#this ship was such a huge part of my life for such a long time

[redtsundere-writes]

sukuna and servant!reader is so good!! looking forward to rescue more of them <33

Eyes On Me | Sukuna Ryomen

king!sukuna ryomen x femservant!reader

Sypnosis: Uraume can't play chess with the king right now, you must step up. Contents: Obsession, pining, kinda fluffy, mentions of blood and body parts. Uraume uses they/them pronouns. Word Count: 2404 words. Author's Note: I love writing this ship. People have been asking me to make this a series. I'll try my best lol I think you can still read them individually, but there's a preferred order.

Beginning. ← Previous |

Sukuna hates humans. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue, roses are red and Sukuna hates the disgusting creatures that humans are. He has so many reasons to hate them that he doesn't even know where to begin. Humans are annoying, weak, clumsy, but most of all, stupid. They make decisions without thinking through the consequences. They prefer to spend their money on temporary pleasures and end up bankrupt by not prioritizing their survival. They worry about unimportant things such as social status, religion, and traditions. Sukuna hates humans, but boy, are they entertaining. 

Sukuna tends to study his servants very carefully. Even though they only clean, cook and obey his orders to a tee, it was fun to watch them interact with each other. He finds it fascinating how the servants gossip in whispers, how the gardeners concentrate to prune the bushes well despite their hands shaking, or how the cooks taste the food several times so that it’s up to their majesty's standards. It was like watching dozens of filthy lab rats in the middle of a social experiment. Although… There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what they were doing. 

You had finished all the chores for the day and decided to help the cooks prepare dinner because you had nothing better to do. Your muscles were exhausted from having spent all morning cleaning the porcelain sculptures, the large frames of the paintings in the great hall, and the king's jewelry so they could sparkle in all their glory. You had been assigned the task of peeling potatoes, so there you were. Sitting at a table with a small knife, peeling potatoes while listening to the chaos going on in the kitchen. Uraume was busy preparing a special passion fruit tea for the king. The special coming from the water that was inked with human blood. Sometimes you wondered if Uraume had always agreed to cook with humans or was it something they got used to because of Sukuna's orders, but since they never talked about themselves, you never asked. 

“Fuck!” A cook yelled when the frying pan caught fire. 

Your eyes widened at the flashy flare. Uraume put the tea set aside to attend to the emergency. With some ice from their magic hands, they put out the fire in a jiffy, but left the kitchen a mess. They began to berate the cook with smacks in the head and curses for his ineptitude. The cook just apologized over and over again, but that wasn't enough for the head chef. 

“You!” Uraume called. You put your task aside to attend to their orders. “Take the tea to our king and tell him I will be with him when I settle this situation.” You nodded and took the tray carefully to go in search of him. 

After Sukuna gave you permission, you entered the library with the golden tray in your hands. The library was the coziest room in the entire castle. Its high walls were covered with huge bookcases filled with books, maps, and scrolls. There were long desks of works and hundreds of candleholders everywhere to enjoy reading during the evenings. He was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the game table, a small wooden table with a chessboard on top. The king was surprised to see you there despite having specified Uraume's presence. 

“I didn't ask you to come,” Sukuna said chidingly as you served him tea at a small table next to him. 

“Uraume had to attend to an emergency in the kitchen. They'll be here once everything is under control,” you replied as you set down the fragile cup of blood tea, adorned with small pieces of eyeball floating on the red surface to give it texture. 

Your gaze traveled to the chessboard, it had been a long time since you had seen the king playing. You knew from the other servants that he was a good player and only plays with Uraume or some brave guest. This was no ordinary board. You could see that each piece was handmade and had luxurious detail. The pieces were made of white quartz, the eyes of the horses were rubies and the crowns of the kings were made of jade. It was the most beautiful board game you ever saw. 

“Do you know how to play?” Sukuna asked out of curiosity. 

Being a servant, you surely had not received the same education as he did. Well, almost no one was on his level when it came to education. Sukuna was a master mathematician, a skilled debater and could threaten his enemies in 5 different languages. You hadn't been as lucky. You're good at cleaning, cooking and taking orders, but what else can you do? 

“Yes,” you answered with a smile. 

That answer surprised him quite a bit. Although chess was a game that was rapidly gaining popularity among the middle class, it was not a game for women. It was a game that required intellect, always thinking two moves ahead and knowing how to read your opponent. You didn't look like a girl who could do all that. 

“Sit down,” Sukuna ordered you. 

“I warn you that it may be a short game. It's been a long time since I've played,” you warned him as you sat down. 

Sukuna watched you with great attention. Your eyes scanned the board as if it was the first time you had ever seen one, your hands rested gently on your thighs and you smiled nervously. You may have known the rules of the game, but you didn't know how to play. The king took your word for it. 

“Ladies first,” he asked you to start.

“My pleasure,” you said as your dominant hand moved over the pieces to decide what your first move would be. 

Your father had taught you how to play. He always wanted a son to inherit the family business, but your mother only kept giving birth to women, so he had to resign himself to you. Your mother taught you how to be a lady so you could get married as soon as possible and your father taught you about the business so that your future husband wouldn’t take advantage of the family money. You used to sit in front of the wooden board and talk for hours after dinner. Your father may not have been the wisest or the most astute man, but he had left you a very important lesson: Always look people in the eye to know their true intentions. 

This was one of the few times you came face to face with Sukuna. Because of his title as king and the great difference in height, you were always beneath him, physically and psychologically speaking. You were a simple human, while he was a king with the power to get rid of whomever he wanted with a simple movement of his fingers. Although his presence made you feel vulnerable, you didn't resent him. You had a relatively comfortable life serving him, but sometimes there was a need for you to show him that you were more than a servant. This was a good opportunity to do so. 

Sukuna's eyes were not on you, they were on the board. His gaze denoted boredom. He was waiting patiently for you to make the first move. If you waited a little longer, maybe he would yawn. He overestimated you, you had to use that feeling against him. You moved a pawn to the C4 square, a common move among beginners.

“Finally…” He said in a monotone voice before quickly moving the knight to the F6 square. 

Each of you took turns to move the pieces quietly as time went by. You took your time with each move, while the king only needed to look at the board from time to time to know what to do next. You could take all the time in the world, but he would still eat all your pieces. Even though it didn't seem to be an interesting game, you could at least keep up with him. Sukuna's queen advanced towards yours, standing face to face. One false move and your king was in trouble. 

“Check,” you said as the queen retreated two squares diagonally, leaving her free to begin the attack on the king. 

At that announcement, Sukuna woke up from the trance he was in to concentrate on what he was doing. He smiled with satisfaction as he noticed the change in your body. Your hands had relaxed, your back was straight, and your eyes were glued to his. You knew exactly what you were doing. You didn't need to tell him verbally that you would destroy him at his own game, your eyes told him clearly. It was as if you were dissecting his soul bit by bit until you left him completely naked.

Your hands were interleaved with each turn. You moved quickly as you realized that Sukuna had already noticed your active presence on the board. Sukuna returned the queen to his side. An interesting move. It was wise to know when to back away, but you noticed one thing in his eyes. He had no plan, he just acted based on his understanding of the game. He moved like in real life, using only his killer instincts. 

“Check,” you announced again by moving a knight up. 

“Not so fast,” Sukuna told you before taking the horse that was threatening his king using a queen. You smiled as you saw that his majesty had fallen into the trap. By moving his pieces like that, Sukuna had fully exposed his king. 

“Checkmate,” you announced the end of the game as soon as you moved the white queen close to the black king. And only then, the poor maid defeated the almighty king. 

“Well, well...” Sukuna sighed in awe as he looked at the board with extreme curiosity. He couldn't be mad at you. He had let his guard down. You were playing even before the game started. 

There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what you were doing. Sukuna would always hyper fixate on you whenever he noticed your presence around him. You could be cleaning, chatting with your companions or eating some dried fruit in the garden, and he would still only notice you as if nothing else in the world existed. You were the most interesting human he had ever seen. Sukuna tried to look for a logical reason for his obsession with you, but he couldn't do it. You looked like a simple being with clear goals, but he was sure you were hiding something behind your perfect facade. 

Someone knocked at the door. Sukuna sighed, he wanted to be alone with you longer, but now was not the time. Uraume entered the room and was surprised to see you sitting with his majesty. Something strange had been going on between the two of you for months. They had even debated the idea of asking the king directly about you, but hadn't worked up the courage to do so.  

“There was an inconvenience in the kitchen. Sorry to keep you waiting, your majesty,” Uraume bowed in apology. 

“Lucky for you, you sent a good replacement,” Sukuna said before smiling at you in satisfaction. 

Uraume instantly understood just by glancing at the board. You had beaten the king, something even they could not easily accomplish. They could tell that he was looking at you like no one else. It wasn't a look of disgust or boredom, it was a curious look. Like that of a child looking at a group of kids playing in the playground, wondering if he could come over to play with them. 

“If you'll excuse me, I have to go,” you said as you got up to give the seat to Uraume. “Good game. It was a pleasure to play against you, my king,” you bowed. 

“Good game,” Sukuna whispered so you could leave the room. 

Sukuna and Uraume started a new game as soon as you returned to the kitchen to peel potatoes. They quickly noticed that something was occupying her majesty's mind. Their white pieces were eating his black pieces easily and his moves were slow compared to previous games. Uraume could tell that the game against you had changed the way he played.

“What do you see in her?” Uraume asked him after a move. 

“Am I too obvious?” Sukuna asked them before getting up from his seat to start prowling around the library to clear his mind. “What do you think of her?” He asked her as he stopped in front of the window to admire the land. The large green lawn stretched all the way to the intimidating entrance of his wonderful castle. 

“She is a dedicated servant and a perfectionist. She does all the chores in a timely manner. She is as good a servant as any other. The real question is: What do you think of her?” Uraume asked as they watched him from their seat. 

“She has potential.” 

“Potential? Potential for what?” Uraume arched their eyebrow at the confusing statement. 

“She has the potential to become a queen,” Sukuna replied confidently. 

Sukuna Ryomen was known among the kingdoms for being an unorthodox king. Not only because he took kingdoms left and right as if it were nothing, but because he has a strange way of ruling his people. He did not care about social classes, behavioral labels or unwritten codes of human coexistence. Everyone was inferior to him regardless of gender, race, or religion. He was the god of this new world and everyone had to obey him, just like that. 

The fact that he wanted to have a queen went far beyond just following the established patterns of classical monarchy. Sukuna must have a reason why he wants to have a queen other than just because, but there was a more important question on the table. 

“Your majesty, you can get any woman you want. You can get a beautiful woman, with more training and presence, why would you settle for a servant?” Uraume asked in confusion. Sukuna smiled. It was a good question. 

“She has something much better than that,” he answered before continuing the game as if nothing happened. Uraume looked down to see that Sukuna had checkmated them.

Author's Note: I poured my poor knowledge on chess for this lol I hope it makes sense.

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Masterlist.

[somelazyassartist]

Sometimes you just don't sleep for 3 days because you're too busy weeping over the fact that a 111 year old mail ship at the bottom of the Atlantic will probably completely erode within your lifetime. for fun

[marcsburnerphone]

And they were roommates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: that captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: some awkward moments but nothing crazy.

part 1 - Part two!!! - part 3 - part 4

—————-

You indeed did not see John price the next morning but what you did see was a handwritten note stuck to the fridge beneath a magnet.

“Good morning, as I mentioned my job is demanding. I’m not sure how long I'll be gone for but I can estimate at least a month. If you need me, my phone number is below along with my check for this month's rent and the next. - John price”

You reach for the envelope that is attached behind the note and pull it open and what the fuck. You knew he had to have money but in what world would someone pay this much rent for a house with a roommate? You immediately grab your own checkbook and write him for the amount that’s overpaid, making a mental note to make sure you give it to him.

————

Weeks pass slowly and life goes on as it did before. The only difference is you're no longer struggling to make ends meet. So to celebrate your success you order that 6 foot canvas you’d been wanting for ages and a new oil paint.

When you got the notification that it had arrived, thank god for two day shipping, you squealed and ran to grab it before the mailman even walked away. He offered to help you as he watched you give it a bear hug and waddle it through your door yelling out a meek ‘no Thankyou’. You dragged it down the hallway and into the sunroom resting it up against the wall. Ripping the clear plastic film off of new canvases comes in third place to the best things in life.

Sitting in the sun that evening you stroke deep blue oil paints that try their best to replicate ocean waters, and white specks that wish they could induce the same feelings stars do.

You’ve been at this same painting for 3 weeks, coming home and straight to it. Now that it’s finally done it sits sunbathing till it dries. You still visit it and admire its larger than life beauty.

John’s been gone for 1 month and 3 weeks now and in that time some problems have arisen, 1. The faucet in the kitchen leaks and below it the pipe also leaks and the only plumber that’s willing to drive out to your house and inspect it says he won’t be available for another week which means the water bill will sky rocketing till then. And 2. you have no idea where the huge painting will go.

You walk around wondering where to place it. You thought maybe the living room, or even in your room but after testing both those places it still didn’t look right. You can only think of one other place which is the hallway to John’s room. Of course that spot is perfect, maybe he wouldn’t notice since he only spent one night here. You grabbed the drill and got to work mounting it immediately. Once all was said and done you gave it a once over, smiled, snapped a picture of it to send to your sister and walked away.

———

John arrived back exactly at the two month mark early in the AM. He opened the house door as quietly as possible and removed his boots by the door to avoid the creaking wood of the floor and continued sluggishly hauling his bag to his room. Being the man he is, he notices everything, those watchful eyes of his never miss a detail so he does indeed notice and take a second to admire the newly found painting hung in front of his bedroom door before unlocking it to set his stuff down.

After a much needed and appreciated shower he reads the clock at 7AM thinking he can sleep for a little, that is of course until he hears a knock at the door. Making his way down the hall he peeps through the window and sees a handyman?

“Good morning sir, how can I help you?” He says opening the door.

“Good morning, your wife called for a leaking pipe, told her I’d come by sometime today.” He looks down the hall towards your room and confirms the fact that you're definitely still very well asleep.

“My wife? Oh yes my wife, that lady I could’ve sworn I told her to cancel this appointment we actually got it all sorted out.” He lies like it's second nature.

“I actually charge a late cancellation fee that must be paid upfront.” He inquires slightly annoyed.

“How much?” John replies feeling sorry for this man that drove out here and is now being sent away.

“100$ flat.” John shuts the door and quickly fetches his wallet from the pocket of his cargo pants and returns with two bills one for the inconvenience and sends the man on his way.

Sleep can wait.

—————

You wake up to the sound of clanking in the kitchen and as a woman that technically lives alone in the middle of the forest you're terrified.

Grabbing the bat beside your bed still fully dressed in the least threatening attire, you tiptoe to the source of the noise and breathe out the strongest sigh of relief ever known to man.

“Jesus Christ John you scared me, what’re you doing?” You loudly admit startling him in return.

“Fixing this pipe that you called an overpriced handyman for.” You stare at him subconsciously admiring the way he looks, slightly disheveled, face screwed in concentration and strong hands twisting the wrench in his hand and let’s not mention the rise of his shirt.

“You okay?” He says removing himself from under the sink leaning back on his knees to stare up at you.

“Yeah, yes I’m so sorry, um so where did the handy man go?” He stands with a grunt and leans his back against the counter.

“On his merry way.” He replies, turning around to turn the faucet on checking if it leaks, then off to see if it still drips and as he expects, it does neither.

“How much do I owe you for the late cancellation fee?” That man has handled your plumbing issues before and you’ve definitely canceled late more than once.

“Technically you didn’t cancel on him, I did so don’t worry.” He says picking his tools up off the ground placing them messily into the tool box.

“Well Thank You.” You say awkwardly.

“Of course.” He smiles making the dimples beneath his beard awfully noticeable.

“Oh and by the way your rent is only two thousand five hundred a month.” You say walking to the kitchen drawer beside him and pulling out a check that’s already filled out and handing it to him.

“Utilities included?” He asks, grabbing the check written out for three thousand and also taking in notice that same scent that clung to those sheets you made his bed with weeks ago as you sweep by.

“Yeah I don’t mind paying more cause I mean look around, this place has my style written all over it which makes it feel more like mine than yours.” He looks baffled at your reasoning.

“I actually like the decorations, not sure I’d change a thing about it.” You laugh at what has to be a lie.

“I doubt it.” You chuckle and slightly blush at his kindness.

“No I'm serious, I especially love that painting in the hallway, where’d you get it?” You seem surprised at the mention of it and even more flattered at the compliment.

“I actually painted it.” He gives you a surprised look.

“See you’re even hand painting the art, please I can afford much more than twenty five hundred.” You act like you're considering it for a moment.

“As much as I’d appreciate it, I'm already grateful for what you pay.” You say truthfully.

“Also, welcome home.” You quip before turning around walking back towards your room to get ready for the day

—————

John’s been home for nearly two weeks now and he’s slightly growing on you and you on him. You co-exist in harmony most times. That doesn’t mean the two of you still don’t clash from time to time.

“Good morning.” He says scrambling eggs in a pan as you walk into the kitchen reaching in the cabinet for a coffee mug.

“Morning to you too.” You say groggily, setting your feet flat on the ground and placing the cup on the counter, reaching for the pot to pour some coffee.

“If I can just- oh I’m so sorry.” He says accidentally bumping into you making the coffee spill on the counter.

“Oh no don’t worry about it, I can just clean it.” You say turning around quickly to go grab paper towels and end up accidentally running into his chest.

He grabs your shoulders to hold you in place and let your brain catch up with the speed of events.

“We will learn to both be in the kitchen together someday.” You affirm with a laugh that makes you feel alive.

“Hey the first week this happened almost everyday. If anything this is a huge improvement.” He jokingly abides.

“True.” You say as he turns around handing you the kitchen towel to clean it up. He watches you with amused eyes and a smile that still hasn’t left either of your faces and for a second something alights in John something that scares him so bad he doesn’t hear a thing you’re saying.

“John, I said did you sleep well?” You speak a bit louder, snapping him out of it.

“Yeah darling sorry I’m just going to take this to my office. I've got some work to cover.” He says hurriedly plating his food and scurrying off.

“Okay well I’ll be heading to work soon.” He doesn’t even let you finish before closing the door leaving you to stand there a little stumped.

“So I’ll assume he didn’t sleep well.” You say to yourself before pouring another cup and heading to your room to get changed.

——————

Comments and reposts are appreciated <3

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[idksmtms]

The Only Way... (District Mentor!Aemond Targaryen x Tribute!reader)

(first Aemond pic was found on tumblr and edited by @kyloremus)

AN: Huge shoutout to @valeskafics for inspiring my HoTD x Hunger Games stories. Without her, I would never even have thought to connect the two. Highly HIGHLY recommend her writing! - Also, yes, I did pick a random HoTD name for the male tribute, sue me - 

Summary: There were only two past winners from your district, and one of them didn’t even bother with his mentor duties anymore. But this year, for one last time, Aemond decides to attempt to mentor one of the tributes, not expecting how it would change his life. 

Word count: 6.5k

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, innuendo, slight age gap (I made the reader a couple years younger than him for story purposes), vague p in v s*x, oral f receiving, mentions of blood, discussions of death, discussions of trauma, discussions of disfigurement, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

Aemond Targaryen was reaped for the Hunger Games in his first year of eligibility. At 12 years old he had been shipped into the arena, and he had won. Though he had lost an eye in the process, he deemed it a worthy sacrifice for getting out alive. He had been responsible for half the cannons that sounded in the arena, had gotten his revenge for the eye taken from him, and had emerged the victor. He strongly believed the world was against him at every turn, (how else does one explain getting reaped and losing an eye?) but he knew that he was strong enough to fight back against fate. 

The first couple of years after his victory, he had attempted to mentor tributes alongside his own mentor, Rhaenys Velaryon. But each one had met their own gruesome end in the arena and eventually he had given up on his duties altogether, much preferring to stay in his home at the victor’s village with his family. 

It’s not that he wasn’t a good mentor, he truly believed he taught them a decent amount in the short time he had with them, and that allowed them to live longer than they would have without him, but they all lacked his ruthlessness. He had a certain cold-hearted quality that allowed him to kill without batting an eye in the arena, and he could happily admit to it. Every single victor had either gone in with that quality already bred in their veins or they had built it in the arena. He wasn’t sure which side he fell on, but he knew he possessed it. After two or three years of watching kids he had gotten to know, most older than him, die at the hands of others who had been just like him, he had gotten tired and decided to step away. He knew Rhaenys could handle it, she had been doing it much longer than him anyway. 

But this year, something felt different. Maybe it was the long speech his mother had given him about doing his duty, regardless of his own feelings. Maybe it was the thought that it was the last year of eligibility for his brother Daeron and he wanted to be there to ensure that if he was reaped he would at least have a mentor he knew. Whatever it was, he decided he would attempt mentoring one last time and do his utmost to make his tribute a victor. 

A part of him was worried to start showing his face in public again. Though he was used to his eyepatch and he didn’t shy away from venturing out of the house if need be, this would put him directly in the limelight once more after many years. Everyone in Panem knew he wore an eyepatch, everyone in Panem had seen the initial wound he had been dealt, but he had kept away from the scene for so long that he felt self-conscious about his appearance. People would stare, people would be horrified, and- and he would just have to deal with it anyway. 

On reaping day he put on his best suit, a beautiful two-piece made of fabrics of black and dark green and ventured into the square with his mother on his right arm and his sister on his left. He didn’t say a word to either as they entered the space and he left them to go stand near the back of the stage. Old memories of his own reaping day were flooding back in. The nervous energy that had thrummed through him, the sudden stillness of his body when they had called his name, his mother screaming and sobbing, pleading for it to be anybody else. Aemond closed his eyes and swallowed, ignoring the sudden pain that throbbed where his eye should be. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked across to where Rhaenys stood on the other side of the stage. 

She was staring out at the gathering crowd with a blank face. Her hair was neatly braided at the top then flowed down her back in a white similar to his own. They were relatives, somehow, he could never quite remember the relation. He could see the signs of age on her face now, the wrinkles around her mouth had multiplied since she had last been here with him. Her dress was a deep blue, matching her eyes, and covered her arms until her wrists. He knew she bore scars on those arms from her own fight in the arena, but he felt a bitter pang of jealousy at how easily she was able to hide them. He would never have that luxury. 

Aemond waited as the bustling died down and everyone was gathered in the square. He could see the lines of peacekeepers all over, their guns shining in the watery sunlight. He could see his brother standing among the men, a shock of white hair in a sea of brunettes and blondes. He wanted to smile at Daeron, to try and reassure him somehow that everything would be alright, but that was a lie and he would never be able to promise him that. Instead he looked away and began searching for his mother’s and sister’s faces as the anthem played and the formalities ensued. They were harder to find, but eventually he spotted his mother standing next to a girl in an emerald green dress. It was you. 

Aemond was shocked for a moment to see that colour in the crowd. Everyone else was dressed in varying shades of grey, with the odd yellow popping out from somewhere in the crowd. Even his mother was more unique than most by wearing a completely black outfit, but you stood out like a flare. The dress was made of some satiny material and shined in the light. It was a relatively modest dress, with a collared neckline and short sleeves, the hem falling below the knee, but it was so… green. 

Aemond stared at you, at your pretty hair and apprehensive eyes, posture straight but so tense he was sure your muscles must hurt. This must have been your last year of eligibility as well, he thought, you looked to be about Daeron’s age. Your name was populating that bowl, just as Daeron’s was, and he could understand the dread. You were so close to freedom, but if fate decided to be against you today, there was nothing you could do but face it. 

“Alright! It’s now time to pick one young man and woman for the honour of representing this district in the next annual hunger games! Our courageous young man will be…” the brightly dressed capitol man reached his hand into the bowl and began mixing it around. Aemond silently prayed to the seven that he would accept anything, even his name being pulled again, as long as it wasn’t Daeron. He didn’t want to see the pain on his mother’s face if her youngest child was reaped. He didn’t think he could stand idly by if they picked Daeron. “Jasper Wylde! Come on up!” There was a moment of commotion as people looked around to try and find the unfortunate boy and eventually he stepped warily out onto the path made for the tributes. The capitol attendant clapped happily but no one joined in, watching with morose faces as he walked up to the stage and stood beside the bowl full of male names. 

First Aemond breathed a sigh of relief. He truly did feel like smiling this time because Daeron was free. His family was finally free. They could live in their house in the victor’s village on his salary and die peacefully, a luxury. Then a wave of solemnity washed over him once more and he bowed his head slightly. He knew what it felt like to be reaped, he knew with what hatred that boy now stared at the bowl full of names, wondering why it was him and not the thousands of other names piled in there. No one should celebrate at this moment, a child was still being sent to his death. 

“And now, last but not least, the ladies…” the representative hopped across the stage and shoved his hand into the other bowl. He swirled it around a few more times than he did for the boys, then picked a piece of paper right from the bottom. He slowly peeled it open and you could hear the way the paper stuck together slightly in the silence. “Y/n L/n!” Murmurs again filled the crowd but Aemond knew exactly who it was. You were the only one that didn’t move. People began turning and looking but you stood still. His mother gently rested a hand on your shoulder, whispering something in your ear. You turned to look at Alicent then tipped your head down in a swift nod. Then, back straight and head held high, you stepped through the crowd and onto the path. 

You were a sight to behold. A girl in green striding down the path. A bright spot of paint on a white background. Aemond hadn’t realised his breath was held in his chest. Somewhere in the distance he could hear weeping, but you didn’t turn back. You stared at the stage and kept walking until you stood beside the capitol representative. It was only when you had gotten near that Aemond realised he could see your lip wobbling, that your hands shook like trees in a storm and tears made silent, shiny, tracks down your cheeks. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, here are our district’s tributes! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour…” 

In the time the tributes were given to say their goodbyes to their families, Aemond took the opportunity to make his own farewells. He had already said goodbye to his father and Aegon who had stayed behind at the house during the reaping ceremony. His father was too ill to leave the house and it was Aegon’s turn to stay behind in case peacekeepers came asking for the health declaration. Though Aemond knew this wouldn’t happen as they were all here, and it gave Aegon a good excuse to laze around the house. 

Helaena, Daeron, and his mother had been sad to see him go, though they took comfort in the knowledge that if no one else, at least he would return. Helaena shed a tear as she hugged him, making him promise to eat well and stay strong. Daeron’s goodbye was quicker, and he couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t want Aemond to see him upset or because he wanted to go celebrate his newfound freedom. He hugged Aemond quickly then dragged Helaena off to home, chattering to her about something or other. 

Aemond watched his siblings walk away then turned to his mother who watched him with sombre eyes. She was silent for a moment, then reached out and gently folded his hands between hers. She looked down at them then back up at him with a sniff and he wondered if she was about to start crying. 

“Take care of her, Aemond,” she finally said, voice quiet but firm. “Until the end, you must take care of her.” Alicent looked him in the eyes until he nodded before squeezing his hands lightly. She pulled him into a hug and gently rubbed his back. “She needs you, Aemond, and if anyone can help her, it will be you. Leave that boy to Rhaenys, hm? She can handle him, and he will do what he will regardless. But Y/n has potential to win. People may not see it, but I believe, and only you can get her there.” Alicent let him go and stepped back, blowing a kiss to her son and beginning to walk away. 

“Wait, mother-” 

“Time to go,” the capitol representative came up beside him and clasped his shoulder but Aemond was quick to shove him off. He couldn’t threaten a capitol citizen, but gosh was he close. 

Aemond still had so many questions for his mother but he was being herded toward the train and she had disappeared among the buildings. He let out a sigh of dejection and allowed himself to be brought onto the train, sitting down in the lavish room and pressing his head into his hands. The eyepatch was digging into his skin and he just wanted to rip it off and itch at his scars. But he couldn’t, because he didn’t want to look at what was underneath, and he didn’t want anyone else to walk in while his face was completely bare. So he pulled the leather away just slightly and scratched at the edges then let it snap back into place. He stared at the floor as he tried to sort out the pieces in his head and come up with a plan. He always had to have a plan. That’s how he survived his first games, and that’s how he would survive his last. 

The doors to the compartment opened and Rhaenys walked in, her dress swishing around her ankles. He stood to greet her and she smiled, a small dejected thing that was as pathetic as he felt. She walked over to the bar and poured herself a glass of sweet alcohol. He remembered the taste from his first train ride, sickly sweet to the point of pain then fiery as it slipped down your throat. One taste had been enough for his whole life. 

“I see you’ve returned to your duties,” Rhaenys said, voice full of mirth as she sipped from her glass. Aemond nodded, watching as she sat down on a plush velvet chair. He followed suit, sitting opposite her across an ornate glass coffee table. 

“Yes, one last time,” Aemond replied simply, turning away from her to stare out the window as the train began to move. “I have a request, concerning the tributes.” 

“Oh?” Rhaenys raised an eyebrow, lips pulling up into a smirk as she brought the glass to her lips to drain the rest of her drink. “Do tell.” 

“I will solely mentor Y/n, and you can take charge of the boy,” Aemond said, lacing his fingers together in his lap. 

“Why?” Rhaenys furrowed her brows and put the glass down on the coffee table. 

“It will be easier on everyone, focus all your energy on one tribute and do what you can to get them to win.,” he shrugged, as if the answer had been there all along. 

“Yes I know that, but why do you want to mentor her?” Rhaenys asked, and he went quiet, staring at her as he tried to think of his answer. All his mind conjured was the image of you walking to the stage, the green dress and the tear tracks. 

“I’m sure you see the potential in the boy. He has muscle, he has experience from the mines which means he already has the brute strength that can be honed with skill, but I see potential in her. I’d like to see what I can do with it.” He stared directly into Rhaenys’ eyes and sat up straight. 

Aemond believed what he said. If his mother saw potential in you, then so did he. He would do what he could to get you ready for the games, then he would do whatever he could to help you survive in the arena. The world was always against him, but if there was one thing he knew, it was how to survive. Now, he would make sure you did too. 

“Alright, have it your way,” Rhaenys shrugged, and this time Aemond allowed himself to smile. 

Aemond and Rhaenys walked through three train compartments before they found the tributes. You were sitting at the right wall on a purple velvet sofa, legs curled up under you, staring out of the window. Jasper was busying himself at the bar and the air was heavy with silence. Both of you refused to acknowledge the other, and Aemond cleared his throat to draw your eyes to him. You merely raised your eyes to them while Jasper made to rush around the bar as if they had caught him doing something he shouldn’t. 

“Oh don’t stop on our account, it’s only right you drink what you will before you die,” Rhaenys smiled genially, and Jasper had enough sense to look sheepish. “Alright, you come with me, I’ll be your mentor,” she pointed to Jasper then motioned for him to follow her before walking back out of the room. Jasper hesitated, looking around as if he was unsure what the protocol was, but Aemond just motioned his head to where Rhaenys had disappeared and Jasper jogged after her. 

The room was quiet again. You had returned to staring out of the window, and Aemond slowly made his way over to the sofa you were sitting on. He left a seat between you and sat down, only turned slightly toward you. You finally tore your eyes away from the landscape and looked at him and he could see how red and puffy they were. Red veins crawled over the whites of your eyes and your nose was shiny and a pang of something painful hit his chest. 

“Did you get to say goodbye?” He asked quietly, lacing his hands together in his lap. You nodded, gulping and opening your mouth once, twice, before a croaking voice spoke. 

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat before speaking again, “I only have my parents so… it was a quick goodbye.” Your lower lip began trembling and your whole face crumpled as you began to sob once more. 

Aemond had seen tributes cry before, it was normal, but not this much. By the time they got on the train they usually gathered themselves up and began trying to concoct a plan. But you, you seemed to be completely lost to despair. Your face was the picture of pain, and you brought your knees up to your chest and rocked yourself slightly. His mouth turned down in pity. 

“My mother bought me this dress,” you finally said through the tears, voice slightly blubbery and high-pitched as you began breathing in to calm yourself. You looked up to meet his eyes and he could barely make out your irises through your crinkled lids and the heaps of water pouring over your lashes. “She wanted to get me something special for my last year in the reaping and she spent a whole salary on the fabric. She toiled night after night, coming home from work to painstakingly stitch every piece together.” You gently caressed the fabric and smiled through the tears and somehow this sight was so much worse than the frown. Aemond’s chest clenched so tight he thought his heart might stop beating altogether. You let out a huff of a chuckle, a watery sound that was quickly followed by a sniffle as you pressed your hands to the fabric before looking up at him and directly into his eyes. Your own were open now, wide as they could go, serious as they could be. 

“I know I can’t win. You know I can’t win. Everyone who watched the reaping knows I can’t win. I’m a girl who’s only skill is dressing pretty. So, Aemond Targaryen, tell me what to do?” You looked at him in earnest, as if he held all the answers, and for a moment Aemond began to question what his mother saw in you. What was this potential she spoke of? All he saw was a weak little girl who couldn’t even be bothered to believe in herself. But then he remembered your walk up to the stage, the strength with which you had held yourself even while you had cried. Now he understood what his mother wanted him to do.  

“You think you can’t win.” He turned to fully face you and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “There’s more to the games than just surviving the arena. You’re good at looking pretty? Then you’ll survive the parade, you’ll excel at the interview, you’ll get sponsors and I’ll be able to help you for longer in the games with that. Not everything is about brute force and murderous intent. You’ll have some time to train before going into the arena, we can use it to teach you a few things. Don’t think about winning, just try surviving,” he watched you as he spoke, noting the way you seemed to breathe easier and your eyes seemed to lighten slightly. Your hands stopped trembling and you uncurled from around your knees, instead spreading your toes out over the plush fabric. 

“Ok,” you breathed out, “I can try,” you affirmed, nodding to yourself, and he allowed you a small smile before becoming sombre again. 

“I won’t lie to you, you will have to do things in the arena that will haunt you if you manage to make it out. The games are designed to turn you into an animal. Even if you go in there without the intention of killing, no one comes out unscathed. So, the real question isn’t about if people believe you can win. Are you willing to do what it takes?” 

Aemond had thought about all the people he had killed for a long time. He remembered every detail about them, from district and family history to what they had looked like the moment life had finally drained from their eyes. He often thought about his final victim, the only person he had gotten along with before they had entered the arena. He thought of the way she had grabbed his wrist and forced the knife into her own stomach, the way she had smiled as she fell to the floor, the eternal smile as the cannon sounded and her blood warmed his hand. The realisation that he was alone in the arena. 

When he saw the smile on your face as you wiped at your tears and brought your feet off the couch, nodding your head and repeating the word yes until you seemed to believe yourself, he thought of the final girl. 

When you reached the capitol, you were separated and attendants led you off to… somewhere. You were stripped bare and forced into a roiling bath filled with all sorts of serums and scents and oils. Your scalp was scrubbed until you could feel each individual hair follicle growing and your skin was pink. They cut and polished your fingernails and toenails and waxed you all over until your skin burned. You were moved onto your stylist who greeted you with kisses on your cheeks before whirling you around to scrutinise your body. He had a gentle smile, and conversed with you all the while you stood on a pedestal in the middle of his room. He told you about the dress he had made for you, all the jewellery available to you and how you had the next few hours to prepare yourself for the parade. 

You allowed yourself to revel in this one luxury. You loved to dress up, to wear fancy clothes and beautify yourself whenever you could. The opportunities had been few and far between back home, despite your parents doing their best to provide you with them. Even if you were going to die in a few weeks time, at least you could enjoy the luxuries offered until then. 

Ursa brought out a garment bag and one of his attendants rolled in three carts covered in jewellery one by one. Ursa hung the bag up right in front of you and zipped it open, to reveal the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. “I watched the reaping and just knew what I would make,” he whispered as both of you stared at it. You brought your hand to your mouth and stepped forward to touch the fabric. 

The dress was dark green, like leaves in the deepest, darkest, part of a forest. A sweetheart neckline with off the shoulder straps that led into long swaths of tulle that would flow behind your arms. Rhinestones were sewn into the fabric almost at random to look like sunlight falling onto the fabric. It had a long train that you knew would drag behind you on the ground and force the carriage behind you to keep at a distance. You realised how he wanted to single you out. The organisers would keep everything symmetrical, so the long gap behind you would mean there was a long gap ahead of you too. Spectators would be drawn to the sight of you two taking up so much space. You would be the centre of attention. 

Ursa helped you into the dress and set the sleeves for you as you gazed at yourself in the mirror. It truly was made for you, each measurement perfect. All the effort Ursa had put into this… you began to tear up but he just hushed you and began fussing over the jewellery carts. He suggested putting a tiara on you but you were hesitant. It felt presumptuous to already wear a crown at the tribute parade. 

“Darling,” he held your chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced you to look into his eyes. “Act like you’ve already won. Nothing else will make it easier, and nothing else will grab their attention more.” He slid the comb of the tiara into your hair and forced you to hold your head up high. 

In the next few hours, you were draped with necklaces and bracelets and rings. Just before you were helped up onto the carriage, Aemond appeared at your side. You looked up at him and for a moment he didn’t say a word. He just stared at you, at the dress and the crown and the whole picture of finery. You couldn’t read what was in his eyes and you looked down nervously, trying not to shuffle back out of embarrassment. 

“You look like a winner,” he finally said. 

When training started, your confidence began to wane. You watched all the other tributes heft axes, shoot arrows, slice swords or destroy dummies with their bare hands. You watched other tributes practice building traps or gain strength in their legs for running. It felt like you were the only one starting from rock bottom. You wanted to yell at Aemond, to say “look! Look at my glaring lack of ability! Whatever belief you had in me must be dead!” But everyday he came back, dressed in black athletic wear ready to teach you something new. 

He didn’t bother with any weapon bigger than a dagger, telling you it would only weigh you down. He made you run until you were sick for the first half of every day, then run some more. The second half was spent learning how to use the simplest of supplies to make traps or alarms. He would use rope or wire with a handful of leaves he had gathered from outside the facility. He taught you about plants and water sources and made you list every possible terrain and the best possible strategy to handle it before you could leave for the day. 

Despite the intense rigour with which he attacked your training, he was endlessly patient. He listened to every complaint before forcing you back onto the treadmill. He rubbed ointment on your fingertips after you cut them on the wire but made you rebuild the trap. He made sure you ate a full meal but quizzed you about everything he taught you while you sat together. And on the nights when you missed home, when the world felt like it was ending and your mind could only play the sight of your mother’s face crumpled with tears, the sound of your father crying, he held you and whispered stories of history long past into your ears until you slept. 

He had so quickly become everything to you. At times you thought about how only a little while ago he had been nothing but an image on a screen, a name whispered around town, and now he was your comfort, your nourishment, your whole life, your very soul. You tried to imagine doing this without him, and you simply couldn’t. You knew you would have given up a long time ago if he had not been there to carry you through. 

As the time to enter the arena crept closer and closer, the training got harder and harder. It was on a particularly difficult day that you returned from the facility and began rummaging in your closet for your reaping day dress. You hugged it as you slept sometimes, imagining that you could still smell the faint scent of your mother’s perfume on it. But it wasn’t there. You threw out every scrap of cloth that the capitol had provided for you, opened every drawer and pawed through every nook and cranny like a desperate mouse searching for food. It was nowhere to be found. 

Aemond heard all the noise coming from your room and decided to venture in to figure out what was wrong. He found you sitting on the floor in a pile of underwear and training gear, hair still wet from the shower and tears streaming down your face. You were sobbing quietly, shoulders hunched forward and body bobbing slightly with every hiccuped breath. Your hands were clenched in the clothes you were surrounded by and he could see the chaos that had occurred. Aemond knelt down beside you and gently unclasped one of your hands from the clothes. 

“What’s happened?” He asked quietly, softly touching each one of your fingertips where they were still red from working with the metal wire. 

“My dress is gone,” you whispered hoarsely, looking up at him with big teary eyes. You looked like a child then, the way Daeron had when he used to fall down outside the house and cry until mother soothed his cuts and bruises. Aemond reached up and collected a tear with his thumb. 

“They must have taken it for a wash, I’ll call down and find it,” he soothed, wiping the tear on his pants before repeating the gesture on your other cheek. 

You continued to stare up into his eyes, and he let go of your hand to cup your cheek. He moved closer until his nose gently touched yours. You closed your eyes and waited, feeling his breaths brush over your lips. You waited and waited but he still didn’t kiss you. You opened your eyes again and he was staring at your face with such pain, such sadness that it crushed something in your chest. 

Aemond had never felt such guilt for loving someone. He had happily loved his family and happily loved the one girl who had kissed him while they were still in school (though that had ended quickly). But here, with you, he felt the crushing weight of helplessness as he looked upon your face. He loved you, yet he could do nothing to get you out of this. He loved you, yet all he could give you were a few days, a few kisses, mere moments before everything was thrown into the air. 

You leaned forward and slid your hands into Aemond’s hair. You pressed your lips to his mouth and gently kissed him then pulled away. You did it once more, staying just longer than a peck then pulling back. Then he was kissing you, pressing his tongue into your mouth and leaning over you so your neck tilted back. The tip of his nose pressed into your cheek and he kissed your lips like they should be cherished. 

You pulled away and caressed his cheek, smiling then gently bumping his nose with yours. He smiled back, huffing out a sad little chuckle. You pressed your nose and mouth to his cheek and kissed him before mumbling against his skin. 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

It was your final night. Tomorrow you would be tossed in the arena and expected to survive for the entertainment of the capitol citizens. While you had done well with the parade, and people had immensely enjoyed your interview, you had scored appallingly low on your assessment. Aemond told you not to worry, that it was a good thing for people to underestimate you, they wouldn’t worry about killing you first because they believed you would end up dying on your own. You at least had cover for now. 

You had eaten in silence, all four of you gathered for your last supper. Jasper had talked and talked, asking last-minute advice and making commentary about the other tributes, but you felt like any energy you might have had before had been completely zapped away. You drank three glasses of water, then walked to your room without a glance back, sitting in your bed to wait for Aemond to come to you. 

It was as you began to doze off that he stepped into your room, the lights dimmed and casting shadows over his face. He walked over and sat in front of you on the bed, reaching over and gently caressing your head for a moment. You didn’t speak for the first few moments, what could you really say? Aemond cleared his throat. 

“Don’t run for the cornucopia, just run for cove-” 

“No advice please,” you interrupted, “not tonight. Tell me everything you can tomorrow morning, speak to me even as I’m being lifted away, but not tonight.” He nodded and shifted closer to you, watching as you reached out to hold his hands. “Will you show me?” You finally asked, and his heart stopped in his chest. 

He knew what you were asking for, but somehow this still terrified him. It was… grotesque, horrifying, and a million other gruesome words. What would you say after seeing it? Aemond gulped and turned away from you to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“When he slashed my eye, that was the most pain I had ever felt in my eye,” he began, voice rough. “Rhaenys sent me bandages and I was able to keep it wrapped up until the end of the games, but after I was lifted out, they took me straight to the hospital. I was delirious, but I remember the medics said there were a million things that could have gone wrong. I was lucky it wasn’t infected, and I was lucky they could perform surgery quickly.” Aemond closed his eye as he spoke but his fists were clenched on his knees. “When I finally woke up, blind in one eye, they brought me a mirror to show me their work. They said they were so proud, that not only had I been given the best care but they had made me seem truly capitol. You know what they did to my eye?” He snapped in your direction and you jumped. He stared at you with his one blue eye, unforgiving as steel. “They shoved a huge chunk of sapphire into the empty socket. There’s no eye in there, no cavity, not even scarred over skin. Every time I take off this eyepatch, the evidence of the games stares back at me. The thought that I have been forever changed by the capitol, disfigured by them in the name of beauty…” his chest was heaving and he had gone deathly pale. You reached over but he swiftly grabbed your hand, grip tight. He stared at your face, at the look of earnest care and pure love in your eyes, and slowly peeled away his fingers. 

You didn’t make a sound as you gripped the strap of his eyepatch and lifted it over his head. You didn’t say a word as you looked upon the rough cut sapphire that sat where his eye should have been. All you did was lean over and kiss him, smiling against his lips and kissing him again. He pushed you onto your back and kissed you until you were breathless. He kissed over your neck, and after removing your nightgown, he kissed down your chest and over your stomach. He pulled down your pants and kissed you between your thighs until you could only call out his name. He kissed your thighs, your stomach, your breasts, and back up to your lips. He pressed into you for the first time, and you whined into his mouth. You dug your nails into his shoulders and he pressed into you once more. He did it again and again and again until you were overcome with pleasure. Then he did it again. 

You stood beside the tube that would take you up into the arena. You couldn’t explain how you felt. Your entire body felt like it was thrumming but your mind was quiet. There were a million things you wanted to say, but not one word passed your lips. 

Aemond had come down with you even though he wasn’t supposed to. You held tight to his hand and he didn’t say a word. He had spent the morning rapidly telling you things you were sure you would forget the moment the horn went off. He had stopped occasionally to kiss you, to caress your hair and hold you until he started breathing normally again. But he could do no more. The countdown had started, and you had a minute before you had to get into the tube. 

“You know what you’re doing, you can survive,” he said simply, holding onto your hands. But you only shook your head and hushed him. 

“Aemond, if I don’t make it out-” 

“Don’t say that,” he spat out, gripping your face in his hands, but you just shook your head as much as you could in his grip. 

“If I don’t make it out, I want you to know how much I love you. I need you to know. It’s the only thing that will let me die peacefully in the arena. I’ll fight, and I’ll try and make my way back to you, but if it should happen that I can’t… I need you to know.” Your lip trembled and you smiled at him, nodding as if everything was fine and you would be back in a minute. 

“I know, I know, of course I know,” he whispered, pressing his lips so tightly to yours that when you pulled away they throbbed. “But you…” he gulped and shook his head and you saw the tears begin to collect in his eyes. “You just make it out,” was all he whispered, and kissed you again. 

He kissed you until you had to rush to get into the tube. He stood by the glass as the final countdown began, ten seconds ticking by faster than they ever had before. And just as you began to rise, hands slipping against the glass, he mouthed ‘I love you,’ but he didn’t know if you had seen it. 

Endnote: I truly believe Rhaenys would win the shit out of the hunger games 

[celluloidbroomcloset]

A good bit has been made of Ed saying that "last night was a mistake" and I get the sense that a lot of people are interpreting things through a lens that he means they shouldn't have slept together, they should have waited, Stede was pushing things too far too fast, etc. So I want to go into some detail on why I don't agree with that, and what I think is happening in the aftermath of Calypso's Birthday, as well as in the love scene itself.

(This is kinda long, because I am not witty and cannot be brief. These are just my thoughts, so of course I'm not trying to tell anyone how to understand what happens in these scenes.)

Them having sex and what happens after is very much related to the things that they've both gone through, and especially Ed's fears and trauma after his depressive spiral. When we first meet Ed in Season 1, he's already borderline suicidal. Stede gives him a new view of life by showing him things that he's never seen before, and emotions he's never experienced before. He falls in love and anchors himself to Stede. Then his anchor breaks and lets him float off. He's alone and heartbroken and quite literally goes insane with grief and self-loathing (spurred on by Izzy) on a ship filled with people and things that keep reminding him of how he wasn't enough.

In Season 2, he knows that if he goes back to being Blackbeard, again, after everything, he might very well never be able to come back. He's still terrified of Stede abandoning him, and I think the fact that he did consent to the sex, that he did want to have sex, that he did feel loved and desired and happy, is a huge part of that. He says it was a mistake because he wanted it so much and got exactly what he wanted and is afraid that, again, he's going to lose the person who made him feel like he was enough. So he's doing exactly what Stede says he's doing - panicking and trying to run this time, so that he's not the one who gets hurt again. That's not the same as truly regretting the night before; it actually says that them sleeping together meant so much that it's frightened him because now he stands to lose even more. (If losing Stede once ripped him apart, after they had just barely kissed and admitted they care for each other, what would losing Stede now do to him?)

Should they have waited? Doesn't really matter. They didn't. Are they overwhelmed with emotion? Well, yeah. There have been other posts floating around discussing the relationship between sex and death and the concept of funeral sex, which are quite accurate IMO.

But...I'd say the moment when Stede first grabs Ed at the door is the "overwhelmed with emotion" part. Remember that Stede has killed before, accidentally, and is absolutely wracked with guilt by it. The guilt is also associated with Ed and with his masculinity/sexuality - "you defile beautiful things" - and Ned's words earlier poked those wounds. The last thing that Ed said to Stede before he killed Ned was not to do it because "you can't come back from that." So Stede does what he did before - he runs and hides. But he's not alone anymore. Ed shows up. He's not angry, he's not rejecting Stede or lecturing Stede; nothing has fundamentally changed in their relationship because Stede killed Ned. He's there to say, "Hey, it's OK, it's hard, I know, I've been there." Stede is overwhelmed with emotion - guilt at what he's done and all its associations with his past, fear that he's ruined something in his relationship (defiled a beautiful thing), uncertainty about what this means about him as a person. And there's Ed, standing there and saying "Are you OK?" Nothing has been defiled.

It's not Ed who crosses the threshold - maybe Stede needs his space and really doesn't need his sympathy right now, so he waits there and doesn't invade the space - but Stede who grabs him and drags him across. That's the impulsive moment, not the sex. Ed is surprised by it, as we can see on his face, and Stede is in pain and almost crying. He seems incapable of speech at that moment, which says a lot about his state of mind since this is a man who cannot shut up. He's not behaving rationally or thinking things through deliberately; he's coming apart and Ed's there and Ed holds him together.

Now, the next cut could've been to Stede throwing Ed down on the bed or kissing him aggressively (as, indeed, has happened in plenty of shows and films with these kinds of scenes). But that's not what happens. The next cut is to the end of the impulsive moment, Stede backing Ed up against the wall. Then there's a pause. Both of them are recalibrating. Stede in fact keeps his distance (wish we could actually see their expressions up close), and he waits. He's done something he likely shouldn't have in grabbing Ed; he's stopping himself from doing anything else he shouldn't. He's making a choice and it's an important one, just like when he stopped the kiss when Ed told him to, when he stopped saying "I love you" because Ed couldn't hear it, or when he asked if it was OK to hold Ed's hand. He didn't do anything wrong in being impulsive, and he's waiting for his partner to help him know what to do next.

Could Ed say no at that point? Yes, absolutely, and we know from the moonlight scene that Stede would not try to go farther. Would Ed say no at that point, with the knowledge of how much this man needs him? Yes, I think he would. I don't think this is a case of Ed going "well, he needs this, so I'll sleep with him." That interpretation I think undermines Ed's autonomy and misunderstands his character - he's not going to do something that he doesn't want to, not even for Stede, and he's not going to damage their relationship by having their first time be a result of pity or sympathy. It's going to be about mutual desire, or it's not going to happen at all.

That pause is where they look at each other (again, wish we could see expressions better) and Ed nods. And even then, when Stede leans in to kiss him, it's not Stede who increases the intensity. I think we could even read this as Stede not consciously planning for the kiss to lead to sex. It's Ed who grabs Stede, pulls him up against him, lets his body support Stede's, who's practically collapsing. It's Ed who snatches Stede's waist and wraps his arm around his shoulders and caresses his neck.

I think it's really important that Ed is the one who ups the intensity. His actions are pretty much the definition of enthusiastic consent. That's needed for the scene, just like all the other scenes where Stede stops when Ed tells him to. It's Ed who wanted to take it slow and so now his choice to go ahead is necessary. There's no indication that this is rushed or only a result of passion and pain.

The next scene, Stede is closing the curtains, and he's shirtless, but Ed is still mostly dressed (and no, that is not the face of a man having second thoughts or being pressured into sex. That's the face of a man who's so in love he can't see anything but fireworks). What's happening is very deliberate on both their parts, and the entire scene is a culmination of their desires and - very importantly - their love for each other. It's not Stede needing comfort or validation and Ed rewarding him with sex. It's them both needing, wanting, and loving each other.

It's really tempting to make this all more angst-y than it is, especially with Ed's later "last night was a mistake!" But once more, this silly gay pirate show gets at something that a lot of less silly films and TV shows don't - that human relationships are messy and complex, and messiness and complexity are not inherently Problematic. Just human.

Tl;dr: seems like neither of them regretted having sex, and not just because it was definitely good sex.

[kowaiitenshii]

[Sunkiller Lullaby]

Pairing: Darth Vader x Reader 

Plot Summary: A slave girl given to The Empire as a token of loyalty, known as the Flower of Beauty on your long since destroyed homeplanet, you’re nearly sent back to be executed before Darth Vader deems you worthy of saving. What will happen as you form a new life as the personal servant to a Sith Lord? 

Warnings: Canon-level violence. Murder. Mentions of death. Corruption. Canon-divergent. Unburnt!Vader. Reader is a former slave. Vader is his own warning. Descriptions of mistreatment. AFAB reader, feminine pronouns & descriptions used. 18+ content to come in later chapters.

Words: 4.1k

A/N: Here it is! My first time writing anything Star Wars related, but most certainly not the last :) I’ve thought about this for a long time, but some things may still seem OOC so I’m sorry for that! Otherwise, please enjoy!

(p.s. I highly recommend you give a listen to the song that gave this fic its title, Sun Killer by Spiritbox!)

Part I:

The trembling sound of chains dragging across slick tiled flooring wakes you as two Stormtroopers led by an Imperial Commander haul you carelessly through the corridors of what you assume to be an Imperial ship. 

The air is cold on your bare skin, and the harsh grip of the Stormtroopers on your arms feels enough to be bruising. 

Blinking blearily through the shroud of unconsciousness, there is a palpable darkness hanging in the very air around you, as if it had been waiting for you, billowing over you and filling your lungs like smoke. 

The Stormtroopers drag your limp body into a huge open room in the core of the ship with high rounded ceilings and walls, all white, controls blinking throughout the room in greens and reds. 

 You don’t even have time to take in your surroundings and think before the Commander and Troopers stop abruptly, the Commander taking a step to the left side, revealing what they’ve brought you here for. 

That’s when you finally see the presence that you’ve sensed since you awoke. 

The imminent Sith Lord Darth Vader stands before the lot of you, his aura pulsing and filling the room, making the very air thick. His helmet has an appropriately severe expression to it and his cape billows around him as he turns. 

The commander and troopers stand straight as pins, their nerves radiating off of them.  You feel as if you could be sick.

“What is the meaning of this, Commander?” the Sith Lord demands, his booming voice breaking through the oppressive silence. 

Despite your intense fear of the outcome, you stand straight within the confines of the grip the troopers have on you. You hold your head high, despite the icy dread that washes over you in waves. Your years as a slave had taught you well, and you dared not show fear in the face of those who would subdue you. 

The Commander swallows, putting on his best little soldier facade as he speaks before his master. 

“A gift from the Hutts, Lord Vader.” the man speaks with enthusiastic trepidation. “They wish to show their loyalty to the Empire. They called her ‘The Flower’ of her home planet, for her beauty.” he babbles as he informs his master.

You subtly roll your eyes at the way the Commander sounds exactly like a used parts salesman. 

Darth Vader stares at you for a prolonged moment, and you hate the way that you cannot tell where he’s looking. You stare back at him despite the sinking in your stomach, refusing to look away, to submit. 

The rule of those in power was that of animals, those who submit die. 

You knew that well. 

“Send her back.” The Sith Lord commands plainly, and your heart drops. 

Your ears ring as you hear the commander stumbling. 

“S-Sir, I’m afraid we can’t simply ‘send her back’, she was a gift, and she-she, um.” he pauses to take in a shaky breath. “Her planet was destroyed long ago my Lord, if we send her back, she will be dishonoured and they’ll just kill-”

You jump slightly as the commander is suddenly cut off, literally choking on his words. Vader clenches his fist in front of him tightly as he chokes the man using an unseen force. 

“Then perhaps you should have considered this sooner, Commander.” Vader spits.

The commander is rooted in his spot, turning purple and clawing at his throat. 

Vader looks again to you, glued to the spot, pale as a ghost and trembling, and you can feel him creeping through the very life force within your body, tickling under your skin and flowing through your blood stream. 

“Take her away.” The Sith Lord commands the troopers with a flick of his wrist. 

The troopers drag you away, the sickening sound of the commander’s neck snapping echoing behind you as a tear slides down your cheek. 

However, to your surprise, the troopers don’t lead you to a ship, or a pod, or containment. Instead, they unceremoniously dump you into a large and lavishly furnished Imperial suite, the door sliding shut behind them. 

You spend a moment there on the carpet, wiping your tears and trying to calm your fear of the uncertainty before really taking a moment to look at your surroundings. 

Still sniffling, you pull yourself together and get to your feet. You’re in a large room, darkly-coloured with ambient lighting throughout. The magnificent bed with silken, plush sheets of crimson is the centrepiece of the room. 

To the right side of the bed there is a large window in the room, spanning the length of nearly the entire wall adorned with tasselled curtains.

Adjacent to the front of the bed is an entrance to a large washroom, equipped with both a soaking tub and a walk-in glass shower. 

You’re shocked as you marvel at the luxuries at your disposal, revelling in the abundance of the suite. It’s like nowhere you’ve ever had the chance to inhabit before. 

You waste no time in taking a lengthy bath, filling the tub with the salts and oils provided. The hot water does you well, soothing your aching muscles and your anxious soul. You can’t even remember how long it had been since you soaked, often being doused by cold water by your captors or simply being forced to bathe in streams. 

You shudder at the memories. 

You then dress yourself in the thick robes provided in your closet, and bask in the newfound comfort. 

Nobody bothers you for the remainder of the evening, left with nothing but your thoughts and the passing stars beyond the window. You solemnly ponder your fate, curious of Lord Vader’s intentions. 

You knew very well that he easily could have disposed of you the moment he laid eyes on you, which leaves you with a horrifying question. 

Why keep you? 

If he was keeping you, that is. You knew your life was not entirely guaranteed, but then why would Vader waste his time in keeping you for a night? 

This is what scares you. 

Never finding an answer that satisfies you, you lay in the satin sheets with the unnerving feeling that somebody is watching, creeping just out of the edges of your mind; close enough to feel them, too far to see. 

In the meantime, Darth Vader sits in contemplation in the privacy of his chambers. Taking you in is undoubtedly an inconvenience, and he would have to think long and hard to find an explanation worthy of the Emperor.

However, for reasons he did not fully understand… he could not deny you. He had no doubt of your status as the Flower, the beauty of your homeworld, that was evident. What intrigued him however, was your signature in the force. He could feel your presence so acutely, piercing through him like the ringing of bells. 

He had no doubt you were sensitive to it. 

If this were to be true, you could indeed be quite useful to both he and the Emperor, given the implication that he could break you to the dark side. 

He could feel your resentment, your anger, your lust for power; no doubt instilled in you by your years spent in torment. 

So it was decided. 

He would accept you, house you, mold you. And then he would break you.

Turning away from his window with purpose, he leaves to find a Commander to send a message. 

As you drift into sleep, you feel the dark presence again, tickling at the corners of your mind, creeping at the corners and crawling on the ceilings. 

You try your best to shove it away, but it’s stronger, more steadfast than you are. 

Unable to push the dark presence away, you relent, pulling your blankets tighter around yourself and trying to ignore the uneasiness. 

Eventually, you fall into fitful sleep, your mind full of dreams. For the most part they are very average dreams. Dreams of living an ordinary life, doing ordinary things. That is, except for the fleeting shadow that looms over your shoulders, or the piercing eyes you catch glimpses of in the darkness. 

The next morning you’re left to sleep as long as you please, waking up on your own agenda for the first time in countless years. Dragging yourself out of bed, your body still tired from dreaming the entire night through, you rise and dress yourself in darkly-coloured robes and underdresses. As you brush out your hair, anxiety begins seeping back in. You still had no clue as to why you were kept alive, or if your life was even safe to begin with. No idea what would be done with you, and no way of escape. 

After you’ve finished grooming, you’re greeted by a friendly droid sent to bring you breakfast. You eat well, offered a spread of toasted breads, honeyed butters, jams, and all manners of fruits and meat. 

The droid speaks up once you’ve finished, chirping news at you. 

“Lord Vader has requested your presence once you’re adequately satisfied, madam.” it announces cheerfully. 

Your stomach drops at the thought, moving from comfortably satisfied to anxiously nauseous in a matter of moments. 

Swallowing thickly, you part your lips to question the droid. 

“Did…Did he mention why?” you curse yourself for faltering. 

“No ma’am.” the droid answers to your dismay. “Lord Vader is exceedingly private in his affairs. I am afraid I am merely a messenger.” 

Feeling yourself go pale, you nod slowly in response. 

“I shall meet with him as soon as possible.” You concede, your voice barely higher than a whisper. 

The droid throws its hands up joyfully, exclaiming its reply. 

“Splendid! Lord Vader would like you to meet him in his private quarters, I shall inform him of your arrival!” The droid declares before abruptly leaving the suite. 

Left with your thoughts, your mind wanders in circles. You wonder about the Sith Lord’s intentions, about what he will do with you. About if the treatment you’ve been receiving was just a penance paid for your impending death. You wonder about your fate, if this was meant to be your last meal. 

For a short while you’re sick with worry. That is, until you remember your years spent under slavery. Those years in which you would have begged for the release of death; Those years in which you made peace with the quiet solace of oblivion. 

It is when you remind yourself of this truth that you finally gather yourself from the table.

This is an opportunity, you tell yourself, and you dare not waste it. 

After a short while, the droid returns to fetch you. As you traverse the sleek hallways with the silent droid, your ice cold nerves sink in. Your stomach twists in knots, becoming nauseous once again on your luxuriant breakfast. 

The droid's artificial voice cuts sharply through the tense silence. 

“I notice you’ve become pale, and your heart rate is increasing. These are common symptoms of anxiety.” the droid states in a cheerful tone. You chuckle slightly at the droid’s matter-of-factness. 

“Yes,” you laugh. “I must be honest, I am a little nervous to meet with Lord Vader.” you give the droid the understatement of the century, and saying it outloud only makes the knot in your gut tie tighter. 

“Not to worry!” the droid chirps “If Lord Vader meant to kill you, he would not go to the trouble of speaking with you first!” the droid attempts to reassure you. It does little to make you feel any better, your blood running cold from the words. 

You spend the rest of the walk in silence, steeling your nerves. The droid stops abruptly at a large doorway, entering a combination into the keypad on the wall and stepping to the side as the door slides open. 

“Here we are!” the droid chimes. “Lord Vader awaits you.”

The droid bows to you, and you nod your thanks to it before stepping into the doorway, the door sliding shut behind you. 

Before you even  step out of the entryway, you can hear the unnerving sound of the Sith Lord’s mechanical breathing just beyond, sending chills down your spine. 

The room is large and open, covered in control panels and other strange technology save for the wall length window. You take a deep breath as you spot Vader by the expansive window, his back turned to you. The sight of him alone, broad back turned to you, dressed in his  all-black suit and floor-length cape instils terror in you. 

Here you were, alone in a room with the most powerful and most dangerous man in the whole galaxy. 

Despite yourself and the urge to run screaming within, you pull it together and begin your approach. Holding your head high, you come to stand at the window next to the Sith Lord. 

“Lord Vader,” you begin calmly before bowing “You sent for me?” you ask, hands shaking. 

Finally, he turns to his left to regard you. The lights of the stars and the Imperial fleet beyond the window reflect off of his permanently scowling helmet, the unmoving coldness of its expression doing nothing to calm your nerves. The only thing that grounds you in this moment is the sound of the slow, deep breaths he takes. 

“Yes.” Lord Vader affirms sternly. “I’d like to make you an offer.” 

He catches you off guard with this, and you falter in reply. 

“A-An offer?” you curse yourself again for stuttering, praying to the maker and straightening up as he turns fully to face you. 

It’s only then that you notice how tall he truly is, having to crane your neck to look him in the face as he looms over you, heat rising to your cheeks purely from nerves. 

“Yes,” he states plainly. “I would like you to become my sole personal servant.”

His words fall upon you with the weight of a thousand stones, your knees beginning to shake from the implication alone, threatening to crumble beneath the weight. 

Never in a million years would you have believed what the Sith Lord just suggested, and yet there he was suggesting it. 

At the same time, a flame begins to spark in your chest, ignited by hope. Your years as a slave taught you better than to refuse a good offer when you got one.

“As you wish, My Lord.” you accept loud and clear, bowing your head to him in respect, and gratitude. The part of you that is fully entrenched in servitude and the woes of it can’t help but become a bit excited at the promise of security as his personal attendant, while the side of you that remembers freedom feels a measure of guilt for relenting so quickly. 

Still, your life was more important than the guilt you felt for agreeing to serve him. Anyone in your shoes would do the same, you were sure of it. 

He hums in satisfaction at your response, nodding.

“Very well then. Starting tomorrow, you will serve me, and me alone.” he commands firmly. You only nod, looking up at him and listening attentively as he continues. 

“You are to be at my disposal at all hours, save for when I command you to leave.” He states. While the idea pierces you with dread, you nod your compliance all the same. 

“You will come when I call, whenever I call.” He iterates, a drop of venom in his tone. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.” you affirm as calmly as you can. 

“In return, no expense will be spared in caring for your needs.” he replies. 

You can’t help the warmth that grows within you at the idea. In all your years of servitude, never had anyone given a single thought toward your treatment. Feeling overwhelmed, your breath catches in your throat.

 It feels too good to be true.

 Here you were, thinking the droid was delivering you to your demise, when really you were receiving an opportunity countless others would kill to have. The opportunity for long lost comfort, the opportunity for power. 

You say nothing in response, smirking and nodding like a simpleton. As he notices your enthusiasm, Lord Vader’s tone turns harsh. 

“But do not forget, girl,” he hisses. “I own you.” 

Feeling yourself go pale, you swallow thickly, looking away as a wave of dread and shame washes over you. 

“If you betray the faith I am putting in you, if you disobey The Empire…” he emphasises darkly, before pausing. Although you’re unable to read his expression, you’re sure he’s staring straight through you. His gaze burns you like fire, and you can feel fear gripping your heart. 

“I will not hesitate in cutting you down.” he growls, and you can sense his stone-cold sincerity. You’re frozen with fear, feeling absolutely foolish for being remotely celebratory, even if only internally.

Blood running cold, shivers down your spine, you default to what you learned in your time as a slave. 

Without thinking, acting completely on something akin to muscle memory, you drop to your knees. Steadying yourself with your hands, you press your forehead to the toe of Lord Vader’s boot. 

For slaves, this is an ultimate display of respect and compliance to their masters. 

“Yes, Lord Vader.” you affirm, strong and clear. Vader seems slightly taken aback, stepping back and leaving your forehead to hit the cold tile flooring. Your cheeks go hot as you rise, hoping he understood the gesture as you stand sheepishly before him. 

“Very well.” he speaks again after you stand. “Starting tomorrow, you will act as my personal attendant. You may go. Rest.” He commands, turning away from you once more, his attention going back to the galaxy outside the expansive window. 

Overwhelmed and in a daze, you turn to leave in what feels like slow motion.

 The trip from Vader’s personal quarters back to your suite passes you by in technicolor. Bidding you a polite goodbye, the droid leaves you to your privacy. 

Shell-shocked tears slide silently down your cheeks as you plop onto the bed. The gamble of putting your life in Vader’s hands did not seem like a winning one, but you had no choice. The feeling is gut-wrenching, and tears flow freely now. 

You just felt so god-damned confused, it was making you sick. The last 24 hours hardly seemed real at all. It was useless to wonder ‘why me’ because you knew the answer would not come, but that didn’t stop it from running through your mind on repeat. You once again mourn the life you lived as a free person, the old wounds bleeding once again. 

Your life was not extravagant by any means, living as a local farm hand, but it was simple. It was simple, and it was easy, and it was peaceful. 

On your home planet, you were known by the locals and travellers as the ‘Flower’ of your city for your beauty, kindness, and good grace. These traits along with the rumours about them were the sole reason you had not been on-planet when it was destroyed. 

While your home was under siege, you were stolen and trafficked into slavery for your proposed “worth” to slave traders. 

The years after that, you lived as a ghost in a life that was not yours. 

And now here you were, selling your soul. A better person, a stronger person, would have chosen death over serving the Empire. 

But years of torture had twisted your spirit, broken you. No longer were you that kind and graceful girl from the village everyone had known and loved. Years of torment molded you into something fearful, something hurt and covetous. And you hated yourself for it, though you had no power to change it. The part of you that now craved power, craved vengeance on those who had destroyed you is unchangeable. 

Many years you had spent yearning to torment those who had stolen you, who had taken everything from you. Many nights had you spent dreaming of all the ways you would destroy them given the chance. 

And now here it was, a chance dropped into your very lap. The chance to get close to the face of the Empire. Not only that, but Lord Vader himself guaranteed your safety. There were not many more of those who would be as trustworthy in that guarantee. After all, he was the strongest man in the galaxy. 

Sniffling, you begin to wipe your tears. You had already agreed with Darth Vader, there was no point in tears now anyway. 

If you were to do this, and you were, you were going to do it well. 

Rising from your place on the bed, you finish wiping your tears and begin preparing for the days ahead of you. 

That night is again filled with dreams. 

You find yourself on a lush windswept hillside bordering the sea, the air fresh and salty as it blows through your hair and across your face. Blissfully you stroll along the cliffside, breathing in the fresh air. As you walk, you begin to see a cloaked figure in the distance. 

Really, you sense him before you see him. His energy mirrors that of the sea below, mesmerising, tumultuous, and full of depth. You’re drawn to him, slowly making your way to the place at the edge of the cliff where he stands. 

The sunset melting in hues of pink and orange highlights his figure against the horizon, and when you reach him he turns to face you. 

You’re struck by his beauty, as if he had stepped out of a painting from the old Republic. His jawline is strong, his lips are plump, and he has a heavy brow with sandy coloured curls of shoulder-length hair framing his features. Yet the most striking thing about him is his eyes. They are the very same piercing, fiery eyes that had haunted you the night prior, framed by long cherubic lashes. 

But in this moment, you felt no fear. In fact, you were serenely calm, sensing no malice or ill-intent of the man before you. He too, was very tall as you stood in front of him, having to look up to look him in the eye. 

You both stand there for a long moment, looking at each other, taking each other in and feeling each other’s energies. You can see the compassion and empathy he has for you in his eyes as well as sense it radiating warmly off of him, as if he knows your life, as if he had lived it too. 

All this, and you had never seen him before in your life. And yet somehow, it felt completely normal. As if you had known him forever, and you were just now remembering. 

After a long while he opens his arm to you, beckoning you to join him. You follow without a second thought, coming to his left side and allowing him to drape his arm over you and pull you close as you both watch the sunset. His cloak drapes over your shoulders as he holds you, warmth falling comfortably over you with it. He smells deeply of leather, of musk and of burnt wood, and you breathe him in deeply. He gazes at the sea as you rest your head on his chest, in ecstasy purely from the simple act of human contact. It has been years since you’ve experienced the simple pleasures of being close to someone, and you savour every single moment. The tips of his fingers ghost over your left arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His arm comes up and he idly brushes his fingers through the soft locks of your hair as you listen to the steady thump of his heartbeat. 

Being held by him felt like home. 

As you both watch the cerulean waves crashing against the shore below, he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head and your eyes flutter shut. 

Credz:

Lightsaber graphic credit: @saradika

[xenocorner]

(If you're someone who enjoys my work, and also happens to like/support AI generated images, please give this a read? Just hear me out, please. This is not a bashing post, I promise. It's not pro-ai either though. But please hear me out)

This whole AI art stuff is just getting... Honestly exhausting. If you are someone who supports AI generated images, I beg of you, hear me out? I'm not here to bash, to say you're a bad person or a thief. I know it's more complex than that. I'm just, trying to express how I feel about this whole ordeal. I'm not here to get angry either. I don't have the energy for that. I'm also not trying to change your mind. Just, hopefully help you see/feel a different perspective? That's all.

Long rant under the cut because. There's a lot.

I'm not even angry anymore. I don't have the energy for that. But I keep seeing AI images all over, everywhere. The thing is getting better (because of course it is). And I see more and more people support it. And sometimes those people are also artists or people who like art and support artists.

And then I also see artists be laid off. I see how it gets harder and harder to make a break in the industry. And even after you make it you get laid off because... People don't wanna bother with it anymore. Corps would rather cut costs.

And then I see people defend AI images. Say it's okay, that it isn't stealing from artists, that it is just a tool, ignoring a huge part of the problem (whether willfully or not).

And it just makes me so incredibly sad. So utterly devastated.

I was angry. I really used to be angry. I'm just hurt now. Hopeless for the future. And tired. Really really damn tired.

Tired of artists having to justify their existance in the professional world. Tired of people just saying... No.

No, you don't get to thrive. And you're selfish and entitled for wanting to thrive. No, you don't get to feel hurt when your work gets scrapped without your permission to feed a data base designed to replace you. No, you don't get a say in this. Don't like? Bohoo, don't see.

Well, how can I not see when this issue directly affects how I live? How can I not see when this issue affects my future? It's not just a matter of "Don't like x kind of content, don't interact with it". It really is not. I really wish it was, I wish it was that simple. But it's not. Because this is not something like a ship or a trope that one can ignore and not be affected. This is like trying to ignore a dumpster fire in your neighborhood. Yeah, you can avoid looking at it. You can avoid talking about it. But the smoke is still getting into your house. You're still breathing it. It's still hurting you. It will have effects on your life, whether you like it or not.

I threw away 12 years of my life building up my skill to work in a field that feels like it's dying out. Am I (and countless other artists) just supposed to start over? How? Time is unforgiving.

Bohoo for your bad choices, suck it up. Your fault for pursuing art as a career.

Was I supposed to just, KNOW, somehow, that the career I choose, that used to be viable, would just... Take this turn? Was I supposed to have a 10 year look into the the future?

You should create for the joy of creating!

I do. I love creating. I love making people happy with my work. Work I spent years perfecting. It's the most beautiful feeling in the world to know that someone smiled or cried or felt something because of something I did. It makes me smile and cry too.

But I also like to be able to eat. To have a roof. To pay for my meds. And the joy of creating honestly dwindles each time I see people talk about AI images the same way they talk about a painting in the Louvure.

Becaus they do. I've seen people talk about images generated by a machine (built upon stealing artwork from unconsenting artists) like they're the work of God. And they write such beautiful things too. And I'm left baffled, confused, uneasy.

And then I go to see artists, living, breathing, feeling artists, who create marvelous pieces, who pour their heart into their work, who shed sweat blood and tears to get their skills to where they are, who are still shedding sweat blood and tears to keep improving... And they don't even get a 'nice'. They've been job searching for 3 years. They can't get a steady flow of commissions. They're scrambling to be able to get a table at a con.

And it hurts to my very core.

It hurts in a place I don't even know how to describe, because it's so deep and so personal and so raw that I don't think there's a name for it.

I love art. I love it so damn much. I love making it, I love sharing it, I love teaching it.

I think many other people love art too. I think many other people who love art don't even consciously realize they do.

And it hurts seeing art just... Become this.

It hurts seeing the artistic souls of this earth be pushed down and down again and again over and over and be told to just. To just suck it up.

To die off.

Because when people support AI images, they are telling us to die off. It feels like they are telling us to die off.

And I don't think the people who do realize it at all, because a lot of people who support AI images are not bad people. They are not. They enjoy art too. But they are, consiously or not, directly or indirectly, hurting the artists whose work made the data base AI generators use possible.

They're telling us to die off because they already have our work. And they can use it to generate new, regurgitated work faster, cheaper. They don't need us. So while they may like what us, artists, do, they're feeding a system that is killing us off. Both metaphorically and literally. Metaphorically by killing the will to create. Literally by taking our living off of us (or at least to those who's art is their living. Like myself).

And again.

It hurts so damn much.

And I don't think a lot of people manage to see the hurt past all the anger.

I, personally, have grown exhausted and there's no anger left in me, only sad and hurt.

But I promise you, behind every angry and fighting and barking and bitting artists there is out there, there's hurt. There's some form of hurt behind each and every one of them. Of us.

I really hope this reaches the right people. Whether that be a fellow artists struggling to get their feelings into words to let them know they're not alone. Or someone who supports AI images, and supports artists too, and can maybe get a glimpse into a side of this whole issue. Not necessarily to change their mind but, maybe help them understand better where all the anger from artists may be coming from.

Please, I'm not here to start any fights or debates. I really am not. I just need to get this sort of thing out there, because I think talking about it is important.

[neonghostlights]

Chapter Five: Frequencies

A/N: Thanks for your patience with this. I've bit off more than I can chew with life at the moment.

Summary: Your dull life gets flipped upside down when a stranger crash lands on your farm. When the mystery of what he is unravels, he takes you and your heart for a ride that is out of this world.

Warnings: Eating/food, mention of sleep paralysis, 18 + only, minors dni

Wordcount: 2k

Series Masterlist

You had to break your silence to Eddie when you had to show him how to use the shower. You learned that due to his cool body temperature, he was very sensitive to heat. A normally hot shower to you felt like fire to him. 

You got him situated the best you could before running out the bathroom before he could strip in front of you. 

After what happened in the bedroom, you went to the kitchen to put away the groceries you had left out. Eddie got his translator situated and then he followed you into the kitchen, watching as you put everything away.

He said your name a few times, trying to get your attention but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Shame still gnawed at you everytime you thought about how amazing it felt and how you wanted it to happen again. 

It was a mistake. A huge misthought on your part to allow that to happen. Eddie didn’t belong here. It wasn’t safe for him to stay here or to form any attachments. Before you knew it he would be flying far, far away from you. 

You had finally had enough of his sad eyes and mournful voice saying your name repeatedly so you showed him to the shower. 

They must not have showers like yours on his planet because he really didn’t get it. 

Now he was clean, long hair dripping wet and soaking into his black t-shirt as he used a little toolkit from his ship to try to fix it. 

You really didn’t think that the few tools he had would do much. 

You sat in the bed of the truck as you observed him, kicking your feet back and forth.You had driven out here saying that you needed to do something with it but in reality you just wanted to keep an eye on him.

 He was acting weird though, shielding whatever he was doing with his body so you couldn’t see what exactly he was doing. It was very secretive. 

Even though you weren’t really speaking to him at the moment you still didn’t want to be far away from him for some reason. 

He hummed a tune under his breath, the same notes over and over again. 

It sounded familiar but you couldn’t place it. You swore you had heard it somewhere before but you couldn’t recall. It was starting to make you frustrated. 

You watched as he struggled with a piece, obviously needing better than the little tools he did have. 

“I’m sure I have some tools in the barn or shed that you can use,” you finally spoke up. 

His head whipped towards you, shocked that you had spoken to him again. 

You were shocked yourself. 

“Really?” He asked with a smile, happy with himself that you had broken your silence. 

You nodded quickly, staring off to where Comet and the other cows roamed the field lazily. They had it so easy. 

This was your life now, being envious of a cow. 

Eddie stared at you thoughtfully for a long moment before turning back to what he was doing. He hummed the tune again happily. 

“What are you humming?” You asked, needing to place where you had heard it before. 

“I’m not sure. I heard it when I was getting closer to earth,” he admitted, dropping the tool into the seat of the ship and turning to you with his full attention. 

“You heard music in space?”

“The frequencies played on my…radio?…” He seemed confused by the translation, testing out the words and looking to you to make sure they were right. 

You nodded with a small smile to show him he made sense and he sighed in relief. 

“I mean were you even close to earth when you heard it?”

Eddie walked up and hopped onto the bed of the truck beside you. The truck creaked and rocked from the added weight as he shifted himself to a mostly comfortable position. You watched a few rusted pieces of paint drift down and land in the grass. 

He didn’t like the jeans you had given him. He complained they were scratchy compared to the material of the clothes he showed up in. They didn’t quite fit him right, nearly too short on his long legs. You weren’t sure if they made jeans any longer than these. 

“I was far, barely out of the atmosphere of my own planet when I heard it softly at first. I was running to a nearby station to pick up some things from a trading post for my fathers brother... I kept going though, following it until it led me here. To you,” he said shyly, hiding behind a piece of his hair. 

You hummed as you thought. “Was there any talking with the music?” 

“Yes but I didn’t have my translator on so I didn’t know what it meant.” 

“Can you try? I mean if the government or someone from earth is trying to reach out to other planets we should know, right? I mean we’re lucky it was you,” you explained, hands flying around at the ridiculousness of it all. 

Eddie thought for a moment, head tilted to the sky with his eyes closed. 

“Shocking needle fool?” He finally said, looking unsure of himself. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” you sighed, “unless it’s some kind of code.”

Eddie shrugged. “So you’re happy that I landed here?” 

“Huh? I never said that.” 

“You said you were lucky that I landed here,” he taunted. 

“No. I said WE’RE lucky it was you and not some bad alien that wants to take over and hurt us all. WE as in humanity,” you clarified in a harsh tone. 

Eddie smiled at you, reading between your stammering. 

“Shut up. Let’s go see if we can find you some more tools.”

“What does shut up mean?” 

Eddie made a little bit of progress on the ship and now you were both sitting on the porch swing, eating the sandwiches you had made for dinner while the sun went down. 

He thought that the sandwiches were funny looking at first but now he was on his third one. You hadn’t realized that aliens had such big appetites. 

You had always enjoyed sitting out here to think. It was a comfy spot with some pillows and blankets. You had been guilty of catching a few naps out here when you had the time to spare. 

“How long until you think you’re finished with the ship?” You asked. 

Eddie shrugged. “I am not sure…there was a lot of damage. I think I should work on it alone though.” 

“Alone? Like I can’t sit out there while you work on it tomorrow?”

“No,” was all he said as he took another bite of his sandwich. 

“What? Why not?”

“It’s dangerous. Too many things.”

“That’s not really an answer but okay,” you sighed. “It doesn’t really matter since I work part time at the vet clinic in town so I have to leave early in the morning and I’ll be gone all day. I’ll leave some food for you to have easily. Just please stay inside or in the field. No one ever shows up here but you never know.”

“I will be here alone?” He asked with raised brows, looking a little nervous. 

“Yes just don’t get into my stuff,” you snapped, remembering what happened after you left him alone earlier today. It felt like it had been a lifetime since then. 

Eddie looked at you with a sad expression.

Did he regret it too? 

You sighed, pushing yourself up from the porch swing, letting it rock the still sitting Eddie behind you. 

“I’m going in for the night. I have to be up early. Are you okay coming inside and going to bed on your own?” You asked him with a raised brow. 

Eddie shook his head quickly with a little smile, reassuring you that he could handle it on his own. 

You probably shouldn’t leave him out here alone where anything could happen. But it wasn’t like you could monitor him all of the time. He had to be independent for however long he would be here with you. 

“Night,” you muttered as you walked in the house, letting the screen door smack closed behind you. 

You peaked out the window later on when you were done getting ready for bed to find him still sitting on the porch swing, staring out at the stars in the distance. You decided not to bother him and to just leave him be for the night. 

You wonder if his head was turned in the direction of his home and if he missed it. He would probably give anything to go back. 

You cracked your eyes open just to be greeted to the darkness of your bedroom. It was still dark outside in the very early morning hours, the sun not having made its appearance yet,  but you needed to get some things done around the farm before heading to the vet clinic to get pushed around by both animals and people for ten hours. 

You wished you made enough money from the produce and milk from the farm to not have to work there at all. The veterinarian there knew your grandfather and pity hired you when he realized the rough shape that the farm was in. You tried to hold it together, to pretend that everything was okay. But it was getting harder and harder everyday to keep it all in. 

You tried to stretch but your arms were stuck. You wiggled, terror creeping into your body. You wondered for a moment if this was another bout of awful sleep paralysis and you slammed your eyes shut to protect yourself from whatever awful images your brain would surely conjure up. 

You took a deep breath, trying to relax yourself. You wiggled your toes, confused when you were able to move them with no issues. 

You shouldn’t be able to do that if this was sleep paralysis. 

You opened your eyes again, your brain waking up some more and your eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. 

Only then did you feel the warmth on your neck and the pressure wrapped around your body.  

You strained your neck and eyes to get a good look at what was holding you hostage in your blankets just to see Eddie, sleeping deeply against the side of your body. He had his arms wrapped around you tightly, almost protectively. 

His long eyelashes tickled the tops of his cheeks lightly and his cheek was squished against your shoulder. Each slow breath out fanned against your neck rhythmically. It looked as if he still wore the clothes you had given him yesterday. You realized you would have to show him where you had put the pajamas you bought him. 

You slowly took one of his arms by his wrist and lifted it gently. He fought it, just squeezing you tighter instead of letting you move him. 

He looked beautiful in the darkness and you had never realized the slight glow to his skin before. You took a second to trace a finger against the back of his skin slightly, enjoying the feeling of his cool skin. 

You thought that maybe you would get used to sleeping next to your alien. 

You pushed the thought away. You wouldn’t be getting used to anything. He’d be leaving soon. 

You shimmied the best you could, breaking free of his grasp and quickly shoving your pillow in his arms for him to hold instead. You stood at the end of the bed, making sure that he didn’t wake. He groaned lightly, shoving his face into your pillow and taking a deep breath before stilling again. 

You wondered if he could smell you on the pillow. You wondered if he liked it. 

You grabbed the scrubs you had set out the night before and crept to the bathroom to get ready for the day. 

Even in the busiest of moments at work, and even with a mean veterinarian yelling at you for being so scatterbrained that day, you kept thinking about how nice it was to wake up in Eddie’s arms.

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire

biker!Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Part 3

🚨18+Only, biker!Eddie, tow truck driver!Eddie, adult themes, mentions of smut, angst, mutual pining, slow burn, cheating (not on reader), alcohol consumption, flirting, mention of biker!Steve Harrington, 90's music & nostalgia, mention of a loved one with cancer, self-deprecation, eventual smut. Reader and Eddie are late 20's-early 30's

Word count: 5k

Series Masterlist

🔸Reader and Eddie are pining for each other in secret, and reader takes bold initiative to bring Eddie a gift. The two of you keep crossing paths as this crush intensifies and complications arise.

A/N: Always look forward to hearing from you all, what you thought, or what you'd like to see happen 👀

-----------

Steve called a day or two after the initial meetup, but Katie was headed to a conference out of the state, so they didn’t make any immediate plans. The conversation started in the living room where she first picked up the phone; she made a wild hand gesture, arm pivoting from side to side at the elbow, mouthing his name to you so that you would know who it was, and then she switched to the phone in her bedroom. They talked for over an hour, and he told her he’d check back in when she was back from her trip.

“Okay, so Steve thinks that Eddie has a little crush on you,” Katie told you when she came back out to give you the recap. “He said you might have to make the first move, though.”

Your heart fluttered, but you tried to play it cool. You looked up from your magazine. “Please tell me you didn’t spend the entire time talking about me?”

“Oh, of course not,” Katie shrugged. “Only a half hour or so.”

“If I were Eddie, I’d be pissed if my friend spilled the beans like that,” you said with a tilt of your head.

“I told Steve I wouldn’t tell you he said that,” she countered.

“Well, that makes it better.”

“Steve is a really…” Katie hesitated, trying to find the right descriptive as she plopped back down on the couch. “...intelligent, charming guy. I don’t know, maybe I’ll go out with him when I get back. If he asks like a gentleman.”

“Maybe?”

“Probably.”

----------

The next week came and went. You were busy, so you didn’t have much of a chance to think about the possibility that Eddie might have a crush on you.

No, that was a lie: you thought about it a lot. The bad part was, this whole feeling a chemical pull towards him was a distraction that you didn’t need in your life, and it made you do creepy, irrational things, like driving by Munson’s Garage one day after work just to see if you could get a glimpse of him.

The good part was, it had you feverishly painting until after midnight a few days in a row. You were feeling inspired for the first time in months, and even if you still had to be at work at 9am looking like death warmed over, it was worth it.

On Thursday afternoon, you were at the gallery preparing a huge piece of art to be shipped out of the country when you heard it: the unmistakable purring growl of a chopper gunning down your street. You let the corner of the box fall to the ground with a heavy thud, eliciting a horrific yowl from your assistant who had been helping you wrap it up meticulously for the past hour, and sprang to the window like a little girl at the distant tinkle of Santa’s bells.

There were three of them atop their menacing leather and chrome beasts, but they were already disappearing around a corner at the other end of the street by the time you got there. The next thing you knew, you were out on the sidewalk with your hand up to block the sun, squinting, trying to see if one of them had long, dark hair. The high pitched whine of a car alarm shrilled in the distance, and a woman pushing a baby stroller had to go around, eyeballing you with disdain as she went.

---------

Meanwhile, Eddie was seeing you in the face of every woman he met, and simultaneously looking forward to the day when that was not the case. He didn’t have the energy to pine over someone, let alone have issues performing in bed because the woman wasn’t you. Having sex with other women was starting to feel like cheating, and that was an icky, embarrassing truth that he would never confess to one of his buddies.

“Oh? You can’t stop thinking about her when you fuck other women? Damn, that pussy must be tight.”

You were basically a figment of his imagination, and he was having these really gross daydreams about just….holding your hand and shit like that. Not cool, not bad ass. Jerking off to a porn or the idea of some nameless, faceless mouth on his cock was fine, but doing it to the idea of tasting your cum while his mouth was between your legs made him want to lobotomize himself with Jack Daniels.

This was dangerous, bitch-boy territory, and he honestly couldn’t say he’d navigated it in almost a decade. Maybe he’d been hanging out with Steve “Loverboy” Harrington for too long, listening to him get all goo-goo ga-ga over some new chick every other week. But also, he envied him; Steve didn’t just sip the juice when it was good, he let himself drown in it, over and over again.

Eddie shrugged it off and acted like he didn’t care the day Steve told him that he talked to your roommate, but then he came back around a few hours later and asked him if he was planning to meet up with her again. “You should call her friend,” Steve told you. “She digs you, Katie told me.” Katie told him no such thing, as she had a very strict girl code, but Steve couldn’t help himself.

So yeah, Eddie drove by your work on Thursday. Innocent enough, but the part of town where you worked was very high-end, and nowhere near the place him and the boys were headed, but nevertheless, he gave the signal and they followed. One of his buddies ran with the Coffin Kings---a bearded monster they called Tank----and he got a kick out of rumbling his hog close to the expensive cars parked along the street to shake the foundation and make their alarms go off.

He didn’t even turn his head to see through the glass storefront and check if you were inside, that wasn’t the point: he just wanted to be in your orbit, to drive down a street that you parked on every day.

Holy shit, Munson, why don’t you just put your tap shoes on and break into song about it?

--------

On Friday, you left work early, announcing that you had a very important appointment, and then you went and sat in your car around the corner from Munson’s Garage for a half hour. It took you way too long to work up the courage, listening to an album by the band Hole, specifically the song Violet. A gang of bikers rolled up to the stop sign across from you, and you did a comical job of sliding down in your seat so they wouldn’t see you.

Once they were gone, you looked down at what you had in your lap; a gift wrapped up in brown butcher paper and tied with jute string. “This is so stupid,” you told yourself, putting your car in gear to drive away, but then you flipped it into park again with a pensive groan.

After a dramatic pause, cursing as you went, you circled the block one more time and then entered via the open gate at the side entrance. The main garage and supposed clubhouse for the Coffin Kings---the spot where you had dropped the boys off the week before---was to your left, but ahead of you was another garage, and the wide expanse of a junkyard full of wrecked cars behind a fence. Your eyes landed on the black tow truck that Eddie drove, giving you hope that you hadn’t missed him. A row of motorcycles were lined up in the middle of the pavement, and then to the right there were angled parking spots under an awning, and that is where you went.

Your stomach bleated its discontent when you saw that there were at least 10 or 12 guys in biker cuts hanging outside near the grill, flipping burgers in front of the main garage, blocking the entrance to where you would most likely find Eddie. They all had the Coffin Kings insignia placard on the back of their leather vests, and they were tossing back beers and taking shots. After you parked, you craned your neck to see if Eddie was one of them, but there were a few obscured by one of the pillars holding the roof up. Surely, he would’ve spotted your car as you inched along at an elderly crawl.

You took a minute to fix your hair and makeup in the visor mirror, practiced stretching your lips in a grimace smile a few times to make sure there was no lipstick on your teeth, and then made the leap.

-------

Eddie should’ve been down with the guys getting hammered, or having a game of pool in the club house after a long week, but no. He was on the second floor in his apartment, getting in some bench presses before he showered and continued on with his evening of laundry and trying to get to bed at a decent hour for once. He was listening to Slayer, but the widow was open and he could hear them all giving each other shit down below.

In between songs, at the end of a set, he heard a different type of ruckus going on outside and it made him sit up, sweat dripping into his eyes and down his neck. The guys were giving wolf whistles and saying something about “look at that fine piece of ass” and Eddie didn’t know why, but he felt like he needed to go down and investigate.

That was when he opened the door and saw you making your way across the parking lot. You were carrying something flat and square in your hands and you looked like you were cautiously assessing the scene, like maybe you should return to the safety of your car, and he didn’t blame you.

“Cool it, fuckers,” Eddie told the guys as he pushed by some of them to go out and head over to meet you. But he could still hear them saying things to each other under their breath, whispering about you, and how good you looked.

He didn’t want you to be there, in that moment. Not because he didn’t want to see you, but because he didn’t want the other guys to think you were just some whore he was fucking, or worse yet---he didn’t want any of them to think that they could fuck you. He tried to walk toward you at the right angle so that you would be blocked from their view, inadvertently squaring his shoulders and asserting his dominance as he went.

-------

You had a feeling this was a bad idea, but you had no idea how bad until a dozen pairs of eyes were turning to stare at you, narrowing on you, and unabashedly so. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, and there was heavy metal music blaring from inside the building somewhere. You planted your feet, looking around, wondering what you would do if Eddie wasn’t there: hand over the cutsie little gift to one of his biker buddies? You didn’t want to embarrass him.

But then, the door opened and there he was, frowning at you like you were the last person on earth he wanted to see. It was more of a scowl, actually, eyebrows knitted together and upper lip rising in an abominable snarl. He said something to the rest of the guys, and a few of them seemed to snap back to reality, but he couldn’t wipe the pissed look off from his face as he made his way over to you with an air of reluctance.

He had on a white wife beater and jeans with his boots unlaced. The front of the tank was damp and his arm muscles were especially defined and swollen. You could see that he had some kind of huge, tattooed chest piece that came up to his clavicle and stretched over his shoulders. Various other ink decorated his arms; the one on his forearm being the most faded of them all. Your pussy fluttered at the sight of him, even though he looked like he was ready to put his hand around your throat. Or maybe because of it?

“What are you doing here?” He barked in a voice low enough so that only the two of you could hear it.

His attitude was not your favorite. “Well, hello to you too, grumpy.”

Now you wished you didn’t have the stupid gift in your hand. Couldn’t you have left it in the car and waited to see if he was here first? No, you had to bring it with you, and now it was too late, dummy.

Eddie glanced over his shoulder at the guys, jaw muscles flexing, and then he gestured for you to walk with him over to where your car was parked, under the awning, out of the overcast but bright sky.

He put a hand at your elbow and maneuvered you so that you were facing away from the riff raff, the view of your backside blocked by your car. There was a matte black Chevelle parked in the slot next to you, and he leaned back against it, crossing his arms at his chest.

“Sorry about that,” he told you. “We usually keep them locked up during the daytime.”

At his joke, your shoulders softened and you exhaled, flexing your fingers on the package. The movement caught his attention and his cocoa brown eyes shifted to the gift.

“You said to come by whenever, but I should’ve called,” you hadn’t planned out what you would say, but now you wished you had.

“No, no,” he assured you, crossing his feet at the ankles. “I promised you a spare tire. I haven’t forgotten.”

Truth, you had totally spaced that he said he’d give you a free tire, which was no small expense, but it was a much better reason than, “I made you something because I can’t stop thinking about you,” or “here’s a gift, now let’s kiss.”

“What’s that?” He asked the dreaded question, tilting his chin at the package and meeting your eyes down the end of his nose.

“Oh this?” You asked cheerily, feigning mock surprise, as if it slipped your mind that it was in your hand. “This is nothing. Just a thank you for...the tow and the tire. I made it, it’s no big deal.”

“You made it?” His voice flew to a higher octave than he was comfortable with at that revelation, and an invisible warm hand wrapped around his heart.

Scratching your eyebrow, you passed it to him. “You don’t have to open it here,” you added, hoping he wouldn’t.

He held it in both hands, strong fingers curling around the backside as his thumbs stroked the front of it to feel the texture of the paper. It had been a while since he’d received a thoughtful gift that wasn’t booze or scratch tickets or a Hickory Farms sausage and cheese platter.

Overall, he was speechless, but one thing that did come second nature to him was offering acts of service as a way of showing his appreciation. “Let me take this up to my place, and then I’ll get you that tire. Can you wait here? I’ll just be a second.”

He was already on the move, but you stopped him. “I can’t sorry, I have to go. Rain check?”

You put your hand on the crook of his elbow without thinking, to stop him, and then all you could think about was the heat of his skin, the way the hair on his forearm tickled your finger. His eyes went to your hold on him and his Adam’s apple jerked in a quick swallow.

You lowered your hand. “Maybe I’ll surprise you again one day,” you were blushing now and you moved your chin to your chest to try and hide it. This was feeling less and less like an interaction between two grown adults, and more like some high school crush that you giggled about to your friends and wrote little hearts around each others name in class.

Over your shoulder, Eddie could see that Wayne was coming that way with an invoice in his hand, probably to ask him a question about one of the pickups that day. He looked a bit pale and peaked, and even though Eddie begged him to take the day off work whenever he had chemo treatments, the old man refused to listen.

“Okay, so, I’ll see you around then,” Eddie heard it come out of his mouth and he wished he could take it back. The tone was off; he sounded like he didn’t care if he saw you again, but that was the furthest thing from the truth.

“Okay, bye,” and you were back behind the wheel of your car, panting, wishing you had a paper bag to hyperventilate into. In the rear view mirror, you watched an older man with gray hair meet up with Eddie. His clothes were baggy, as if he’d suddenly dropped a significant amount of weight. Eddie clapped his free hand on the older man’s shoulder and they walked back to the garage together at a slow pace, your gift in his hand swinging level with his wallet chain.

--------

After finishing up for Wayne and demanding that he go home to get some rest, Eddie was finally alone again in his apartment. The string you used to secure the package might as well have been steel bars with how tight it was tied, and so he reached over for the butterfly knife on his nightstand and popped it open with a few flicks of his wrist. He sawed the string with caution, careful not to puncture whatever was in it.

His heart was racing and his palms were a little sweaty, and for some reason, the rising of sweet emotions made him angry. Just settle down there, bucko, the voice in his head told him, she probably gives gifts to anyone who does anything remotely nice for her; this doesn’t make you special.

He touched the black painted edges first, realizing it was a canvas, and then the back side fell open to him first: To: Eddie, my hero, and then it was dated and had your name signed on the wood cradling.

Turning it over, he had no idea what to expect, but as his eyes took it in, a quivering sigh escaped his lips.

It was a piece of art depicting the sunset exploding from beyond the low hills in Hawkins; the view you see from the freeway from the exact spot where you had blown your tire, the spot where the two of you had met for the first time. It wasn’t just a standard scenery painting either; it was abstract and full of texture, with tiny bits of paper collage added in. Bright, bold colors, with tiny hand drawn details.

He took down his framed Dio poster so that he could hang your 12x12 painting across from his bed where he could see it from all angles of the room. He puffed his cheeks out and blew air from his lips to make a low whistling sound as he stood there admiring it, wishing he would’ve opened it in front of you, so that you would know how much he cherished it. You might never know how much a gift like this meant to him; it was immediately one of his prized possessions.

Absently, he crumpled the wrapping paper and string up in his hands, pounding it into a compact ball, so that he could make a jump shot for the trash can, and then made it in with a swoosh.

What he didn’t see crushed inside the ball was the square, pink piece of paper with a little note on it that said: “I know Steve has this number, but I also wanted you to have it. Call me sometime.” and then your phone number in cute, block digits.

-----------

Another week went by, and you had officially resigned yourself to the fact that you would, indeed, die alone. Putting yourself out there, even as infinitesimally as you had with Eddie, almost killed you. Getting excited every time the phone rang, hoping it was him, had you regretting the choice to ever make a move in the first place. Besides Katie, you were the only single person in your friend group, and that’s just how it would stay until Keifer Sutherland proposed.

Steve called Katie though, and even though she had the feeling he was a bit of a player, the idea of jumping on his cock had her chomping at the bit.

“Are you sure?” Katie asked as she dowsed herself with hairspray in the bathroom mirror, an L7 cassette in the tape player. You were just behind her in the hallway, and you leaned back to avoid the fumes. “I can hang out with Steve a different night, I don’t want you do go to Marysville alone.”

Marysville was a town down the road, not fifteen miles away, and there was a huge gallery opening in an old airplane hangar, and as the manager of Moon River Gallery, you were forced to attend.

“That’s sweet of you, but Jeff will be there.” You held your breath and waved your hand in front of your face. “But I’m counting on you to get laid for the both of us.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m going to let Steve know what a deadbeat his buddy Eddie is for not calling you to even thank you for that gorgeous painting.” Katie was using her protective mom voice.

“Please don’t,” you begged her. “He just didn’t want to see me again, and that’s fine. I don’t need someone to call me out of obligation. Really, don’t mention anything to Steve or I will turn to stone and crumble to pieces.”

Katie went into your bedroom instead of hers, and held up a certain shirt, asking if she could borrow it. “That’s actually yours,” you told her, waiting on the bed as she changed.

You were putting your arms into your jacket, just about to head out the door, when Katie came around the corner holding up flavored condoms and Magnums in each hand. “Do you want to take any of these with you? Plenty of cute guys in Marysville.”

“No, thank you,” you assured her politely, fixing your collar. “Besides, I’m sure Jeff will have a stockpile with him.”

But Katie threw one at you anyway, and you caught it with a slap to your chest. “Here, just take one of these Magnums, for prayer’s sake.”

----------

The airplane hanger gallery was situated near the lake, and it was an unarguably stunning venue full of massive artworks and expertly blown glass. You and Jeff arrived together, but went your separate ways initially, both stumbling upon friends from other galleries you knew, and you sipped some expensive champagne while you mingled. You were bent over, reading the details about one of the paintings, when two of the new people arriving caught your eye.

Fantastic, it was Eddie and Charlene.

Charlene looked like she was a movie star about to walk the red carpet and Eddie looked as good as ever. From the waist down was dressed like normal: jeans, boots, and wallet chain--but he always put a nice dark red or black shirt on for the events. Three buttons undone down the front to give a peak of that chest tattoo, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a little earring dangling from one ear, and those chunky, silver rings on his hand. Obviously the two of them were a couple, regardless of the fact that she was married, and regardless of the fact that Eddie referred to himself as being single.

He escorted her in with his arm linked in hers, and you could tell he was about to fall back and head outside to wait, but then his eyes locked on you. You turned your back on him, guzzled your champagne, and then headed over to where you could get a big glass of wine, thirstier than you’ve ever been in your life. Jeff had volunteered to drive you both back, and you had just decided in that moment that you were going to let him.

You were a couple of swallows in when you felt the front of his warm body press up at your side, against your arm, hands in his pockets, and then he leaned his head down closer, wavy dark hair skimming your shoulder, to whisper in your ear. “Your art should be in a place like this.”

“Oh hiiiiii,” you turned, pretending to be shocked to see him. “What a nice surprise. How are you?”

He backed up a step to give you some room, not checking even once to see where Charlene was or if she cared where he was; his eyes were intent on you.

Jeff, was off to the side, flirting with one of the guys on the catering staff, when he glanced over to see who you were standing with, and his eyes bulged wide.

“You clean up good,” you told Eddie, getting intoxicated on how delicious he smelled. Almost two glasses of alcohol in, you were already getting ballsy, and you reached up to brush his hair back from his shoulder and straighten his collar. “You look like you could run for mayor.”

He glanced down at himself, and then met your gaze from under his lashes, full pink lips curving up on one side. “I was going for Colombian drug lord, but I guess I missed the mark.”

Okay, so he made you laugh and he was sexy. So what.

Someone you knew came up to hug you and say hello, and you expected Eddie to take advantage of the moment and make a getaway, but he stayed.

“Can I get you another one?” He asked, gesturing to your almost empty glass. Never mind that everyone was glancing over at him, asking themselves with shifting eyes who the hell let the scary biker dude in to mingle with the rich people. The irony of a bunch of art snobs recoiling at someone who brought something new and different to the table was not lost on you. Sure, he made them uncomfortable, but who would be the one to ask bad boy biker Eddie Munson to leave? Eddie could flick his lighter open and set one of the paintings on fire, and still no one would question him.

“Aren’t you here with someone?” You asked, glancing around for that big gold explosion of wealth that was Charlene.

“No,” Eddie said initially, but then. “Well, I drive for Charlene from time to time but we’re not...together, if that’s what you mean.”

Eddie could feel Charlene giving him the evil eye from across the room, but he didn’t care. He stopped having sex with her two weeks ago, but he wasn’t ready to give up the extra cash working as her personal escort service and hired muscle.

Staying sober for the night, he brought another glass of wine over to you, and then he started asking you questions about the artwork and the artists as the two of you walked.

“Isn’t that Charlene Gregson’s boy toy?” Manny, one of the caterers, asked Jeff as they watched the two of you flirt with each other.

Jeff nodded, a smile creeping across his face. “Oh, this is going to be juicy.”

There was a snap high on the back of your shirt, and you could feel that it had come loose, so you beckoned for Eddie to follow you to the walkway just beyond the paintings, into the shadows, so you could put your glass down on the cement base of one of the pillars.

“Could you...help me with this?” You turned your back to him and pulled your hair to the side. “Fasten this for me, please? I can’t reach it.”

Eddie licked his lips as he closed in behind you, enjoying the proximity of it, and moved his fingers to your neck, callouses from his fingers grazing your smooth skin, taking an audible, deep intake of breath as he caught a whiff of your shampoo. When he was done, his hand slid down your back, indulging himself, letting it land at the curve of your hip in a slow circle. “All good,” he said in a low whisper.

You spun around to face him with a crooked smile, the alcohol in full affect, and your eyes fell on a loose thread that had escaped and was resting on his crisp, dark red shirt, your eyes lingering on the black ink of the tattoo underneath.

You brought your hand up to pick the thread off, but then he caught your wrist, your palm sinking flat to his body, melting, right at the epicenter of his life blood; his heart racing. You shifted your gaze from his grip to meet his eyes, pupils dilated, and your breath caught in your chest; your fingers started stretching out and back against him in an alien form of physical communication.

His lips parted, gaze flicking to your mouth, holding your wrist with a grip that was firm but tender while his other hand rose to cup your face. Rough fingertips grazing your throat until they curled around the base of your head, metal rings clicking together, and then his thumb brushed across your jawline.

You bit your bottom lip softly, delirious need pulsing in your core.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Your voice was tiny, and his eyebrows knitted together, confused. You could see he was just about to say something, but then:

“Eddie,” the unmistakable voice of Charlene Gregson called to him from the other side of the gigantic painting you were both doing a poor job of hiding behind. “It’s time to go. Please pull the car around?"

She was looking directly at the two of you from only a few yards away, with her hands on her hips, but still he held your palm to his chest and searched your eyes, trying to understand. After a beat, he cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry,” under his breath before turning on his heel to go and play chauffeur again, shoving one hand in his pocket to get the keys as he went.

Charlene stood there and stared at you for a bit longer, her eyes taking you in from head to foot, probably trying to understand what you had that she didn’t. But it must’ve occurred to her that she was the one he was going home with and not you, because then she flipped you a little sly smile and puffed a laugh out of her nose as she turned, shaking her head.

-------------

Part 4

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my lovelies who asked to be tagged: @hellv1ra, @tlclick73, @corrodedcoffincumslut, @ms1oftheboys

[gold-snek-hoe]

Hello and welcome to Opinions from an Internet Nobody. Today's essay:

"Ger therapy" is the new "You need Jesus": One Weirdo's Navigation through Cultural Shame

This is a supposedly well-meaning sentiment that is often weaponized against people who are behaving outside of perceived cultural norms. It's a favorite of homophobes who see queerness/transness as a mental illness, but I've been seeing it used to demonize kink (which historically is often linked to queerness), and more generally any "weird" behavior that makes people uncomfortable.

For example, otherkin, systems (especially those with fictives), and people who take fictional characters as partners. Y'know, "weirdos" who "can't separate reality from fiction." And, sure, sometimes there can be a problem with that distinction, but I know as well as you that most internet strangers saying "get therapy" don't actually give a shit about the mental health of those they target. It's code for "your behavior makes me uncomfortable, stop it."

Same sentiment as "you need Jesus."

This has actually taken me a long time to figure out. I've been in therapy for my entire adult life, working through various traumas, severe depression, anxiety, all that. Those were the biggest problems as they negatively impacted, and often endangered, my life. It was only after my hospitalization in 2020, where I was finally put on much needed medication, that I could start to grow into myself.

I changed my name. I top surgery. I came out as polyamorous. I finally got my official autism diagnosis. Now I'm fuckin' married! But... there are still things I'm working through in therapy. Mainly, shame over my "weirder" behaviors. My current therapist has been a huge blessing in helping me accept the things I was too ashamed to admit.

Now, I feel comfortable enough to share.

I'm otherkin. Always have been. My connection to my humanity is tenuous, and I'm sure that's connected to my autism. When mad, I feel phantom horns sprouting from my forehead. I have a tail that swishes back and forth at the base of my spine. In my soul, I am monstrous, and years of therapy has not erased that.

I feel like I'm only half in the physical world most of the time. This doesn't hinder my real-world success (I graduated college Summa Cum Laude, have an IMDB page, and am on my third book), but informs the way I look at the world. There's a whole other universe in my head that hums along with me in my day-to-day. That's part of why I'm so skilled as a writer. To ask me to divorce from that is to tell me to stop existing. Sorry, it's how I've always operated.

Lastly, and this is the one I'm really anxious about, I have a fictional husband. Now, looking at my blog, you might say "yeah, no shit," but I don't just ship myself with him. I mean I practice pop-culture Witchcraft, and the Goblin King is my patron. I mean I have a Labyrinth-themed tarot deck that I talk to him with. I mean I held a ritual to spiritually marry him. Basically, I Snape-wived myself.

And guess what? My therapist isn't concerned. It's not hurting my ability to live my life. I have other interests, hobbies, and goals outside of him, which he actively encourages in all our tarot sessions! I wouldn't be doing this if he didn't support me. My IRL spouse is usually there for whatever magical shit I'm doing, and supports me! Some of my closest friends know, and the only complaint I've gotten is "this guy seems important to you, I wish you told me sooner." Hell, my MOTHER knows and supports me, which is huge, because our relationship was pretty damaged after I came out as trans.

If you have a problem with the way I live my life, when literally nobody else does, take a good long look at why. You don't give a fuck about my mental health. You just don't like that I'm weird.

Tl;dr: My mental health is better than it's ever been since embracing the weird, so leave me and my imaginary husband Marak Sixfinger alone.

[licorice-tea]

The Way Things Go

Pairing: Kaku x reader

Content: huge spoilers for water 7 and enies lobby!!! kaku calls reader “miss” but gender nuetral pronouns are used besides that, reader is a strawhat, flirting and things!

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: this is going to be a mini series covering the reader’s arrival in water 7 (with the straw hats ofc!) to the end of enies lobby. basically, how the reader meets kaku, falls for him, learns his true identity, etc. it’s been a WHILE since i watched the water 7/ennies lobby arcs so im sorry if some things aren’t accurate!! also this is very self indulgent, ik he doesn’t have a ton of fans but seeing him in egghead put me back in my kaku era😇 enjoy! <3

Part 2

You walk towards the doors of the shipyard nonchalantly, but with clear direction and intent. “I need to help find a shipwright who can evaluate the Going Merry and tell us what it’ll cost to fix.” Just a few minutes ago, you’d split up from Nami, Luffy, and Usopp in favor of heading straight to the shipyard while they went to find a place to exchange all of your “stolen��� treasure for berries, first. Which is how you ended up standing outside a set of massive doors and an equally tall wall to what you had been told was the Galley La Shipyard. However, after finding no buttons or opening mechanism, you try and fail to push open the incredibly heavy doors.

“Afternoon, miss. Are you looking for a way into the Galley-La Company, by chance?”

You turn around expecting someone older, who has lived a life and now finds no reason to speak in anything other than proverbs and make casual small talk using the same dialects that were popular half a century ago. But instead you’re met with a young man, no older than 25, and a nose reminiscent of Usopp’s. He’s tall, with pretty eyes and strawberry blond hair. You notice the words “Galley La” stitched on the front of his baseball cap, and realize he must work there.

“Hi! Yes, I’m looking for a way into the shipyard.” you nod earnestly.

“Allow me to introduce myself then,” the man removes his hat and holds it to his chest as a gesture of respect, “I’m Kaku, one of the shipwrights of the Galley La Company.” Then he extends his hand toward yours, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss…?”

“Y/n,” you take his hand and shake it once, “and the pleasure’s all mine.”

He smiles and (ever so slowly) lets go of your hand, then brings two fingers up under his chin in a pondering expression. “Say, you look awfully familiar miss y/n. Don’t tell me… you’re a model!”

You giggle at the compliment, “Only on wanted posters!”

“Ah, we get plenty of pirates around these parts, but I’ve never met one as pretty as yourself.” he punctuates his comment with a wink.

You smile and shake your head, “I’m sorry but I’m kind of on a time crunch; would you be able to let me into the shipyard? My crew and I need repairs on our ship.”

“Certainly, miss. Wait here, and I’ll have the doors open in a jiffy.”

As the shipwright leads the pirate through the yard, he makes quick work of getting closer to you. It doesn’t take long for Kaku to boldly rest his hand on your lower back as if to guide you in new directions. At one point he even hooks his arm around your shoulders to turn you toward a particular construction area, but his flirting does not go unnoticed.

“Next on our tour,” he gestures forward at a building with one hand, with his other on the small of y/n’s back, “this is where we design some of the new ships.”

The building is one of few within the large, outdoor shipyard. Kaku opens the door for you and announces to his fellow shipwrights, who are hard at work designing various ship parts inside, that he’s brought a guest. The building isn’t very large inside, either- just a few tables decorate the interior, all covered in blueprints and drawing tools. You wave politely around the room and even excuse yourself for the intrusion, but your tour guide puts his arm around you once again and assures you that it’s no bother. And he’s right; the ship designers either pay you no mind or kindly explain what they’re doing as  you make your way through the room. Their work is intriguing, and extremely detailed- almost artistic, in a way.

Kaku catches the glint in your eyes and asks, “Are you an engineer? Or- no, an architect?” he incorrectly guesses your occupation, but his attempts are cute at the very least.

You laugh and smile, “No, I’m not. But this work is really amazing… there’s just so much attention to detail; it’s very…”

“Beautiful?” he offers with a proud grin.

“Hm. I was going to say skilled, but yeah, beautiful.” You continue in a slow lap around the room to observe the blueprints and the shipwrights drawing them. When the two of you exit, you give another wave by the door and thank the shipwrights for letting you see their work. Kaku stays behind and winks at his coworkers, who all grin or shake their heads in amusement at his clear pursuit of the visitor (you), before following you outside.

He jogs to catch up and falls into step alongside you. “So, what do you do then if you don’t mind my asking, miss y/n?” Then, he takes on a teasing tone: “Besides pirating, of course.”

“I do plenty.” You joke back. Sure, you could tell him your dream and your role on the crew but… where’s the fun in that? Besides, you barely know the guy.

“You’re awfully mysterious, miss y/n.” He not-so-discreetly observes your profile as you continue walking through the shipyard. “Say, how long are you and your crew in town?”

“Oh, well.. however long it takes for our ship to be repaired, I guess.” Then, your gaze meets his with a somewhat knowing expression. “Why do you ask?”

Kaku smirks, “I’d like to get to know you better.”

With a smirk and a hum of acknowledgment, you both continue walking side by side with an added air of flirtation in every brush of your hands or shoulders. You reach the end of the shipyard, and turn around to head back. On the way back to the front entrance, Kaku agrees to personally asses the Going Merry free of charge, “just for you.” The two of you make plans for him to come to the place where the Straw Hats hid her later that evening when he has time. Finally, you two have done a complete lap around the Galley-La Shipyard, and you find yourselves back at the entrance.

“Thank you again for agreeing to check out our ship. She means a lot to us; my crew and I.”

He puts his hands in his pockets, sort of mimicking your own nonchalant demeanor; “It’s no problem at all, miss. In fact, it’ll be my great pleasure to work for you.”

You giggle at his flirting once again, and bid him farewell. “Well, I’m going to go find my crew mates. I think they probably found us some hotel rooms by now.” (You’d all planned to stay in a hotel while in Water 7, in order for repairs to be carried out.)

Kaku nods, “Then I hope you’ll come visit me when you have the time. Or would you prefer it if I came to you?”

“…You don’t have to do that.” Awkward laughter escapes your lips.

“No, but I sure would like to,” he takes one of your hands and surrounds it with both of his, “if you’ll let me.”

This has your mouth gaping as you search for the right response… He’s so straightforward, unlike most of the young men you’ve met on your travels. “W-well, ok.”

“Ok? So, that’s a yes then?” He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood and ease your nervousness (though he does find it endearing.) “I could only accept your enthusiastic consent, miss y/n, if I were to go ahead with courting you.”

“I- Courting me?” you hold back a laugh, not wanting to tease him for his old fashioned way when you find it so charming. “Then, yes. I enthusiastically agree.”

He grins, “Swell! I think I’ll swing by your Going Merry around 5, shouldn’t talk long to asses damages and give you a quote on how much she’ll be to fix. How about we meet then?”

And you nod, “Sounds like a plan.”

“It is one.” He leans in conspiratorially and wriggles his brows, “One could even call it a date.”

You hide another smile by biting your lip and take a step back. “Right… Well, I’ll see you then!” With a wave over your shoulder, you’re off. He watches for a moment as you disappear into a more crowded area of the street and chuckles to himself.

What a sweet guy. A little old fashioned, but very polite, and so tall and handsome and- sigh.

You’re already falling for him.

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Hello again! I don’t know if youll write angst. And it’s 1000% ok if this isn’t taken. I was recently thinking about Nanami Kento and Y/N getting into a horrible argument. Like, so bad he even sheds a tear or something.

Thank you!

I sat on this for SO LONG because I wanted to do it justice for you HAHAH. I hope you like it cause I really do.

Now Presenting...

Starring Kento Nanami, falling apart.

find pt.2 here!

Nanami wouldn’t believe the two of you were having this argument. Well, actually scratch that, he could believe it, he just didn’t want to. He knew it was coming, he knew from the moment the two of you became official. It was an argument he could never really escape. 

“I just miss you Ken,” you sighed, exasperation taking over your entire being like a fog taking over an early fall morning, “I don’t think I’m asking for a lot.”

“I never said you were.” Nanami snapped back with more edge to his voice than he ever intended. Despite all his efforts, work still consumed him. The sorcerers were worn thinner than usual lately, so he was traveling more. A lot more. He wasn’t Gojo, who could just pop up anywhere he wanted to, get shipped out to Africa for a month but still be able to come home in the evenings. 

Nanami couldn’t teleport. When he was sent overseas for the month, he was gone for a month. And they had been sending him away for months. Your breaking point was this weekend, when he came home from a 3 month long special grade mission in the states, for all of 5 days before getting assassigned abroad again. He was going to leave Monday, meaning he was home for a total of 7 days. He couldn’t blame you for being upset. 

“I don’t understand why it’s always you they always have to send!” you sighed, trying hard not to lose your composure, “I don’t understand why you can’t tell them no, don’t you want to spend time with me?!”

“Of course I want to spend time with you Y/n!” Nanami groaned, not believing what he was hearing, “I love you, but my job is life or death more often than not. If I just decide one day not to go in people die.” Nanami tried to reason with you. He knew you were loving, compassionate. He knew you didn’t want anyone to get hurt.

“That’s not true!” you argued, “They have other sorcerers!” You argued with him, losing your cool. 

“Not nearly enough!” He argued back, matching your energy despite himself. “Why are you acting like this now? I didn’t hide my job when we started dating, I made it clear what you were getting into.” Nanami reminded you. 

“Because I miss you!” You yelled, tears starting to pearl at the corners of your eyes, “I love you, I want to be around you! I hate it, being home alone on valentines day when you’re continents away from me!”

“So is that what this is about? You’re mad I didn’t take you on a valentine's day date?” Nanami scoffed, his reasoning leaving his body as he went into defense mode. 

“No you dunce!” You snapped at the deliberate twist of your words. You knew Nanami knew better. Nanami knew better. “This is about the fact that I’ve barely fucking seen you this year!”

“So what do you want me to do about it?!” Nanami sighed, “I don’t get to pick and choose where they send me. What do you think, that I don't want to be home? Of course I do, but I also have a fucking job to do!” Nanami never cursed, least of all at you. It took both of you by surprise. The two of you had never had a fight like this.

“Oh, you wanna be home?!” You scoffed, scrambling for straws. You never met for this to become a fight, let alone one so huge. “Well you could have had me fooled!” you snapped as the tears finally started to fall. 

“Why are you being so selfish right now?! If my job bothers you so much then go!” Nanami finally snapped, his intrusive thoughts getting the better of him and tumbling out. He instantly regretted it as you both stared at each other for a second. The worst part of any fight is the silence. Because it’s not silent. It’s made up of all the things you would say to each other if only you had the nerve. 

And this silence was heavy, like carrying a 30 pound soaking wet weighted blanket. He wanted to scream he was sorry and pull you into his arms and take it all back. But his limbs were full of sand and didn’t feel like his own. “Y/n..” He whispered. 

“Fine.” You snapped, finally finding the will to move as you grabbed your jacket, “Then I’ll go.”

“Wait, no, Y/n, don’t go!” Nanami begged, trying to grab your wrist as you rushed out the door of your shared apartment. “Y/n, I’m Sor-!” The door slammed in his face. 

His heart exploded in fire and glass, his soul left his body and his vision glazed over. This couldn’t be real, no way he fucked up the one good thing he had going for him. For his fucking job for christ sake. He could feel the tears running down his face as he sat on the couch to try and figure out how he got here. He went to check the time on his phone only to be met with a picture of you. He missed you already.

“How the hell are you going to unfuck this one Kento?”

[lllluffyvert]

It’s funny how the entire trajectory of one’s life could be completely and utterly changed by a singular event. A chance encounter with a living whirlwind, a sunbeam in human form. An extended hand and bright, brown eyes that sparkled with the promise of an adventure and despite himself, Zoro was utterly captivated.

“I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!” Luffy, the kid who saved him without a thought for himself, without even knowing him, declared with utmost conviction, as if it were a fact, already set in stone. “I need a strong crew, the best of the best! And you’re amazing, Zoro!” A huge, toothy smile split across his freckled face and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I want you to be my first mate. Let’s help each other achieve our dreams!”

And it’s with the idea of pursuing his dream alongside someone this dazzling and so wholly determined that Zoro, the pirate-killer, the bounty-hunter, a man of self-imposed solitude, grasps Luffy’s outstretched hand in his own, catalogs the warmth of his sun-kissed skin, and swears his swords and his loyalty.

Just like that, Zoro finds himself whisked away to sea, sailing the East Blue with Luffy at the ship’s bow and their 3rd member, Nami, at the helm.

“She’s our crew’s navigator, the best there’ll ever be!” Luffy had announced by way of introductions, tipping his straw hat and throwing Zoro an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Not part of your crew,” Nami replied firmly while crossing her arms. The sleeve of her shirt shifted with the movement and a bandage wrapped around her right arm peeked from underneath the fabric. “Just hitching a ride.”

“I know,” Luffy said with a knowing wink and a winning smile. Zoro eyed Nami with some suspicion, but he could tell that Luffy had already made up his mind to trust her, and he wouldn’t question his captain.

It didn’t take long for Luffy to secure the fourth member of the crew: Usopp, an incredible sniper and an even worse liar. Zoro’s eyebrow twitched every time he called himself “Captain Usopp”, but along with Usopp came the Going Merry, and Luffy finally had his ship. Zoro would let Usopp spin all the tall tales he wanted as long as Luffy was happy.

The sun is high in the cloudless sky now as they skim over calm ocean waters. Zoro reclines against the ship’s wooden railing, nurses a bottle of beer and kicks his feet up. He contemplates taking a nap when he catches sight of Luffy, perched atop the sheep’s head of the Going Merry and basking in the sunshine. He holds his straw hat in his lap and hums a jovial tune as the salted breeze tussles his brown curls in a way that has Zoro feeling short of breath.

Luffy turns like he feels the weight of Zoro’s gaze and meets his eyes. He smiles, bright and warm like a ray of sun. Beautiful, is what Zoro thinks, as he sends up a silent prayer to the gods he doesn’t believe in that he would be deserving of such an expression, quietly devoting himself to his captain as his first mate, as his sword, as anything Luffy wanted him to be.

I’ll become the world’s greatest fucking swordsman, he vows with rekindled resolve, his hand a tight fist around the hilt of his sword. Whatever it takes.

Zoro is tested much sooner than expected, when only days later he, Nami, and Usopp are confronted by Dracule Mihawk, one of seven Warlords of the Sea, a man that Zoro simultaneously idolizes and strives to surpass. As Mihawk tersely questions their captain’s whereabouts, Zoro unsheaths his sword and points the tip at Mihawk’s chest.

“I, Roronoa Zoro, challenge you to a duel.”

“Zoro,” Nami hisses, her expression tense. “Please, don’t do this.”

Mihawk looks him up and down with eyes full of contempt and scoffs. “I don’t waste my time with children.”

“I’ve followed your career since I was a child,” Zoro doesn’t waver, adrenaline pumping in his veins and blood rushing in his ears. “And it’s my dream to be a greater swordsman than even you.”

One of Mihawk’s perfectly manicured eyebrows raises inquisitively as he stares at Zoro for a moment before nodding once. “Fine,” he says, “I’ll humor you, because you’ve piqued my interest, Roronoa Zoro. We’ll meet at dawn, and do try your best not to disappoint me.” He turns and strides away with a flutter of his dark cloak and disappears into the night.

“Why did you have to do that?!” Nami’s voice shakes with anger. “He’s going to kill you!”

Zoro sheaths his sword and looks to Nami. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are filled with apprehension.

“It’s a chance at my dream,” he says with conviction. Nami glares at him. “And why do you even care?”

“Why do I–” Nami sputters, and punches his arm hard. “Because you’re my friend, you idiot! I’m telling Luffy about this!”

She storms off and Usopp follows quickly, but not before he casts an apprehensive glance at Zoro, in agreement with Nami but afraid to speak his opinion.

Luffy will understand, Zoro thinks, and the idea provides him a modicum of comfort. Out of everyone, he knows his captain will understand because they’re the same. It’s what drew Zoro to him so easily; that unbreakable spirit and unshakable resolve. It might’ve also been the beaming smiles that sometimes seemed to be just for him, or maybe those big, sparkling brown eyes that only ever looked at him with adoration. He made Zoro want to be better, to be the best; he’d do anything to make his captain proud and dueling Dracule Mihawk was only the first step.

The hours seem to crawl. Zoro doesn’t sleep, choosing instead to cycle between meditation and polishing his swords, clearing his mind and steeling his nerves up until his crewmates barge into the room with only a few minutes remaining before dawn.

“Okay, now tell him to back out of the duel, Luffy!” Nami demands.

Luffy looks a little unsure, glancing back and forth between Zoro and Nami and biting his lip. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea, Zoro,” he says finally, pushing his hat back to scratch at his forehead, an anxious movement as he’s suddenly forced to make a decision as captain.

“I have to,” Zoro says, a bit desperately as he holds Luffy’s gaze. “To achieve my dream, I have to do this.” Understand me, Captain, is his silent plea.

At that, Luffy’s hesitant expression shifts into one of comprehension, and he immediately straightens his posture and nods firmly. “I’ll support you, Zoro,” he states resolutely.

It’s like a weight is lifted from his shoulders, and Zoro’s devotion grows ever deeper. His captain was at his side, and nothing else mattered.

Nami makes a noise of protest and her eyes begin to well up with tears. “Luffy, why?”

“I can’t get in the way of someone else’s dream, Nami.”

“Even if that dream will get him killed?!”

“Zoro is strong,” Luffy says simply, causing Zoro’s heart to skip a beat.

“I won’t let you down,” Zoro promises, as time runs out and the sun begins to peek over the horizon.

“I know,” Luffy replies with a reassuring smile and a confident gleam in his eyes, believing entirely in his first mate and filling Zoro with a fiery determination. He picks up his swords, ties his bandana around his head, and marches outside to the docks where Dracule Mihawk awaits.

“Ah, you actually showed up,” Mihawk says dully, looking rather bored. “Bravo.”

Zoro says nothing. He stands before Mihawk and pulls out his swords, biting down on the hilt of one and the other two in each hand.

The duel is quick. Zoro breathes heavily, Mihawk’s dagger in his shoulder and blood trailing down his arm to drip from his fingertips. He hears Nami cry out and Usopp gasps. Luffy makes no sound but watches him with wide eyes, features drawn with apprehension.

“Why don’t you retreat?” Mihawk questions, looking pointedly at the wound he’d created.

“If I do,” Zoro says through gritted teeth, “My dream will be lost forever.”

Mihawk hums appreciatively and pulls the knife from Zoro’s shoulder with a wet schlick. “Not bad, Roronoa Zoro,” he says, and a metallic ring echoes in the quiet of the morning as he unsheathes his greatsword from the holster on his back. “I believe you deserve to die by Yoru.”

Zoro rushes him, but his attack is parried easily; Yoru slices into his skin and ends him flying backwards. Two of Zoro’s swords shatter, leaving him only Wado Ichimonji, which he removes from his mouth to grasp firmly in his hand, standing despite his injuries.

“You’ve been defeated,” Mihawk says, “Why do you still fight?”

“Wounds on the back are a swordsman’s greatest shame,” Zoro responds honestly.

“Magnificient,” Mihawk murmurs.

Zoro opens his arms wide and closes his eyes as Yoru slashes across his chest, throwing him onto his back as blood pours from the gaping cut and pools around him, soaking into his shirt.

I’m sorry, Luf, is the only thought in his mind as his senses are wracked with pain and his vision fades to black. He thinks he hears Luffy cry out his name, but it’s faint under the ringing in his ears. Mihawk’s blurred silhouette stands above him, and it might be the blood loss, but he thinks he catches a gleam of respect in his enemy’s eyes.

“When you’re stronger, come and find me,” Mihawk says quietly, before he turns towards Luffy, who’s already running past him to drop to his knees at Zoro’s side, and Zoro’s focus shifts to where his captain’s warm hands touch his cheek, his arm, his chest, burning hotter than the pain in his body. It grounds him for just a moment, and he opens his eyes to meet his captain’s, huge and round and glistening with unshed tears.

Don’t cry for me, he silently begs, I don’t deserve it. I failed.

“Luffy.” Zoro’s voice is solemn, penitent. “If I fail to become the world’s greatest swordsman, you’ll be disappointed in me.”

“Never,” Luffy says immediately, and he leans forward to press his forehead to Zoro’s, balling his fists in his blood soaked shirt. “You could never disappoint me, Zoro.”

Zoro briefly considers what might happen if he were to tilt his head and catch Luffy’s lips, which were so, so close, in a kiss, and he blames the intrusive thought on blood loss induced delirium, before his vision goes black and he fades to nothing.

It’s dark outside when he comes to, without any idea of the time or day. He blinks to clear his eyes and gathers his bearings. He’s lying on a firm cot, the laceration to his chest has been cleaned and bandaged, and the pain is down to a dull sting. There’s a soft blanket around his upper body, and he can see Wado Ichimonji propped up against the opposite wall. His head throbs and right hand is asleep, prickling uncomfortably. He tries to move it, and hears someone shift beside him. He turns his head and catches his breath at the sight of Luffy. His captain’s hand is wrapped tightly around his own even as he stirs from his slumber, his hat around his neck and his brown locks sticking to the side of his face, and Zoro wonders how long he’s been sitting there, waiting for him to wake up.

His heart aches at the thought, and he hates himself for causing Luffy any grief.

“Eh? Zoro?!” Luffy is suddenly wide awake, and he drops Zoro’s hand, choosing instead to hop up onto the cot and hover over Zoro on all fours, straddling his hips. “Zoro! How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

He’s always so warm, Zoro thinks, and as his right hand regains feeling he lifts it to stroke his captain’s flushed cheek.

“Barely a papercut,” he quips softly with a smile only ever for his captain. Luffy’s laugh rings like a bell, a pretty sound that Zoro will never tire of hearing, and he drops to wrap his arms around Zoro, burying his face in his neck. Zoro’s heart hammers behind his ribs and returns the embrace, barely registering the pain his movements induce to his very recent injuries and thinking only of how Luffy smells of sea salt and fresh air, and how perfectly he fits against him.

Luffy lifts himself onto his elbows and meets Zoro’s eyes, his own filled with conviction. “You’ll grow stronger for me,” he says quietly, confidently. “And you'll be the greatest swordsman ever.”

Zoro’s hands move of their own accord, sliding his fingers up Luffy’s neck and into his hair, and he marvels at its softness for a moment before he brings Luffy’s head down and kisses him gently.

Fuck, is his desperate thought as the contact lights a fire in his stomach and he suddenly needs more, craves it.

“Captain,” he breathes reverently, and Luffy’s lips are slightly chapped but pliant against his own as he kisses him again, tenderly, trying to hold himself back and failing miserably. Luffy hasn’t moved, but he hasn’t told Zoro to stop either, so Zoro kisses him yet again, even goes so far as to suck Luffy’s bottom lip into his mouth and swipe his tongue over his velvety skin. That seems to shock Luffy to his senses, as he makes a soft noise that Zoro swallows up and tentatively, awkwardly returns the pressure, like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do, exactly.

The idea of being his captain’s first kiss sends a thrill up Zoro’s spine, and his fingers tangle in Luffy’s hair as he deepens the embrace, tilting his head and licking into Luffy’s mouth like he was dying of thirst and his captain was life-saving water, only breaking the contact to gasp for air.

Luffy looks down at him with twinkling eyes and Zoro’s heart aches, this time with adoration for his captain. He pulls Luffy down against him, wraps his arms around his waist, and buries his face in his curls.

“Now let me get some sleep,” he mutters, and Luffy chuckles against him, snuggling deeper into his chest and sighing contentedly. He’s asleep within seconds, his warm breath puffing against Zoro’s neck and if he wasn’t wounded, he might’ve done something about it, but instead he follows his captain's lead and lets sleep take him.

[in1-nutshell]

how would the maximals react to bot buddy that takes care of their sparkling alone.

I have been actually thinking about doing a piece on a single parent before but never got around to it! Lets see a little in the life of single parent Buddy and their little sparkling.

Hope you enjoy!

Maximals reaction to Bot Buddy being a single parent to a sparkling

SFW, familial, platonic, Cybertronian/ Bot reader

Beast wars

Optimus Primal

Best Ape Dad.

 He has deep respect for Buddy.

Not only are they balancing their duties on board the ship and scouting missions, but also making time for their sparkling.

If Optimus sees Buddy having a particularly slow day or looks like they are about to collapse at any moment he tells them to take a break and let him and the team look after the sparkling for a bit.

“Take a break Buddy, you’ve done enough today.”--Optimus

Sorry Primal but someone needs to look after them.”--Buddy

“Yes, and while it’s admirable that you still want to do that, you need to rest. The team will help look after them. I promise nothings going to happen to them on my watch.”--Optimus

He is in the top 5 best babysitters on board the ship.

When Buddy is out cold, he takes the sparkling in his arms and performs the rest of his duties. If they behave extra well, he’ll take them out flying around the base’s grounds.

Rhinox

Rhino Uncle.

Since Rhinox mainly stays at the base, unless told otherwise, he is a familiar face to Buddy and their sparkling.

It makes them a bit closer, as Buddy’s main work goes to the base. Rhinox is one of the first to spot if Buddy is having a slow day or looks like they are about to drop.

“Buddy, you’re doing it again.”--Rhinox

“It’s time already?”--Buddy

“You know it Buddy, now, hand over the sparkling.”--Rhinox

He makes a mini carrier strap to put the sparkling on his chassis while he works. He gives the sparkling little toys he makes out of some spare parts that are safe to use.

He does use his beast mode too often when the sparkling is around, he doesn’t feel like he has as much control of his huge steps as in his bi-pede mode.

Reigning in at the top 5 best babysitters.

Cheetor

Best Older Cat Brother.

Buddy has gained a new child. Cheetor doesn’t mind it too much, though, he always wanted a little sibling in a way.

He doesn’t know how Buddy does all this stuff.

He does try and help with the sparkling from time to time, Cheetor is good with kids after all.

While he does spot Buddy’s slow days a bit later than the others, He makes sure that Buddy does sit out for a break.

“Hey Buddy, you’re a bit slow today.”--Cheetor

“Well not everyone can be as fast as you Cheetor.”--Buddy

“Yeah, but I can take the kid if you want. I’ll make sure they are okay, and you can take a nap! That sounds like fun.”--Cheetor

“…I suppose—Hey Cheetor!”--Buddy

“We are going to have so much fun!”--Cheetor

He has enough energy to keep up with the kid and their activities. Constantly racing or carrying the sparkling as he races around the base or base grounds.

Top 5 best babysitters.

Rattrap

Rat Uncle.

He has a soft spot for the two of them. He tries to deny it, everyone knows otherwise.

He is constantly on Buddy for overworking themselves. Rattrap will take the kid if Buddy looks like they are going to drop without saying anything else.

“Rattrap!”--Buddy

“Yeah?”--Rattrap

“Give me my sparkling back.”--Buddy

“… I know I did not hear you say that while you’re swaying side to side like a palm tree.”--Rattrap

“… point taken. Just make sure they get nap time this time.”--Buddy

“You go take a ‘nap time’.”--Rattrap

He makes a decent babysitter, just don’t take too long if not he is going to show the sparkling a few new swear words and how to make a bomb using a paperclip.

Dinobot

Dino Uncle.

Dinobot was honestly surprised to see Buddy with a sparkling when he joined the Maximals, it gives him conflicting feelings.

What if he hadn’t joined and continued to fight for the Predacons? What if he had shot Buddy or assisted in injuring them?

The sparkling would be left without a parent. He isn’t letting that happen any time soon.

Dinobot takes a bit to spot Buddy having their slow days, mainly he wont take the hint unless he sees Buddy about to fall or Rattrap making it obvious.

“Sooo… you gonna help Buddy out or what?”--Rattrap

“Why? They look fine.”--Dinobot

Buddy tittering and tottering like a drunk bot on a day of celebration

“… I’ll get the child.”--Dinobot

He is a decent babysitter but isn’t left alone for too long as he will give the sparking to the next Maximal.

Tigatron and Airazor

Auntie Birdy and Uncle Big Cat.

They absolutely adore the sparkling. Both have mad respect for Buddy.

Taking on the role of parenthood while still at war and doing a good job? Buddy is taking that on like a chap.

Since they work out of base for most missions, they don’t interact too much with Buddy or the sparkling but when they do, they make sure to give Buddy a break from sparkling duties and get out of the stuffy base for a bit.

“Come Buddy, its such a nice day outside.”--Airazor

“But what about—”--Buddy

“Tigatron has them taken care of. Now come.”--Airazor

The pair are on neutral grounds of babysitting. They would be ranked higher if they were around much more.

Silverbolt and Blackarachnia

Silverbolt is on Buddy and the sparkling from the get-go.

He is making it his job every time that Buddy gets out of the base that they come back safe and sound to their sparkling.

Blackarachnia like Dinobot has some conflicting feelings about the two after turning to the Maximals.

When she was with the Predacons she didn’t know about the sparkling.

She does feel a bit guilty thinking about all the times she had nearly got Buddy offline in the past whether directly or indirectly. She tries not to think about it too much.

Blackarachina is usually the first to spot that Buddy is overworking themselves. She does not go easy on them for skipping on the taking care of themselves.

“Buddy! You’re doing that thing again! Ugh! Can’t believe—”--Blackarachina

“Um… what are you doing—Hey!”--Buddy

“Silverbolt, keep Tiny occupied.”--Blackarachnia

“As you wish my love. And Buddy, just go with it.”--Silverbolt

“Go with what?”--Buddy

She makes sure Buddy gets some TLC; she makes them promise not to tell anyone of this interaction.

Like she says she doesn’t care. (Liar).

[lilydoeswrite]

guys should i have this as a side project apart from the merciless siren let me know lol (this is related to my only other pjo work)

The stories of the Greek gods, yeah, they’re real. 

If you’re reading this right now thinking this sentence is all one big joke, good for you, continue reading as you please. In fact, I envy you if you’re able to think this is all fiction.

If you’re reading this because you’re starting to believe that the myths you were told as a kid are real, or you’re experiencing experiences science can’t quite explain, my advice is to close this book right now.

If you ever see yourself or relate to anything in these pages and feel something weird stirring inside– stop immediately. Because, as soon as you realise you’re one of us– and chances are, you probably are, they can sense it as well. And they’ll come for you. 

You’re doing this at your own risk. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

My name is Laila Lim.

I’m twelve years old and until a few months ago, I was a boarding student at College La Victoire in Romandie, Switzerland; the french speaking part. I’m originally from Surrey, England, although my mother is Chinese and Thai.

Why am I in boarding school?

I’m not sure. 

Sometimes I think it’s because my mother found me too troublesome and chose to ship me off. But, regardless, I had a good time there. I’m good at sports, music and academics– not to brag, but you can call me an all-rounder. But at the same time I guess you could say I’m a troubled kid.

I could start at any point of time in my short life but things only really started to go south last July when I visited New York City for the first time. 

I know– it sounds exciting. Most of my trips overseas with my mother are and this would be my first time heading to the States, so I had expectations.

My mother is in her late thirties– thirty-six, to be exact. She has long black hair and brown eyes. When she was younger, she was a model, that’s how beautiful she is, although now she is a CEO of some big law firm with the biggest obsession over Greek mythology. My father? I have no idea. But I do know that he’s the reason I have blue eyes. That is really the only trait I inherited from him. 

Well, back to the trip. Everyone has heard of New York City. ‘New York or nowhere’ as some say. I was really looking forward to this trip because first, it would be my first time in the States and it’d be in New York City out of all places. Second, it’s close to where my mother had met my father.

She doesn’t talk about him a lot but I know she met him in the outskirts of New York. 

Anyways, it wasn’t until I stepped into New York that the hallucinations I’d get from time to time really worsened. And I mean it was really bad. I kept seeing strange things, strange creatures that looked scarily close to the pictures in the books my mother used to read to me. I tried my best to enjoy my trip, I really did, but the hallucinations just kept getting worse and worse. 

I still had a good time, though. My mother had to meet up with all her supermodel and celebrity friends and, must I say, the presents they give are extravagant. I’m talking designer bags and fancy jewellery. I knew they were rich but man, I didn’t expect getting things like those, although I’m not complaining. I’m guessing my mother must’ve sent my ‘super unrealistic wish list for your super duper child’ slideshow because everything I had been given was on that wish list. 

Anyway, back to New York City. 

We spent most of our time shopping and sightseeing. If you exclude my hallucinations, the trip was going absolutely fine. In fact, I was having a lot of fun. That was until we visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek stuff; as I said, my mother is huge on ancient Greece and its mythologies.

I guessed some school was having their field trip there because there were a bunch of kids my age as well, which I have to be honest, really scared me. This one girl kept giving me judgemental looks for whatever reason, but I couldn’t care less to be honest. Why is this important? Because when one of the teachers had brought this kid in to, what I assume, scold him, she started making this weird growling noise. 

At this point of time, I was alone looking at one of the other statues as they must have not noticed me but I certainly did notice them.

‘You’ve been giving us problems, honey,” she said in her weird voice.

‘Yes, ma’am,” the boy my age says.

‘Did you really think you would get away with it?’ She says. 

‘I’ll – I’ll try harder ma’am.’

Now, this is the part where it gets weird because it felt as though thunder shook the building,

‘We are not fools, Percy Jackson. It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain.’

I know eavesdropping is wrong but, look, I couldn’t help it. First, what kind of name is Percy? Like Percy Pig? The pig mascot for Marks and Spencers? Second, confess, pain? Find out what? Look, I knew stuff in New York City would be different, but I didn’t think it’d be that different.

‘Well?’ she demands.

‘Ma’am, I don’t…’ the boy says

‘Your time is up,’ the woman hissed. Then, you’re not going to believe what happened because it’s the weirdest thing in the world. I was scared, even hiding behind the statue I was originally looking at. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons and I could tell that her eyes were glowing.

At first I thought I was seeing things, that it was all a big hallucination, but based on the reaction from the other boy, he was seeing them as well. 

Her jacket melted into these large wings and she didn’t look one bit human. She had bat wings and claws and yellow fangs.

And just when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder, well, they did.

This man in a wheelchair tossed a pen to the boy right before the monster woman thing lunged at him. Then, the next thing I see is that the pen had turned into this bronze sword.

‘Die, honey!’ she snarls, flying straight at him.

I’m as still as a statue watching what is going on. Because what is going on?

The boy swings the sword at her and then it passes through her body and a loud hissing sound was made before the woman exploded into yellow powder and seemed to vaporise on the spot, leaving nothing but the weird smell of sulphur you would only typically get in the science labs of my school as a dying screech fills the air.

Then, the boy spots me. ‘Did you see that?

‘Yeah?’ I nod, looking at him strangely as I wonder how on earth he had managed to spot me before he went back outside.

Then, my mother returns and I tell her all about it and she looks at me as if I’m saying some foreign language.

‘Whatever,’ she brushes it off. ‘I’ll book an appointment with Dr Clark when we get back, alright?’

I nod. My hallucinations must be getting worse.

[lloyds1fan]

Ninja habits

This is pretty much a post about habits I think the ninja would have or things that they would do in the show or my au, I might to do other people in the future but no promises :)

KAI: ○I think Kais eyes would get slightly brighter red then usual when he gets super angry or hurt. ○ Kai has slight burn scars on his hands from when he first got his power and weren't used to them (same with his dad Ray). ○ Kai is like a human heater, his body temperature is always warmer than a normal person's so he is always in the middle of the couch or cuddle pile with the ninja.

COLE: ○ I feel like Cole is the best at being intimidating out of all the ninja even though he is a huge cuddle bug.○ From his time being a ghost sometimes he forgets he's human again and tries to walk through a wall or something or and sadly has nightmares of dissappearing. ○ Cole has super good lower body strength as well as upper body strength from when he used to be a dancer and sometimes when he's playing music he starts dancing using some of the moves his dad taught him.

JAY: Jay has little lighting spark scars on his hands,wrists, and arms. (I know they have a proper name but I forgot it, I'm sorry) Nya calls Jay's lightning spark scars lightning kisses :). ○Jay and Cole sometimes curl eachothers hair out of boredom or for practice, and they both have little pins and trinkets they put in eachothers hair (I don't really ship bruise shipping but if you do thats all good :). ○ Jay and Nya often help eachother when they have nightmares because they mainly have nightmares abt Nadakan and the others don't know what happened.

ZANE: ○ Zane is the main healer/nurse/doctor for the team and helps treat their injuries after training or missions. He also gave all the ninja basic training on how to treat simple wounds. ○ When he is especially stressed or upset he accidentally creates thin layers of ice over and liquids nearby. ○ Zane and Lloyd always had a closer connection after Lloyd saved Zane from his ice emporer situation and so Lloyd often helps Zane when he has nightmares because of that (yes I believe Zane has nightmares and sometimes needs sleep (some sort of temporary shut down mode that's needed for whatever reason). ○ After missions Nya or Pixel helps him with his injuries if he can't take care of them himself. ○ Zanes eyes glow in the dark like Christmas lights and so when the other ninja run into him at night they get the scare of their lives because it's like waking up to a freddy fazbear in your house.

LLOYD: ○ Lloyd loves pillow mints and has his own secret stash of candy beneath the floor boards in his room. (He used to have one in the kitchen but then someone found it and kept stealing from it, he has no idea who though.) ○ He purrs when he's happy like a cat, him and garmadon have also hissed at eachother every now and then when angry at eachother. (He's also accidentally hissed at enemy's before and the other ninja find it very amusing) ○ Sometimes due to being part oni he feels the need to eat raw meat, (NOT HUMAN MEAT) so he often eats beef jerky or uncooked lunch meat because he finds it unsanitary and wierd (Zane tried to convince him it was normal and he wouldn't get sick because of it because hes part on but Lloyd didn't care.) ○ Lloyd is a VERY light sleeper during to a couple of reasons 1) When he used to live on the streets he was always alert just incase someone found him and tried to hurt or help him. 2) He is scared of enemy's coming to attack someone on the monastery 3) Because he is part oni his senses are a lot stronger than a normal person so he can hear super well so he wakes up easily when other people get up at night. ○ Lloyd's eyes glow in the dark and scare the life out of the other ninja when they run into him at night.

Thats all for now. (I think you can tell my favorite character from how long these are and my username and ig my entire account lol) Hope you enjoyed these! :)