eyes, they were "familiars in the same social circle" in each other eyes, scaring to accept they were a more than familiars, they were a friends. Oh, more than anything she hated the fact she missed him when he joined to deatheaters. She hated that she thought about them, thought about him, when she died. She thought that they were a more than just familiars, their consersations were rare, but their friendship was bright, but so short, like a match, that it burns brightly and quickly burns out. They found a common language almost the last, they did not have decades, but this “something” was woven from moments that filled the void in her heart while she bled, regretting nothing.

Dorcas and Evan were each other's favorites. More words about love, about relationships, more tenderness, less tactility, because she really doesn't like hugs (with someone who is not pandora), respect for each other's personal boundaries at the highest level, yet there seems to have never been any distance between them. They were close, they were closer than with somebody other, but also they were ones whose connection was never caught. Platonic soulmates, who never truly hated each other, ending up tearing each other's soul to shreds.

Pandora and Evan were siblings. Literally. They had problems, but they were always good to each other. He would have died protecting her, she would have died protecting him, and that was all of them. Hand in hand, together from the first day, twins, their faces are identical, their characters are incredibly different. They were two sides of the same coin, they were halves of each other, so that one of them dreamed and the other interpreted, they always went in pair, never separately. When one of them died, the other was never complete again.

Pandora and Barty were the ones who don't think they could get along at all. But they got along. And it was silent contempt from the first seconds and unconditional support when it was needed. They were rivals in the final scores, overtaking each other in turns because their brains could hold an incredible amount of information, and were friends in everything else. They shared with each other laugh and tears they, shared problems and achievements, and it felt right. Then, looking at the Luna, seeing Pandora in her... It's never been easy. It's like you always knew your best friend was at arm's length, but you could never catch him, really.

Evan and Barty were friends. No, it's not true. They weren't friends. They were a couple, lovers, husbands. Anyone but friends. Their love was capable of burning forests and draining the seas, it was passion and tenderness, it was painful and it was pleasant at the same time. They were dramatic, bickering and screaming, smashing dishes, kissing in the rain and in dark alleys, hugging each other like it was their last time. They were careful, examining each other's bodies, looking into each other's souls. They were... everything for each other. It killed them in the end. Their love was destructive and Barty never knew how to let go.

I love them sm, thanks

[gizkasparadise]

final leg of a journey to love thoughts!! (eps 35-40). this got so gd long so under a cut it goes. spoilers, of course:

PLOT STUFF/PACING

pacing for the plot definitely got shredded in the last chunk, which is a damn shame because otherwise i've been finding the pacing pretty much perfect. eps 35-37 in particular felt like they could have been like a 10 episode arc. ep 38, which mostly dealt with wu palace politics, should have been cut or streamlined imo and more time given to the characters we've actually been riding along with the whole story. by the time we get back to the pregnant empress, prince danyang, the first prince whose name i dont even remember, and the prime minister, i do not care about any of them and i think this subplot was simply just trying to fit too much shit into one bag

that said, this show still let the emotional moments hit and breathe and linger. i love the grief for the fallen liudao comrades as we go, as well as the less heavy but still emotionally important moments like yang ying and tongguan bonding over their upbringing. and we got a wedding /;3;/!!! for this show, the relationships and characters matter more than the storyline so im not mad about anything at all

side note: it's so gd millennial to have a story about a bunch of 30 something year olds who want to fake their deaths and retire into obscurity but instead they go and die for a boss they hate

CHARACTER STUFF

this show consistently brought a lot of depth to its side characters (and side side characters!!). i said it in an earlier post, but it bears repeating that even someone like deng hui i didnt expect anything from, but he got such good development and writing that he became a stealth fave. his dying words essentially being "dude, quit fucking around" ? iconic.

i didnt like tongguan as much as everyone else, so im pretty meh about everything regarding him. the attempt to force-wed ruyi was tonally really weird and didnt make sense (i assume there was some cuts made surrounding it). but LOL at him reusing all the outfits and decor immediately for his wedding to yang ying. baby duke, you tacky motherfucker. i ultimately think yang ying deserves better than him, but the good thing is that she knows this, so she'll be able to hold her own and then some entering into this partnership

shisan really was the heart in a lot of ways--the mom to yuanzhou's dad for the liudao. i was not expecting him to break my heart the way he did, but the fact that he held both qian zhao and sun lang as they died and then tried his best to remove yuan lu from harm and saved chu yue and was just very much a nurturer all the way through got me. his character couldve been cheap comic relief but the writing + performance really elevated him into one of the (imo) most memorable wuxia characters. his line wondering who would get to behead his beautiful skull!!! and how his mantra was always that he was going to drink the best wine, see the most beautiful women, and make the best of friends and he dies having lost the ability to see and having just had wine in memory of qian zhao, yuan lu, and sun lang. like. shut up!!

ruyi and yuanzhou were both so great and they're gonna be the drama OTP to beat forever. i loved the gender reversals, that they both were so respectful of each other, and that they also felt very mature in how they handled things and communicated. they were really interesting characters both together and apart and that's always a win-win. they had a schroedinger's ending where it's not super clear if they're alive or dead (i interpreted it as the latter), but what's kind of beautiful is that either option is satisfying to me. if they both died, they're reunited and with their comrades and the story is truly about the journey and the meaningful short connections we have. if they both survived, it's a bookend with the beginning where they each faked their deaths to escape. A+

COSTUMING

i gotta just separately mention the costuming for this show because it was 15/10. the textures, shisan's accessories, the way red became integrated with yuanzhou's wardrobe and blue with ruyi's. the details on the liudao name amulets!! SO GOOD. i love when characters' clothes tell a story on their own

overall i just really loved this drama it is probably my favorite wuxia ive seen so far! it's gonna be in my brain for awhile lol feel free to send fic prompts if you've made it this far :'D

[legendary-pink-dot]

Stages of Growth

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x reader (no gender specified, but female in my mind)

Rating: Mature (is that still a common rating today? I'm an Old)

Warnings: A couple references to sexual activity, but nothing too graphic.

Word Count: 1,000 on the nose

Summary: A chronicle of your relationship, and Frankie's hair.

Notes: Fuck you, Pedro, for having such pretty hair. I spend way too much time thinking about it. And about Frankie generally. ❤️

---

When you first met Frankie, his hair was medium brown and short. A close-cropped buzz cut, mandatory for basic training, given to him without choice. It suited him, but also didn’t – a perfect match for his ambivalence about joining the military and what the service meant for him. You wondered what personality his hair would have once it had a chance to grow in. What kind of man Frankie would become, the promise his future held, what kinds of things he could and would learn to do.

When you finally had your first night together, he had just arrived home, on leave from a long deployment, your letters having kept him company and chronicled your growing connection. His military haircut had been allowed a reprieve as well, one of the perks and markers of being chosen for Special Forces training, needing to blend in with the locals of the various foreign countries he was sent to. That length of hair reflected well on him and the way he carried himself with new confidence, though there was still a tendril of ambivalence left, along with one wayward tress on his nape that insisted on rebelling, growing literally sideways with no sign of ever giving in.

On that first night Frankie had let you excitedly fist your hands into his longer locks as you kissed, quietly observing how it added fuel to your fire. Later that night, he let you guide his mouth to wherever you wanted it on your body, your hands in his hair acting as reins or restraints when needed and as silent praise when not. When you came, you had pulled his hair so hard that he saw stars and it spurred his own high, barreling him uncontrollably into it seconds later.

By the time he quit the military after many years of dedicated service, his locks had matured into a deeper brown – “English Walnut 7533” according to the Pantone color chart you had pilfered from your interior design firm – and had changed shape and texture, expressing itself in mostly neat, evenly shaped waves and curls, especially in humid weather or the rare time he let you style it for him with your carefully chosen products.

One of your best memories from that time was a hazy, lazy day in the tropics when you were both too overcome with the heat to do much else but lie in shaded loungers on your balcony. Frankie was suffering from the temperature, and the light strokes of your fingers across his brow hadn’t been enough to soothe him, or to satisfy you.

Coconut was the hotel room’s free shampoo offering, and soon the scent of sweet suds had wafted between you. You felt tiny soap bubbles pop, carbonation as you slid your fingers through his locks; you saw the frown lines on his forehead gradually smooth out as his eyes drifted shut and he sighed in delight; you felt the air around him drop several degrees purely from relaxation. You relished his moans when the cool rinse water sluiced down his scalp and into the repurposed ice bucket from the previous night’s champagne. Despite the humidity, his curls had dried by the time night fell, only to turn into sweaty waves again once you tumbled into bed with newfound energy to explore each other’s bodies.

On his first day at work as an aviation mechanic, his pilot’s license having been suspended over some cargo he shouldn’t have flown, he smushed his hair into an old baseball cap that read “Standard Heating Oil”, borrowed from a close friend and military comrade, and took to wearing it almost constantly. He said it was for practical reasons and that he was just too lazy to fuss over his hair, but you knew better. That hat was the first thing he took off when he got home, and the last thing he put on when he left, like he was some method actor with dual personalities.

When he came home a week late from a private group mission gone disastrously wrong, dropping his bags in the doorway and enveloping you in a crushing hug, one of your hands had automatically threaded into the curls on the back of his head, longer and strongly defined now, more for you to hold and more for him to be anchored by.

When he finally shared what went wrong on the mission and how they had lost their leader and friend, he buried his face into your neck, your tears trickling down your cheek to be absorbed by his scalp. One glance downward and all you could see was his locks shot through with silver and grey – much more of it than he had left with. Whatever he went through in South America had quickly accrued compound interest.

He had also lost his hat somewhere during the mission, and from then on never wore one again unless required to at work.

When he had nightmares or panic attacks from that mission, the touch of your hand gently weaving through his hair was his lifeline, something to focus on as he fought his way back to reality and to you.

Now solidly in middle age, Frankie has fewer nightmares, the dreams having receded both in frequency and intensity, and the silvery grey evolution of his hair color seems to have abated too, a rare pause in time.

He keeps his hair at the length you like: long enough for the curls to fully develop and be free, but short enough that he doesn’t have to fuss over it too much. He lets you style it, even lets you wash it for him as your new Sunday evening relaxation ritual. He lets you do whatever you want; you’ve earned it after everything he’s put you through as part of his messy, fractured life.

Tomorrow, Frankie’s pilot license is finally set to be reinstated. Maybe you’ll suggest he get a haircut to celebrate this next stage of his life. Or maybe not.

[broodwolf221]

helloooo i would LOVE some 'i would enjoy talking.' for bull x solas?

tfw i think im done writing for the night and u come in with a beautiful prompt that immediately has my brain going lm a o so! have some established relationship bull and solas, talking through ptsd @dadrunkwriting 923 words cws: frank discussion of war and battle

“Been a bit since you've been in my room, Fadewalker,” he said lightly, Solas sighing.

“Apologies.” 

“Don't do that.” Solas sighed again, closing his book and meeting Bull's eye. 

“Do what?” His voice was sharp, challenging. 

“It was an observation, not an accusation.” Solas' eyes narrowed before he sighed for a third time, shoulders slumping. 

“I…”

“If you wanna stop, you just need to say so. Not here to push.” The mage shook his head, now with a faint smile. 

“It's not that. I appreciate our arrangement. It is simply that I've not… been in the mood.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated, uncertain if he would press, but— “Since Adamant, huh?” Solas grew very still and Bull nodded to himself. “It was a shit show.” For a moment the elf’s gaze drifted, falling to the tabletop. He tapped the surface once, twice, a third time, then laid his palm flat against it and pushed himself up.

“Come, please,” he said simply, before walking out to the main hall. Bull followed at his side. They were both familiar members of the Inquisition—enough people would see them as comrades discussing the matters at hand. And if some saw it as more, well, Bull had grown used to gossip long ago. They walked down the stairs, through the courtyard, and towards the newly refurbished mages tower—interesting, that—and then a bit further, to a nearly abandoned part of the battlements. It was flush against the inner keep and patrols rarely bothered to come this far.

About as private as they could get, outside of a bedroom.

“You brought me here for a reason,” he said into the lingering silence. Eventually Solas nodded, bracing his arms against the stone ledge and staring into the distance. He wasn’t looking at the scenery, Bull knew. He was seeing something else entirely. “You wanna talk?”

“I… yes. Please.” He lost some of his distance, glancing back at Bull. “It feels inappropriate to trouble you further. You have given me much—”

“I’m not keeping count, Solas,” he said firmly, watching as the mage frowned before scoffing, turning back to the view. “Pretty clear that the whole thing is fucking with you.”

“So it is.”

Bull knew not to pry. He knew. Even without his training, he’d have cause to be suspicious of Solas. He talked a lot, at times, and gave his opinions freely, but all the while he kept everything about himself private. If he did reveal something, it was vague. All his answers were difficult to prove and he was careful to keep it that way. He didn’t know if he should credit his training or his own experiences for the sense of familiarity with that reserve, the unshakeable sensation that, yes, Solas was guarded, was reserved, was keeping himself held back… but that there was more to it. He also knew that if he pushed, the other man would clam right up. Gather his caution and privacy around himself like a cloak and excuse himself from the conversation, probably with some scathing witticism. He had to be allowed to speak, not encouraged, if one was to get anything of worth out of him.

Bull didn’t understand why he had to be so damn careful, but it was clear that he did. So he gave it time. They looked across the mountains together. And when Solas finally did begin to speak, it was careful, it was deliberate, and it was as true as he felt he could be.

“It has been a long time since I was in a battle like that.” He paused, then sighed. “No. Not a battle. Since I was in war. It is… harder than I thought it would be, now that we have returned. The Fade should preoccupy my thoughts. I walked in it! However terrible it was, it was an amazing experience! I should treasure that, I should—” he cut himself off with a snarl, glancing away. Bull let him build up his composure again. It took time, but that was alright. “Still. It is not the Fade I think about. It is that battlefield. The sound of it. The smell of it…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I— apologies. This cannot be easy for you to hear.”

“Well. I guess that’s true. But I’m here anyway. I don’t gotta be, but I am. And I’m not leaving. So speak, Fadewalker.” Solas snorted, sobering a moment later. 

“It is just… naively, perhaps, I had not thought to be in such a situation again. It seemed that all our fighting would take place in brief skirmishes. They are challenging as well, of course, and there is a great deal I remember from them that I would sooner not, but it is not the same. The anticipation before the battle. The raw wave of emotion from the soldiers. The overwhelming immediacy of it all. A battle done but more ahead, always more ahead, no peace afforded save moving between fights, it is—” he paused to rub at his face, then straightened up. “I did not think it would affect me in this way.”

“I understand,” was all he said. All he could say. Anything, everything else would be a hollow comfort, a platitude. Solas knew this misery. So did he. They shared that knowledge, as shitty as it was. Solas looked at him for a long time, and Bull met his gaze steadily. Eventually the mage nodded.

“So you do. Thank you.”

“Nothing to it.” Solas smiled, both of them knowing the lie for what it was.

[primojade]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐃.

“ if only we could last forever. ”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 | in which everything ended when it just started.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐖 | gn!reader x childe; angst, no comfort; heartbreak; mention of kissing; let me know if I missed anything!

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | This is seriously just a short word vomit because I was feeling rather melancholy today 💀 what a surprise its not wanderer or albedo lmao. Childe is my first victim here kekeke.

Masterlist

You didn't understand what went wrong.

Hell, you don't even understand what in the world is happening to him—to you, to us.

It's over before you realised itーover before you knew something started between you and him.

A surprised gasp tore from your parted lips as Childe grabbed both of your shoulders and pushed you away—gently as if he was scared to break you further than he already has—like he hadn't just played you like a fool.

...And a complete fool that you probably are. 

To think that you actually believed that he would give you more than what you had foolishly expected from him. Fleeting, yet bright greetings full of smiles and gifts when you pass by each other, lingering touches as if afraid to go on further, and maybe a little bit more...

“...I'm sorry, comrade. We can't be together,” he said so casually, and there's something, something in the way he smiles so cheekily that makes you want to scream, to lash out in anger and punch him straight in the face in a stupid attempt to make the pain go away…and, ask him why.

Why did he lead you to believe there was anything worth believing and fighting for in this—this relationship, or whatever the hell this was supposed to be.

Pointedly, with a rather firm grip on your shoulder and a slight tilt to your chin, Childe compels you to look at him straight in the eyes. His usual dull sapphire eyes held an unreadable emotion you couldn't fathom.

He made you look at him as if nothing ever happenedーas if he hadn't just cradle your heart so tenderly, so affectionately…and then mercilessly crushed them to pieces the next second, right before your very eyes.

Why did he even bother to look at you like that?

…Look at you in the way that makes you believe there was something between the two of you, little and pitiful as it was, but it was right there, you believed it so! That same twinkle in his usual blank eyes that keeps you running to him, keep chasing after him.

Running and chasing after something that never even existed in the first place.

Damn him.

With trembling lips, you will yourself to speak, to forget and move on from him…to gather the pieces of your broken heart scattered all over the floor and maybe start anew. Your remaining dignity scolds you for being so weak and helpless against those damn eyes and smiles of his.

“...Hah. I don't like you, anyway.” You mustered with gritted teeth, but it merely dangles heavily in the air, and yet you leave it there as it starts biting at your very being, little by little. 

But I do...

I truly love you.

You can't continue to look at him, so you gaze somewhere far from him and his unforgiving eyes, giving yourself a little piece of dignity and pride left of you, pretending your shoulders aren't shaking, the corner of your eyes accumulating tears, all seen so blatantly clear in sight by him.

Childe smiled his usual...usual cheeky smile, leaning close to you, and it left you frozen in your feet.

“...Then, I'm glad.”

His fleeting, last kiss is cold upon your lips, a ghost of a tender touch that you craved so much before leaves you with nothing but an empty feeling, and very miserable, now.

They say that the truth is like a bitter pill to swallow. But in your case…

…the truth is rather difficult to spit out.

TAGLIST (let me know if you want to be added/removed in my future works!): @samarill , @maehemthemisfit , @chocogi , @rvoulte , @luvwukong ...

[viviane-lefay]

Dagan Gera & Santari Khri - Headcanon

Part I

Here are some notes about my thoughts & headcanons regarding these two characters - and how I, personally, see them (i.e. some of their backstory + some random facts), as well as their relationship.

I guess, this is something I wrote for myself, first and foremost, so I won't forget

However, if someone happens to like what they found here, then I'd be really, really happy, of course. Finding some like-minded people to talk to would be so nice.

Anyway, here is what I have written so far:

Dagan

First of all some words on his appearance:

-

I headcanon Dagan as quite tall for an Arkanian Offshoot, measuring 1,90m / 6’25’’ (the average height being 1,80m / 5’11’’).

He is of the athletic and muscular built of a warrior (definitely takes after his father in that), that has yet a lithe, almost elvenlike grace (like his mother) to it, with broad shoulders and long legs.

-

Blessed with impeccable bone structure, his features are strikingly handsome, refined yet masculine - with a sharp, chiseled jawline, and high, prominent cheekbones, creating a gracefully flowing ogee curve from his brows down to the chin.

-

His complexion is of a clear and cool marble-white - with a faint rosy sheen, which is especially pronounced on his lips.

As far as I'm concerned, he doesn’t have this weird stripey pattern from the shoulders upwards, because it just isn’t very flattering on his beautiful face, and I think the designers did him a disservice there.

-

His irises are of a silvery, pale icy blue, with a slightly darker ring at the corneal limbus.

He has long and plenteous lashes rimming his big, almond-shaped, slightly hooded eyes, which are, like his brows, of a darker shade than his hair.

-

Dagan's flowing mane is quite a sight to behold - thick and silky, it somehow has a lively quality to it, changing colour according to the incidence of light.

There is a slight gradient, with the roots having a darker colour than the lengths and, especially, the tips - plus some additional highlights here and there.

The different shades give it a depth and dimension that only accentuates its fullness - ranging from a deep and smoky steel grey, to a shimmering, frosty silver-white.

He usually kept it at armpit-level, but has since (post game) grown it out to mid-back length.

His hairstyle is fairly simple: The upper part is combed back and held in place by a golden clip - except for a few shorter strands which are framing his face - while the rest is flowing down his back.

For practical reasons, he keeps the lengths neatly tucked into his hood.

He is also keeping a Padawan braid out of sentimental reasons.

(When he still was a Padawan and on a mission together with Santari, he came by an injury on one of his arms, so Santari had to help him a little with doing his hair for a short while.)

-

He places great importance on having a well-groomed appearance, but not out of vanity. In fact, his good looks is something that he actually is a bit oblivious about. It is rather his abilities that he is quite proud of.

~*~

Many a lady desired the handsome Jedi knight of renown, Dagan Gera, fellow Jedi included, but he only ever had eyes for Santari.

Dagan loved her from the moment he first laid eyes on her - and he knew, with a certainty he could not fathom, that he always would, for as long as he existed.

~*~

"Tough on the outside, soft on the inside." is something that describes Dagan quite well, for the most part.

There is nothing lukewarm about this man. If he loves, then he does so with every fibre of his being - profoundly, fervently, and with unwavering faithfulness.

On the other hand, this can also mean a great capacity for vulnerability, which is why he guards his heart so much.

~*~

While he may be very proud, he puts great emphasis on his code of honour, both as a warrior, and as a man in general.

That is also one of the reasons why he got along so well with Rayvis, becoming good friends on top of being comrades-in-arms.

~*~

Now on to the backstory part:

He entered the Jedi order as an initiate rather late, at the age of 7, despite being exceptionally strong in the Force (midichlorian count of 17500 per cell).

This was because of difficulties the Jedi had in identifying him early on, with him falling under the radar due to living in the secluded slave district on the outskirts of a relatively small and remote city.

Pure-bred Arkanians, which held nothing but contempt for the experiment-born offshoots, usually shunned these areas, characterized by their ghetto-like structures and harsh living conditions, as well as their inhabitants. The only exception to this were a few scientists, overseers and bureaucrats that were tasked with the management of their “biological resources”.

To keep them from rebelling, even the communities of offshoots were made to mirror the rigid hierarchies of the Arkanian caste system, and competitive struggles amongst the populace were very much encouraged, if not enforced.

Dagan was the only child of Medhani & Dhaval Gera, a young couple of higher ranking slaves deployed in the mining business, with Medhani working as an engineer, and Dhaval as construction manager and security guard.

While the working conditions were not as dire as the ones regular miners had to endure, they were still exposed to a hazardous environment, and occupational safety measure laws were a thing that didn’t apply to the slaves who were deemed disposable.

The excessive genetic tampering the offshoot subspecies was subjected to came at the cost of a weakened immune system, which made them vulnerable even to minor illnesses.

When Dagan was 5 years old, Medhani fell seriously ill. Despite her husband’s care, her condition worsened and it soon became apparent that she would not survive without medical attention.

With a heavy heart, Dhaval made a visit to the overseers in the hopes they’d send a physician for examination. Usually, this was seen as a last resort the slaves used to call upon, as the intention behind it was not to give genuine help, but to inspect, and potentially cull, the populace. Only those still deemed useful were given treatment.

It had only been out of desperation that he took this route, as the bond between him and his wife was one of genuine affection, and not, as was customary, based on the utilitarian purposes of the eugenics and breeding programs. Slaves usually did not get to choose their spouses, they were allocated one.

Medhani and Dhaval belonged to the few that resisted this practice, and to the even fewer that were actually successful in their endeavor, as most were forcibly separated. It was only a matter of luck, that, after screening, they were declared a good genetic match, and, thus, allowed to wed.

Unfortunately, the authorized physician decided against treatment and ordered for her to be euthanized (not out of mercy, but to make the respective caregivers free for work again).

Dhaval, who despite it all had clung to hope, was neither able nor willing to accept this, and quickly raised his objections in fierce opposition, but to no avail.

At this point, their small son, who up until then had remained relatively silent, standing hidden in the doorway, came running towards them, loudly protesting and screaming for his mother, only to be ungently grabbed, shoved aside and detained, to make way for the poison that was about to be administered.

At this point, Dhaval snapped and started to attack both the physicians and the overseers. Considering he was just one man facing several opponents at once, he stood his ground for a remarkable amount of time, being particularly tall and strong, and a formidable combatant, trained and highly skilled in various forms of martial arts. Ultimately, however, he was defeated, after reinforcements were called in, and executed on the spot.

With both his parents dead, Dagan was now about to be sent to the housing and educational institution for orphans.

Nobody paid any heed to the boy, and the state of utter shock and distress he was still in – bereaved of the warmth of his family and home.

If anything, Dhaval and Medhani had been loving and attentive parents, intent on creating a little sanctuary amidst the desolation, the cold, always protective of their circle of three – and for Dagan, that is what it was, and what he would always remember, and crave. Neither would he forget, nor forgive that, which had taken all this away from him.

He was but given a certain amount of time to process, and to inter the cremated remains of his parents, which he was handed the following day, before he was picked up.

In Arkania, where detachment, rationality and intellect were deemed the ideal, emotiveness and sentimental bonding was seen as a weakness.

Dagan, however, had always been an emotional child – intelligent, but very much swayed by the stirrings of his heart and his fervour – a trait he would retain into adulthood, even though tempered by necessity and training.

He would come to face much pushback and humiliation because of this trait during his time in the orphanage.

The facility was a dismal and oppressive place that resembled more a factory complex than it did a home, the accommodations desolate, with children living like sardines in a tin.

The education, as they called it, was not so much about the imparting of knowledge, as it was about molding the young minds into the exact shape the rulers desired, perfectly indoctrinated to fulfill their designated role in the societal machinery of Arkania - submissive, hardworking and efficient, loyal only to their owners and ready to betray even their own kind if it meant they were awarded better conditions.

In the two years Dagan spent there, he grew ever more serious and brooding - and increasingly distrustful of others, preferring his own company, never feeling safe to be himself.

His only solace were his abilities, which he honed with great eagerness to succeed - abilities amongst which there were some the others didn’t seem to share. Abilities which kept him safe – and to be safe meant to be strong, to be strong meant to be worthy.

Behind this veneer of strength and confidence there was a face he just couldn’t let them see, a side of him that sometimes even he forgot was there, that yet was the driving force behind everything he was, everything he desired, and stood for – acknowledged or not.

Even later, there were only a few that got a glimpse beneath, and only one person to break this façade altogether – the only one to know who he truly was, the only one he truly trusted and felt safe with, and the one that became the sole focus of his being, his whole universe.

It was one morning that his life would change, and he was summoned to the principal’s office, unaware of what would await him there. As he stepped through the door he saw them – two figures in robes of gold, majestic and noble, an imposing sight in stark contrast to the bleakness that surrounded them.

If it was known that those offshoots that managed to escape their planet often turned out to be among the most driven individuals one could find, determined to prove themselves to be more than an Arkanian slave, it was doubly true with Dagan, who pursued his training with unparalleled ambition and tenacity, pushing himself further than any expectations, placed upon him from outside, demanded.

Even his rather late admittance did not deter him from catching up with, and even surpassing his peers quickly. Combined with his already great latent force abilities, he soon became one of the best, most promising initiates the order had seen in a long, long while.

~*~

By the time he was knighted, he had mastered all forms of Lightsaber techniques (taught during his age) - but with a special emphasis on Form II and VI.

Aside from his abilities with the force and lightsaber, he is also accomplished in a variety of martial arts and hand-to-hand combat disciplines, and can hold his own very well, even without using his lightsaber, or the force.

~*~

When he was put in the bacta tanc, he was 30 years old.

~*~

Coming from a species of genetically tampered slaves, I can only imagine how upsetting it must have been for him to learn about what had become of the republic of old, turned into an empire via an army of likewise genetically engineered soldiers, cloned for a specific purpose, seen as “less than” human, and more as objects and means to an end, not unlike the offshoots were.

It certainly explains the disgust, the sheer contempt and barely concealed anger that is evident in his voice when he speaks about that “unworthy machine of an empire”.

It also explains why he is so keen on building an army to ”cleanse the galaxy with fire”, and his offer to Rayvis to “dream up another [war]” when the latter complained about the lack of honour to be won from the current ones – because to Dagan this indeed IS an honourable goal, justifying the means he is willing to take … and it’s a matter that has become personal, being tied to grievances of the past.

And learning about the Jedi order’s involvement in all of this certainly did not help in improving his opinion about them, either. (He didn’t have to take this out on Cal, though.)

I think these types of injustice were always something he aimed to eradicate, and also one of his and Santari’s shared dreams – to make the galaxy a better place.

I also don’t see him as universally arrogant and condescending – extending to all people indiscriminately – that would be foolish, and he is no such fool.

Imho, it rather concerned those he considered his enemies (obviously), his opponents, and potential rivals, but not regular people who weren’t warriors and force-users like him … I think for them – especially the downtrodden – he had a soft spot, not least due to his own history.

In the flashback scenes on Tanalorr, he talks to Santari about all the worlds he had seen during his explorations that the light of the Jedi did not reach, as he put it. At this point he still equated justice and freedom with the Jedi order, who were seen as the guardians of these values. He truly wanted to bring this light to those worlds, and to the people inhabiting them, because he truly, genuinely sympathized with them and wanted to help them.

[ I absolutely don’t understand how people can see him as a two-dimensional villain after having this background information about him, especially.

Have you guys read up about it!? Arkanian society and history – especially concerning science and medical ethics, as well as the attitude towards sentient life. Like, holy sh*t - Dr. Mengele sends his regards!

To live in such a social system as one of the offshoots, regarded and treated as human trash, truly must have been a nightmare – and it obviously doesn’t leave you unaffected. So, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was one of the causes of his displayed prideful attitude and behaviour – likely as a reactive response of some sorts.

That there is another side to him, his true self, as well, is also an undeniable fact. Of course he has got to have some really endearing and noble qualities, aside from what we were shown.

Otherwise Santari wouldn't have such faith in him, and, as I said, this woman is no fool. She knows her man, as well as this side of him better than anyone else, and she proclaims it with such confidence (in the force echo after the fight in the forrest array).

If anything, these facts are adding to his already great potential of being a complex and fascinating character, who could have been so much more than what he ended up being in the videogame.

But that is definitely something you can blame on the writers, their laziness and disregard. You can definitely tell that they didn’t really care for this character more than him being a mere plot device and tool for Cal’s development, which is really an absolute shame! ]

Santari

Santari entered the Jedi order as an initiate at the common age of 4.

~*~

Unlike Dagan, she did not get to develop a deep bond with her parents, whom she hardly remembered, and did not get to know a home and life as a family the way he did.

~*~

She was very strong in the Force (midichlorian count of 15500 per cell), as well as a gifted, if not brilliant child, whose talents were soon picked up, encouraged and fostered by her superiors. Her ingenious mind stood out like a beacon amongst her peers, and paved the way for her meteoric rise in both ranks and esteem of the Jedi order.

But she also possessed a likewise strong and compassionate heart, and a calm and patient disposition, balancing out her intellectual prowess and vigor.

~*~

Santari's first reaction to Dagan was similar to his (falling in love at first sight).

However, when she witnessed his behaviour towards others – his display of pride and arrogance - which she found unacceptable, she chose to suppress her feelings towards him.

(basically, he only was “that beautiful jerk” to her from then on, whom she wanted nothing to do with, if she could help it, but who somehow seemed to always cross her path, looking at her in that strange manner she just couldn’t make sense of. The intensity of his icy blue gaze stirred something in her that she dared not explore any further.)

This only changed after she got to know him better, after being sent on a mission together with their respective masters, and the two started to develop a friendship, growing close.

~*~

After she and Dagan got to know each other better over time, she also learned about his past – something that left a lasting impression on her, and kept on preying on her mind.

As a feeling being, she could not help but be deeply affected by what she had learned.

As an aspiring scientist, she was sickened to the core in light of this callous disregard for life, and the abject cruelty with which these people were treated in the name of science. The blatant abuse of this otherwise noble discipline infuriated her beyond all measure.

Soon after, she spent many hours in the archives, learning as much as she could about Arkanian culture, history, and their scientific projects – of which the genetical engineering of the offshoot subspecies commanded the major part of her attention.

Aside from the shock and outrage she felt, there was a growing unease building up, as well as the undeniable emergence of another feeling – a growing concern that kept on spreading inside her and left her no peace of mind – linked to the man who had by then grown to become a dear friend of hers. The man whose intense gaze had woven its silver chains deep within the fabric of her soul, inextricably entangled – the man she could not bear to lose.

In the time to come, she immersed herself into her research, desperate determination leading her on, in her quest to find something, anything, to undo some of the damage, the worst part at least, the genetic tampering had inflicted upon its victims’ physical structure – the weakened immune system, responsible for the shortened lifespan and often premature death that afflicted Dagan’s kind.

It would become her first major research project, although one of a more private nature.

At some point, when she was confident enough to reveal what she had been working on, she called on Dagan to visit her in her laboratory, to tell him about her plans which still required testing on a living subject. Despite her optimism regarding the progress of her project, she was afraid of what his reaction might be, and whether they might still be on good terms once he knew.

He heard her out, unease written across his face at the mention of a potential gene-modifying drug, but quickly regained his composure, not willing to let the past cloud his judgement.

Did he not trust this woman with his life? Did he not trust her unparalleled brilliance, her benevolence, and judgement?

He only knew he would do anything for her, endure anything for her, accept anything from her, and so he surrendered himself to her capable hands. She was the one he trusted most!

Her relief was palpable when it became apparent that her experiment proved to be a success.

[ If there is anyone who could pull this off - it’s definitely her. After all she’s this genius of a woman, whose inventions inspire others with awe even 200 years later. So, of course she would be able to do this.

And concerning him – wouldn’t it be the ultimate proof of his love and faith in her, that he, coming from a genetically raped people, trusts her with a procedure like this!? ]

~*~

When Dagan was put in the bacta tanc, she was 28 years old (she's 2 years younger than him).

~*~

Part II can be found here.

[dailyanarchistposts]

A.1 What is anarchism?

Anarchism is a political theory which aims to create anarchy, “the absence of a master, of a sovereign.” [P-J Proudhon, What is Property , p. 264] In other words, anarchism is a political theory which aims to create a society within which individuals freely co-operate together as equals. As such anarchism opposes all forms of hierarchical control — be that control by the state or a capitalist — as harmful to the individual and their individuality as well as unnecessary.

In the words of anarchist L. Susan Brown:

“While the popular understanding of anarchism is of a violent, anti-State movement, anarchism is a much more subtle and nuanced tradition then a simple opposition to government power. Anarchists oppose the idea that power and domination are necessary for society, and instead advocate more co-operative, anti-hierarchical forms of social, political and economic organisation.” [The Politics of Individualism, p. 106]

However, “anarchism” and “anarchy” are undoubtedly the most misrepresented ideas in political theory. Generally, the words are used to mean “chaos” or “without order,” and so, by implication, anarchists desire social chaos and a return to the “laws of the jungle.”

This process of misrepresentation is not without historical parallel. For example, in countries which have considered government by one person (monarchy) necessary, the words “republic” or “democracy” have been used precisely like “anarchy,” to imply disorder and confusion. Those with a vested interest in preserving the status quo will obviously wish to imply that opposition to the current system cannot work in practice, and that a new form of society will only lead to chaos. Or, as Errico Malatesta expresses it:

“since it was thought that government was necessary and that without government there could only be disorder and confusion, it was natural and logical that anarchy, which means absence of government, should sound like absence of order.” [Anarchy, p. 16]

Anarchists want to change this “common-sense” idea of “anarchy,” so people will see that government and other hierarchical social relationships are both harmful and unnecessary:

“Change opinion, convince the public that government is not only unnecessary, but extremely harmful, and then the word anarchy, just because it means absence of government, will come to mean for everybody: natural order, unity of human needs and the interests of all, complete freedom within complete solidarity.” [Op. Cit., pp. 16]

This FAQ is part of the process of changing the commonly-held ideas regarding anarchism and the meaning of anarchy. But that is not all. As well as combating the distortions produced by the “common-sense” idea of “anarchy”, we also have to combat the distortions that anarchism and anarchists have been subjected to over the years by our political and social enemies. For, as Bartolomeo Vanzetti put it, anarchists are “the radical of the radical — the black cats, the terrors of many, of all the bigots, exploiters, charlatans, fakers and oppressors. Consequently we are also the more slandered, misrepresented, misunderstood and persecuted of all.” [Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti, The Letters of Sacco and Vanzetti, p. 274]

Vanzetti knew what he was talking about. He and his comrade Nicola Sacco were framed by the US state for a crime they did not commit and were, effectively, electrocuted for being foreign anarchists in 1927. So this FAQ will have to spend some time correcting the slanders and distortions that anarchists have been subjected to by the capitalist media, politicians, ideologues and bosses (not to mention the distortions by our erstwhile fellow radicals like liberals and Marxists). Hopefully once we are finished you will understand why those in power have spent so much time attacking anarchism — it is the one idea which can effectively ensure liberty for all and end all systems based on a few having power over the many.