#little slices of existence ･ﾟ✫ drabble | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

madschiavelique · 1 year

Note

Hi! This is my first request, sorry if it isn’t that coherent. Is it cool if I send a hurt/comfort drabble request with gn reader x Miguel?

Maybe something where an enemy takes advantage of Miguel’s lack of spider sense and is severely injured to the point where he can’t keep up his tough exterior anymore. He’d probably dread how vulnerable the situation made him and would want the reader beside him for the next mission, as some kinda filler spider sense after he recovers (or just has them there for comfort but doesn’t wanna admit it LOL)

hiya anon !! this was coherent don't worry hehehe

summary : miguel gets severely injured on a mission and wants you by his sides for all the upcoming ones

content warnings : blood, cuts, miguel almost dying (he doesn't dw), flangst (?), this turns sweet, no use of Y/N, gender neutral!reader word count : 2,2k

tag list : @fandom-ash

Miguel found himself alone on the field. This wasn't usually a problem, as the number of individual missions he'd carried out before forming his entire Spider Society was vast. It hadn't always been easy, of course, but he'd always managed to pull himself up, like a true Spider-Man would.

The rain clattered against the pixels of his suit, thunder rumbling between the dark clouds where skyscrapers sank like daggers into a black cotton belly.

He was out of breath, the anomaly he was facing was the typical weak point of his mutation: it was invisible, and extremely fast, which didn't help as Miguel's Spidersenses were profoundly insignificant, or even to put it simply: non-existent.

If he could get a visual on his target, everything would be perfectly fine. He could carry out his mission like the usual without a care. But invisible? That was undoubtedly his Achilles' heel in anomalies.

His hand was pressed against one of his bleeding sides as he stood breathless on a rooftop. The anomaly kept using its invisibility and speed to make unpredictable sprints to cut him from side to side.

He muttered an insult under his breath, his shoulders, arms and legs riddled with cuts of varying depths that were causing severe pain all over his body.

The anomaly was taunting him, laughing at one corner and then the next second calling out from another. The situation was becoming far too complex, and he could feel that the loss of blood from his body was starting to have an impact, weakening him enormously in this fight. It was more than a weakness actually, it was a real danger.

His eyes were looking in all directions, turning in on himself. Silence and the inability to know where his enemy was had never frightened him so much. He knew very well that the invisible things were just as dangerous as the visible ones, if not more so.

You don't always see love when it's coming, and you sometimes fail to recognise death when it arrives.

Call for help? Yes, perhaps that would be best, no matter how proud he was and how independent he wanted to be. Trying to regain a less shaky breath, he swallowed as he brought his lips to his watch:

"Lyla call the-" but he was cut off instantly by the anomaly that came at him in a flash, slicing into the back of his leg with such power that he fell to his knees with a grunt. The puddle into which he had fallen became darker, the red of his blood mingling with it under the light of one of the neon advertisements on an adjacent building.

He groaned in frustration, bringing the watch up to his mouth again.

"Lyla-" he breathed a little louder, but the anomaly cracked the silence with a high-pitched laugh as he cut into his back with a straight, deep line of his own.

Miguel arched his back, a growl mingling with a cry of desperation and terrible frustration as he lay on the ground.

Was it the rain, or was his vision becoming blurry ?

The anomaly materialised before his tired eyes, kneeling beside him, tilting its head to one side.

"All so," he laughed horribly, "big and strong and muscular." the anomaly grabbed his arm evilly, squeezing his hand over a cut that was burning hellishly, and Miguel let out screams through his teeth.

"But I'll tell you something, big buy," the anomaly said simply, moving a little closer to Miguel, who was beginning to find it harder and harder to stay awake. "In the end, we're all made of flesh that can be cut, and bones that can be broken."

He held up his knife, which the raindrops were cleaning of Miguel's blood, still glued to the blade. He then placed it against Miguel's cheek, his vision completely blurred.

"Lyla," he whispered, barely audible, using what little strength he had left to cry out for help.

He saw the knife rise, thinking to himself, this is it, it's over, he thought.

He murmured something, just something ? No, it was more important than that. He murmured your name.

He wanted, no, needed to see you now. Hear your voice, see you once more before… he just needed you by his side.

He felt so lonely.

He could’ve chosen anyone to be by his sides, heck someone was literally by his side at the moment and it was an anomaly, so he wasn’t exactly alone. But still, still, he wanted you.

The knife elevated, ready to strike him down, the sound of the anomaly’s laughter echoing in his mind in a numb way. And that’s when he saw a bright orange in the reflection of the bloody puddle, and lost consciousness.

He awoke in the infirmary, his eyes gradually adjusting to the whitish light. The aseptic air caught his nostrils, his lips were dry and a slight headache tugged at his skull.

He was lying on a stretcher in a position somewhere between sitting up and lying down. As he tried to straighten up, he was immediately stopped by an intense pain, and immediately tensed up.

"Hey hey hey, easy, easy."

He knew that voice, very, very well indeed. He opened his eyes again, slowly.

You were there, at his bedside, just above him to make sure he didn't try to get up again. He inhaled slowly, breathing hurt a little, and he wrinkled his nose in pain.

"How long was I out?" he asked, his first thought always remaining on the subject of organisation.

"Three days," you replied, standing next to him, arms folded.

"Three d-!" but the rise in his tone made his whole chest ache.

"Hey shh shh shh," you soothed, coming to rest your hand on his cheek to provide a point of anchorage for him in the middle of all of this pain.

"Three days," he breathes against your touch as he squirmed around trying to find a comfortable position without feeling like his whole body was on fire. "It's too much wasted time, I have to go back-"

"You're not going back anywhere for a little while, Miguel." you cut, voice calm.

"But I have to-" his breath came a little sharper.

"Miguel, you're not going to do anything at all except rest." you reiterated.

"Listen to me-"

"No, you listen to me," you interjected this time in a much less calm and more strict tone, which surprised him enough to stop him from continuing to fidget and breathe almost frantically. "You had a near-death experience, Miguel," your words were categorical. "And I refuse to allow you to not recover from that properly just so you can kill yourself at work instead, because... fuck, I was so scared." your voice had trailed off on the last word, broken.

Your eyes avoided his, looking up at the ceiling, biting your lip as your gaze fell back on the countless cuts he had strewn across his body. Your hand, previously on his cheek, came to rest beside him on the stretcher.

And you could feel his eyes on you, expecting your next words.

"When Lyla appeared to us... I had never seen her so serious and anxious at the same time. I have always seen her as playful and," a sigh, "sassy. But then, what she said made my heart drop," you admitted, looking him in the eye, trying to articulate.

A tear rolled down your cheek, and you immediately brushed it away, trying to pull yourself together.

"When we arrived, you were in an indescribable state, you were motionless... gosh Miguel I've never wished so much to see someone make just one movement," you breathed in, wiping away the other hot tears that wanted to flow further down your cheeks. "You can't imagine the relief I felt when they stabilised your state."

He looked at you, lips parted as he listened intently. And he thought of how he had wished you in death to bring him life and how you had wished him in life to stay away from death.

"I stayed, you know? By your side. Days, nights, whenever I could," you smiled, a small breath living your lips as you sniffed.

His heart was overflowing with emotions, all the sensations and thoughts that had taken hold of him during his confrontation with the anomaly coming back vividly to his mind, and yet he felt it all squeezed into his chest.

"I..." his voice grew small, and he swallowed to try and make his throat more cooperative to make the lump that was forming in it disappear.

"I thought... I'd never get to see you again," he admitted, inhaling softly.

His hand came to rest on yours, his fingers gently caressing your skin as you took it in yours.

"I..." his eyes were veiled by a curtain of tears that stung his nose, and he bit the inside of his cheek, looking down at your hands interlaced.

He thought back to the rain that kissed him goodbye, to the thunder that rumbled through the dark clouds as if to lecture him, to the feel of the sharp blade on his skin and the life that was gradually leaving him. But above all he remembered his vulnerability, and the possibility that this moment might be his last.

"It was so cold... I just," a tear finally rolled down his cheek, "I just wanted you to be here," his eyes returned to yours, "with me."

You could see it in his eyes, the fear, the dread that something like this could happen again. You bit your lip, your chin trembling as you gripped his hand a little tighter in yours.

"I need you by my side," he declared.

Your free hand gently wiped the tears from his cheeks, his lids closing.

"I will be by your side," you whispered, "I will protect you."

He breathed in gently, his eyes meeting yours again.

"From now on, everywhere I'll go, you'll go with me," he concluded, and you squeezed his hand in yours again.

"I'll go with you," you agreed, wiping the last tear from your cheek, the salts of your two cries combining on the back of your hand like an oath.

Miguel had recovered well. At first he'd inevitably flinched at the fact that he'd let everything be controlled by someone other than himself, but in the end he'd let it slide.

You came to visit him every day, not only to make your report but also simply to spend time with him. You always brought him empanadas from the cafeteria, knowing how much he loved them. It has to be said that if there was one thing you could often bribe Miguel on, it was empanadas. That and maybe stroking his hair...

When he finally came out of the infirmary, a tiny celebration was held. He didn't like the idea at all, but you knew deep down that the intention behind it warmed his heart.

Life went back to what it used to be, with of course a slight change that surprised everyone.

As agreed, wherever he went, you went. Every spiderperson in the Society had obviously noticed the sudden change. From one day to the next, Miguel couldn't go anywhere without you by his side.

You went on walks with him in the park, you would always eat with him at the cafeteria, you were in his office whenever he was, and it felt to most spiders now that you two would eternally be inseparable.

The time finally came for Miguel to go on a mission, where you would work with him to catch the anomaly but above all to lend him your Spidersenses, which were working to the highest perfection.

The portal formed in front of you, Miguel tensing slightly. You put your hand on one of his shoulders and he turned to you.

"It's okay, I'm here" you remarked.

This simple fact lifted a weight from his shoulders as if by magic. He smiled at you before you put your mask on, his own mask pixelating on his face, and you stepped through the portal.

You reached a rooftop, the gate closing behind you. Silence fell and Miguel tensed. He had no idea where the danger might be coming from.

"Hey, look at me," you said simply.

He turned to you, still as uptight as ever.

"Just breath okay?"

He breathed in gently, relaxing his shoulders as he listened, a little more reassured by your simple presence.

You waited patiently, not moving an inch. And what if you couldn't feel certain sensations either?

But he had nothing to worry about, because you immediately took him by the arm and drew him against the wall of the roof exit, pressing your body against his as next to you a kind of big multicoloured puddle burst violently onto the ground right where you previously were.

He was breathing heavily, his back pressed against the wall, while you were as calm as when you had arrived. His head turned towards yours, your two masked faces immensely close.

"I meant it when I said I would protect you."

He chuckled.

Wherever you go, I'll go with you.

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myfandomrealitea · 9 months

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I cannot stress this enough:

BUILDING COMMUNITY AND ENGAGEMENT ON TUMBLR IS A TWO-WAY STREET.

Stuck for ideas? Try:

Send asks. It could be anything, even something super basic. Tell someone you like their blog theme or ask them what they think a character's favorite color is. Ask them if they have a secret hobby. Tell them you had an absolute banger of a slice of toast for breakfast. Literally anything. Give them something to talk to you about. You might even make a friend!!

Draw silly little doodles for your favorite piece of fanfic. Literally cannot stress this enough; even stick men art can be adorable and/or hilarious. And I guarantee you it'll make the author's day. A two minute sketch on the notepad app of your phone could genuinely be the reason someone updates their fic, or writes another one.

Write silly little drabbles for your favorite fanart. I used to love this back when I made fanart on my old Tumblr blog. People would reblog it with a silly little 100 word drabble based on the art and I. Would. Swoon. My thing made someone else make a thing!! Amazing!!

Make rec lists. It could be for fanfiction, themed blogs to follow, recipes, movies, anything. Ask people to share theirs. Ask people to give their opinions if they try out something from your list. You wouldn't believe how many of my fanfic bookmarks have come from seeing the blogs I follow recommend something. Because we have the same interests!! Because its even quicker than me scouring hundreds of tags on AO3!!

If someone posts writing or art, ask them questions!! Humans love to be asked things. Especially about things we have made. Ask them what inspired them to make the thing. How long it took them. If they have a favorite thing about it.

Tumblr's engagement and activity levels are not dying because of the website. They're dying because of us. If we're just sat existing in a sad, isolated little bubble, of course we're going to move on to somewhere where we get actual engagement. Where there are other people in the bubble.

We've become so obsessed with an entitlement to receiving and consuming while never actually giving anything back, and that has to die.

"Oh but there's no community for what I like on here."

Make. One.

Tell people about the thing you like. Get them interested. Engage with them about it. Give them a sounding board to share their thoughts and ask questions and create content to enjoy and consume. Make it a discussion and give them something to get involved in.

Find that one other tiny blog screaming into the void about it and scream together!! That's how this website works!!

#sephiroth speaks #myfandomrealitea #fandom #not discourse #tumblr #fandoms #tumblr fandoms #engagement #community #reblogs #reblogging

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starhvney · 6 months

Note

my first time w this but can I rq zenix x short fem reader? one shot or hc or anything atp i can survive off crumbs alone

(mystreet and maybe they have a playful banter dynamic? (dying i am so shy)(if no then thats okay u can delet this :3))

𝐏𝐈𝐏𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐀𝐊

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: zenix x short!fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: he won’t let you exist without giving you the daily reminder that you’re short

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff, slice of life, zenix and reader playfully argue and banter, zenix doesn't know how to admit his feelings ever

𝐂𝐖: none?

𝐀/𝐍: yes, i can! this is so cute, anon! i went ahead and added headcanons and a small drabble to this. it’s not super long, but i hope i was able to write what you wanted. you’re my first request so thank you, i hope you enjoy! (i might make a one shot going more in depth on this dynamic but i wanted to get this out asap for you :))

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

☆ it doesn’t matter what age you two met, he’s always going to tease you for your height

☆ in high school, before he could ever admit his feelings for you (because that would be so lame and not hardcore), he would use teasing as a way to talk and flirt with you while still keeping his composure and pride.

it was so close, yet so far out of reach. you strained your calves as your fingers barely brushed the top shelf.

“c’mon!” you quietly groan to yourself, hopping and once again missing the book above you.

a quiet snort can be heard from behind you, causing you to narrow your eyes and turn to the noise. zenix leans on the bookshelf, his hand covering his nose and mouth as looks up through dark lashes at you with a poorly concealed grin. his eyes crinkled and lifted up, and the tenseness in his shoulders gave away that he was really trying not to laugh.

“what? aren’t you gonna help me?” you accuse, pointing a finger in his direction.

he drops his hand, the amused smirk on his lips annoyingly prominent as he crosses his arms and lifts his chin up, another annoying laugh leaving his lips.

“no, i think i’ll just watch from here.”

your eyebrows pinch together and your nose scrunches up in annoyance. with narrowed eyes you look him up and down. what was he even doing in the library?

“whatever, you probably can’t read the title anyways.”

“…what?!” his voice raised in confusion. his little smirk is gone as his jaw drops and his eyebrows furrow.

“besides, i may be short, but that doesn’t make you tall. you’re probably also too short to reach this book.” you continue to taunt, satisfied at the annoyed red hue growing on his cheeks.

“WHAT?!” he exclaims, this time much too loud for the library.

“you two, out of my library now! you’re being way too loud. you’re old enough to know basic manners in a library.” the librarian appears from the end of the aisle, an annoyed look on her tense face as one hand rests sternly on her hip and the other points at the door.

“but, i wasn’t-“

“now!”

you two silently walk out of the library doors, before you turn to zenix with narrowed eyes.

“that’s your fault.”

“huh? no it’s not, you started it!”

“no, you did!”

“no-“ he cuts himself off with an annoyed groan, shoving something in your face rather abruptly.

grabbing on to it, you move it away to see what it was. it was the book you were trying to reach. you look back up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“what?! you said i couldn’t reach it, but i could, easily!”

“but it’s still not checked out, so you stole it.”

“borrowed without asking.”

“well, you still did what i asked you. for someone so much taller and cooler than me you’re pretty gullible, huh?”

his face turns red again, mouth stuttering open before snapping back shut. he narrows his eyes at you before quickly snatching the book up and taking off down the hallway.

“hey! zenix, what the hell!” you take off after him.

“see if your short legs can keep up!”

he landed you two in more trouble soon after for running and yelling in the halls.

☆ sometimes he’d slip up, showing how he really felt about you… in his own, zenix way.

“your hands are tiny.” he suddenly notes. burnt, red-brown eyes narrow down at your hands.

“huh?” you stretch your hand out in the air.

zenix’s larger, warmer hand meets yours, palm to palm as he compares the difference. it’s enough for the tips of his fingers to curl a bit over yours, you glance back at him with raised eyebrows. his messy brown hair hangs in his face, but doesn’t hide his softened expression as he concentrated on your hands touching.

he makes eye contact with you, cheeks bursting into flames as he fumbles for an excuse.

“it must be because you’re so short.” he blurts out.

“feeling bold today, zenix?” gene’s voice startles the both of you, your hands both shooting back down to your laps.

“what- i don’t know what you’re talking about!”

☆ as you two get older, it eventually evolves into much more playful banter, and everybody is used to this just being your dynamic.

☆ you don’t get as irritated about it, but zenix still loves making use out of your height difference.

you two stand in line in the coffee shop, eyes squinting as you read the menu, when you feel the weight of zenix’s arm on top of your head. rolling your eyes, you glance up at zenix with a half-assed glare as he leans on you.

“really?”

he barely spares you a glance from the menu, raising an eyebrow as if he was confused what your problem was.

“what?”

you roll your eyes before looking back up at the menu.

"you're not even that tall."

"i'm taller than you, pipsqueak."

a huff leaves your lips. you stiffen your hand straight, before ramming it quickly into his side. he grunts as he hunches over, his arm leaving your head to clutch his side. he finally shoots a half-assed glare back to you, before moving his arm back up to rest on your shoulder instead. this time you don't complain.

“what are you getting?”

“…caramel macchiato.”

“…yeah, same.”

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

#aphmau #aphmau mystreet #mystreet #mystreet x reader #x reader #zenix x reader #aphmau zenix #mystreet zenix #zenix

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thehusbandoden · 1 year

Note

I love imagining that Kirishima would be even more excited to be a dad than to be a Pro Hero. But I also think he'd try to keep those parts of his life separated, to keep his kid(s) safe. You just KNOW the first time his child(ren) get caught up in some danger he'd go feral on some Villains.

A/n: I loved this idea and went a little overboard lol. I kinda want to write a drabble but I'm not too sure, but for now here are some headcannons!

Kirishima as a Dad Headcannons

General info:

Genre: slice of life (?) \\ wc: 1,625 \\ female reader

Warnings!: kidnapping, violence, Kiri losing it, kids being taken away/kidnapped, ummmm pls let me know if I miss any! <33 Anon, if any of these are triggering for you please reach out to me and I'll fix it!

Oh my goodness yes.

When you told him that you were pregnant he cried- happy tears of course. Manly happy tears.

He was so excited, and was instantly asking for paternal leave

Which was denied- but anyway

He loves to take care of you.

Foot massages, belly rubs, kisses wherever whenever, cuddles, weird cravings, manual labor, anything, you name it and it's yours.

Honestly you got a little spoiled lol

Though he's so excited for his gorgeous baby that will have the perfect mix of genes, he tires to drown out his thoughts of you and the angel you're growing in your womb.

He has work to do, and if he doesn't do his work you and baby will have a higher risk of harm befalling you.

He slowly masters the art of not thinking about his reason for existence, and solely focusing on work.

He already hides you pretty well from his fans, simply telling them that he was in a very happy, and very serious long term relationship.

The majority of his fans were super understanding about it all and were just glad he was happy, but the fake ones would still hit on him, try and guilt him into sharing more details, or even try stalking him to get a glimpse of Mrs. Perfect.

He didn't tell the public that you were expecting until he left on Paternity leave, and he didn't share anymore details outside of that.

The real and fake fans were clear to see by their reactions.

Once baby is born he's literally already so in love.

If you had a problematic delivery he'd be more worried about you, of course; but as soon as he knows you're okay he is immediately putting eighty percent of his attention on baby boy, and keeping the other twenty on you.

Crying manly tears as he watches you hold him, standing next to you as you feed him for the first time.

Once you two have had enough skin to skin time and you decide to rest, he takes your beautiful baby boy in awe before kissing your forehead lovingly.

"Thank you so much Pebble. He is just as perfect as you."

After making sure you're situated he sits on the chair closest to your bed, and simply watches sweet baby boy.

When he falls asleep he holds him to his bare chest, talking to him softly.

He doesn't dare rest until you're awake. He's read too many horror stories of the horrors of villains harming a pro hero's baby, or even having the baby purposely or accidentally swapped with another.

Once you do wake up, he's quick to reward you with a sweet kiss and your baby boy in your arms.

For the next while in the hospital you two take turns with baby boy, you mostly holding him while you're awake, and Kiri holding him while you rest.

Even though you tried to convince him to get some sleep, he wouldn't listen. He literally could not rest until the two of you were safely tucked into your home. There were too many dangers for you and baby, and he refused to make you wait on him.

Once he gets back to going to work he is absolutely miserable. He hates being away from his babies, and the worry kills him every time.

Luckily, nothing happened to you or baby, well at least for a few years.

Baby boy was seven, and you both had a daughter who just turned four.

Kiri was at work, and you were making dinner.

Your son had asked you if he could take his sister outside to play in the backyard; not seeing anything wrong with it, you agreed.

You even had a window above the sink looking over where they were playing, it was supposed to be safe.

A new organization of villains targeted your family due to Kiri stopping a robbery that would help them immensely.

Using their leader's quirk, they were able to find out a bunch of information about you and your precious babies.

All he needed was two men.

One to take you, and one to grab your kids.

Though you put up quite the fight, you stopped as they started to target your stomach.

There was something they didn't know; that you would make sure to keep hidden.

They ended up with you and your kids handcuffed in a dark room.

You were absolutely terrified of what was going to happen to your babies, but you put on a brave face, comforting your children with a smile.

They would cry and shuffle as close to you as possible, asking you where daddy was and asking if he wasn't coming for them.

"No no, darling. Your daddy is coming, he'll save us very soon!"

And that he did.

Like always, he came home to eat dinner with his gorgeous family.

Walking in, he let out a loud:

"Daddy's home! Kisses and hugs are in order~!"

He expected to hear giggles and the pattering of small footsteps sprinting towards him, a far more familiar set following close behind.

But, to his disappointment; the house was silent.

Walking toward he kitchen, he frowns at the mess by the island. Spilled food and cooking utensils scattered the floor.

"Y/n baby? What happened in the kitchen?!"

Walking outside, he panicked at the sight of a fallen off shoe and jacket.

Those were both signs of struggling..

Sprinting inside, Kiri yelled for you to come out as he scoured the mansion for another sight of his gorgeous family.

The lights were on- if you left you would have turn them off.

Calling your phone, his heart dropped at the sight of it's cracked screen lying on the floor of the kitchen, his contact name "Hubby 🥰😏" lighting up the screen.

Taking a second to collect his thoughts, rage filled his being as he studied the picture of him being hugged and kissed by his babies, huge smiles planted on their faces.

Hanging up the call, he quickly went to Bakugo's contact, calling the tsundere uncle.

"Ha? What do you need n-"

"They're gone."

"What?"

"Somebody decided to try and take my world from me. They're gone- and we need to find them."

The seriousness in Kiri's tone made the man shiver. Somebody was dead- so dead.

"I'll call the idiots. You get Rikona on the line."

Rikona was a fellow hero in the Bakusquad agency. Her quirk was related to her immense intelligence, and she was the one to call if you needed to get any kind of information quickly. She could easily find Kiri's family in mere minutes.

After calling her, Kiri followed her instructions, which eventually got him to a run down ware house.

After thanking the hero and sending his location in the Bakusquad groupchat, Kiri put his phone on silent and made his way inside.

He silently took down every villain he came across.

After a short while he found his way to a large room, where several men were.

Studying the scene closely, Kiri could only see red as he spotted you tied to a chair, cheek visibly reddened.

Your kids were on chairs near you, tears streaming down their cheeks as they watched the men hovering around them.

Moving to contact the Bakusquad, Kiri snapped at the sound of a slap.

Jerking his head towards the sound, uncontrollable anger pulsed through Eijiro as he lunged towards the villains, knocking down every single one that dared try and stop him.

Getting to the scum that dared touch you, Kiri hardened his arm before elbowing the villain in the face.

Hard.

Now that the path was cleared, Kiri wasted no time untying you and your angels, hugging the three of you comfortingly.

"Shhh it's okay. I've got you now, I've got you."

He stayed right next to you, glaring at any villain who dared take a step closer.

He was cornered. And there was no way he was going to leave your side- it would be too easy for someone to take you away again.

As a villain approached, Kiri hardened his arm a little more, sending out a warning.

Anyone stupid enough to get close enough to reach any of you received a harder-than-rock elbow to the face.

Just as five villains approached, Bakugo and the Bakusquad burst in, immediately setting to work to help.

Bakugo and Mina immediately started attacking the villains, while Denki and Jiro started tying up the knocked down villains.

Using his tape, Sero brought you and your kids to him and out of harm's way, much to Kiri's relief.

Now free to go all out, Kiri absolutely annihilated any for he could reach, not holding anything back, he pounded the villains into the ground, only stopping to attack the next one.

After all of the villains were defeated Kiri moved to the leader- the one that hurt his Pebble.

Bashing his elbow into the dude's face, Bakugo literally had to pry him off of the passed out villain to stop him from beating him to death.

After snapping out of it Kiri instantly hurried to the separate room Sero took you and his angels to.

Throwing open the door, he hugged the living daylight out of all three of you, apologizing and cooing words of comfort and reassurance.

After taking you three home Kiri spoiled the kids, playing any game they wanted.

And after reading them to sleep, he turned to you. Engulfing you in an embrace as you finally let yourself cry.

Kiri took the next three weeks off, finding ways to keep you all safer.

The first thing, would have to be a guard dog. A giant, beautiful German Shepherd.. yeah that sounded nice.

~~~~

A/n 2: I hope this was okay! If not feel free to reach out to me! <3

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9/26/2023

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divinehedons · 1 year

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hard to explain.

previously: call it fate, call it karma | masterlist

pairing: dilf!joel miller x f!reader

word count: ~3.5k

summary: after your fall-out with the son of a texan contractor, you didn't expect to come face-to-face with the man; nor did you expect the feelings that come with him.

warnings: this is a dark explicit fic, minors DO NOT interact! once again, i am reminding you that this joel is a meaaaaanie. ginormous age gap (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), brief depiction of somnophilia, fingering, phone sex, mutual masturbation. proceed with caution!

note: thank you sosososososo much for 500+ followers! this is in celebration of everyone who enjoys a little debauchery, i hope you enjoy. you're welcome to suggest drabbles through my ask, and comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

It had to end. You knew it did. You knew it had to end not only when you saw Christopher in the arms of some other girl—you knew it had to end the morning you woke up in his father's bed, Joel Miller himself. You remember it, clear as day.

You remember waking to his tongue exploring your folds, legs already shaking. You wonder how long he had been down there, how long he had been tasting you, and you froze. You remember the way Joel smirks up at you, spreading you open with two fingers, your orgasm not far behind from how sensitive you already were.

The limbic system primarily existed with three mechanisms of responses: fight, flight, or freeze. As your vision cleared, you saw the three responses laid before you, along with their consequences. If you confronted him, you risked the exposure of your very own crime, secrets sliced open and exposed in the warm Texan morning air. If you stayed, you'd find yourself complicit in an active role for destroying a relationship that meant something to you. Therefore, there was only one option left.

You remember the way you shot up, barely getting something on when that Texan drawl emerges from the bed. Sweet pea... You don't hear the rest, shutting the door behind you in near perfect silence. You end it that morning with Christopher; over coffee after he tried to apologise to you. There was nothing to forgive.

Hell, you'd even think you were both even by then.

You left before noon, almost running away from the scene of the crime you have left with hands stained red. You didn't even notice you left a book you were reading until you were back at your parents' house, unpacking as you curse yourself.

You thought that was the end of it. But not quite. Who cares about fate or karma when both clearly wanted to mess with you?

—

You threw yourself directly into the fires of a new semester. Your days easily fill with readings and essays and everything else. You see your friends less and less. You hole up in your dorm room more often. The solitary existence, you began to think, allowed you to repent, to correct yourself. It was why you were so willing.

If only you knew how naive such things seemed.

It was early mid-autumn when you were proved wrong when Joel Miller himself knocked on the door of your dorm room. It was comical, how different Joel seemed against the backdrop of assorted university kids, frat boys, and other such cliques with his greying beard and tired eyes. It was almost comical because you didn't expect him to be here—months after your shared evening disappeared in the haze of stress and study. It was almost comical because you avoided Christopher like the plague, barely dodging out of sight the moment you recognise him anywhere.

Even in mundane things, the father was proving to be brighter than the son.

He sees you, eyes red from exhaustion, fingers stained with pen ink as the pregnant silence fills the air. You wonder what's on his mind as his eyes rake over your form. You're dressed in a campus sweatshirt and (he promised to thank a god or two) just panties. He goes to speak before you can shut the door on him. Before you could pretend and brush him off.

"Christ, sweet pea. What happened t'ya?"

That's how Joel Miller ended up in your shared room, looking over the small collection of books you had stacked up on some rickety shelving. You don't know what to say to him. You don't know what there is to say. You mumble fragments of things. "I'm sorry, mister Miller, this is not a good time..."

"Y'know, this could fall apart on ya. Shouldn't put too many things on it."

You look up at him, catching his eye once more. You feel the heat on your cheeks, feeling like an errant child with their hand caught in a cookie jar. It's strange, you think. You, who had once felt so welcomed by the same man, now look at things differently, wondering if he still thinks of you writhing against his sheets.

Because you think about it. Every fucking night. You think about his deep chuckle, that playful smirk, the orgasm you hadn't been able to recreate ever since. So, the question comes so easily to you: "Mister Miller, did you come here for a shelf?" Your shaky breath exposes you, reveals the tension in your shoulders from the idea of being so proximally close to you.

Slowly, you watch the edges of his mouth curve upwards in a slight, knowing smirk as he moves closer to you, chuckling as you attempt to back away, only for him to continue coming for you, until you feel the door press against the small of your back. His left palm moves to settle right beside your head, effectively pinning you where you are as he leans close enough for you to have a whiff of minty breath. "Why is that, darlin'? Did'ya want somethin' more?"

There is a shiver that shoots directly from your spine to your cunt, a wave of unabashed want as your lips part from his words. It's when a short laugh escapes him, moving to press a chaste kiss against your cheek, the prickling of his beard making your knees clench from expectation. "Actually, I came here to talk to Admissions about Chris and his failed major last semester. And of course, to return a book of yours."

For a moment, you think the conversation is over. Only Joel loves proving you wrong.

"But it's cute to know ya think' 'bout me, sweetheart."

Motherfucker.

The trade paperback emerges from his coat pocket, just as beaten as you had found it all those months ago in some decrepit, secondhand bookstore. You briefly catch the tile in front. The Master and Margarita. Bulgakov's opus. You gingerly take it from his grasp, managing a shy thanks just as you duck out from under his arm to place it on his desk. "I was just looking for that."

"Pretty dense read, if ya ask me." He turns to you, leaning against the door for a moment. "You worry your pretty l'il head too much." He moves to take his leave, opening the door as he steps out into the hallway with a gentlemanly nod.

"Well... I like the, um... thanks. Drive home safe."

He hums, looking around to check if there was anybody to hear his next words. But when he looks back to you, he had that same smirk that generated a tremble to the knee from you. "I hope ya still have my number. Maybe you should call the next time you're thinkin' 'bout an old man, baby doll."

And just like that, he leaves, shutting the door behind him as you collapse to the nearest seat, unbuttoning the top button of your blouse as you exhale.

What a fucking asshole.

—

You do not think of the same Texan contractor until a few days later, coming home from an admittedly awful date with some Tarantino fanboy that thought you needed help when it came to understanding Pulp Fiction. And, should anyone ask, you could honestly say you attempted your best behaviour, but eventually, there were just too many differences for you to logically accept his offer of sex back in his own (possibly) stinky dorm room.

So you walk back alone, sighing as you try not to think you made a foolish decision. You've been stuck in a dry spell, you think, considering the fact that it was Joel who last fucked you dumb. Considering it's been months of you fucking around and never really liking anyone because it's Joel you'll be touching yourself to at night.

With a sigh, you start to understand how foolish you were still being. And with a quiet gulp, you reach for your phone to dial that number you've been avoiding all week.

It's Joel, so, of course, it only took a few rings before you hear him on the other end.

"Well hello there, sugar."

You groan, leaning back to look up at the cloudy evening before clearing your throat. "Please don't be an asshole," you murmur, just as you hear him chuckle on the other end. "I was on a date this evening."

You hear the silence ensure from the other end. As if Joel immediately imagined you necking some frat boy or some other dickwad holding your breast while he's so far away, sitting down on his couch in his lonely home, so empty without you reading at the most random spots. As if he can smell how wet your cunt is and he's nowhere to be found. "It's just nine, baby doll, did you end the fun early?"

"I..." You swallow, entering your dorm room before your voice dropped into a whisper. "He... wasn't being nice..." You hang your coat as you check in to see your roommate fast asleep in her own bed, biting your lip gently. "And now... I'm back at the dorm and I have a roommate so... I'm just... I might just read until I'm tired."

"I might just be the last nice guy you'll meet, sweet pea," he teases, groaning as he adjusts himself in his spot. "And, as much fun as it is readin' about the Devil in Moscow, I think I'm much better company, no?" You perk up, stilling yourself mid-step as you replay the words in your head.

"You read it?" Already, you could feel the smile stretching across your cheeks as you imagine Joel, frowning down at your tiny book in an attempt to comprehend it.

"Tried to, doll. Too dense for an old man like me."

It's when you giggle. So suddenly and naturally that Joel feels a smile etch onto his own face. "I'm sorry, mister Miller. As much as I would like your company... I don't have any privacy right now..."

Joel hums from the other end, as if swallowed by his own thoughts. It's comfortable listening to the easy silene between the two of you, where nothing has to be said for five seconds.

Then, of course, he thinks with his cock and it gets him what he wants.

"I'm gettin' ya a room, darlin'. But you better stop with that mister Miller nonsense, got it?" You hear movement on the other end. "I'll send you the details. Call me when ya get there, sweet pea."

—

In the minutes where he has to wait for you to get where he wanted you, Joel has the time to contemplate just what he was doing to you. You, with a smile so sweet and young that it'd probably let his teeth ache if he let it. You, with your wandering, curious eyes that never asked a question. You, who he missed and hasn't stopped thinking about since that night.

If he was more honest, he would've told you that you also left some clothes from when you stayed over. If he was more honest, he'd tell you that you left your swimsuit in the bathroom beside the kitchen. But he's not honest. Actually, he's just a little bit too fucking selfish.

He'll never tell you of the number of times he breathed in the leftover scent of your skin and your perfect cunt staining the very pad of your swimsuit. He'll never tell you of the number of times he came just from the scent of you, cock in his fist, seed bursting out in powerful spurts.

He'll never tell you he could never have too much of you. And that he's been starving since you left him.

You call again, almost an hour later, shaky giggles being the first thing he hears. He tries to picture you taking in the hotel room he admittedly paid too much for. Tries to imagine if the bed was big enough, if the sheets were soft enough. If the fridge was filled to the brim with things you can enjoy. "Joel," you finally say, and he melts back into his own bed in his own house in Texas, "what the fuck, this is too much!"

He waits until your excitement wears off, smirk on his face. "Private enough for you to touch yourself, sweet pea?"

You audibly suck in a nervous breath, followed by the sound of you falling into the covers of your bed for the evening. He waits for you to respond, expecting some meek response. He doesn't know you've had a few drinks in you, doesn't know that you feel the heat of the alcohol pumping through your veins.

"Only if you touch yourself with me, Joel."

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph and all the saints combined. You were getting bolder. He began to chuckle, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice. "Good girl. You're getting better, aren't ya?" His large palm reaches down to cup himself through his sweats. "What'cha wearin', baby?"

You tell him and he pictures it in his head. You in a cute knitted sweater, your light washed jeans, your muddy sneakers. He likes to imagine the sweater to be one of his, even if he knows it isn't. He imagines his musk on your skin while you smile an dmake conversation with some boy.

"Anything under the sweater?"

"Uh..." He catches the hesitation in your voice, just slight enough, just there.

"My goodness, did you go on a date in just a sweater, baby doll? Not even anything underneath?" He tsks nonchalantly, reaching down to free his hardness with one hand, sighing in relief at the feel of some contact where he needed it. "D'you think he saw your nipples through dinner?"

It's when you squirm, much to his delight as you stare up at the ceiling. "Oh, God, I didn't even think of that..." You eventually sigh, and he waits for you to continue. "I don't know, he just... he's not quite as interesting."

He wonders what you meant by that. He wonders what to say, but you are quick to add more.

"It's not like I want to fall in love— I just..." Another sigh, the sound of movement as you roll over in bed. "I just want someone who'd do me no good. To fuck me up, just once, so I can understand it."

He chuckles, spitting on to his palm. "I can do that," he mutters, "how 'bout you take off your panties for me, doll?" He waits, judging from whatever sounds your phone picked up. "Well, don't act all demure, now. Use those li'l fingers of yours."

You obey, because it's Joel and he knows things. Because you thought you'd be getting fucked this evening. Because he paid for your time and it's the least you can do.

You listen to him as you slowly melt into the warm sheets, legs spread wide and two fingers shakily rubbing yourself. From the other end, you hear his speech interrupted by shaky grunts, some breaths, and even low, menacing growls.

"Tell me what'ya thought about, doll. When you think of me."

"Uh..." You feel a jolt of want rush through your skin as your fingers unintentionally speed up, leaving you moaning. "I-I... I think of your... your hands..." A whimper follows, making you bite your lip as you attempt to control yourself.

From the other end, Joel himself groans at the sounds you make, his own fist speeding up. "That's it... keep goin' and tell me, sweet pea..."

The image is clear in your head. His hands on your waist, cupping your aching breasts. You think of his desperate cock fucking you wide open in a way nothing satisfied you. You think of his hand tangled in your hair as he takes you from behind, held up only by his grasp. You think of his growling against your neck, teeth running carefully across the surface of your skin before he sucks a trail of hickeys down your wanton body.

You think of him telling you how good you are. You, you, and only you.

Meanwhile, he directs you between his own laboured breaths. If anything, he keeps a clear head about it anyway. "That's it, pretty baby, get one finger in for me..." The sensation is enough to make you whine, whilst he chuckles at how needy you sounded. "S'good, yeah? Pull out your fingers f'me and get a pillow between your thighs..."

It's so easy to obey when you're at the very brink of an orgasm. It's so easy to tear down the walls you built when all you ever wanted is presented to you on a silver platter. You put him on speaker, setting it on the bedside table before you get on your knees, grabbing the nearest pillow, lip bitten as you position yourself.

"Imagine me under ya, baby. Y'like my hands, didn't'cha? Imagine them guidin' you back and forth..."

You squeeze your eyes shut and it's so easy. Your hips grinding down on the pillow, cunt spread open and giving the pressure it so desperately called for. You could almost imagine Joel's cockhead, notching just quite there at the very fold of your cunt, but not quite going in.

So you grind against the pillow, pretending it's Joel and pretending he's grunting your ear, driven by praises and compliments while you cry out in pleasure.

"Stop right fuckin' now, sweet pea, or I end the call."

You pause, shakily, eyes teary as you hear the wet squelch of Joel's fist moving against his cock. "Oh, please, just let me... I was so close, Joel!" You groan, hanging your head as you chew on your lip. Your fists clench the sheets below as you wait for him to let you continue.

"On one condition, darlin'. You better stop runnin' after those stupid college boys who don't know the first thing about takin' care of you."

You take pause, trying to bear the weight of his words with the call of your cunt. You do not know how he grits his teeth at the other end, trying to hold off from his own orgasm, driven by the idea of the two of you cumming together despite being miles apart.

"I... you—"

"Five seconds, doll."

You gulp, clenching as you try and not to give in to the urge to move your hips. "Fine! Fine, fine, fine—"

"Good." He takes in a sharp breath, growling as images of you, his very own personal whore, so fucking willing to obey him, no matter what it is he asked for. "Make yourself cum for me, doll. S'alright. Such a good girl..."

You cry out, words of thanks bubbling from your mouth as you resume your movements once more. You call for him, telling him you're so close as you come closer and closer to the very crest you've been wanting all night.

"C'mon, come with me, baby. You wanna be good, don't ya?"

It's always more than enough. As if just one provocation from him is enough to send a chain reaction through you. You let him know, and he counts you down together.

Five. Your knees quake just as you hear Joel's breath grow more ragged.

Four. He says it through gritted teeth while your left hand grips on to the headboard for some sense of balance.

Three. You tell him you might not last for long but one growl for him makes you learn your place.

Two. You're begging and begging and begging, breath held and teeth clenched. He shuts his eyes before he sees stars.

One. It's so close you both can taste it.

Cum for me, baby, fuck, yes, yes yes—

For a moment, you are caught in a riptide of inexplicable high, vision going bright white momentarily before lulling you into a daze.

A beat passes. Then another.

Fuck.

You better not be falling in love with him.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #cocky!joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #tlou smut #joel tlou #joel miller

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haihaihaitani · 1 year

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Your Mess ~ *Shinichiro Sano*

Summary: Shinichiro has a habit of getting hurt whenever you visit him at his bike shop. But at least you take care of him afterwards.

Pairing: Shinichiro Sano X G/N!Reader

Genre: Fluffy Drabble

Word Count: 487

Warning: mentions stitches and hospitals, quite literal hurt to comfort

Masterlist

Taglist: @soulangel

Shinichiro could be pretty clumsy sometimes. Especially when someone was distracting him while he was working on his bikes. That’s why he had a very clear rule posted stating that no one was to distract him while he worked.

The only problem to that rule was your very existence was a distraction to him.

He couldn’t help it. You were naturally attractive, luring his eyes to you no matter what corner of the room you were in. He always had to be looking at you. This, of course, led to accidents. Not that it was his fault. No, not at all.

Now, he couldn’t outright ban you from visiting the bike shop. Especially since you always came with food or your naturally insatiable curiosity. You were always asking him what he was doing, wanting to know every little detail. He was more than happy to answer all of your questions to the best of his ability. He liked being able to share this part of his life with you. But sooner or later, he would be paying attention, and he’d end up hurt.

Like right now.

Shinichiro wasn’t quite sure how it happened. At first, he was answering one of your questions, showing you some of the inner workings of the motorcycle he was working on. The next thing he knew, he had sliced his palm open. He was about to grab the nearest rag he could reach, when you stopped him. Your delicate touch on his hand had his brain short circuiting, staring at his big hand in your smaller one.

“Don’t use that! It’s full of grease and oil! It’ll infect the cut and make it worse!” You lightly scolded him. “We should get you to a hospital. This might need stitches.”

He shuddered at the thought. “That’s okay. I’m fine.”

You glared at him. “Like hell you are. We’re going to the hospital, end of story.”

All he could do was stare at you stupidly. There was something about your commanding voice that made him stop and admire you. Seriously, there was some magic about you that had him utterly enraptured. But he knew he’d never undo the spell even if he could.

Your frustrated and worried look melted into a mix of admiration and exasperation. “Do you want me to stitch you up instead?”

He nodded sheepishly. He didn’t like admitting he hated hospitals. But with you, he didn’t have to say anything he didn’t want to. You knew what he was thinking by just looking at him. That kind of connection was something he treasured and wouldn’t give up for anything in the world. It just made him love you even more.

Pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, you broke him out of his lovesick stupor. “Shin, I love you, but you’re an absolute mess sometimes.”

Shinichiro gave you a small, flustered smile. “Yeah, but I’m your mess.”

“That you are.”

#Tokyo Revengers #Tokyo Revengers Fanfiction #Tokyo Revengers Drabble #Anime #Anime Fanfiction #Anime Drabble #Black Dragons #Shinichiro Sano #Shinichiro Sano X Reader #Shinichiro Sano Fanfiction #Shinichiro Sano Drabble #Shinichiro Sano Fluff #Shinichiro #Shinichiro X Reader #Shinichiro Fanfiction #Shinichiro Drabble #Shinichiro Fluff #Drabble #Fluff

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peri-helia · 9 months

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Take it easy with me, please

In lieu of the New Year drabble I haven't finished, here is a Joe x Nicky slice of life drabble where the title inexplicably comes from ABBA. Taken from this prompt list: cooking together

“I love you more than life itself, but fuck off”

Joe snorted on a laugh, a hand coming up to cover one of Nicky’s that is cradling his face. It’s a line he’s heard from his beloved’s mouth so many times before. He remembers it from the first argument, proper argument, that they’d had since they’d become lovers. And so many others since. Probably none more than this.

“But I want to help” he insists.

Nicky’s lovely eyes kindle warmly, mouth ticking up in one corner the way it does when he’s trying not to laugh. Joe knows no map better than he does Nicolo di Genova’s face.

“I know you do, hayati. And I love you for that. But this,” Nicky gestures behind them, “is not what one would call helping”

Joe plays along, mouth dropping into an enquiring ‘o’, eyebrows raising. “What would ‘one’ call it, tesoro?”

“Getting in my fucking way”

Joe can’t hold back anymore, he ruptures into laughter. Abandons the pots and pans he'd been starting to wash to pull Nicky into a soapy kiss. They both get lost in it a little, while the others are in the other room. They pull at each other, hair and shirts. Nicky bites at Joe’s plush lower lip, the way he’s wont to. Joe’s hands slip under Nicky’s t-shirt, the hem pulled free from the constricting ties of his apron up to press at Nicky’s shoulder blades, leave marks that will fade a split second after they’re made.

Nicolo is a tolerant man but if there is one thing he cannot stand, it is someone trying to help him cook.

Joe pulls away first, delighting in the way Nicky chases his mouth, at having made him forget the holds of life, beyond love and desire. Many a pot has bubbled over because of Joe and he holds each time a personal success.

“Should I disappear from your sight?” Joe asks with a contented sigh, patting Nicky on the chest, smoothing a non-existent rumple from the fabric of his t-shirt.

Nicky smiles, that gorgeous, rakish grin that Joe loves best. “Another hour would be perfect”

When Nicky is in the kitchen, it is to be himself, his ingredients and the battered old radio crooning terrible love songs The rest of them are expected to involve themselves only if they want a glass of water or to have a spoon shoved under their nose to check the seasoning.

“I’ll just-“ Joe reaches over to the corner of the worktop, where his hoodie sits beside the eggs and the other groceries not yet put away, “get out of your way”

He winces when he hears the tiny crackle of the bag of Doritos under the fabric, even as he carefully off-sets the weight of the jar of salsa in the right hand inner pocket. Joe was so the wrong person for this job. He knew he should have gone with paper over scissors.

He’d be sent to do recon, because they were, with all the love in the world, starving. Another hour. Quynh already had Domino’s on speed dial. It’s not that they won’t eat what Nicky’s so lovingly cooking – he always relishes his turn to cook – especially now that they are all together once more. They will savour it. It’s just that like so many things with immortality; their healing, refractory periods, hair growth – they burn a lot of calories and coming back to life is hungry work. They put Hobbits to shame with the size of their second breakfasts and elevenses. Brunch as well as lunch, supper after dinner.

Hence the crisps and dip. Nile had pleaded. Begged.

Joe holds his breath as he looks up from under his lashes at Nicky. His beloved is singing away under his breath, swaying his shoulders as he bangs the wooden spoon on the lip of the saucepan.

He gathers the hoodie tighter, to stop the bag falling out by a loose corner. Another treacherous crinkle of the paper. Fuck. What did they make these bags of anyway?

Turning as nonchalantly as he can, Joe starts to walk towards the door. Then, as it comes over the radio he sings along, "Take your time, make it slow"

Nicky remains, a smile slipping over his face as he stands by the stove, as he too sings along under his breath. Joe can barely believe it when he gets away with it, slipping out and just as casually pushing the kitchen door to before haring up the rickety stairs as quickly as his feet can carry him.

“Make your fingers soft and light,” Nicky huffs on a laugh as he stirs the casserole, listening to Yusuf make off with ill-gotten gains, reaching into the pocket of his apron. “Let your body be the velvet of the night,” the half eaten brownie he’d cut from the tray is a little squashed from being in his pocket when Joe embraced him, but Nicky wouldn’t have it any other way. “Touch my soul, you know how” he warbles, savouring the gooey chocolate, “Andante, Andante Andante, Andante, go slowly with me now”

#my writing #tog drabble #kaysanova #joe x nicky #the old guard #tog fic #tog drabbles

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idolsummons · 11 months

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Records of Professor William Jones: 2019

Before reading over the below notes of Professor Jones, it is recommended to revise his records from both 2001 and 2003.

Tuesday, November 27, 2018

Will,

I am absolutely delighted to hear that you, Catherine and Jacob will be spending your holiday in France next year. I am so excited at the thought of seeing you again, and getting to meet your beautiful wife and son.

I think Alice is excited about having a boy around her age about, even if she doesn’t really show it, but, well, you know how teenagers are!

Keep in touch and let me know what your plans are. Maybe I can be your tour guide around Paris!

Alice sends her regards, in those words.

Sylvie

I have not returned to Europe since those fateful months back in 2001. Admittedly, as much as I would have loved to return, time simply got away from me; with my teaching career, the engagement and marriage to my beautiful wife and then the birth of our son, I found no time for such sojourns to other countries, even in the name of furthering research in the field. I am grateful, at least in this small part, that this particular field is not one which is of great interest to others.

Although, yes, this is to be a holiday with my family and the chance to spend time with an old friend, I do hope there will be some time in which I can further my research into La Cour de la Lune. Much time has passed since my last visit, of course, and I have formulated new theories in regards to the uncovering of information. I can only hope Sylvie is enthusiastic of being of some help - and perhaps the young Alice, who has spent her entire life within the congregation, will have some insight that even her mother does not possess!

Sylvie,

Rest assured that I am just as delighted as you are about the thought of seeing you again. As soon as I know of our plans, I will send you an email with regards to them so as to not delay the process.

Catherine and Jacob also send their regards, not in those words.

Will

P.S. The thought has just struck me as to how much technology has evolved since our first contact. It is almost amazing that we still write to each other in a way that anyone would consider old fashioned now!

Monday, January 21, 2019

Catherine is not particularly delighted about my plans to research the occult while we spend our family vacation in France. How lucky I am to have such a wonderful and understanding wife, though! We have come to an understanding that I might spend some downtime on my research, as long as I spend most of the time with herself and Jacob. I am, of course, amicable to this proposal; if there is one thing more important than my research, it is spending time with my beautiful family.

Thursday, February 14, 2019

I must apologise for the quality of my writing in this entry, for my hands cannot stop shaking after having read the most recent letter I have received from Sylvie. I will allow the letter to do the talking, lest I fill the page with nonsensical scribblings.

Will,

I must apologise. I will not be able to accompany you, Catherine and Jacob when you come to visit in the coming months.

I have made the decision to give my life to Vh’thra on the next new moon, falling on the 6th of March.

I understand that you might be saddened by this news, but you needn’t worry. My soul will be back in the hands of Vh’thra, and one day I might be reborn anew.

Alice will remain well and safe. She is a young woman who can make her own choices, but I understand she will continue to live among the others in our congregation. Of course, I will support her no matter which path her life might take from the moment I am no longer with her.

There will be no need to mourn me; rather, celebrate that I am one with my dear Vh’thra once more.

I wish you all the best with your family, research and any endeavours the future might hold.

Sylvie

Wednesday, March 27, 2019

I never did respond to the correspondence Sylvie had sent.

The next letter I received was on this day, though it is in a markedly different hand than the letters which I had received before it.

Mr Jones,

I felt as though it was my responsibility to inform you that my mother, Sylvie Delecroix, sacrificed herself to Vh’thra some few hours ago on this day, the 6th of March, 2019.

If you wish to continue the correspondence you had with my mother with me instead, I will happily answer any queries you might have. Likewise, I have been informed of your impending visit to France and that I should meet you if you so desire. For the purposes of preparation, I will be using my mother’s email address. For anything which is not of an urgent nature, please continue to write.

I have taken and sent photos both for your research and as proof. I hope you find them useful.

Regards,

Ms Alice Delecroix

I feel violently ill doing so much as recounting the contents of the accompanying images.

The images were numerated so that I might view them in the correct order. Though I have included the images in this bundle, I implore anyone in their right mind to not view these images. I have provided written descriptions for those curious.

The first image depicts a semi-clothed, seated Sylvie. She is being marked by a robed figure in symbols which I have come to learn over the years represent various ideas and creatures which relate to La Cour de la Lune. These symbols in particular relate to Vh’thra, defined by their long and pointed shapes.

The second image, which is particularly close, depicts Sylvie with the same lack of clothing, now laid upon the stone table. Unlike sacrificed beasts I have been sent images of over the years, Sylvie’s hands and legs are unbound. It appears that a robed figure is carving markings into her skin with a sacrificial blade. Blood has already begun to pool to the surface of her skin.

The third image is taken from a distance, behind other members of the congregation. It appears that a hooded figure has the same sacrificial blade which had been used to carve into Sylvie’s skin high above his head. It’s difficult to tell, given the distance, but Sylvie doesn’t appear to be struggling or distressed.

In the fourth image, Alice seems to have gotten to the front of the crowd. The blade is lodged well between Sylvie’s ribs. Although he is hooded, part of the executioner’s face can be seen. He, just like Sylvie (who now smiles towards the camera, or rather, her daughter), appears to be at peace.

The fifth image, like the second, is taken closer. Alice’s finger has partially obscured the lens, but this is just as well - it means that I have been spared seeing a friend dismembered.

I cannot bring myself to respond to Alice’s letter tonight. How can a child remain so calm in the face of their only parent being taken from them, particularly of their own choice? How can she take photos of the acts, and do so well enough that they are not blurred or otherwise obscured (except for in one very lucky situation)?

Is this the toll spending one’s entire life in a cult takes?

Thursday, March 28, 2019

I still feel ill and my hands still shake, if that is not proven by this entry. Sleep evaded me last night, and in those small moments when I did begin to drift, the images I had viewed burned themselves into my mind once more.

Thankfully, Alice has asked for correspondence by email for the time being, sparing me the trouble of having to write coherently by hand at the very least.

I try not to think about how she can so casually use the email address of her deceased mother, particularly in the present day when it is so common for people to have addresses of their own.

Ms A. Delecroix -

I must specify the Ms Delecroix I write to, otherwise I will feel like I am speaking to a recently deceased friend -

I thank you for the notification of your mother’s passing. Under ordinary circumstances, I would say that I am sorry for your loss, but I understand that is not what your mother wanted, nor what you believe. I hope that her soul finds its place among us again soon.

I would also like to thank you for the photos you sent.

They are grotesque, but do they not aid me in my research?

Please see below for details of the holiday I will be taking to France along with my wife, Catherine, and my son, Jacob.

…

Not too long after I send this email do I receive a response back.

Mr Jones,

Please keep in mind what I said about emails being for urgent matters only. I might be young, but I do appreciate receiving and sending handwritten letters much more than a soulless email.

To bring an end to this line of conversation - do not waste your worry or your pity on my mother. I hope for her to be among us once more soon enough.

I look forward to meeting you in Paris next month.

Kind regards,

Ms Alice Delecroix

Though I am curious to meet the child Alice of whom I have heard so much, I swear that my heart is no longer beating in my chest.

I cannot help but fear the person I am soon to meet.

#this is currently the end of this little series!#i do plan on writing more however and do have ideas for the next one (or even two) <3 #that is to say: there won't be any published until maybe the weekend?#little slices of an existence ･ﾟ✫ drabble #records of professor william jones ･ﾟ✫ drabble series

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snarkys-malarky · 3 months

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So here's a little drabble that has been eating at my brain like a Geonosian brain worm so I had to get it out! Please like, reblog and tell me what you think!! I'm still trying to figure out how to make posts look really good like some of the others I see on here so any tips on that would be appreciated too! Hope you enjoy The Book as much as Tech and Echo!!

Tech and Echo discover a lending library on Ord Mantell and Echo shows Tech the joys of book borrowing. However, Tech discovers something unexpected and has trouble deciding how he feels about it. Big Bro Echo to the rescue!

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Tech had been delighted to find that Echo liked to read. It was one of Tech’s favorite activities, especially when between missions, if he wasn’t working on one of his many projects. There was a time when Crosshair would sit and read with him on the spare padd, the two of them sitting companionably in the cockpit en route to wherever and reading whatever was on their respective padds.

But Crosshair wasn’t there to sit with him anymore… and Tech had not realized how much he had missed that simple companionship until Echo had joined them. The first time Echo had hesitantly inquired about something he could read on, Tech had nearly jumped from the pilot’s chair in his excitement. When Echo had mentioned the existence of places where you could actually find books in flimsi form AND touch them and read them, Tech had been hooked. It was on his list of Things To Do When The War Is Over Or I Have A Chance To Try.

That was a particularly long list.

Unfortunately, they were never on any planet that A. wasn’t in a state of war and B. had enough time anyway to look for something like that. It wasn’t until they were on Ord Mantell and running from the Empire that it struck either of them that Echo had promised to take him to one someday. When it had come up in conversation, they had both paused before sharing identical looks. It was only the work of a moment before Tech had his padd in hand and coordinates to the nearest book lender to their ship marked out. They wound their way through the seedier streets of the city until coming to a slightly more reputable part of the town. Tech was afraid they might be a bit conspicuous in their armour in this nicer area but Echo assured him it would not be an issue. As they received no odd or curious glances, he could only assume Echo knew what he was speaking of and continued on til his HUD map showed them at the right place. It was a small, inconspicuous-looking building with only a sign beside a doorway declaring what it was. However, when they entered…

Oh, when they entered!

Tech was very glad he had his helmet on because he knew he was most likely gawking. There were flimsy books everywhere! Echo directed them to a side area where an older Rodian was sitting behind a desk. It wasn’t long before Echo, with fake chain codes in hand, had acquired them both lending numbers which they could use to pick out books to take with them. Tech had long since sliced the padds that they kept on the Havoc Marauder so that he could access other things on them besides just mission related information. He had access to as many things to read as he might want thru that but there was something about this riot of readable items surrounding him that made his insides feel like they were quivering in excitement and happiness. He followed Echo as he showed him how the areas were divided into general topics and how things were arranged. It wasn’t long before they were each browsing through their selected section. Tech was fascinated by the colorful graphics on the covers. He picked up one after the other, examining them and seeing how they were put together. It was all fascinating. He began to wander, trying to see how many sections and topics were available to chose from. It was then he saw it. An entire shelf of books of what looked like several different species in various states of dress and arousal. He glanced around and stepped closer, curiosity peaked. Upon further investigation, he realized these books all had a common theme of romantic, and rather sexual, overtones. He didn’t know how to quantify his thoughts on them. Why would beings wish to read about what he assumed was a largely private issue for most sentients? Granted, there were several species that were overtly sexual by nature but even so it didn’t strike him as a topic usually read about but something more of a participatory activity.

The artwork on the covers was quite fascinating however. It was as he was examining those a bit more in depth that he saw it.

There, right beside one depicting what appeared to be several Jedi in ridiculous poses with scantily clad Twi’lek females hanging over them, was one with what seemed to be a clone, in full armour, arms clasped about a quite curvy female human.

He tried to resist but his curiosity was too great.

He picked it up and turned it to read the blurb on the back.

It was indeed exactly what it appeared to be.

A clone romance.

He had never even imagined that nat-borns, of any species, could or would think of clones in this way. It had seemed that most sentient nat-borns in the galaxy, if they gave a single thought to clones at all, usually only had bad thoughts of them.

This was…intriguing.

He cast another glance around before flipping it open randomly and beginning to read.

He felt his face turning red.

Was that even possible?

He flipped to another area and began to read.

He could feel himself beginning to sweat.

He shut the book abruptly and, after a moment of deliberation, slid it to the bottom of the small set of books he already had in hand.

He left that book section before he could get caught and hurried to another. It wasn’t long before he was engrossed in another section. It didn’t take him long to hit the maximum amount of books he was allowed to check out at one time and he returned to the counter where the elderly Rodian sat and tried not to fidget as he ran his scanner over the bar codes on the spine of each book. As soon as he was done, Tech grabbed them up and stuffed them in the rucksack he had brought along just for this purpose. Echo had one as well and Tech was relieved since he didn’t want to risk getting The Book mixed in with Echo’s. Tech began to wander around, looking for Echo and it wasn’t long before he found him, a pile of books of his own in hand. Tech offered to carry them for him since balancing them in his scomp arm looked a little difficult. Echo accepted with a grateful nod and less than 30 minutes later they were headed back to the Marauder, respective goods in hand…or sack, as the case may be.

Echo went directly to the bunk that used to be Crosshairs and sat his sack down as he began to rummage. Tech headed for the cockpit with his. Thankfully, Hunter had gone for supplies and Wrecker had taken Omega and headed to fulfill their after mission Mantell Mix tradition. Often they wandered around the outdoor markets as they enjoyed it so he knew they wouldn’t be back for a bit.

Enough time for research.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he pulled out The Book and began to read. Tech could read incredibly fast when he needed or wanted to. As he progressed through the first few chapters of the book he found himself slowing down a bit in order to catalogue the rather fascinating physiological responses he was having to the content.

His slow was still a lot faster than most people and he had completed reading the book by the time the others started coming back to the ship. It was a fortunate thing as he had found the contents to be exceptionally arousing, both physically and mentally. He had found it necessary to, as Hunter liked to say “take care of the problem”, caused by the very viscerally worded content and the imagery provoked by it. He had also been quite surprised to be so emotionally compromised by the storyline and he could not help but wonder if the writer had any personal experience they were drawing from as the way they had written and portrayed the clone protagonist of the story felt very real to him. So much so in fact that he had found himself resonating in sympathy several times with his conflicted points of view.

He had also been surprised with his feelings regarding the female protagonist. Tech would be the first to admit his experience of the female of any species was lamentably limited. He was, after all, a clone, raised amongst other clones and spending the majority of his time on missions and in the battlefield. There were few females to be encountered in such scenarios and of the ones that were, the type of scenario set forth in the novel had certainly never occurred. Even so, he found himself, confusingly, echoing the feelings of the clone protagonist of the story toward the female.

Even now, having finished the book several hours earlier and hidden it away in his secret spot, he found himself ruminating on the story and feeling both satisfied that they had been able to escape to Wild Space together and simultaneously upset. It took him until several hours into the night cycle to conclude the reason for his upset. When it struck him, it was both so simple and so profound that he was somewhat shocked at the revelation.

He wanted that for himself.

He wanted to be noticed and fixated on, desired and dreamed about. He wanted someone to feel that depth of emotion for him that they would fight the galaxy and give up everything they knew just to keep him in their life. He wanted to experience that level of passion and sexual gratification and connection to someone who felt it for him as well.

When the revelation hit him, it felt rather like a strike to his solar plexus. It left him feeling winded and uncomfortable, more so when he realized that such a thing was highly unlikely to ever happen with the way he and his brothers lived their lives.

He couldn’t quite understand why it hurt as much as it did though.

He tried to put it out of his mind by immersing himself in the other books he had borrowed but the thought continued to pick at the edges of his mind until he felt unusually irritable.

It was inevitable that one of his brothers would call him out on his oddly bad mood. He was just extremely grateful that the one that eventually did was Echo as, of all of them, he was the most likely to be able to understand and have an idea of how to address the issue.

They were in hyperspace on their way to yet another job for Cid when Echo finally approached him late into a night cycle and asked him what was bothering him. He simply dug out the book and passed it to him and asked him to read it. Echo took it silently, his eyebrows rising ever higher as he surveyed the cover then flipped it to the blurb on the back. Tech did his best to ignore the curious and rather impish look his brother cast him before he nodded and agreed. He focused himself on his own book as Echo settled in beside him in the co-pilot’s chair to read. This was a familiar and comfortable scenario for Tech. Echo often found it as hard to sleep as Tech, with his always busy brain, did and frequently found his way to the cockpit to sit in quiet companionship with him as they read or occasionally talked.

Echo, for his part, was deeply intrigued by what Tech had passed to him. He’d never pegged Tech as the type to be interested in sex, much less a secret romantic. Tech had always tended to keep himself to himself, and while he could be physical if a brother was needing comfort, he wasn’t at all what Echo would call the cuddly type. Really, none of the batch were, with the notable exception of Wrecker who, for all his size, was much closer to what Echo was used to with the brothers he had known. It was Wrecker who had most often physically comforted him with hugs and cuddles when he was first with the batch and trying to adjust to, well… everything.

Echo settled in and began to read. He could see at first glance why Tech had been caught by the book. Clone/nat-born romance was, while technically banned by the Republic, still something that had happened quite often, if scuttlebutt was to be believed. Hell, Cut and Suu were proof that the idea wasn’t so far-fetched as the nat-born purists and politicians wanted everyone to believe. Clones were still technically fully-functional human males with fully functioning sex drives and, once they discovered the power of their own physical appeal to certain beings in the galaxy, they were as prone to sexual encounters as any nat-born. The GAR and Senate had recognized that early on and turned a selectively blind eye which in turn meant 79s had been a hotbed of hook-ups and the neighboring GAR sanctioned 69s pleasure house had done a banging business (Echo chuckled quietly at his own unintended pun). There had been much less care given to the occasional sexual encounter but the deeper feelings that could develop into a relationship? That was something else as it undermined the whole argument that clones didn’t count as sentient beings deserving of autonomy. So, while relationships did happen, it was kept much lower profile since they all knew the consequences it could hold for a brother caught or even accused.

As Echo read, he tried to see it thru his brother’s eyes. Why would this have upset Tech to the point of becoming so off-center they had all noticed? Echo had to admit, the sex scenes were pretty steamy and, had he still had all his parts intact, would probably have had him squirming in discomfort from some needs of his own. As it was, he could still mentally appreciate the details and, as the story progressed, could feel himself connecting with certain aspects. The idea of being loved so unconditionally as Tayla loved Jax was rather intoxicating. Echo had long since accepted the fact that such things were beyond him now, it was an old pain that occasionally pricked but no longer ached as it once did but connecting with these characters was causing that old pain of wanting love to rear its nasty head.

Echo paused.

Could this be why his brother was so out of sorts?

Could it be that Tech, the one who, out of all his now brothers seemed most unlikely to, actually wanted to have love? Wanted to have a relationship and a sexual one at that?

Echo took a deep breath and slanted a side-eyed look to his lanky brother draped sideways in the captain’s chair beside him as he considered the thought. While at first it had seemed rather absurd, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Tech was the most brilliant person he had ever met, of any species but, with that brilliance came differences too. Echo had been quick to take note when he had joined the Bad Batch. As an ARC, he was no fool himself and had applied himself to learning as much about his new batch as he possibly could as fast as he could and one of the glaringly big things he had noted was that Tech didn’t tick like the rest of them. He wondered if the others even noticed how they accommodated some of his more quirky traits. The longer he was with them the more he doubted that they did notice, it was just second nature to them. None more so than Crosshair though. It had actually not surprised him a bit to learn that they had been tube twins. They seemed to almost have another sense when it came to one another. Echo often noted Crosshair helping Tech to calm when he got agitated or taking him away before he had one of his shutdown episodes, something that had terrified Echo the first time it had happened until Hunter let him know it was just part of how Tech worked. Likewise, Tech always seemed to know when one of Cross’s migraines were incoming and would dim the shipboard lights which everyone knew was a sign to quieten down. They did the same for Hunter on the occasions his senses got overstimulated but it wasn’t as instinctual, often wasn’t until Hunter was showing clear signs. Wrecker had once told him that Tech and Crosshair had always used to sleep together until they got too big to fit in the bunks and even then, if one had a bad night, the other would find a way to fit in with them. It had struck Echo hard as he had already noted how much less prone to physical comfort the batch, and especially Tech, was with one another compared to every other clone batch he knew and made him wonder for the thousandth time what this group of brothers had been through to make them the way they were.

Now that Crosshair wasn’t with them, did Tech long for that comforting connection he no longer had? Was this a case of transference or had Tech always harbored these secret hopes and desires like so many other brothers had?

As he finished the story, he sat for a minute and contemplated how to approach the issue.

“Have you finished the book?” Echo couldn’t help the involuntary quirk of his lips at the question. He should have known even if Tech was doing 5 other things he would still be keeping watch and waiting to pounce as soon as he perceived he was finished.

“Yes I have.”

Tech fidgeted a bit and Echo let him stew til he could ask his question, “Well, what is your opinion?”

Echo looked over at him and cocked a brow, “Is it my opinion on the book you want or something else?”

Tech grimaced, “In truth I do not really know.”

Echo gave the book a little wave, “is it something to do with this that has had you in a, shall we say, less than pleasant mood lately?”

Tech stared out the front of the ship into the swirling blue of the hyperspace lane for a moment before turning back to Echo.

“I know that you are someone who could understand what it is to wish you could be someone other than who you are. You were once whole in body and now you must deal daily with what was done to you by the Techno Union. I can see that this has caused you much distress at times, and not just because of the pain associated with your cybernetics,” Tech paused a moment as he began to fidget restlessly, bouncing his leg and tapping his hands against his thighs. Sure signs of his discomfort with the topic, Echo knew, but he soldiered on, “But did you ever desire before that happened to be someone other than you are? To have a life other than the one you had? To want things that, as a clone, are by nature, denied to you?”

Echo had long since learned to look past the occasionally painfully blunt words Tech used to reach to the heart of what he was trying to say. And what he was saying now was what Echo had been suspecting. Now he had to find a way to say what Tech needed to hear in a way he could understand it. He considered for a moment before answering.

“I don’t think there are many brothers who haven’t, at some point, wondered what life could have been like if we weren’t soldiers, didn’t wonder what we could be if we had been given the opportunity to be free after the war. For myself, I…met someone, once. She,” Echo shifted uncomfortably, dredging up old memories was hard, “she made me want the chance to be something else. But I… couldn’t leave my brothers to do it. I couldn’t be like Cut and… she understood that. I had hoped after the war that clones might have a chance to live free like other sentients in the galaxy, that maybe I could go back and find her but then… the Citadel happened and… a lot of other things and I realized that that dream was just that, a dream.”

Echo looked over at Tech who was regarding him with wide eyes. Echo tried not to smile. Sometimes he forgot that he had not been with them forever, that there were parts of his story they didn’t know.

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

Tech gave him a Look.

“Did you ever try to find this woman again?”

Echo gave an uncomfortable shrug before turning to look out the viewport, “It doesn’t matter. Sometimes its better to leave the past in the past and go forward. I’m a different person now and am on a different path.”

It was silent for a few moments before Tech spoke again.

“Do you ever wish to find something like that again?”

Echo shot his brother a sidelong look and quirked his lips at the question and the very nonchalant way Tech tried, and failed, to ask it. Echo turned and leaned his head back against the seat headrest.

“It would take an extraordinary woman to want me as I am now but, sometimes, I remember what it felt like to be with her and I… miss it.”

He watched from the corner of his eyes as his brother took and absorbed his words. He waited a bit more before he turned his head to look at his troubled vod.

“There is nothing wrong with wanting to love someone and be loved in return, even for clones, no matter what the Kaminoans, or Senate, or GAR or any other being says. We are just as human as any nat-born and have all the same wants and wishes. And there’s nothing wrong with not wanting that either. What is good for one person may not be the same as for another, everyone is different. But don’t ever feel like you don’t deserve something just because the galaxy makes you feel like you shouldn’t Tech.”

Tech gave him a faint smile before leaning back in his seat as well. They sat in companionable silence for a bit before Tech spoke again.

“I… know that I am at times somewhat… difficult to communicate with. I have never learned the knack of easy communication with other beings. I try but, something in me is just too…different. At times I know I even exasperate my batch, who have had since our decanting to learn to deal with me.”

Echo looked over, his heart clenching in compassion at Tech’s unusually halting speech. It hurt him to hear Tech speak of himself in this way. It wasn’t that it wasn’t true, it was just that Echo had never realized Tech was so aware of it, felt so keenly his differences. Echo had learned soon after joining his new batch that Tech loved to talk about the things that interested him, which seemed to be everything, and that the others often lost patience with his chatter. Not that they ever were intentionally cruel or indifferent to him but it was obvious that they often just considered it background noise. Echo made it his mission to engage Tech a bit by asking questions occasionally and was rewarded with surprise, shock and a painful amount of hesitation at first, and then, when Tech realized he was truly asking and not just messing around with him, unbridled enthusiasm and joy at having someone to engage with. That alone sealed Echo’s intent to make sure to listen to his younger vod. Maybe not always but often enough that he knew he was heard. And Echo found he quite often enjoyed listening to Tech and finding ways to try and trip him up on his knowledge or get him to debate his point on something. Soon, picking at his younger vod and getting him to reveal that sharp and biting wit and humor he had was a valued pastime. And he could tell that Tech enjoyed it too by the simple fact that he would seek him out to bounce his thoughts off of sometimes.

Echo paid attention now as his vod turned to him with a surprisingly vulnerable expression.

“I have worked to adjust my parameters so that this failing of mine is less intrusive than it used to be but I still have never been what one could consider an easy companion. I doubt that is something I will ever truly master,” he looked down, “I am grateful to have all of you as my brothers and companions but I have lately been struck with the desire for more and cannot help wondering if I am too different for anyone to…consider.” He ended, somewhat lamely, with a small, awkward hand gesture.

Echo’s heart clenched yet again for his vod. This, at least, was something he could address. He turned the chair so it was facing Tech and leaned forward til he could clap a hand on his brother’s knee. He knew Tech was iffy about physical gestures but he needed to get his undivided attention. Tech jumped and shot his gaze to Echo’s and Echo let go now that his mission was accomplished.

“Listen vod,” he began, making sure Tech was tuned in to him, “Every brother I know who has ever felt that way has, for lack of a better way to say it, felt that way as well,” Echo huffed a chuckle before continuing, “when you’re a clone though, the worry is often how can I make someone see I’m not exactly like all my other brothers? How do I make someone see me for me? We all have worried that there is either not enough special about us to stand out or, like you, if we are too different for anyone to want to see us and still want us. I have it on good authority of several nat-borns I’ve known that this is a problem they share and worry about as well. Everyone sometimes wonders if they are worthy of love and I’ll tell you what I was told when I posed that question myself.

You. Are. Worthy. No matter who you are or how you feel about yourself, you are worthy because you are a living being and every being that exists is made to give and receive love because love is the basis of the Force. Love is the greatest thing you can ever give or receive.”

Tech simply looked at him with his big eyes, so similar and yet not to his own. Echo looked back, hoping like everything that his little brother understood what he was trying to say. Finally, Tech slowly nodded and leaned back again into the capacious pilot’s seat.

“Thank you Echo. I… will have to think on what you have said. It is a difficult concept to… internalize.”

Echo smiled, “Just as long as you eventually do. I mean it vod,” Echo felt the need to lighten the mood a bit, “After all, I love your quirky shebs and if you can win me over, you can win anybody.”

Tech smirked over at him. “You are entirely too easy. The better descriptive would be, if I can get Crosshair to not threat me daily with death, I can win anybody.”

Echo laughed. It was true, Tech was about the only one Crosshair didn’t threaten to shoot daily. Whether that was because he actually did love him more or simply didn’t want to consider twin murder one couldn’t tell.

After a few moments of comradely silence, Echo looked over at Tech.

“So, you gonna show the others the book?”

“Absolutely kriffing not.”

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xstarkillerx · 1 year

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Maul in the Jedi Temple (drabble)

I don’t know how much sense this is gonna make because it’s been a vague idea in my head for weeks, but if you’re a maul lover like me, do yourself a favour and (don’t) play the TFU Jedi Temple DLC wearing the Maul skin. It absolutely will make you confront the idea of Maul, years after the Clone Wars, seeking out the Temple Ruins for... something. He doesn’t quite know why he’s there, but he feels as though the front gate itself might smite him for daring to look upon it, even when it lets him in with ease.

He spends some time exploring the ruins, most of it untraversable now, but still grand, still teeming with light and remnants of a dead religion. The force feels different here. When he crushes the statues in the hall, or lifts the giant globe off the ground, it's not a destructive act, it's almost playful, a back and forth between him and the energy that flows through the building.

Something calls him to the heart of the temple, a dark hall with a Holocron at the end of it. Blue and holy and inviting it bursts to life without his having to touch it, putting forth a towering projection of a man, a Jedi, in a hood.

"My son..." It booms and what a novel concept, Maul thinks, a Jedi bearing children. " you now control your own destiny. The dark side is strong in you," Maul feels small, infantile, voyeuristic, dwarfed by the projection with the warm voice whose message is clearly not for him." but you can still be saved.” It says. “The blood of a true Jedi, my blood, flows through you but you must complete the trials..." He tunes the rest out. It isn't long before he is blinded and dropped in the middle of a stone abyss.

Menial challenges are set before him, the fabled Jedi trials, child’s fodder honestly, but he proceeds. Maul is led to a stone platform. From the dark emerges something that makes him want to vomit, a red zabrak with black markings, silent, stoic, no older than 22 years old. He sees it now, he was truly a frightening presence at that age. Darth circles him on hunter’s feet, never making so much as an audible scuff on the stone floor. Maul flexes his left foot, a new habit garnered by a tight joint he hasn’t had the spare part to fix yet. He knows himself, knows that Darth will attack swiftly, so he takes what milliseconds he has to try to remember how he would have fought when his body was complete. He'd be faster, lighter, more agile, but more cocky, a warrior who hasn't tasted the sour of loss; loss of limb, loss of life, of status, of sanity.

The duel is bloody, a flurry of red light. Maul hasn't thrown himself into battle like this since he was a young man, thirsty for purpose and proof that his existence is not a mistake. Maul reigns victorious in the end. He slices Darth in half and pierces him through the heart with his saber, a sickening thing to watch from this new perspective after playing in his head over and over again those long years he spent in the madness and filth. He kicks Darth’s body off the ledge into the seeming endless abyss. A guttural scream erupts from his chest and he falls to his knees. It stings his eyes and scratches away at the walls of tight throat, the urge to cry like a babe.

The dark side is strong in you but... echoes in his ears. Maul thinks about whoever's wretched son that Holocron was meant for, what special purpose he must have to be seen as redeemable in the eyes of the pious Jedi.

The dark side is strong in you but... Maul covers his ears, a futile action in the in the bellowing silence of the stone abyss, but it lets him hear his own heart rate as it slows in the comedown from adrenaline.

The dark side is strong in you but... He thinks about his own miserable little life. He thinks of parenthood, of those precious few moments his mother held him before damning her runt.

The dark side is strong in you but... He thinks of Sith, of Jedi, of the force that binds the two. What would he have been if they had found the runt first, those so-called keepers of peace. If they raised him in the light, would they have adorned his horns in silly beads, given him sandy coloured robes, condemned him to life lacking in riches and sex and... would they have abandoned him too?

“but you can still be saved.” Maul retches at the thought. The Jedi failed that runt, as they failed the Galaxy those many years ago. The Jedi failed him, it was never his choice to make an enemy of them. And yet...

Maul absentmindedly flexes his left foot and adjusts his position on the floor, folding his metal legs under himself as best he can. The thought does cross his mind that somehow he’s found himself on the winning end of their trial, their test of worthiness, at the heart of their temple. He chooses not to linger on it. Maul finds himself occupied with the lively silence of the temple instead, a warm breeze of energy passing through his body like a sheet of linen.

Somewhere, floating in that space in time, he realizes his lightsaber went over the ledge with Darth, buried in the young man’s chest.

Somehow it’s not a discomforting thought.

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