#interlinking paths

[fiendishartist2]

guys what if i want to make my own apollo justice game.

[amourrs]

18+ only, implied brat ellie? absolutely no plot just smut with a vague theme and yapping…

pondering the thought of birthday sex with ellie, specifically in the morning when she’s just itching with anticipation. the sun’s ascendant, though at present shrouded, making the whole episode feel more hush-hush. you could even consider it a smidge covert, the way the moment’s kept for your eyes (and other senses) only as her silklike lips trail brazenly up the expanse of your flesh, pearlescent in the maiden light of dawn that spills liquidly through the open curtains. she’d forgotten to close them last night, but now the mishap works in her favour, illuminating your skin as she indents her teeth into it, watches it spring back whilst leaving the ridges of her molars behind. marking you up, running her thumb over the crescents like a prayer.

she continues to traverse a path, tongue abrading the spots she hits as a sorry attempt at soothing the irritation until a particularly harsh nip tugs at a cord in your brain, pulling you from that sweet dreamscape you’d been so happily enjoying just to realise that a better alternative is being offered up to you on a silver platter. you moan, an asseveration of your returned desires as your fingers wind into her hair, a tangled mane-like lattice that silks into soft order as you run your digits through it. her name passes your lips as she grins into your clavicle, mouth wandering down further as her hand reaches into her hair and she interlinks her fingers with yours. like this, she’s all sweetness, no salt, if you’ll pardon the shoddy wordplay— an event that’s not so frequent, so you savour it the more it occurs. her tongue drags over your navel, dipping into your belly button as you shriek, nails scratching at her face as if to ward her off as the auburnette snickers at you. “m’sorry, babe. couldn’t help it— fuck, happy birthday. ‘s been so hard waiting, had to wake you up. you get it, right?”

you go to make a quick riposte on the topic but it withers in your throat like a flower shredded at the stem when her teeth snag your underwear, ivory mismatched against black lace as she drags them down off your legs in irriation. a hindrance, only serving to camouflage her real object. all thoughts of anything but ellie ellie ellie are whisked from your brain with the long stripe she licks up your cunt and you display as such when you chant her name out, a mantra so soft on her ears that she chuckles into you. the vibrations only serve to make you wetter, the freckled girl’s fingers splaying your folds to reveal your slick to her; you’d presume it was ichor and not arousal with the way she looks on in starved bliss. her tongue travels from your perineum to your entrance, fingers trailing with it, eager to explore as she slides one into you. the smothered squeak from you provides only to enkindle her depravities, second finger joining the first as she hooks them, searching for gold as her mouth lays sloppy kisses over your sensitive bud. she lays it on you like it’s religion, like you’re the priest and she’s the acolyte at the altar, treating this sordid affair like something holy as she rests her head devout and innocent on your thigh as if she’s not desecrating you, devouring you with rapture.

it takes you a minute to notice it at first in your pleasure, but there’s an odd rhythm to the motions of her tongue on your clit. almost as if mapping out a preordained plan— and that’s when it hits you. she’s spelling. squinted eyes and bursts of much spasmodic focus assist you in making out the vague idea of many of the letters; you string them together in your mind and easily piece together the gaps, pushing at her head as you choke down a laugh. “are you— are you seriously spelling happy birthday right now? thought it was more traditional to like, sing that in a song alongside the cake.” your teases get to her, face strawberrying softly at your chuckles as her freckles stand out in soft definition. “okay, well. i did actually make you a cake— don’t worry, dina helped,” an interjection much needed after the look of abject horror plastered across your face, “so. i’ll sing later. right now, kinda in the middle of something. in case you hadn’t noticed.” it’s pointed, the way her mouth nestles back in between your thighs, the aforementioned muscles squeezing tightly around her skull in a way that has her groaning as her tongue flicks out across your clit again. you’re pretty sure you can discern the shape of the A and Y at the end of ‘birthday’ as her digits curl into your walls at the perfect spot, grinding until you see stars and the coil inside your stomach snaps, legs shaking as you ride out your high against your girlfriend’s face. fuckin’ goofball.

happy birthday to one of my all time favourite mutuals, the lovely @astralnymphh — couldn’t hand deliver ellie to your door as a gift, so considered this to be a consolation 🎂♡

[sugawarem]

OH, YOUR lover had such pretty hands! you haven't even held them before, but you already knew, without having to - your hand would fit his like a perfect puzzle piece. so, why not? why would you be embarrassed about how suddenly your right hand shot out to hold his left one tightly? you didn't even see what the big deal was, until you noticed how red his face was and it hit you that, maybe, you were a bit forward. and yet, before you could apologize with a nervous chuckle, a bright smile accompanied his flustered face. phew, he liked it after all.

— ASAHI AZUMANE , yamaguchi tadashi , takanobu aone , kaveh , NEUVILETTE , gepard , dan heng , MAMMON , leviathan , choso kamo

LITHE FINGERS, soft-looking palm, overall looking so, so holdable. well -- that's what you thought. barely any courage in your heart, you simply resigned yourself to the sad fate of just staring at his hands. little did you know, he saw right through you, and he saw how you stared at his hands, your fingers tapping against your thigh. he smiled with adoration, and carefully interlinked his fingers with yours, relishing in how your eyes darted up to stare at him in embarrassed surprise.

— koshi sugawara , kuroo tetsuro , tooru oikawa , AKAASHI KEIJI , tendou satori , baizhu , kamisato ayato , KAEYA , kaedehara kazuha , lyney , HEIZOU , argenti , AVENTURINE , JING YUAN , lucifer , satan , SOLOMON , NANAMI KENTO , gojo satoru

AS YOU two walked side by side, you had a fleeting thought of holding his hand. except, ah, it wasn't really fleeting, as before your head could even snuff out such a thought, your hand shot out by itself. its path, however, was unfortunately broken by the feeling of smashing against his own. had he..? "sorry" you both muttered, both trying to hold hands with each other and failing. in a second though, your hands finally found their way to each other, fingers interlinking. you were blushing so profusely that you failed to notice how red his own face was. oh -- you were so cute...

— kei tsukishima , KENMA KOZUME , iwaizumi hajime , cyno , XIAO , veritas ratio , caelus , welt yang , BEELZEBUB , simeon , geto suguru

[neon-junkie]

Troubleshooting

Summary: After the events of Tantiss, Crosshair finds himself with a cybernetic hand, and he knows a way to test all of its capabilities.

Word count: 2k

Pairing: Crosshair x f!Reader

Tags: Established relationship, Fingering, Dirty talk, Cybernetics.

“There,” Tech hums as he shuts the panel over Crosshair’s wrist, securing the instalment. “Give it a try,” he urges, and sits back to watch Crosshair test his new hand.

After the fall of Tantiss, it took Crosshair quite some time to realise what had actually happened. He lost his hand - his shooting hand, at that. Sure, he’s great with his left, but two hands are always better than one, especially if you’re missing your dominant hand.

Given that Echo opted not to have a robot hand installed, it left a spare on the Marauder - an item that everybody had forgotten about, lost in storage, only for it to finally come into use during an unfortunate turn of events.

Of course, you love Crosshair regardless. Hand or not, he’s still your man, and you’ll do everything in your power to support him. That’s why, during pillow talk a week after the event, Crosshair brought up the idea of getting on installed.

“I feel… incomplete,” he explained. He rambled on about his lack of uses, now that he’s missing a hand, and you had to remind him that he is no longer a soldier, and that he can find his new path in life. “Well, it’s difficult to become a fisherman with only one hand,” Crosshair sarcastically responded, earning a laugh from you.

That brings you to today. Tech was more than happy to install it for Crosshair, babbling about how he’s “always excited to work on cybernetic enhancements,” which would explain why Tech is always questioning if Echo needs any repairs.

Crosshair attempts to flex each of his fingers, the joints surprisingly moving with ease, causing Crosshair’s brows to lift in surprise. “Oh,” he mutters under his breath, now stretching his hand out, wiggling and adjusting each digit in every possible manner.

“Your tendons seem to be aligned, but we need to test your agility,” Tech comments.

You sit back and watch the two sync up. Tech gives Crosshair a few simple tasks - playing catch, writing, even tying his shoelaces. A few minor adjustments are made, but eventually, Crosshair decides he’s more than content.

“You know where to find me if you require any alternations,” Tech states as he rises from his seat, eager to head off - not out of impoliteness, but it’s date night, and Tech would never dream of being late for such an occasion.

Crosshair thanks his brother one final time before seeing him out, yourself saying goodbye whilst on the comfort of your sofa. The front door shuts, and Crosshair makes his way over to you, finding his place by your side.

“So,” he drags the word out. “What do you think?” He asks, wiggling his new hand in front of your face.

“It suits you,” you nod, admiring the black chrome. What other colour would Crosshair go for?

“Mhm,” Crosshair nods in agreement. He can’t help but introduce his new hand to yours, entwining your fingertips for the first time. To your surprise, the durasteel is nowhere near as cold as you expected it to be, and each finger is smooth and rounded - no sharp edges or bumps.

Crosshair’s eyes wander over the sight, your hand interlinked with his, something that he’ll never get tired of. “What does it feel like?” he questions, gesturing to the physical contact.

“Like I’m holding a robotic hand,” you reply. Ah, Crosshair is reminded why he fell for you; you match his wit and sarcasm in every way, perhaps more than he can bargain for.

A long sign escapes Crosshair’s lips as his eyes meet yours, disappointment deep within them. “Shut up,” he grumbles, but there’s a smile on his lips.

You let out a cheery hum, matching his smile. A kiss naturally follows, tender pecks on the lips, yet there’s lust within them. Nothing intimate has happened since Tantiss, minus kisses, cuddles, and crying together. You can tell that Crosshair’s confidence is growing with his new image, but is this happening too soon? Doesn’t he need time to adjust first?

In between kisses, Crosshair begins mumbling against your lips. “You love me, right?” he questions.

“Is now the time for reassurance?” you bite back, causing Crosshair to chuckle.

“Just answer the question,” he coos, then places another kiss on your lips.

“Of course, I do,” you confirm.

“And you’d do anything for me, right?”

You softly hum. “Only if you’d do the same for me,” you reply.

“I would,” Crosshair replies without missing a beat, no longer bothering with feather-light kisses. Instead, he’s pouncing on you, allowing lust and desire to drive his intentions. You find yourself lying back on the sofa, legs a tangled mess with your lovers, who is looming over you like a predator teasing its prey.

Among the smooches, tugs appear on your waistband. Crosshair is unbuttoning your pants, and as much as you want him, you’re concerned about his timing. Is this really what he needs after taking such a large step in his recovery? Has his new hand even finished installing?

“Cross-” you mutter against his lips.

“Mhm?” Crosshair pulls his lips away, although his hands don’t give up. He’s pulling each trouser leg off, yanking them over your ankles with frustration - something that he always struggled with.

“Are you sure that this is what you need right now?” You question, concern strong within your tone.

Crosshair picks up on it, and comes to a halt, resting his hands on your plush hips. “It is,” he confirms within an instant. “I need to… test it out…” he explains, raising his robotic hand up to your face. “…and I know just the way to do it.”

If Crosshair is comfortable, then you’re comfortable. And hey, there’s no harm in helping him adjust to his new attachment. If this is how he wants to adjust, then why not?

Sloppy kisses are in full swing yet again, all whilst Crosshair is putting his new hand to good use. Sold fingertips find their way to your clothed mound, trailing back and forth. His pressure changes, testing the waters, finding the balance between firm and soft, and Crosshair knows he’s found it when you let out a whimper.

“There we go,” he sighs, his cock stirring from such a small sound. Before you can reply, Crosshair has his lips back on yours, silencing you whilst his fingers do all the work.

A hook on your waistband, and your panties are being pulled from your hips, thrown across the room to be forgotten about. Firmness appears on your clit, a single digit, rediscovering your body all over again. Crosshair needs to start from scratch, following each step with the understanding that this is all new to both you, and him. Every move, the different levels of pressure, are all things that will take time to adjust to.

“A little firmer,” you comment, and Crosshair complies, ensuring that his touch is just how you like it. He’s circling your clit, causing stars to appear in your line of vision - a blacked out state in between kisses.

Crosshair has to break the kiss to bury his head into the curve of your neck, peppering kisses along your jawline. All the while, his fingertips begin to slip lower, soon testing the waters. A single finger slips into you, firmer than ever. Again, it’s not cold - far from it, yet the sensation is alien. You’ve never had a… robotic finger slip inside you before, crossing off a new box on your list.

“How is it?” Crosshair questions the second that he’s knuckle deep within you. His concern is warranted, although you know he’s also subtly asking for validation.

“Good,” you reply without missing a beat. “Firm and… new, but good.”

“You sure?” he double-checks, to which you agree with a simple, “yeah.”

“You know that, if I have any issues, I’ll tell you,” you inform him. He already knows this - he’s heard it a million times over - but it doesn’t hurt to remind him, especially during a time like this.

“I know,” Crosshair mumbles, his lips still pressed to your throat. “I wish I could still feel you,” he confesses. Only now do you realise the lack of nerves that Crosshair has in his new hand. He can’t feel anything, can he? Not your wetness, or your muscles tensing around him. Nothing.

“I guess we’ll need to train you up on your other hand,” you lighten the mood, not wanting Crosshair to wander into dark thoughts during such an intimate moment. That is a conversation for pillow talk.

“Hm, more opportunities to see you like this,” he purrs, thankfully agreeing with your plan.

Kicking things up a notch, Crosshair begins to work his finger, using a rhythm that he knows works for you. Your hands begin to wander his body, caressing each part of him, especially the growing bulge within his pants.

Your fingertips begin to dance over his buttons, but Crosshair moves your attention away. “Wait-” he stutters, his free hand redirecting your hand to his hips. “This is about testing my hand, alright?”

You can’t help but let out a laugh. “Whatever you say, dear.”

On that note, Crosshair slips another finger inside of you, hushing you within an instant. “Don’t believe me, hm?” he hums, yet you’re failing for words as Crosshair curls his fingers upwards, the firm digits pressing against that spot within you.

In the midst of your lust and admiration, you don’t realise the minor differences to his new hand. Sure, it’s firmer, and in some ways, less intimate, but it’s still him - a new part of him that both of you need to get used to, and what a way to break the ice.

The sound of squelching fills the air, and you can feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head as pleasure takes over. Crosshair picks at the opportunity to continue his attack on your neck, leaving the first of many hickeys to assert his claim on you. (Perhaps to warn the new clones that you’re already taken?)

You catch yourself muttering his name, over and over, a mix between a chant and a prayer. By now, Crosshair has his clothed, yet erect cock pressed to your inner thigh, rutting against it with every flick of his wrist. He’s so desperate for your touch, yet he refuses to allow his focus to stray from you - or from ‘testing his new hand,’ as he so put it.

“Kriff-” you curse. Allowing your eyes to open, you lock your gaze with your lover, who looks as blissed out as you do. “Cross, you know that… I’m…”

“I know,” he cuts you off. “All over my finger, please. If you’d be so kind,” he replies, wit laced within his words, as always.

The sensation of orgasming around solid digits is one that you’ll have to get used to, yet it’s nothing but pleasurable. Strange, certainly. But far from negative. Crosshair is almost panting as hard as you are, crashing his lips with yours as he continues rutting against you. During the kisses, you reach down to palm over his cock, and finally, he allows you to get a good feel.

“You need some attention,” you comment. Crosshair chuckles, but the laugher is yanked from his lips as you grasp the upper hand, finding a way to flip your positions. You’re now straddling his lap, nude from the waist downwards, whilst Crosshair is fully clothed, (with a soaking wet hand.)

Crosshair grins, oh-so-eager to not only show you some love, but spend the evening getting all of your frustrations out. Oh, all whilst testing his new hand, because that is what this is really about.

There’s desperation within Crosshair’s grasp as he begins unbuckling his pants, eager to start receiving some of his own relief. “Who do you think will wear out first?” you question, your lips against his. “You? Me? Or your hand?”

Starstruck eyes meet yours. Of course, only you could crack a little joke during the heat of things - Crosshair fell for you for a reason, after all.

“I guess we’ll just have to find out,” he bites back.

“You’re on.”

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕨𝕖𝕚𝕣𝕕 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕗𝕦𝕝 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕙

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ᴛᴇᴄʜ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ᴛᴇᴄʜ'ꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ꜱᴏʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴍɪɴᴏʀ ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ, ᴛᴇᴄʜ ɪꜱ ᴀᴜᴛɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ɴᴇᴜʀᴏᴅɪᴠᴇʀɢᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ, ᴅᴇᴠᴇʟᴏᴘɪɴɢ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴅᴇɴɪᴀʟ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴘᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ, ᴘʜɪʟᴏꜱᴏᴘʜʏ, ꜰᴀᴛᴇ & ᴅᴇꜱᴛɪɴʏ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴅᴇʀɪɴɢꜱ (ꜱᴏʀʀʏ), ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴋɪꜱꜱ, ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ ꜱᴏʀᴛ ᴏꜰ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 10ᴋ (ᴜʜʜʜʜʜʜ ᴏᴏᴘꜱ)

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ☆ ᴅɪᴠɪɴᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴠᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀʀᴛɪᴄʟᴇ ʟᴏᴏꜱᴇʟʏ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴀᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇɴꜱ/ʏᴜꜱᴜꜰ ɪꜱʟᴀᴍ, ꜰᴀɪᴛʜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀᴛʜᴇɪꜱᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɢɴᴏꜱᴛɪᴄꜱ ʙʏ ᴡᴀʟʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴀ. ᴍᴜʀᴘʜᴇᴇ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ☆ ꜱɴᴏᴡ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ - ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛ ꜰᴛ ʟᴀɴᴀ ᴅᴇʟ ʀᴇʏ, ɪɴᴠɪꜱɪʙʟᴇ ꜱᴛʀɪɴɢ - ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛ, ʙᴀɢꜱ - ᴄʟᴀɪʀᴏ, ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ - ᴛʜᴇ 1975

⋆ ★ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢꜰɪᴄ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇᴅ @cloneficgiftexchange. ᴍʏ ɢɪꜰᴛᴇᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ @isaidonyourknees, ᴛʜᴇ ʟʏʀɪᴄꜱ ʙᴇɪɴɢ: "ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ // ᴘᴀꜱꜱɪɴɢ ʙʏ ᴜɴʙᴇᴋɴᴏᴡɴꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ" (ꜱɴᴏᴡ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ʙʏ ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛ ꜰᴛ. ʟᴀɴᴀ ᴅᴇʟ ʀᴇʏ)

ɪ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴘᴏᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ; ᴀꜱ ᴀ ɴᴇᴜʀᴏᴅɪᴠᴇʀɢᴇɴᴛ, ɪ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ɪɴ ᴛᴇᴄʜ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀꜱ ɪ ʙᴇɢᴀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴘʟᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜɪᴍ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ, ɪ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴘᴜᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ɪɴᴛᴏ ɪᴛ. ꜱᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ :)

ᴀʟꜱᴏ ꜱʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʟᴏᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ ᴘᴅꜰ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴊᴀʀɪᴋ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ (ʜᴇʜ) ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴊᴀʀɪᴋ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇ.

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Tech isn’t a believer in fate.

It’s hard to believe in something so ardently human when he was conjured out of something quite inhuman. Even then, he’s always been a man of science – facts and occurrences that could be proven without falter appeal to him the most. 

The mere idea of fate comes from a natural need for most to believe in something higher than them – but Tech and his brothers had no reason to fall back on such a comforting blanket. It’s almost a shame, he could deduce, but now that he’s never depended on such a thing, Tech doesn’t know why he should ever seek it out.

Thinking of some invisible string, predestined outcome, interlinked paths and journeys leading to the same end doesn’t comfort him in the slightest. If anything, he thinks himself too intelligent to believe in such things. He won’t look down on others for having those philosophies tethered close to their chest, but no matter how hard he tries and makes himself believe, the simple, straightforward fundamentals of the universe are undeniable in his eyes.

It’s just the truth. It can’t be proven otherwise.

Now, Tech has grown significantly from the first years of the Clone Wars – despite his stubborn, know-it-all demeanor, Tech still strives to learn and adapt and evolve into his best self – and much has changed. His belief in fate remains the pillar of his mindset through even menial life, though sometimes he can feel slivers of his humanity slipping past that desperately beg him to believe.

Because on further recollection, the unfamiliar yet pleasant shiver that ran past him the day he properly met you felt far too destined to be the product of mathematical chance. 

It’s like a fresh breeze against his skin after a lifetime in blistering heat, a breath taken right before plunging into oceanic depth, unexplored. Tech never considered himself a pioneer, but the first time he speaks to you, he feels like he’s treading frontiers never seen before. Though in reality, if he were to be brutally honest with himself, it only feels so new because Tech doesn’t normally like to indulge in such things.

Though, he doesn’t know this at an initial glance, of course. It takes him countless nights to come to these conclusions.

It starts simple, and begins with stiffness; you wave in his direction when he passes by your stall in the village market. The first few times, Tech doesn’t even acknowledge it, storing the action but deducing the wave isn’t meant for him. He doesn’t notice how your smile drops and your expression turns numbly neutral again when he doesn’t notice you.

Eventually, he finally realizes that your greetings are meant for him. If you had stopped greeting him in defeat, Tech may have never realized. But your insistence on getting him to acknowledge you isn’t in vain.

Tech watches you wave with a keen smile, and he turns around, expecting to see someone avidly waving back in your direction. When he doesn’t see anyone else and turns back again, your gaze still fixed on him, he blinks once–twice, thrice– and tucks his datapad into his pouch. Something almost smug crosses your face when he begins to walk to your stall.

“Hey there stranger,” you greet playfully. 

Once Tech hears your voice properly, he begins to piece together moments of familiarity; that same voice speaking calmly to Hunter over the sound of patrons in Cid’s parlor, your eyes staring into his for a split second to exchange some nothing words about something Tech can’t recall. Based on everything else he can recall, you must’ve been in tangles (loathsome or not) with Cid, which can explain why you were speaking to them. But still, he can’t quite understand why a split moment like that would make you so comfortable to greet him like this.

“Hello,” Tech answers you politely, stiffly. You don’t seem to be bothered.

“How long have you and your brothers been on Ord Mantell this time around?” That’s your first question, palms pressing to your stall table to lean over. You still aren’t close enough to the point Tech would become uncomfortable and needs to pull away, but he takes note of your manner.

“We just arrived last night. But we’ll be staying for some time longer to restock.” Tech answers mathematically because it’s the only way he knows how to speak to someone like you– a stranger .

You hum. “No wonder it’s been a while since I’ve seen you around. Or Wrecker and Omega. They always stop by the Mantell Mix stand whenever you're here.” 

Tech sneaks a glance to his left and realizes your seamster stand is situated right next to the stand selling Mantell Mix that the Omega and Wrecker always frequent. 

That makes more sense.

“Omega’s currently resting, last I saw her,” Tech explains, though he wonders if an explanation is obligated in this situation. 

“How is she doing?” You ask.

“She’s doing well.”

You smile. “I’m glad.”

Tech flips up his visor to get a better look at you. He tries not to stare for too long – from his understanding, it’s rude – but he still takes a hefty time taking you in. You’re your own person, just like everyone else in the world is; there’s no reason for him to be enraptured by anything more. Yet his eyes keep getting caught on the curve of your neck to your shoulder, how your hairline meets your ear, how you hold your jaw up. 

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, yet that same juvenile feeling of destiny rushes through him again. A flush of red on his cheeks, a warm sense of typical affection. 

You couldn’t be the cause, could you?

It’s something about you, isn’t it?

That can’t be right.

“I haven’t talked to you much.” Your next words snap Tech out of his trance but his mind still races through different ideas. He’s not accustomed to this feeling of distraction; his thoughts are usually so methodical and precise. 

“I suppose we haven’t had the chance,” Tech finally settles on the answer, voice softening purposefully to seem less standoffish. The corner of your lips turns up at his reply.

“There’s no time like the present, right?” you respond, as peppy as ever. Though, perhaps you’re less peppy than he thinks, but just ten times livelier than him. 

“What do you do when you’re not out saving the galaxy with your brothers?” You then ask, and Tech’s first instinct is to ask what led her to believe they were doing such a thing; a worry of that’s rude and dismissive overwhelms the initial thought, and he holds his tongue.

He thinks over the question, momentarily scrambling to think of an answer that doesn’t involve discussing the batch’s next move or tactical strategies. 

“I… study. Research,” he answers vaguely, mentally berating himself for not preparing a better response.

Your jaw slacks, mouth forming a small ‘o.’ 

“That makes sense, considering you’re always on that datapad of yours.” Instinctively, almost defensively, Tech’s hand reaches for the pouch that carries his datapad, and then you’re smiling again. He isn’t lying when he speaks of studying and researching; in fact, more recently he has been studying the origins of faith and mythology. He recalls it again when he looks at you, ideas of the Maker’s beautiful handcraft. He’d like to believe in those beliefs, especially staring into your eyes now, that face so perfectly molded by a touch of godlike divinity or something else entirely–

Or perhaps he’s wishing he could believe in something so below him.

His mind shuts down any other thought, any other command, besides retreat.

“I should leave now,” he states matter-of-factly, trying not to look at how your face contorts with his change of mind. 

“I enjoyed speaking with you,” he adds at the end to soften the blow. He’s unsure if it works.

You flash a smile, more bitter than before. 

“So did I,” you say.

Tech turns on his heel and walks away. As he returns to Cid’s parlor, stomach flipping in ways he’s never felt before, Tech concludes stubbornly that you are no product of divinity, that the color of your eyes and etch of your smile aren’t utterly spectacular pigments of the Maker’s creation. A thought like that isn’t aligned with his previous beliefs, and he isn’t one to abandon something so fundamentally, provably true. Tech is a man of science, not a critic of artistic elegance.

-

Inconveniently, that isn’t the last time Tech speaks to you. Far from it.

Not only have you continued to wave his direction whenever he crosses your way – and he always waves back, no matter what, even if there’s no reason for him to familiarize himself with you – but you frequent Cid’s parlor more than he realizes. Perhaps he hadn’t taken notice of you before —just regarded you as another patron— but now he certainly has.

He sees you once again talking to Cid directly, voice hushed and chin tipped low while you speak to each other. Your expression is no more serious than what he’s seen before—it may suggest the conversation is entirely casual, but Tech knows better than to think there’s no ulterior scheming if you’re talking to Cid of all people.

Hunter’s voice cuts through like a knife, pulling him out of his previous trance.

“You’re looking at the civvy again,” he says.

Tech shakes his head adamantly, immediately.

“I’m not,” that’s how he replies to Hunter, but both of them know he’s incorrect.

“Hm,” Hunter mumbles, unbothered by Tech’s dishonesty. Instead, he moves on to the next topic. “Why don’t you talk to her?”

Tech tilts his head.

“She’s friendly,” Hunter then adds. “And I’m sure she won’t mind if you struck up a conversation.”

The idea of Tech walking up to an acquaintance, practically a stranger to drum up unnecessary conversation doesn’t sit right with him. It’s entirely unlikely. Not a viable outcome in the probability and spontaneity of the turmoil that is the galaxy.

“I’m sure she’d rather have a conversation with someone other than me. Someone as lively,” Tech says, attempting to keep an unaffected expression on his face. “Perhaps Wrecker, or Omega.”

Hunter purses his lips. And then he shrugs, which perplexes Tech.

“She talks to me and Echo just fine.”

Wrecker butts in, a level of energy above the rest as usual, and encourages him,

“Yeah! Make some friends, Tech!”

and his stomach twists, partly offended at the implication of their words, and partly discomforted by being pushed out of his comfort box out of his autonomy. Tech says something he truly feels, albeit cold, but he feels it's the only words that keep him safe and sane in his zone of stark, 

“Who said I want to make friends?”

Just then, Hunter perks up, eyes darting away from Tech and looking behind him. Tech then turns before looking back again; he’s unsure why he wants to appear so casual–perhaps it’s you, though.

“Hello boys,” You greet them all with a little wave as you lean your body on the booth’s table, looking at everyone; Hunter, who waves and smiles small and quickly; Echo, who appears relieved by the intervention; Wrecker, prepared to say hello in a booming, friendly voice; and Tech, who tilts his chin down so he can’t see that face he worries might be celestial.

“Well hello to you too!” Wrecker smiles for you big and wide, attempting to make up for the lackluster welcome you receive from the rest of the batch. You smile wider, and Tech tightens his lips. The same feeling rushes down his spine, settling in his stomach. Twice now. Twice in your proximity. If it happens thrice, Tech won’t be able to dismiss it as a coincidence.

“Are you looking for Omega?” Hunter asks, debating your reason for approaching them. “She’s asleep already. I understand you wanted to teach her a bit of Dejarik strategy…”

You shake your head loosely with a shrug.

“Not necessarily, no,” you speak like you’re bargaining, Tech notices; as though you’re trying to sell a product, or charm your buyer. “I’d like to say hello to all of you.”

Echo smiles softly. “It’s nice to see you around,” he says. Perhaps you’ve been in closer proximity to the rest of his brothers more than Tech thought.

“Yeah, very nice!” Wrecker says, still so enthusiastic Tech almost cringes.

You shift your weight on the table, one hand leaning over to keep yourself upright while the rest of your body casually careens in their general direction.

“So…” She begins, smile turning coy and probing. “What brings a band of brothers like you–”

Before she can finish her sentence, a scaly hand clasps her shoulder, and she turns. Cid looms over the booth now, seemingly unamused by the interaction. 

Though, when does Cid ever look amused? Tech things.

“Hey, bandana, goggles, the other ones,” she snubs. Tech scrunches his face. Cid gestures toward her backroom office. “Over here. I got something to discuss with you.”

She leaves it at that, and you slowly turn your gaze back to the boys, slightly squeamish. As though you shouldn’t be there. Wordlessly, you leave, and as the boys shuffle out of the booth, Tech can’t help but turn and catch a fleeting glimpse of you before disappearing into the room.

Business. That’s all Cid discusses with them. In her defense, they never exchange any other words besides those that regard business, but it still causes Tech to frown. Her interruption could’ve been saved until after you’d finished speaking; instead, Cid clapped your shoulder and dismissed you, your face painted with an expression of valid disregard, and Tech didn’t like it at all.

When the batch finishes discussing their next job with Cid, he exits the back room and is surprised to see you are still there. Instead of talking to anyone, you’re shuffling through a few credits at the bar table, nursing what looks like water. Who drinks liquor during the day, anyway?

The batch each returns to menial tasks; Hunter and Echo go to check on the ship and Omega, Wrecker finds some random patrons to play a round of darts with, and Tech’s feet find an indirect path back to you.

“Your question,” he begins monotonously. It seems his whole body moves at its own autonomy rather than his command because suddenly Tech can’t seem to recall how he got into this position. 

You turn, surprise etched into your expression.

“Excuse me?”

Tech quickly debates his limited options. Now that you’ve acknowledged him, there’s simply no way he could back out now. At least, that’s what seems courteous.

“C-Cid interrupted you. So you never got to ask your question.”

Your mouth falls into a little ‘o’ shape, so delicately parted Tech’s entire expression softens ever so slightly.

“Thanks for asking,” you answer with genuine care for his consideration. “…I was just going to ask what brings a group like you to this parlor so often.” Tech hums, encouraging to continue even when you bite your lip. “We’re not exactly very accommodating for long, and…” He picks up on your choice of the words, we’re. “…unless Cid is using you as her lapdogs—“

A momentary pause in your sentence leaves enough space for Tech, now incredibly curious, to interrupt.

“Lapdogs?”

There’s no statistical way to predict how you’ll respond. But Tech considers his past experiences with you, how you’ve replied and reacted to his abrupt words before, and he awaits a response as peppy as you usually are. Instead, it’s radio silence. Deafening, discomforting, haunting silence.

Your gaze drifts down, tongue swiping over your bottom lip momentarily as you ponder your next words. Finally, you gaze up again, and Tech’s breath returns.

“Can you forget I said that?” Is your choice of words. It’s a strange choice, perhaps, at least in Tech’s eyes, but he lets it pass. 

Only because… Only because…

“I’ll try,” Tech says.

You smile, warm and friendly and alien.

“I’ll see you, Tech.”

He does continue to see you around the parlor – quite often, actually. More often than not, you’re playing Dejarik with another patron. He’s unconsciously begun to catalog your different smiles– when you play, your smile is always smug, bordering on something nefarious. Tech has also noticed the same expression on your opponent's face every time you finish a game; the same disgruntled, disappointed look on them when they push themselves off the chair and grovel, leaving with fewer credits than they had entered with.

You seem to win so frequently and collect large wads of money, he begins to wonder if you make more money in your games of Dejarik than at your stall. However, he fears that he’ll look like a vermin invading in your business if he tries to calculate your earnings so adamantly. 

Rather, you probe him yourself.

Tech is sitting on a barstool, absentmindedly reading another research paper he scoured the holonet for. This time, he’s reading up on the phenomenon of divine intervention. Near-death experiences when someone‘s pulled out of the water right before they take their last breath, that precipice of halting existence in the material plane before you’re brought right back in, by somethingmightier than you.

He’s grazed death many times before. It’s simply a part of existence as a Jango Fett clone. He deals with the risk of death every day he steps on a new planet, even after the war has ended. Nothing has ever felt like a pull out of the water before drowning, a gust of air rushing through his lungs mere seconds before he’s taken out of this world.

Though, perhaps divine intervention doesn’t just apply to moments right before death. As he reaches the counter-rebuttal section of the paper, your voice folds and floats over his skin like silk.

“What are you researching this time?”

Tech looks up from his datapad immediately, tucking it away, as he knows if he keeps it open, his instinct will want to retract back to his comfort zone.

“The phenomenon of divine intervention,” he says, feeling no need to lie. “Or rather, stories of those who believe they’ve experienced such a thing.”

You nod, keenly interested; he’s not used to someone caring to listen to any of his ramblings. You then place your elbows on the Dejarik table, almost teasing-like, leaning toward him in invitation.

“So you’re not a believer?” Your words aren’t insulted; they still wade in pools of curiosity, and those damn eyes trap him in again.

Again, he feels no need to lie to you. Not about this.

“In divine interventions? No,” Tech shakes his head.

You huff.

“That’s a shame,” you jest, opening your arms even further, just begging for him to crawl his way further. “I’d make a joke about how I’m a divine intervention right now.”

Tech raises an eyebrow. Your smile widens.

“I’m intervening oh-so-divinely to invite you for a game,” you gesture to the Dejarik board with a mousy scrunch of your nose.

You must be in his head. That’s it. There’s no other explanation for how you burrow into it so fast, know every thought that’s been plaguing his busied mind ever since he first properly spoke with you. Perhaps he should’ve, would’ve denied you a game another time, but in an instant Tech is pulling out the chair across from you and taking a seat to play.

Only because… Only because…

Why don’t I know?

You smile again, passing him a die to roll and turning on the holograms, each piece appearing unselected.

“Let’s play,” you say.

Tech nods stiffly.

“Let’s.”

Through the years, Tech has taken a liking to Dejarik. He enjoys the mathematical element, the perfect balance of strategy and luck that can’t be faked or excused by some higher entity. Though as much as he enjoys playing, he enjoys watching others play more. Trying to pick apart their thought process as they actively spell out their strategy onto the board, whether they emerge victorious or indebted. And even though he’s playing, he’s never been more fascinated watching another.

Each of you takes turns rolling a die and picking your pieces. You don’t hesitate with your choices, divisive when you place them on your side and Tech admires the confidence on your face. He isn’t 

“Do you want to bet some credits?” Tech asks, assuming you’d want a gain out of a game. He’d never seen you play Dejarik for fun before.

You push your eyebrows together, a tiny grin gracing your face.

“I’m not trying to get money out of you. I’m playing just for fun.”

Tech shrugs.

“Just a few. Just for fun,” he shuffles through his pockets and places two credits on the table, raising an invitational eyebrow. The exhilaration that washes over your entire face is incredibly worth it.

The game begins after that. Not before you bet three credits yourself, of course.

Just as he expects from astute (neurotic) observation, you are mostly silent when you play, save for little quips as you’re deciding your next move. You move your pieces with precision, and instead of reaching him first, you let Tech’s pieces meet you in the middle.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you tease when his Houjix meets your Monnok. Tech bites the inside of his cheek, trying to avoid smiling like a fool. 

Two full turns pass after that. Tech attempts to roll back with a witty remark, but he worries it comes out swell-headed. After all, he doesn’t want you put off of him entirely. Maybe just a little. Just so he isn’t irreligiously blessed with you far too much.

Besides that, Tech’s put you in an unfavorable position. One he hadn’t expected. He’s seen you play; you move and strategize with the grace and expertise of any master swindler. But here you are, your Monnok pinned between his Ghhhk and K’lor’slug. There’s little chance you’ll be able to defend; with a power piece like Monnok against a flanked defense, he’s

“You seem to have me cornered, Tech,” you say casually, unbothered. He frowns, puzzled.

“I do.”

“Well?” You lean back, hands neatly folded on your lap, ambivalent to your defeat. Waiting for his next move.

Tech attacks your piece. It’s killed with no buffer. When his eyes return to your gaze, he doesn’t expect you to remain so nonchalant about the loss. But you’re tipping your chin down in respect and pushing the credits to his side.

“Good game,” you say. “`Really got me there.”

Tech’s frown deepens, confused by your impartial feelings.

“You were winning up until that last turn,” he says, thinking out loud for a moment. “The only thing that got me back up was that counter-kill.”

You shrug.

“Beginner’s luck?” You bargain, but Tech doesn’t like that answer. Luck is plentifully part of the universe, but it’s far too abstract and all-encompassing to play a role in one Dejarik game. One dice roll.

Instead, Tech just returns the shrug. Perhaps some things don’t have to be over-analyzed, despite the discomfort it gives him to leave it at that.

You look at him with those unholy-holy eyes of yours again, and Tech tenses his jaw.

“Another game?”

Tech doesn’t answer verbally but rather picks up a die and begins to shake. You smile.

The air between the two of you doesn’t change, the same quips and expressions exchanged– Wrecker even notices and becomes your one-man crowd– but this time, Tech is humiliated. Immediately, he loses his Attack and Mobility pieces, realizing his flaw is his flow of movement on the board far too late in the game. He can’t save his pieces before you’ve killed all of them, three of your four remaining triumphant on the board.

His mind does it again. Contradicts his previous belief. Luck is the first thought that crosses his mind when he recalls the last two games. Deliberate luck. Something incomprehensible to those on his plane to understand intentionally changing the course. Something entirely false, entirely juxtaposing everything Tech knows to be true.

You’re then bringing the five credits over to your side, shuffling them around in your palm momentarily with a smile.

“Look at that. I’m rich,” you joke. Wrecker howls out a laugh, but your eyes are only focused on Tech when he returns you the softest grin.

You’ve played him. It’s a classic little hustle. But he knows that. You know that. You know that he knows that.

His first win isn’t beginner’s luck, and your totalitarian victory isn’t just the luck of the draw. It’s clear on your face.

Perhaps you’re not much of a believer in fate either.

-

Tech allows the moment to simmer. In the back of his mind, he’s still anxious to approach you on his own with seemingly no reason other than just wanting to. It doesn’t feel right to him. Far too out of his nature to do spontaneously.

He only allows himself to indulge in a conversation once the air has settled, and only if you initiate the conversation first.

You do. Well, technically. You wave him over to your stall, and he greets you with exactly what’s been going on in his mind.

“You flank with your offensive piece and reinforce with your defensive piece.”

You blink at him, then blink again, smile slowly turning more dumbly awestruck in your surprise. Nice work, Tech. 

“I-It throws people off,” he finishes his thought. Can’t hurt to finish the blow, can it?

Your grin is all teeth and cheek, the crinkles in the corners of your eyes clear as day. Tech isn’t sure what feeling rushes through him when he notices it, but it certainly is pleasant.

“Oh?” That’s all you say. All you give Tech to work with.

He licks his lips with no aim.

“...Oh.”

You snicker, shoulders tensing, but your actions haven’t given a clear stay-away warning. He’s still in the clear.

“You open with your movement piece,” he recalls how you played last night, and the countless other times he’s watched you match against others. “In the first game, you moved your Molator twice, and in the second, you moved the K’lor’slug only once–” You nod in agreement, which gives Tech the green light to continue rambling. “–But you didn’t break the inner circle in the first turn for either game. You wait for your opponent to move inward before you break in.”

You shrug, still grinning all wide, and that rush of fate overtakes him again. This time, he doesn’t stuff it down with an adamant rejection but rather ignores it with little regard instead.

Only because… Only because…

“Can’t argue with that,” you say. “I skirt.”

“Some would say you’re attempting a classic round-table defense tactic. But I think you’re just a strategic attacker.”

“All attackers have to be strategic.”

“Sure. But you attack as though the game lasts twenty rounds. You attack for a long-run victory. One that takes multiple games to enact.” Tech gazes away, feeling himself getting caught up in his words again, pushing up the bridge of his goggles. “It’s– It’s a playing style most people don’t expect.”

Finally, Tech gets the common sense to stop explaining to you your own strategy and clears his throat, fingers locking in and out as he lays out his next words.

“...Or, at least I think. From what I observed.”

You huff, exasperated; or maybe amused.

“You observed correctly,” you say, and Tech’s shoulders heave oh-so-subtly as he sighs in relief.

“I’ve played plenty of Dejarik before. And watched others play,” he replies as smoothly as possible.

With a hum, you tilt your head, still so enraptured in the conversation. He wonders for a split second over what enchanted you. It’s uncharacteristic… yes.

“Is that how Omega got so good?” You then ask.

Tech considers your words, his half-shrug turning into a hand gesture.

“Not exactly,” he says. “She has a knack for those sorts of games on her own. But–but that’s not the point I was trying to make.”

Your eyebrows perk up.

“Well then, please continue, Tech.”

Oh, does he love the sound of his name on your lips. It’s far too–not perfect, no–it’s far too pretty to be wrapping around something, someoneso statically unmatched for you.

“I’ve read plenty on Dejarik tactics, variants, openers… you don’t play in a way that shows you know them. That you’ve ever read them. That the idea of tactic and strategy in Dejarik even exists .”

You tilt your head, urging him to continue. You have that same look of fierce curiosity in your eyes that Tech is beginning to adore.

“You might play those tactics and moves, but it’s not on purpose. It’s by chance. Because, of course, where do those strategies come from? Those who play first.” Tech gestures toward your figure again. “You play like you’re the first to ever do it. Like you made Dejarik yourself. Like the game is yours .”

For a split second, Tech seriously considers that he may have gone too far. But your contemplative face tells you otherwise. You’re still genuinely considering what he has to say.

You let out one more disbelieving breath, head dipping down with a bashful shake of your head. 

“Well, I’m flattered you think of me that way,” you reply, biting your lip. “Though I’m afraid that’s too much to deduce from two games… don’t you think?”

“I’ve seen you play,” he says right after you finish. But it’s not long before he regrets it. He watches you tilt your head and he takes a deep breath. “...I, observed.”

You nod along, but Tech worries that you don’t believe him. But he wouldn’t believe him either.

“You’re clever,” Tech adds just to see that smile again. You give it to him, graciously.

“No one’s used that word to describe me,” you shrug. “After I beat someone, I usually get the typical pantheon of shallow insults.” Tech stares at you puzzled, and you shift your weight to ease the tension in your shoulders. 

“‘Thieving bitch,’ ‘Conniving whore,’” You list examples with a mild expression of annoyance, “Sometimes just a simple ‘Fucker’ before they’re lunging over the table.”

Tech’s eyebrows push together.

“ Lunging? ”

You laugh teasingly, but not unkindly.

“Sometimes sore losers get aggressive,” you explain. “But Cid never lets that slide.”

“Are you in close contact with her?” Is his next question, though he’s unsure how you might respond. With a purse of your lips, you lean back, increasing the distance between the two of you.

“I guess you could say that,” is your response. “It’s… complicated.”

Tech feels it. How soft and undisturbed he feels in your presence. He’s suddenly no longer having a natural urge to overthink your words and conjure up the perfect response (even if it doesn’t prove successful). He can leave what you say just as it is.

Only because…

Only because what? What makes this special? What makes you special? He’d never once questioned his stance of faith. And he won’t let something like this change it either. So how can you even exist, live, and grace his world so effortlessly as though you know nothing of the way you disrupt his being?

It’s discomforting. It’s enticing. It’s foreign.

“That’s fair, I suppose,” he says. “I think I’d respond the same if you asked me that question.”

You grin, gentler than he’s ever seen it, and Tech is left to seriously debate the existence of material contradictions. 

-

Without your own volition, you continue to occupy Tech’s mind, both in his dreams and in his wake. On missions when he isn’t forced to zero in on a threat, he’s found himself endlessly searching holonet scholars for something to justify his deviation from the objective truth.

There has to be a reason, Tech is sure of it. Why else would he look at you, someone as grounded as any other being, and feel something so divine? Something that feels almost destined?

He recalls certain stories of grand romance he’s read before. It’s like I knew you in a past life… Something drew me to you the moment we met… I looked and I just knew. It’s not an entirely inhuman idea, yet it’s so alien to Tech’s nature he can’t understand how anyone could experience that. 

Faith is not something instinctual for Tech. He’s never needed it like others have. His moral compass exists without the need of a rulebook, or a punishment if he strays away from what’s correct. 

Yet every time he sees you, his mind screams and grasps at the ideas like a lifeline. The only thing keeping him afloat when he’s in your presence.

Despite that, he does his best to keep these conflicting feelings at bay. You invite him for more games of Dejarik, though infrequent, and Tech eagerly anticipates them. Wrecker has taken a liking to watching the two of you play as well. When the two of you probe the answer as to why, Wrecker just shrugs and says “You two play well together.”

Tech would rather think of you as a scientific anomaly, he realizes; so he thinks of you as a magnet to his opposite, pulling him closer the moment your field meets his. The second you wave him over from your stall, he’s walking over with the smallest of content grins. He’s glued to your every minuscule movement, every twitch and glance. When you lean in, so does he. When you pull back, he follows the trail you leave.

Even through the discomfort, he allows himself to be pulled by your magnet.

Only because… Only because… 

“Tech?”

Hunter’s voice interrupts Tech’s mental meandering. Tech looks over at him, pushing the bridge of his goggles up.

“Yes, Hunter? Is there something you need me for?”

Hunter squints, looking past Tech. He turns to look at where Hunter has fixed his gaze, which is, inconveniently, you. Tech turns back, and Hunter grins.

“Nothing, but I did want to ask about your little staring problem,” he says. When Tech stills, Hunter just purses his lips. 

“Do you like her?” Tech huffs softly, unsure of how to answer. What a question that is.

“Of course,” he answers, still unsure of what's appropriate. “I have no reason to dislike her. She is a perfectly adequate person.” Before he can begin to overthink his choice of words, Hunter shakes his head and says,

“That’s not what I meant.”

Tech only has a slim idea of what he’s implying, and has no plan of assuming.

“I don’t understand.”

“Tech,” Hunter catches his gaze with a firm tone, and suddenly he can’t look away. “Do you have feelings for her?”

Again, what a question. Feelings are not Tech’s strong suit. He knows this. Hunter knows this. Being cornered with such a question isn’t going to receive the results Hunter wants.

“...What is the exact definition of feelings?” Tech rationalizes before trying to give a real answer. “Because I’m not sure my reflections regarding her match what you’re accusing me of.”

Hunter frowns. Tech half expects him to keep probing, but instead, he leaves it at that with a lazy shrug.

“Sure,” Hunter says, looking over at you again. “Are you going to speak to her, at least? Instead of watching from afar?”

Tech shakes his head adamantly. He isn’t exactly embarrassed to admit to his brother that he has no wish to initiate a conversation.

“Only if she approaches me first,” he says. “I don’t seem the need to otherwise.”

Hunter still has that same look on his face; puzzled with a hint of disappointment.

“If you say so. Just… Don’t limit yourself.”

Leave my comfort zone?

“I’m going to take Omega back to the ship for an early night,” he continues, patting Tech’s shoulder pad and passing by him. “Keep your comm on, just in case.”

Tech nods, but his gaze is far directed your way.

“Sounds good.”

For the most part, Tech finds himself sticking to that same mindset; he won’t approach you first. Unless there was a feeling festering in his chest, that same destined rush that he devoutly will deny, there’s no reason. 

The night grows darker, the parlor becomes more crowded with inebriated patrons having their hand at games of Dejarik. He sits on a barstool, waiting for you to leave your booth and challenge an oblivious customer, but that time never comes. Your silhouette looms in the corner, dancing in the dim light, pulling at something deep within him. Each time he tries to focus on something else, gaze away, his eyes keep finding their way back to where you sit alone, an empty glass in front of you, your fingers splayed on the table tracing invisible patterns; lost in thought.

Tech’s mind neurotically considers his options. Could he even approach you without feeling like he was giving into what he’s been rejecting so fixedly? What would he even say? How would you react? Surely, you’re observant enough to realize how he never chooses to come to you first.

The uncertainty gnaws at him, twisting his stomach, but the pull towards you is stronger. He favors you as a magnet once again and takes a deep breath to steel himself before pushing off his seat and walking toward you.

You don’t even seem to realize he’s walking toward you, eyes still glossed over with a look of apathy. Tech clears his throat awkwardly before speaking, his voice quiet, but still loud enough to grab your attention.

“Hello,” is his opener. 

Real smooth.

You blink in surprise, gazing up at him with the gentlest part of your lips. He gets the perfect view of your face, and that familiarity he once saw the first time he spoke to you return. Like an old friend, a smell that transports him to somewhere safe and warm. Somewhere he belongs and always will belong, since the beginning.

“Oh,” you speak, a soft breeze settling over his exposed skin when you talk to him. “Hi.” You gesture to the booth seat across from him, and Tech sits graciously, tipping his chin down courteously.

“How are you?” He then asks; it is the only thing he could decide upon that was the least risky.

Your expression tenses, eyebrows pushing together with a scrunch of your nose.

“I’m…” you begin, as though bargaining with yourself. “...I’m not doing great if I’m being honest. Thanks for asking.”

Tech takes a deep breath, chest heaving at your last sentence. Are you… Are you being sarcastic? Do you not appreciate his butting in? Should he–

“If you’d like me to leave, I can do so,” Tech thinks out loud, attempting to backtrack.

Your eyes widen and you reach over, preventing him from sitting up and leaving you.

“No, please, sit down with me.” Your expression is soft again, gentle with a lack of spirit that frankly makes Tech slightly uneasy. But he just nods and sits his bottom down again, clearing his throat awkwardly.

He lets the silence sit. It feels like the right thing to do. But then you start speaking again.

“Tech,” you say, blinking so rapidly he almost assumes you’re holding back tears, “you’re a scholar, right?”

Tech hums, considering your question. He’d almost forgotten what he’d first told you during your first-ever real conversation. 

“Perhaps one could call me that,” he says, “though I’ve never published any research or thesis of my own…” he watches your expression intently, and when your lips curl up, his chest seizes again. He backtracks again. “...Unless you’re teasing me.”

You shake your head rapidly.

“Oh, I’m not,” you say. “I’m sorry if it came out that way.”

Tech holds back a frown. He’s always found conversations to be a puzzle, always methodically putting it together like a typical person, but always missing the final piece to match everyone else. Something missing. Something extra. Something different. He’s never been good at this. Conversations with you are far from an exception.

He settles to clarify, “I didn’t interpret it as that,” with a softened expression. “Other’s might, perhaps. But not me.”

You nod, rerouting back to your initial question.

“So you’ve read and researched plenty of topics, right?”

Tech hums.

“I have.”

You breathe shallowly but still deep enough to push out your next words.

“Do you think you can help me with a question that’s been on my mind lately?”

Tech blinks. Now, that’s a heavy request. But he’s looking at a face borderline paradoxical, a loose bolt in the machine; what’s the point of rejecting such beauty?

“I can try.”

You smile softly, but the content doesn’t reach your eyes. Tech begins to truly wonder what’s been bothering you. With a much deeper breath, you lean your elbows on the table and begin.

“All my life, I’ve been doing what I need to do. To survive. To get by.”

Tech sits there, embarrassingly dumbfounded at what to say besides giving a sympathetic response. You hold in such a high regard– he doesn’t want to lose that.

“Many people do.”

You fool. 

But you don’t seem to notice. 

“Sure, but it’s mixed in with actual desires. Things they want to do,” you continue, rationalizing your next statement. “But with me… it feels like all I ever do is what I need to do to survive. I can’t even think of a time when I’ve done something I truly wanted.”

This time, Tech takes his time to consider your words.

“That’s… Not an uncommon experience.”

You tilt your head, considering his words for yourself.

“Really?”

“Sure,” he pushes up the bridge of his goggles before he keeps talking, recalling any relevant example he could use. If he’d like to leave this conversation in any way, it’s with you feeling comforted. “I know that my brothers and I have focused most of our lives on simple survival rather than a true passion. And sometimes, doing what you want can only come after working for a space to survive.”

You nod in understanding and what he hopes is agreement, taking a few moments yourself before replying.

“That’s not incorrect,” you say before turning it around, “but I think my problem is that I’ve worked so hard to survive that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to fulfill my wants. Not out of selfishness, but just out of… scarcity, perhaps? Of free time. Of liberty. Between finding places to stay, running the stall, making money in Dejarik, ensuring my protection–”

That’s what intrigues Tech. He doesn’t want to interrupt, but he’s doing it before he even realizes it. 

“Protection?”

You nod, rather than go silent like the last time he’d interrupted you so starkly to probe at your word choice. 

“From Cid. That’s how we know each other,” you explain. “When I first came to Ord Mantell, it was at a peak of crime and murder. Cid saw me playing Dejarik and making good credit, and we struck up a deal; she provided me protection using her connections through the city, and I gave her 25% of my earnings.”

Tech nods along, processing your words with an attending gaze. 

“That’s…” he begins, aimlessly, when in reality he should’ve been thinking more properly because then you’re interrupting him with a tinge of insecurity in your voice.

“Dumb?” you ask.

Tech shakes his head automatically.

“I don’t have the right to say that,” he says, and you exhale softly in relief. Though he isn’t sure why you’re concerned about what he might think. “…If anything, I see it as resourcefulness. As you said, you were just trying to survive.”

Then you’re grinning again, a wash of sweet calm on your face.

“I’m glad you think that.”

Then silence fills the room again. Tech seriously considers his next words. He could retract and simmer his words down, or he could take a risk. But it’s been established with you clearly; Tech won’t take many risks.

So he’s unsure what compels him.

“What’s something you’d like to do?” He asks. You perk up with a raised chin. Tech tenses. “Perhaps–perhaps we could try and complete it together, right now.”

Your eyebrows raise, and Tech can see your thinking, a slow smile beginning to spread across your face.

“If we’re talking right now…” You say coyly. “...I’d love to get out of this parlor.” A polite, yet genuine laugh erupts out of Tech, and you laugh along with him, body leaning down with the heaving of your shoulders when you giggle.

Tech regains his composure quickly, readjusting his goggles.

“Then let’s leave.”

You raise your eyebrows. Tech nods again.

“Where?” you ask. Then he purses his lips.

“I’m not sure.”

You sigh, but not in annoyance. Unexpectedly, you rise from your seat, gesturing for him to do so as well.

“C’mon,” you grin, “I know a place.”

With a leading stride, you tug on the fabric covering his wrist and swerve the two of you through the parlor. Tech half expects Cid to interrupt the two of you again, but he takes a moment to glance back and observe, relieved to see her nowhere in sight. For once, he actually can be alone with you, speak to you without such an overstimulating environment, and without the risk of being interrupted.

Once you exit the parlor, you let go of his fabric. Tech forlornly tucks it into a pocket and continues to follow you. Through backways of backways, up a winding staircase, through a hallway, then up another ladder leads him to your destination; atop a tall living complex overlooking the rest of the buildings down to the bustling life below. If Tech was a more spiritual man, he could swear he’d be able to reach up and hoist a star in the sky onto the next planet; they seemed to shine so close. He’s caught up in the view for a few moments before he remembers what he is here for; your company. But to his relief, you’re lost in the expanse as well.

“It’s quiet up here,” he comments, taking a step closer to you.

You nod, still not taking your gaze off the sky. Tech is pulled in again, unable to take his eyes off of you. 

“As far as I know, this place is more isolated,” you say. “As you saw from the climb up, it’s kind of hard to spot unless you live in the living complex.”

“I see.”

Tech’s immediate urge is to ask if you live in this living complex, but the worry that he’s overstepping overtakes him. He settles on a different question.

“Do you come here often?” He asks, glancing up at the sky, but after long he’s compelled to look back at you.

You shrug, lament, as though disappointed in yourself.

“Not as much as I wish,” you sigh. “Like I said, I rarely do what I want.”

Then, you’re walking towards the end of the building, taking a seat on the edge, legs dangling over. Tech watches you and then follows behind, taking a wary look over. You don’t seem concerned at all by the risk. So he sits beside you. He reasons with where he sits, worried about overstepping a boundary, but still sits close enough that if either of you were to scoot, your shoulders could graze. That feels reasonable to him.

“Have– have you always lived like this?” Tech stammers, folding his hands over his lap. 

“Lived like what?” You ask, seemingly confused by his question. He can feel your eyes on him, but he resists his want to look back; eye contact in a situation such as this might break him completely. 

“...Just to survive,” he clarifies for you. You mutter a soft ‘oh,’, looking away again, eyes glossy while you recall past events.

“...No. Not my whole life,” you say. He makes the mistake of looking up, because suddenly you’re looking back at him, lips parted in consideration. He thinks of the first time he properly spoke to you, the familiarity he found in your face; as though he’d seen it before in a past life, or perhaps this one; but the latter couldn’t be correct. Tech would have remembered a face such as yours if it’s struck him so now. 

You continue, unaffected by Tech’s neurotic mentation.

“Back in Nalvage, where I grew up, I did what I wanted. Survival wasn’t something I was thinking about.” You pause to take a deep breath, shoulders heaving. “I just… lived. With the pretense of survival already there for me.”

Tech thinks over your words, getting hooked onto one in particular.

“Nalvage.”

“Yeah,” you turn and tilt your head. “You know it?”

Tech holds back a snarky response. It’s you, after all.

“Of course,” he mutters, voice raising as he continues. “My first ever mission was on there. My brothers and I saved and escorted refugees out of a village the Separatists had been seizing.”

You nod, though it's more of a slight dip of your chin.

“Yeah.”

“That was almost four years ago,” he recalls. The clone wars had truly felt like an eternity, Tech realizes, despite in a vacuum, it only lasting a tenth of a tenth of a second. Living through it, fighting in it, growing up under the guise of war and bloodshed changes anyone.

He looks back again, and you seem to be lost in thought. Your eyes are downset, lip swiping over your lips. Then you gaze up again, eyebrows pushed together.

“Do you know how long I’ve lived on Ord Mantell, Tech?” You ask. Unsure of where you were heading in this conversation, take just shakes his head, awaiting you to fill the gaps.

“Three and a half years.”

Tech purses his lips, trying to connect the dots in his head. A flush of deeply rooted history between you two festers, but he pushes it down as he attempts to rationalize. Additionally, he’d rather you fill in the gaps for yourself than let him assume possibly incorrectly.

“Three and a half years,” he repeats to himself under his breath. You catch it and smile softly, breathlessly. “And you’re from Nalvage?”

You nod wordlessly, then provide him the clarity he’d been waiting for.

“The village you helped evacuate was mine, Tech.”

Tech’s never been good at conversations. When he can’t find a missing piece, little people make the effort to help him fill it in. He’s left just a tack behind the rest, inept and foolish for even trying when it comes to easy for others. But you take the time to fill it in for him. And as he looks at you, it’s like he’s been waiting for this along. Waiting for someone like you. Or… just you.

Now you’re looking at him with that same expression of familiarity. Perhaps it’s been there all along, and Tech was too lost in his monologue to realize. But it’s so prominent he begins to feel guilt pounding in his heart. You knew this whole time, yet didn’t share. He must’ve made you uncomfortable. He must’ve hurt your feelings when it seemed he didn’t recognize him. 

“I–you–I apologize–” He stammers through, fingers starting to tremble. He combats it by taking a cold grip on his jean-clad thighs.

“No, it’s okay,” you say. “I was younger then. I looked much more alive back then compared to now.” Your tone is joking, but the playfulness doesn’t reach your eyes. “And you were saving so many people. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me.”

“It’s not that,” Tech denies with a firm shake of his head. “I couldn’t recognize you until now, but… I thought I knew your face.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. He’s pulled into your magnetic field again, just another opposite for you to latch with.

“Is that right?” You ask.

Tech nods.

“The first time we ever spoke properly, at your stall I believe,” he adds a tone of slight recollection so he doesn’t appear as enraptured by your every move and interaction as he absolutely is. “You looked so familiar, yet… distant. I suppose I couldn’t put my finger on it. But now I know.”

“All those years ago,” you say. Tech nods, but he’s already deep in thought again, digging his mind for any memory he can scrounge up of you. Your complexion against the lush green of Nalvage, then later smoke. That same scrunch of your eyebrows, your eyes wide, intensely focused on the task at hand, your voice…

“We spoke back then,” he mutters. In the corner of his eye, you nod. 

“We did.”

“I asked you to take some children off my hands while I took down a group of clankers.”

“Single-handedly,” you add, and Tech just shrugs. You grin. “You had the same voice, same eyes, same goggles of yours. Just more… youthful,I guess.”

Tech agrees with a shy nod, still struggling to process that any of this is truly happening. “You certainly look much older now.”

You huff, only one side of your mouth tilting up.

“Well, that makes sense,” you remark blankly. Tech bites his lip, realizing the ill-intent you might’ve interpreted.

“Wait,” he begins, “I’m sorry if that–”

You shake your head before he can even finish. Then, you scoot closer. As Tech predicted, now your shoulders graze against each other.

“No, Tech. I wasn’t offended,” you say, your soft gaze set on him with an intent he can’t exactly pinpoint yet. “Don’t worry. If I was I’d tell you.”

Tech pauses, truly at a loss for a proper response.

“So you remember me?” He asks.

“Of course I do,” You say. Tech musters up enough courage in himself to look into your eyes, the first proper time this entire conversation. He wants to look away, out of fear of the sky falling on him if he stares for too long, but you’re tugging him closer again. “You and your brothers saved my life. You helped me get out. I mean… you’re probably the only reason I’m still alive.”

Tech slumps softened at your words. He’s keenly aware of the little, yet impactful effect he’s had on many people through the galaxy. Yet being told it directly… it’s a different feeling entirely.

Yet, he still feels foolish. Firstly, for being unable to make the connection between the two of you. Secondly, for succumbing to the paradox you wrap him in.

“I should’ve realized we were connected in that way,” he finally utters.

A soft noise comes from the back of your throat as you consider his words.

“Fate?” You ask, a teasing smile on your face. Something depravedly hoarse is choked out of his chest. Just how do you know what holds him up without truly understanding the turmoil it’s given him?

Tech just shakes his head.

“I don’t believe in fate.”

You shrug it off without a bother, and Tech’s chest constricts watching you do it so effortlessly.

“Coincidence, then.”

Tech shakes his head. 

“That’s not quite it,” he mumbles to himself, but it’s still loud enough that you pick up on it. Tech still has that nasty habit of going off on tangents no one cares to hear, and it rears it’s head again as he begins talking. “My entire philosophy is based on facts and logic, what can be proved. Fate can’t be proved.” However, you’re nodding along, seemingly unbothered that he’s gone off. “Coincidence is just a facet of existence. One could think it's two lives intertwined, but that implies fate already. Something higher above us, controlling everything. And there’s no way for me to feasibly prove it, so… how am I meant to justify such a phenomenon in my mind?”

“What phenomenon?” You ask.

Tech takes a deep breath, and sighs, swearing under his breath with a coarse voice. Is he really going to admit to something he can’t come to terms with in his own head? Come clean to his own vulnerability, his own contradiction, and hypocrisy to the prettiest person he’s seen in his whole life?

“Why I feel meeting you is fate, despite everything.”

It appears so. 

You look at him, as though you’re just as lost. Tech wishes you looked at him any other way, even if it meant you didn’t care. But the confusion doesn’t help his psyche. 

“I’m not sure,” you answer him truthfully. The weight of the unspoken words between the two of you hangs heavy. If Tech were a more spiritual man, he’d consider the palpable feeling of divine intervention that mingles in the atmosphere. Rather, he thinks it’s kinetic energy. Heavy gravity. Deep-rooted insecurity in the back of your minds. Nothing more.

Tech takes his time to search your face, eyes darting over your features as if trying to decipher a code written in the lines of your expression. His gaze lingers on your cheekbones, your jaw, the wrinkles your smile leaves, and your soft lips before they flicker back to meet your eyes – a silent plea for understanding passing between you.

As the seconds tick by, the world alongside him holds its breath, caught in the suspended moment between what is and what could be. If only Tech was different, someone else, perhaps, and he could remedy everything holding him back.

Finally, you break the silence.

“I’d be willing to find out with you,” you say, voice barely over a whisper, “What all of it means.”

Tech raises his eyebrow. Now that… isn’t an outcome he could’ve ever feasibly predicted. Though, he hadn’t been considering any proper options when the silence settled. For once, he isn’t overthinking, re-thinking, analyzing and predicting.

Tech is still in slight disbelief looking at you, so repeats your words.

“You’d like to figure out… together?” 

You nod.

“I’d like that a lot,” you explain, hands folding over your lap. They’d been fidgeting absentmindedly at your sides before, not too dissimilar from how he does. “If you’d like that, as well.”

Tech blinks, still stunned. Finally, is he able to acknowledge it in his mind; your eyes are beautiful, and so is your face. Everything about you is divine. And it’ll forever be true, whether or not it aligns with all he’s known previously.

“Then we shall.”

Both can exist.

You smile warmly, cheeks lifting in a gentle caress of joy. 

“I like the way you think, Tech,” you say.

Tech hums with a purse of his lips. 

“Most people don’t understand the way I think,” he says, and it’s true. Not many make the effort to understand him, let alone try to meet in the middle. “Or care to be patient when it takes me some time to understand others.”

You shrug, far too modest to regard yourself as such a person.

“I can’t speak for you, or how you feel,” you say, looking down to the fall below you. Your words are quiet, yet only hushed to the point that if anyone were around you, only Tech could hear. “But I hope I do understand you. And that I’m patient enough.”

You’re plenty patient, he wants to say, but his voice lodges in his throat. Instead, he gazes down like you do, taking a good look over the edge of the building. There’s less of a view for him down there, and certainly more of a view if he looked up at the sky, but truly, he’d rather admire the one right beside him.

”Tech?” You then say. Tech looks up at you to find you already looking at him. 

“Yes?”

You take a deep breath, hand reaching up to scratch the back of your head with a nervous tremble in your voice.

“There’s one more thing I can think of right now that I want, that I think you can help with.”

Tech tilts his head.

“What is it?”

With a final gulp, the words are spilling out of you in a sweet increment that disguises the weight of your request.

“Would you kiss me?”

Tech blinks before he freezes completely. He repeats your words in his head, once, twice, and a third time for extra measure. You just asked him to kiss you. Press your lips to him. Nothing more and nothing less. And all he can do is just… stand there. Dumbly. Idiotically.

Despite that, he’s able to move ever so slightly, pulled closer to you by that same feeling of a field of magnetic energy around him.

Tech's heart thunders in his chest, echoing the chaos that reigns in his mind. The request hangs between you two like a delicate thread, shimmering with unspoken longing and anticipation. He searches your eyes for any sign of doubt or hesitation but finds only unwavering trust and a glimmer of hope. Without a word, Tech closes the distance between you, one hand on your knee and the other placed over one of yours as he leans in to press his lips against yours, almost featherlight at the first caress. He’s never been one for romantic lyricism, but truly, time does seem to stand still as it witnesses the sight in front of it. 

You kiss back, reverent yet not greedy, and Tech hums into your mouth with relief that he’s not doing a bad job. You’re fidgeting slightly under his touch, one of your hands reaching to hold onto something and landing on his clad thigh. You don’t squeeze, nor grip, just let it rest there, letting it act like an anchor while you’re guided through the kiss.

His heart pounds in his chest, yet he isn’t compelled to abort the new situation. Rather, he’d want to lunge in headfirst. You hum into his mouth just as insistently, lips soft and touch tender, and Tech wonders if there’s anything else

But then he’s pulling away, licking his lip with a nervous gaze.

“Was that adequate?” He asks, bottom lip trembling in worry.

But then you flash that heavenly smile, and his body sedates under your warm gaze.

“It was exceptional.”

There it is. That sensation of divine fate. And then the feeling that rushes right after. It isn’t fear, no– rather wandering curiosity. Here you sit, lips mere centimeters away from his, a paradox to everything he’s ever believed, yet he has no wish to push you away in favor of the facts and logic he’s relied on to keep him company. He’d rather pull you in closer, tighter, and make you the exception– not even an exception, but a new addition to his philosophy.

No, Tech doesn’t believe in fate. But you’re his contrary.

[byhees]

ruby-red cheeks.

엔하이픈 형선 ・ female reader + word count 1000 genre fluff established relationship warnings not proof-read kissing skinship slight jealousy — more

a/n. scheduled!

heeseung

— having you close to his embrace

given the height difference, he’d relish in the fact that he has to lean forward a tad to catch the words falling from your lips; finds you extremely adorable whenever you get on your tippy-toes, hand softly latched onto his shoulder for stability.

in addition, he absolutely loves leaning into your little bubble of proximity, just to do the most minute things; his eyes would always flicker to meet your own pair, wanting to see the reaction elicited from simple gestures, such as wiping away a stray eyelash on your cheek.

would back you up against a wall every so often, arm coincidentally encasing you in the charm-speckled warmth; will never fail to tease you about your reddened cheeks, hand absentmindedly raising to pat the top of your head.

— mentioning you in nearly every conversation

it wouldn’t be a chat with him without your name being mentioned; he loves to show you off— everything about you is so incredibly breathtaking, and honestly, he finds it a waste to conceal it from everyone’s eyes; likes to refer to you as “my girl”.

is so infatuated with you; it might not be obvious in his reactions, but nearly every single interaction with you has caused his heart to skip a beat; he doesn’t want you to tease him about it, so he dumps it all out onto his friends, going on a lovestruck spiel about how attractive you were doing this, and how pretty you were doing that.

jongseong

— helping you zip up dresses

in his eyes, you’re the prettiest person to ever grace the world; he gets an uncontrollable surge of butterflies in his stomach every time he catches a glimpse of you— without fail.

whenever you step out of dressing rooms, vice versa, he’ll always find himself starstruck, mouth agape, eyes widened, words fumbling out of his lips; doesn’t even hesitate a second to turn you around and zip up the remaining portion of the zipper, hand lightly brushing against your skin.

he’d absolutely shower you in compliments and praises; his irises are practically under a heart-shape filter, gaze dripping with love. his stomach flips whenever he catches you lowering your head to hide the growing red of your face.

— holding your hand

would really like the feeling of your interlinked hands; the warmth encasing his fingers serves as such a delicate reminder of your presence. would climb mountains just to be by your side, truthfully.

would lightly tug on your hand whenever he wishes to get your attention; he does it more often than not, finding that many things remind him of you. at times, he does so because he wants a little kiss.

likes to swing your interlocked fingers in the space between your bodies; walking instantly became one of his most treasured pastimes. just strolling down sparsely crowded paths, lightly pulling the other away from holes in sidewalks, observing birds and sunsets— those bring him so much joy.

jaeyun

— incessantly having an arm, or hand, on you

he simply likes snaking an arm around your waist, fingers softly playing with the hem of your shirt, or simply tracing shapes onto the fabric; he has the biggest, most radiant, smile plastered on his face during times like these.

does so with a protective intent; whenever he spots you in discomfort from prying eyes, he’d wrap his arm around your waist, the silent touch voicing the millions of words circling his mind; when he spots someone insistently asking you uncomfortable questions, such as a date-offer or some form of conviction to give them a chance, he’d do that particular gesture, tongue softly clicking against his cheek.

likes to rest a hand on your thigh, fingers absentmindedly tracing hearts on your skin; finds you so pretty when you’re concentrated on a task— his eyes would linger on your face, a smile softly tugging at the corners of his lips, hand still brushing against skin.

— regularly engulfing you in hugs

would not hesitate to sing out loud just how much he loves hugging you; finds the height difference between you two really endearing. he’d rest his chin on the top of your head, pulling you close to his embrace; has the prettiest grin glued to his face.

would do this thing where he gently tucks loose strands of hair behind your ear, softly brushing locks away from your face; loves to bask in your mesmerising beauty, eyes twinkling with adoration.

has a habit of slightly biting his lower lip when smiling; he finds your entire existence so cute. when you blink up to meet his gaze, lips puckered in the smallest of pouts, face tinted with a pinkish hue, he’s melting; can’t decide if he should simply admire you, or if he should press another sweet kiss to your forehead.

sunghoon

— pulling you close by the loop of your pants

would want to stay close to you as much as possible; gingerly wrapping a finger around the material, lightly tugging on it to bring you close to him. there’s this lovestruck expression smothered all over his features every time he catches you gasp from the gesture, head softly whipping around to meet his eyes.

likes to plant a kiss on your lips after doing so, hands lightly pressing against the sides of your body; he might be blushing equally as much as you are.

does so when he gets particularly protective as well; he wants to shield you from all possible dangers, from smaller incidences like insistent, unwanted flirting, to busy roads; always makes sure to tug on the loop with minimal strength, not wanting you to collide harshly into his body.

— giving you piggyback rides

any time you’re feeling a little lethargic, he’ll get a knee to the ground, back facing you in invitation to a piggyback ride; cares so much about you, disregarding his own exhaustion in the process.

would do it for fun as well. he always feels like he’s soaring high up in the skies, gravity relinquishing its hold on his body, whenever he hears your giggles; will purposely speed up a tad, an arm tightly securing your hold around his shoulders, just to hear you laugh. his cheeks are always painted with a rosy hue afterwards, mind giddy from love.

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @crxzs @alyszaen @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

[luveline]

Would you be willing to write a little blurb of Steve comforting reader who is in recovery from self harm? I know this is a very no no subject for some writers so I understand if this is a no!

fem!reader !! cw self harm (mention of the self injury, no active graphic imagery, but some details that could be evocative)

You’ve taken to curling up in whatever space he leaves. In bed, you sidle close to his side with your ear to his stomach. On the couch, you’re laying on his lap, every breath a press of ribs against his thighs. If Steve’s on a sun lounger in the backyard, you’re sitting on the ground next to him with an arm hooked over his leg and your cheek bitten by metal.  

It’s sort of odd to see your arms without red cuts and welts. Curled again, you and Steve are sitting on the porch watching the sun dropping lazily to the horizon, the sky a funny shade of blue. You’re actually turned away from the sun and toward the house, Steve to the sun, like inverted commas interlinked. Your hand is on his leg, and your arm is bare and starkly uninjured. 

That’s too generous, maybe. Evidence of a bad habit long to kick tracks the length of you, white and purple and red scars criss-crossed through your skin. 

He’s seen them thick with dried blood and sore to the touch. Your skin aflame. Not because you’ve ever showed him of your own volition, you wouldn’t. You’ve always likened your self-injury to a contagion. “I don’t wanna put thoughts in your head,” you whispered. 

It was a nice concern for you to have, but Steve isn’t at any risk of hurting himself (purposefully, at least). He has no urges. He didn’t even know people did stuff like that until he met you. Maybe that’s why it breaks his heart so much. You hurt so much. You feel terrible and you take it out on yourself and Steve just doesn’t get it, ‘cos you’re aces. 

He never shied away from it, even if he didn’t like that you were doing it. He still remembers the first time he realised what you were doing, his confusion, the immediate internal recoil. How could you do that to yourself? Why would you? You’ve always been prone to that awful persisting sadness under the skin, but Steve knows a lot of sad people. He knows what it’s like to wish vehemently that you were a better version of yourself, or somebody else, or just gone. 

But you’re doing better now. He resists the urge to kiss your hands whenever he sees you and you act like you aren’t doing a brave thing. 

Steve’s stupid but he’s not stupid. (Or, at least he feels that way.) He knows you’re finding it hard to stop, like an addict. It’s a habit. A behaviour that takes conscious effort to break until it doesn’t. The worst bit is that you never even asked for help. 

Your hand twitches on his leg. 

Steve curls a hand behind your neck, kissing you softly, the silky press of your lips to his. You inhale and cut the quiet buzz of cicadas, your breath surprised but not tight. 

“Sorry,” he says, “was that okay? I was just thinking about you.” 

“It’s fine.” You laugh against his lips and take a kiss, evening the score. “It’s always okay. Kiss me whenever you want.” 

“You looked mopey,” he says. Foot in mouth disease forever. 

“I’m not mopey, just distracted.” 

“I know, it’s offensive. You come over here to hang out and spend the last hour in deep thought.” He makes it clear he’s joking through his light tone and his smile, your eyes met, his hand sliding down your shoulder and your arm. He’s especially careful as his fingers run down your forearm. You watch the path of his hand as it falls, twining your fingers weakly with his. “You can tell me anything.” 

“I do tell you anything.” 

“Well, just telling you again.” He kisses your cheek, then, less gentle, your lips. 

You have this aversion to saying the worst part out loud. There’s always a metaphor or an omission. You can’t say cut, it’s too much, but you’ve said hurt. You’ll admit to self injury but not the action. “It’s fine,” you say now. 

“I think you’re doing a good job.” 

You laugh softly through your nose. “Thank you.” 

“I’m not kidding.” He blows a breath up his face. “Look, can I just be honest with you?” 

Your smile turns uneasy at his bluntness. “Um. Are you breaking up with me?” 

Steve shakes his head. “Never,” he says, pushing your sleeve up your arm slowly, and then faster when you don’t resist. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you without them.” He doesn’t say cuts either, mostly for your sake. 

“Sorry.” 

He shakes his head again. “For what? I’m just saying. You’ve had them this whole time and I’ve never– they’ve never stopped me from wanting to kiss your face off.” He probably shouldn’t make jokes. He backtracks. “I mean, they don’t make a difference to me, I like you even if you can’t, uh… Even if the impulse is too much. But I’m thrilled you’re, you know, not doing it.” 

“I know,” you murmur. 

“I love you.” 

“I know.” Your voice is nearly inaudible, “That’s why it’s easier now.” 

His heart swells with pride and love and an unfightable want to hug you. He slides his arms around you from under your armpits, forcing you to hug his neck, stealing a kiss to the cheek as he squeezes you forward. “I just want you to know that I get it. Like, how hard you’re working to not do it.”

“Steve,” you admonish quietly. 

“Sorry, I’ll stop talking about it if you want.” 

“I mean… It's kinda nice to talk about it. It’s not in my head.” 

“It’s not in your head.” 

“But it feels weird ‘cos it’s like, something I should be doing anyways. It’s like getting praise for washing your hands.” 

Steve thinks there’s a pretty big difference between wanting to hurt yourself but resisting it and washing your hands, but he knows what you’re saying. Doesn’t agree, but doesn’t want to invalidate you either. However you need to think about it to get through it is up to you. “I can praise you for washing your hands. I want to.” 

Steve encourages you to turn into the sunshine. You lay your cheek against his shoulder. “Love you,” you say, your hand on his leg. 

He stares right at the sun and blinks hurriedly. “I love you too.” 

[billsbabydoll]

“𝒾𝓂 ℴ𝓊𝓉 ℴ𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝒽ℯ𝒶𝒹, 𝓉ℴ𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉.”

contains:LIGHT HORROR+LIGHT SMUT<3

summary:while on a late night walk back home after the club, i find myself suddenly hearing the sweet melody of an alluring voice luring me into the depths of a hidden alleyway.

WARNINGS:vampire!bill, drunk-curious!reader, eerie setting, pet-names, kissing, make-out session, dry-humping, trippy hallucinations.

notes:ive been in the fall/spooky mood lately, so i wanted to switch it uppp.this is my second attempt at writing this since tumblr deleted my entire progress yesterday ^_^.

god i shouldnt have drank all off those margaritas, in the club obviously they were fun but as im stumbling trying to figure my way home im regretting ever stepping foot into that place.

the night was dimly lit from the moonlight shining above, the wind was cool sure to make anyone shiver, the quiet sound of leaves ruffling were audible in the background.

i crossed my arms over my chest rapidly rubbing my skin trying to create any type of warmth, i hazily looked around in search of any indication of where i could be, only find myself lost with my destination home nowhere in sight.

defeated, i take a few more steps before sitting against a brick wall, taking a deep breath trying come up with some kind of solution.

"maybe i could call someone for a ride?"i thought to myself, quickly pulling the strap of my purse off of my shoulder and placing my bag into my lap.i dig around inside before excitedly pulling out my nokia 2780, opening it to only to find it completely dead.

i dont know what to do at this point, i dont know where i am, i dont even know what time it is, im freezing to death, im drunk as fucking skunk-

“come here baby..”a deep voice suddenly whispered within the shadows.

i frantically look around trying match the voice to something or someone, only to see the empty road ahead and not a single soul in sight.i slowly stand up from my position on the concrete floor, then anxiously turn the corner walking into a blood-curdling alleyway.

i continue walking deeper into this horrific darkness stopping dead in my tracks when i, not even in a blink of an eye see a tall figure appear in the middle of the path, its red glowing eyes piercing into my own.

“dont be scared, i wont hurt you.”he cooed, magically teleporting right infront of me.

his features were otherworldly, his gaze captivating and hypnotizing, his makeup dark, his skin pale as snow.

he was supernaturally beautiful.

“w-what are y-you?”i muttered, rapidly blinking my eyes trying to figure out if i was just imagining this or if this was real life.

“dont worry about that, for now-”

he paused taking a step closer, his face now not even an inch away from my own, his icy-hands interlinking with my own, his thumb grazing over my warm-blooded skin.

“kiss me doll.”

he then leans in capturing my lips into a hungry kiss, he lets go of my hands now pulling me into his tight grasp before slamming me against a nearby wall.i moan into his mouth, his simple words and beauty trapping me in a hypnosis.

i take the opportunity to tangle my arms around his neck, taking in the unusual metallic taste of his feverish lips, his tongue aggressively raveling with my own, his flavor so addicting and irresistibley delicious.

he begins to repeatedly ram his hips into my own, seeking any sort of relief from the tension bulging through his pants, his clothed cock grinding against my tender pussy.

we continue indulging in eachothers lust, he had enchanted me with the most powerful spell but i was too compelled to snap out of it, utterly drowning in his trickery.

he abruptly slows down giving me one last gentle peck before slightly pulling away, his eyes staring into my soul, he wasnt breathing, he didnt even blink once.

i gasp awake, jumping up from my bed, drenched in sweat, still dressed in my clothes from the club and-

a throbbing ache in neck…

THE END.

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Within cells, interlinked (Miguel O’Hara x Ai/Hologram! Fem! reader) Part 1

Hiii! Very excited about this bad boy, this is inspired by K and Joi’s relationship in bladerunner 2049, and this panel from 90’s run of the Spider-Man 2099 comics. Also there is some heavily implied (at the very least one sided) holofang (Miguel x Lyla) at the beginning, if that isn’t your cup of tea, then I’m sorry but that’s how I wrote it. Not proofread, enjoy!

(Y/N)-Your name.

Implied (one sided???) holofang, Lyla is like basically dead, mentions of sex work, cursing, Miguel being a sad lonely lonely man, ansty (if you squint), Miguel being a little mad scientist like at the end. Tbh idk really know what to tag these as.

Word count: 3k

Part 2

Masterlist

Playlist I listened to while writing

—

Neuva York 2099.

A dystopian wasteland that was once a pristine and other worldly city. But, like every other beautiful thing, it would be destined to fall, thanks to Kingpin, who now had the city under his thumb. Straile white buildings that once stood tall, crumpled and decayed, being replaced slowly but surely with dark titanium steel. Holographic projections filled the sides of ugly skyscrapers, advertising anything and everything, ranging from restaurants and video games to Ai women and cyborg upgrades.

Miguel’s original Ai assignment was unfortunately no longer functional, her software having been corrupted due to a virus that was released onto Miguel’s suit during a fight with Doc ock, Miguel having no other choice but to terminate her software, putting her out of her misery. It not only set Miguel back from his usual tasks as Spider-Man and his work at Alchemax, but the whole spider society, Lyla being the one who controlled the whole mainstream to the entire operation, along with help from Spider-Byte, but she couldn’t run the whole society technology wise, she had a life outside of her role there.

If Miguel had the time, he would have done what he had done the first time, and redesign her from scratch, raising her from her nonexistent grave. However, he knew he didn’t have the time. He had spent months programming her, not to mention the years it took for him to upgrade her into what she had become. It’s only been a week, and he could already see the cracks that were forming without her to hold it all together. His universe was already in disarray, he didn’t need another thing to crumble into dust in his hands.

The walk from the Alchemax back to his apartment was meant to help him clear his head, but it only dampened his mood more, bitter cold air and large dark clouds rolling in slowly, threatening to pour down on the decile city. Keeping his head held high and eyes forward despite his desire to go deep into a dark alleyway and swing the rest of the way home, keeping the tension in his temples build up with every sleazy salesperson attempting to sell him a sketchily low price for random gadgets that he was certain was stolen, or sex workers attempting to coax him into a small brothel. All kinds of lives walked past him as he ventured home, humans, cyborgs, full robots and AI holographic companions, a million life stories that could be told.

Less and less began to cross his path as he neared his apartment building, eye bags dark and sunken in as he turned his head to the left, he was now alone on the sidewalk, stopping as he put his hand on the railing that lined the evaluated walkway, he remembered not even 10 years ago, that very spot would look out to a beautiful pond, small ducks that pattered around, families gathering around to have little outings, ones that Miguel only ever really dreamed of. Now, all that was a ginormous digital billboard that would switch advertisers every week or so. Although he never really expected they’d project the one that was on display now. He had to squint a bit so that the now dripping rain didn’t get into his eyes as he watched the projection.

“The perfect companion, the perfect coworker, the perfect partner. Joi, your personal Ai. Everything you want to hear, everything you want to see.” The sentences rotated between each other over and over, Miguel stayed silent as he stared mindless at the naked back of the large Ai hologram, their skin admitting a light glow as she sensually ran her hands through her hair. Despite the words “companion” and “coworker” showing up on the ad, it was painfully obvious what the holographic woman was really meant for.

Still, he caught himself unable to look away, despite seeing the ads hundreds of times prior to this moment. He didn’t even register when the Ai had turned around and squatted in front him, making it so the two were at eye level.

“Hello handsome.” His eyes finally drifted up to meet hers once she spoke, he wasn't very fond of the default version they often used on most of their ads, so seeing this version in front of him was a lot more of a nicer sight to see. “What a day hmm?” When he didn’t respond she just came closer, “you look lonely… I could fix that…” She whispered with a head tilt, “you look like a good Joi…” before getting back up and moving away from Miguel once more.

Maybe it was the stress, maybe it was his way of pretending he wasn’t mourning an algorithm, maybe it was just him being tired of carrying everything on his shoulders, still… his eyes slowly went down to his orange watch, moving it in front of the bare glowing figure, before his free hand slowly hovered over the watch, hesitating for a moment, before pressing purchase.

—

Once Miguel got home he spent the next hour or so reworking your programming, jailbreaking and removing restrictions, wanting to make sure you were prepared to handle the society’s system before he even turned you on to make sure you wouldn’t crash the second you were hooked up to it.

Eventually, once everything ran to meet his expectations, he stood back and waited for you to appear in front of him. Waiting impatiently as he watched the small loading circle chase itself until you appeared, although you weren’t fully “awake” still, eyes closed, head slumped forwards and arms hung limply to your sides. Still needing to be given a name, an outfit and if he desired to change anything from your physical appearance he could. He decided to keep your assets the same, and placed a simple outfit on you, deciding if you ever evolved enough to be sentient on the same level as Lyla was, that he’d give you free range to change it. For a name though, it was a bit harder of a choice.

Maybe it was him having his previous one for as long as he did, but he wanted you to be… different, then her, a name that wasn’t, well, Lyla. Something nice and pleasant to say, but not simple enough for him to forget in the midst of him in a fight. After some pondering, he finally typed in the name into his watch and pressed the “finalized model”. Releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he saw your head slowly begin to lift and your eyes slowly fluttered open.

“Hello Miguel.” You said him a smile.

“Hello (Y/N).” His lips twitched upwards for half a second.

—

It took a while for your program to adjust and be accustomed to the database, he never realized how much strain he put on his older Ai until he watched you try and accommodate the same thing, yet then again, he built it all around her, instead of vise versa. It wasn’t just you who had needed some time to adjust though. The amount of times that spiders (including Jessica and Miguel) would call for Lyla still instead of you was starting to… annoy you for lack of a better term.

You had been patient at first, appearing despite the slip up, simply correcting the person who called for you and going on with the request, then it seems that the patience started to run thin. Rolling your eyes or letting out snarky little remarks, then eventually you just started to not respond unless they called you by your actual name, which only led you landing yourself in a lecture from Miguel, being threatened to reboot your system. Him ranting about how it could be dangerous or something, after the first few times, it stops being fear insulating, once you even let out a yawn at his usual lecture. A yawn. How close he was to throwing his desk across his office.

The longer you stuck around the more knowledge you gather, the more self-aware you become, mimicking human thoughts and emotions, reading anything you could get your digital little hands on. From the words of Ancient Greek philosophers to thousands of different articles on how the human brain works, what different areas controlled what. You found humans quite interesting, such complex yet flawed creatures, you can understand why so many filmmakers and authors who write science fiction have some odd variation of robots wanting to either become humans or destroy them.

It’s almost cliche, but you can’t help but develop the same fascination with Miguel. How could you not? You were quite literally around him 24/7, you could tell he wanted to be taken care of when he wasn’t taking care of everything himself, and who were you as his assistant to refuse?

—

“Welcome back Miguel.” You smiled as you appeared next to the door before he could even step foot through its threshold. Your eyes followed him as he took his shoes off and threw his keys on the coffee table in the middle of the living room, landing with a loud clunk.

“I just saw you back at HQ.” He chuckled, shaking his head as he closed the door behind him before he made his way to his kitchen, “It's been 20 minutes.” He added as he turned the corner, being met with you already there, leaning against the counter as his coffee machine was already pouring him a new cup in his favorite mug, with the stove being lit on for him to place his left overs onto to warm up.

“Being greeted when you arrive home helps boost your overall well-being.” You quipped, which only gained a small hum of acknowledgement as he placed a pot of bistec on top of the open flame, and a bowl of leftover white rice in the microwave.

“It could also help boost my overall well-being if you didn’t act like such a brat half the time.” He countered back as he stirred the streak and potatoes to make sure it didn’t burn before turning to face you, meeting you with that all too familiar smirk he always gave you. You were quick to mirror it. “You're supposed to make my life easier, ya know?” Despite it being a rhetorical question, your smirk only widely more.

A silence fell over the kitchen as he goes back to focusing on his food, you just stay there, watching as he made quick work fixing his plate, mumbled a small “sorry” to you everytime he would “bump into you” (as Miguel liked to call it) despite him only passing through your holographic body as he grabs the plate and cup of coffee and goes it set it down at the table, making sure to be fast as to not hold onto the gradually warming glass crockery long enough to burn his rough hands.

With a sigh, he sat down in front of his plate as he heard the faint noise of your projection deactivated from the kitchen, leaving him alone in the quiet home of his. He’s fork moving around the contains on his plate, piercing the potatoes and steak but never lifting it up to bite into the steaming meal. After a few more moments of playing with his food, he placed his fork back down, keeping his eyes down on his plate despite him lifting his head up.

“(Y/N).” He called out after cleaning his throat.

“Yes?” Your voice called back out, ringing through his apartment as he waited for you to reappear, only to let out a huff when you didn’t.

“…have dinner with me?” When he finally looked back up, he was met with you already in the chair across from him, a digital plate of food replicating his in front of you. His lips twitched up as he whispered a light thank you for entertaining his wish, even down to mimicking eating as you both sat there, his eyes never leaving yours.

After his appetite was satiated, and the dish were washed, he wander to his living room, being met with the sight of you already being sat down on one of the small leather accent chair that sat to the right of the coffee table, a small orange tablet-like screen being held in your hands as you tampered away on it, most likely readjusting tomorrow's schedule or researching more on some random topic you found interesting. Leaning against the doorway, he couldn't help but watch you, admire you. He found it humorous that you chose to physically sit down and read about topics even though you were built with the knowledge of practically everything. It made you feel more… real. It made him feel less insane when he found comfort in your company.

“Would you like me to leave you alone mig?” You asked after a second, eyes never leaving the screen in front of you. His heart stopped for half a second when you called him by the nickname as he shook his head.

“¿Qué estás haciendo?” He asked as he made his way towards you, stopping once he was close enough that if you had a physical being, his legs would have been touching your knees. (What are you doing?)

“Just going over your suit diagnostics, I’ve noticed that it’s been lagging a bit.” You hummed, not even fazed by the close proximity.

“…(Y/N).”

“Hmm?”

“Look at me.” He commanded, but his tone is still somewhat soft with the order, your screen evaporating from your hands as you went to meet his gaze. He hesitated for a moment, leaving his dry lips before finally continuing. “You know, I feel like I don’t appreciate you enough.”

“Miguel, I’m your Ai assistant, my whole purpose is to help make your life easier.” You couldn’t help the slight snark that came seeping through your sentence, causing him to let out a scoff and playful eye roll.

“That’s not what I mean, you know that.” He countered with a head tilt, his hands sliding over his thighs and finding their way into his front jean pockets.

“What do you mean then?”

“What do you think I meant?” Now it was you who let out an eye roll as you huffed.

“Miguel, you know I can’t ‘think’. I’m not human, I can simply process and collect information and recite it back. I speak only in facts and unbiased sources.”

He couldn’t help but hate it when you talked like that during casual conversation, despite the deadpan look in your eyes and the small sass in your infliction, it only reminded him that you weren’t real. The only difference from your body and air, was that you were a set of ones and zeros. He could swat a hand through your body and you would simply glitch around it as it interrupted your coding and it attempted to adjust around him, how for once, he wishes that when he would “bump into you” that he would be met with solid flesh, you stumbling back a bit while you scold him, his hand coming around to met the small of your back to help re-stabilize your footing as he lets out a small chuckle.

“Don’t be a smartass with me (Y/N). You know, most humans I know don’t have the ability to think either, and they for sure aren’t as nearly intelligent or knowledgeable as you are. If they can form an option then you can too.” He was met with your face contorting in confusion, a rare expression on your face, one he appreciated when he got the opportunity to witness it. “I want you to think, give me an original thought. Not a statistic, not a fact. Think for yourself (Y/N).” The was a pause before your lips parted.

“I… I think…”

“Thaaaat’s it…” He leaned forward, his face close to yours as he encouraged you to continue in a low whisper. “I think?”

“I think… that if I was a human, that… that I would be in love with you Miguel.”

Oh.

“(Y/N).”

“Yes Miguel?”

“Shut off.”

“Yes Miguel.”

Within a blink, you were gone. His hands came out from his pockets with a heavy sigh, before he rubbed his face and ran them through his hair, causing the semi-neatly slicked back hair to become desiveled. Glancing around the now empty living room, the small constant buzzing from your hologram now being replaced with the gentle tapping of the rain against his window.

Miguel O’Hara was truly a lonely man. A man with weaknesses and flaws despite himself, a man with feelings, and vulnerabilities and emotions. Miguel O’Hara was just a man, just a human. A human who wanted to be loved. To not be seen as some sort of emotionless being, the irony wasn’t lost on him that the only thing that seemed to really care for him, and see him in that way was something that wasn’t even programmed with actual emotions. Oh how he wished you were real, how you were human.

He couldn’t turn you into a human, but he could get close.

With a sigh he entered his home office, the only room he had restricted giving you access to appearing in. Closing the door behind him before leaning against the door, his eyes instantly finding themselves stuck on the limb on the table. An arm to be more specific, the synthetic flesh that matched your complexion wrapped around its exoskeleton. It took him almost a month to do just one arm, and although the time length of that he estimated for this project was a bit more lengthy then he’d like, if it meant getting every minuscule and minute detail perfected, he’ll take all the time in the world for it. He’d make sure it was perfect, that you’d be prefect.

—

Tags: @oscarissac2099

[ariseur]

you closed your eyes as you inhaled the fresh scent of the surrounding blooming flowers. hands fiddling at the grass around you, you opened your eyes and took in your beautiful surroundings. even when living in the sector five slums, you and your sister always tried your best to maintain a pretty house.

you swung your legs out in the open air, taking a look at the crystalline liquid only a few feet below you. getting a little carried away in the outdoors after you had finished tending to the flowers, you decided to take a breather.

that is, until your ears picked up the soft footsteps on the grass behind you, even the soft surface beneath aerith’s feet gave her away despite her attempts to be sneaky.

flashing her a soft smile, you looked up at her. the sun reflected off of her as she huffed, flower basket hanging off her wrist as she put her hand on her hip.

“no fair, you always catch me.” she pouted. you laughed softly, outer eye corners crinkling with your grin.

“you jus’ gotta be sneakier, aerith.” shrugging, your attention fell back on the water, throwing some small pebbles next to you in the clear water below your bare feet. watching the pond ripple at just the tiny rock, a silence fell over the two of you.

aerith studied you, green eyes looking over your peaceful posture, before she sits down with you and places the basket between you two.

“so,” her chipper voice rang as she extended the ‘o’, “i see you’ve been spending a lot of time with cloud lately.”

you tore your eyes away from the water and at your feet, unsure of what to say. yeah, you had been spending time with him. what did it matter?

“just been running some errands with him.” you responded, smiling despite your embarrassment. your sister definitely didn’t buy it though, raising a brow as he poked you for more details.

“uh-huh— so.. no secret dating that you have to tell me about?”

“aerith, no!”

she laughed and put her hands up in a defensive manner. “me and cloud have nothing going on whatsoever—“

but before you could finish your sentence, you and aerith turned both of your heads at the sound of a twig snapping behind you, spotting a cloud just standing there.

“you were saying?” aerith said, hands neatly behind her back as she holds her woven basket behind her.

“oh, hush.”

she giggled behind her hand, waving you off to go with cloud as he awkwardly stands there on the stone path leading to the house. you both get up from the grass, dusting yourselves off to make sure you didn’t have dirt on you. “have fun!” she bid her farewells as she waved goodbye, giving you a not-so-subtle wink when you threw her an annoyed look.

once you two are out of earshot, cloud asks, “what was that about?”. you throw an eager smile at him as you wave a hand dismissively.

“just aerith being aerith. now,” you stopped in front of him as you extended your hand, “shall we?”

cloud’s eyes flickered at you, then back down to your hand, almost inspecting it. his dark gloves were a deep contrast to your bare manicured hands as they interlinked together. “let’s.” was all he said, keeping his eyes locked in front of him so you wouldn’t see the small blush on his face at your giggle.

[xxcallmemaryxx]

Hiiiii, haven’t been able to get enough of ur page oml, u write the ghouls amazingly. 😍

Could u please write how the ghouls would be with their s/o (she/her or they/them pronouns, whatever ur most comfortable w) that had been abused by their sibling during childhood so their scared of physical contact but super touch starved (just wants to be held) and scared of disappointing their peers so they just want to be perfect?

Not reflecting at all 😶

Just some comforting fluff?

I deeply apologise if this triggering in anyway, I couldn’t see anywhere that said what u r and what ur not comfortable w writing.

(Feel free to ignore)

Much love ❤️❤️❤️

Ghouls x GN reader

(Warning: talks of trauma, and upsetting situations but nothing descriptive. More just implying.)

Let me just preface this by saying every single one of the ghouls would be one million percent patient with you, they love intensely and they always want you to feel comfortable around them, so the ghouls will forever walk at *your* pace.

Mountain could sit in silence with you and consider that quality bonding time, so he would never expect anything from you that you’re not comfortable with. Of course he understands that this aspect of having some kind of a relationship with someone (romantic or platonic) frightens you, and he doesn’t take it lightly when you try to push yourself too far just to please… him? No. He can hear the way your heart races with panic and he can smell the fear that wafts off you when put in a position that may result in some kind of physical affection, even if you pretend you’re okay with it. So he will quite often remind you he is here for the long run, there is no rush to push yourself beyond what you’re ready for and he is ready to walk this path with you every step of the way, no matter how long it takes. Your presence alone is enough for him, your presence alone is all he needs. And when the time comes for you to feel okay with working on this part of yourself, you best believe Mountain is going to be so proud of every milestone you reach. He can see your frustration when your brain works against what your heart wants, but he has enough patience for the both of you. And he knows how strong you are, he knows damn well that one day you’ll be able to look back on how far you’ve come. And he can only hope that you’ll be as proud of yourself as he is.

Aether also has a lot of patience when it comes to this. He never wants to put any pressure on you to do anything with him that you’re not okay with. He understands your want to feel touch, he wants to touch you. He wants to hold you and feel you and bask in you, but he loves you so much that just smelling you around the ministry or even after you’ve been in his room is enough for him. Because it’s you he loves, and who you are and how you treat others, that’s what he sees. He doesn’t base his love for you off how much affection he gets, he will love you regardless. It means the world to him that despite what you’ve been through, you still trust him enough to share that with him and to be around him. Aether holds that trust you’ve given him so close to his heart, he swears if he ever broke it he would send himself back down to hell. At some point, you find yourself sitting next to Aether on his couch, pinkies interlinked after you’ve spend the better part of the night watching films on his tv. He doesn’t mention it, you don’t mention it. But that right there is a memory Aether will never ever forget, it marks the beginning of you becoming used to physical affection again. He wants to scream from the rooftops about how proud he is of you, but he keeps his cool and let’s you take it at your own pace. Although…you can basically see the pride he has for you radiating off him, which just reminds you that you definitely have an amazing ghoul with you.

Swiss is naturally an affectionate ghoul, he loves to just touch and feel and hold his loved ones. So when you share your past with him, and explain to him how difficult it is for you to feel comfortable with physical affection, he doesn’t see it as a bad thing. He understands that you’re learning to accept physical touch again, so for him… he is now learning what you are and are not okay with. In his head, this is just a journey the two of you are going to go on together. Learning along the way. Swiss is open to setbacks. Of course things are not going to go 100% smoothly, there are going to be times when the two of you need to take a few steps back together, before you can continue to move forward together. And Swiss is prepared for that, because ultimately that just means that he still gets to be here to see you grow and work towards what you want. What matters the most to him is that you are comfortable around him. As much as he would love to hold you, and as much as you would love that too, it doesn’t define how Swiss shows his love for you. He gets to see you everyday, he gets to talk to you everyday, he gets to share his life with you everyday and honestly… he couldn’t be more thankful. You both are learning together, and Swiss really sees that as genuine bonding. Because now you get to grow together. In 10 years from now you can look back on your lives together and see how much you’ve changed since now, that is what Swiss can hardly wait for. It won’t be easy but when that day comes, when he can wrap you up in his embrace and feel you against him… he will know it was all worth it. Every single second.

Rain cried. When you told him what happened and what you went through, he cried. You knew it was going to happen, your beautiful water ghoul feels emotions big time. But it was a conversation you needed to have with him. He immediately asks you what is okay and what isn’t okay, because he needs to know he isn’t going to accidentally overstep any boundaries or put you in an uncomfortable situation. Rain is an observer, he likes to pick up on things you do that tells him everything he needs to know, despite being able to smell it out of you anyways… but he spends a lot of time watching you. (Also because loves you so of course he’s gonna want to look at you). But one thing he notices is how you tend to keep close to him during stressful situations. Perhaps whilst in big crowds, when the whole ministry gets together for mass or for an event the clergy is holding. Or if the weather outside is really stormy and the loud thunder is making it hard to settle down, he’s noticed you tend to just keep a bit closer to him. His brain immediately goes into protector mode: safe safe safe need to keep you safe need to keep you safe. But he doesn’t touch you, or grab you. Instead, he steps just a little closer so you know he’s there and he just intensifies his scent. It completely encompasses you, so your brain knows he’s there but despite not being able to feel his physical body against you… you can still feel him around you. It only takes a few moments and he can smell the panic wafting off you dissipate. You don’t need to thank him, because he can just see it in the way you look at him. He lives to see you happy, and if he is the one making you happy then he doesn’t need anything else.

Phantom loses his mind when you tell him. He was actually the one that bought it up to you. After having received such affections from the other ghouls when he was summoned, his ghoul brain automatically wanted to share those same affections with you. He sees his lover and just wants to scoop you up. To show you what the other ghouls showed him. So when you avoided it, and when he could smell the panic coming off you every time he got too close for comfort he couldn’t stop the question falling from his mouth. He sat with you while you explained to him why, and he listened to every word. Until the moment you finished talking and he allowed it all to sink in… he took a few heated laps around your bedroom and then decided he needed to sit down for a minute. Got back up again a second later and felt like laps worked for him the first time so why stop now huh? Needless to say Phantom was livid. You did not deserve that and he hates you ever had to experience that. After that, he keeps his hands to himself but he just can’t help but keep close to you. He hovers… and you don’t even think he notices when he’s doing it. He told you right away that his arms will be open for you the moment you are ready, there’s no time limit and there’s no pressure. For as long as he is still breathing then his arms will always be open for you (metaphorically and literally). There’s no getting rid of him after this either, no matter how many breakdowns, no matter how many setbacks, no matter how many times you try to tell him it’s just not worth it and you wouldn’t blame him if he wasn’t happy with you anymore… he looks you square in the eyes, and tells you there’s not a thing in the universe that could drive him away. He is here for you. And he will always be here for you.

Dewdrop didn’t start out being very affectionate, you’d kind of mentioned to him briefly how you weren’t too crash hot on it and he didn’t question it. Until the two of you got to a point in your relationship where even Dew felt like maybe there should be a little more touching going on… so he just outright asked you how you felt about it. And then he saw you tense up. And he watched avoid his eyes. And he sniffed out the immediate worry radiating off you the second he said the word “touching”. For a moment he thought he was the problem… that maybe he’d accidentally said or done something that made you uncomfortable early on in the relationship and so he’d lost any right he had to touch you. And in that brief moment he swore to Him that he would do anything in his power to work on fixing that and to never make you feel like that again. When he learned the truth… well. As much as he tried to keep himself calm, it wasn’t easy. But of course he couldn’t stop thinking about how he immediately wanted to do anything he could to never make you feel like that again… Dewdrop was prepared to walk barefoot across the planet if you asked him too. The patience Dew holds with you is unreal. He is quick to remind you to settle down and listen to yourself and what your body is telling you if you try to push yourself beyond what you’re mentally ready for. He wants you to enjoy touching him and being touched by him, when it happens. He doesn’t want you to do it if you’re trying to do it just for his sake. This is for both of your sakes. This whole experience with you has been quite a learning experience for Dew too. He has realised a lot about himself, and how deeply he really feels when it comes down to the people he holds dear. He looks at you and realises you two have forever together. You’re both as safe as possible within the walls of the ministry, and even if you weren’t he would protect you. He will never not be angry about what you went through, but he reminds himself to focus on what you need now, so long as he can pick up your lingering scent around his room every day, he will be a happy ghoul.

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Every time I write some headcannons they get longer and longer with each ghoul omg..

Also Thankyou to this anon, I added a little list pretty much outlining some things that I wouldn’t be okay with writing - on my pinned post!

That was a great idea!!

Also also, sending you lots of love I hope you’re okay <3 <3

[unclewaynemunson]

It was winter '86 when Nancy found out what it felt like to return to your hometown after having moved away. She had managed to skip Thanksgiving, giving her mother some vague excuse about needing to study for her midterms, but there was no way she could get out of Christmas. So here she was, wrapped in a thick coat and matching scarf, finding herself back on the very streets she had wanted so desperately to leave behind.

Moving to Boston had been a liberation for her. It had been the only way to break free from everything that happened over the past three years. Life had become normal again: she had made friends, gone to parties, taken interesting classes... She had finally been able to breathe fresh air again.

It wasn't like everything was magically alright all of a sudden, of course. She still slept with a gun beside her bed – praying that her roommate Jess would never find out about that – and she wondered if the pain of not having Barb to share all these new experiences with would ever fade away. But she was doing better. The pain wasn't as sharp anymore, far away from the streets that did nothing but remind her.

Now, it was the day before Christmas Eve and she was walking around town, with no aim but to flee from her mother's stress about needing everything about the upcoming days to be perfect.

It felt weird, walking these familiar streets again after having been away. She felt like an intruder in what once used to be her town, a place she had left behind for a reason. She still knew every road, every building, she still had memories waiting for her at every corner... But those streets weren't hers anymore.

All of these memories were about Barb. Barb, who would never get out of Hawkins. Barb, whose skeleton was decaying in the dark and twisted version of her town, right underneath the pavement Nancy was walking on. Barb, who had a gravestone with her name on it while another girl was now growing up in the room in the house that had once been hers. These streets would always stay Barb's. It was a narrative that was finished, a book that had reached its ending, and Nancy was forcing it to stay open by merely walking here.

The streets were quiet: as cold and dark as they were supposed to be on the night before Christmas Eve. Lights were twinkling in the houses Nancy passed, and on the few occasions she did cross paths with someone else, she'd always think – just for a second – that it was Barb, still sixteen and risen from her early grave to haunt her.

Wherever she went, she found shadows that only she could see, darker than they were supposed to be. She saw the shadow of their lemonade stand on the corner of Barb's street. She saw the silhouettes of two little girls with pigtails in their hair cycling hand-in-hand towards the middle school building. She saw them giggling on their way to the swimming pool, looking at store windows on Main Street after they got their first pocket money, walking out of the library with big piles of books in their arms; she saw Barb waiting for her at the community center after Nancy's ballet practice, and she saw herself on the way to Barb's to walk Bobby the dog with her. She saw two shadows on the playground, gossiping on top of the jungle gym that was shaped like a pirate ship; two shadows on their way to the pumpkin patch on the edge of town; two shadows playing tag in the woods... Two shadows leading her exactly to the last place they'd been together, where the walls of a big house were stained with Nancy's mistakes on that fateful warm November night in '83. The place where the two shadows had stopped being interlinked; where one of them had wanted other things than the other and they each went their own separate way. Where they got ripped apart from each other for good.

Nancy just stood there, unmoving and hidden away by the shadows of the evening, staring at the stones of Steve Harrington's house with no intention of going in and saying hi. She had no idea how much time passed until the door opened and a girl stepped outside.

For a moment, Nancy genuinely believed that her mere gaze had managed to summon Barb out of the swimming pool that was her grave, to finally become something far more horrifying than a shadow. It was a moment long enough to make her lose her guard and stumble forward over the pavement.

“Nance?”

It was Robin. The girl who stepped out of the house was Robin Buckley. Tall, freckled face, blue eyes... But that was all the resemblance she had to Barb

“What are you doing here?”

Nancy took a big breath and shrugged, trying to shake off the uncanny feeling.

“I was just taking a walk,” she said, trying to seem normal - or at least as normal as this situation would allow her.

Robin stared at her for a few seconds, a strange look in her eyes, as if she was trying to decipher some secret code written on Nancy's face.

Then, she nodded. “Okay,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “Wanna walk home with me? I was gonna bike, but I can call Steve when I get home and ask him to bring me my bike tomorrow.”

Nancy could easily admit that aimlessly roaming the empty streets of Hawkins with Robin by her side sounded much more appealing than all by herself, so she agreed and allowed Robin to distract her with easy conversation while they left the big houses of Loch Nora behind them.

The two of them had kept in touch, with Robin in college in Indianapolis and Nancy at Emerson. They wrote each other letters and called almost every week. And when Nancy had arrived in Hawkins a few days ago, being around Robin again had no doubt been one of the good things about being back.

The presence of Robin beside her reminded Nancy of all kinds of other memories laid out on those streets; ones that didn't include Barb. They passed the corner where she and Steve had once made out in his car, not long after they got back together at the end of '83. They passed the playground with the trampoline where she and Mike had spent countless afternoons launching a laughing baby Holly into the air. They passed the lunchroom where she and Fred would hang out together every time they had a newspaper deadline coming up. They passed the dirt road leading up to the Byers' house, where Jonathan had run after her that day they broke up to give her a hug and make sure they'd part as friends and not just as exes. And finally, they passed the edge of the woods where she and Robin had walked side-by-side and Robin had smiled at the ground, almost shy, when Nancy asked her if they were friends, officially. Nancy remembered that as clear as if it had happened yesterday: amidst all the horrors, the fear, and the looming threats on their lives, had been this genuine smile. It had given her yet another reason to keep trying to win that fight no matter how badly the odds were stacked against them. It had warmed something deep inside of her and made her realize that her problems with Jonathan were beyond trying to save.

Now, more than nine months later and with the feeling that she'd known Robin for much longer than that, Nancy looked to her right to find that same smile playing around Robin's lips, as if she was lost in the exact same memory as Nancy.

Barb would probably keep haunting the streets of Hawkins forever, never letting that uncanny feeling in Nancy's gut fade away whenever she'd visit her old hometown. Her ghost would make the fading pain flare up, sharp and fresh all over again. But this street right here, following the edge of the woods and leading into Robin's neighborhood, was untainted by memories of Barb. The two of them had no business ever going here – contrary to Robin.

Nancy breathed out and asked herself what Barb would want her to do right now.

She'd want you to heal, Nance, Robin once told her, months ago, when Nancy had finally found the courage to talk out loud about everything that happened.

So on this cold winter night, she stretched out her hand and grabbed Robin's. She could feel warmth through their gloves, sparking all the way through her arm and chest, right into her cheeks. Robin's smile deepened and she squeezed Nancy's fingers, not letting go until they reached her front door.

Maybe being back in Hawkins wasn't as bad as Nancy thought it would be.

Ronancetober day 8: uncanny. Inspired by the song These Streets by Bastille

[wexhappyxfew]

you, me, and the stars

(a/n): judy x rosie girlies, this is for you!! this is for all the ones who have never been in love, who are trying to protect the last parts of themselves in the face of others, and for the ones deserving of love!! these two represent all those awkward, newly-found emotions and feelings, that surprise even themselves, so please enjoy! :)

Judy had dwindled into down to just this; home was more of a feeling, not entirely a place.

The flak house was beautiful, an escape, somewhere to get one's mind off of the mental torment that was the God-forsaken war they all seemed stuck in.

But, it wasn't Thorpe Abbotts; with its metallic scent of air, voices and grinding machine parts echoing at all hours of the day, the marching, the footsteps, the way the air danced through the tree leaves. The flak house was quiet, save for the occasional flight path overtop. Thorpe Abbotts was loud and enough to make you feel like your brain was being knocked about inside, but it was home in a way the flak house wasn't.

The thing that made Thorpe Abbotts feel like home was especially the people. All the men in the 100th, their leaders both lost and MIA, and the women of Silver Bullets.

It was just like her home, in North Carolina. With Ma and Pa, that large house on the river, big meals to feed all six kids, making sure the lambs, chickens and cows were kept up with, that laundry was hung, crops harvested, plates and bowls washed in the river.

They didn't have much, but they had each other.

And even across the ocean they still did - in more ways than one.

Now, Judy felt them even in the women beside her. Strong and courageous, putting on their brave faces against the waging war of the world. Something her family had done ever since they'd come to America.

"The stars are so bright out here," Bessie said from Judy, their arms interlinked, sat side by side on the steps in front of the flak house, the light dripping out from the main door where cool, night air rushed in,

"I almost wish Tommy could see it." Judy looked towards her with a small smile.

"He does," Judy whispered quietly, reaching a hand forward to gently brush her hand over Bessie's calloused palm, "where ever he is right now. He sees it. Maybe not this instance, but he does." She watched Bessie smile, the corners of her lips turning upward, before she glanced over at Judy, a big grin on her face, her eyes glowing, the softest they'd been in days, the least stressed Judy had seen the navigator.

"You know, when we were kids," Bessie started, "we sat in his parents' apartment, right by one of the windows and watched the stars one night, all night practically, side by side. Not only was it my first kiss, but…he also told me he'd name a star after me. I think he named it 'Bee'….something or other." Judy giggled into Bessie's side and clasped a hand over her mouth with a gleeful smile.

"You two were meant to be," Judy whispered quietly, "everything you say, about him, about you, about the two of you together. God, you'll make the cutest babies, Bessie, I'll tell ya." Now, it was Bessie's turn to laugh and shook her head.

"You know he told me one time that if he had a daughter, he'd name her Charlotte," Bessie said, "he thought the nickname, Charlie, would be cute."

"Taste." Judy said with a laugh, nudging Bessie's side, "Charlotte McKenzie has a ring to it."

"And so does Bessie McKenzie." Bessie said back, sending the two of them into a fit of chuckles under the moving dusk. They fell quiet for a beat and then Bessie sighed and wrapped an arm around Judy's side, giving her a tight squeeze and rubbing her shoulder.

"Well, I'm heading up, going to get some rest and enjoy waking up and drinking coffee without having to hear a bunch of bullshit from Blakely," Bessie said with a chuckle, "you good out here? Staying up a bit?" Judy smiled and wrapped her arms around her sides and nodded.

"Yeah, just a bit more," Judy said, "you go though, I'll be up in a bit. And…Bessie?" Bessie watched her as she stood and sent her a smile.

"Just...give Lieutenant Bradshaw an extra hug for me," Judy said sadly, "her eyes looked like she'd been crying all night. About Captain Brady, so….incase I get in late, just do that for me, please?" Bessie smiled at her and nodded.

"You think she loves him?" Bessie asked Judy. Judy stilled.

"I don't know a whole lot about love, but I know he looks at her like she's the only woman in the room," Judy said softly, "and she gets all blushy around him, all soft and sweet. I like to think the universe doesn't just do things for the hell of it." Ripping them from each other, Judy thought to herself. Bessie grinned and then looked at her sadly.

"Try and get some rest," Bessie said, "don't stay up too late, okay? You need to keep yourself well-rested. Goodnight, honey."

"Night, Bes." Judy called after her, watching Bessie offer her a smile and then disappear inside. Judy smiled softly, looking forward again towards the oncoming darkness and comfort of nightfall, the singing birds and bugs all around and sighed.

Lieutenant Bradshaw's eyes looked sadder more often than not, but she was trying and that's all the credit a person like Annie Bradshaw needed - that she was being seen.

To be seen, was to be loved.

"Hey," Judy looked over her shoulder and was almost surprised to see Rosie Rosenthal there, coming towards her from the doorway, hands in his pant pockets, his A-2 jacket over his shoulders and a soft smile on his face, "mind if I join you?" Judy watched him for a moment - he looked so….different, a nice different. A different that made her think they weren't in war for a second.

"Of course, sir," Judy said, watching as he came forward and settled down on the step beside her where Bessie had been, "come to watch the stars?" Rosie let out a chuckle and then glanced towards her, his face bathed in blues and purples from the night, his eyes like a doe's as he watched her.

"You could say that." he said, then he grinned, nodding at her,

"How've you been?" Judy watched him, unable to contain the grin wanting to grow on her face and then chuckled lightly.

"Good," she said, and then smiled nervously, "sir, uh, good, being away from base, it's been….a breath of fresh air, I'll admit. Just, not having to get those planes going in the morning, get in the ball turret and shoot, over and over. It's nice to just….." she watched as he watched her, "be."

"Good," Rosie said, his voice light, "good, good, I'm glad. Really. You've all been putting out the last few months. I know that - Pappy's been talking Kennedy's ear off and well…."

"Collateral damage." Judy supplied and Rosie nodded with a small chuckle, looking down at his hands in his lap.

"Exactly, exactly," Rosie said and then glanced up at her, "I'm just glad the Silver Bullets crew is getting some deserved rest. All of you."

"Thank you, sir." Judy said, her voice tender, watching him in a moment of seriousness that was different than a few seconds previous.

He watched her for a moment, just taking in the feeling it seemed, the same she was allowing herself to feel in her heart. They both seemed to come to at the same time and smiled, laughs leaving both their lips as Judy shyly looked away and crossed her arms.

"I'm sorry, Judy, are you, uh, cold?" Rosie asked leaning forward a bit, and placing a hand on her shoulder, "October's never been a great month for short sleeves." Judy watched him, looking between his face, his hand and him. Short sleeves, right, she was in that right now. And freezing; he was right. How'd he know? She glanced down at her short sleeves, her right side hidden beneath his hand and then looked to him, his face full of worry and seriousness. And then she let out a shy laugh and blushed quickly and then nodded.

"A bit, but," she shook her head, "I was planning to go upstairs in a bit anyway, so, it's okay."

"Here," Rosie said quickly, shrugging himself out of his A-2 and then leaning to his side to lay it over her shoulders, "just to warm up." And warm up she did in fact do; to the point, she was blushing all over and inhaling the scent from his jacket and him beside her and suddenly very overwhelmed with his presence. Alright, so it was a stupid feeling she had been trying to hide, but it was a feeling she had never felt all too well. And in a war, she wasn't sure what to even feel. But right now, with this jacket and him beside her, she wasn't as eager to head up to bed anymore.

"Thank you," she said softly, grasping the edges and then looking at him, "I appreciate it really." Rosie watched her with that tender gaze of his again before leaning back a bit and looking up.

"You can really see the stars from here," he said, his voice a small bit of astonishment and adornment for the world above them, glowing with the life of the night, shining little orbs so far away they'd never be able to actually grasp them, "they're beautiful."

"Yeah," Judy said, her eyes traveling back up to the night sky above them, "sitting in the darkness, on the ground, staring at the stars? It's almost like home." She could feel Rosie staring now, and glanced his way. Something so harrowing, yet nostalgic in a way. A mixture of feelings lingering between them at her simple statement - thoughts of home, seemingly so far away now, a place that'd be changed in a thousand different ways by the time they did actually got home - if they got home.

"Where is home?" he asked quietly, leaning to his side to bump her shoulder. She laughed quietly.

"North Carolina." she said, glancing at him in the quiet - she could practically hear him breathing. It was so … comforting.

"A tiny town," she admitted, "nothing big, a river, a general market, a wood mill, friends here and there down the road. But it was home." Judy looked over slowly towards Rosie beside her and quirked out a smile as she saw him sitting there, grinning.

"What?" she said grinning, "Where you from?"

"Brooklyn." he said, looking at her. Judy's face hurt from smiling, but it was okay because it was Rosie.

"Brooklyn," Judy said with a soft smile, "never really been in one of those big cities."

"You'd like it," Rosie said, looking out towards the darkness, "you'd fit right in. Bright lights, the people, the music. All of it." He looked at her. Judy smiled and pulled her knees to her chest, and glanced towards him again.

"Music, huh?" she asked him and he looked at her with a smile.

"Yeah, can't sing real well, but my mom, my sisters, they're pretty good. Far better than me," he said with a nod, and then grinned, "still love music though. You can never go wrong with Artie Shaw." Judy smiled, her thoughts consumed with the idea of what a younger version of this Rosie could've been, home with his family, dancing and attempting to sing. Far away from war and fear and grief. She liked the thought of that at some point, they were all like that. Young, youthful and free.

"Did you do a lot of music and dancing before the war then?" Judy asked him quietly, with a hopeful smile, watching as he comprehended her sentence and then let out a small smile. He shook his head and then leaned forward on his bent knees.

"I was a lawyer before the war actually," Rosie said and Judy's eye widened in near amazement, "yeah, was doing that and then the war broke out. Couldn't just sit back and do nothing." His face grew serious at that last statement and then melted as he looked at her.

"What about you? What was the thing Judy Rybinski was doing before this whole thing started?" he asked, leaning forward, with genuine curiosity and she watched him before letting out a laugh and shaking her head.

"I'm afraid nothing as cool as being a lawyer," she admitted and she watched Rosie's face soften as he tilted his head towards her, "but I was 3 years removed from high school, didn't have money for college so….I worked in the local mechanics, fixing cars, boats, anything and everything. Learning what I could. Made some good money, too." Judy watched him and sighed.

"But….I always dreamed of getting to go to college, continue to learn, allow myself to grow," she said, her thoughts swimming back to that time her parents told her they didn't have enough to help get her through schooling and Judy had cried herself to sleep and then gathered herself together and gone to the mechanic to start learning some trade, "maybe get a job teaching. Maybe geography or something of that sort….I don't know. One day, that's the goal." Rosie stayed watching her, his eyes holding her gaze as she looked at him.

"You should go for it," Rosie told her, "when the war is over, I mean. You'd be a great teacher, great with kids, getting to teach, you just…." Rosie cut himself off for a moment and then smiled at her, suddenly looking more shy and unsure of himself than in recent minutes. Judy watched him, her cheeks warming slightly at his encouragement and genuine thought. It made her stomach twist pleasingly. Rosie let out a nervous laugh and then looked at her, crossing his arms and leaning against his upbent knees.

"You're just someone I like being around," Rosie admitted quickly, running a hand behind his neck and then glancing at her, "and I think you'd be someone good at teaching kids. And being a teacher so….I think you should go for it." Judy was watching him, her cheeks all crimson and her heart racing and for a moment, she caught his gaze and she saw things that made her heart race faster.

Rosie Rosenthal was equally someone she liked being around, but the thought of telling him that made her sweaty and panicky and she figured she'd embarrass herself, so instead, she blushed further and smiled.

"Thank you, sir," she said quietly, and then let out a small laugh, "sorry, it's just….I haven't really told many people that, so…it just means a lot - the support I mean." Rosie smiled at her and nodded.

"You deserve good things after this war, Judy," Rosie said and then swallowed, "all of us do." Judy watched him, this urge to reach out and brush her palm against his cheek inviting her closer, a wish to curl up beside him and let the stars stare down at them, the need for human touch, to be looked at and loved.

By Rosie.

"You too, sir," she said quietly, her smile soft, "only the best." This staring, these lingering glances, they seemed to be whatever they couldn't say and just that look in his eyes made her blush further. Judy tried to control her racing heart, and her breath, and then cleared her throat.

"I think I'll be heading up now," Judy said, and pressed her palms against her cheeks and then sighed and looked to him, "Bessie said she'd braid my hair and I don't want to keep her up."

"Of course," Rosie said, standing to his feet and then offering his own hand towards her, which she took rather quickly, and then stood there, staring up at him like a goof, "try and get some rest tonight, alright?"

"You too," she said, and then chuckled, "sorry, Lieutenant Bradshaw said she couldn't sleep last night and it ended up being the two of you down here, with Doc, unable to fall asleep, just talking and stuff. So….yeah, just, you too, sir." Rosie laughed at her words and then schooled his facial expressions again.

"Thanks, Judy."

Staring at him, she couldn't constrain what she felt and stood on her tiptoes, before placing a small kiss to his cheek, and then turned and walked away, as fast as her feet could carry her and up the stairs, towards the room she was sharing with Bessie. Her mind raced, her thoughts knocking at the edges of her brain as she hurried in, shut the door, and let out a sigh, before turning to the two beds, where Bessie was sat up in one, reading a book and staring at her, confused.

"Since when did you get a jacket….like that?" Bessie said, raising a brow, "And that, large?" Judy blushed and then tried to speak and choked on her air a bit before clearing herself up.

"It's just Lieutenant Rosenthal's," she said, stepping forward and settling on the side of her bed to take her shoes off, "he saw me outside, gave it to me because he said I looked cold."

"Judith Rybinski," Bessie, sitting up and then practically launching out of the bed to sit beside her, "you're blushing like a loon! What happened?" Judy looked at Bessie, her heart pounding, her thoughts racing, emotions running high in far too many wacky ways. Bessie watched her excitedly, but then slowly let her face fall and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"I think he's just being nice," Judy whispered quietly and then shook her head, "and then I gave him a kiss on the cheek because I wasn't thinking-"

"-a kiss? On the cheek?"

"Yes, yes, a kiss on the cheek, it was stupid, he was just trying to be nice-"

"Giving you his jacket in this cold is never just him being nice, Judy-"

"It's a part of it-"

"But not all of it!" Bessie said and looked at her, and smirked, "He probably wants to you know….get to know you more." Judy stared at her and then let her shoulders fall and shook her head.

"No….I don't think so," Judy said and then crossed her arms and bit back her lip, "and plus, did you know he was a lawyer before the war? Bes, he's probably, I don't know, someone from some sort of money to do that sort of thing, ya know? My family comes from people who've lived on the streets, we showered once a week as kids. What am I thinking?" Judy ran her hands over her face and sighed, before squeezing her eyes shut.

"It's stupid," Judy said quietly, "it's just a stupid crush, it'll go away. He's just being nice, and I latched onto that because a nice guy, is a nice guy. But that's it. And….it's fine. I'll be fine." She grew quiet and watched as Bessie stared at her, eyes full of that lingering worry.

"It's not a stupid crush, alright?" Bessie told her, "You're allowed to feel that and if someone's ever told you otherwise, they're the stupid ones. He clearly is someone who is interested, too, Judy. Don't discredit that about yourself. You're one of the sweetest peaches I've ever met. And someone like that? You deserve that." Judy looked over at Bessie and then offered a small smile.

"Thank you, Bessie," Judy said, leaning to her side to pull Bessie into a hug, "you're too nice to me." Bessie chuckled into the hug and patted her back.

"You deserve it, Judy." Bessie said, "A whole lot of things, but sweetness is one of the many."

[shadowsofthegun-if]

The Wild West. Daunting. Unforgiving. Untamed.

You know better than anyone the tragedies that have plagued these lands, the injustices that have been committed, and the lives that have been lost. You've seen it all. Seen good people fall victim to the ruthlessness and corruption, seen entire towns burn to the ground, and watched families be torn apart by violence and greed.

For as long as you can remember, you've been a renegade, living on the edge of society. You've never known stability or security, always moving from town to town never settling down. You've been forced to leave nothing but a trail of pain and destruction in your wake. Never been able to stop long enough to think about the consequences.

But is that all you are? Given the chance to change, would you take it? To give instead of take. To help instead of hurt. To build instead of destroy. Or do you want to continue down the same path? To forever be the child without a home, without purpose, without hope.

Will you make sure the West remains untamed or will you too look for a new beginning?

DEMO | Playlist | Pinterest

Customize who you are in the Wild West: appearance, sex, gender, and sexuality

Be an angry little gremlin who's trying to find the place they want in the world

Make life harder for your make shift family or just for yourself

Risk making friends and falling in love. Will you be able to let them go when it's time to run again?

Be an absolute disaster of an outlaw

Rated 18+ due to Child Abuse/Neglect, Death/Child Death, Gore/Violence, Drugs, Alcohol, Potential Sexual Content

'Blessing' Cain / The Renegade

That's you. The young outlaw causing havoc across the West alongside the infamous duo Jesse Alden and Harrison Boyd. I would say that this wasn't always your life but, that would be a lie. Your parents looked at the West and, like every other person, saw a new beginning. They, however, felt that the land out West wasn't for everyone, only for those chosen by the Lord himself. Out they went claiming their land and dealing with anyone who tried to stop them. They hurt people, a lot of people, but the one they hurt the most was you. When they felt it was time to return to the Lord they planned to take their entire family with them. You fought and managed to survive. Now it's up to you to decide if that fight was worth it.

Jesse Alden / The Older Brother

The reason you're here and alive. Jesse is about as close as you can get to an older brother without actually being blood-related. Since the moment he met you, he has always made taking care of you his top priority. Sure, he's annoying at times and doesn't listen to you, but that's what older brothers are supposed to do right? No matter how much you bicker, you know that he'll always have your back. At least you believe he will, he would never hurt his little Blessing right?

Harrison Boyd / The Old Bastard

You and Harrison don't exactly get along real well. If Jesse could be considered your brother, Harrison would be your very distant and always unhappy father. He doesn't hate you, you would know if he did, but he doesn't exactly like you either. Harrison may be a grumpy old bastard, but you can trust him to protect you and Jesse till his dying breath. Try not to annoy him too much, or he might ignore you the rest of the week.

Aster Vega / The Star-Eyed Outlaw / Gender Selectable (RO)

Aster Vega is your first and oldest friend. You first met when you were twelve and they attempted to steal your satchel. After you chased them down and, very aggressively I may add, took it back, they looked at you like you had hung the stars. They still have that look every time you end up running into them again along the road. You have no idea what you did to be looked at like that, but you think it might have something to do with Asters none stop prattling about fate and how "One day we'll ride together. It's written in the stars I know it". Maybe your fates truly are interlinked like they seem to believe.

Romance Route: Love at First sight, Forbidden Lovers, Impossible Love

Roman/a Escuella / The Savior / Gender Selectable (RO)

You met Ro at one of your darkest times ,yet in just a matter of weeks they bring back the light to your life that you had been searching for. They're kind, caring, gentle, and everything that you're not. They love and care for you without hesitation, bringing you into their life and sharing everything they have with you. Allowing you to experience everything you had dreamed of. The real question is, how badly are you going to burn them for their naivety?

Romance Route: First/Young love, Soulmates, Friends to Lovers to Enemies😏

Andrew & Elizabeth Cain / The Devout

You're parents who dragged you and your siblings along on their quest. They're actually insane, and dead. They may be gone, but their actions are hard to forget.

Adrian Blake / The Leader(RO)

He leads the gang that Aster is a part of. From what Aster has said he has a bit of a temper, but as long as you stay on his good side you'll be fine. He's after someone though, but Aster hasn't been told who. Just make sure to avoid him for now, it's for the best.

[isagrimorie]

Star Trek Voyager 6x02 - Survival Instinct | Star Trek Picard 1x08 - Broken PIeces

Seven: When I was first assimilated into the Collective, I was a child. They were assimilated as adults. When our individual memories began to resurface-- Chakotay: Yours were of being a little girl. A scared little girl. Seven: I let that fear control me. After I saw the drone die in the swamp, I panicked. I began to envision my own death. Alone, without even the sound of another drone to comfort me. So I forced them to return. I infiltrated their left cerebral hemispheres with nanoprobes and created a new interlink network. One that they couldn't resist. And then I eliminated the evidence of what I had done. Chakotay: You were overwhelmed by feelings you couldn't begin to understand. You're not responsible for that. Seven: Because of what I did, they'll be forced to live the rest of their lives in the Collective. For that, I am responsible.

Rewatching Star Trek Voyager after Picard is so good because it makes the Seven-centric stories even richer. They were already good but it adds another layer to everything.

It also makes this moment in Broken Pieces even more resonant for Seven because she's not only assimilated people before but she's assimilated people who were trying to escape. I love how interesting this makes Seven's character. It's a situation TV Tropes call Ignored Epiphany.

It's the moment when someone who is on a path of redemption or enlightenment willfully ignores the epiphany to continue on the current path they were. But narratively, the ignored epiphany moment wasn't futile.

Eventually what happens is the ignored epiphany becomes a building block for when the real epiphany hits. Because sometimes epiphany and the choice to turn around is not just one moment, it's composed of several moments, and sometimes, people need the help of other people to pull or push them out of the current path they were on.

This is what happened to Seven of Nine.

Drone Borg Seven of Nine was happy to continue being a Borg and was proud of being a Borg. It wasn't until Janeway chose to cut Seven from the Borg and started Seven on the path of her own individuality that Seven finally understood the real damage the Borg has down to other people and herself.

And now that she possesses individuality and knowledge when she's asked a year later if she would want to return to the Collective given the choice and Seven's answer is a resounding No.

And then going back to this moment in Survival Instinct to the moment in Broken Pieces knowing the context for Seven now it's so much more poignant because she's done this before and regretted it.

I think this is one moment out of many moments in what she's done and made to do as a Borg that Seven will never forgive herself for because the moment with her three Unimatrix Drones was something Seven did herself.

(I do wish they let the moment in Picard 1x08 breathe more but time and production probably didn't give them enough time to do more).

Seven: The damage I did can never be repaired, and my guilt is irrelevant. I simply want them to experience individuality, as I have. As you have. At one time, you were confined to this Sickbay. Your program was limited to emergency medical protocols. In some ways, you were not unlike a drone. But you were granted the opportunity to explore your individuality. You were allowed to expand your program. Your mobile emitter gives you freedom of movement. Your thoughts are your own. If you were told you had to become a drone again, I believe you would resist. EMH: Yes. I suppose I would. Seven: They would resist as well. They would choose freedom, no matter how fleeting. Only you and I can truly understand that. EMH: Survival is insufficient.

[nocturnowlette]

Hypnotic Visuals #1: Ocean Waves

If you'd like, this post is accompanied with a backing track of waves to help better understand and feel the points being made. It is not necessary, though.

...

When it comes to the choice of hypnotic visuals, some consideration should be made towards each one's specifics.

Hypnosis can be a tricky thing in many aspects, but one large reason is just how context-dependent it is. Each person's mind is its own individual landscape of biases and perceptions and strengths and weaknesses, and each one might have a different effect on how one receives trance. However, this variation is also extended outwards, towards the choice of visuals themselves.

Each visual, of which there are essentially infinite, comes with their own common aesthetic associations, so I'd like to make a series talking about various hypnotic visuals and how you can tailor your sessions around them most effectively. Let's start with one of the simplest, and a classic: the ocean and its waves.

The first thing about the ocean is a very important lesson about pre-talk. If you do not get to know your subject and use this visual, there is a chance they have thalassaphobia or some trauma regarding the sea, and have a violent abreaction. Talking with your subject is important for hundreds of reasons, but one is avoiding exactly this. Even a mention of the word "ocean" in an extra vulnerable state like trance could be a complete shock to the system that disrupts trances with you and your subject in the future. Even if unintentional, it's a betrayal of trust and the mind can be slow to mend that.

As for those who do not fear the ocean, they likely find it the opposite, quite relaxing. Relaxation, while not strictly necessary for trance, is almost always a part of it because relaxation frees up perceptive "room", so to speak. You only have so much focus and the mind normally spreads it out to everything around you. Relaxation takes the focus away from everything else, and allows that focus to be pinpointed on me and my words. Some visuals deal with a more active focus, this takes the opposite path.

As such, you want to also pepper in suggestions to focus in on your voice, either through another visual, or just direct "Focus" commands or suggestions.

If you don't take advantage of the relaxation, there's wasted potency just washing away in the waves.

The ocean is something interlinked with the most steady functions of our entire planet. As steadily as the sun rising in the sky, so too does the moon, and with every moment it exists, our tides continue in a steady motion.

Rhythm is very natural to both us and the tides. If one spends long enough near the ocean, they might find their mind get accustomed to that steady rhythm.

The tides going,

Back, and Forth,

Back, and Forth,

This rhythm is useful for trance. When you define one quality of the visual you're using, something natural to that visual, you've essentially defined a plot device. This is the thing you attach suggestions to.

Going back, and forth,

and back, and forth,

This rhythm of the tides has multiple routes one could take. My personal favorite is the kinetic angle. That's to say, the motion of it.

Rocking back,

and forth,

and back,

and forth,

We have a tendency to make unconscious movements when thinking about things. It's so natural to us that it's one of the easiest things to be suggested to someone. It's a way to assert some subtle control immediately. Rocking is also an especially calming motion, in combination with the ocean visual itself.

Back,

and forth,

and back,

and forth,

can even start to serve the form of a mantra.

Mantras serve multiple purposes, but the most useful practically is to fill up the empty space in the subject's mind when you're not actively suggesting them. Relaxation can easily be paired with suggestions of dulling thoughts, and this is a way to start heading in that direction.

Water in itself is a visual, and can also be applied here. Whether it's the water consuming you, submerging you, or filling you, that unmistakable sound of being submerged in water has a very visceral sensory effect on people. You can point out the specifics, of that slight pressure on the skin, of requiring so much more effort to move, of everything being duller and even needing to close your eyes.

When combining dulling visuals with suggestions of your voice being the only thing perfectly clear, you can amplify the strength of your words on both ends.

When you have multiple plot devices, say, the swaying of the tides and being submerged in water, you can intertwine the two and amplify both, as well. When you're submerged in water, you're at the mercy of the tides, being pulled in looong, drawn out motions, tapping into a lack of control. I can tell you that my voice is an anchor, the only thing keeping you steady, that you need to hold on.

Every little detail is another plot point in the narrative, and each one is much more effective than plainly stating what thing you want the person to feel. Stories draw us in, immerse us, and this is not something that should be ignored. These were only a few examples of what you can do, as with the amount of visuals, the amount of qualities and routes to take with each are also wide and varied.

If you want to really give your subjects an unforgettable experience, you need to learn how to weave a story. Visuals are the key.

If anyone has any specific visual they want given extra detail and options for, feel free to ask.

That all being said, I hope you enjoyed reading, and happy hypnotizing.