#i will take one for the team for this even if it's some crusty old executive

[bizarrelittlemew]

thinking about...... how many takes they did of the kiss scene......... how many versions of this scene exists................. how many kisses................ where is this footage............................ how do i get it....

[spiderh0rse]

freeman's mind notes part 13, e61-68, plus 61.5. Finale.

e61

new intro! The dam.

HATES the giant teleporter room.

doesn't know the makeup of the HEV suit.

it's been a long time since he overprepared!

so so bothered by radiation always

almost trips and falls into the reactor core

keeps hitting buttons without thinking about it

sufficiently advanced technology quote. Claims it doesn't rule OUT magic

"if I start to die, then I'll stop"

shocked some doors arent locked

doesn't tolerate tardiness outside of his own, but doesn't mind sleeping on the job

genuinely thinks the teleporters may be magic

prepared to fight an old man

i hesitate to inform freeman the origins of the term "aspergers"

missed the long jump module <3

I love how he makes little motions as if he's taking the rocket out of the launcher

still refuses to touch the hivehand. I don't blame him it looks painful

picks up the Gauss Gun! Doesn't know its name

wants to get teleported to Massachusetts.

thinks he could get along with clones of himself. There's utility in that.

asking after a snack machine.

just needs to reach Massachusetts.

needs a plan to unite himselves if he gets clones of himself. Plans to leave contact info where the gold is.

BACKRUBS (shephard's mind cameo!)

e61.5

screams and falls into some water. silly noises

Not in new mexico anymore!

SO happy that his worst problem at the moment is Lost In The Woods

still hungry but he is in a forest

his sense of the passage of time is awful

thinks he may be in Europe

CAR FOR GORDON

crackliest laugh I've ever heard

turns on some silly music on the radio

e62

we're in Xen, everyone

"I TOLD THEM EXACTLY WHAT TO DO AND THEY FUCKED ME"

[whimpering]

hyperventilating so much right now. Sooooo panicked

not taking a survey team members helmet (germs on it)

"BLAH"

actively states that he might "blow [his] brains out"

keeps making noises every time he jumps from spinning platform to spinning platform

totally not freaking out

interested in how gravity and atmosphere work on what seems to be a single giant rock

wonders how many people Black Mesa dumped into Xen

the dead houndeyes jump around as they die

thinks a plant stole a piece of his soul. Considers it not worth it to get it back

lots of water! prepared to live in this one room if anything is edible

this flooded room isnt the worst apartment he's ever had

he's pretty sure he can't eat rhombuses

gets near-blinded and considers this the Second worst apartment he's ever had

e63

new intro, the gargantuar killing those two HECU

incredibly pessimistic about the survey team

thinks he can kill the gonarch easily

screams that he's freaking out, yells at the gonarch to die, mimics the gonarchs cry

white spiderweb hell milk

these are some crusty noises he's making they're kinda cute

thinks hundreds of researchers may have been dumped into Xen and a lot of them just. Missed land.

prioritizing explosives with the gonarch

having rockets brings him closet to his comfort zone

fully expects the trip to Xen to be one-way. Keeps working on the task given to him anyways

thinks he would not make a good ambassador

thinks he may be fighting god

"BLAH-"

actively screaming at and trying to kill supposedly-god

a wise man once said jesus tapdancing christ

thinks instead of being teleported reality was mostly destroyed and the remainder just got a bit weird. Rescinds that.

hits his head on the ceiling twice. He's out of it today.

would beat the shit out of the scientists that sent him to Xen if they brought him back

fizzly teleporter :>

e64

we open with a NOISE

he's confused and bothered by how much is happening right now

"THUD."

the rotating platforms-dactar island is slightly better than the gonarch one

declares himself a zoning inspector

explodes the weird pits in the island

thinks the island's ecosystem is neat.

"I'm a scientist with a shotgun. I'm unstoppable." Immediately cowers away from a weird plant

considering living in this cave as well

thinks he would've worked at Black Mesa even knowing this was the future. It is studying his field. I suppose he values the company greatly.

wondering how the gonarch managed to eat at its size

[coughing sputtering spitting] YEAHHHHH

bullsquid gunk in his mouth :(

wants to put a stick against the rising/sinking pillar and make a funny noise.

envisioning his own horrible death at every turn

does NOT like being this high up. Got his panic voice on

he's prepared to adjust his expectations to make an awful situation less terrible in comparison to other awful situations. Or equally bad!

"it's glowing. That means it must be important."

so good with his magnum aim here. Admits he may not be able to claim skill here, its just THAT good. Must be fate.

still wondering about the gonarchs diet

e65

"if you're not insane you're just ignorant."

very concerned about how all the survey team died

impressed at the dual stars of Xen but the sky is clearly mirrored. I think there's a plane of gasses the islands float in.

he wouldn't expect him here

happy with the gauss gun

theorizes the alien grunts are nearsighted

AMAZED some aliens aren't trying to attack him. Tells them theyre doing everything right for someone who wants to live.

gets his foot stuck in some rock :(

earth does indeed kick ass compared to here

MORE ROCKETSSSS

not happy to be here but sure he can make something of the place.

pretty sure the gargantuars are idiots

still not a bug fan. Cringe.

realizes he hasn't been using the tripmines. Makes em work

oh this is such a fun noise. Subtitled as "BLAAHHHBLAHHBLAAAH!"

yeah he just hates this and expects the teleporter to send him to beeroom

e66

new intro! We... Are in Xen.

makes bee noise as he lands!

still delighted at the vortigaunts being nonchalant about him. Would've assumed they worked at Black Mesa if they'd been this calm there.

climbs up a layer of the factory by climbing on a vortigaunt's head. No issues arise

keeps hearing weird noises

impressed by the industry of the healing tubes

clocks the factory as manufacturing or processing.

ripe for colonization.... Gordon.....

hits a forcefield and just starts making blubbering noises

recovers, deep breaths

he is NOT a barrel he never WANTED to be a barrel

HOT WATER WHERE ARE HIS TOWELS

the barrels are not full of laundry detergent

he thinks company policy should just be to run away when they see him

specbio fan :>

very confused about the technological development of the aliens

"SHIT POPPERS"

wonders if growing soldiers is more efficient than making bees

basically every hit he takes is punctuated with an "ah!"

cannot climb that barrel

has seen Phantasm

mind your ableism

big screen tv on the wall :> wants to watch alien tv

e67

talks as if he doesn't like tvs you can't operate without the remote.

doesn't like the red spores in the vents

still hoping Xen illnesses won't know how to adapt to humans

compares Xen to a living creature

metaphorically in the pit

impressed at how much effort it took to put him in a nigh-unwinnable scenario

"aliens... Come out to play~" x3

thinks the scientists don't care about anyone who got sent to Xen

dizzy again :(

surrounded by electricity and plasma and he isn't even slightly dizzy

he's got so little food in him he wouldn't be able to vomit. Just dry heave

thinks very poorly of the Xenians

thinks killing a major religious figure would make them largely subservient to him or demoralize them

thinks wearing someone's head around your neck sends a universal message

knows how many people died in the space program

knows tricks to deal with dizziness or reduce it

familiar with Dr. Who

only willing to teleport once more

infinite black void. Thick cloud or cavern, he thinks.

funny noises as he jumps around the rocks

thinks the Nihilianth teleporter is "heavy metal"

hears the science team talking over the big ol radio teleporter

breathing hard as he falls into the Nihilianth room, screams the moment it's done saying his name

e68, Finale

New intro. We close in on the tram in stasis.

familiar with Lovecraft's works.

none of this situation is going well for him he's just panicking constantly

thinks reality is breaking down more the longer he's alive

thinks the security guard advertisements are to send random people into Xen

seeing him using the grenade rounds on the Nihilianth before breaking the crystals,, painful

tells the crystals to stop helping his adversary

treats his scavenging like making all these deaths worthwhile

he's the low-g man :)

a final bit of underwater mumbling....

the electricity is WORSE when he's wet. Sounds outright painful

once more he does not know Morse

wants to use this room as a low gravity basketball court

stuck his palm to the ceiling. Neat stuff.

yeah this gravity is too low to support an atmosphere...

downright cheery about killing the Nihilianth now. I think he's in shock.

swan dive purgatory :/

he doesn't know what the gauss gun is but it is VERY expensive

wants to become god now??

checks himself when Gman mentions taking his weapons

does not like the teleportation tour

thinks Gman is from the CIA

he wants a pardon if he's to work for the CIA. Wants lab work in Hawai'i

he's done being shot at.

thinks Gman is a time lord

doesn't respond to anything after entering the portal.

AND ALTERNATIVE TIMELINE

refuses to work for Gman.

wants the space tram to turn around and bring him back to earth

not sure where he is! It's bad though! He dies!

Alright! It's been an eventful series! I'll say that I started this expecting to slowly work my way through and be clinical the whole time, but... Well. He started making silly noises. I genuinely find him kind of adorable now, and have far more serious thoughts about him than I anticipated. He's a deeply unserious person. He's incredibly stressed by everything going on. He doesn't like killing people. He sustains a fair bit of head trauma. HE HASN'T EATEN ANYTHING SINCE THOSE BAD DORITOS. It really does stand out to me that being well-fed is such a motivator of his all series. He really is horribly hungry. Anyways. It's been a pleasure doing this, and I'll absolutely being doing more notes on other Mindverse series in short order. Stark's Mind is up next.

[walder-138]

Okay, Pookie. I forgot my precious ask, so I’ll send in new ones for the other OC ask game. 👁️👄👁️

5. what was your character's dream job as a kid? is it different than what their career ended up being?

6. what is the thing your oc likes the least about themselves?

16. how does your OC feel about their parents? (No hope for Ozzy and Annika 😭)

23. what are your OC’s biggest flaws and biggest strengths?

26. least favorite food and color?

28. is your OC a dog or cat person?

Pookie I’m so sorry 😭

(5) Oz’s dream job was to play in the NFL, which he was extremely close to doing. He loved football, was very talented and got an athletic scholarship to a college known for its team. Two years in, ‘68, his little brother, Johnny, gets drafted. For Oz’s entire life, he was the one expected to go into the military as the oldest, so the guilt he had overwhelmed him into joining as well. That’s why he joined the Army.

Annika wanted to be a Veterinarian because of “her” childhood dog. (some crusty ass stray she found on the side of the street) He got sick and died, and she wanted to stop that from happening to other animals. (Boris is literally the reason why Annika has any semblance of empathy. Dawg was the best)

Now… oh shit. She’s a mass murderer who kills people for a living, dead opposite of what she wanted to be. Oh well, lives a bitch and then you die.

Abbey, as a kid, wanted to do anything that supported her caregivers’ ideology, which she truly didn’t know jackshit about. She thought that they could do nothing wrong and needed support; she would’ve died for them. Instead, Abbey also took the exact opposite route. She went into the FBI to take those people down. Another drastic change in the list.

(6) Oz hates who he was between leaving Vietnam and having Jenny. “A depressed, abusive, drug-addicted piece of human shit.” as he calls it. He hates it when he exhibits any behaviors that remind himself of that time. If Oz yells at Jenny, or feels the urge to relapse, he punishes himself by not taking care of himself.

Annika hates that she isn’t as ruthless as she used to be. She’d used to kill for money, for power, now Annika can barely kill for self defense. She wishes she could go back to being apathetic, but now that scab’s been peeled off, and everything’s bleeding out.

Abbey hates how obsessive she is. Not stalker-like obsessed; I’m talking obsessive-compulsive obsessed. There’s a constant presence in her head telling her how she should be, what she must do or else something terrible will happen. How deeply she thinks about how somebody else’s acting. Girl barely sleeps at night because of her rituals.

(16) Oz HATES his father. That monster abused him physically, emotionally, and psychologically for his entire life. Nobody believed him growing up that his father was abusive, not even his siblings, because Old Man Clancy was a ‘war hero’. War hero his ass. All Ozzy saw was a monster.

However, he was a Mama’s boy through and through. She was the only person that believed him, as she went through the abuse herself. They spoke to each other in German when Old Man Clancy was away and made dinner together for rest of the family. Best memories of his life with his mom.

Annika, it depends which AU. In the original one, with her as Bell? She couldn’t care less about her parents. They never had that ‘love and attention” thing that y’all seem to be obsessed with. Her parents were more coworkers than parents. Everything was transactional within the “family”.

However, in the AU where her dad becomes Bell, she’s only about 9. Girl looks up to him, wanting to do all the things he does, and loves him more than anything. Well, she was in one of the cars during the airport thing at the beginning of the story, so now she thinks he’s dead. She was screaming out for her dad while Mason was carrying her off.

Can’t do Abbey as she doesn’t know her parents 🙃

(23) Keeping this one short:

Oz’s greatest flaw: Chronically low self-esteem; dude hates himself so much he unknowingly takes it out on everyone around him.

Oz’s greatest strength: Resilience; dudebro’s gone through hell and back, and is already up for round 4. He ain’t giving up any time soon.

Annika’s greatest flaw: Pookie look at her. Her lack of empathy; she can’t understand other’s emotions too well.

Annika’s greatest strength: Her ruthlessness. She don’t give a SHIT. She will get the job done.

Abbey’s greatest flaw: She’s a perfectionist, about herself and the people around her.

Abbey’s greatest strength: Her genuine kindness.

(26) Oz is a macho man, he hates the color pink. Dawg has PTSD surrounding non perishables, he will not eat canned food cause he found a BUNCH OF COCKROACHES IN A CAN OF CORN DURING HIS DEPLOYMENT AHHHHHHH HOW THE FUCK DID THEY GET IN THERE????

Annika hates meat. She’s a vegetarian, the smell of meat makes her gag. She’ll throw up if she has to eat it. She doesn’t like the color orange, reminds her of Captain Asshole (Adler).

What food DOESN’T Abbey hate? Girl is very picky, but her least favorite is ONIONS BECAUSE THEY SUCK. ONIONS SUCK. I FUCKING HATE ONIONS. THEYRE DISGUSTING. HOW COULD YOU ENJOY THEM???? SHE WILL GAG. Oh and her least favorite color is blue 😊

(28) Oz is a cat person through and through. Dogs remind him of Vietnam.

Annika doesn’t give a shit. If it has 0-4 legs, 0-2 eyes, makes an adorable noise (or tries to), she will LOVE it. Get her a rat, she’ll love and cherish it.

Abbey’s a dog person. They’re so funny and are always happy, and always serve as a good distraction.

THANKS FOR THE OTHER ASK! ITS ALWAGS NICE HEARING FROM MY POOKIE BEAR ❤️

[sonicasura]

Here are with the next part of Kafka's adventures in the Transformers series. This one will be focusing on Transformers Earthspark but it's with the guideline I made here. Also there's another twist not included in said post.

Let's get started!

Transformers Kaijuspark

GHOST's latest experiment with space bridge technology is what brings Kafka into the Earthspark universe. He had been cleaning up the latest kaiju corpse when a portal opens underneath him alongside the body. Shifting into his kaiju form to avoid being crushed, Kafka soon finds GHOST troops ready to shoot him dead.

The man immediately flees as the base is put on high alert. Optimus is the only one able to intercept Kafka by sheer coincidence since the other GHOST bots were caught unaware. The Prime immediately learns why size doesn't matter as the humanoid kaiju overpowers him in an instant.

Kafka manages to escape while Optimus' team is forced to give up chase to treat their badly injured leader. The man hides out in a particular cavern in hopes of shaking off any pursuers. Kafka, still in kaiju form due to stress, finds what looks to be a hidden spring.

Something about the water felt off almost if it was alive. A feeling that is soon proven quickly when a distorted voice(Not Quintus Prime btw) rings through his head and Kafka's power flares in response. The man watches in shock as not only two robots similar to the one he fought manifested but a mysterious gauntlet materializes over his right arm with two names: Vertigo and Jawbreaker.

You read the last name right. During the creation of the triplets, something occurs that prevents Jawbreaker from manifesting. There were signs for a third bot but it sputtered out so the group put it aside for later after the current situation was handled. Hashtag and Nightshade do sense something is wrong. A constant emptiness that is often felt by Splitspark bots should one of their siblings perish or connection is blocked.

Feeling like he couldn't leave the two Terrans behind, Kafka takes Jawbreaker and Vertigo with him as he tries to figure out how to get home. Unbeknownst to them, the newest Terrans immediately feel the emptiness become filled by a soft sweet energy. Hashtag and Nightshade realize that their missing sibling has now materialized.

The Malto family begin to look into any leads for the late triplet. Bumblebee and Megatron however becomes concerned that more is going on when Hashtag eavesdrop a message from GHOST about a strange creature badly injuring Optimus around the same time. It was all too recent in their opinion.

Kafka stirs up a few changes due to his appearance. Jawbreaker gains his Stygimoloch form early when roughhousing with Vertigo. The latter is a Predacon Terran whose alt mode is based on a dragon. Closest depiction is Generation One Dragonoid from Bakugan to put it simply.

Vertigo is less thrilled once he finally meets the Maltos. Personality wise, he's a cold introvert that takes everything with a grain of salt and holds quite a grudge if you hurt his small family i.e Kafka/Jawbreaker. Vertigo is the major obstacle keeping the Maltos away from the youngest triplet.

Kafka's Cybersleeve gonna stir up a lot of insanity too with everyone. The rogue Decepticons, the GHOST Autobots, GHOST, and most specifically Robby. When you consider how he acts throughout the show, the teen wouldn't be happy that some monster(crusty old man once both of Kafka's forms are known) has one. A Cain mentality to put it simply.

Kafka has a lot on his plate on his journey home. Even moreso when he has to consider the two kids spiritually tethered to him. There's no telling how their completely different worlds could react.

A kaiju stuck in a universe of extraterrestrial machines and two Terrans that wish to delve into a realm infested with kaiju.

[p7agu3]

transfem neviro fic

some ppl on discord liked this, so i'm posting it here now. it's a draft with some unfinished bits lopped off. enjoy!

btw, maxwell is player but more insane: a cannon fist wind warlock assassin

-----

The Sun shines brightly over the blue waters of the Bronze Sea. Aboard an unassuming ketch, a group of distinctive idiots sit: a curse thief, dressed in dark thick clothing entirely inappropriate to the moderate climate, a fiery mage, the only woman in the group, a… regular man, dressed in a suit of chain-mail armor, and the somehow captain, wearing the frankly quite lame uniform of an Assassin acolyte. Beside them stand an old alchemist and a Navy deserter, watching their conversation with a sort of silent, exasperated intrigue.

“I’m telling you, this will be great!” Maxwell insists, grinning brightly with a touch of madness. He thinks ‘funny’ and ‘great’ are synonyms. “Team bonding! We’ll all get to know each other so much better!!”

Neviro raises a skeptical eyebrow. “How will exchanging our clothes make us ‘know each other’ better? I don’t see how that makes any sense-” Maxwell slaps a hand over the prince’s mouth with the force of a man who casually wields cannonballs. It knocks Neviro clean over, but I assure you that he is completely fine.

“Team bonding!!!!!” The madness has totally taken over the warlock’s grin. Everyone in the vicinity shivers slightly, and acquiesces to his atypical but acceptable demands.

Skipping over to Enizor, he gently borrows the alchemist’s overlarge hat. “Everyone will be participating!” The no-name acolytes he picked up in Whitesummit perk up excitedly. “..oh, I’m so sorry, guys. Not you, it might get kinda boring if there’s like ten of the same outfit…” They droop down again, saddened. “Look, I promise I’ll steal a seafood buffet from my lawful good shadow self later, okay? They’ll never see it coming and we’ll become even better criminals for it!” Cheers and brief applause can be heard before the crew goes back to manning the ketch. They kind of have to do everything. Maxwell doesn’t know jack about sailing and Edward is always being dragged into his shenanigans. At least it’s not a totally thankless job.

An empty notebook’s page is reduced to shreds of paper for the activity, and the names are dropped into Enizor’s hat, which is shaken around. “Who wants to pick first?” Maxwell asks, excitedly.

For a long moment, no one volunteers. Finally, Edward, loyal to a fault, decides to take the blow. “I’ll bite, Captain.” He sinks his hand into the hat, rummaging around through the scraps. One of them gets pinched between his weathered fingers.

“‘Maxwell..’” Edward reads. 

“Huh? What’s wrong?” The said warlock looks at him, confused.

“That’s the name I picked up. Seems we’re going to-” His calm words are cut off by Maxwell suddenly squealing excitedly and dragging him below deck. Edward’s expression is one of resigned horror as he disappears into the darkness.

“Should we run before it’s too late?” Iris asks, feeling somewhat unsettled at the thought of Enizor potentially wearing her clothes.

Morden shakes his head sadly. “He’d catch us. You can’t stop Max when he gets like this, it’s like trying to stop a ship mid-ram. Sometimes you can dodge it, but if it’s determined enough you won’t be free until one or both of you is at the bottom of the ocean.”

“Shall we determine the next pair?” Enizor asks with his crusty old man voice.

With a deep sigh, Morden steps forward and picks a name out of the hat. “‘Enizor’... Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

“Language!” The boomer chides him. “But I don’t believe this will be too terrible. I did have a, oh, what is it called? A ‘goth phase’? The style is not unfamiliar to me, I’m certain we’ll be fine.”

Morden groans horribly again. He looks at Iris and Neviro. “I guess you two will be swapping clothes too, huh? Let’s just. Do this.”

The other two reluctantly nod and begin to descend.

Below deck, Edward and Maxwell are staring at each other’s top surgery scars.

“OMG, you’re trans of gender!!!” Max shouts excitedly. He’s absolutely thrilled.

“When the hell did you get top surgery??!?” Edward asks, confused and baffled. Based on what he knows about Maxwell’s life, there’s literally no fucking way.

“I don’t know!” He’s so happy that Edward doesn’t dare to bring down the mood. The quartermaster tries to shrug casually and accepts the acolyte uniform from his half-dressed captain, (they’re both wearing a towel around the waist and that’s it) handing him the battered Navy uniform that they reclaimed from Silverhold so long ago.

Maxwell skips off into a side room to change, leaving Edward to make heads or tails of the red scarf. The rest of the uniform is simple enough, just a sleeveless buttoned shirt and black pants. Unfortunately, it seems to be a little too small. His chest seems to be straining against the buttons of the shirt, but the stitching holds strong, even as Edward takes a deep breath in. Perhaps he should give the Assassins a little more credit for their clothing quality..

It feels odd to just have his arms out like this. He’s not particularly built, and he’s admittedly gotten a bit soft around the edges since his desertion. Somewhat nervously, he adjusts the scarf so it sits less awkwardly around his neck. 

He looks in the mirror. Oh, this is quite alright, actually. It’s not a bad outfit. A bit plain, definitely, and it certainly is a bit tight, but he can live with this for a day or so. That.. that is how long Maxwell is going to make this go on, right?

Stepping back out onto the deck of the ship, Edward blinks in the sudden brightness of the day. To his astonishment, Maxwell wolf-whistles at him, pointing and laughing excitedly at Edward’s arms. It’d be kind of flattering if this wasn’t the same teenager who keeled over and fainted when Morden took his shirt off last week. The Death Curse user barely has any decent chest hair, Maxwell’s standards are far too low.

The Navy uniform looks pretty natural on the warlock. Perhaps it’s because Edward got used to seeing him in Navy blue before he joined the Syndicate. For some reason Maxwell had made a habit of constantly wearing the color. He twirls a gun, clearly not knowing how to use it, and shoots a hole in one of the sails before fumbling with reloading it. Edward sighs and takes both holsters from him, clipping them onto the Assassin uniform. Best not to trust him with weapons, that rarely ends well.

Behind him, Enizor emerges, wearing Morden’s outfit. “This is a bit thick for the weather, isn’t it?” He remarks. The dark clothing and bandanna really accentuate his baldness.

“Oh, says the guy who wears THREE layers of robes?” Morden argues, almost tripping over the hem of Enizor’s robes as he stumbles out onto the deck. “How can you even see out of this thing?” He gestures angrily towards the hat’s brim.

“It takes decades of experience, boy.” Enizor chides. “Perhaps if you trained in the arts of alchemy you would understand. Also, you need to eat more, it’s clearly stunting your growth.”

Morden looks extremely irritated and bares his teeth at Enizor. He looks like he’s about to growl at him, honestly. Edward wonders if biting is on the table.

“Aw, I think the hat looks cute on you!” Maxwell tries to placate Morden. “The rest of the outfit is kinda a lost cause, though.” Edward nods in agreement, and Enizor looks crestfallen.

“None of you are old enough to appreciate the intricacies of classical alchemist dress.” Enizor crosses his arms, looking snooty. “You’ll come around in a few decades.”

Collapsing into a mopey, overheated pile of robes, Morden leans back against the ship’s railing. “What’s taking the last two so long?”

“Beats me. Should I go check on them?” Maxwell seems unenthusiastic about the idea.

Before he can say another word, though, Iris appears, donning Neviro’s chainmail and the set of iron armor they bought for him recently. “This is really heavy..” she puffs, leaning on the railing beside Morden to catch her breath.

“Wow! You look great!” Maxwell skips over to her and helps her get her hair out of the back of the armor. “Like, you actually pull off the look! Unlike Neviro. Um, don’t tell him I said that. Where is he, anyway?”

Back in the temporary changing room, Neviro is just. Staring. 

Staring at his reflection.

He’s wearing Iris’ jacket, skirt, and pants. It’s a pretty normal outfit, as far as outfits go. While he’s not in the habit of wearing skirts, he thought it would be something he could just laugh off later, since everyone else was very nonchalant about the whole clothes swapping thing.

But this is.. Weird. He feels weird. He can’t stop looking at himself.

Why does this look so.. right?

He knows he looks good. But this is something deeper. This.. this is making something resonate deep inside of himself, and he’s not sure what to make of it. 

Someone knocks on the door and he pulls himself away from the mirror. He needs to stop being weird about this. It’s just a skirt. Just a piece of fabric. He can be normal about it.

“Hey, are you okay in there?” Edward asks through the door, his voice muffled but slightly worried. “Is this making you uncomfortable? We can call it off, it’s fine, I can handle Maxwell."

Neviro steals another glance at the mirror.

He doesn't feel uncomfortable. He feels like something he's been missing for his whole life has just been handed to him. 

"I'm fine.." he says, trying to push down the emotions swirling in his stomach. He opens the door and smiles at Edward. His heart is pounding in his chest.

"Well." Edward says, sounding a bit concerned still. "You look very pretty. If you're alright with me calling you that." He looks away and scratches his neck. "The red really brings out your eyes."

Oh. Neviro feels his face turning red as well, and he covers it with his hands, trying to compose himself before going back above deck. Edward laughs softly. "C'mon, princess. The others are waiting for you."

It's just affectionate teasing. He knows this. But it doesn't stop his heart from pounding, or his body from suddenly feeling lighter. Once again, that feeling of strange happiness makes itself known, and he wonders what's wrong with him, that just a single word could elicit such a reaction.

When the sunlight shines down upon him once more, he expects them to tease him, maybe comment on how silly it looks for him to be wearing a little skirt. Instead, they all have similar reactions to Edward.

"Oh damn, you should really get out of that chainmail more! You're so cute!" Maxwell is bouncing around exuberantly, seemingly ecstatic that his activity was a success. He twirls Edward's cutlass around like a baton, prompting the quartermaster to chase him down and confiscate it.

"The red suits you." Enizor comments, pulling the bandanna down to speak in a move that might have been badass if his head wasn't bald and shiny with sweat.

"It really does," Iris agrees, to Neviro's surprise. "Maybe we should get you a jacket like that in the next town?"

"Oh, there's no need," he insists, feeling very flustered. Even if he might want one, he has enough clothes already. Plain, boring, mostly tasteless clothes, but enough to wear. 

The skirt rustles around his legs in the sea breeze. He doesn't think about what it might be like to wear one regularly.

"Well," Morden says, getting up from his sitting position. "Does this mean we're finally done 'bonding'?" He looks somewhat relieved at the prospect.

Neviro feels a pang of disappointment. No. Stop that. These are Iris' clothes, he knew he'd have to return them eventually.

Thankfully, Maxwell has other ideas. "No, of course not! Now that I am dressed appropriately, we must make haste for Silverhold! I will visit my father!"

"Oh no," Edward mutters, slapping his hand to his forehead. "Not this again.."

"Max, we've been over this!" Morden protests. "The Commodore is not your father! You're an orphan, that's how the Order got you in the first place!"

"Family is who you choose!" Maxwell argues back. "And mine includes them and not you!" His voice softens into something more playful. "Mostly 'cause it'd make kissing you weird if you were part of it."

"Gah!" Morden throws his hands up exasperatedly and heads below deck, cheeks burning almost as red as Neviro's. There seems to be a whole lot of blushing today. As he descends, he calls back at Maxwell. "You won't be seeing a speck of Death magic during your raid, I assure you of that!"

"Good!" retorts Maxwell. "It's too early for you to meet my parents anyway!"

Silence hangs over the ship for a moment.

"Wow." says Iris. "That was certainly something." Her borrowed armor clanks as she scratches her neck. "So.. off to Silverhold, now?"

"Yeah, let's go." Maxwell huffs, signaling the crew to open sail towards the naval base.

Neviro stands by the ship's railing, feeling the wind rustle his– not his, Iris', why does he have to remind himself of that?-- skirt. He feels a bit lightheaded from all the compliments. The occasional spray of seawater doesn't do much to distract him from his boiling thoughts.

"You really do look nice." Iris tells him, clanking over to stand by his side. "It seriously looks a lot better than most of your 'outfits', if they can even be called that." She laughs lightheartedly. "Maybe you should let me do your clothes shopping?"

His heart flutters at the offer, and he has to bite back the 'yes' on his lips. It's just a joke. Just a joke. Stop being weird, Neviro. "Haha," Gods, that sounded so forced. "I'm alright. Thanks."

She seems slightly concerned about his stiffness, but seemingly brushes it off as him being a bit embarrassed. He's not sure how to describe how he feels about the offer anyway.

On the other side of the ship, Maxwell has pulled Edward aside, using his magic to make a very obnoxious whooshing noise that obscures their conversation. The warlock grips his quartermaster severely. "Edwar," he insists, so intensely focused that he forgets the last consonant. "My egg detector is off the chart."

Edward nods solemnly. "Yes, I do believe I am feeling a slight sense of 'egg' as well, Captain. What shall we do about it?"

Maxwell thumps his fist into his hand aggressively. "I'm going to talk to them about it."

"...respectfully, Captain, I think you should let Iris handle this one."

"Damn." Maxwell considers this. "You're probably right," He concedes, after a minute of thought. "I am Not Good at the whole delicate emotions thing."

"Neviro," Iris asks, after a minute of silence (and loud wind noises, wtf Maxwell?). "What are you thinking about? You seem stiff. More stiff than usual, I mean."

The lost prince jolts in surprise at the question. She's right, he has been feeling rather tense, lost in conflicting thoughts brought on by the stupid outfit he's wearing. He groans and rubs his forehead. He's a terrible liar, but he doesn't want to worry her over something so trivial. Even if it's kind of weird.

"Thinking about this, I guess." He gestures at the skirt and jacket. "The whole 'wearing a skirt' thing."

She frowns worriedly. "Is it bothering you? This whole thing was meant to be harmless fun, you can take it off now if you-"

"No!" The denial spills from his lips before he can stop it. He covers his mouth for a second, mortified. "I- I mean, it's really not bothering me. I promise." His face is turning red again, he can feel it. 

"Oh, so you like it?" She sounds slightly amused, but not mocking. Not cruel. Just curious. He's not sure how to feel about that.

"Y-yeah. I guess." He can barely look at her. It feels shameful to admit. He's a prince, he's not supposed to like flouncing about in dresses and skirts and things.

Iris looks off into the distance, where Silverhold is slowly approaching. "Can I ask you a question? It might be kind of.. invasive, I guess. So you don't have to answer it."

"..." He's not sure what she's about to ask. But he doesn't feel too worried. She's one of the closest friends he's had in his life. "Go ahead?"

"Are you… not a boy, Neviro?" The question throws him for a loop. His first instinct is to respond with a resounding 'no', since of course he's male, he's the prince of Winterveil for gods' sake, everyone knows that. But.. he thinks. And suddenly he's not so sure.

"I.. I…" For once he's lost for words. His fingers clench in the fabric of his skirt. Has he ever really felt like a man? He feels suddenly confused and a bit scared. Is.. is he crying? He can't– shouldn't be crying right now.

"Hey, it's okay, calm down.." Iris' hands rub his back, warm even through the chainmail. "I get it, this gender stuff is confusing. But you're not alone, you've got me and Morden and Edward and Maxwell. We get it. We'll always have your back."

He sniffles. "Thanks.." A part of himself that he'd taken for granted has just been.. ripped away. No, not that, it was just.. always wrong. Chafing on the edge of his consciousness. Now it's hanging loose, and he…

She's not a 'he'. It feels oddly freeing to think that, to place something new in that empty void. A bubble of happiness rises up through her body. This.. this feels better. Feels right. She's a girl. Maybe she's always been one.

Iris lets her go and takes a step back. "Are you feeling better?"

She nods. "Yeah. A lot better."

The anomaly smiles. "Glad to hear it. So, what are your preferred pronouns?"

"...she/her." It feels a little odd to say it, but also extremely freeing. Iris smiles. 

"I'm guessing this is the first time you really realized this, huh?" She nods again. "Alright, yeah. So what should we call you? I'm guessing you probably don't wanna still be called 'Neviro'?"

Maybe. But that's really the only name she's ever known, and she doesn't have any new names ready. She shrugs, feeling a little too emotionally drained to talk.

"Ah, right, you probably haven't thought about it. Hm," Iris scratches her chin in thought. "Can we call you 'Nevi'? I get you might wanna pick a different name later, but it's a little less–"

She tackles Iris into a hug, making a racket when the metal armor crashes into the railing. "Yes," she whispers. "Yes, yes, thank you so much, Iris.."

"No problem." Iris ruffles her hair with a knowing grin. "Just girls helping girls, right?"

"Stop the boat!" yells Maxwell, already making for the edge of the ship. The sound of cannons firing can be heard from Silverhold, but Edward has calculated the distance properly– the ship is just out of range. Before long the girls can hear his deranged yelling, and the terrified screams of Navy marines.

Edward follows Maxwell off the ship, perhaps hoping to spare the lives of some relatively innocent marines. And drag him away from the Commodore before Maxwell's bizarrely trusting side can make a reappearance and get him recruited into the Navy.

[bohemian-nights]

I'm curious what do you think about Rhaenys as a character and moreover her relationship with Rhaenyra? I have my own thoughts on it but I just wanted to know your.

I like Rhaenys. In fact she’d be my favorite Targaryen woman, however, she’s too passive. Her going along with her grandfather and supporting Viserys and then Rhaenyra was utterly stupid.

Yes she voiced her anger with being passed over for uncle, but she really should’ve fought for her claim. After King I only support men Jaehaerys I named Baelon heir she should have gone back to Driftmark and started making strategic alliances with different houses. She already had House Velaryon(the richest house) and House Baratheon on her side plus a dragon.

I believe that if she had done this she could’ve been gathered enough support to sway the vote in her direction during the Great Council. The Dance could have possibly been avoided.

I mean she was the only one real dragonrider during that time and she had two kids she could’ve offered up to get some other major houses to support her (it’s not like she had a lot of qualms offering up her twelve year old daughter a fully grown man 🤷🏽‍♀️).

She obviously didn’t do the above so her siding with Rhaenyra and getting herself killed in the process(she should’ve never gone to Rooks Rest with zero backup especially after seeing what happened to Luke) is no surprise.

These complaints are moreso directed at book!Rhaenys so let me take the time to say that show!Rhaenys is somehow even more an clown than book!Rhaenys.

If I suspect my daughter in law of killing my son(after my daughter just died so I’m already grieving) there is no way in hell I’m going to let my granddaughters marry her bastards and go along with her ruling what should have been my throne.

Rhaenys should’ve hoped on Meleys and burned both Rhaenyra and Daemon(😭), told Corlys (lovingly of course) to get his act together and name Rhaena his heir, then gone to Kings Landing and burned King Crusty(it’s not like his a** can run that far🤣), and declared herself queen and Baela her heir(Team Green can be thrown a bone and one of the boys could be her prince consort).

This obviously isn’t realistic(and it could never have happened because the show is based off of the events from the book), but her supporting Rhaenyra when she suspects her of killing Laenor makes zero sense whatsoever.

Anyway, I do love Rhaenys, but she’s a bird who like Rhaenyra doesn’t learn and ends up getting herself killed (and to add insult to injury one of her husbands bastards inherit what should’ve been her granddaughter’s seat and said bastard treats her terribly🫠)🕊️

[writerwithbrainrot]

Chapter one: Reader and the Ancient Waterworks (pt. 2)

Pt. 1 here!

warnings: None, but let me know If I need to add any :)

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    The group stood infront of an old building entrance made of stone, overgrown and almost completely taken back by nature. The air was full of excitement, and a toothy grin was on [Reader]'s face. Their ears were red due to the chill as a few from the group started to work on the heavy stone doors. "Masks on!" Thomas yelled and the group did as told. Who knew what bacteria or mold lied behind those doors and underground. And the debris would be an issue in itself. [Reader] put their mask on, and soon, the sound of stone rubbing against stone was heard, and each person turned their flashlights on and entered.

    The entrance seemed normal, empty with pillars leading to the broken ceiling, but immediately the team scurried over to the stairway down to the Waterworks underground. The walls had carvings thT were worn down and almost completely gone, with old iron torch holders still holding dusty torches, burnt down and left forgotten. [Reader] pulled out their camcorder and began to take photos, the flash on so they could obtain good photos for later use.

     The echoing footsteps heading down the stone steps and the occasional tripping person swearing could be heard as [Reader] made their desent down with the rest of the team. The flashlights made the hall and steps down to the Waterworks creepy and unsettling, but [Reader]'s heart only increased its beating for the excitement rushing through their veins. Then, the floor flattened, and the air became chilly, like they had opened a refrigerator. The many lights shot to the now open area, and [Reader]'s light hit a large mechanism of cogs and what seemed to be a giant set of rusty copper pipes.

    The carvings and ancient text on the walls and pillers confirmed it. This was the start of the Waterworks and excited whispered erupted, as [Reader] took a flash photo of the mechanism, a larger light lit up the room, and Thomas held a lantern. "Take notes and then we move. I ain't waistin my last years in one room."

      [Reader] wrote down their thoughts and observations as Serena pulled out her own lantern. Thomas spoke up again as Serena peaked over [Reader]'s shoulder "We know our teams, yes? Keep your lanterns on and do not split up. And be mindful of everything around you. We do not know if there are any traps or not."

      "Lets go!" Serena exclaimed and she rushed to the arch to a room ahead and [Reader] followed.

      The room was massive, a huge amount of space and may Waterwheels and pipes, as well as empty fireplaces, areas on the ceiling above these fire placed black and crusty from past smoke. "This is wild. . . " Serena commented as [Reader] took some photos of the pipes up close and the room, trying their best to get everything in from. "Imagine. . . this has been under our feet this whole time, and this place is even more massive then what we see."

    "This place is a labyrinth." Marco said, appearing behind the two making Serena and [Reader] shriek. He laughed and got hit across the chest by [Reader]. "Relax! The old amn said there are a lot of rooms like this, all for their own purpose. I'm staying with you, also-" he paused and pointed his light down the ledge that the stone path they stood on stopped on, showing a second floor. "I hope you don't have a fear of hights. We should find a way down." he said, going ahead. Serena groaned and followed, Reader taking another look down then across the empty space ro the other side, seeing fallen debris that were steep and covering the stone path. [Reader] then moves, and continues to write on their notebook, making a mini sketch.

      The team turned, and walked more and more, [Reader] taking more photos and Serena stopping to look at the ancient text and writing to down to Decipher later. A few more turns and a walk across a very old stone bridge across the massive gap between each wall and walkway, [Reader] paused, looking at a strange set up connected to many pipes. Serena turned from an area that was blocked due to collapsing walls, a landslide that went down into the canal below the floor below, where water would have once flowed through, to [Reader]. "[Reader]? What's up?"

   "Come take a look." They said and Marco stood behind them, Serena also taking a look. "This looks weird."

      "Maybe coals went here?" Marco suggested as [Reader] took a photo and took a quick sketch. "You know? To warm the pipes?"

     [Reader] pursed their lips "No. . . it looks like a power source once went here. See those weird areas that look like funky sockets?" they said, pointing them out. "It looks like maybe something that conducted some for of power went there once. . . but that wouldn't make since, this place was made about 600 years ago?" [Reader] pointed their Camcorder up to the ceiling, it's light hitting the dome like roof "Miracle it has collapsed with us breathing in here."      "Maybe they-" Serena started but Marco spoke up.

   "Hey! You!" he yelled, voice ringing and bouncing across the halls, his light pointed at something below. [Reader] and Selena turned and looked at what Marco was looking at "What are you doing here?! It's not safe!"

     "Is that a child?!" Serena gasped in horror. [Reader] took a good look. It was a dark figure, small and thing with what looked like a silver and black tunic, before it rushed into the darkness. Serena turned and looked shocked at the two. "But how is there a kid in here?! this place has been sealed off for centuries!"

     Marco grabbed his walkie talkie and kept the light on the dark child for as long a possible before it vanished around a corner. "Cheif! There's a kid down here! We are not alone!"

     "What?!" Thomas yelled through the walkie as other voices yelled in shock as well, asking how and why and if it really was a child.

     "It's true! A kid in black, it looks like a tunic is below us!" Serena exclaimed into the device "It ran off and- [READER] NO!" she yelled, Marco turning to watch as [Reader] slid down the mountainous debris to the canal below, jumping onto the path below the level she had just sild down from and ran the direction the child went as Serena's and Marco's crys for them to stop echos across the hall.

     Using their camcorder light, the ran down the hall down the path after the kid before [Reader] skitted to a halt hearing running footsteps down a hallway in the wall, and pointing their light down, they saw not a kid, but a young adult dashing through the hall, far off. "Hey! Stop!" they yelled, running after "Come here! It's not safe! LISTEN!"

     They didn't take note of Where they were, what paths they were taking, eyes only glued ro the figure, pushing through doors that the male closed behind him with ease before slaming into a room and panting. "Stop-" [Reader] inhaled and exhaled heavily, taking off their face mask to breath better, before looking up "I need to get out out of here-" they paused, and stood up, confused and alarmed.

      The kid, confirmed as a young adult, maybe Serena's age, was no stranger. Standing infront of a pedestal holding waht seemed to be a ball that was white with blue and tan markings and metal pins sticking out of it. On walls were copper and wooden control panels with wheels and meters on them. But that wasn't what shocked [Reader]. No. . .

     The person that they had just chased blindly, was a carbon copy of shadow link. But there was darkness surrounding it, like gas as it went and grabbed the strange object. They didn't know what made them, maybe a feeling of bravery or stupidity, but at the moment that the strange- whatever it was- move and took it, [Reader] tackled it, grabbing on and punching its jaw, and snatching the object in the air, but it lunged back, drawing a weapon as a wall of shadow in the shape of a triangle appeared, and as [Reader] jumped back, clutch the item to their chest with a gut feeling that whatever this object was, they couldn't let the shadow have it. But the feeling of ice cold hit them, and soon, as they fell through the strange wall of darkness and purple, the feeling of being ripped apart and put back together overwhelmed them.

      Before [Reader] hit the ground, their world went black.

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Yaaaay! Chapter one done! Hope you enjoyed it! More chapters coming out soon, hopefully in one peice! have a good day/night!

[rottenbrainstuff]

BG3 playthrough: patches, Astarion thoughts, Grymforge

(Spoilers)

Patch 4 is a thing: People are complaining that the patch made Cazador stronger and removed the way to end the fight quicker by yeeting him over the edge of a platform… I dunno. I think you SHOULDN’T be able to cheese the fight like that. I think he SHOULD be hard to beat. He’s such a crusty unimpressive little dickwad, making the fight super hard is going to be the only way I can take that dried up asshole seriously. I’ve also seen some people complain the update made them redownload the whole game again? Or doubled the size of the game in their storage? Wut? Didn’t happen over here, for me, the update was about 10 gigs and only took a few minutes to complete??

Also some discussion about how the patch has added the ability for a dark urge to blame a murder on Astarion. Am I going nuts? I STG I saw that option already. Was that an early access thing or something? When I read the patch notes I was surprised it was a NEW addition. There’s some cranky discussion that Larian just wants to be mean to Astarion - look guys, I think Astarion is probably the favourite character, judging from the amount of his content and the marketing. What’s that old saying about how it’s a terrible thing to be the favourite of the narrative? Because then all the bad stuff happens to you? Anyways if a dark urge is going to blame a murder on anyone, Astarion the VAMPIRE is the obvious choice. So myeh. I think it’s nothing to get offended by, folks. The dialogue that triggers if you do this BTW is hilarious, the team is just like “ah yes, murderous Astarion, that makes sense” and they seem generally ok with it. “Oh Astarion! You and your murder!” Astarion is not happy you accused him, but he seems more offended not simply just by being accused of murder, but by being accused of murdering someone and wasting all the blood.

So I’m working through the grymforge now. In the beginning I was getting horribly lost constantly, because the map changes around as you go to different areas. I think I’m good now but it was funny at first. Even in a video game with a map right there, my sense of direction is terrible.

I liked the little touch of Astarion disapproving if you bow your head in respect by the large group of dead gnome slaves. He is totally fine if you vow to get revenge on their murderers, but useless thoughts and prayers don’t do shit to help anyone. I think I’ve mentioned that he seemed like he was getting better about being huffy when I decide to help people, but then I grabbed a chunk of disapproval for arguing with Nere and Brithvar in support of the slaves. Guess my man still has some issues to sort through. I know that we have his dislike of gnomes in general, lol, but he doesn’t have objections to me helping the gnomes in other situations - IE inviting Barcus to stay at our camp - he specifically objects to me insisting the slaves be let go. In my head I imagine that he gets angry seeing someone jump in like a knight in shining armor saving these people being hurt and killed under their cruel masters, not even asking for any payment in return, when there was no one, not a single soul at all, who helped him in the almost 200 years he spent enslaved by Cazador. I feel like the more someone is in a situation that reminds him of himself, the more uncomfortable and angry he gets about it.

Poor dumbass. My big buff drow is gonna scruff him like a feral cat and feed him churus until he stops hissing.

I’m reading a lot of thoughts about how sad Astarion’s ending is if he stays a spawn and loses his ability to be in the sun, I’m reading drabbles about him crying about being burned in the sun, never able to be in the sun again etc, and it’s like…

I’m not saying it’s not sad, cause it is. His origin scene of waking up in the sunlight is good, his romance morning-after where he’s literally basking in the sunrise (and perhaps it can be assumed, is something he does most mornings) is so nice. For some reason though, I’m just not as moved by it all as much as other people seem to be. Maybe it’s because I have a drow tav who really isn’t… like, the idea of never being able to be in the sun, just in and of itself, it doesn’t feel like that much of a tragedy to him and to me, as a single issue. I know it’s not a single issue, I know the sun thing is symbolic of all the other vampire spawn issues coming back. But in fics and discussion people really do fixate on the sunlight, even suggest that it’s a good enough reason to do the ascendant ending, just to fix it, and yeah. Man. Look, my guy over here knows plenty of people who lived their whole lives without sunlight at all, sunlight is certainly lovely, and it’s certainly not a great thing if the choice is totally removed from you, but this enormous TRAGEDY? I just don’t feel it.

Plus I dunno guys. Maybe I’m weird, but I don’t think the answer to everyone’s story arcs is necessarily erasing everything that’s been done to them and doing a factory reset. It’s too bad Astarion isn’t able to keep the fun perks of the tadpole, but, like, that’s ok. That’s something that can be moved on from. If doing the right thing was always easy and without any tradeoffs or consequences ever, everyone would always do the right thing. Something something you can never really go back because you have been changed by the journey. I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain. I’m not that sad about it and honestly I find it more satisfying in his epilogue that he now has some spawn limitations to contend with again, more satisfying than if everything had just been magically fixed forever like a handy little factory reset. I really like the post-game idea of my drow tav and him traveling through the underdark together to try and organize the freed spawn.

Anyways back to the Grymforge: I met Nere and kicked his stupid slimy ass. I was really mad there seems to be no way to save that poor gnome he flings into the lava. I had no idea you could invite Barcus to stay at your camp? I’ve thoroughly spoiled a lot of things with this game for myself, so I’m always really delighted when I run into something I legit didn’t know. Man dude, I hope this guy you’ve been chasing is worth it. Somehow I rather suspect he isn’t. But you what makes me a bit bemused……. So drow are supposed to have a matriarchal culture, a TERRIBLE matriarchal culture, where males are enslaved or even just freaking killed. And yet, even so, of all the drow characters I’ve run into so far, two have been women and six have been men. (and that’s not even counting the petrified drow that stayed petrified in that field, who I’m assuming are also all guys!) Even in a matriarchal culture, there’s still more important male characters than female ones?... kinda bemused by that. Oh well. Small niggle.

I think there’s an elevator here that leads straight to act 2??? Am I already that close to being done act 1??? When I’m done in the underdark I’m doubling back to do the stuff in the mountain pass.

A personal side note: Astarion’s face is starting to piss me off. I had an ex with an extremely similar face, similar fine bone structure and high cheekbones. He was much younger though. Guy was the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, and dumb as a box of rocks. (Stupid, anti-Semitic rocks) I am constantly reminded of my stupid ex while I contemplate Astarion’s cheekbones, and I mourn that that man was not blessed with more sense or else I might still be with him.

[killalluchihas]

good vibes/bad juju - 53

While on a mission overseas, Gojo gets K-O'd by an unknown person. Within a week, every sorcerer in Japan has heard about it. (A JJK OC story - Rated M, Graphic Violence)

[Chapter One] [Ao3 link] [Previous] [Next]

—/—/—/—

chapter fifty-three: one more nail (in the coffin) 

“Inverted Seal of Heaven, huh?”

There’s no doubt in Gojo’s mind about what Tengen is asking him. Yoshi showed it willingly, and he recognized it at once. 

But no one besides Gojo knows that Yoshi has the power to nullify any cursed energy, even his cursed technique, at will. And he isn’t quite ready to share all his secrets, or Yoshi’s, with Master Tengen. 

So Gojo cocks his head and plays dumb. “Is it like that old spear?”

“The spear was studied by curse users in the fifthteenth century, before it exchanged hands again and disappeared from history,” Tengen says, as if it’s common knowledge. 

This room is beginning to get on Gojo’s nerves. There’s nothing here, nothing to look at besides Master Tengen’s twisted features and expressionless eyes. 

“And?” Gojo prompts them. “I didn’t hire a curse user from the fifteenth century, so…”

Tengen’s voice is smooth and level, too calm for Gojo to decipher any deeper implications. “Until yesterday, I did not believe the seal went beyond the theoretical stage, but it’s the only explanation that fits.”

“Sure, sure. That’s an explanation,” Gojo says agreeably, the same way he assures Principal Gakuganji that his school follows all the crusty traditions they’re supposed to. “You felt a disruption, it was because of the attack. Is that all you needed to know?”

“I’m afraid that it is just the beginning,” Tengen shakes their head. “In the presence of a nullifying force, a sorcerer is unable to use techniques, but they are also unable to detect the flow of cursed energy. This is true even for the Six Eyes...” 

Gojo grins reflexively. “I’ve seen that nullifying seal in action. I didn’t miss anything.”

“You did,” Tengen says simply. “But the barrier around Jujutsu Tech continuously detects all the energy signatures within it,” Tengen explains. Gojo can feel an ache in his jaw from clenching his teeth. He’s never been known for patience, and he already knows how barriers work. “The curses had energy similar to the nature around them, but there was a shift in them when the attack started. And similarly, my barrier sensed the change in this sorcerer’s energy when they released that seal.”

“And what does that change tell you?” Gojo asks, reaching for the last shreds of his composure. Tengen keeps acting like there’s some dire threat here, but won’t get to the point.  

“It tells me that your new sorcerer is not what they appear to be,” Tengen replies, “And that they must be dealt with at once, before they jeopardize the entire order.” 

—/—/—/—

With one last tug on the seam over Yoshi’s shoulder, Nobara takes a step back. Scanning over her work with hard brown eyes, the girl nods sharply. 

“Yep,” she says decisively. “You look great in this. Gimme your phone, we should put this on your story.” 

“Can’t,” Yoshi eyes the student’s reflection in the mirror, amused. “I only have social media for my students’ parents to see. The baseball teams, I mean.” She was never good at maintaining an online presence. Eventually she’d start scrolling through photos without recognizing a single person on her feed. 

Nobara scowls, and takes out her own phone. “Any hot single parents out there?” 

“No idea,” Yoshi laughs, brushing her hand against the patterned fabric, and hears the camera shutter go off. “And I don’t want to attract one.”

“Then how are people gonna know how good you look?” Nobara complains. “And how am I supposed to get photo creds if you don’t post a photo? Now you have to buy it,” she concludes. 

Yoshi rolls her eyes, but looks at herself in the mirror thoughtfully. 

“I wouldn’t wear it,” she says hesitantly. “This is for a night out. Who am I going out with? Actually— when do I have time to go out?” Yoshi is already scheduled for a mission this weekend once the exchange event is over, she told the students about it on the train. 

“I don’t know yet,” Nobara scoffs, “But when you do go out, you’re not gonna wear joggers and a windbreaker. Or sneakers! We’re getting shoes after this to match the purse.” 

“What purse?”

Nobara holds up one.

“That’s too small, I’ll never use it…”

“Shut up,” she scoffs. “You can’t complain when you have a pocket dimension in your hand.” 

Yoshi avoids Nobara’s eye. “I don’t use that for normal things.” 

“That’s bullshit,” the student announces, hands on her hips. “Don’t even try to deny it, if I had a pocket dimension I’d put all my shit in there.” 

She replies by shutting the curtain on Nobara and swiftly changing out of the dress before Nobara has enough time to find another outfit. 

—/—/—/— 

It’s so nice to hang out with his classmates again, Yuji doesn’t even mind carrying most of the shopping bags. He can handle a bit of Nobara’s ‘harassment’ if it means no more hiding in the basement. Besides, he still feels bad for making her upset. Gojo really needs to work on his surprises, because they totally botched it yesterday. 

Yuji takes a sip of the cold passionfruit-flavored drink he just bought with Maki and Megumi. Nobara stalks out of a clothing store alongside Yoshi, looking curiously triumphant. The streets are crammed with conversation and laughter. The midday sun feels good on his face. 

The only thing that would make today better would be if Junpei could be here too. 

He can almost see it, if he thinks hard enough. Junpei would get stuck on bag-carrying duty too, since he’s too kind to say no. It would be up to Megumi’s glares and Maki’s quiet words to remind Nobara to lay off the new kid. Gojo would be tough on him in training, but Junpei would reach new limits if he had the support of his peers. And if Yoshi’s even half as creative as he thinks she is, she’d have an arsenal of new ideas and techniques for Junpei’s shikigami. 

They would all get along. Junpei could’ve been one of them, and suddenly, Yuji can hardly breathe.

Yuji looks towards a storefront at random, and reads over the bright lettering as he tucks all that away. He thinks of Nanami’s measured voice and Gojo’s firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him forward. A few feet away, Maki passes a colorful drink to Nobara, and Megumi waves to Yuji to usher him into their huddle. 

He waves back and heads towards them, but his eyes linger on Yoshi. 

What did she do to fix Junpei’s body? Why is his jellyfish shikigami written into a script? 

Yuji slips back into the conversation as Nobara bursts into a lecture on seasonal color combinations. Maki listens, but Megumi tunes her out by scrolling on his phone. “You’re next, loser,” she threatens, wagging a finger in his face. “All you wear are pajamas, I’m embarrassed to stand next to you.” 

Megumi looks down at his oversized shirt and soft cotton joggers, and says nothing.

Yoshi laughs, agreeing with Nobara.

He should talk to her. But Yuji doesn’t know how to ask. He doesn’t even know how to catch Yoshi alone, so—

“Sensei, can I talk to you alone?” 

—he opts for the straightforward approach.

“Huh?” Nobara frowns suspiciously.

But Yoshi looks unfazed. “Sure, let’s talk,” she says easily. “We’ll catch up,” she tells the girls. Megumi eyes the two of them, curious, but shuffles after Nobara and Maki without asking questions. 

Well.

It was easy enough to ask, but now Yuji can’t figure out what to say.

His mouth feels dry, so he takes a furious sip from his frozen smoothie. It does nothing. 

Yoshi just squints against the sunlight in her face, and starts walking.

The streets are crowded enough that there’s a buffer of strangers bustling around them before long. Yuji isn’t sure of the etiquette regarding sorcery talk in public, but he’s fairly certain no one’s listening to them out here. A shopping bag hangs from the crook of Yoshi’s elbow, while several are hooked around Yuji’s forearms. He only pays enough attention to the street to avoid crushing any of Nobara’s bags. 

“So,” Yoshi glances at him patiently.

“What happened—last week?” he asks, halting over the words as he realizes it was just last week. It feels as though so much has happened since then. “After I passed out at Junpei’s school?” 

He only spares her a quick look, and then turns forward to keep from walking into any pedestrians. 

“You weren’t told anything?” she asks in a measured voice. 

Yuji almost says Yes, of course I know what’s going on, but the truth is—“No one knows what you did. I guess it didn’t work, and that’s why you left, but…” 

She sighs, and Yuji looks at her again to see her brow scrunched up in thought. 

“I’m sorry for leaving,” Yoshi remarks tightly. “It won’t happen again.”

“That’s alright,” Yuji says with wide eyes. “You were brought in out of nowhere, so. Yeah.” Surely it was hard on her, trying and failing to save a dying person. 

But Yoshi just gives a hum in response, noncommittal. 

“Um,” Yuji bites on the inside of his cheek, not sure what to make of her reaction. “Can you explain… the…?” 

“Jellyfish?” she guesses. 

“Yeah.” Yuji swallows.

Her jaw clenches and unclenches as she thinks. “I can’t heal people like Shoko can,” Yoshi begins. “I can’t even heal myself like that. I have to work around it.”

Yuji nods. “Through talismans,” he says, “And they require sacrifices.”

“Yes.” Her head dips in approval. “That curse’s technique went far past the limits of a human body,” she explains, picking her words with care. “And it took more to reverse it.” 

“More cursed energy?”

“And more knowledge,” she says softly. “But it’s possible to go beyond one’s limits, if you’re restrictive about it.” 

Limits, restrictions. Yuji is familiar with the phrasing. “So you made a vow with Junpei?” 

He frowns, considering the state that he’d been in. Even after eating that healing coin, Junpei hadn’t been able to properly speak. 

Yoshi hums again, staring forward. Her voice goes strangely flat. “It didn’t go as planned. I expected to borrow his summoning power in exchange for undoing Mahito’s curse.” 

Mahito. The name rings in Yuji’s head, but he shuts away the thought for later. “So, the vow didn’t work?”

Her gaze turns away, dark eyes scanning the street. Yuji thinks he’s pretty good at reading people, and she seems… uncertain. 

“He changed the terms.” Yoshi says it like she can hardly believe it, even now. Like it’s still haunting her. “He wanted to destroy Mahito. It was all he could think about.” 

Yuji doesn’t understand. “And… then?”

The look on Yoshi’s face makes him wary. “It was all he could think about,” she repeats.

“What does that mean?” Yuji asks weakly. “He wanted to destroy Mahito, so—so he…” His brow knits together. “So he put it into a vow?”

—/—/—

Do you want to live, Junpei?

I want… I w-want…

The thought crystalizes in his mind, sharp and solid and sure. Yoshi feels it like a lance through her ribcage, like a gong reverberating in her ears, like a promise coiling around her soul. 

I want to kill Mahito. You must. I’ll do anything. Destroy him. DESTROY HIM—

—/—/—

“I’m bound to his shikigami by his will,” Yoshi says quietly. “Until Mahito is gone.” 

Of all the sorcerers, Yuji probably knows the least about vows and the dangers that Yoshi has placed before herself. He’s only been warned about refusing any vows that Sukuna might offer, and not much else. 

But for Junpei to make a deal in his last moments, and not ask to be saved—

“And… and you couldn’t convince him?” 

At his question, Yoshi looks unmoored. She turns her gaze towards the crowds like she’s lost in the sea of people, even though Yuji can spot Maki’s swishing ponytail just down the block. 

“No, I couldn’t,” she says, and words come out stilted. “He was—it wasn’t just physical. He was hurt in—in every way. Bearing it any longer was—too much.” 

Yuji grabs her arm suddenly, pulling them to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“What is it?” Yoshi’s expression clears as she looks at him, clouded only by concern. 

He looks straight at her. At the frown tugging at her mouth, at the harsh set of her shoulders she can’t seem to relax. A bandage peeks out from her neck, hidden beneath her hair. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

Yuji blinks, because he was thinking it yet it’s Yoshi saying it to him.  

“Huh?” Yuji says weakly.

“Mahito isn’t like other curses. Junpei saw him as a person. As a friend. There was no way to warn him,” she continues firmly. “You did everything you could.”

“You did more,” he interrupts.

Yoshi’s shoulders slump down, but she doesn’t look relieved. “He didn’t deserve to die like that.”

Oh, he didn’t think she would say that. He didn’t think it would still hurt so much to hear someone else say it. Yuji scrubs a hand over his face, angry at himself for tearing up over such simple words. 

“Why did you fix the body?” he asks in a rush, before he thinks too much. 

Yoshi purses her lips. “Because I wouldn’t be able to fight Mahito if I didn’t understand his technique. Junpei offered everything he had.” 

“Everything?” Yuji’s brow furrows.

Her eyes stare straight ahead as she speaks. “Sort of like what Shoko does.”

Shoko? But Shoko works in the morgue, doing autopsies—

Suddenly, Yoshi darts toward him, and raises a smoothie cup at him. Yuji blinks at it, and then the condensation on his palm. He’d almost dropped it all over the ground, and Yuji hadn’t even realized he was still holding it. 

He takes it back with a mumbled word of thanks. 

“No problem,” Yoshi sighs.

“No,” Yuji clears his throat. “Thank you for everything. I think—I think we should go find the others now.”

“You sure?” 

Yuji nods, unable to say any more. Junpei had been in pain. Yoshi didn’t have the knowledge to fix him, not at first. Instead she learned it after picking apart his body. 

“So,” he says after a few moments, before they’ve rejoined the other students. “When we find that curse, will you be able to fight it?”

“I’ll do more than that,” Yoshi says under her breath. 

—/—/—/—

For the majority of the day, Megumi enjoys himself. He would never choose to be out here in the most congested, tourist-y area of Tokyo, but it isn’t that bad. Kugisaki has enough victims to split her attention between each of them, giving him a reprieve from her antics. Maki and Yoshi go along with most of what Kugisaki does, but every once in a while he’ll share an exasperated look with one of them, and it’s nice to know he isn’t the odd one out. 

Itadori is… well, he has no complaints about how much he chatters, because at least he’s here, alive, to be able to talk Megumi’s ear off. Just yesterday morning, Itadori was dead, and now he’s walking down a busy street arguing loudly with Kugisaki over where to eat lunch. 

It’s not a miracle. It’s just some screwed up loophole of curses and sorcery, but it doesn’t feel like one. 

“I think we should split up for lunch,” Yoshi cuts in, sensing the tensions rising between Itadori and Kugisaki. “If you want to eat here for the photos, do you really need all of us here anyway?” 

Megumi’s pretty sure he said that two blocks ago, but this time Kugisaki actually seems to consider it. She picked this place—a frilly, French-themed (or Victorian England?) cafe with a display window full of glazed pastries and dainty finger-foods—and really just wants to go inside to take photos. Apparently this cafe was visited by some celebrity and now everyone is posting photos of some fancy sandwiches, and Kugisaki is determined to do the same. 

“And I’m hungry!” Itadori cries, throwing his arms up. There’s a forty-minute line leading up the cafe’s front doors. 

“I’m hungry too,” Yoshi agrees before Kugisaki can snap at Itadori. “But Maki says she’s interested, so the two of you can go together.”

Megumi’s eyebrows creep upward as Kugisaki begins to flounder. “I—but I’m telling you—I can—I guess that’s okay then…” she peters off, eyes darting to Maki. He’s used to Kugisaki putting up more of a fight. She brushes her bright hair back and asks, “Right? You’ll stay with me?”

“Yeah, I can wait,” Maki says easily, not even glancing at the intimidating queue. 

“We’ll meet up when we’re done,” Yoshi waves to them, and beckons the two boys forward. “Buy me a good slice of cake. Have fun.” 

Kugisaki throws them one last look before they go, trying to look reproachful. “Don’t forget about my stuff! If you drop even one bag, I’ll make you regret being born!”

Itadori whoops, carelessly swinging Kugisaki’s shopping bags in the air as they leave. “Nice work, Yoshi-sensei! Thank god Kugisaki listens to you.”

And Maki, Megumi thinks to himself. He takes out his phone and opens up the map app, scanning for other places to eat. “Where should we go?” he asks the two of them. “I’m not picky, but I’d like to sit down somewhere.” 

“I don’t care either, as long as we can get seats soon!” Itadori agrees, slowing down to peek at Megumi’s phone too. 

Yoshi hums, looking at the street around them instead. “Do you guys like sushi? Like, the kind that comes on a conveyor-belt?”

“Yes!” Itadori howls at once, grinning. “I wanted to go last time we were in Roppongi, but then it turns out we weren’t in Roppongi at all!” 

Their teacher looks back at Itadori with a puzzled look, but chooses not to ask. “Megumi, what do you think?”

He shrugs, still looking at his phone. “The closest place doesn’t have any reviews, so I’m not sure it’s any good.”

“Not that one. It’s right next to Shibuya 109.” 

Megumi frowns at her, and then zooms out on his phone to see. Huh. He didn’t realize they’d strayed so far from Harajuku while Kugisaki dragged them around. Usually Megumi would’ve noticed where they were, but they’d taken some side roads along the way to that French place and he’d lost track. 

“And it’s a good place,” Yoshi assures, leading them to the main road. From there it’s just another street away from the huge pedestrian crossing in Shibuya. “My friend reminded me about it when I told her I was in the area.” 

“What friend?” Megumi wonders. She’s spent all her time at Jujutsu Tech these past weeks, and Megumi knows basically everyone there. 

“From New York,” Yoshi says dismissively. “I don’t think they’ll be too busy, it’s a small place. And the plates aren’t too expensive.” 

Then Itadori groans, smacking himself in the forehead. Megumi is sure he deserved it so he doesn’t ask, but Yoshi looks concerned. 

Itadori explains that he forgot about the black credit card Kugisaki has been using all day: the three of them would have to pay for their lunch out of pocket, but Gojo would be footing the bill at Kugisaki’s fancy cafe. 

“I feel weird about that anyway,” Yoshi confesses bluntly, picking at a lock of loose hair. It’s gotten frizzier as the day progressed, and it’s clearly bothering Yoshi but she won’t tie it up. “Just how rich is Gojo?” 

Alongside the bags from Kugisaki that he and Itadori are carrying, Yoshi has two of her own. There’s perfumed tissue paper covering the tops, so he has no idea what she bought, but he knows it was at Kugisaki’s insistence and on Gojo’s dime. 

Megumi shakes his head. “He could just lock the card if he wanted to,” he points out. 

Yoshi stops them in front of a building crammed with tiny stores, and points down a dimly-lit staircase. Megumi hadn’t been sure about finding an uncrowded shop until now. 

“That looks so suspicious!” Itadori laughs, marching right down to the basement-level store. The doors chime as he pushes them, and a chorus of voices welcome them inside.

—/—/—/—

[Previous] [Next]

A/N: We're deviating from canon now, simply because I still don't know how cursed energy works and I'm WAY behind in the manga. I'm pulling this outta thin air, y'all just gotta deal with it. Basically—Tengen can sense something that Gojo can't, and that's why Yoshi has avoided her nullifying seal whilst on campus.

Anyway—Yuji finally knows more about Junpei :( He's too dumb to ask how Yoshi could talk to Junpei while he was dying, though. And don't worry about Yoshi's sketchy choice for lunch, I'm actually basing that on a real location in Shibuya that I went to in 2019. Kinda weird that Wendy suggested it though, isn't it?

[salty-medley]

That's a SSO post, how rare these days!

I decided to write this as the surge of "Ugh these people saying SSO was better before are just so dumb and blinded by nostalgia they can go fuck themselves" start to be rather revealing of something: It's ok to not understand a feeling, you don't need to get on your high horses just because you can't grasp something.

This video ( and the others of the author! )shows it really well:

I know that the first degree team is already grinding their teeth when seeing the word "realism", how dare I to qualify the old SSO as something realist? The graphics aren't even good!

It's funny how people claiming to be the ones wanting to "educate" others about few subjects are the ones who'd need education: realism isn't only about pretty graphics, it's about small details. Let's take few examples:

Take a first gen andalusian and a third gen one. Which one is the most realistic? You'd say the second only basing your thinking on the look, but the first one, who's not cold tolerant and made on a period where horses weren't fantasy is the most realistic.

Take the bus before and the bus now. Once again it's the first one, you needed to be there on time to catch it, to have your ticket. It was something you had to THINK about.

Take the jump, with the SR quest and the already learnt now. Same. Because IRL you need to learn it after a time, you don't do that five minutes after a first time riding. And the fact it was available for people ready to pay... Idk for you, but usually taking horse riding lessons cost you money IRL. So, more realism again.

For lot of us, SSO was a way to experiment a life we couldn't have IRL, lot of us dreamt to take horse riding lessons in a pretty countryside stable but were only able to ride one time on a pony in a fair or something like that. Having now everything easy and given on a silver plate ruins the immersion.

I'll take the late area updated as an example for you to understand: the Hollow Woods. Sure it's pretty, full of water, glowing insects, full of druids and magic stones which levitate while making light, you can trade light with foxes and other stuff. But that's the main problem here. Druids and magic was supposed to be a SECRET, people of Valedale saw the druids but couldn't say if they were only weirdos or real mages. Now you have everything in plain sight. And that's incredibly dumb. By doing that, they ruined the magic system written for the game, and made the other characters a litteral joke: the island is so small that everyone would know what happens in Valedale and know that magic is real here. So, sure, the graphics are "pretty" ( if you like this style, some perfer more grunge or old looks and it's ok) but the rest is forever ruined because it's something added superficially without thinking about the consequences in the story and background.

I'm happy ( let's say neutral, I don't care about you tbh) for you if your superficial glittery graphics are the only thing you need in the game, but I'm also allowed to feel disappointment and anger when I see that everything I was promised, teased and started to experiment, was crushed like that.

We didn't like the crusty graphics for the crustiness, but for the whole game, its ambiance, its challenges, its soul. It's like receiving a kick in the ass without warning and feeling no longer welcome in a place you pay to be in.

[worms-i-think]

Letter in a Recipe Box.

~1k words, angsty, rosa-centric. I was thinking about our attorney’s parents and wondering about their family dynamic, so what if it was…like this? This is one of my first times actually writing something through to post, so lmk how it feels :)

————

Hi Mom,

     It’s been a while. A lot has changed since the last time I wrote you a letter—I’ve been really busy lately, but things seem to be going well. The team and I have been working hard, and I’ve barely had time to catch a break, but at least I got to deep clean my bathroom this morning.  Someone’s got to tell me to stop buying cosmetics and skincare products in those adorable tiny bottles—they’re everywhere. I know you’d scold me for leaving them all over the counter if you could see me.

     Luke and I made dinner the other day. I didn’t think asparagus could retain that much water, but sometimes miracles happen, I guess! At least the two of us tried. Peanut could’ve eaten some of it raw, but there was too much oil and seasoning for him to have it safely, so Luke said we should start a compost with our failed food attempts. Even though that was a joke, I think composting is a good idea. I love the idea of having a lush, green apartment, you know? I’m just not sure how many plants I could raise at a time.

     He and I have been really close lately. I know I said in my last letter that he’s changed a lot since we were young, but I honestly think that’s for the best. He’s the same Luke, just older and closer than before. Plus, he looks like he’s having fun too.

     The more I hang out with him, the more I think back to my high school days. Remember when I got my license and Luke and I almost crashed into a telephone pole while we were getting poster board for a project? I still drive extra cautiously around that intersection.

     I joke that I’ll have to retake Driver’s Ed soon because Mr. Wing takes me so many places. Still, I think he likes being my chauffeur, which makes me glad. Of course, I still have to drive myself to my own things too, so I don’t depend on him all of the time. Imagine if I made him drive me to the gynecologist last week? I think he would’ve fainted.

     Oh, Mr. Wing makes really good food too! He’d probably make much better asparagus than Luke and I do, but if he came for dinner I think I’d have to drag him along as well, since apparently we need to know what good asparagus tastes like. Luke talks about you from time to time too. He misses you, I think.

     That reminds me, you haven’t met the rest of my coworkers yet—Marius has gone on a pottery kick since I last wrote to you, so he’s decided to add a wheel and kiln to his studio. This isn’t too surprising to me, because I know he’s got plenty of money and space to afford all his crazy endeavors. Still, it’s funny that he chooses to start so many equipment-specific art hobbies without ever replacing his old oil paints. It’s endearing how he treats his crusty brushes.

     He’s got a brother, did you know that? His name’s Giann. Marius hasn’t seen him for around two years, but he still talks about him when we’re alone and the rest of the room goes quiet.

     Mr. Wing made me his General Tso's Pork this weekend, one of the things Professor Hume taught him to cook. While we were out doing fieldwork, he reminisced on all the things he’d said about law…between that and the stories about the camera and the amusement park that I told you last time, I think he sounds like quite the character. I wish I could’ve known him as a mentor instead of just a professor. I wish I could meet Giann, too. They both sound like wonderful people. Maybe we’ve all got someone missing.

     Oh, but speaking of Marius and his pottery, I bet you’d love the floral design on this teacup I’m drinking out of. He’s really amazing at painting—it’s so interesting to watch him work. Marius was painting a similar one for Dr. Richter the other day, cracking himself up because the flower bouquet subtly formed a bit of a…phallic shape. If Dr. Richter had any less composure, I’m pretty sure he’d break it over his head. I can already see his cold glare now. I do have to admit, I like seeing the members of our team joke around, even if they pretend they hate each other afterwards. It’s amazing to see them warming up.

     Dr. Richter hasn’t talked to me about you yet. I’m a little surprised, considering he’s a psychiatrist and we’re such good friends, but I think he’s trying not to tread on anything sensitive.

     It doesn’t always feel sensitive all the time, though. Sometimes I feel okay on my own.

      When Luke and I were making the asparagus a few days ago, I told him I had the instructions for a seasoning I wanted to try, so he started looking around the counter for my recipe box. I told him I kept my favorite recipes saved on my tablet, which is true, but I didn’t mention that I keep the recipe box on my nightstand nowadays. I’ve been stuffing these letters in there for months. I started writing them sitting at the counter around the time I started at Themis, but I didn’t know where to put them considering I don’t know where to send them and I’m not sure you’d respond. It’s somehow become a little stash of notes and memories.

     Though I’ve heard that writing letters and throwing them away is cathartic, I couldn’t get rid of any of them. Maybe you’ll need to read them some day.

     Thanks for the Christmas card, at least. Maybe it would’ve been nice if you sent a note. If I’m being completely honest, it made me bitter, arriving a week late with a wad of money and no return address. Happy holidays, I guess. And I’d just come back happy from a party with my coworkers.

     I’m sorry I wrote that. You know the feeling when you get so sad you lash out at people? I try not to be that person as much as I can, especially in my line of work, but when I’m alone like this I remember how much I could’ve shared with you and it just hurts so bad that I need to say something to get it out, otherwise I’ll have another migraine in the office like I did after my holiday break. Please don’t be mad. I know that probably makes it seem like I hate you, but I really never could.

     Tell Dad I said hi. I’m sorry I got so mad at the end of this one—life’s been a lot lately and I miss you a ton. I promise I’ll be more positive in the next letter.

     I love you.

See you soon,

Rosa

[shig-a-shig-ah]

LAYING CLAIM

» pairing: dabi x fem!reader

» cw: dubcon, revoked consent, noncon (we’re going on a journey, okay?), rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, crying, gratuitously fanon characterization. 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: Started this months and months ago, and since I’m finally getting around to wrapping some WIPs, I guess you can have it now. Thanks @thebiggergroove​ for beta-reading!

» wc: 5.3k

» ao3 mirror

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The thing about Dabi is he's not usually a possessive guy. Fucking is fucking, as far as he's concerned—it doesn't really matter who is doing it with whom as long as everyone is getting off on it. But goddamn if there isn't something about you that makes him want to make you his.

And he's gotten that, more or less. It took some sweet talking and cajoling, and a few late nights where he made you come until you couldn't see straight, but you agreed not to go sleeping with anyone else. Sure, you've made him promise the same, but that's fine. Not that he's going to actually stop, of course, but he goes out on recruiting missions alone and he figures what you don't know won't hurt you.

That's all enough to satisfy him, at least for a little while. But then a few weeks pass and there it is again: that stupid jealousy and all those unbidden thoughts about the people you were with before him. People he knows. You never talk in too much detail about your past hookups, but he's not stupid, is all too aware that he's not the first one in this ragged band of miscreants that you've crawled into bed with. You've fucked Jin, and Shigaraki, and probably even Magne, god rest her soul—Dabi hadn't missed the way the two of you had huddled up giggling in the corner of the old bar one night, disappearing together unusually early, making those bedroom eyes at each other. And in theory that's fine. Nothing wrong with two girls having fun together, after all. Hell, bi chicks are hot and Dabi wouldn't mind taking advantage of that someday.

But first he needs to find a way to get the image of you with your legs spread for half the League out of his goddamn head.

If he's being honest, it's Shigaraki who bothers him the most. Magne is dead. Jin is a decent dude and, Dabi has to imagine, tame as a kitten in the sack. But Shigaraki, well...Dabi can tell just by looking at the guy that he's a freak, and the idea of you riding Shigaraki's dry, crusty dick, of letting him do who-knows-what filthy shit to you? It just gets to him.

And then Toga has to suggest that stupid game and go putting ideas in his head.

You're all sitting around the crumbling office space that passes for a hideout, drinking to celebrate the League's first successful double-amputation (because fuck that germophobic, transphobic prick), and blondie is just begging to play a drinking game. Normally Dabi doesn't go for that shit—why anyone needs an excuse to get wasted is beyond him—but he's in a good mood, and you make that adorable pouty face as you tell him that you played in college, that it's really fun, and somehow he finds himself sitting in a circle on the dusty floor with the rest of you losers playing 'I haven't' or whatever the fuck it's called.

It's all bland shit to start. Toga's never driven a car, Shigaraki's never gone to school. But, after you've made your way around the circle once, everyone seems to be loosening up and Spinner takes one for the team by getting to the interesting shit and admitting he's never slept with a girl. It spurs a moment of awkward silence made all the worse by his red face and obvious self-consciousness about being a virgin, but then Compress stage-whispers "Neither have I," before winking salaciously at the blushing lizard and taking a dramatic pull from his beer bottle. It's enough to lighten the mood.

After that, Dabi's forced to admit it's a decent game. There's not much he hasn't done sexually or criminally, and since those are the two topics everyone focuses on, he finds himself getting hammered faster than usual. It's a good thing too—his buzz makes it easier to ignore the look you and Shigaraki exchange when Jin announces that he's never tried watersports, easier to pretend his gut isn't twisting at the knowing smirk on your leader's face as he raises his beer bottle to drink and you follow suit.

That particular moment makes it all the more surprising when, on your next turn, you hide an embarrassed face behind your hand and announce that you've never taken it in the ass.

Dabi can't stop thinking about it the rest of the night. Obsessing over it, and the idea of being your first, your only, even if only in some less than conventional way. The thing is, it's downright tame in comparison to a lot of what you two get up to, so barely even kinky that it's almost impossible to believe you've never tried it. Sure, you've never done it together, but he'd just figured neither of you were all that into it, since it hadn't come up when you were doing lewd shit to each other.

That kind of sex is fine from his perspective, but only fine. He doesn't actively seek it out because in his mind nothing beats the feel of being balls-deep in a warm pussy, but that doesn't mean he hasn't done it. He's hooked up with plenty of girls that were into it and has always been happy to oblige; hell, he's even taken it more than once, on account of the fact that when it comes to the bedroom he's willing to try anything twice.

But doing it with you? Well, that thought sticks. The two of you finally go to bed and Dabi's so turned on by the idea of your virgin ass that he can't help testing the waters, prodding teasingly at that tight hole with one spit-slicked finger until you're squirming away and whining. He doesn't manage to convince you right then, but he makes those puppy dog eyes that are far more effective than they have any right to be, and you agree to give it a go in the future.

"Not here," you specify, the words fuzzy on your drunken tongue. "Someplace nicer, with a real bed." You already have your reservations, and you certainly don't relish the idea of undertaking that particular venture now, on a worn mattress in this falling apart building, with its paper-thin walls and complete lack of hot water. Between your booze-fueled haze and the seeming interminability of the League's poverty, you mostly forget about that casual promise by the following morning.

But Dabi doesn't. He picks up a small bottle of lube the next day and carries it around in his pocket shamelessly, a little reminder that he has something to look forward to besides roasting that prick Endeavor, and he strokes himself off to the idea more than he's proud to admit as he waits for the League to move on to better things. He can be patient, when he needs to be.

That patience takes a toll though, and the minute the League settles into their new digs in Re-Destro's sprawling villa, where there's actually privacy and clean, comfortable beds, Dabi shows up at your door with a cheshire grin and every intention of finally getting something from you that's just for him.

You grimace when you remember that promise, try briefly to talk him out of it even, but he isn't so easily dissuaded. It's made all the harder by the fact that you can't give him a specific reason why you've never tried it, beyond that it seems uncomfortable and you hadn't particularly enjoyed the couple instances when you'd allowed someone to slip a finger or two in there.

"C'mon, baby girl," Dabi coos, his breath hot in your ear as he pins you to the wall, working two unnaturally warm fingers into your cunt. "I'll make sure it's good for you. Be gentle, get you nice and warmed up first, all that sweet shit."

It really is unfair how persuasive he can be when he fixes those pleading turquoise eyes on you. The way the pads of his fingers are curling just right deep inside isn't helping either, and he teases you like that until you give in to his cajoling, though you still insist on waiting a couple nights so that you can do your research and make sure you're entirely prepared. Dabi demonstrates his appreciation by burying his face in your cunt and not surfacing for air until you've come three times and are begging for a break.

When the night finally arrives, Dabi's feeling positively giddy. He slips into your bedroom with a bottle of wine and a couple glasses he's brought, a little something to help you relax because he's a gentleman when he wants to be. It should be good booze too—he lifted it from Re-Destro's private stash, and he's certain baldy doesn't drink anything that costs less than ¥30,000. Of course, Re-Destro doesn't love sharing either, but the uptight prick is too scared of Shigaraki to complain about anything the League does. They all take advantage of that, because they can and because it's fun to watch him bite his tongue when they piss him off.

You don't make it easy for Dabi to focus on pouring the drinks though, not when you're reclining in that armchair by the window, freshly showered and fidgeting nervously. He was half-erect before he got here from just thinking about what he was going to do to you, and the sight of you acting like you're some blushing virgin spurs him all the way to rock-hard. By the time your glasses are close to empty, he's straining uncomfortably in his pants, and can't fight back his impatience any longer.

"What do you think, doll?" he murmurs, setting his glass to the side and standing up, shrugging his jacket off before leaning down to ghost his lips over your neck. "You ready to move this to the bed?"

The way you chew at your lower lip anxiously before nodding makes his dick throb.

You empty your glass with one final, large swallow, your heart racing as you rise. You know it's stupid—you and Dabi have fucked countless times and a lot of it hasn't exactly been vanilla—but it's been a long time since you've actually tried anything new. His obvious excitement doesn't help either, paradoxically; it leaves you fretting about what will happen if you're somehow bad at this, or if you can't take it and have to stop. You've never really worried about disappointing him before, but now the thought weighs acutely on your mind.

It's with halting steps that you approach the bed and then, when you can't realistically drag your feet any longer, you finally tug the nightgown you're wearing off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor to reveal what's underneath.

"Damn, baby girl," Dabi breathes, looking you up and down. You'd figured that since it was a special occasion you might as well dress up, donning a strappy bra and panties. They're little more than elaborate, crisscrossing pieces of lace, all white since he'd seemed so fixated on this pseudo-innocent, first-time act. His reaction doesn't disappoint, eyes lighting up as he stares at you hungrily.

You let yourself fall back on the bed, nestling against the many pillows. The look on his face has your stomach fluttering, and the wine has helped you to relax a bit despite your nerves, a pleasant warmth spreading throughout your body. It's joined by a different kind of heat when you feel the mattress dip beneath Dabi's weight as he positions himself over you, one knee resting between your thighs, just barely brushing against your center, a hint of what's to come.

"You look so good I could just eat you up," Dabi whispers hotly against your ear before tracing his lips over your jaw. Even though he wants to take his time, let himself savor this, it's taking every ounce of patience he has to keep the promise he made to get you worked up and ready for him, to not to tear those pretty bits of satin and lace off and have his way with you right then.

You whine eagerly when his mouth slants hungrily over yours, savoring the feel of those mismatched lips, the way the rough skin of the bottom one contrasts so deliciously with the top. Hot hands run over your sides as the kiss deepens, your tongues tangling together, and you moan against him.

When you finally break for air, Dabi moves his lips to your throat, his tongue lapping at your pulse before he sinks his teeth into you. He loves to mark you up, loves making sure everyone can see that you're indisputably his, and it's even hotter now that he knows he's going to fuck you in a way no one else has. You're shivering beneath him as he works, your hand tugging insistently at his hair, and Dabi lets out a low, throaty growl.

"Guess I'm not the only one who's eager, huh?"

Your hips tilt in response, pressing needily into his firm thigh, and Dabi can feel the skin on his cheeks straining against his staples as he grins. He traces one hand up over your ribs, cupping at your supple breasts, teasing your hardening nipple through the flimsy fabric of your bra. Those deft fingers work under the seam of your lingerie as he shifts his weight, increasing the pressure against your center while he pinches and tugs at the peaks of your breasts until you're whimpering, spreading slick along his leg even through your thin panties.

Dabi pulls away abruptly, rolling onto his back and tugging at you to change positions, shaking his head when you move to mount his hips.

"Come here, baby girl," he says, his tongue tracing over his bottom lip. "Like I said, I wanna eat you up."

The promise in those words sends a bolt of heat straight through your core as he guides you to straddle his face, hot breath tickling your inner thighs. One calloused thumb brushes your clit lightly through your underwear, blue eyes sparkling when your breath hitches at that soft touch. When he pulls that useless fabric to the side and runs his tongue over your already-damp slit, you shudder.

Dabi lets out a pleased groan at your reaction and gets to work more earnestly, lapping at your sensitive nub, licking and sucking until you're moaning and only then shifting a little so that he can lap at your insides, that same rough thumb replacing the pressure of his tongue on your clit. It strokes firm circles as he buries that hot, wet muscle inside you, the metal barbell there teasing your inner walls as you grind involuntarily against it. You can't help but whine when he withdraws it, but that disappointment is quickly replaced by you startling as that same wet muscle extends further back to tease at your puckered entrance.

"A-ah, Dabi, wait," you protest, your face heating up self-consciously almost at once.

Dabi pauses, shifting just enough to keep his reply from being muffled as one warm hand runs reassuringly up your thigh. "I don't think I can help myself, doll," he says, his slick-coated lips splitting into a wide grin, "you just taste too good."

That heat in your face worsens as he dives back in, not even waiting for you to respond before he's flexing his tongue to poke at that tight ring of muscle. You still try to squirm away, feeling unprepared for this. You hadn't even considered it among the possible activities were volunteering to participate in, but Dabi is holding you firmly in place with the hand not working at your clit, and when another whine of protest escapes you, it's weaker than the first. The foreign sensation of his tongue against your neglected hole has you hyperaware of the press of his thumb at your apex, and you can feel tension building in your core even as you writhe in embarrassment.

It's as though he knows, too, and you suppose maybe he does; after all, he's the one who's done this before. He thrusts his tongue a little deeper, rolling your clit between two hot fingers with enough pressure to cut off any further protests. A long moan is the only sound you can muster as you spill over the edge, your thighs clenching around his head and your hips jerking shakily as you ride out your climax with his tongue still buried obscenely in your rear.

Dabi's face is covered in your juices by the time he slides from between your thighs, and he wipes it away carelessly with one arm as he repositions you again, pinning you on your back and wasting no time peeling away your now-soaked panties. He grins at the sight of your glistening folds and swollen clit before stripping off most of his own clothes, kicking them unceremoniously to the side and relaxing between your legs, kissing at your still-trembling thighs.

He teases at your sensitive cunt with his fingers, coating them in your juices as you whimper. "Ready for a little more?" he asks, and you nod despite the fact that your cheeks are still burning from before and your stomach is knotting with nerves.

"Just...go slow, okay?"

"Of course, baby girl," he promises, "I told you I'd take good care of you." With that, he starts to work you open, dipping one finger into your tight hole just until he reaches the first knuckle, working it in and out slowly. His other hand toys at your clit, stroking and rolling that puffy nub again, making you mewl.

Dabi waits until you're relaxed before trying any more, pulling away from you just long enough to dig the lube from the pocket of his discarded pants, coating his fingers with it. He works that lone finger deeper this time, in and out until it's buried to the last knuckle.

The sensation is strange, but not entirely unpleasant; even if you think you'd rather have that finger curling in your cunt, the slight stretch is still adding to the faint throb already growing inside you, the one that worsens when his thumb returns to your apex.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Dabi growls when one well-placed stroke of his thumb has you clenching lightly around his finger. He ruts his hips against the sheets, trying vainly to find some relief for his aching member, but it's not enough—he needs to feel you, needs the vice-like grip clutching his fingers to be wrapped around his cock, and he needs it soon.

You feel him withdraw to add more lube, and then he's fingering you again, adding another digit to stretch you wider. It comes with a stab of discomfort when he forces his way past the second knuckle, and you reflexively try to pull back. "Dabi, that's too much."

He abandons his soothing attentions to your clit, one warm palm pressing you tight against the mattress to keep you in place, stroking soothingly at your hip. His breath tickles over your inner thigh as he chuckles softly. "If you can't take this, how are you ever gonna take me, hmm?" he says teasingly. "You're doing great, baby, just relax."

You will yourself to unclench, trying to picture Dabi's satisfied face once you're taking him, that adoring look he sometimes gives you, the one that you relish. Your efforts are only marginally effective, but Dabi keeps pushing deeper, fucking you slowly but insistently with those fingers, and when you don't complain again, his thumb returns to caressing your sex.

"That's a good girl." Dabi picks up the pace, cursing under his breath. "You're doing so good."

You're wriggling against his hand now, trying to increase the friction at your center, not quite minding the foreign sensation of his fingers and the uncanny fullness they bring so much now that there's heat thrumming in your core. "Y-yeah, like that," you pant encouragingly, and Dabi grins.

"That doing it for you?" he purrs. "Think you can take more?"

You start to shake your head—the stretch now feels like all you can handle—but Dabi's already adding a third slick finger, shoving it in with less restraint than before. You feel more than discomfort this time when three knuckles breach your asshole, and it quickly dampens the arousal that had been steadily building. "Dabi, slow down," you gasp.

"Aw, are you sure you can't handle it?" His blue eyes meet yours, pupils blown wide with arousal as he looks you over with the hungry gaze. "'Cause if I'm being honest, it feels like you're trying to suck me in. Like this greedy little hole wants to get fucked."

The huskiness of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, even as another whine of discomfort escapes you. For just a second his expression darkens slightly, but then he's slowing his movements, twisting his fingers instead of thrusting them in and out.

"Better?" he asks, and you think you catch an edge of impatience in his voice.

It is better though, a little at least, enough that you can focus on the way your cunt flutters every time his thumb strokes over your clit. So you just nod; it's not like this wasn't bound to be a little unpleasant at points, right?

Dabi's smile stretches wider, his thumb working faster. A mewl slips from between your lips and Dabi takes that as encouragement, his fingers resuming their persistent thrusts. It's still uncomfortable, though not quite as bad as when he started, and your teeth sink into your lower lip to bite back your complaints. You let your eyes fall closed instead, trying to focus on his attentions to your hooded nub, on the heat that's pooling in your lower belly. You're inching towards another release, and you let a hand lift to your breast, tweaking at the pebbled flesh of one nipple to help yourself along.

"D-dabi, I'm close," you stammer, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Yeah?" His movements speed up, his voice breathy and excited. "Do it, baby girl. Come for me and then I'm gonna fuck this tight little ass of yours."

You swallow hard, trying not to dwell on those words for now—you can tell you've loosened up more, tolerating the jab of his fingers, but his cock is substantially larger than those, all too intimidating. Thankfully, it's not hard to remain distracted, to focus only on your approaching peak.

Dabi can feel that orgasm rip through you when it hits, your asshole clenching around his fingers as you keen, and it's then that he reaches the limits of his patience. He needs you now, needs the thrill of burying himself in your tight ass and claiming you for his own, of reaching his own release deep inside and then watching his seed spill out afterwards. What a satisfying sight that will be.

He scrambles up from between your legs to catch your lips with his, fumbling his boxers off as his tongue invades your mouth. When he pulls away, his eyes are bright, needy. "Ready for me?" he asks.

You're not, not really, but you can see the fervor in his eyes, hear the urgency in his voice, and you convince yourself that he won't be able to work you open much more with his fingers no matter what. Your agreement doesn't matter anyway—he's already rolling you onto your side and slotting his chest against your back, his straining erection poking at the cleft between your thighs.

"Like this?" you ask, surprised by the choice of position.

"Just like this," he pants in your ear. His teeth nibble at your lobe as he slicks his cock generously with lube. "Want you spooned against me so I can see those cute faces you make, feel you squirming when you take me."

And fuck, when he slips one hand back down to finger your asshole one last time, it doesn't disappoint—your body ripples against him when that invasion catches you off guard, and he can see the way your lips part obscenely as you gasp at his touch. His fingers abandon your tight hole almost as quickly as they'd entered, and then Dabi is aligning himself with your entrance, using the last of his restraint not to slam his hips forward and bury himself inside with a single thrust.

You can feel the spongy head of his glans, and the slick coolness of the ring that adorns his tip, prodding at your rear. One of his arms worms its way under your side, his hand groping distractedly at your breasts as you tense in anticipation.

"Relax, baby girl," he murmurs, but he doesn't wait for you to even try. He's already slipping in, moving slowly until he encounters resistance an inch or so inside, and then pausing.

He has to struggle to keep his composure. Even like this, with not even the full head of his cock in your ass, his balls are tightening, just the thought of what he's doing nearly enough to send him over the brink. He waits until he's sure that won't happen and then starts moving, pushing insistently to work you open around his length with shallow thrusts.

"A-ah, Dabi, g-go easy," you stutter, already squirming. You can feel your body resisting the intrusion, so much larger than his fingers, and it aches slightly every time he tries to breach that inner ring.

"I am, baby, don't worry. I'll take care of you." His cheek is nuzzling against yours, his lips kissing and sucking wherever he can reach, but his motions don't change at all even as he murmurs so sweetly. He only slings one arm over your hips, toying lazily at your clit. That attention helps you relax, helps distract you a little, but it's not enough to prepare you for when he drives himself in further, finally surging past that taut band of muscle.

The invasion brings a sharp pain, one that has you crying out. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your body reflexively contorting to try and escape the cause of that hurt, but his arms tighten around you, holding you in place as he continues to work himself deeper with every thrust.

"Dabi, that hurts." Your words are sharper this time as each stroke sends another unpleasant throb through your overstretched hole, but his only response is to plunge the fingers rubbing at your clit into your dripping cunt.

"Shh, you're doing great." He curls his fingers, stroking against that spongy spot deep inside. It makes you writhe, but that does nothing to address the pain between your legs as he fucks you.

"Dabi, don't, that's not helping, I—"

"It's okay, baby girl, you're taking me so well," Dabi coos. You'll adjust, he knows you will—you're usually up for anything, of course you can take this. And fuck, there's no way he can stop now, not when it's even better than he'd imagined—hotter and softer, your pillowy walls enveloping his length every time he plunges into you, the exquisite tightness of your entrance massaging his shaft with each thrust.

"I'm not— I don't— I don't want to do this anymore." You can hear the desperate edge in your voice now. Your heart is racing and there's a cold sweat forming on your skin as tears of pain and confusion start to leak down your cheeks. "Dabi, stop."

"Shh, shh, you're fine. You—fuck—you feel so amazing. 'S never been this good with anyone else, fuck."

"I don't care, I don't want this." You can't understand what's happening, why he's not listening. You twist your head to look at him, pleading with your eyes, but he's barely even focusing on you. His blue eyes are glazed and half-lidded as his lips wander over your shoulders and your neck, all the while murmuring those useless reassurances against your skin. You're thrashing now, your feet scrambling for purchase on the sheets as you try frantically to pull away, but he keeps his tight grip on you, one of his legs hooking around your own to hold you in place. "Dabi, I said stop!"

He shushes you again, rutting into you harshly, and a choked sob escapes you when he bottoms out inside you, his hips flush against your backside as you struggle against him. You feel sick to your stomach, and it only worsens when he pulls out until nothing but his tip remains, then drives himself back in with one agonizingly rough thrust.

You keep begging, pleading, wracking your brain and trying every past safe word you can recall, but he only continues to pound into you, his breathing erratic as he pants in your ear. "It's okay, baby. You're taking my cock like such a good girl. You're—ngh—making me feel so good."

The ache between your legs is diminishing slightly as you adjust to his girth, your body entirely unconcerned with whether you want that or not. He's still fingering your sopping cunt too, his palm grinding against your oversensitive clit with each plunge of his long digits, the lewd squelching sound of those attentions mingling with the sharp slap of his hips against your ass as he fucks you.

"You like this?" he asks, but you know he's not really asking. "You like knowing I'm the only one? That I'm making you mine, just mine, just like how it should be?"

"Dabi, stop. Please stop." Your appeals are feeble now, far more for yourself than for him as you continue to utter them between quiet sobs. Dabi's somewhere far away, awash in the tight heat of your ass and the satisfaction of finally staking his claim on you, aware of your supplications but not hearing them, not really.

You slump, still sobbing, and let him take what he wants. His attentions to your cunt have a coil tightening in your gut, but when your climax hits it's perfunctory and mechanical, no real pleasure to be found even as your hips jerk and your holes spasm, a joyless whine passing from your lips.

No real pleasure for you, at least. But fuck, the feel of you squeezing around his cock as you come is what Dabi has been waiting for, your insides massaging his length as though desperate for him to decorate your walls with his cum. It's a gift he's glad to grant—he rocks his hips more urgently, keeping his thrusts shallow now so that he's sure to get it all deep inside.

"Fuck," he groans against your neck. "Gonna make me come, baby girl. That what you want? Want me to fill you up?" You shake your head, but his movements are already growing spurtive and erratic, his grunts louder and throatier, and then you can feel his cock jerking inside you, a hot rush of cum flooding your guts.

Dabi doesn't stop then, either, keeps fucking his seed into you until he's softening, not quite able to work himself in and out of your tight, abused hole any longer, and only then does he finally pull out, a dribble of cum leaking obscenely down your thigh.

You're sniffling, drawing shaky breaths, and you try to pull away the moment his arms relax around you. They only tighten again, his lips planting soft kisses along your temple.

"Shh," he murmurs. The sound of his shushing makes you want to scream. One hand lifts to wipe at the tears on your cheeks. "You were so good, baby girl, there's no need to cry. You were fucking incredible." He means it too, doesn't think he's ever come so hard in his life as he did now, making you his.

Dabi can't wait to do it again.

[uwuwriting]

Shigaraki, Dabi, Shinsou and Kirishima getting caught.

Request: is it okay to ask for headcanons with Dabi, Shinsou, Shigaraki and Kirishima getting caught making out with their female s/o? - anonymous 

Things are getting spicy *not really*. That’s all I have to say. Love yaa. 💖💖💖

rules

warnings: spicy times 

Shigaraki Tomura

-He’s so touch starved. 

-And as much as he dislikes touching others because of his quirk he still wants to be held. 

-So when you two get together and he slowly gets a grip on this new situation he is at peace. 

-Kisses are his favorite.

-Kisses are a very intimate action that can both be soft and dirty. 

-He adored when you kissed him. 

-He didn’t know much about affection but giving you a kiss when you woke up or when you came back from a mission was a must. 

-Now, he is a male. 

-A horny one at that.

-When your relationship reaches the stage of um NSFW content he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. 

-When he couldn’t have you right then and there he would just kiss the hell out of you.

-Make out sessions with his crusty ass are a ride.

 -He switches between teasing you with little nips to full out swallowing you. 

-He never fails to make your knees weak though. 

-You’ll be feeling your knees buckle as he has you caged between him and the wall behind the bar.

-He didn’t like the others seeing him being all soft for you so he tends to hide his affection while around LoV. 

-Except Kurogiri.

-Kurogiri is his dad and he is proud to see his boy getting himself a s/o.

-Now back to the others. 

-Dabi and Spinner maybe Mister Compress as well are all little shits that would most likely push him to his freaking limit and you’ll have to hold him back. 

-Toga and Twice will be weird about it, Toga will fangirl over you two kissing while Twice will go from praising Shiggy *since you’re hot af* to asking him how much you scream when yall are doing the deed. 

-They all are a headache for him and he hates how uncomfortable they make both of you feel. 

-So it’s a really rare occasion when they actually catch you two making out. 

-But one day Shiggy was feeling overly needy and you couldn’t do the do so he started kissing your neck and soon enough he had reached your lips. 

-He backed you up to the nearest wall and pinned your hands above your head, raising one of your legs and hooking it over his waist. 

-You were just as needy so you could only whine and let out small moans as he kissed you silly. 

- “Oh god I’m gonna throw up from the crustyness- Awwww how cute.”

-Twice.....

-Shiggy jumped away from you but his kiss swollen lips gave him away immediately. 

-The rest of the league filed in after him and their eyes were glued to your lips or your panting. 

- “Getting freaky on a job? And then you say I’m a horn dog.”

-It was Dabi this time who spoke. 

-The teasing came in from the rest of the team and you both slowly died from embarrassment. 

-What was more embarrassing was that maybe just maybe Shiggy had gotten a little TOO excited and was now hiding behind you. 

-Yeah kissing him was a roller coaster.

Dabi

-Salty bitch is also needy.

-Sure he may be trying to convince himself that you are just friends with benefits but that doesn’t mean he can’t kiss you silly. 

-Does it make his stomach flutter when you kiss?

-Yes.

-Does he feel something warm stir in his chest?

-Yes...

-Does he feel at home every time you are on his lap, arms around his neck as you smile into your kiss?

-Also yes.

-What’s you point?

-Anyways, he really likes kissing you.

-Whenever you two are kissing you can’t really know whats in store for you. 

-It may be a soft kiss, gentle and slow the type that manages to steal your breath away because you never would have expected Dabi to be this careful.

-Or it may be rough and dominant, your knees buckle by the sheer force he puts into the kiss and you are definitely getting ready for some spicy times. 

-He isn’t against PDA like Shiggy, he can take the teasing and the disgusting glances he gets from the rest of the LoV but you rarely give in to his antics. 

-Since you are just friends with benefits why should you?

-You have told him as such when he questioned your behavior. 

-It hurts him in some weird way that he doesn’t like. 

-Boy can’t accept the fact that he may be falling in love. 

-So he ignores you just like you ignore him. 

-Sure you have your special nights before missions but apart from that nothing else. 

-You avoid each other like the plague. 

-Eventually it gets to him. 

-The sexual tension between you two is insufferable and the way he has to stay away from you is killing him. 

-He wants to hold you again. 

-God I’m soft for him. 

-During one of your late nights you went outside for some fresh air because the atmosphere inside the bar was becoming suffocating from the cigarette smoke. 

-That was his chance and he took it, trailing after you.

-You looked at each other for some time and I  kid you not you didn’t know who moved first. 

-Your lips connected and it felt so right.

-His hands roamed your sides as the kiss grew hungry and you knew what would follow. 

-Then you heard the squeaking of the door opening and saw Toga at the entrance. 

-Her eyes were glued on you two, Dabi’s eyes opening for a split second glancing at her before he pushed you to a wall and deepened the kiss even more. 

-Toga let out a flustered giggle before going back inside.

-When you pulled apart for air, you were both panting lips red and swollen as your eyes never left the others. 

- “I want to kiss you more often.”

-That was his way of saying he wanted something more than what you had right now. 

-You just kissed him again. 

Shinsou Hitoshi

-Poor baby is also a touch starved kitty.

-You know he loves you, he has told you as such many times while you were cuddling. 

-The number of his hoodies that are now yours until they lose his s=scent is ridiculous. 

-You wearing his hoodies was a way to say that you were his and he was yours. 

-That didn’t stop people from hitting on you though. 

-Many believed that Shinsou was plain old passive and maybe even weak. 

-Everyone was aware of his quirk and what it could do so they assumed that he didn’t like using it because it would make him look villainous. 

-So they took that into their advantage and hit on you mercilessly. 

-You always pushed them away and roast their asses.

-They even have the audacity to flirt with you while Shinsou is close to yall. 

-And it hurts his feelings poor baby.

-Did others really see him as not good enough for you?

-His insecurities get the better of him and he pouts for the rest of the day. 

-Until you are alone and you cuddle the life out of him, peppering him with kisses and ‘I love you’s.

-You set out to scare his insecurities away with your affection. 

-There are times though when his insecurities don’t come out. 

-They are replaced by jealousy. 

-And a jealous Shinsou is a horny Shinsou. 

 -He would drag you somewhere you couldn’t be seen easily and would just kiss the life out of you. 

-Your leg is probed over his waist as his hand was squeezing your upper thigh.

-His other hand is buried in your hair as he nips at your neck, jaw , lower lip before he starts to kiss you again. 

-You let out little moans as he continues driving you crazy. 

- “Shinsou man wasn’t that your girl back there-”

-Kaminari.

-Of course.

-The lights went out when you two parted and Kami was faced with your flustered face and Shinsou’s swollen lips.

-He passed out like a second later, his face a beet red as little sparks left his fingers. 

-It was hilarious and embarrassing.

-You had to apologize when he woke up but before you could do anything, Shinsou managed to pin you to the wall again and leave a very obvious hickey on the column of your neck.  

-No one approached you after they saw that hickey. 

-Maybe one or two tried getting with you again. 

-The next day you appeared with another hickey.

-They got the message boo.

Kirishima Eijirou

-Hesitation?

-What is that?

-Don’t know her. 

-His PDA game is so strong. 

-He legit can’t keep his hands off of you. 

-An arm around your waist, one of his hands in your back pocket, hugs from behind, small kisses on the cheek or pecks on the lips.

-The bakusquad is sick of it. 

-And by bakusquad I mean Bakugou. 

-Mina is excited for her friend, Kaminari is a dumb horny idiot so he doesn’t mind borderline enjoys it and Sero....is high so he isn’t really in touch with reality. 

-So kissing you in public was common. 

-Small pecks though. 

-Making out sessions in public is a nono.

-You made that rule because you didn’t like the looks you were getting. 

-Now if he suggests that you go behind the school for some one on one time you won’t so no per say. 

-Sure you’ll hesitate but after a few soft kisses that lingered just enough to leave you wanting for more. 

-You basically pounce on him. 

-Once you are behind the school you don’t waste time before your lips are on his and the kiss is turning hungry. 

-Hands under his shirt as his own hands roam your thighs. 

-He may dip under your skirt for a fleeting moment making you gasp and kissing you harder. 

-You never go further while you’re out in public. 

-Public kissing is different form public sex. 

-Much different. 

-While you are kissing him everything zones out and he is the only thing you can concentrate on. 

-Then you hear a choking sound and a high pitched squeal. 

-Turning around you are met with a passed out Izuku and a nose bleeding Mineta who has zoned in on Kiri’s hand under your skirt.

-You have a stare off with the grape boy before the embarrassment sets in and you are hiding behind you boyfriend, shielding yourself from Mineta’s eyes as much as you can and bury your head in his shirt. 

-Kirishima is still looking at Izuku who is passed out. 

-Then he notices Mineta who is drooling over your legs that are peeking out from behind Kiri and he goes straight to protective boyfriend mode. 

-He is grabbing your hand as he gives you a last kiss on the cheek and tells you to take Izuku to Recovery Girl. 

-He will deal with Mineta. 

-He too ended up in Recovery Girl sporting a black eye. 

-Love this little shark with all my heart.

TAG TEAM AY: @iwaqchan​ @the-arcana-fan-fic​ @angelwritings​ @axerrri​ @reinyrei​

[dubersbutt]

Take a Bow - Leon Draisaitl/Connor McDavid

Summary: Hello my lovelies, it's the long awaited angst fic. Basically, Leon gets a little jealous about you and Connor.

Part 2

Words: 4.1K

Warnings: smut (M/M/F, M/M, oral sex, anal sex, using sex as a distraction/coping mechanism), talks of being closeted, coming out of the closet,

Leon knows what he signed up for when he said yes to being with you and Connor. The two of you were together first, and he wasn’t expecting you to fake break up so that he and Connor would be equal. And, in private, everything was totally equal between the three of you. And Leon shouldn’t care that he can’t share photos of you on social media because it’s only important that the three of you know where you stand and all that deep shit.

Except he does care

He can’t even tell his parents that he’s in love. Well he could, but his parents are semi-old fashioned; they probably wouldn’t care that Leon was bi and if was just dating a man he’s fairly certain they’d be accepting.  But a man and a woman? First off he knows that they’ll be confused about his sex life, meaning that his dad is probably going to try ask questions without asking questions and Leon would rather not touch that idea with a 10 foot pole. Secondly, it’ll just be hard to explain. His sister knows he’s bi - she read his texts over his shoulder and found out because she’s a snoop - but he doesn't know how she’d react to his relationship. It doesn’t help that his parents keep asking him if he has a girlfriend or not, and his sister keeps hounding him for nieces and/or nephews.

And he does want to show you off on social media - both of you. He wants to post a picture of Connor napping with Lenny and Bowie in his bed. He wants to post the mirror picture that you took with him kissing your cheek and him holding you against his body. He wants to show off the dates he takes you on, wants to post a photo holding Connor’s hand when they walk the puppies together. But he can’t.

He loved hockey, but hated the culture. The crusty old men wouldn’t enjoy knowing two of the best players in the league were in love with each other, and another person. (Leon knows that if your secret ever did get out then at least Connor and Leon would be able to shut everyone up with their point production but still.) Fuck, he can’t even tell his team. Only a handful knew that Leon was bi, fewer knew why he and Connor travelled to and from the rink every day (straight people could be so dense).

And Leon knows that you’re not trying to rub it in when  you post about each other on social media, everyone knows they’re dating, it’d be weird if they didn’t. But Connor got to take you to the NHL awards as his date (though the only time he was invited was during COVID, but that is neither here nor there). He got to post on your birthday, an actual meaningful post and not just a video of you being goofy like Leon does. Connor gets to be in your real story, for everyone to see; Leon only saw himself in your private story that only a few people had access to. You can post a picture of Connor napping on your chest looking like the definition of serene, Leon could only post when Connor used his shoulder as a pillow on the plane and his mouth fell open.

He knows Connor would probably change roles if he could, would much rather be the one with the “secret life.” But that’s not the reality.

He should probably talk to someone about this. Let’s face it, he’s needed therapy ever since his nudes got leaked and he had to get his agent involved to kill the photos. But, talking has never been Leon’s strong suit.

“Hey,” you say nudging him. Leon realizes he has not been paying attention to the movie that’s playing, “Whatcha thinkin about?”

This is his chance. Connor’s barely awake in between you and Leon - he could get everything off his chest right now.

“The season,” he says, taking a deep breath, “I...just hope we can finish the season. Or maybe some sort of playoffs”

He’s a fucking coward and he knows it. Playoffs are not the most important thing in his head right now, much less on a global scale.

You hum in acknowledgement, “You’re already the Hart winner in my heart.”

Quarantine had lasted a full month, two weeks longer than the officials had said in the beginning. The team was letting players go home so they could go home to their families; both Connor’s and Leon’s families had called them back home. Leon couldn’t go back because the team wouldn’t let him travel before Germany closed their borders and Ontario was in much worse shape than Alberta - at least for now. Your parents were more than thrilled that you and Connor decided to stay in Alberta, close to them.

Leon has to hold back a laugh, the first season the three of you try to make things work and you’re met with a pandemic. He isn’t a big believer in omens, but it was hard to believe that this wasn’t one.

“You better start preparing your speech,” Connor says, patting Leon on the cheek, “It’s gotta be, like, 90x more positive and uplifting and inspiring this year.”

“Maybe I’ll just hire a ghostwriter.”

~~~

Quarantine is not that bad, entertainment wise. He even gets to know your parents pretty well, something he didn’t think he was going to have the chance to do. They, and the rest of the world, think that Leon is staying with you and Connor because he can’t go home. And, while he can’t post couple-y stuff, he can post you and Connor a little more frequently than usual.

Your mom even takes the time to make him spätzle because she feels bad that he can’t go home. It’s not traditional, your mom can’t help but put her own spin on it but Leon doesn’t mind at all.

And, well, there’s a lot of down time in quarantine. A lot.

When the province first shut down, you had gone down a bit of a spiral, unsure of how school would deal with this. You were meant to get your degree this year, start law at U of A in the fall. At the start, you were convinced that you weren’t going to graduate and that you'd have to defer your acceptance. Connor checked on you in your office, only to find you curled up in your office chair, hyperventilating because of the stress. They managed to calm you down - drawing you a bath and making you stay away from the computer for a full 48 hours.

And if Leon spent most of the beginning of quarantine between your legs, no one had to know.

It wasn’t until you got an email detailing how graduation would work that he and Connor could actually sleep through the night. He means that literally, you would regularly wake Connor or Leon, or both, up at ungodly hours to distract you. One would expect that between Connor and Leon you’d be satisfied, but you were always horny. Always.

(“I think my dick is going to fall off,” Connor says one day when they’re eating breakfast while you’re in class, “Don’t get me wrong, the sex is great but, oh my god, I’m exhausted.”

“I know,” Leon replied, “We should go nap before her class ends.”

“A nap sounds so good,” Connor responds, drinking his coffee.

“Or, you could take me upstairs and send (Y/N) some motivation to get through her classes,” Connor’s blushing as he says it, hiding his face in his cup.

“Really?” Leon arches an eyebrow, incredulous, “You’re still horny after this morning?”

“Don’t tell me you’re not.”

“You were just complaining about being tired!”

“I changed my mind.”

You slam the lid of your laptop as soon as you open the video from Leon, paranoid your mic was unmuted. Connor’s moans playing through the speakers as Leon buried himself inside of Connor. So you left class half an hour early, they didn't take attendance.)

After the first month of complete uncertainty, you calmed down when you realized you would be able to graduate. The three of you played board games (Connor tried to cheat in monopoly, but he sucked at lying); Leon got really into cooking, Connor took up running as a hobby, and you learned how to crochet. Leon wore the hat that you made him any chance the wind picked up. And, maybe he stole the little elephant that was on your coffee table, you could make another one (he secured it on his dashboard with a little bit of tape, he didn’t want Samuel to start sliding around).

When the season is officially cancelled, and Leon wins the Art Ross, he makes his little speech and films it on his laptop. The quality is crap, but fans notice that he looks way happier than they’ve ever seen Leon. What they couldn’t see was Connor holding a sign that read “Leon Draisaitl is my favourite player” with you doing a stupid little dance to encourage him.

Finally, the bubble. The entire team is pissed off that they got screwed over with the format - second in the division and having to fight for a playoff spot instead of a bye week. But they try to use that fire to fuel them as they prepare.

The night before Leon and Connor leave they take their time with you. They worship every inch of your body, by the end of the night you’re a limp mess, clinging to your boys as they have their way with you. They don’t know when they’ll see you next - if all goes according to plan it won’t be until the semi-finals, almost 2 full months.

Things do not go according to plan. They get knocked out by the Blackhawks, a team that should not have been in the playoffs.

Leon’s too pissed off to feel depressed. The Oilers are sitting in the visiting dressing room of their own arena, listening to the Blackhawks celebrate in their dressing room. He wants to puke. The showers are quiet, they usually are after a hard loss but everyone is trying to get home to their families as soon as possible.

Connor owns the penthouse suite in the JW Marriott, and that’s where Leon has been staying, not entirely obeying the rules (they breathed the same air on the bench, sharing a room would not make a difference). When they get into the elevator Connor sends you a text saying that they were fine, but they weren’t in the mood to talk.

As soon as they’re safely in behind the closed doors of the penthouse, Connor's pulling Leon in by his tie and smashing their lips together. They shed their clothing on the way to the bedroom, leaving a trail as they go. Connor pushes Leon on the bed, climbing on top and jacking Leon off through his boxers.

“You gonna fuck me, Leo?” Connor asks-commands, “I’ve been waiting so long to get your dick inside me.”

They had time to fuck, sure, but Leon was not risking injuring Connor in any way during the playoffs. Leon had promised that the next he would fuck Connor was when they both had their cup rings on their fingers. Since that seemed to be at least a year away, Leon didn’t care anymore.

“I didn’t bring lube, Con,” he’s an idiot. He’d thought that by not packing it he wouldn’t be tempted.

“Bedside table,” clearly Connor did not share that same concern.

Leon takes his time, it’s been a while. Connor whimpers when Leon slides fingers in, gasps when Leon crooks his finger and catches his prostate. He pumps his finger in a few times before slowly adding a second one, and doing the same thing. He leans down, pressing a kiss to Connor’s nipple before lightly scraping his teeth against it.

Connor squirms, “‘M ready, Leo.”

“No you’re not,” Leon hums, switching sides as he spreads his fingers in Connor.

“Yea, I am,” Connor’s panting. His hands are tangled on Leon’s scalp, the sting is not unwelcome.

“I don’t want to hurt you, baby,” Leon says, adding a third.

Connor catches his wrist, “No, I-um- I want it to.”

Leon’s only surprised because Connor is usually very methodical when he preps himself, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding in affirmation, “I wanna feel you.”

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Leon says as he pulls his fingers out, and holds Connor’s legs open instead.

“I will.”

Leon lines up with Connor’s hold, pushing in tentatively. Connor’s head falls back as he pushes in, mouth falling open. Leon leans down to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“You okay?” Leon asks.

“Keep going, I’m fine,” Connor responds, wrapping his legs around Leon's waist.

Leon finally bottoms out after what feels like forever. Connor’s breathing heavy, back arched so their chests are touching. Leon kisses Connor’s neck, careful not to leave a mark, hoping to ease the sting. “Fuck me, Leo,” Connor says.

Leon slides his hips out a few inches before thrusting back in slowly, but Connor’s shaking his head.

“Too much?” Leon asks, trying to pull out.

“N-no,” Connor’s legs are squeezing his hips, keeping him in plae, “Harder. Don’t hold back.”

“Tell me what you want, Con,” Leon slides out until just the tip is inside, “Tell me exactly what you want.”

Connor covers his face with his hands and groans, he hates it when Leon makes him say what he wants in bed, “I wanna feel you when I wake up.”

“I’ll still be sleeping next to you, tomorrow,” Leon teases, ghosting his hand over Connor’s cock.

“Not like that,” Connor grunts, “I - fuck - I remember what your dick feels like for days. I want to feel it when I clean my stall tomorrow, when we drive home, when we fuck (Y/N) together again.”

Leon wraps his hand around the base of Connor’s cock, “Go on. And stop hiding your pretty face.”

Connor begrudgingly lowers his arms, “Fuck me, Leo. Make me forget.”

So Leon does.

~~~

Connor flops on the bed after using the bathroom, both their phones in hand. Connor immediately responds to one of his messages with urgency.

“Whose that?” Leon asks, finally getting around to answering his own.

“It’s - uh - (Y/N)’s parents,” he says hesitantly, “They usually message after bad games to see if they can do anything. Her mom usually offers to make Lasagna.”

Lasagna, Connor’s favourite comfort food.

And he knows that your parents probably aren’t going to message Leon - they don’t have any reason to. But he still feels a pang of disappointment when it doesn’t show up.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Connor says, sensing Leon’s mood, “I know it must be tough for you-”

Leon cuts him off, he can feel the tears in his eyes, “It’s fine.”

Except it’s not.

~~~

Leon doesn’t even realize what he’s done until he’s done it. Connor had fallen asleep next to Leon hours ago but Leon couldn’t. He was angry, angry about the playoffs, angry that he couldn’t announce his relationship, angry that he felt like he was still in the closet even though he had come out to the people that mattered. He’s angry because he’s happy, but he doesn’t feel like it.

His flight leaves in two hours. He has enough time to pack and he hopes he can do so without waking up Connor. He can’t pick up Bowie from home without waking you, and the thought of leaving him makes him nauseous but he knows you’ll take care of him.

He moves around the room quickly and quietly, packing his essentials. He shaves his “playoff” beard in the bathroom - it didn’t last enough to become a proper one. He only packs one duffle bag, sweat pants, jeans, a hoodie, two shirts and underwear. Anything else he already has at his house in Germany, or he can buy it later. He’s grabbing his phone from the charger when he sees the little gray elephant sitting on the bedside table. Leon had brought in hopes of it would bring good luck. It hadn’t worked. And yet, he packs it in his carry on.

Leon has some time before his Uber arrives and he finds the sticky pad and pen Connor keeps in one of the kitchen drawers. He tries to think about what he wants to say and restarts the note over and over again, crumpling the used notes into his pockets, when he gets the notification his Uber has arrived.

He settles on “I’m sorry.” It’s vague and ominous but it’s the best he can do. He doesn’t even know what he wants to say, he just knows that he needs some time to figure it out. He feels bad for ghosting but he feels like if he stays any longer he’ll explode. He puts the note on the fridge, somewhere he knows Connor will see it.

In the Uber he opens the text thread with his mom:

Leon: I’ll be home tomorrow.

So Soon?: Mama

Leon: I got an early flight

Leon: Can you make spätzle?

Of course, I’ll go shopping today: Mama

~~~

When he lands in Toronto he has an insane amount of messages from both you and Connor.

Connor: Where the fuck are you?

Connor: Are you pranking me?

Connor: What the fuck do you mean you’re sorry??? Connor: Answer my calls, Leon

[An hour later]

Connor: I told coach that you were throwing up last night

Connor: I haven’t told (Y/N) yet

Connor: Please answer me before I go home

[30 minutes ago  - About when Connor would have gotten home]

Connor: I don’t know what’s going on but you need to call us back

He has 22 missed calls from Connor, 4 from you. His voicemail inbox is full. He knows he’ll cry in the middle of the airport if he listens to them so he checks your texts instead.

You: *photo attached* Bowie misses you

Leon feels a tear fall down his face when he opens it, Bowie sleeping on Leon’s side of the bed. He wipes it away quickly, pretending he’s adjusting his mask.

You: You busy? I wanted to talk to you and Con before you do media.

You: Do you want me to make pancakes? I’ll make sure they’re hot when you come home.

[30 minutes ago]

You: Why didn’t you come home with Connor? You: Where are you

You: You need to call me it’s important

You: Leon please

You: I need to talk to you

[10 minutes ago]

You: Leon, please

You: Just tell me where you are

By the time he boards the plane you and Connor have messaged him a few more times. He turns his phone on airplane mode and deletes the text thread. He doesn’t want to, but he knows if he does then he’ll read them over and over for the entire 13 hour flight.

Leon is exhausted, he actually manages to sleep for an hour before watching some movie on the plane TV. Usually when he flies home he connects in Amsterdam with a layover instead of one flight, but Leon really just wants to go home. He eats the dinner provided, not tasting a single bite before passing out for the rest of the flight.

When he walks into the luggage carousel his mom is waiting for him. She takes one look at him and knows something’s wrong. She gives him a hug, and he revels in her warm embrace. She knows not to ask him what's wrong in front of people, just keeps a reassuring hand on his back while they wait for his luggage.

All it takes is one look from his mom in the car for him to break down. He hates crying, his eyes sting and his chest hurts when he tries to breathe, but he can’t hold it back anymore.

[“Italics” - indicates German being spoken]

“Leo, what’s wrong?” She asks, rubbing his arm.

“I fucked up,” he says before realizing he swore in front of his mom, “sorry.”

“Leon, what’s going on,” she asks again, “I haven’t seen you this upset since Naomi.”

Naomi was his first “serious” girlfriend. Leon had fallen for her, hard. And then he caught her making out with the captain of the soccer team at a party and Leon felt nauseous for months. It was the last time his mom had comforted him while he cried.

“Is it a girl?” his mom asks gently.

“Sort of” he says honestly.

“Is it...a boy?” she asks, and when Leon doesn’t answer she continues, “Did you love this boy?”

“You’re not surprised?”

She shrugs, “You were very close to Matthias after Naomi.”

Leon laughs. He doesn’t think boyfriend is the right word for Matthias, more of a rebound/friends with benefits - even though they did share more than a few boyfriend-like moments. The timing wasn’t right, Matthias was going to study in Frankfurt, Leon was going to Kelowna. Sometimes they still “meet up for coffee” when Leon comes home in the summer, at least before you and Connor, but his mom didn’t need to know that.

His mom starts the car, he didn’t realize they were still in the parking garage, “You don’t have to tell me, but it might help.”

“I’m not gay, mama, I’m bisexual,” he takes a deep breath and his mom turns her head to look at him, “Bisexual means-”

“I know what it means, you idiot, I’m old not dead,” she pushes his head lightly, the same way she used to when he said something inappropriate as a kid, “Was it Connor?”

“How did you-”

She laughs at Leon, “You think you can hide things from your mother? I gave birth to you, I know all your secrets.”

Well that’s a terrifying thought.

“You always talk about him.”

“We could have just been close teammates.”

“Yes,” she pauses, thinking about what she wants to say, “But it was different. You were always...happy when you talked about him”

Leon runs his hand through his hair, “It’s complicated and I haven’t slept in two days,” he would tell her eventually, just not when he felt like he got hit by a bus.

“You can sleep after you eat your Spätzle,” she says, “When was the last time you ate?”

“I can’t remember,” Leon says, honestly.

His mom sighs, “How do you not know? When you were a kid you never stopped eating.”

He’d just come out to his mom, and she was still treating him the same way she did whenever he came home. He lets himself smile for the first time in a while.

His mom turns the corner to his childhood home and Leon’s stomach drops.

“D-does papa know? About me.”

She laughs, “I love your dad but he’s as dense as they come. You could have walked around in a rainbow leotard and he would have had no idea.”

Leon gets his suitcase out of the trunk, leaving it in the foyer. He promises his mom that he’ll remember to take it up to his room when he’s finished eating. He eats two servings, washing it down with tea as he catches up with his mom. Her garden was doing well, his neighbour’s daughter, whom he’d grown up playing soccer with, was getting married and Leon was invited to the wedding. Leon forgets about the bullshit in his head for a minute.

When he finally does lug his suitcase up to his room (he did forget it, his mother yelled at him when he was already at the top of the stairs), his parents' cat, Plätzchen, is sleeping on his bed.

[No more German]

“Hi, baby,” he says cooing as she stretches on his bed, tail flicking happily, “Long time no see.”

Plätzchen climbs into his lap, purring as Leon scratches her neck when he realizes he hasn’t turned his phone on yet. And as much as he’s dreading the messages he knows it needs to be done.

He skims through the absurd amount of messages you and Connor have sent him in the past day until a certain one catches his eye.

He dials your number immediately, grabbing his laptop from his backpack. His plane ticket to edmonton is already booked by the time you answer the phone

[10 minutes ago]

You: Call me

You: I can’t fucking believe you’re making me tell you this over text

You: I’m pregnant.

[friendlyneighborhoodamara]

(Edited on July 23, 2021)

So. Luz Noceda.

Quite possibly one of the best written protagonists in a Disney animated show, and easily one of my favorite protagonists in fiction.

Admittedly, if you know me, you may not be surprised I like her this much. I love kindhearted protagonists who are extremely energetic, unorthodox, goofy and proactive, and this describes Luz in spades. Even at her lowest points, she has a never-give-up attitude that’s just so endearing to me. In fact, I’ve described her as a female shonen protagonist to many of my friends in the past, and it’s not uncommon for people to compare Luz to Mabel (while she is also a rather complicated character I adore, this comparison is faulty for reasons I’ll get into shortly.)

If this was all there was to Luz—a warmhearted, generous dork who goes to any lengths to help the people she loves—I’d be satisfied. That relatively short, shallow description describes Goku almost to a T, and I absolutely love Goku, inside and out.

However, the writing staff of The Owl House, thankfully, chose to go the extra mile with Luz and flesh her out far beyond her superficial confines.

While all are extroverted, sweet girls, Luz differs from similar characters like Mabel Pines, Anne Boonchuy and Star Butterfly due to her far lower status on the social ladder: if Camila is to be believed, Luz - prior to entering the Boiling Isles - doesn’t have a single friend. Having a protagonist who is a disliked underdog with low self-esteem is far from new, especially in kids’ media. In some cases, it almost feels like a prerequisite to have the character be the victim of petty school bullies, even when they’re a skater punk high schooler played by a 27-year-old Andrew Garfield. However, in Luz’s case, her past as a teenage outcast (and implied history of bullying), her neurodivergence, and her subsequent retreat into fantasy as an escape informs every single facet of her characterization and cannot be stripped away from her without making her far less interesting.

How so?

Well, for starters, Luz is seen as frustrating or annoying by a lot of people, even the friends she made in the demon realm. In Season 1, even after the lesson she learns in the second episode, she is obsessed with living out her fantasy of being a fantasy hero just like the Good Witch Azura. This is a direct result of her retreating into fantasy and using it as a crutch to get through life. She tries to befriend her rival Amity the same way Azura did with her rival, tries to whip Willow and Gus into an all-star sports team using nothing but her own gumption, and is quick to accept any challenge that comes her way. This, understandably, does not endear her to other people.

Furthermore, as a result of her ostracization in the human realm (the great state of Connecticut, as we learn in the latest episode!), Luz, subtly, sees herself as a burden. This is why she almost never defends herself when people attack her, fairly or not. When Amity, enraged because Lilith humiliated her in her duel with Luz, demands Luz admit to not being a real witch, she acquiesces, despite having no real reason to. Even after she’s become Amity’s friend (and, unknowingly, her crush), even after Amity risked her own job to help her … Luz assumes that Amity hates her because she got fired from the library trying to help Luz … when Amity was the one who insisted they keep looking. Likewise, when the detention kids accuse her of being stuck-up, Luz accepts the rejection without a word of complaint, even though their accusation is based on incomplete information. And probably most heartbreakingly, at the start of Season 2, Luz calls herself a burden on Eda. After bringing so much life to this crusty old witch’s life, to the point of not only saving her from execution but playing a huge role in her reconnecting with her estranged sister, because of the way she’s been treated for much of her life, Luz can only imagine that Eda dreads her presence.

In short, Luz (1) blunders through many of her social interactions, often leading to negative first impressions, (2) takes those blunders on the chin and assumes they’re her fault even when they aren’t necessarily, and both those (3) flaws flow naturally from her backstory. That’s rather solid character writing that a lot of creators for children’s shows take for granted. Luz isn’t determined to fix what’s wrong just because; she’s determined to fix what’s wrong because, often, she believes that she is responsible for whatever has gone wrong. It’s a more realistic, and rather sad, look at a hero, compared to most Disney properties.

But, in my eyes, what makes this all work like gangbusters is how the other characters treat Luz.

Yes, even her friends and family can be annoyed by some of her more eccentric behavior. They acknowledge when she screws up and hold her accountable for those screw ups. But, for the first time in her life, someone (besides Camila, the real MVP) is giving her the unconditional love she deserves. Eda’s response to Luz saying she doesn’t want to be a burden, Amity saving Luz from Odalia and defying her mother for the first time, hell, even the Golden Guard seems to legitimately bond with Luz in their one episode together.

Given Luz’s status as a neurodivergent girl, as an autistic fan of this show, I can only imagine how comforting a lesson that is for the neurodivergent kids watching this: “Even if people don’t value you, even if you legitimately make mistakes, you still deserve unconditional love. You have value, damn what other people say.” Disney may be a shitty, evil corporation, but the Owl House crew really created something special, something richer than the average Disney cartoon, and that puts a smile on my face.

In short, you’re doing great sweetie. :)

[oonajaeadira]

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

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MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job. 

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul. 

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work. 

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear. 

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure. 

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted. 

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull. 

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke. 

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?” 

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.”  His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?” 

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too. 

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.