#shows good taste. vitality even

[belovedfarseer]

The Zellion thing is funny but I'll be honest with you chief. Im losing interest in the stormlight archive by the minute

[risuola]

MISERABLE — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

Satoru hated the way he would recognize you always, even if just by the taste of your tears.

cw: angst, husband Gojo, hurt/barely any comfort, brief physical abuse, blood mentioned, verbal abuse mentioned, borderline toxic relationship, general sadness and sorrow — 2,6k words

a/n: the spontaneous pour of my brain, the angstiest parts of it are the most active during the night... could this be tied to too much? idk, maybe

“Do you think we could ever be happy?”

The question cut through the silence of the evening like a knife, reaching your ears and mind in a way that made you hum. Your hand not even for a moment stopped the gentle motion of brushing through the soft hair of a man whose head was resting on top of your lap. The gesture automated and yet still somehow warm, still filled with emotions that over the years remained unspoken.

“Do you think we–, no, I could have done all of this differently?”, Satoru asked again, his tired gaze fixed on the golden ring he kept between his fingers. The band that sealed your love at the altar nearly five years ago. One that you took off for the first time since you vowed in front of him, promising him your heart, body and soul till the end of days.

“I’m not sure if we were meant to be happy,” you told him quietly, keeping your hand occupied by the snowy strands. The words made your throat clench the moment they left your mouth; your voice cracked just slightly at the end of the sentence. You felt your body aching from the intensity of the feelings, like all of your cells were suddenly on fire, your heart bleeding inside your chest as if the knife was stabbed right through it.

“You think so?” His voice stayed low, nearly whisper-like as he was taking in what you said. “Were we supposed to be miserable?”

“I don’t know, Satoru,” you mouthed, not much sound leaving your lips.

Your hand felt light, distressingly so, you hated the sensation. You knew this was how it had to end, you knew that the time would come to part ways with your husband, but nothing could have prepared you for the heaviness of it. You felt it all on your shoulders, weighing you down as if the entire world just collapsed and rested on you. Suddenly you felt like things as trivial as breathing became exhausting, there was not an ounce of certainty in you, not a single drop of the belief that you will be alright without him. Satoru was a part of you, he was like a vital organ without which you felt like you won’t be able to live further. But, at the same time, that very organ seemed to kill you slowly, seeping poison right to your bloodstream, hurting you time after time. A disaster. You two were a disaster.

“I’m really sorry,” he breathed out after few moments of suffocating silence. “You deserve the world that I couldn’t give you.”

“I never wanted the world,” you denied, your head shaking just slightly as you allowed your knuckles to brush against his cheek. “You are my world, Satoru. I never needed anything else. You are all I want, you are everything that my heart loves.”

“And yet, I fucked even that up,” he chuckled. A bitter undertone felt nearly palpable as it echoed in the empty area. Satoru knew it was all him. Hurting you time after time, he never thought of it until it was already said and done and yet, you were always by his side. Every shit he said to you, every word that left his mouth you took and forgave. All he could do was to savor your cries and he hated himself for the way he would recognize you always, even if just by the taste of your tears.

You were an angel, he always thought. You were too good for him, too patient and too forgiving. Even in the heat of an argument, you tried to talk him down from his outbursts. You were the one to hug him tightly to your chest, to press his ear right above your heart even if he stabbed it with his words just a moment before. You showed him nothing but love, and yet that day… Satoru had no idea what possessed him when he clenched his fist during the argument. He feels like he blacked out for a moment, because it’s only after you spit the alarming amount of blood, kneeling on the ground and keeping a strong hold over your stomach, that Gojo realized that he just hit you with the blue infused fist. It felt unreal, he couldn’t believe his own eyes. He felt like his own body betrayed him. Why would he do that?

And then, he was right at your feet, apologizing frantically as you tried to regain your breath, to not vomit, to push the pain away from your thoughts but you just couldn’t. It hurt so much, you felt like all of the organs inside you were crashed after that one, single hit. The taste of metallic covered your tongue, your vision went blurry for a couple of seconds and at first, you couldn’t even hear the repetition of sorrys that was leaving Satoru’s mouth. He was terrified and so lost. Disgusted by his own self, hating the way he lost control over his body and hurt you. Before that, the sight of your tears was something that often kept him up at night. Remorseful thoughts haunted him constantly, but now, he knew that they won’t show up anymore. Now he’ll be seeing your blood, he was certain of it. Now, he’ll be seeing your curled in pain form, gasping for air as the red is gushing from your throat. And he’ll know that he was the reason for it. That it’s him, your husband who should protect you from any harm, who caused your suffering. Even the thought of it felt surreal. Was there any good in him? Or was he just a monster?

But then, you slowly got up. Satoru had no idea how long it took, but you pushed your body up and sat yourself against the wall. You knew him well enough, you knew the state of panic that he was in that very moment and your heart broke at the sudden realization of what’s to come. Inviting him onto your lap, you let your hands wander through his hair, calming him slowly in the silence of your shared home. Then you gave him the ring. Gold, now stained with blood enough to cover the love promise that he had engraved inside the band. The vow that he wasn’t able to keep.

“Please, don’t leave me,” he whispered, knowing it’s futile to ask. You could feel the hot tears dropping from his face onto the skin of your thighs and even though he seemed calm right now, you knew him all too well to know how broken he is, laying there in complete submission to your touch. He wasn’t moving, his gaze was fixed on the jewelry he held in his hand, his eyes studying the I’ll love you forever etched into the metal.

“I don’t want to leave you,” you confessed, still gently caressing the side of his face and his hair. If it was your choice, you’d stay with him till the end of your days. You could withstand the verbal outbursts, the heated arguments – you were a part of them, you had your fair share in the hurtful words, even though you knew how heavily it was bordering toxicity. But that day the line was crossed, and you could tell he wasn’t in the right state of mind when his fist clenched before. For a split second, it wasn’t your Satoru, it wasn’t the love of your life. For that brief moment, it was the strongest sorcerer in the world, the menace, as others call him, a threat. All of your marriage you felt safe near him. The power he possessed he always used to ensure your well-being, you not even once had to fear him because of how gifted he is. He never used his jujutsu against you. Not until that day.

“Then don’t,” a plead. He had no right to ask you to stay, he was all too aware of that.

“I’m scared of you, Satoru…”

You fear him. The sound of these words rang inside Gojo’s head for a good moment, rendering him speechless and you suffocated in the silence. You hated the sentence that just left your mouth, you hated the feeling of frighten that was cursing through your veins. You never felt uneasy next to your husband. Even if it’s right after the argument, you were always certain that if any danger occurred, he’d be the first by your side to shield you from it and he showed that to you many times, protecting you from threats as trivial as you grabbing the hot pan handle. Even in the heat of a fight between you two, he’d be the first to kneel in front of you and kiss your knee if you hit it onto the table. You can speak no words but he’d carry you in his arms from the other side of the city if he knew your feet hurt from walking. But now, how could you feel safe if you know he can be pushed to the point of using his strength against you?

“I…” He began but fell silent as soon as he opened his mouth. How could he even explain what happened to him? How could he reassure you that it won’t ever happen again if he himself wasn’t even sure what made him punch you in the guts? He couldn’t even remember what was the reason for the argument before it occurred. “I don’t know what happened,” he said truthfully. “I feel like I blacked out for a moment, I would never—”

“I couldn’t recognize you for a moment,” you exhaled, closing your eyes. The picture of his face right before the hit flashed against your eyelids. That was the Gojo from the battlefield, not your husband. “But if that happened now, how could I ever be sure it won’t happen again? I don’t want to die by your hand, Satoru, and we both know you are strong enough to kill me in one hit.”

“You’re afraid I’d kill you?” It felt surreal. Was it even happening right now? Satoru’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “Do you think I’d be able to do that…?” He wasn’t sure either.

“I don’t know.”

It was a nightmare. One of those from which Satoru couldn’t wake up, no matter how harshly he would pinch himself. The agonizing weight of reality felt heavy on his body, it hurt physically, it made him want to scream, to cry, to die. What was the point of his life if he couldn’t even keep one person safe? He always prided himself for being a man of his word and yet the promise to love and cherish you till death part you seemed unachievable to him.

“I don’t know what happened. Why my body acted the way it did. But love, please believe me,” he was desperate as he raised from your lap, kneeling in front of you and gently cupping the sides of your face. His touch was almost non-existent, he was scared to put any pressure against your skin but you leaned into his palms. Your fingers found their place around his wrist, smoothing the area softly with your thumb as you looked into the blue of his eyes. There was despair storming inside the ocean of his irises, the depth of fear painting its picture on his features and it hurt you to see him like this. “Please, believe me that I would rather die myself rather than hurt you ever again. There’s nothing I can do now to erase what I did, if I could cut my hand off just to make sure it will never cause you any pain, I’d do that without second thought.”

“We both know it will grow back,” you muttered lightly and he chuckled just barely at the remark. Satoru rested his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses kissed as he allowed himself to close his eyes and you did the same.

“I love you. I can’t go without you, I can’t live without you. You’re everything that I have and I know I have been a shitty husband. We argue a lot, I said so many things that I should never even think of. Fuck, I caused you so much pain… I know I don’t deserve you. I know it’s selfish of me to ask you to stay with me even though I’m the reason for your suffering, but please, please, just give me one last chance.”

“Satoru…”

“Please, let’s change it all, let me fix it,” he was babbling, you could tell how much panic was seeping into the voice that was leaving his mouth. “I’ll change, I will do everything, anything, to make you feel safe. To make you feel how important you are for me, how much I love you.”

 “I know you love me,” you whispered, pressing a kiss onto the heel of his palm.

“Don’t kiss that hand, you should hate it,” he sighed. The feeling of your lips on the hand that caused you pain burned him alive.

“I can’t hate any part of you. Even that hand, I love with all my heart.”

“Then stay. Don’t leave me, please, I beg you. I know I’m a handful, I’m terrible, I’m—”

“I knew you are a handful when I married you,” you cut him. “I knew who I’m saying I do to. Even though we fight so often, you never failed to make me feel safe. With all your power, I was never scared of you.”

“If I could give up that power just so you’d know I’ll never use it against you anymore, I would. And believe me, most of the nights I can’t sleep because the sight of your tears is haunting me and now, I know I won’t ever be able to forgive myself for the way I hit you. The blood, the hurt… God, you bled because of me…”

Feeling unworthy of being at the same level as your face, Satoru lowered his head, aiming to back away from you and rest his forehead at your feet where it should be, but you were quick to grab him by the fabric of his shirt and pull him to your chest. Once again, his mind went blank as the calm sound of your heartbeat drown out the hurricane of thoughts in his head. The warmth of your body enveloped him along with your arms as you wrapped them around his figure and out of habit, his own hands snaked your waist. You had the ability to make the world stop, to erase everything that wasn’t just you and him in the universe. You were what he needed to be able to live. No air and water could keep him alive if it wasn’t for your presence right next to him.

“I’ll stay,” the words left your mouth as a whisper but despite the quiet tone, it sounded confident. You were sure of your decision. You were sure of him, there was a lot more to Satoru Gojo than just that one moment and you realized it while kissing the hand that punched you. It got to you that what you felt wasn’t fear of him, but it was a fear of losing him. “But promise me something.”

“Yes?”

“Not today… But tomorrow, let’s sit and talk. About everything. Let’s clarify the things that we argue about, so we won’t need to anymore.”

“I’d love that. I hate fighting with you. You are all I need in life and yet I’m hurting you so often.”

“So tomorrow. We will talk about it all, okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I promise you. The world on fire won’t stop me from taking the time with you.”

“Good… now, let’s just stay like this.”

“Yeah…”

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — ASTRONAUT! GOJO x MISSION CONTROL! FEM READER

Your job description entails taking care of one (1) astronaut on his way to Mars. It doesn’t say anything about falling in love with him. 

wc — 1.6k

tags — the beauty of space (and Gojo Satoru), rom com, fluff

When you’re assigned to Gojo Satoru, the first thing you hear is ‘good luck’. It’s Nanami who says it. You suppose he would have strong feelings, being one of the few men who were going up there with him. 

They’re in the news constantly now. Of course they would be - brave pioneers of the new frontier. The first men to attempt a Mars landing.

Even for you, who sees them every day, it’s hard not to get caught up in the mythos of it. Glory burns bright and beautiful around them, a halo born of the knowledge that they’ll someday be in history books. Maybe you’ll be there too, a footnote riding on the coattails of their fame. 

They take care of humanity’s future, and you take care of them. Mission Control doesn’t have the esteem the astronauts do, but your jobs are just as important. You’re proud of the work you do. 

Though sometimes, your work is just silly. He is, anyway. 

“Helloooooo? Mission Control, come in.” 

“You’re not supposed to use the main line for personal matters, Satoru,” you remind him, a smile twitching at your lips. Director Utahime thinks you’re too soft on him, but you can’t help it. It must be terrible to be stuck up there for months, even if he says he loves it. 

You’ve seen his interviews. Gojo Satoru, golden boy of the astrophysics department at one of the most prestigious universities in the world. A prodigy, the youngest ever Nobel laureate for his work in quantum particles and space time. 

When he first declared that he would be going on the Mars mission, the world erupted in an uproar. He had transformed an esoteric field of dusty archives and chalk formulas into something real people cared about and tuned into his radio show to hear, even if it originally started because people loved his charming face. 

It was too risky. No one wanted to lose such a young talent to the vast and uncaring cruelty of space. 

Gojo heard these concerns, shut down his radio show, and appeared outside headquarters the next day without an appointment.  

Some say he’s pushy. Some say he’s determined. Whatever they think, one thing is true. Gojo Satoru gets results, which is why administration always lets things slide when it comes to him. Even when he clutters up the main communication line trying to talk to you. 

“If you wanted to get me alone, you could just say so,” he jokes, before he switches over to your private comm. 

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re distracted, doing your daily check on his vitals. 

“Looking at my heart again?” 

“Yep! All good, though I’m going to ask you to take a double dose of vitamin c tomorrow.” 

“Come on,” he moans. “They’re terrible. You’d think with all the scientists we have they’d manage to make it taste a little more like actual oranges.” 

“You know how hard it is to make things that last in space,” you tell him. 

The thing about Gojo’s genius is that it’s hard for him to understand others. He can do anything if he puts his mind to it, so hearing ‘no’ and ‘it’s impossible’ simply doesn’t compute to him. It’s why he started his radio show, or so he told you. He dreams of teaching people to see the world through his eyes. 

His beautiful eyes. 

Your cheeks heat. That’s not something you should be thinking about, but lately, it’s been getting harder and harder. You spent almost all your time with him, after all. 

As much as you try to be professional, you’re not immune to his stunning beauty. You know the voice on the other end of the line belongs to an man whose features are nothing short of otherworldly. He could be a model if he wasn’t an astronaut. He could be anything, actually, but you know why he chose this. 

The first time you heard Gojo speak on space, you fell in love a little bit. With him and with the cosmos. 

He’s the one who teaches you that the stars we see are already dead and gone. That light and time are intertwined in ways you didn’t understand before, that the little pinpricks of gold in the distance have fizzled out years ago and are reaching you now only as a eulogy. 

You tuned into his radio show on a whim, wanting to get to know the man you’ll be working with better. You stayed because his love for the universe is magnetic. 

Gojo’s favorite thing about space is infinity. He was a proud supporter of the alien theory. There had to be some life out there, in that great vastness. Anything is possible in space, he says. There might even be a planet where he can float or unleash devastating destruction with just a flick of his fingers. 

Before long, you were listening to his voice explain worm holes and cosmic inflation any spare moment you got. He was with you on the commute to work and in the shower while you scrubbed your hair. It was Gojo’s voice that lulled you to sleep every night, slow and relaxing in his special bedtime series. 

So you’d known him long before you met him. In your first real interaction, where he was so quintessentially Gojo in a way that completely put Utahime off, you laughed. His eyes widened, surprised by your reaction, then his lips split in a toothy smile. 

“At least one of you has a sense of humor,” he quipped, making a lifelong enemy of Utahime and a lifelong friend of you. 

You’re the only one who can put up with him, so when Gojo had been chosen for Project Ares, you landed an adjacent job as his handler in Mission Control. You’d known you’d work on Project Ares for a while now, but not that you’d be working so closely with him, or that it would feel so right. 

Of course you would be his handler. It was as natural as Gojo becoming an astronaut, which you’d always known he’d manage. It’s Gojo, after all. He would go change the future of humanity, and you’d keep him tethered to Earth. 

It had been a relatively easy few years, for a space mission anyway. Anything short of death was considered optimal in those conditions. You hadn’t realized you’d miss him like this, however. All this time, and so much of it was only his voice. In a way, it was reminiscent of the days before you’d met, hearing a beautiful mind work through the radio. 

“Oh, Houston?” Gojo calls through the line, singsong. “We have a problem.” 

His lighthearted tone doesn’t deceive you. You’re up in a second. 

“Satoru? Satoru? Come on, talk to me. What is it? You okay up there?” 

“I’m experiencing heart pains,” he says, letting out a low grunt of pain. “Palpitations.” 

Your blood runs cold. 

Space is Gojo’s passion. You’re happy he gets to pursue it. But in these moments, you wish he’d never heard of astrophysics because in space, you can’t reach him. If he gets hurt, all you can do is talk to him. 

He’s said he appreciates it. 

“It’s nice, you know? Gives me something to listen to other than the voices already in my head.” 

“Should I schedule a virtual visit to the psychiatrist, Satoru?” 

You joke around, but you know that’s all you can be for him. A voice in his helmet. 

Your hands are creeping towards the switch that’ll open your communication line to Nanami. At least if something happens, Nanami can actually get to him. 

“Fuck,” Gojo whispers. You freeze. You’ve never heard him talk like this, his voice low and raspy with pain. “It hurts.” 

“Tell me where it hurts, honey,” you murmur back, your voice instinctively lowering into something syrupy and sweet. Comfort comes naturally to you. You’ve always been a doting personality. It’s part of why they chose you for this assignment, other than, as you learn later, Gojo’s insistence that you be his line to Earth. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“It aches, sort of?” Gojo says. “Happens when I hear- ugh.”

“Hear? Hear what? If you can’t tell me, I can’t help you, sweetheart.” You have no idea where these pet names are coming from, but they just burst out of your mouth, as if tenderness for him is uncontrollable. Is it because you’re scared it’ll end like this? The chance of whatever you feel for him dying unspoken terrifies you. You wish you’d told him sooner. 

“Happens when I hear your voice,” he says. Is that nervousness you detect in his voice? 

Suddenly you have a very clear idea of what he’s playing at. 

“Satoru,” you say very calmly. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to call Nanami and you can explain it to him.” 

A flurry of panicked noises on the other end. “No, wait, no, don’t do that! I can explain. Just. Give me a second.” 

Ragged breathing. 

“Okay,” he admits. “I didn’t think this through.”

“Satoru.” 

“I’m sorry! You know how I am!” 

You do. Which is why you’re not immediately calling Utahime over to reprimand him. 

“I was going to wait,” he says. “This isn’t very romantic.” 

“I would say that’s more because I thought you were going to die from a heart attack in space than anything else, but go on.” 

“Sorry,” he says. “I love you.”

You were half-expecting it. After all, he’s right - you do know him. Somehow his straightforwardness still catches you off guard so badly your knee jerks and slams right into your desk. It’ll leave a nasty bruise when you check in the shower later. Most things are too soft to be picked up by your mic, but that was definitely loud enough. 

“…You okay?” Gojo asks, hesitantly. 

“When you come back to Earth,” you explain to him in clipped tones, “I am going to gut you. Then we are going to go on a date.” 

[mamayan]

20, 92, 52, 99

Could you do this with Douma and a fem reader pretty please? Also very many congratulations!

Bang! … No bullet was shot—

Douma

“You’re pathetic, you know that right?” || Taste of Iron || Size || Praise/Worship

tw: NSFW • Biting (Blood play) • Rough Sex • Corruption K!nk • NONCON • Douma doesn’t stfu • Bondage

wc: 1086

“Ah~ really though, there’s nothing more wonderful than when you’re like this for me,” his voice was a soothing purr as he trails one cold hand up the smooth expanse of your thigh.

Luminescent rainbow eyes gazed down at your fragile figure tied and helpless. A pretty silk gag knotted and slotted into your mouth prevents any retorts.

“My most naughty little follower, are you enjoying this?” He wasn’t truly asking to hear your answer, more fixated on how much he was enjoying this. He could feel it, the blood and vitality rushing through your veins as adrenaline pumped and kept you acutely aware of every touch he placed on you. The fear and clarity in your gaze which the majority of his cult never figured out until it was far far too late.

You saw something you weren’t supposed to, and sadly, that meant you couldn’t be allowed to separate and mingle without him.

Tears flow down your cheeks as you struggle, bound and powerless under the beautiful male.

He was a fraud. A liar. A monster.

None of it mattered now, not when he’d sunken his claws too deeply into your family and friends to save them. You couldn’t even save yourself it seemed.

“Don’t cry sweet thing~ I’m not going to eat you~” yet, his smile was disarming, blatantly lying to your pretty face as he coos and hushes you.

“You’ve always been my favorite, you know? It makes me so sad to think about harming you, so we’ll do something else instead, okay~♡?” The cute way he spoke didn’t match Douma’s large body as he discarded his top, muscular unblemished figure on display.

He easily settled between your spread thighs, enjoying the view of your dripping pussy while you silently begged for mercy. “Such a shame I had to muffle your cute voice…” he laments to himself, nuzzling your soft inner thigh with his face and enjoying the texture of your skin. “I kind of want to hear you scream for me but, oh well,” he gives no warning before his sharp teeth are sinking into the flesh of your thigh, your pained squeal silenced by the fabric stuffed into your mouth. Douma delights in the blood and mark on your body, his mark, as he laps up the small rivers leaking from the puncture wounds he’d given. “Shh, no need to cry, I just wanted a taste,” he giggles, beautiful blonde hair falling into his eyes as he looks down at his handiwork. His large hands shift, moving to your exposed cunt where he uses two fingers to spread your folds and reveal your small wet hole.

“I just knew you’d like this~!” You flinch away from the image above you, his lips stained with your blood, sharp canines on display as he grins.

He pays no mind to your repulsion, soon you’d come to like the blood as he did, he just needed to show you why it all felt so good.

“Y/N, sorry, I’ll prepare you much better next time, but I want to see you bleed a little more me, yeah? You’ll be a good girl won’t you?” Douma ignores the shake of your head, the clear useless struggle you attempt against your bindings. Instead, he loosens his belt and allows his pants to drop past his upper thighs, releasing his hardened cock.

“I promise it’ll feel good after a bit, just be patient.” He assures, voice so calm and patient compared to your panic and trembling body. “Your pussy is so cute Y/N, tiny like you, it might hurt a bit.” You imagine it’s going to hurt more than a bit as he lines himself up with your quivering unprepared entrance. The thick blunt head pressed and kissing you, pre-cum leaking freely from his tip, the only lubricant he’s offering as he presses forward.

You jerk, unable to voice the pressure overwhelming you as he takes you, mind going hazy with the burn and sensations forced upon you.

“Oh my, hng,” his head goes back, muscles tensing and flexing as he moans. “This hole is pretty naughty too, hm?” He gasps, voice strained for the first time all evening, “You’re so tight, it’s like you're sucking me in.”

He laughs when he realizes you’re nearly passed out, sweet features languid and drool soaking through the gag as you whine deep in your throat. He doesn’t stop, thick cock spearing you open as he rocks and slicks himself up with your arousal and blood from his initial cruel entrance.

“My cute little follower, it’s almost like you’re worshiping my cock now right? Isn’t it a dream come true for you?” He’s gleeful as he begins dragging along inside of your walls, rocking you with how heavy each thrust is. He delights in your struggle to resist, but it’s clear you’re falling quickly to the feeling of fullness and pleasure as your passage becomes wetter with each slap of his pelvis against you.

“Good girl, you don’t need to do a thing, just feel good for me.” You don’t have a choice as he fucks you sensesless, eyes rolling back as you cum around him with a silent shout. His hips don’t stop, only his moans and nails digging into your hips increase while he works himself deep and hard into you, savoring the scent of iron in the air while blood smears on his lower half and cock.

“Ah, you came right? How cute,” he coos, loving your cock drunk appearance juxtaposed to your earlier fear and revulsion of him. “You’re pathetic, you know that right? Do you still want me to stop?” He chuckles, hand reaching up and untying the gag, pulling the dripping wad of fabric out of your mouth. “Answer me quickly, do you still want me to stop?” He asks, voice deepening as he rams the head of his cock against an area that has you wailing.

“L-Lord Do-Douma please—!” He twists one of your nipples harshly, loving the pretty arch your back makes as you clench and spasm around him again.

“That’s not an answer~” he coos, your pretty eyes unfocused as you drool and babble after your orgasm.

“Don’t—! Don’t stop! Fuck me! Please!” You’re quick to lose yourself, pleasure consuming you as he rocks you on his cock and thumbs your clit with a smug grin.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles, glad he doesn’t have to kill you earlier than he’d planned.

You are his favorite after all.

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

@desi-the-blue-eyed-kakushi

[callmearcturus]

Also if you want a taste of why Order vs Chaos is 1000000% superior to every Good vs Evil dichotomy in any video game

I got a sidequest. The humans tell me "Hey there is this demon, Tlazolteotl, who is guarding a horde of food from us, but we can't defeat her, help us?"

And you find out on your way to her that the humans are super mad because like she doesn't even eat the food herself, she only eats human corpses, so it feels like a slap in the face to the humans.

So you go and fight Tlazolteotl and defeat her and she's p sanguine about it and is like "okay have at the food hoard" which is weird.

then another demon, Dis, steps out like "She is happy to be slain. She was a goddess of the Harvest, but the Christian God (who is trying to kill off all of humanity) barred her from her work."

She was eating corpses to remove disease from the land in the only way she was still allowed to assist humans.

Her goal was to hoard food until she was so well-known in the land as someone keeping a vital resource from her people that someone (i.e. the player) would show up to kill her.

THIS IS AN EASILY-SKIPPED SIDEQUEST.

god SMT4 is just the GOAT it really fucking is.

[tojisun]

our shallow graves — 02

recom miles quaritch x recom fem reader

!! smut (between fwb outside of main pair) - minors dni; heat (as theme); mean quaritch; power imbalance; reference to (made up) past; worldbuilding; fast slow-burn; switching povs; weapons; reader adopts a nickname (callsign) which gets used // 5.1k words

: luvv writing from a chara’s pov n not just the reader’s <33; my bff wanted a love triangle but noo there would never be, i swear; replaying lady gaga and thenbhd as i write this; i hope u guys would luv this!!

↦ hydra - recom machine gun (not the door gun in the samsons); y70 - bullpup rifle/skel bullpup

prev // m.list // next - tbp

camaraderie with the colonel seemed to deteriorate overnight. your only saving grace is that it seemed like no one understands why his slight recognition for your talents evaporated quickly, the team having been reduced to shooting you with concerned glances whenever quaritch continues to ice you out.

you wanted to believe that it didn’t bother you much, but the taste of failure sits heavy on the tip of your tongue. quaritch is your superior, someone you were willing to interact with at an arm’s length, but now, even that seems impossible. 

“give him time,” walker says as you two enter the gun range, modified with an open ceiling to allow your na’vi bodies to breathe without the need for the respirator. “he’s probably still pissed because recon was delayed but c’mon now, we need extra time to take on the hellhole pandora’s about to be.”

you hum, your mind far away, as you begin to line up in one of the shooting stalls. you feel bare without your hydra but walker insisted on practicing with the Y70. 

“for good time’s sake!” she said, laughing when you rolled your eyes at her, calling her out on the fact that she only preferred the rifle because it was what she was exceptional at. 

your tail swishes behind you slowly before stilling, suspended in the air – a perfect imitation of your focus. you purge your mind of all thoughts, steadying your breath as you gaze at the moving targets. thrill runs down your spine at the first fire, the bullet going through the head of the target in a clean, single shot right at its temple. it is almost too natural how you were able to fire off the other bullets, muscle memory kicking in as your years of experience rush back to you, engulfing you with a single focus.

clean shot upon clean shot; head, heart, lungs – every vital organ and artery that you were aiming at were hit. it is like nothing existed in that moment, not your new life or your repeating nightmares of your death or even quaritch. it is just you and that rifle, against the world.

it was the first real taste of freedom you ever had from the moment you woke up in pandora, fifteen years after the war. 

walker stalks towards you with a grin, her rifle slung on her shoulder, looking smug as she shows you her perfect tally. you grin at her, feeling your tail finally untense, swishing around in languid satisfaction. 

“look at you with the perfect shots,” she says, dramatically whistling as though she wasn’t a better marksman than you are. 

“i have a good teacher,” you reply, winking at her. she chuckles, shaking her head, and you wish she had her braids down just so you can see them bump against each other. 

“and you are welcome.” walker places a hand on her chest before bowing theatrically, making you erupt in hearty giggles. 

comfortable silence settles as you two walk back to your quarters, ears flicking at each sound that rumbles from the belly of the compound. 

the sensitivity of your heightened senses brings you back to the night the colonel caught you sneaking out of mansk’s room, pure anger shimmering within his beautiful golden eyes and poison coating his hissed-out words. you do not know what set him off – you do not want to believe that it simply had been because you and mansk fooled around, not when quaritch has done worse.

(in your brief encounter with the human colonel quaritch, you have seen them together only once. the babe was swaddled in thick blankets, leaving only tufts of sandy hair visible to curious eyes. 

you tried not to linger when you saw how the colonel walked around with the child in his arms, cradled gently, carefully, his usually-stern face melting into something kind. into something human.

the harbinger of destruction. a father.

you couldn’t wrap your head around the man. not even as you watched in silence, obscured from his line of sight, as he nuzzled his nose on the boy’s forehead, breathing him in.

pandora’s real first human, a boy blessed by eywa, and there he was, held in the hands of the man who would threaten her balance.)

“maria,” you call, slowing down your steps and turning to look at your friend.

walker hums, tilting her head to meet your gaze. “what’s up?”

“do you, uh, know what happened to the kid?” you didn’t need to specify who it is that you meant. 

she stops walking, her brows furrowing in hesitant confusion. you lick your lips, wondering if you might’ve overstepped, after all, walker may be your friend, but her loyalties will always be with the colonel. even back in hell’s gate, she always separated her friendship with you from her duty – it felt like she constantly lived two different lives. 

“it’s just that i can unwind with you,” she used to say, huffing when the clips she used to pin her bun got lost within the gelled strands of her hair. you would pull her to your bed, chuckling quietly, before taking over, gentle hands familiar with her hair like it was yours that you were grooming. 

“why do you ask?” walker responds, twisting so she can fully face you.

you shrug. “i don’t know,” you say, a half-truth. “the memories are coming back to me slowly and one of them is him.”

walker remains quiet, studying you with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, before a sigh creeps out of her lips. you feel your heart lighten up, your body uncoiling from the tension, and you shoot her a small smile, grateful for her trust. 

“i dunno, to be honest,” she says as you two begin walking again, your steps this time are more languid. you two don’t entertain the gawking humans who scurry out of the way as you and walker make your way back to your rooms, busy murmuring to each other.

“they probably sent him back to somewhere in terra where relatives could take care o’him.”

you grunt, nodding, choosing not to prod any more. 

just before the two of you can part ways to enter your respective rooms, lopez comes running down the hallway, hollering your names.

“les’ go! colonel’s back from the meeting, and word is that we get our mission today!”

“thank fuck for that!” walker whoops. she meets your eyes. “rico, come on!”

you try to ignore the sudden swoop of paranoia that settles in your stomach, choosing instead to follow as walker and lopez run to meet with the others. you had hoped that you would’ve been able to fix whatever it was that happened between you and the colonel before the mission, but it seems like you don’t have that privilege anymore.

it seems like with quaritch, you don’t get mercy. 

-------

just like what lopez said, the colonel returned with orders from the brass that you all would be sent out soon – the omatikaya stronghold changed upon the return of the humans, and now you are all tasked to draw jake sully out. you are all given a week to prepare for pandora’s beasts – you are aware that they meant the na’vi more than the actual animals roaming the lush jungle.

recon was cancelled, the new schedule no longer permitted such opportunity; the general had, instead, ordered your squad to move in and navigate the hard way. you tried not to shrink at the withering look that quaritch shot you as he mentioned that. mansk shifted close, as though to show that he stood with you even against the colonel’s seething glare, but it seemed like it was the wrong thing to do as quaritch only seemed to grow angrier. 

you tried your best not to react, but your tail dropped, coiling around your thigh in the face of the colonel’s disapproval. you are too ashamed to look at the others, not wanting to see their own disappointment or even their pity so you kept your eyes on quaritch, using his authority to hide from the attention that your squad was giving you.

the meeting reaches its end, the colonel ordering wainfleet and zdinarsik to take over. mansk hovers, falling into step with you as you both move to leave the room together when the colonel’s voice stops you.

“rico, you stay. mansk, y’r dismissed.”

mansk shoots you a quick glance before nodding at the colonel and leaving with the rest. wainfleet had taken the lead as they all marched out with zdinarsik covering their back, the taller recom nodding at you upon meeting your gaze before closing the door behind her.

there is silence in the war room as you stand still, waiting for quaritch to make the first move. you rack your mind for another fuck up that he can berate you with, but nothing comes up, leaving you grasping at nothing but the bubbling anxiousness gnawing at you. 

“i suggested to general ardmore that we bench you, rico.” he raises his hand at your visceral reaction – your jaw falling open as you flinch, protests about to slip from your lips, as a now-aborted step almost draws you close to him. “listen to me first, corporal.”

you blink at the realization that his voice doesn’t denote any malice, the rich baritone is painfully neutral, and you think, then, how hearing his indifference just stings a whole lot more. 

you remain silent, watching with bated breath as quaritch pulls a chair out and motions for you to sit down. your legs feel like lead as you fall into it with no grace, your body going taut with tension when the colonel takes the one just in front of you. 

the space between the two of you is decent – it is the normal distance – but you can’t help but feel the warmth emitting from his bigger figure, almost like your body is singing for him. you try to breathe through your mouth, afraid that you will get a whiff of his scent, reducing you into a puddle of uncertainty and need. 

you blink your glassy eyes up at him, trying to focus, to listen, but it is like all those times that quaritch pushed you away had made you hypersensitive about him. he is all you can focus on; past the need to prove to him of your worth, he is all that fills you up. the way he smells, the way his eyes study you, the way his voice rips through the static – you want all of it. 

heat builds up in the pit of your stomach.

fuck. 

“you doin’ ok there?” the colonel asks, his indifference melting as worry bleeds into his tone. 

“i, uhm,” you begin, your voice faltering. you try to reel in your mind, grinding your teeth to snap you from your trance. 

“yeah.” you clear your throat, breathing in shakily. “i mean, yes sir.”

quaritch grunts, his eyes still pinned on you. “this is exactly why i wanted to leave you behind.”

that brings you out of the haze, your attention snapping back into a singularity. “permission to ask why, sir?”

quaritch sighs. “the science pukes mentioned how y’r still lagging behind. kid, i’m gonna be honest with you – i can’t afford a weak link.”

his words feel like knives carving into you. you’ve always thrived in your capabilities – you wouldn’t have gone far if you weren’t good, if not one of the best, and yet, in his eyes, your single fumble has cost so much. 

“pandora is gonna eat you up and spit you out – well, it already did, otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. and yet, general ardmore still insisted that we take you.” 

you watch as the colonel leans over, eating up the miniscule distance between yourselves to peer at you. “tell me, rico. just why are you so important to her?”

you wish you have the answer; you wish you have anything to give to him, to make sense of your own purpose, but nothing comes up. it is like you’re constantly floating around, untethered, and yet severely burdened at the same time. they tell you how the general favours you, and yet she has yet to tell you that herself, leaving you alone in navigating your position amongst the other recoms. 

the loneliness doesn’t stop eating at you.

“colonel, i really don’t know,” you finally utter, breaking eye contact to stare at the ground. 

quaritch clicks his tongue. “no, there’s gotta be somethin’ i’m missin’. i read your files, you know that?” he grins meanly when your eyes snapped back to him. “oh yeah, i did. and imagine my goddamn disappointment when it showed me nothin’ noteworthy.”

he stands up, his voice gaining strength, and you realize that you can now see his fury in its entirety.

“yeah, you’ve got a way with flying, but that skill’s practically useless unless we can get our own banshees. and even then, they ain’t machines – your skill’s obsolete. y’ve got a way with guns, sure, but so do the rest of my squad; it ain’t just lyle who’s got a great shot, after all. and yeah y’r hand-to-hand combat is good, but it ain’t the best.”

you feel tears pooling in the corner of your eyes as quaritch continues his admonishment. you feel like everything that you are is suspended in the air, carelessly peeled off and overturned until you are nothing but your skin and bones.

“y’know what i saw?” the colonel asks in a barely-contained snarl. 

you do not reply, but it doesn’t matter to him anyway. 

“i saw how y’r just a goddamn nobody because if you were any better, i would’ve taken you in before. so tell me rico, just what the hell are you doin’ here?”

you do not know what urged you to do it, but next thing you know you are standing mere inches before the colonel, breaching his personal space to poke at his chest. “i don’t need to prove myself to you,” you hiss. 

(it was a lie. after all, it was all you wanted to do. for him to acknowledge you. for him to – what do the na’vis call it? – see you.)

quaritch scoffs, pausing, before he lunges forward to grip your jaw, forcing your head to tilt up and making you look at him. you feel your breath leave your lungs, the blood rushing to your ears and deafening you. anything else seemed to stop, leaving you alone with your petering rage as you gaze up at him.

his breath tickles your lips and you gasp, soundless, feeling the desire exploding in your chest. you do not know what it is that he originally wanted to do because in the next heartbeat, just a slight stutter, all you feel is his lips meeting yours. 

quaritch devours your hiccuped squeak, his searing lips moving against your own, pulling out more of the little desperate sounds from your throat only for them to be swallowed hungrily by him. the kiss is hot, messy, but you can’t help but be obsessed with it.

his scent fills you up, settling deep in your chest and making you throb with want. you grip his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate to touch more of him. but at the feeling of your hands, quaritch rips his lips from yours and scurries to back away from you.

you stand there, your chest heaving as you catch your breath, feeling your lips tingle from his kiss. you watch as his face crumples at the realization of what he’s done before it reverts back into faux stoicism, as though he isn’t affected by the kiss. as though he doesn’t feel the same burning desire that engulfed you whole.

“colonel-”

“no fraternizing with a squad member,” quaritch utters before he lifts his hand up to rub at his lips with the back of his palm.

“oh, so now we’re following the golden rule?” you mutter, the words bubbling out before you can stop them. 

you know that you crossed a line at the mention of what he’s done with socorro but you are too filled with a blazing storm of conflicting feelings, rendering you uninhibited as they clash in your chest and drain you of all your energy. you feel yourself shake at the intensity of your emotions – of your yearning – but the colonel continues to stand far away. far from your grasp.  

he’s made his decision. 

“get going, corporal. y’r dismissed.”

you run out of the room, not caring of the way the tears slip from the corners of your eyes to drench your cheeks, and pretending that you cannot smell the faint scent of the colonel sticking to you.

pretending that you do not feel something in you break. 

-------

looking for mansk was the easy part. not using him to drown out the weight of your conflicting feelings, that was the hard part. 

mansk has taken you in his arms, cradling you close as you wept on the crook of his neck. he was silent, like he already knew what it is that aches you, and you wonder how could he. you barely knew why you feel betrayal sit in the pit of your stomach; why you feel so drawn to quaritch – attuned to the sound of his voice and the staccato of his footsteps.

why do you ache for his touch?

if it is heat, if it is all biology, mansk does a good enough job in extinguishing the flames of painful need curling within your blood. and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from seeking out bigger and rougher hands and a gruffer voice, the southern accent looping around the vowels, making your stomach clench with desire.

quaritch is all that you’ve ever wanted ever since he first called your name, unknown familiarity sinking in your chest like a rock chucked to the ocean – the paradox is a metaphor of your feelings. funny, isn’t it?

“i don’t understand,” you murmur, sniffling as you pull your head from mansk’s shoulder. you wipe at your eyes, groaning at the futility of it when fresh tears fall and drench your cheeks anyway. 

mansk remains silent, his hands have fallen from your back to grasp at your wrists, the warmth from his palms not doing anything to soothe your nerves.

“it’s like he needed that little blip in my performance to finally rationalize the hate he feels for me, and then it just didn’t stop,” you continue, breathing in shakily. “and i wish i could just ignore him but, fuck, i can’t.”

you shake yourself from mansk’s touch, standing up from his bed to pace around his room. the pads of your feet are quiet on the metal floors and you ignore the shot of coolness that comes with every step. your braids, chopped just below your jaw, frame your face with stray strands sticking on your damp cheeks despite your frantic moving. 

“he’s there and he’s nowhere at the same time, devin. like, i try my best to avoid him but he’s always a consistent presence in my life. it doesn’t fucking matter if he’s ignoring me, not when he’s always in the same room, within the same space.” your voice raises, scratching your throat as anger and hurt bubble up, ever-so expanding until you are grasping at the remnants of your rationality. 

“and i want him. i feel like dying when i’m not with him and he-” you pause, a choked sob getting punched out from your lungs. mansk startles, clambering from his bed to hover by your side, not really closing in but standing just near enough that you can see the downturn of his ears, his worry etched on his face. 

“he doesn’t feel the same way, dev.” 

you crumble, feeling lightheaded from the explosion of anguish burning at your seams, and mansk finally embraces you. 

the first kiss was hesitant, chapped lips meeting bruised ones, and he doesn’t move until you are pawing at his shirt and tugging him close. mansk falls into his role easily, nipping your bottom lip as a distraction which you take eagerly.

quaritch’s snarl from many nights ago creep into your mind, his southern accent tearing through the sudden buzz of mansk’s touch, taunting you – “you reek.” 

you think just how upsetting it is to feel your desire expand into fanned flames at the memory of quaritch. at the memory of his anger – the only thing of him that he’s given to you freely. 

mansk rips his lips from yours, panting, his eyes dilated with desire. “rico, y’smell so good.”

your shirt is torn from your body, your cargos thrown over broad shoulders – not broad enough, not tall enough, not angry enough. 

you try to forget, to stop thinking, as mansk fucks you; thin fingers sliding along your slit and sinking into your heat, curling to prepare you for his length. not even the way three of his fingers overwhelm you with the feeling of being stuffed can silence the thoughts – ‘not thick enough, not long enough, not rough enough’ – and you bury your face on his pillow, trying to smother the tears. 

the slide of his cock should’ve rendered your mind into white static, but it seems like your veins are thrumming with a visceral need, one that you know only quaritch can quell. 

“choke me,” you mumble, blinking wetly up at mansk, your chest heaving at the muted desire filling you up. 

“what?” mansk asks, breathless, his body shaking from the crashing heat. 

“choke me,” you repeat, this time clearer. 

mansk hesitates, his wide eyes growing bigger, his scent curling into something darker. the wrap of his hand around your throat is sure, gentle despite your plea, before he squeezes. the pressure grounds you, feeding into your desperation. into your delusions. 

(you think of quaritch. it seems like you never stop thinking about him. 

he will take you the same way lava takes everything – devouring beyond flesh, nipping right into the core until all it leaves is the flames of a thousand suns. his desires will crush you, filling up the spaces between your blood vessels and your synapses with nothing but him. 

and you will love it. you will let yourself be scorched because ever since you have met him, all you knew was fire and how they lick up into your chest, swallowing your heart, almost like they are branding his name directly in you. 

like you have belonged to him even before.)

mansk wipes you with a towel, murmuring soft apologies when your body jolts in oversensitivity at the rough drag of the cloth. he passes you his shirt and then pulls you underneath the sheets, tucking you in for the night. 

“thank you,” you say, weakly smiling at him.

mansk returns the smile, brushing your braids away from your face. “just like old times.”

your eyebrows furrow, confusion triumphing over exhaustion. “old times?”

“yeah,” he grunts, falling beside you. “you’ve always liked the colonel and granted we didn’t fuck then, but you always vented to me so, y’know?”

mansk’s words wash over you like a crashing tide, pulling you from the shore and submerging you into the depths of the unknown. you grasp at your memories, flitting from one to the other, trying to find pieces of your affection for the colonel only to fall short. surely, you would’ve remembered. surely, the feelings, with how intense they are, did not just go away; that you did not just lose a piece of yourself.

you think of the haunting, how the colonel and socorro appear in your memories in fragments, and feel a twinge in your heart. was it not indifference? that all this time when you remembered her, when you used her to learn more about quaritch, it was because you liked him too? 

were you always a fool like this? searching for bits of quaritch in the hands of another, trying to claim the stray parts like they could be yours to begin with. 

“rico?” mansk’s voice breaks through your reverie. 

“i… i don’t remember.”

he turns to you in surprise. “what do you mean you don’t remember?”

“just that,” you say, your voice faint. “i don’t- i can’t remember.”

-------

the moment miles saw his reflection – blue and distinctly not human – he knew there was little of himself left in the hellhole that pandora had become. autonomy and freedom no longer meant much, not when he’s become a weapon. 

he’s died once, they said. had he still been the commanding officer in the compound, he’d have the shrink do drills at the stupidity of pointing out his untimely and obvious demise. 

no fucking shit he died. miles would’ve remembered turning into a goddamn na’vi if he didn’t. 

but, at the end of the day, his anger didn’t matter. like a freak show, he’s back – not really as the same man, but similar enough that the old colonel’s ghost thrums with hymns of vengeance, carrying over to miles’ own person. because miles may not remember his death, but he remembers jake sully’s betrayal.

the boy had chosen his people and miles had chosen his, it is that simple. 

the mission was straight-forward, but miles isn’t deluded enough to assume that it would be just as easy. he’s failed once already, after all. perhaps being a na’vi could switch the tides; perhaps being one wouldn’t matter – whatever it may be, miles is ready to carry the burden of killing jake sully.

with a single focus, miles lets the unfamiliarity of his new body roll off his skin like dew before forcing himself to learn and to adapt. painstakingly, he even tried to salvage the pieces of augustine’s research, hoping to find any scraps of information regarding the na’vi in her ramblings, but the compound has scrubbed themselves off the traitor’s books. don’t mind the fact that augustine’s the best goddamn na’vi expert, apparently, they rather bitch around under the pretence of unnecessary patriotism, instead of taking advantage of her research. 

when he asked who he should talk to regarding their physio, he was told that augustine was replaced by cooper. unsurprisingly, cooper was unable to fill in the shoes that augustine left, but miles preferred him anyway. the man has lesser empathy, lesser curiosity about the wonders of pandora. 

‘that’s good,” miles thought upon meeting cooper. ‘checkups will be clinical. none of that bitchin’ about morals.’

which was why it should’ve been easy transitioning into his recombinant body. it should’ve been.

then, you came along.

sweet, little, pretty thing that you are. you don’t even know what you do to him, walking around looking like you’re pulled straight  from miles’ spank bank material. you look darling with your short braids, pulled back with little clips like those that he remembers walker using, as your smooth voice ripples against the heavy tension building in miles’ chest.

there’s always this sweet scent that follows you, and it reminds miles of something that he couldn’t really pin down. it’s faint, teasing his senses with the little bursts until he began to be addicted to it. to be addicted to you.

he had been content with only getting a whiff from every time the two of you crossed paths, your chin ducking down in respect, saluting so beautifully that it had miles pretending that he didn’t have the itch to pat your head in approval. 

(you looked like the type to adore praises; the type to want to hear how you’re being such a good girl. all for him.)

he didn’t want to pursue more, remembering what happened when he last made that mistake, but it just felt so impossible to dismiss his interest in you as something that is only fleeting; something that is only physical, bound by the biological nature of his new body. 

maybe if he just pushed back harder against the general, then maybe he could be rid of you. maybe there would be nothing thrumming underneath his skin – he refuses to call it desire, afraid that by doing so, he would chain himself to the ache that he feels – and maybe you would no longer be his growing problem.

then: a spike in the air churned the insides of miles’ head, bolting his legs onto the floor. there was a sort of static, a rumbling charge that pierced past metal walls and choked miles into madness. 

he didn’t even realize what it was until he picked up the sound of your voice, pleasure curling against your words as you cried out a name. miles felt lightheaded, warmth crept up from his fingertips to the base of his neck.

(a shackle, one that spelt out your name. 

again, do you know what you do to him? what you reduce him to?)

the scent of your euphoria sent him into a feverish state, molten lava replacing blood as he burned. his breaths came out in ragged rasps, and miles gulped down the air as though he could taste you from it. as though that would’ve been enough.

miles knew what danger looked like, he knew what it smelt like, but he never expected that it would take your shape, testing him past his capabilities. so he lied, spitting in anger and lashing out as he held your hand, ignoring the way his skin tingled when it met yours, and he watched as your eyes glimmered with hurt.

fine. that’s fine. miles repeated this mantra until he clambered into his room, almost tripping over his boots, and made his way to his bed. 

there was a heavy pressure in miles’ ears as he tore off his belt, his teeth snapped together as he pulled his length out and fucked into his fist, breathing into the other one to chase the fading scent that you left. 

he lost himself in his thoughts, imagining that it had been him who reduced you into a moaning mess. that it had been him who you came to for your heat; that it had been him who made you cry, your whimpers slipping past shut doors until everyone could hear your sweet cries.

miles has always been possessive, he doesn’t need the soul drive to know that.

his orgasm ripped through him in muted pleasure, not enough to stoke the heat rumbling deep in his belly.

“fuck!” he growled, frustration bubbling up into his mouth as he screwed his eyes shut, trying to forget the way you look; the way you walk, the way you shoot your hydra or the way you maneuver a bird as though you and the machine are one. 

but it was futile. he’s ruined. 

you’ve ruined him.

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tagging (pls lmk if you wanna be added or removed!) - @hinataashoyos @babyduk213 @ilovebluedilfss

[museandwriting]

Ganondorf Fluff Prompts

A - Affection (how do they show affection to their s/o)

Ganondorf’s love languages are listening, time spent together, and gifts.

He may not always have the chance to spend time with his lover, so he sends small gifts when he can’t.

When he does have time, he’s perfectly content to just sit in a room with them, each doing their own thing. Cuddles are always welcome, however.

B - Best Friend (what are they like as a best friend?)

He’s a bit reserved, but always encouraging. Always ready to test your limits and his own, as well as always for adventure.

Surprisingly mischievous.

C - Cuddling (do they like to cuddle? And how would they do it?)

He is a giant, and warm. You could climb into his lap and be swallowed up in his embrace.

He greatly enjoys having his lover in his lap as he reads.

D - Domestic (do they want to settle down? How good are they at cooking and cleaning)

A king he may be, but he’s no slouch.

Cooking and cleaning are vital life skills, and he’s made sure to learn them well.

While his food might not be the fanciest, it’s properly cooked and tastes pretty good.

E - Ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He’s blunt and could be mistaken as cruel. But he won’t put it off.

If it must end, let it end.

F - Fiancé (how do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He will settle down and marry, but it will take a while.

While he is a bit more open to polyamory, he’s still possessive of his lover.

Good luck getting into a throuple.

G - Gentle (how gentle they, both physically and emotionally?)

He is a reserved man by nature.

In public he’s more closed off. Polite, even tempered.

In private with his lover, he’s still reserved, but more open. More willing to be physically affectionate, to say sweet words.

Words that he truly means.

H: Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

In public the most you’ll ever get is a pat on the shoulder.

In private, at least with his lover, he’s still not too inclined to hug, but much more willing to.

I: I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It takes Ganondorf a very long time to say the words ‘I love you’.

When it finally does happen, it’s when they’re alone, after a round of passionate lovemaking, whispered reverently.

J: Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

He can be jealous, but it takes a while to get there.

Giving too much attention to someone else is a surefire way to make him jealous.

K: Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you?)

In public Ganondorf’s kisses are quick and chaste.

Unless he’s making a point, then it can be a full on makeout session.

In private he’s much more passionate, but surprisingly gentle.

He favors the neck, lips, and thighs.

L: Little Ones (How are they with kids?)

He’s good with kids.

Not the most playful, but not strict as hell.

He’s more lenient with kids, and encouraging.

M: Mornings (How are mornings spent with them?)

His mornings are rarely spent leisurely, he’s a king and he has duties to attend to.

Hygiene, then breakfast, then onto his duties.

N: Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Many nights are spent working, but when he finally does come to bed, if his lover is still awake, he’ll spend time with them.

Talking, cuddles, it may lead to lovemaking.

O: Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

It takes quite a while for Ganondorf to open up.

He’s more private as a person, and has trust issues for obvious reasons.

But be patient, don’t push, and he will open up.

P: Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He has an amazing amount of patience, it’s vital as a king.

You can’t be rash.

Q: Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every detail in passing, or do they kind of forget?)

Amazing memory, you’d be surprised by how much he can recall.

R: Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Ganondorf’s favorite moment is just after he says ‘I love you’ for the first time, with his lover sleeping soundly in his arms.

He stays awake a while longer, watching their peaceful face, feeling light and warm.

S: Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Ganondorf is very protective.

As the spouse of a king, and Ganondorf specifically, there is always great danger.

He would destroy kingdoms, the world, if it meant keeping you safe.

While it stings his pride, he is tolerant of needing you to protect him.

T: Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, and gifts?)

Dates with Ganondorf are extravagant, he goes all out.

Anniversaries are more private but still very lavish.

Gifts range from simple I-thought-of-yous, to insanely expensive.

U: Ugly (What would be a bad habit of theirs?)

He’s the King of Evil. That should explain itself.

But no, seriously.

He is willing to do anything to fulfill his ambitions, and he has a large ego.

V: Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He isn’t vain, not really, but he does like to look his best.

W: Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

There is a strange sense of emptiness without his lover, once he’s fully accepted that he does truly love them.

X: Xtra (A random headcanon for them)

He has a sweet tooth the size of Texas and prefers tea over coffee.

Z: Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

He is a surprisingly light sleeper and snores like a train.

Prefers to sleep on his back, and somehow his arm will end up thrown over his head during the night.

Usually sleeps naked.

[silverskye13]

"You're bleeding."

It's an obvious statement, one Tanguish feels a little foolish for. Of course Helsknight is bleeding. He just won his match. It's amazing how strong these Colosseum fighters are, how much damage they can do to each other, especially when they're matched up well. And Helsknight is the Champion of Hels -- if for no other reason than the popularity with the crowd, every one of his matches is a good match. It has to be. Anything less and it's not the Champion, is it?

Helsknight looks dazed. It's a familiar look. After a particularly rough fight. It's like the knight can't believe the fight has stopped. It takes a few minutes for his heart to stop sprinting. So he goes through the gate, dragging his sword up to the nearby wall and plants himself on the bench, and he stares into the middle distance, breathing, bleeding, waiting. It's a familiar look. Today he's spattered up to the elbow in blood, and it runs between the links of his chain mail in thin calligraphy lines. It gathers in the bends in his pauldrons, makes more stark the dent in his chest plate. If it's not cleaned and polished off in the next few hours, it'll settle in those places and poison them with rust, and the next time Helsknight fights, he'll be more vulnerable. Blood is such an insidious thing sometimes, the way it weakens when it flows.

Tanguish moves to the knight, a bowl of water in one hand, a healing kit in the other. He takes the knight apart like he's a machine, slipping delicate fingers across the gauntleted hand, undoing straps and buckles to show the bruised knuckles beneath the armor. Metal and leather can only do so much. Bodies break surprisingly well, when they're testing their limits. Helsknight sighs as Tanguish massages his hand, searching for broken bones. The knight is almost feverishly hot to his frost-laden touch, and Tanguish watches the swollen skin start to pale as the cold soothes it.

"You don't have to do that," Helsknight says, his voice a thin and distant rasp, still lost somewhere in the adrenaline crash. "Just... give me a minute to rest."

"I am," Tanguish answers him gently and keeps working, unclasping the buckles on the chest plate and pulling it free. He lays it gently on the ground, and takes pride in how Helsknight breathes easier. The knight rests, eyes fluttering half-closed and sighing as Tanguish works. Cold hands trace over blooded armor and fevered skin, setting right the wrongs. He dabs at cuts, eliciting hisses of pain that he immediately soothes. He puts ice to bruises, and water to sweat and blood, and Helsknight revives, slowly. His breathing lengthens and deepens. The flushed skin cools. The muscles relax.

"How did the fight go?" Tanguish asks when Helsknight's eyes flutter open again.

"I won."

"You can say it better than that."

Helsknight smirks, his vitality slowly returning. He sniffs and runs a tongue across his teeth, making room for the words where there once was blood. Tanguish doesn't know how the knight stands the taste, but then again, Helsknight has been in a great many fights. Maybe blood loses its flavor after so long.

"You watched the fight."

"And so did they," Tanguish looks up to the ceiling, where the cheering of the crowd still sometimes surges and roars. "But none of us can tell the story the way you can."

"Blood is memory without language."

"See, that's what I mean."

"Weaving bard's tales already?" someone asks, another fighter sitting on another bench, cleaning a bloodied sword. "You haven't even rested yet."

"He's resting now," Tanguish says, running the damp cloth over a gash in Helsknight's arm. That one will need stitches, or a health potion. Helsknight's hand shakes when Tanguish cleans it, and there's color in the cut that means its too deep, gruesomeness he doesn't want to put names to, for fear it'll make him sick. Helsknight spares the wound a glance before pointedly fixing his gaze away from it. It always strikes Tanguish as funny, that the knight can't look at his own wounds. He can inflict them, he can tend them in others, he can ignore them, but admitting he's wounded is a mountain he struggles to climb.

Helsknight closes his eyes again, but the eyelids keep moving, like a man dreaming or searching for words.

"Where do you want me to start?"

"When they opened the cage."

Helsknight nods. He sits in silence for a long moment. In a few days, when all wounds are healed and all aches soothed, Helsknight will write in a little book he keeps under his pillow:

Blood is memory without language The wounded creature screams And though the sand drinks life away We lay linked by crimson streams

Brothers you and I, creature Kin on parched and bitter sand Though mine is spilt for glory Yours is spilt by crowd's command

What place is this, what hell endured That brings us to this yield But happenstance and hubris And hungry crowd's bone field

What beast are you to me, creature What creature I to you You are a footnote in a story And I the death of you

Again repeat what we both know Whilst life, for now, entwine That we are linked in blood my love Shared memory divine

[bugsbenefit]

attraction in ST

or. oh god stop stripping the show of it's themes no please no it needs those, stopppp

actually making this post now bc i'm sick of people claiming anything remotely sexual or even kissing happening to the party (an opinion that often pops up in the context of byler) in s5 would be horrible, sexualising, or out of character for the show

ST has always had a realistic approach to kids growing into their sexualities. the show's never shied away from directly addressing sex and sexual feelings so i'm honestly amazed by the extremely puritan interpretation of the show. i'm assuming, in good faith, that a big part of it is coming from people not having seen the actual show in ages and are just forgetting how explicitly the show handles sexuality. instead of just assuming it's from culturally raised christian people, who feel uncomfortable seeing any portrayal of sexuality, no matter how tasteful or realistic

i'm also saying all this as an ace person myself, i get not being into sex and not wanting to see it. however, refusing to acknowledge entire themes of a fictional show just because i don't experience them is bizarre to me. sexuality is vitally important to a lot of the characters and isn't just there to be fun(gross). essentially, ST is the opposite of porn without plot

so just as a little reminder what's actually IN Stranger Things. canonically.

sorry i had this sc for ages and wanted to include it Somewhere, so here you go. at a little starter... dorry

also this is an old draft seeing the light of day now, if anything's worded weird it's bc i didn't read all of it over again so oops, grammar hard?

TLDR: the show has never shied away from explicitly addressing sexuality. buying into the puritan fanon version of the show is going to make your s5 viewing experience worse because that show doesn't exist

season 1

we're starting the show off with Stancy, which is very sexually charged in general. (even in s4 Nancy still experiences physical attraction to Steve despite them having unchanged compatibility) the plot surrounding them in s1 explicitly focuses on Nancy having sex with Steve and later regretting that choice. the scene that everyone remembers, is of course, the "explicit" (not really, because ST is really tasteful with how it shows these teens explore themselves) sex scene

they're in sophomore and junior year of highschool here. around 15 and 16 years old - yet the show doesn't shy away from letting them figure things out. and it's not like this sexual theme is contained in only that scene. it keeps coming back the whole season as Nancy tries to sort her feelings out and deals with the aftermath of that night

also sidenote here while still at Steve and his party: even Steve's friends are very casual with their sexualities. and yes, they can even explicitly mention sex and specific sexual acts, no holding back here

Nancy's character conflict in s1 very much hinges on her sexuality and sexual themes. and it's not like there is a magic you need to be at least this old rule to know what sex is on the show like so many people seem to believe, because even 12 year old Mike seems to very much know what his sister and Steve are up to. he even goes out of his way to use it against her

iconic line! but i've seen insane takes trying to spin this into something not alluding to something sexual. i'm sorry to say if he doesn't think they're full on having sex he at least thinks they're getting very intimate with each other regardless

so not even the youngest characters on the show are "innocent and pure" the way fandom likes to claim when it comes to sexuality. and of course they aren't. real 12 year olds know what sex is, they're young not oblivious

and the following seasons make that even more obvious

season 2

as of s2 the kids are getting more involved with the sexual jokes, not just making them about other people but even being directly involved with those themes themselves. which is also realistic. with 13 sexuality starts to get thrown your way by every possible form of media. lots of them start developing crushes, have no idea how relationships work, etc. it's messy, typical teens thrown into the dating game. (i say all of this from a developmental media psychology perspective thanks uni and not personal experience sorry lmao, i'm a bit too ace to have my own input here)

s2 features comedic and awkward mentions of sex(ual activity) towards Lucas and Max,

older peers giving their 13 year old friends well meant advice on how relationships work,

and has even younger characters play around with attraction/kissing/love as well, which is incredibly normal for kids to do at that age

they're all young and the show treats growing up realistically. while the theme of attraction or sexuality gets more relevant for them (in scenes that are often received with awkwardness by the characters themselves) the show offers them safe territory to stand on. none of them are directly confronted with sexuality and are instead offered people to seek advice from for example

meanwhile the sexuality theme for the older kids is still very much explicit. just as Nancy's arc is still heavily tied to her romance and sexuality (which ties into her non conformity themes - she's an ambition driven person trying to escape the culdesac life first and foremost)

not only do we get another sex scene (this time with a cut away), there's also explicit jokes about it after

sexuality on the show is continuously awkward and messy. Jonathan and Nancy are only 16-17 here - no one really knows what they're doing or what the right way to go ahead is and Jonathan rightfully almost does a spittake here. out of pocket Murray

sexuality. is. awkward. (we get is s2 thanks)

season 3

s3 gets even more explicit with it's awkward puberty sexuality themes

from Dustin talking about how much he likes kissing Suzie (and her liking him not having teeth for it?) which weirds Steve out to the repeating, awkwardly received, "happy screams joke" (which gets a callback in later scene)

sexuality is still awkward for them. it's a realistic approach to what 14 year olds act like and know. they're actively dating by now, they're kissing people And have messy relationship situations. all while still acknowledging knowing what sex and attraction is, duh, of course they know that. but i'm explicitly pointing it out because i see obscene amounts of people claiming the characters are completely sheltered and even implying that they know what sex is would be gross. to that i say, do you not remember being 14???

and while i'm at s3, also let it be mentioned that even the adults are suffering at the hands of the sexuality theme here. Hopper's hookups with random women are focused on in s1, but now that he's getting closer with Joyce they get very explicitly told to just have sex. literally

not putting the whole dialogue in here, i already have too many images because there's so many sex mentions in this show and he really just tells them their mating ritual is painful and they should tear their clothes off and fuck right now

thanks Murray, always insightful

season 4

and s4 has stopped just confronting the kids with the existence of sexuality, but is tentatively starting to explore mature themes more directly - which allows them to tentatively start exploring their own sexualities instead of just having to acknowledge the general concept of sexuality

Max gets to ogle shirtless Steve

Lucas has something under his bed that's never confirmed as anything except "100/10 gross" but had 90% of the audience i saw immediately assume something sexual (magazines or the like)

and has a bunch more direct nudges, from the kids "experimenting sexually" as Murray says

to Argyle explicitly telling Jonathan he needs to have sex with Nancy again

to Hopper and Joyce's escalating make out in a church while shirtless

to visual innuendos (i'm looking at you hose scene. this one wouldn't be such a big deal if there wasn't a genuine moral panic about it last year. which was crazy. people literally had to pretend the scene didn't exist to escape the witchhunting mobs, except instead of being killed for magic it'd be for looking at a canon scene and acknowledging it. crazy times - aside from that there's also more visuals you can take as innuendos in s4e1 which there's already posts about out there so i'm not getting into them here, i'm more focused on the overt textual references)

to Yuir extensively talking about pleasing women and making them cum (I'm sparing you from that, the sc in at the top was already enough)

to explicit graffities all over the place, like here as an example "give me head until i'm dead" which is in frame for the whole phone call and Steve talking about his bitchlesness. and is also some of the only easily legible text (i hope this is readable, most of my screenshots kind of died a bit so maybe you need to look at an actual clip to see the text)

that is aside from the "DRUGS" poster which touches on another point s4 makes. the show doesn't just explore sexuality, it also puts the kids into more mature situations in general (not talking about the deaths, this is a horror show), specifically drugs

Jonathan uses weed as a coping mechanism the whole season and Eddie even sells the stuff in full bags (insane weed selling practices btw, even i know that). Chrissy (17-18) wants to do weed and ketamine. and we also see Lucas (14) hungover after drinking at a party for the first time

the show does not shy away from portraying realistic teen experiences

Murray called s4 very well, the kids pound some bears, smoke some ganja, play nintendo, and experiment sexually

literally. you have drinking, weed, and confusing queer sexualities. they took this list step by step

and all of those pretty normal things teens tend to explore. and i say that as someone who was decidedly not into those things. the ace experience is a bit different, but i can still acknowledge how that period was like for my allo friends and people in general

there is an extreme push in this fandom to reject any form of sexual jokes or references in the show, made mostly by people being uncomfortable with portrayals of sexuality. however, the themes not only still exist, they're also very prominent throughout all 4 seasons and are important to a lot of the characters directly

and it's also noteworthy here to see how ST approaches it's sexuality theme. it grows with the characters. starting out as jokes and being received with awkwardness to slowly letting them figure things out on their own time and turns. an extremely realistic progression and very common for coming of age narratives such as ST. it's a far cry from shows exploring sexuality or sexual themes for the sake of the viewers enjoyment like Euph0ria (don't want it to show up in tags)

based on what we currently know s5 could very well be taking place in 1988 or later which would place the party at around 16-17 years old. going into the season with the fanon version of the show that is completely clean and non sexual will 100% set you up for disaster

ST is very realistic and non exploitative with it's exploration of teen sexuality so there is obviously nothing to worry about in the sexualization department, that's just puritan fear mongering. however, it's very likely that we're going to get more than holding hands or pecks on the lips from the characters that are now older than characters we've explicitly seen hook up before. there could be more intimate scenes or making out, yes. but there's also at least one basically guaranteed vulgar joke in there, all seasons have them

there's no real theorizing or speculation about s5 here, anything could happen and i'm not placing bets, i want the characters narratives to be wrapped up well first and foremost and trust the writers to do it well. however, going into s5 with some of the mindsets i've seen circulating on here and expecting the show to be "clean" and cater to a version of it that's never existed outside of purified fandom could genuinely make you feel blindsided by the shows canon themes

not targeted at anyone or anything specifically, just using this as a bit of a reality check of what the show is actually like after recently rewatching all of it in one go

[honeybubblebeeeeee]

Since you’re taking requests…

Bakugou x reader in an MCU universe where Bakugou is an avenger and reader who has a very Shuri-esque character and lives in Wakanda??

I can just imagine him falling in love after he gets really injured and is forced to rehabilitate in Wakanda and reader has to heal him and is just like

-_-

Have a great day!!

YAAAY finally a request so hype to do this for my little angry Pomeranian <3 I hope this did the request justice give me some feedback for sure i wasnt sure how long to make it

Bakugou was heaving as he launched himself past falling rubble trying to keep up with the enemy infront of him. He was tired, he was bleeding and he didn't know how much longer he could keep it up. He could see a stream of green above him as Deku joined the chase. His body was on fire from the use of his quirk but it was so close to being over. He was looking forward to laying down and being left alone for a couple days.

His focus was shattered as the screaming of Deku. "KACCHAN STOP!" Katsuki's head hit smacked into the concrete and everything went black before he could even register the attack.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Katsuki blinked slowly as his vision tried to focus on the lights and shapes around him. His limbs felt like they weighed ten times the amount they should as he struggled to register the current world around him.

"Ah! He lives!" A celebratory laugh and the sound of footsteps advanced on him. A soft hand pushed him back down. He struggled against it but his body felt no energy to fight back as his eyes focused on the person above him.

"Ah ah. Stay down. Not done yet." You looked down at him, a smirk on your face. Katsuki wanted nothing more than to tell this woman to go away, to stop bothering him but he was so tired and so weak that he just watched as you moved around him looking at a tablet in your hands.

"Vitals look good, blood pressure seems to be rising but I have heard you got quite the temper dont'cha?" You laughed as the sound of you tapping the screen filled the silence. "You're healing - but slowly which concerns me. It's too slow for someone like you and nothing I did helped. I dunno what you got hit with but boy they did a number on you."

Katsuki's eyes followed you as you walked behind a console and focused on whatever it was in front of you. He was able to finally at last force himself up, swallowing the wince as he went. In front of him a hologram of a skeleton illuminated. Certain bones and areas were highlighted red.

"See here, your ribs got hit hard, a few broken. Clean break luckily. Abrasions, bruising, a few cuts and gashes. Things are just not healing quickly. It's not a poison. It's something else." You looked over at him as he placed his feet on the ground. His face scrunched in pain but he didn't say anything.

You rolled your eyes, a soft chuckle leaving you.

"Eh? What's so funny?" If looks could kill those red eyes of his would throw real daggers at you. You shook your head and held up your hands in defense. "Nothing. You are just as stubborn as they say."

Doors opened and Izuku walked in. "Oh Kacchan! You're up. Shouldn't you be resting?"

'Tch. Shut up." Katsuki started to walk out the doors but Midoriya stopped him. "Where are you going?"

Katsuki just glared. "Home? Where else?"

You laughed. "Home? You are a little far from home my friend."

Large metal shutters started to open on the opposite side of the room revealing a vibrant and lush landscape. "Welcome to Wakanda Katsuki." Your smile was wide as you stared out in awe of your homeland.

Katsuki felt his attitude towards you soften from the way you looked out at the world with awe. Even the bubbly personality you had in light of his rudeness, the sarcastic and teasing tone that went with it.

"Anyway, let me show you to your room.

Izuku had bid his farewells and katsuki followed you just down the hall from the lab to the next set of doors into a tasteful apartment. "You can stay in here, close to the lab so I can keep an eye on you. I'll have you in the lab daily to check on ya and figure out what is the causing of this lack of healing but get some rest for now. You're gonna need it." You smiled and left the room.

Once it was clear you were gone Bakuguo made it to the bedroom before laying down and groaning against the pain he was trying to hold in.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Rise and shine fire boy!" Your voice rang out as you threw open the large curtains in the bedroom.

Katsuki groaned, covering his head with a pillow. "Buzz off."

"We have things to do, c'mon. Meet me in the lab." You tauntingly patted the pillow over his face and walked out. In the moment Katsuki was thankful for the pillow in the moment because it covered the smile that forced it's way on to his face.

He slowly but eventually made his way into lab. You hovered over a table with something half melted on it. The closer he got he realized it was his grenadier bracers. "Hey! Don't touch those!" His temper rose as tried to move towards you threateningly but the pain that spiked from his ribs cut his rampage short.

You looked up at him with a smile. He hated how it smoothed the rage over. "Relax, relax. I cannot break it more than it already is. I simply want to make them better. It's interesting technology but - mine - is better." You strutted back to the console from the previous day. "Lay down. I want to take another scan."

Katsuki glared at you. You huffed putting your hands on your hips. "What's the problem?" He didn't like people bossing him around, telling him what to do but he did like the ay you were matching his attitude. Everyone usually got mad at him, told him he was rude or stubborn and to get over it but so far you had not expressed a single complaint about him. You just shot back whatever he dished out and, he liked it.

He smirked. "Nuthin'." and laid back down on the table. He watched you as you focused. He noticed the way you were biting the inside of your cheek as you focused. It was cute.

"Hm, well. Whatever it was has worn off. Damn. You seem to be healing properly now. The medication I gave you seems to have finally mended the bones. I wanna check something else though." You walked up to the side of the weird platform he laid on. "Lift up your shirt."

His eyes went wide. "What?! No." You rolled your eyes and laughed. "I need to see the bruising and I need to check under the bandages. Relax, Kats."

He felt the tension slip away at the nickname you used. He internally scolded himself but reluctantly lifted his shirt above the bandages. You examined intently, placing a couple fingers along the bruises and pressing. His skin prickled at your touch. "Oh, sorry, hands are probably cold." You pulled away, rubbing your hands together quickly to warm them up. Except that wasn't why his skin got goose bumps. It was just your touch - soft and delicate. You pulled at the bandage revealing what would have been a wound. "Ah. Healed. Nice." You pulled away completely and walked to the console again. He pulled his shirt down and slowly sat up. "Well I'd say you will be healed completely and back to full strength in a matter of days. However, I would like to take a look at your suit maybe make a few adjustments."

"Sure, whatever." He slouched where he sat, looking out the large windows that were now uncovered. "I could show you around if you like? Wakanda has a lot to offer." Katsuki shrugged, pretending to feign disinterest but in reality he wouldn't mind spending more time with you.

He had followed you out of the lab. He responded in grunts and huffs as you led him around but your mood never changed. He liked it when you smiled at him when it came to rooms you really enjoyed such as the large conservatory filled with lush plants.

Eventually you came to a stop. "Well, that's most of it. I can take you back to your room if you want. You should rest some more."

He scoffed, his hands in his pockets and he side eyed you. "I'm fine."

You smirked. "SO does that mean you want to continue?"

He shrugged again, feeling a heat come to his face. "Sure, whatever. I don't care." You hummed at him. "Right."

So, you continued day after day. He followed you around the grounds, through fields and forests. As time went on he slowly spoke more. You teased each other, bantering in a way he was unable to do with anyone up until this point. People took him too serious, took his jokes or insults too serious but you didn't. You kept up with him and sometimes even left him without comebacks.

It was one day that finally got him, he couldn't take the feelings that were bubbling up inside him. It was the way you stood over his bracers, nimble fingers toying with them, the way your eyebrows furrowed as you tested it and it didn't work out as planned. Katsuki didn't even realize he was staring.

"I know you are there Kats. I don't bite.... usually." You sing song voice echoed out as you winked at him over your shoulder. He felt the heat that rushed to his face, but scoffed instead trying to hide the smirk that threatened his stoic face.

"What'cha doin' anyway?" He stepped up beside you, his skin brushing yours. He hated the way he wanted to just get closer. "I just uh-" You stopped short, needing to concentrate. Katsuki smiled down at you but felt the need to cover it. "Well? What is it?"

You glared at him for his impatience, his scowl quickly dissipating into wide eyes as they flicked from your own to your lips and back up. He wet his lips in response. A soft smirk formed your lips. "Don't worry, not gonna break anythin'."

He hummed at you, watching you rewire and rework the bracers. "How's your injuries feeling anyway hm?" You didn't look to him as you spoke but his eyes never left your form. "Oh, uh..." Truthfully he felt fine now but he knew once he was better he would have to leave Wakanda, leave you. "Still sore and uh painful, yeah, hurts." He tried to speak with conviction even going so far as to hold onto his rib as if it ached.

You side eyed him and held back the smile that played at your lips. "Well I guess you'll just have to stay longer then won't you? I can't send you away when you are still in so much pain. Right Kats?" The sarcasm that laced your voice was playful but it went over his head. "Yeah, yeah, painful and sore. Right." He nodded his head long trying to convey seriousness.

You poked him right in the rib where the injury had been but he didn't even react. "Looks painful you're right." You tilted your head as you looked up at him. His brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before his brain fog of just thinking about you touching him cleared and he realized what was actually happening. "That hurt."

You smirked at him. "I'm sure it did. I guess you really will have to stay. Hope that's not a problem."

He licked his lips, staring at your own again. "Hmm, ya i guess I'll have to make it work somehow."

He'd make it work. He didn't care if it took another injury. Getting closer to you was the only thing on his mind right now.

[obetrolncocktails]

Scarlett | Vampire!Danny Wagner X f!Reader | Part 1

Warnings: Stalking, Murder, witness of murder, heavy gore, intense depictions of murder/dying, smoking, alcohol consumption, gaslighting, compulsion/mind-control, magic, foreboding/uneasy tension.

Work Count: 4093

A/N: I've never written something quite this spooky, so I hope you guys enjoy! I present to you, Vampire Danny!

Summary: Danny' has spent fifteen-hundred years on the prowl, using and discarding thousands of bodies once they've served their purpose. There's no use to give feeder's personalities or learn about their lives. Since being turned, people hold little to no significance except to feed upon. It's the blood that matters. And, as much as he tried, animals never satiated his thirst. The truth is the truth. Humans always taste better. Be careful or you're next...

Her blood pounds through her veins, the sound of it in my ears like rushing water through a broken levee. I can sense her presence. Somewhere in this city, she lives innocently, unaware that I know of her, though I don’t know her name or her history. If you believe in destiny like I do, I listen to the ether and whatever draws me to my subjects. 

She is vivacious. I can feel the energy licking over my body with naive vitality, and I know. I know that it’s her I must find, that I must possess. 

My veins burn as if exposed to capsaicin, the throbbing ache launching me from this emptying parking garage to move deeper into the city to find you. To watch you. To want you. I take one last glance at the darkening cityscape before lowering myself into my corvette. The sky lunges into dusk, and I know that time is of the essence if I hope to find you tonight. I use my senses to pull me through the piling traffic. I take back roads, taking turns using my intuition to guess who you are, and where you may be spending time.

You’re young.

I can sense it easily in our connection. Good. The young ones are my favorite, and they taste the best, too. I feel my canines lowering as I fantasize about you, the sharp fangs scraping against the meat of my lower lip. I enjoy the sensation, feeling most like myself when I can let my mind wander, igniting my adopted instincts. I feel my eyes focusing harder now, my awareness intensely heightened. 

I never liked the city lights. To me, they’ve always been one of the more annoying inventions since the Industrial Revolution. The one thing they do provide for me, though, is the distraction, especially in a big city like this one. It’s ironic really. You’d think ample lighting would keep darkness from invading, but it’s quite simple. Bad things happen to good people no matter what. It’s a vicious cycle, but even put more simply, it’s called strategy.  I’ve known for fifteen-hundred years that with a keen sense for human nature and with just enough charisma, you can do almost anything and get anything and anyone you want. Marquee lights and logos pull gazes upward while I strike from behind. They never suspect me. 

✠

“Scar, what are you waiting for? Get your ass in here, ” one of your best friends, Jordan, practically yanked you inside of the nightclub. Something in the air felt sinister, and though you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what it was, your attention was still drawn to the darkness beyond the brightly-lit sidewalk and entrance to the nightclub. A loud, muffled beat thrummed through your body as you stepped into the large room, deafening your ears to nearby voices. The room was equipped with fog machines that casted a thick, low-hanging blanket of smoke. Bright lasers sliced beams of light through the haziness from one end of the venue to the other. From where you stood, the room was electrified with what seemed like every color of the rainbow. Somehow, though, aside from the laser show, the room itself was not brightly lit. What seemed like hundreds of bodies touched, groped and danced on the floor as you waded through the narrowing walkway. 

“Grab my hand!” Jordan shouted over the music. You weren’t quite sure what she had said, but you took her hand anyway, letting her direct you through the crowd toward the dance floor. So many people this close to you made you feel extremely claustrophobic, but you silently attempted to push the feelings aside in hopes that you’d reach a pocket of open space shortly. Then, the same feeling that previously flooded your body was back again–the feeling of something watching, as if you were its prey. No one would understand what you were experiencing, and hell, you felt stupid for being so paranoid. As your gaze flicked up toward the bar, a strike of energy surged through your body, searing your vision with blinding light. Every inch of your body felt like it was burning from the inside out until you opened your eyes. 

And there he was. 

A man stared at you. Into you. From where you stood, you were frozen in place, staring into his eyes while people jostled you about. 

“Move!” A disgruntled man growled at you, shoving past. 

“Sorry…” You muttered distantly to him in apology. The man who stared at you from the bar was incredibly handsome. So much so that his beauty seemed otherworldly–like if you dared to look away from him, you’d never experience that type of attraction again for as long as you lived. He sat with a confident stoicism that struck you as being out of place, as if he were a moving statue brought to life out of a world-famous art museum. He was tall and muscular, but not overtly so. His hooked nose was Romanesque, curved in an aquiline shape. His dark hair coiled neatly around his face, making him look more like a Roman God than some unassuming man in a club. His eyes were dark and sinister and as they swept over you, it felt as if he had stripped you bare and could see all of you at once–your entire life, your family, your aspirations, your deepest fears and greatest desires. You were pulled out of your trance when Jordan tugged on your hand. 

“Hey! You’re in peoples’ way. We have to move in deeper–” she shouted, but you protested. 

“Wait–” You spun to look back at the man through the cluster of moving people, and when you did, he was gone. You whipped your gaze around, trying to process where he could have gone so quickly, but when you saw no evidence of his presence or his exit, you forced your legs to move forward with Jordan toward the DJ. 

“D-Did you see that?” You called after her. She turned her head toward you, but her face scrunched with confusion. 

“What?” She yelled over the music. 

“That man!” You said, rushing up closer to her. “He was staring at me.” Jordan shook her head and shrugged. 

“Probably thought you were hot as fuck!” She grinned, her perfect teeth glowing purple under the blacklight overhead. You offered her a thin smile in exchange. “Maybe you should go talk to him!” She said, beginning to move with the music. She pulled you close so she wouldn’t have to shout anymore.  “Rachel should be here soon. I’ll dance with her instead. You suck at it, anyway.” She smirked at you with a wink and released your hand. “Go! Have fun and be safe. Keep your phone on you at all times.” 

The freedom to find the mysterious man felt exhilarating, and though you wouldn’t admit it to Jordan, his gaze filled you with fear, but also with unexplainable longing. “Okay,” you told her. “Are you sure?” 

“Go! Get railed or something,” She chuckled. “Oh wait,” She paused, reaching into her bag. “Take these, just in case.” She reached for your hand and opened it, tucking in two condoms. 

“Jordan!” You gasped with a wide grin. 

“Have fun!” She winked, and filtered deeper into the crowd without you. A wave of anxiety rolled over you as soon as you were alone. The music continued to pound in your ears, and for a moment you felt quite inebriated though you hadn’t taken a single sip of alcohol yet. 

✠

For hundreds of years now, I’ve been able to cloak myself within plain sight, only revealing my true identity when my subject is within seconds of death. Others that have known me more...intimately, have usually served as my feeders. I’ve had men and women in my bed throughout the last fifteen-hundred years, many of them truly incredible lovers, but unfortunately, they’ve all ended up dead. Turns out I have very poor impulse control. I’ve gone to mortal therapists, and they’ve all told me the same thing, besides being a psychopath of course, that I’m a narcissist. I beg to differ. I believe in hedonism. I desire the finest things in life, and being immortal just gives me more time to enjoy it all. 

 I make eye contact with you and know that I’ve ensnared you, though you aren’t aware of it just yet. Those beautiful bright eyes staring back at me like a deer in headlights. It’s not hard for me to return your gaze. I feel no anxiety, only determination. I shake the ice in my half-empty old fashioned and consider how the rest of my night will progress. Seems as I’m just getting started, I abandon my drink and hunt, knowing you won’t leave without finding me. 

My eyes roam in and above the crowd, looking for loners–people with nowhere to be, and no one to wait for them back at home. I lock my gaze onto a young man who looks to be about my age. He’s wearing thick glasses, his hair slicked back awkwardly. He looks out of place and anxious. He holds his arms close to his body like he’s used to being viewed as an annoyance to others. Why is he here? I ask myself silently, but given that I don’t have any context, I choose to follow him instead. I like it that way. He’ll end up dead soon enough, either way. In the time being, I’ll write my own story of his life, knowing very well how it will end. I feel my fangs begin to scrape against my bottom lip, and I know that I must feed soon. 

I follow the man further into the dark venue and realize he’s heading toward the bathroom. Perfect. I round the corners silently and trail him into the back, dimly-lit hallway. Back here, the noise is minimal, which makes it important to stay quiet. I’m quick, but the only way to stop people from screaming is to kill them, and I’m not interested in compelling an entire night club to forget everything. I watch as the bathroom door swings shut behind the guy, and, taking one quick look behind me for anyone watching, I disappear into the bathroom behind him, hoping I’ll get a lucky break by no one else being in any of the stalls. 

Sure enough, he’s the only one inside. Standing at the urinal, he unzips his pants and relieves himself, and, being the gentleman I am, I let him finish as I pretend to use the urinal beside him. I do not look at him. I wait for him to zip up his pants and turn toward the sinks before I lunge for him, reaching to sink my teeth into his perfect neck, directly into his jugular. 

“What the fuck?!” He shouts as I bite down, his hands darting upward to attempt to peel me from him, but he can’t. He is powerless under my grip. I siphon the blood from his veins quickly, feeling my body becoming revitalized with every passing second. He still manages to scream loudly, and, in the moment, I should have regretted being lazy and choosing to not compel him before feeding. I make eye contact with him through the reflection in the mirror as he looks up with horror. He’s realized that I’m all over him, my face and neck covered in his blood. He also knows that most likely, he will die. I can’t help but grin. 

“If you keep screaming, you’ll be dead in the next thirty seconds,” I warn him. He doesn’t listen, of course. They never do. 

“Fuck you!” He screeches, kicking against me with all of his might. They never learn, I tell myself. With a wicked grin, I reach just under his jawline with both hands, and mercifully, I throw my hands upward, decapitating him easily. It’s a shame. I watch his body fall to the floor, his face still wide-eyed with terror. His mouth still moves as I watch the life drain from his mortal eyes. Blood spurts everywhere, in every direction, and I lament over the waste of a meal. I drop the head to the tile floor, watching it roll away from me. The floor pools with delicious blood, and, if I didn’t have standards, I would have saved every drop for myself. 

Someone is coming. 

I turn slightly over my shoulder as I hear the hurried footsteps. Wiping my mouth with my forearm, I turn toward the door. And there she is. 

As beautiful as any creature I’ve ever seen, I watch her eyes widen and her jaw drop as she takes in the scene in front of her. It’s actually quite comical to think about, and I wonder if she’s ever seen this amount of blood at one time. My hands are covered in it, my leather jacket practically dripping from crimson spatter. 

“Oh my God! What the fuck!?” She screams at me, her face draining of all color. And just like that, she’s on the run, prey in the eyes of the hunter. 

✠

You weren’t sure how your feet kept up with your body in the moment. All you could remember was seeing so much blood. The man that caused it all was the same man that was staring at you earlier from the bar.  You knew better than to rush through the crowd again, knowing you’d get stuck on the way out. Instead, you booked it toward the employee only area and searched for a service entrance. You turned to peer over your shoulder far too many times, because you knew he’d be searching for you, and like the dead man in the bathroom, you knew that you’d be his next victim. 

“There you are,” a man’s voice slithered into your ears as you landed on the pavement outside of the club. You realized instantly that you’d made a grave mistake by choosing this back exit. Now, no one would bear witness to your murder, and even worse, you doubted anyone could hear your screams over the noise of the club. He leaned casually against the brick wall of the building across from you. His face was shadowed in darkness. You froze in place, horrified to even ponder how he’d beaten you out of the building.

“I have a knife!” you warned. “Stay away from me!” In truth, you had nothing to defend yourself, but figured it was better to lie than to die. 

“A knife?” He asked matter-of-factly, pushing himself off of the wall. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, placing it between his lips. “Want one?” He asked, tilting the box in your direction. You flinched, stepping back. He lifted one hand to his mouth to shield from the wind as he lit the end of the cigarette. You could see the drying blood on his hands. “And what exactly do you plan to do with that knife, darling?” He asked, taking a long drag of his cigarette, the cherry glowing bright red.“Surely not to stab me.” You stood in place, trembling from head to toe. You flitted your gaze from him over to each side, considering how to exit. “You poor thing,” he teased, his voice wafting through the air like velvet. His tongue clicked  “You have no idea, do you, hm?” You watched as he took a step forward toward you, and you jumped back. 

“Don’t!” You shouted at him. 

“Don’t do what?” He asked slowly, cocking his eyebrow upward with curiosity. He was devastatingly beautiful, and though what you saw in the bathroom filled you with terror, something inside of you considered staying, even though your intuition should have told you better. “What are you scared of, little one? Why aren’t you running?” He asked with a knowing grin.  

“I–I–” You stuttered, your eyes darting left to right as you considered where to go. “You’re gonna let me go?” You asked him, your fist bunching at your sides. 

“Run along before I change my mind,” he responded matter-of-factly. 

As quickly as you could, you sprinted down the dark alleyway away from him, the gravel crunching under your shoes as you ran. And then he was in front of you, smirking. When he opened his bloody mouth, you saw the fangs as they glimmered under the street lamps.

“Too slow,” he almost sang. You halted in place, and considered turning to run the other way, but as you spun on your heel, he launched forward, clawing at you with his arms outstretched. In his clenched fist, he caught your ponytail and looped it around his fingertips, yanking you backward, where you landed on your back. The force knocked the wind out of you, and your scalp ached from his grip. 

“Don’t–” you begged quietly, your voice sounding foreign as it left your mouth. “Please.” 

“Don’t worry, Darling,” the man said, lifting his gaze to look into your eyes. You watched as his pupils dilated, and then returned to their normal size. His gaze pierced through you as if altering your brain chemistry. 

“You’ll forget everything that happened to you. You drank too much. No one touched you. You will go back to your friends, and you’ll forget what you saw in the bathroom. You’ll forget me once I finish feeding.” His hands gripped tightly around your body as he spoke. His face was crusted with dark blood, and even so, he possessed a haunting  beauty that unsettled and awoke something that lay dormant in your soul for your entire life. Feeding. He said feeding. Before you could process, he lunged forward and pinned you against the earth. An unearthly shriek exploded from your lungs as his fangs sank into your neck. In a moment of inexplicable clarity, you felt every sense ignite, your entire body burning from the inside out with literal flames licking off of your skin, illuminating the dark and grimy alleyway. Your scream morphed into a deafening howl that made even your ears ring. The roar that left your body initiated a moment of pure power and supernatural defense. In a moment that seemed to last a lifetime, you felt your entire being morph into something otherworldly, siphoning all of the energy in the atmosphere to harness this incredible, volatile power. Your captor hissed and yelped from the burns searing his body, yet he still hauled himself on top of you. An incredible calmness overrode your terror, and with simple instinct, you lifted your hand to your side, and closed your eyes, manifesting the man’s image in your head. The scene played out in your mind before it happened, and once you were satisfied, you opened your eyes, your powers having run their course, ripping his body off of yours and leaving him floating high in mid-air in the middle of the alleyway. 

His eyes widened in surprise, but not necessarily from fear. They had shifted from a deep shade of chocolate brown to that of molten gold, his hair spiraling around his head in glorious display. He was terrifying, yet inarguably captivating; and yet, you were the one with power now. In one motion across your own throat with the tips of your fingers, you manifested that you’d slit his throat, and, just like before, you watched as your power took hold and echoed the command upon his neck, slicing one deep, fatal gash from one ear to the other. You watched the blood messily pour from the gash, spilling onto his clothes, down his arms, off of his body and onto the pavement below, painting it bright crimson. You watched with relaxed determination as he began to gurgle and choke on the blood, his eyes becoming half-lidded with weariness, his body beginning to convulse and seize where he hung. Power filled your body with dignified confidence, and in the moment, you didn’t worry once about the blood. You wanted him dead. Annihilated into dust.  

Looking down at your hands, your mind began to return to that of human instinct. Your sudden lack of compassion had disturbed you as the power leached from your grasp.  You’d grown up having powers—you knew you had them, but it had been years since they’d appeared, and even so, you’d never been capable of harnessing this much energy before. It hadn’t been unusual for you to be able to make certain objects float, or make things move on their own. You’d kept this gift to yourself all of these years, never revealing the truth to anyone. This instance, however, was something very new, and, without a single drop of alcohol in your system, you knew two things were true. You were sober and that this was very, very real, and the man hanging in the air above you was most definitely not human. 

You lifted your gaze up at him, half-expecting him to be dead. And when you did, he opened his eyes, smirked, and then laughed. You watched as he spat the blood dismissively at the ground before he straightened easily and stopped trembling from feigning death and began to cackle as if he’d seen something incredibly amusing. When you made eye contact with him, he grinned widely, his teeth painted deep maroon as blood dripped out of his mouth and off of his chin. His fangs glinted off of what little light was expressed from the street lamp on the path behind the club. 

“Wow,” he finally said, scoffing. “I don’t know what I expected, but it sure as fuck wasn’t that,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Color me impressed!” You watched in horrified confusion, speechless as to how the man hanging in front of you could still talk, let alone breathe.  Peering down at your hands, you silently questioned how you were able to defend yourself from him. 

“What are you?” You asked him maliciously, balling your fists at your side. You watched as he casually crossed his arms across his chest. 

“I could ask the same thing about you, sweetheart.” He smirked widely, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are you a witch?” He asked. 

“I–I  don’t know,” you answered defensively. “What are you?” You asked again, venom laced between every word. He huffed a chuckle through his nose.

“You haven't figured it out yet? I took you as being much smarter than that, Scarlett.” Your attention snapped upward as he said your name for the first time. 

“How the fuck do you know my name?” You asked him, practically hissing as you spoke. 

“Was it a secret?” He asked, his lips turning upward in a smug expression. 

“Who the fuck are you!?” You shouted lifting your arm in front of you, ready to will your power back in place. 

“I’m Danny. Daniel if I’m in trouble,” he answered simply. “Friends call me Danny.” He spoke as if he’d sat down for a cup of coffee with you. How could someone so malicious and evil be so careless? You let silence drift for a few moments. “Let me walk you through it, Darling,” he sighed. “Can you let me down first?”

“No!” You answered immediately. 

“Do I still scare you?” He asked. “It’s the fangs, isn’t it?” You watched as he opened his mouth, noticing the prominent canines that protruded into sharp points at either side. Then suddenly, they morphed back into normal, human shape. “And the blood?” He asked. “You can use your witch powers to clean it off, can’t you?”

“You’re a fucking murderer,” you hissed through your teeth, squeezing your hands into fists at your side. “I’m not doing shit for you. I should call the police.” 

“Honey, if you wanted an aftershow, you really should have just asked. I’m hungry anyway, and, while I was about to feast on you, I don’t prefer witch blood.” 

“I’m not a witch,” you spat at him. He chuckled menacingly. 

“And I’m not a fucking vampire.” 

With as much power as you could muster, you closed your eyes and imagined him being slammed into the earth. Hard. You turned and prepared to walk away before opening your eyes and letting it be done, hearing a loud thud on the ground behind you. Something in you had shifted, the terror morphing quickly into amusement, a wide grin plastered across your face as you walked away from him, listening to the moans and groans that escaped from his body as he picked himself up from the pavement.

End of Part 1.

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[lumiolivierlithium]

In Another Life

Series: One Piece

Word Count: 5153

Rating: T

Pairing(s): ZoSan

A party at Mihawk's (or his desperate attempt to socialize his protege) takes a strange turn when Zoro hears a piano upstairs.

(I've also never written One Piece fic before. Please be gentle.)

Zoro never saw any point in the large, lavish parties.  Nobility or not, Zoro didn’t understand Mihawk’s appreciation to peacock himself.  And for what?  To show off?  To make connections that he’ll ultimately break?  Of course not.  Mihawk had a difference reason for this particular party.  Mihawk was to hold…a flesh auction of sorts.  Not for money or anything like that.  To see his young protégé finally not mope around their villa another summer.

“Do we have to do this, Mihawk?” Zoro whined as he went through yet another suit fitting, “Can’t I just sit this out?”

“No,” Mihawk stood his ground, watching the tailor’s hands work quickly, “You’re going.  Like it or not.”

“I’m leaning toward the not part.”

“Zoro,” Mihawk groaned, “How long has it been since you even knew what a woman looked like?”

“I’ve seen women before,” Zoro rolled his eyes, beyond irritated with him, “It’s not like I’m a stranger to people.”

“Then, why do you always act like it?” Mihawk asked, “Zoro’s too good to be around other people.  Zoro’s always going to be off by himself.  Zoro would rather be alone playing with his sword than having someone else play with it for him.”

“Can we not be disgusting?”

“Can you simply humor me for the night?” Mihawk ordered, “It’s not like I’m asking you for a vital organ, Zoro.  I’m asking you to actually socialize.  Locking yourself away isn’t good for you.”

“Do I not see you every day?” Zoro pointed out, jerking at the pin prick in his hip, “Ow!  What the hell?”

“I’m so sorry,” the tailor winced.

“Don’t make it a habit,” Zoro let it go.

“I’m serious, Zoro,” Mihawk insisted, “You need to be more socialized.  You’d be amazed at what a little elbow rubbing will get you.  Consider this another lesson.”

“You teach me in the ways of the blade,” Zoro reminded him, “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Then, consider it a bonus,” Mihawk did his best to hold his composure, but the thought of running Zoro through with his own blade gave him much temptation.  But then, it dawned on him.  What had Zoro so antisocial.  But he needed to guide the conversation in the right direction, “Why do you refuse to make any connections?”

“I don’t need them,” Zoro blew him off, idly staring into the mirror in any other direction but his own eyes.

And that’s when all of Mihawk’s theories made sense, “Is this about Kuina?”

Zoro’s jaw tensed up at the mere mention of her name.  The last time he ever truly got close to someone.  His grief tightened up in his stomach.  And he shot a piercing glare at Mihawk, “You had no right.  You had no business bringing her into it.”

“So, it is a Kuina problem,” Mihawk shooed away the tailor and sat at the edge of Zoro’s bed.

And without hesitation, Zoro drew his blade from its sheathe.  Even when being poked and prodded at by the tailor, he wouldn’t be caught without it on him.  He held the tip of his blade in Mihawk’s face, “I said, you have no business speaking her name.  Drop it.”

“And what have I always told you?” Mihawk lowered Zoro’s blade, “Don’t draw your blade unless you intend to draw blood.  Calm yourself.”

Zoro wanted his blade to taste blood.  To let the iron fortify the blade even more.  But he conceded and returned his sword to its sheathe, “I stand by what I said.”

“As do I,” Mihawk assured him, “You will be there.  And for a change, you will be socialized.  Do we understand each other?”

“Please, Mihawk,” Zoro begged, “Don’t make me do this.”

“I’m not making you do anything,” Mihawk got up from the bed and started walking out, “I’m merely saying you’re going to be there.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“I’m not putting bamboo splinters under your fingernails, Zoro,” Mihawk started walking out, “You’ll live.  It’s just one night.”

The moment the door closed, Zoro threw himself into his bed, hoping to get in a quick nap.  Yeah.  It’s just one night.  Easy for you to say.  You’re used to this garbage.  Hopefully, I’ll be able to get in a drink or two.  Or three.  The prospects of the evening started to sound a little better.  Mihawk usually does bring out the top shelf booze for this.  Maybe it won’t be so bad.  As long as he’s not lining them up for me, we should be fine.  Zoro stared up into the gilded ceiling.  Maybe tonight won’t be so bad.  And slowly, Zoro started to drift off. 

But then, night fell over the palace.  And the staff were abuzz with party preparations, decorating, showering the palace in all the lavish furnishings and fabrics Mihawk insisted upon.  And of course, Mihawk oversaw everything.  From the colors, the textures in the drapery to the food left out for the guests to help themselves to, nothing would be put out without Mihawk’s seal of approval.  Which brought him to his next task.  Quite possibly the most important one he had.  Making sure his flight risk protégé didn’t prove himself a flight risk.  Alright, Zoro.  Where have you run off to?

Mihawk checked the gardens, the stables, the library, the study.  Zoro was nowhere to be found.  But then, he realized who exactly he had been looking for.  And the one place he failed to look.  Mihawk trudged upstairs and knocked on Zoro’s bedroom door.  And was met with silence.  I know you’re not napping at a time like this, Zoro.  At least you better not be.  Mihawk didn’t bother with the invitation and walked into Zoro’s bedroom.  Sure enough, still sleeping like a baby, Zoro continued to drool on himself, ever so slightly.

“Oh, Zoro,” Mihawk let out a heavy sigh of exasperation, “You’re lucky I don’t want you dead.  Get up.”

“Mmm…” Zoro rolled over, ignoring Mihawk entirely.

“You know,” Mihawk sat at the edge of the bed, “I have you mostly pegged as a flight risk.  But I should know better.  And truly, that’s on me.  Because why would you run from tonight’s party when you could simply sleep through it?”

“You’re letting me sleep through it?” Zoro mumbled into his pillow, “Thanks, Mihawk.  I knew you’d understand.”

“Zoro…” Mihawk growled, “If you’re not awake, alert, and fully dressed in the next hour, I am taking all of your swords and running them through different parts of your body. Do you understand?”

“Alright!” Zoro snapped, reluctantly rolling off his bed, “I’m up.  There.  Happy now?”

“Quite,” Mihawk praised, “Thank you.  Go on.  Your suit should be finished and in the closet.”

“Wonderful,” Zoro dragged himself toward his bathroom.  But he made a quick stop at his closet, noticing the garment bag hanging in it.

“You could’ve chosen any color under the rainbow,” Mihawk pointed out, “And yet, you decide to go with black.”

“It’s simple,” Zoro took the hanger and brought it with him, “Is that a problem?”

“Not what I would’ve chosen for you personally,” Mihawk shrugged, “If I had my say, it would’ve been a deep red.  It’d suit you.”

“Black is good, too,” Zoro brushed him off and shut the door behind him.

Mihawk rested his head on his knees, beyond done with Zoro’s reluctance.  It still seemed like yesterday this sad boy begged at his knee to teach him the ways of the blade.  Better than what anyone had ever taught him before.  And how irritating he was then.  But the fire in those sad eyes got to him.  And Mihawk couldn’t tell him no.  His raw talent was too good to just throw away.  It needed to be nurtured and cultivated into something great.  However, it was a shame Mihawk couldn’t do the same for Zoro’s personality.  At least, that was how Mihawk saw it.

“Zoro,” Mihawk leaned against Zoro’s bathroom door, grateful to hear the bathtub running, “If you need anything, come find me.”

“What about the house staff?” Zoro asked, already slipping into his bath water.

“They’re busy,” Mihawk insisted, “You find me directly.  Alright?”

“Fine,” Zoro shut his eyes again, doing his best not to fall back asleep.  But he knew sleep would elude him.  He had bigger things on his mind.  Why would Mihawk be so hellbent on me finding someone at this party?  Is he really getting that sick of me?  I thought we were good.  It’s not like he’s asking me for a kidney.  I guess I’ll suck it up for the night.  It’s just one night, right?  Unless I have to sit and deal with whoever ends up finding me tonight for the rest of my life.  Ugh…Just what I need.  I can’t just have a good night with some decent booze, can I? 

As time passed, Mihawk took one last look at himself in the mirror, appreciating what he saw.  Because there’d be no way that at the very least Mihawk would go with a cold bed tonight.  However, this party wasn’t for him.  And as he walked down the hall, he kept his fingers crossed.  Please, Zoro.  Don’t tell me you went back to sleep.  Tell me you didn’t continue your nap in the bathtub.  Tell me you’re fully dressed and ready for this party.  Because I don’t think my heart can handle you still being in shambles. 

“Zoro?” Mihawk didn’t even bother knocking.  He just walked right into Zoro’s bedroom. 

Where Zoro had come out of the bathroom, doing his best to figure out how cufflinks worked, “You call for me?”

“Thank God,” Mihawk let out a sigh of relief, getting an eyeful of his prodigy.  Although, he couldn’t help himself, “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to put these damn things on,” Zoro continued his struggle, “How does anyone put these on?”

“One cufflink at a time,” Mihawk took them away and pulled on Zoro’s sleeve, “Honestly, Zoro.  Have I not taught you better?”

“In a perfect world,” Zoro grumbled, “This shirt would’ve had buttons on it like I asked.”

“But,” Mihawk stood his ground, “I told them purposefully to leave the buttons off because of the cufflinks I got for you.”

“You didn’t get those for me,” Zoro pointed out, “You won them in a poker game.  That I watched you cheat at.”

“You get my point,” Mihawk hushed him, “Is this the kind of attitude I can expect tonight?  Because I’m not canceling.  There are already guests arriving.  And you’re not going to embarrass me.”

“Do forgive me,” Zoro rolled his eyes, still wanting no part of this.  Unless it had a proof on it.

“Zoro,” Mihawk begged, “Please.  At least try to have a good time tonight.”

“Fine,” Zoro caved, already with his eye on a good sake.

“Thank you,” Mihawk finished off his cufflinks, “Now, go downstairs.  Go meet a nice girl.  Call it a night.  Will that be so difficult for you?”

“Probably not,” Zoro walked out of the safety of his bedroom with a sword on one hip and two swords on the other.  Because he wasn’t going to leave without a little piece of Kuina on him.

Once he made it to the ballroom, Zoro established a nest.  Granted, he knew he wasn’t going to be at one of the tables in the back.  Oh, no.  That meant going unseen.  The head table was where he’d be.  That didn’t mean he couldn’t still make his nest.  He had a bottle of sake for the table and his favorite bottle opener.  Carefully, he ran his blade along the cork and started drinking.  Although, the sudden pop caught some attention.  Zoro knocked the bottom of the bottle on the table, tipped it toward the ceiling and got his first drink down.  Just a little something to take the edge off.  And he could tell right then and there.

This party would be his hell.

The last thing he wanted to do was sit and listen to Mihawk talk shop with the other nobility.  He didn’t care how their businesses were doing.  He didn’t care about their personal lives.  None of that interested him.  If the goal was for Mihawk to find a lovely young lady to keep Zoro warm for the evening, the bottle of sake was a much better place to look.  No one was even worth Zoro giving them a chance.  He just wanted to spend a little time alone.  However, at the height of the party, Mihawk wasn’t going to let him leave so easily.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mihawk grabbed Zoro’s wrist.

“Bathroom,” Zoro brushed him off, “If that’s alright with you.”

“Fine,” Mihawk stopped him, “It’s funny, Zoro.  I haven’t seen you with anyone all night.  In fact, you’ve hardly strayed from my side.”

“Maybe you should’ve invited better guests,” Zoro played it off like he didn’t care, but he was bored out of his skull and he wanted nothing more than to…use the bathroom.  Yes.  The bathroom.  Just as he told Mihawk.

“Or better yet,” Mihawk growled, “Someone else should be a little more personable.  I asked you one thing, Zoro.  And I need you to come through on that.”

“So,” Zoro groaned, “Do I get to go to the bathroom or not?”

“Go,” Mihawk let him go, “Maybe you’ll sober up some.”

“Yeah,” Zoro walked away.  Wouldn’t that be a damn shame?  He couldn’t stand it anymore.  He wanted nothing more than to escape that party the second he stepped foot in it.  The ballroom was abuzz with activity, with people dancing, with people talking.  It was maddening.  And Zoro wanted nothing more than some peace.  And if he had to retreat to the bathroom to get that peace, then so be it. 

However, on his way, the faint sound of a piano caught his attention.  The band played in the ballroom, but none of them had a piano.  It was oddly soothing.  The only room with a piano in it was the drawing room and it was a rarity anyone was ever in there.  Regardless, Zoro followed the sound.  Because anything was better than the overcrowded party in the ballroom and going back to Mihawk.  And someone had to have been playing it.  Zoro would finally socialize the way Mihawk wanted him to.  And then, Mihawk wouldn’t have a reason to throw a tantrum.

The closer Zoro got to the piano, the faster it played.  He just wanted Mihawk off his back.  But he kept a tight grip on his sword hilts.  Faster and faster, the piano played on.  Zoro couldn’t even recognize the song.  But once he got to the piano, no one was there.  Zoro scratched his head.  Where the hell was that coming from?  I know I heard a piano up here.  It’s right there.  So, who was playing it?  Regardless, Zoro knew there was someone up there.  There was someone who wandered away from the party.  And no doubt with Mihawk’s treasures in mind.  So, he drew his blade.

“Show yourself,” he called out to the empty room.  And yet, silence.  Zoro looked all around the piano.  Still nothing, “I said, show yourself!”

And yet, the still silence remained.  Zoro sat on the bench, still not sure where the music came from.  He put his fingers to the keys.  Where was it coming from?  Am I finally losing it?  There was a piano playing in here, right?  Clearly, there’s a piano.  But who was playing it?  Zoro let it go and rested his head on the keys, letting out a messy chord.  Whoever it was, at least I get some peace and quiet for a change.  I told you already, Mihawk.  This party was pointless.  I need the rest more than I need to socialize.  But just as Zoro sat back up, a sudden chill ran through his head.

“Soft…” a voice echoed through the mostly empty room.

“Who are you?” Zoro stood up and drew his blade, “Show yourself!”

“Soft…” the voice spoke again, “Like moss…”

“I said, show yourself!” Zoro spun his blade, waiting for someone to show up, “I won’t ask again.”

“I heard you the first time,” the voice moaned, “I can’t help it.  I’m shy.”

“Then, tell me who you are,” Zoro looked around for where the voice was coming from and yet…There was no one there.

“I guess it’d be rude of me not to talk to you face to face,” the voice finally took form on the piano.  A man, “You’re easily worked up, mosshead.  Did you know that?”

Zoro had seen a lot in his time.  But never did he see someone apparate out of thin air, “Where the fuck did you come from?!”

“Thank you for proving my point,” he laughed, “Like I said, you’re easily worked up.  And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you just saw a ghost.”

“I…” Zoro blinked a couple times, still coming to grips with what he just saw, “I…Are you a ghost?”

“Unfortunately,” his incorporeal legs dangled over the edge of the piano, “I am sorry if I startled you.  But your piano was too pretty to pass up.  Do you live here?”

“Last time I checked,” Zoro backed away, “I’m almost positive there’s a priest downstairs.  You need to go.”

“No…” the ghost begged, “Please.  I don’t want to go yet.  I heard the party downstairs and…It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a good party.”

“Who are you?” Zoro asked, “There’s no way you’re just some random ghost that busted into Mihawk’s house like this.”

“Mihawk…Mihawk…” the ghost thought it over, “No.  Sorry.  Not ringing any bells.  But you think I could see?”

“See what?” Zoro scoffed, “Mihawk’s sham of a party?”

“Sham?” he wondered, “What makes it a sham, mosshead?”

“Would you quit calling me that?” Zoro rolled his eyes.

“And I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours,” the ghost laid on his stomach, his elbows up on the back of the piano, “Deal?”

“Why should I tell you my name?” Zoro argued, “I’m not the one who lured me up here.”

“Did you like it?” the ghost asked, “It got a little heavy toward its end, but someone was coming and I figured I’d get out as much as I could.”

“Not really my thing,” Zoro brushed him off, “It’s Zoro, by the way.  Roranoa Zoro.”

“Sounds like a mouthful,” the ghost rolled over to his back, “Tell you what.  If you bring me down to that party you say is downstairs, I’ll tell you my name.”

“That wasn’t our deal,” Zoro pointed out, “You said you’d tell me yours if I told you mine.”

“So, I’m renegotiating a little,” he shrugged, “Come on, Zoro.  Please?  I’ve been up here for a thousand years and I’d love to see a good party.”

“Have you really?” Zoro asked, “You’ve been a ghost for that long?”

“Not really,” he giggled under his breath, “I’ve only been like this for the last couple years.”

“And,” Zoro started to relax a bit more, sitting back down at the piano, “What happened?  If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I got stuck on a rock in the middle of the ocean,” he told him, “And I didn’t have anyone to come rescue me.  It was a long few months being out there, but now, I’m free.  I can come and go through here all I want.  And no one’s going to tell me no.”

“What if I told you no?” Zoro argued.

“But you won’t.  Do you know how I know that?”

‘How?”

“Because,” the ghost smiled, “You haven’t looked away from me for the last ten minutes.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you thought I was cute.”

“Please,” Zoro shook him off, “Why would I think that?”

“Because I am cute,” the ghost retaliated, “I mean…Come on, Zoro.  Look at me.”

“Yeah,” Zoro scoffed, “I’m sure you had all the ladies swoon over you in your living life.”

“You’d be amazed,” he got up from the piano, “Would you feel more comfortable if I was more tangible?”

“What do you mean?” Zoro looked at the ghost strangely, “You can do that?”

“Of course, I can,” the ghost’s translucency went away as he sat on the bench next to Zoro and held his hand, “See?  I’m just as solid as you are.  Truly, mosshead, I’m starting to think I’m the first ghost you ever met.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Zoro got up from the bench and checked the liquor cabinet.  And came up short, “Damn…”

“What?”

“I was looking for a drink,” Zoro told him, “But it looks like I have to go downstairs for that.”

“And I could come with you,” the ghost insisted, doing a little spin, showing off his dark, pinstriped suit, “It’s not like I’m not dressed for the occasion.  Please?  I just want one party.”

Zoro wanted to go back to the party like he wanted to be shot in his foot.  But his curiosity got the better of him.  All he wanted was to know who haunted the halls of Mihawk’s mansion.  And if that meant him going back to the party, then so be it.  But that would come with some stipulations, “If we go down there, are other people going to be able to see you?”

“Just as much as you can see me now,” he nodded, “They’ll also be able to feel me, too.  I’ll be just as tangible as anyone else in the room.  They’ll have no idea I’m a ghost.”

“And,” Zoro went on, “What will you being at this party entail?”

“I just want to go to this party,” the ghost fell back over the piano, “Is that so much to ask?”

“It’s one of Mihawk’s parties,” Zoro grumbled under his breath, “So, yes.  It is.  Fine.  I’ll take you downstairs.”

“Wonderful!” he hopped down from the piano, “Let’s go!”

Zoro knew he’d live to regret this night, but if it meant him having Mihawk out of his hair, he’d be alright with it.  And so, the two went back downstairs to the ballroom where the hustle and bustle seemed to only get bigger.  Zoro rolled his eyes at the spectacle.  Great.  Just wonderful.  And yet, he looked over at the ghost, who couldn’t have been more thrilled to see such a beautiful ballroom.  The food, the string quartet, the people, the dancing.  It all completely swooned him. 

“Zoro…” the ghost took his hand, “Thank you.  I don’t think you realize it, but this is the best gift you could’ve given me.”

And in that moment, there was a strange tug in Zoro’s chest.  One that he didn’t know was possible.  But it managed to force a smile onto his face, “You’re welcome.  I’m glad I could do this for you.”

“And I know it’s making you uncomfortable,” the ghost took his arm, “But really.  It’s not going unappreciated.”

“Don’t mention it,” Zoro shook him off, “I’m going to go get a drink.  Can you do that?”

“I can,” the ghost nodded, “If it’s not too much trouble, cabernet.”

“What the hell is cabernet?”

“Oh, dear, sweet Zoro,” the ghost teased him, “It’s the one in the pretty black bottle.  Probably with a red label.  Says cabernet on it.  Maybe even Cabernet Sauvignon.  You can read, can’t you?”

“Of course, I can read!” Zoro snapped, “And now that I’m thinking about it, I brought you to your party.  You still haven’t told me your name.”

“My memory’s a little fuzzy,” the ghost sighed out, “Maybe a little red will bring it to light.”

Great.  This one thinks he’s funny.  I’m keeping you away from the actual clown here.  Regardless of Zoro’s opinions, he was still a man on a mission.  And there was a beautiful bottle of sake sitting unattended on the top shelf.  And next to it were all of Mihawk’s wines.  Zoro skimmed through the labels, hoping to find one that said cabernet on it.  Fortunately, a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon sat on the shelf.  He let out a little sigh of relief as he poured a glass for his new…friend.  Or the ghost that seemed to attach himself to Zoro.  And he knew the rest of the night would be miserable, so Zoro just grabbed the sake bottle.

“Here,” Zoro sat at his spot at the table and put the wine in front of him, “I got your stupid wine.”

“Mm…” the ghost picked up his glass and meticulously studied his wine.

“What?” Zoro scoffed, “Afraid I poisoned it?  You’re already a ghost.  Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a sadist?” the ghost assumed.

“I’m not a sadist,” Zoro took a heavy drink straight from the bottle.

“Fine, fine,” the ghost backed off, “But…I suppose I couldn’t trouble you for a dance, could I?”

“You said you wanted your party,” Zoro pointed out, “You didn’t say anything about me having to participate.”

“Please, Mossy?” the ghost begged, “If you dance with me, I’ll tell you my name.”

“Uh-huh,” Zoro rolled his eyes, “You also said you’d tell me your name if I brought you to this party.  And you’d tell me your name if I got you your wine.  Why should I believe you’ll tell me your name if I give you a dance?”

“Because,” the ghost rested his head on Zoro’s shoulder, “I asked nicely for that dance.  And I swear on my past life and my current one that I will tell you my name.  But you have to dance with me.”

Zoro hated his own curiosity.  But he wasn’t going to break.  Instead, he just got up from the table, “I’m going to go get some air.”

“Wait, Zoro,” the ghost called after him, “Don’t go.”

“Don’t follow me,” Zoro took the bottle with him, “I don’t need this party.  I don’t need the socializing like Mihawk said.  And I sure as hell don’t need to be jerked around by some fucking ghost.”

“Zoro…”

But Zoro was already gone.  Lost in the crowd.  He really did just need to get some air.  Something about the gardens were quite peaceful.  Zoro found himself under the gazebo and sat on the cold ground.  It’s just some damn ghost.  Why am I letting him get to me so much?  Zoro knew the reason.  Zoro knew exactly what it was.  And he hated himself for thinking it.  Because it meant proving Mihawk right.  It’s because it’s not her.  I would’ve thought if I had a ghost attached to me, it’d be Kuina.  Why?  Why does it have to be him?  I don’t even know what his name is.  Why is he getting to me this bad?

“Zoro…” a familiar voice floated through the air.

“I thought I told you not to follow me,” Zoro grumbled.

“I know,” the ghost sat with him, “Why’d you run off?”

“I had a lot on my mind,” Zoro kept cryptic, “I needed somewhere to make it all stop for a while.”

“If it was because of me,” the ghost took his hands, “I’m sorry.  I really don’t mean to jerk you around like that.  It’s just been a while since I had anyone do anything for me.  I liked it a little too much.”

“Oh,” Zoro let it go.  But there was a sense of peace in his thoughts again.  And the music drifted outside.  Zoro got back on his feet and offered the ghost his hand.

“What’s this for?”

“What else?” Zoro shrugged, “You did say you’d give me your name if I gave you a dance.”

“Oh?” the ghost managed to muster up a smile, “Alright.  But ask me properly.”

“What?” Zoro looked at him strangely, “What do you mean, ask you properly?  Do you want to dance or not?”

“Wow,” the ghost giggled a bit, “What a gentleman.  Hard to believe you haven’t been married off ten times over by now.”

“The sarcasm is not appreciated,” Zoro took the ghost’s hand and pulled him a little closer.

“Alright,” the ghost teased him, “I see someone’s not feeling shy anymore.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Sorry, sorry,” the ghost reveled in the feeling of someone else’s touch.  And in Zoro’s movements, “Hey…Mossy…Can I ask you something?”

“What?” Zoro started to relax a little more, the sake finally hitting his bloodstream.

“Do you think…” the ghost nestled his head in Zoro’s shoulder, “Maybe we met in a past life?”

“I don’t know,” Zoro spun him around, “Maybe.  How do you think we met?”

“I don’t know,” the ghost thought it over, “Maybe we met on a boat.  A big boat.  With a restaurant on it.”

“Maybe we hated each other.”

“But maybe…We didn’t.”

“What?” Zoro wondered, “You think we were friends?”

“I think we were more than that,” the ghost admitted, “But you have your thoughts of our past life together and I’ll have mine.  We’ll close our eyes and pretend like both are real.”

“Who knows if our past lives together are real or not?” Zoro brushed it off, “But…We got tonight, don’t we?”

“Zoro…” the ghost awed, “That’s the sweetest thing you could’ve said to me.”

“Don’t read too much into it.” But Zoro couldn’t take his eyes off the ghost’s.  So deep, so beautiful…And his face so soft and gentle…And the ghost’s slender hips against his own…And he found his peace.

In the silence, the ghost couldn’t help himself.  He knew there was no way Zoro would make a move.  So, the ghost moved into Zoro’s face, barely an inch away.  And to his surprise, Zoro pulled the ghost in for a deep, sweet, and tender kiss.  One that put everything into alignment.  And everything would be ok.  When he pulled away, Zoro still couldn’t believe it happened.  On his list of things that could’ve happened that night, kissing a ghost in the garden was not on it.

“Zoro…” the ghost’s voice broke, “You…”

“Again,” Zoro blushed, “Don’t read too far into it.”

“Fine,” the ghost couldn’t stop smiling, “Do you really want to know what my name is that badly?”

“After that…” Zoro admitted, “I don’t even care anymore, Ghost.  Tell me.  Don’t tell me.  But…I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to do that again.”

“Well,” the ghost rocked back on his heels, “What if I wanted to?”

“Then,” Zoro thought, “I guess I’d have to prove you wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

Zoro pulled the ghost back in, his kiss getting deeper, his tongue finding its way into the ghost’s mouth, “I can be a gentleman if I want to be one.”

“Is that so?” the ghost melted inside, “Why couldn’t I have met you in my living life?”

“Because,” Zoro pointed out, “Then, I would’ve had to mourn you twice.”

“Zoro…” the ghost gave him one last little kiss, “My name is Sanji.”

[hotwaterandmilk]

I'm still not well so this isn't going to be articulate, but I wanted to say something anyway.

In the wake of Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies (amongst other titles) being purged from streaming I've seen countless posts saying "This is terrible, we need to stop this practice -- they might purge a good show next!" and yeah, for sure a lot of titles being impacted by streaming purges/lack of physical media/a decline in archiving right now aren't going to be remembered for changing the world.

However, I think it is vital that we fight to preserve these titles for their own sake not just because "What if next time it's something we actually like?!" There is value is preserving things widely regarded as "bad" not just because I have firm beliefs about the absurdity of taste, but because who gives a shit if something is deemed "good?" Actual human people put their time and energy into realising these artistic visions. Even if the results are arguably not "good" or "popular", should the efforts of these artists be lost to the sands of time? No, no they fucking shouldn't.

I share a lot of art on this blog from titles very few people consider culturally important or valuabe. However, I don't look at the things I collect & share like that. Even some of the most objectively absurd titles I own are still pieces of art that were developed, published, and consumed by humans in the real world. Whether they've turned out to be broadly memorable or not is irrelevant because they existed and that in itself makes them worthy of preservation so that others can choose to familiarise themselves with them long after the original creative team is gone.

So yes, we should all be trying to preserve the media that's important to us and not let corporations try to stamp out every trace of a financial (though not necessarily artistic) misstep. However, it shouldn't take the threat of something we, personally, like being taken away to stir us into giving a shit.

Even the demise of less admired works should concern us and make us start to burn copies of Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies because it might not mean anything to you or I right now, but to some kid in 20 years it could be a seminal experience that leads them to follow their dreams. Or it could become a cult classic that people reflect on at watch parties years in the future. Or it could continue to be a footnote in the history of television that nobody really cares about.

Ultimately I don't think it matters what level of value we arbitrarily assign to media now or in the future, we should be trying to preserve as much of it as possible so that generations from now people can enjoy the option of engaging with these titles should they so wish.

[analogwriting]

Childhood Crush

Chapter 22: Bismuth

Killer x gn!reader word count: 2.3k a/n: got y'all two chapters cause it's the man's birthday, but who knows might fuck around and KEEP GOING next (end)

“What do you mean I have to fuckin’ drink this? It looks radioactive.” Eustass looked at you with pure disgust on his face as he held a cup of green liquid. You let out a hard sigh, looking at him.

“It looks like ass. It’s going to taste like ass. But I promise, it’s going to do a lot of good. It’s something I specially crafted.” 

You watched as he frowned, looking into the cup. He was sitting upright now, which was good. His injuries were healing well and almost didn’t need bandages at this point, so he could sit up without difficulty. “Just fucking drink it.”

“I’m getting there,” he snapped at you. Well, he seemed just fine. He was arguing just like he always did, so you weren’t going to complain. You were just glad to see him conscious. “I swear, I will shove a funnel down your throat and make you drink it if you don’t hurry-”

“Fucking okay!” Eustass quickly slams back the concoction you made for him. It was the smartest decision he’s ever made because you knew that shit tasted like ass so the quicker he downed it, the better. You watched as his eyes widened and he immediately started coughing. Luckily, he already swallowed it, so you didn’t have to worry about him spitting it out. You couldn’t help but snicker.

“That tasted like fucking ass! Are you trying to kill me, Bigs? Is this to get back at me for almost dying?” 

You put your hands on your hips and laughed loudly at his reactions. “No, but it is a brownie point, for sure.” You shook your head, taking the cup from him and setting it on to the counter across the room. “I did warn you that it wasn’t going to taste good.”

“I don’t think anything could have prepared me for how terrible that tasted,” Eustass grumbled. “You couldn’t make it taste any better? Aren’t you some groundbreaking scientist? Can’t even make medicine taste good?” You just chuckled in amusement as he grumbled, more or less, to himself. “Maybe I could, I just wanted to punish you.”

“I knew it!”

As things calmed down, you looked up at him from your clipboard. You followed his gaze over to where Killer was laying. You mirrored his frown, walking over to check on Killer’s vitals. He seemed to be healing up just fine, but something was just keeping him from waking up. 

“I did it, you know,” you said softly, not looking at your brother. You felt the air in the infirmary tense for a moment. “What?” His voice was laced with disbelief, soft.

You finished up checking on Killer before looking at your brother. His eyes were wide and his entire face showed the disbelief that was in his voice. “The reason I stayed in Wano? I did it.” 

Eustass looked from you to the bed where his first mate lay. “Well, why haven’t you given it to him yet?” 

You shook your head. “Not yet. I want to wait until he’s up and awake. I don’t want to overwhelm his body. He’s already got a ton of medicine pumping through his veins and his body is working overtime to heal itself. I didn’t want to add the antidote on top of it. Besides,” you paused, looking over to the unconscious man. 

“Right now that smile is a constant reminder that he is alive.” You looked back at Eustass. “You had your vivre card and he has that curse of a smile. Those are the two tell tale signs that you both are stable and okay. If someone with the SMILE fruit dies, their grins fade. And I…” You took a deep breath. “I had never been so relieved to see that dastardly smile when I found the two of you in the state I found you in.” You frowned.

A frown also settled into your brother’s face. The both of you were concerned about Killer - the whole crew was. Speaking of, you knew they should be waking soon. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, providing a warm glow to the room. “Better get ready, captain,” you mused, looking at him. There was a flash of something in his eye.

The look was much like that of when he came to you when you first set sail. He had been somewhat of a new captain and everything seemed to be going awry. It was doubt in himself. You walked over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed. He wouldn’t look at you, instead looking over at the floor. 

“Tungsten,” you said, voice softening. It was moments like this that you felt like you were kids again. Just the two of you, you giving him some kind of advice or instilling his confidence once more. It was when you took on the more parental role, consoling your little brother.

He still didn’t look at you. “What.” His tone was short with you and you knew he was going to be a bit more stubborn. “How about you tell me what’s on your mind?” 

“There’s nothing on my mind,” he said, trying his hardest not to look at you as your own eyes bored into him. 

“That’s a fuckin’ lie. Everyone says we’re ass at lying - it’s not in our genes. So, try again.” You narrowed your eyes at him and he finally looked at you with a scowl. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“Annoyance runs in the family,” you retorted and he rolled his eyes. He let out a long sigh, mulling over his words before finally speaking. “I got my ass kicked and our ship was destroyed. I don’t deserve the title of captain anymore.”

You looked at him for a moment, thinking about your next words. “Well, you have this ship and you’re not the only captain who has had his ass kicked,” you said simply with a shrug. You knew the way to deal with Eustass wasn’t pitying him or babying him, it was laying out facts. 

“You still have your crew who cares a whole lot about you. It’s only a matter of time before they pile in here, actually. I had to basically lock them out of this room because they didn’t want to leave your side.” You figured you’d keep the small detail of Heat and Wire pleading for his life secret for now. They could tell him that.

“But we don’t have the Jolly Roger either. We’re not a pirate crew anymore. The Kid Pirates are dead,” he mumbled. Seeing him so broken and defeated…it hurt. Your face softened and you looked at him for a moment, thinking. You stood up, leaving the room for a moment before returning.

“You mean this one?” You walked over, handing him his Jolly Roger that was folded neatly. He took it, his eyes widened. “But…wh-” He was stammering, flabbergasted. “How?” He finally spoke, looking at you.

You just shrugged, a grin on your face. It had actually washed up on the shore of the island they had been on. It was an extremely lucky coincidence. A sign that the Kid Pirates weren’t over just yet. A sign of hope. “Now, you have your Jolly Roger, a loyally devoted crew, and a ship. So, I’d say that you’re still a captain.” You grinned at him. “I’m manifesting that your vice captain is going to wake up and you also have me, the world’s best scientist.”

He just stared at you for a long moment, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to find the words to say. “You look like a fish when you do that.” His face immediately turned into a glare as you laughed. 

“Is that captain awake?” you heard from down the hallway. You looked over at Eustass and grinned. “They’re awaaaake.”

“Yes!” you shouted and there was suddenly a collection of footsteps rapidly running down the hallway towards the room. You moved as everyone piled in, dogpiling their captain. “Be careful, he’s healing!” But your cries fell on deaf ears. You let it slide this time. Eustass was mostly healed by now, it was just getting him back into moving around. 

There was a lot of crying and cheering. You took this time to slip out of the room to start cooking for the crew. You figured you’d make your brother’s favorite since he was finally awake. The kitchen wasn’t too far away, so you could hear their excited chatter from where you were cooking. 

--

“So, I’m all good?” Eustass looked at you from where he was sitting. He was on the edge of the bed. You had just given him a full inspection. You nodded. “Yeah. Just don’t go too crazy, but you’re good to start moving around. I’d give you a cane to help you, but I know you wouldn’t even use it so there’s no point.”

“You’re fuckin’ right there’s not. I don’t need a damn cane. I’m not old!” 

“It’s not even that deep. It’s literally to help you walk and it wouldn’t be forever. Just until you were used to walking again.” You rolled your eyes at him, turning to put some things away. His muscles had atrophied a bit since he was in bed for so long, so he was going to be stiff and struggle with moving around properly for a little bit. Sure, you moved them around while they were unconscious, but that only did so much.

You heard as he shifted to stand up, grunting a little bit. You so badly wanted to make fun of him for grunting like an old man, but held your tongue for once. “Like I said, don’t try to move too fast, alright?” You turned back around to see him doing some simple stretches and you sighed. “Careful.”

“What? I’m just stretching.”

“You’ll pull something!” 

“Shut your pus, I’m fine. I’m taking it easy, chill out,” he grumbled, stopping his movements. 

“It’ll probably be another couple of weeks before you can walk normally and about a month before you’re mostly recovered. You…really got fucked up there, Tungsten,” you said with a small frown. He looked over at you, shuffling towards you. He placed a hand on your head and looked at you.

“I…” You looked at him, blinking.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you mused, looking at him with a smug smile. Both of you were somewhat terrible at being serious and sappy, so you always looked to lighten the mood.

“You heard me, I'm not saying it again.”

“No, I don’t think I did.”

“Fucking, c’mon. You know this is hard enough.”

“I think it’s well deserved.”

Eustass groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry for making you worry, Bigs. You specifically told me not to go and get myself killed and I almost did and I’m sorry for that. There. Happy?”

You smiled up at him. “Very.” You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him gently, but firm. You felt him relax, wrapping his arm around you. “Just…please take care of yourself. I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if something happened to your brother. He’s been there since you were three. It’s always been the two of you against the world. Well, at least until the other three entered the picture, but for a long time it was just the two of you.

You pulled away, sniffling. “Alright. Take a lap around the ship. Carefully. You need to get used to moving around again. I’ll set up some simple weights to help with your arm as well.” You looked at him, putting a hand on your hip. “I’ve already given everyone else a firm talking to. So, they know not to push you.” You headed over to a closet, rummaging around.

“I need you to get used to moving around so gentle exercise is the way to go, but don’t push yourself. Take frequent breaks. Like I said, this ship is much smaller than the Victoria Punk, so don’t think it’s a large task, okay?” You presented him with his feathered cloak. “Put this on. The breeze is a little chilly and the last thing you need is a cold on top of everything else.”

He took the piece of clothing from you, putting it on. “You worry too much, Bigs,” he said with a sigh.

“I feel like it’s warranted.” You looked at him with a deadpan expression. 

“Fair enough.” He rolled his eyes, heading out of the room and down the hallway. In the distance, you heard everyone greeting him excitedly. You figured it was also time to do check ups for everyone. You were so focused on Eustass and Killer that you weren’t able to focus on much else. Yes, you did make sure everyone was healed up and taken care of in that sense, but they needed their routine check ups. You didn’t even get a chance to do that before they departed from Wano.

Wire making you sleep really helped set your mind straight as well, so you silently thanked him for that. You weren’t about to admit it. Like your brother, you were prideful.

You were standing at your desk, examining your papers when you suddenly felt a pair of strong arms slowly wrap around your middle accompanied by someone’s face pressing into your neck. You tensed for a moment before you looked down, realizing. Your eyes widened as your heart raced.

“K-Killer?”

[saintsenara]

Been reading through your ship asks and cackling at your responses for the better part of the last hour, so I thought I’d ask some of my own! Alright, here we go:

Sybill Trelawney/Barty Crouch Jr.

Molly Weasley/Sirius Black

Igor Karkaroff/Severus Snape

Great-Aunt Muriel/Arabella Figg

thanks anon, great choices. it's always a pleasure to meet someone with taste.

barty crouch jr./sybill trelawney

yes, one hundred percent.

we know that "moody" was committed to searching every teacher's office [such a method actor, he walked so lady gaga in house of gucci could run], and trelawney's was definitely given a thorough going over [behave] so that barty could report back to the gaffer that the prophecy wasn't just gathering dust in her filing cabinets.

and - well - she's starved for company, isn't she? it's the easiest thing in the world for her to suggest that they crack open a bottle of sherry and complain about what a knob snape is.

plus, she's canonically not very good at divination, so she's bound to miss that her tealeaves have arranged themselves into a red flag.

sirius black/molly weasley

obviously, the easy way round this pairing is to make it a sort of hate-sex thing, in which molly and sirius fire themselves up for a night of passion by arguing over who's right about harry. the easy-and-also-degenerate way round it is to connect it to sirius'... complicated relationship with his mother...

but a hill i'll die on is that this fandom really overestimates the tension between molly and sirius in order of the phoenix [and also, to be quite frank, that she's in the right...], and that their relationship can actually be explored really interestingly without the idea that they hate each other.

while we know that molly conducts missions for the order, her primary role in the period 1995-1998 is a domestic one. she's the person who is responsible for things like making grimmauld place habitable, or for feeding the collected members of the order. the importance of domestic and caring work within resistance and revolutionary organisations is really overlooked - because of misogyny! - but it's something which is absolutely vital to those organisations being able to carry out their aims.

and the series does actually show us this - even if unintentionally. order meetings frequently take place in the kitchen around mealtimes. the domestic spaces of grimmauld place and the burrow serve not only as organisational bases but also as centres of support and community for order members [tonks coming round to see molly for tea and sympathy; lupin being asked to christmas at the burrow; snape's refusal to eat with the order being considered further evidence that he's a prick, and so on]. the difficulty molly has with bringing grimmauld place under control serves as a metaphor for the order's struggle against voldemort.

which brings us to sirius during order of the phoenix.

one of the things i think is often overlooked when we think about sirius' depression and feelings of uselessness while he's confined to grimmauld place is that these stem from him holding the belief that the only viable way of helping the war effort is to take a combat role. one of sirius' great tragedies is that he's reckless and self-destructive - and part of how this manifests is that he can only see value in being someone who fights, who's out and about, and who's putting himself at risk for the cause. he's unable to consider himself useful to the order outside of that context - which is why he chafes so much against the idea that staying in the house and remaining safe is crucial work, in that the very fact of him living protects harry.

you can do so much with the idea that - once the kids are back at school - the only people rattling around grimmauld place all day every day are molly and sirius, and that she spends her time trying to chivvy him into recognising that the domestic labour she'd quite like his help with is really the only thing holding the rag-tag order together. he's not going to give a shit at first, but he can learn...

and food and love exist on both sides of a coin marked comfort, don't they?

igor karkaroff/severus snape

i mean, this one's basically canon, isn't it? karkaroff's always sneaking around trying to catch snape on his own in cupboards so he can have a look at his forearm-length snake [tattoo]. it's giving "hooked up once but only one of them realises it wasn't going anywhere".

arabella figg/muriel prewett

yes. they broke up when one of mrs figg's cats pissed on that goblin-made tiara.

[pettyprocrastination]

Tess and Joel having their will-they-won’t-they going on until one day Joel walks in on you and Tess making out against the wall and goes ‘hey >:[ ’ because he’s secretly wanted Tess for a while and thought he was obvious wants to kiss her too

big thank you to @madhyanas and @thesadvampire for being my lovely readers and @alwaysbethewest for listening to my senseless rambles about this amazing woman

pairing: Tess Servopoulos x Fem!Reader

warnings: Mention of death, foul language, mention of violence because its TLOU lmao

____

Nostalgia was a deadly thing. 

Tess learned this when she began smuggling six months after outbreak day. 

Military bases were strict on what was allowed and what wasn't; everything vital- medicine, spare clothing, food- was kept under lock and key with the threat of execution if anybody even thought about taking it. 

It started out of desperation. Sneaking extra pills to the parents whose daughter couldn't speak two words without her body shaking with a wet, rasping cough, snagging formula for the fifteen year old who had to take care of her four month old brother because her parents got gunned down on outbreak night and she’s all he has left, an act of kindness because Tess-Theresa was somebody with a bleeding heart. 

But overtime, it began to dry out. 

People didn’t stop asking- God no, they relied on her. But as time went on she began to set up prices. You want extra rations? Sure. Drugs? That’s fine. But it won’t come for free. She doesn’t slip past the guards every other month and risk getting bitten for charity. 

There were others, of course. Who slipped from the shadows after every sanitation shift whispering promises of “I can get you good shit, I’m reliable” to those far too exhausted to question them before slipping ration cards into their pocket. 

Which she didn’t mind. The QZ was big enough for more than a few businesses to take place beneath the glazed over eyes of FEDRA. 

As time went on, it wasn’t the necessities that people wanted from her. They got themselves used to living half starved, eating whatever rations they could buy with their credits earned from burning bodies and cleaning up rubble from every Firefly attack the week before and washing it down with water that always tasted a little bit like iron. 

They began to ask for small things. Weird things. 

“Can you find this book for me?” “I had this toy as a little girl, and I want it for my son, you think you can get it? I’ll pay whatever you want.” 

Things that weren’t necessary. Unneeded to survive in a world where the threat of death- be it by public execution of feeling your own body  turn against you and meld into the fungal-fueled cannibalistic hive-mind you’ve been running from for the past twenty years. 

But people didn’t want to survive anymore. 

They wanted to live. 

Hobbies, trinkets, CDs that skip on the same song every time because your kid scratched it a few weeks back but you don’t bother with getting a new one. 

Domesticity became a drug that nobody could say they weren’t addicted to. 

Anything that could give them a shred of the normalcy that they once had and took for granted before the world began to consume itself alive, rot and all. 

That’s where you came in. 

Tess wasn’t sure how you did it. What routes you used or what nights you snuck out from the QZ only to return the next morning with only a few bruises and a bag full of oddities to show for it. 

She asked you once, after seeing you proudly display a stack of vintage playboys on your rickety dinner table that you claimed were already set up for a buyer. 

All you did was smile. 

“You’re gonna have to take me out to dinner first if you want me to spill all my dirty secrets.”

But there was an agreement. A sharing of stock and profits each week that came with an understanding. Protection in the shape of the shadow that followed her everywhere and hardly spoke whenever you were in the same room. 

That’s why, when she first found the aged tube of lipstick, she thought of you. 

It was essentially useless. Most likely years past its expiration date and its label was rubbed off through years of sitting in a building covered in rubble and dust that kept it hidden from wandering eyes until she found it on her latest run with Joel. 

Somebody would buy it. A overworked mother in the QZ who spent her days working in the sun and the rot of the sanitation zone before going back home to a husband that ached just the same but still held her in his arms because they were all they had left. She’d shell out her hard earned money because it would give her a moment of relief where she could pretend she was still a housewife with three rambunctious young boys and a husband that despite his hemming and hawing loved it when she kissed him goodbye each day before he left for work. 

When she hands it to you in a trade-off, off-handedly mentioning “maybe you can pawn this to somebody” after you trade her hunting equipment that's old enough to have gone dull but still sharp enough to be sought after, your eyes go wide and you snatch it from her hands. 

“No fucking way.”

 Tess watches the look of shock on your face melt into pure joy at the plastic tube you held like a trophy. Realization dawns on her and she nearly laughs at your reaction to something so small.  “You used this shit?” 

“Are you kidding me? This was my fucking staple! I had one in my car, my bag, and in my bathroom back home.” You turned over the small tube with a smile she hadn’t seen before. Not one of that smug confidence you always wore, but one that held memories of the life you once had. 

“Crazy how small stuff like this gets through the cracks, right?” 

“You should keep it.” 

She shouldn’t have said that. Tess doesn’t keep merchandise, she sells it. She scrapes everything for a profit that's written down in a notebook so she can keep track to know who shorted her so she can get even but God- something about that look of pure unadulterated joy on your face made her speak out of turn and suddenly you looked at her like she had grown a second head and her face felt hot. 

“Oh, god. No I- I couldn't, really.” You attempt to hand it back to her but she holds her hands up in surrender.

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t. You had seen Tess send Joel out to scare those who ripper her off on bad deals countless times. Where he’d break their bones until they coughed up the money that was rightfully hers to the point where sometimes you’d look over your earnings in the dead of night just to make sure you didn’t have too much out of fear of the same happening to you someday.  

But she insists. A scarred hand pushes against yours and her eyes lock onto yours before skirting around the room. “Really-'' Her lips pull into a tight smile and the room feels tense, but maybe that was just you. She had that effect. “I don’t think anybody else would want something like this.” 

A lie. But one you accept nonetheless. 

You nod, fingers curling around the tip of red lipstick and feeling that smile, the type you can’t help, grow on your face again until it spreads to Tess and you're both smiling like schoolgirls that have shared a secret on the playground. 

“I uh. Thanks. I appreciate this.” 

Tess wonders what you were like before the outbreak. 

Were you always outgoing? The boisterous laugh that echoes in a crowded room and a smile that pulls people in even if they don’t want to. Did you wear this color- this deep crimson in the darkened corners of a restaurant while smiling at a stranger at the bar, pulling them closer until they are sitting next to you and offering to buy you another drink because they just can’t stop looking at you in that dress.

She imagines you putting it on in your bathroom mirror, back before the world began to eat itself alive. The counter of your sink is messy, but organized in a way that only makes sense to yourself. There’s a song playing from the hall and you absentmindedly sing-mumble the lyrics as you get ready for the day. A pet, maybe a dog- you seemed like the type, weaves between your legs and you reach down to scratch behind their ear before painting your lips red in the mirror. You’d pull back to check if any lines were out of place, running a finger along a smudge that dipped over your cupid's bow before pulling back and smiling at your reflection. 

There’s a small scar that begins at the side of your chin and swipes up to the corner of your lip. Has it always been there?

“You should put it on.” 

You whip your head towards her as if she has spoken another language. A silence settles over the two of you, she can hear the FEDRA guards outside shouting orders and the shuffling of feet from the floor above you both. 

It’s too close. She’s teetering over a line she hasn’t crossed with anybody, not even Joel. 

But where he holds her at arm's length, you welcome and challenge her further every time. 

“Really?” 

“Why not?” she shrugs. “It could be pretty.” 

Tess wonders if you were married. 

If there was somebody who wore your lipstick stains each night with a grumble as they wiped at their face, only further smearing your declaration of affection as you laughed by their side before kissing them again and again until they were rushing to unlock the front door and tug you inside behind them. Somebody you fell asleep with, curled under their arms and woke up to with bad breath and messy hair but you mumbled “g’morning” and kissed them just the same. 

Somebody you loved. 

Somebody you had a life with. 

Somebody you watched get ripped from your arms when the world turned to shit on September 26th, 2003. 

But none of it mattered, really. Who anybody was before the outbreak. Those people, the mothers and fathers, the soft spoken girlfriends and sweet neighbors who worked a 9 to 5 and went on date nights each saturday died when the cordyceps took over every body they found and the military gunned down each man, woman, and child in sight that couldn’t fit on base. 

“How do I look?” 

But she sees it- just for a moment. In your painted lips, ever so slightly smudged in the corner of your lips and the look in your eyes that makes her chest tighten in a way she hasn’t felt in years. 

Tess sees somebody she would have watched run the crosswalk on a saturday morning, a mess of hair and a crooked smile would just barely glance in her direction before vanishing into the crowd onto the sidewalk but would refuse to leave her mind for the rest of the day. 

When Joel returns to the apartment, he eats in silence as Tess tells him their next run will be in two weeks. Until then they have a stock of pills to sell and some additional supplies you handed off to last them for now. 

He says nothing about the faint red smudge on the corner of her mouth, nor the one peeking out from the collar of her shirt.