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lythea-creation · 2 years

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Safe Place - Sirius Black x sister reader

request: It would be nice if you could make a Sirius X sister reader. The Reader was born in 1970 and only has bad memories of Sirius as he was always fighting with their parents. The most hurtful moment was when he left the Reader and Regulus. After that night she started to hate him. Only Regulus was considered a brother to her. After he died she decided to turn her back on the wizarding world and lived as a muggle. She gets kidnapped by Voldemorts Followers to share information about the Order. Harry sees her being tortured in one of his dreams and as he tells Sirius about it ("The tortured woman looks quite like you") Sirius directly realizes about whom Harry is talking. After that, he forced Dumbledore to free the Reader and starts to feel extremely overprotective.

warnings: torture (not that detailed), family issues

word count: 1.227

Author's note: Feel free to check out my Masterlists and make requests. No reposting please! Reblogging, comments and requests are always appreciated <3 If you like the story/my writing, please don't be shy to say it via comments or asks! It takes you a few seconds and might make my day. It's the best appreciation you can show to a writer you like.

Thanks for the request, anon. I changed it up a bit because I think that Dumbledore is pretty busy trying to save his school from the pink devil. But I hope you like it anyway.

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Sirius' PoV

Usually I was happy about getting letters from Harry, no matter how bad the news were.

They were showing me his trust in me and that he cared about me.

Today it was different.

I was scanning the words for the fifth time now, but the message was not changing of course.

Harry had had a vision about a woman getting tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, which was bad enough. But what was really freaking me out was that Harry thought that the woman was looking very similar to me.

Now I could not help but fear that it was (f/n), my little sister I had left behind with Regulus.

She had to be about twenty-five years old right now.

The last time I had seen her she had been a kid. I could not even be sure that I would recognize her now.

Nevertheless I contacted Harry over the fire pit in the Gryffindor common room.

“Sirius? What are you doing here?”, Harry whisper-yelled out of shock.

Ron and Hermione were with him of course, but the other students had already gone to bed. At least that was what I assumed.

“Answering your letter”, I enlightened him. “Where did you see the woman, Harry?”

“Do you know her?”, he wondered instead.

“I don't know yet, but we're losing time. My cousin isn't exactly restrained when it comes to torture. So … what did you see?”, I urged him.

“I think they were in an abandoned warehouse or something. There was a sign in the background. Wait a second! I wrote it down. So I wouldn't forget”, he explained and got his notebook.

Then he showed it to me.

“That's in the muggle world, isn't it?”, I inquired.

“I dunno. I ...”

Harry was interrupted by Hermione: “Yes, it is.”

She even gave me instructions how to get there.

I thanked them and wanted to return to Grimmauld Place.

But Harry stopped me: “Wait! Please, be careful, okay? I don't even know if it's true. It could be a trap.”

“I know. But I need to take the risk”, I proposed and vanished from their sight.

Then I disapparated close to the place and turned into my animagus form.

I had to be careful anyway. Bellatrix would not hesitate to kill a random dog.

There was not anything but nature around the warehouse. I doubted that anyone was ever coming here anymore.

A scream startled me.

In my animagus form it was even worse. My hearing was better and my body reacted strongly to the sound.

I took a look into the building. My cousin had not bothered to close the door properly.

Luckily I could hide behind some containers.

Harry had been right. The woman chained to the chair was actually looking a lot like me. And my instincts were telling me that it was (f/n).

She was panting and shivering badly as tears were streaming down her face.

“Aw, poor little thing. This could be right over if you just gave me information on the order”, Bellatrix declared mockingly.

“I already told you that I don't know anything”, (f/n) claimed with a hoarse voice.

“And you seriously want me to believe you that you were living a muggle life?! That's disgusting.”

(f/n) stayed silent.

“Crucio!”

Another scream resounded through the building, while (f/n) was writhing in pain.

I could not take it.

I turned back into my human form and quickly disarmed Bellatrix before running over to the duo while hurling Bellatrix against the wall with a “Stupify”.

Then I disapparated with (f/n). First to an abandoned alleyway in London and then to Grimmauld Place to make sure that I would not accidentally tell anyone where I was. You could never know.

“(f/n)?”, I uttered softly as I was sitting on the ground beside her.

A pained groan left her lips.

“Please talk to me. I need to make sure your mental state is okay”, I pointed out.

“You didn't care about that when you left me, Sirius”, she stated laboriously.

Guilt and relief consumed me at her words, but I pushed it aside.

Just when I wanted to ask her something else, she passed out.

I carried her up to my room and stripped her down to her underwear to find out if she had any injuries that I could see.

To my horror her back was tainted in dark, bloody crusts, probably caused by a whip. How long had she been there?

I took care of the wounds and asked Molly Weasley to buy some pain potions for me.

For a few days (f/n) was mostly asleep which I was glad about. It hurt me to see her in pain, especially for something she had not been involved in.

When she was back on her feet, although she was still struggling with the aftermaths of the torture, I confronted her: “So … what did Bellatrix mean when she said that you were living a muggle life?”

The question had been burning in the back of my mind for days.

“It's none of your business”, she brushed me off coldly.

“Come on, (f/n)! I know I've been a shitty brother, but that doesn't mean that it can't change”, I proposed.

“Are you sure? Cause everything I remember when I'm thinking about you is pain. Fighting with our parents constantly. Not even paying any attention to me. Leaving without even saying goodbye. You aren't my brother. Regulus was, but he's dead”, she raged.

“I knew I screwed up and I'm sorry that I made it hard for you. But I changed. I'm an adult now, was in Azkaban. I'm not the sixteen year old boy you knew me as”, I attempted persuading her into giving me a second chance.

“Do you really think that your words would change anything?”, she questioned.

“There's nothing more I can do. I mean … I did rescue you when I found out that you … you know.”

A sigh left her lips. “After Regulus' death I was sick of everything and extremely scared. I was only nine years old after all. I could not really use magic yet. So I fled to the muggle world, left the war behind me. I grew up as a muggle kid in an orphanage. I can't even control my magic, only suppress it. I was just going home from work as usual when a shadow figure pulled me into an alleyway and kidnapped me. The next thing I know is being tied to a chair and being in excruciating pain.”

“I'm so sorry, (f/n). I had no idea”, I stammered.

“There's no safe place for me now anymore. I can't escape the burden of being your sister, no matter how far I'm away”, she realized and started crying silently.

“I never wanted to harm you in any way. I'll protect you, okay? I won't let anyone hurt you again. I promise”, I gave my best comforting her.

Hesitantly I pulled her into my arms and to my surprise she did not resist. I would keep the promise I had just made to her.

If I had destroyed all her safe places, I would have to be her safe place instead.

#harry potter #sirius black x sister reader #sirius black #angst #drama #torture #bellatrix lestrange #hermione granger #ron weasley #molly weasley #family issues #black reader #harry potter and the order of the phoenix

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arooomofmyown · 1 month

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Everyday I tell myself I'll journal and then I don't. I feel like if I journaled every day, even badly, it'll help. I'll have somewhere to put all this burden and loneliness that I carry. Everyday I tell myself I'll do xyz and then I'm simply unable to. I feel like if I died soon (not actively suicidal) it would be a relief. Like, a part of me is convinced that I'll actually die before the Big Thing happens so I'll never have to deal with it. I don't know why I think or feel that way. This is the only way I am able to think whenever a big change/opportunity presents itself. I make myself actively miserable. I tell myself a thousand bad things about myself. And sabotage the thing with my own hands. And then I go back to the familiar discomfort and that's fine with me bcs hey, it's familiar. I tried booking a therapy session, only they never got back to me and I'm still waiting on it. Why is therapy so fucking expensive. It's still a privilege to be able to have the option to look into it even. Whenever I try to talk to people about how I feel, I'm made to realize that I'm being ungrateful and childish. That I have no reason to feel how I do and that I need to snap out of it. I can't help but agree with that assessment but I still can't get myself to feel right or act right. I feel so much shame that I can never outline all the reasons why I feel how I feel, why I let myself down. I want to be a person who loves, fully, without fear. But I am so fucking far from all of it. I'm this tiny speck of nothing, undeserving of love. If I was prettier, more accomplished, more normal... maybe I had a shot at this. I'd have been more confident. I'd have known that I deserve any good that comes my way. I just can't believe that anyone would want to willingly love me. It's just.. why? I know I'm thinking about myself too much and I've lost that much needed outsider perspective that helps you break out of tunnel vision. But how can I break out of it if I'm reminded time and again (and by my own mother, let's not forget) that I simply am not all that. And how do you tell the one person you keep holding back from that THIS is why you can't trust any feeling, can't trust yourself, or him to actually make this whole thing work like a charm. Because it should! It should be good!! I am somehow ruining everything that I touch because I'm a coward, a little nobody who is scared she'll be seen for her ugliness. And then there's this obvious thing about change. Huge change! Massive. And I simply can't deal with changes. I feel like I've put a big damper on everything bcs I tried being honest about how I felt once. I'm so scared that I'll fuck it up, that I'm no good, that I will be abandoned and/or ridiculed, that I can never be myself fully, that there's no part of me that can feel excitement or happiness even though I get the sense that I should feel both of those. All I get is panic and a deep longing for running away.. or dying. It's just, exhausting. What do you do with that. Real life problems haven't even started and in my head, it's already all over. I'm shunned, awkward, humiliated, embarrassed. And.. I really wish I could talk to people about it. But no one's there. Everyone has so much shit going on, how do you go with your stupid baggage to others anyway. A lot of my fears are just very time sensitive. The not knowing. The dread. If I knew, if there was something I knew beyond a shadow of doubt, I'd be so comfortable. But nothing is certain. I don't know what the future holds. And faith is something I struggle with all the time. Every day people fall in love and marry and I've somehow made this huge deal out of it that no matter what anyone says, I can't deal with it. And then shame and intimacy is this whole other ball game and there's not enough time and it's always passing soon and my face grows older but I never do and I genuinely don't know wtf is wrong with me and it makes me miserable all the time.

#personal #I need to figure this shit out #So if I have to be miserable now and happy later I'll take it #Please let me let me get what I want #Let it be easy #Let it be good #Let my courage be greater than my fears #Let me let love in #Let me be changed by it for good #Let me be loved genuinely

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dzpenumbra · 9 months

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7/27/23

Today has been a very... BIG day. Very full.

I woke up after 6 hours of sleep. I was going to roll over and go back to sleep, but I decided to journal my dream instead. It was a dream about me living in an apartment with a roommate, I haven't had roommates since... 2008? I was living there with my cat, we had the upstairs bedroom (like my current apartment, an upstairs loft with a half-wall). The big difference was, in order to get up there, you had to use a ladder.

My roommate had some friends over and invited me to smoke weed with them. He reassured me knowingly that it was a very CBD heavy blend, so I wouldn't have to worry about freakouts as much. I found that very considerate. I smoked, and within the dream I experienced a unique simulation of being high - I'm struggling to even put it into words. The floaty fuzzy feeling. The alterations to brightness and I keep wanting to say that like... bubble effect to vision? But I don't really know how to say that in a more articulate way. Anyway, I was definitively high, but still functional. But... even just acknowledging that I was high and around people made my caution bells go off. And I felt compelled to retreat to my bedroom and take a shower. In fact... that was really my plan since before I even smoked. I came up with this whole exit plan in case I got overwhelmed - just climb the ladder and go shower and chill in my room. Very true to life. So, despite not actually freaking out, I reacted preemptively... I announced I was going to go shower and started to climb the ladder, and when I got to the top, I had to climb off the ladder and over the wall, and it was very precarious and very high up and I felt really unsafe doing it. And that's where I woke up.

The whole dream made me reflect a bunch. First on my cat, which had me sobbing in bed for a bit. As much as grief hurts, it was really nice to think of her again, she really meant so much to me. Second, on how the fuck my cat was supposed to get around the apartment with that ladder. Then, I started tracking this behavior back. When did this whole "I have to be really careful if I'm smoking weed around other people" thing start? Because it feels super familiar. It feels... exactly like my "need" (compulsion/fear) to prepare and script interactions just... for everyday function now.

The furthest back I traced it was my first year of college. Which was a complete shit show. I smoked weed every fucking day. Every day. I smoked so often that I had an inside joke with an exchange student, because they would greet me, "Hi, _____" and I would just say "yes" or "no" depending on whether I was high or not, and it was almost always yes. To the point where she gave me the nickname "High _____" to solidify the joke, and it spread to other people too. My friendships were built on smoking as the foundation. My high school friends who were the reason I went to that college in the first place? They were half a campus away in a different dorm and barely smoked at all, so we just... grew apart immediately. Then one day, my friend R and I went and smoked a shit ton of resin and I went directly to an English class. I had the mother of all freakouts (at the time, I've actually had bigger ones since). It was like a bad trip, honestly. I've described it on here before. But the basic themes were... loss of bodily functions (like being afraid of pissing myself or farting without knowing) and public humiliation (the entire class pointing and laughing at me).

After that freakout, I stopped going to that class. And then stopped going to other classes for similar reasons. Eventually was asked not to come back to college with a 0.5 GPA. Ironic that I literally spend every waking moment studying now, and I'm genuinely entertaining the idea of becoming a teacher.

The thing that sparked my memory though? The nail in the coffin? It was a different time, a different freakout. One that was much more subtle. I don't remember if this was a mushroom trip or a weed high... but I was in the courtyard of the college, a big brick circular courtyard between the 3 main dorms. I was with a group of friends, but most of them I didn't know. I think I was just sorta... floating around following an acquaintance, someone I knew, but really didn't know that well. And I got that same thing, that imaginative scene where everyone in the group was laughing at me. And with my whole insecurity with body odor and body function and stuff back then - and I was super insecure about that until like... my early 30's, like I used to not even use public bathrooms, thank god that's finally over - I again made the connection that it must've been because I lost a bodily function or something. I mean, what else would it be, right? My memory is really hazy of this, but I do remember clearly just sorta... detaching from the social group for a bit... and just being stuck in that looping nightmare in my head... then following up with the acquaintance in her dorm suite later that night, and she assured me that she didn't know what the fuck I was talking about.

Two episodes, the same thing, both times I went to sources to verify whether my anxiety attack was a real thing... both times I was met with weird looks and treated extremely dismissively. The English teacher told me I needed to "lay off the mind-altering drugs" and asked me to leave. The acquaintance just sorta looked at me like I was nuts and stopped hanging out with me. So... with no one to help me make any sense of this situation, and it being... late 2004? Panic attacks, anxiety disorders, shit like that? It wasn't stuff that people commonly talked about. People were still asking each other for their AIM usernames. I was still using a flip-phone. I was afraid I was losing my mind, and afraid I was going to be involuntarily institutionalized for it. Not losing my mind because of the drugs, of course. I didn't think they caused permanent damage to my mind. I may have been an anxious wreck, but I've never been that superstitious. But I was afraid that I was kinda... maturing into a pre-existing psychological disorder. AKA... going crazy. And, to be fair, in a way... I did. But a big part of me wonders... how avoidable really was that? Did weed just accelerate it due to enhancing my emotions and sensory experiences, so those anxieties and panics and fears were that much more intense? So much that they left more vivid scars, so it didn't take catastrophes like me kayaking in a flooded river to face a traumatic event... it just took me going to class, missing a teacher's joke and just hearing the laughing, and assuming they were laughing at me, connecting the dots in nightmarish worst-case-scenario ways. And that trauma, that was so real to me, being too much to process with no one to help. And activating years of suppressed PTSD. Like the straw that broke the camel's back kinda thing.

I do believe that, honestly. That weed's contribution in negatively impacting my mental health was simply to amplify something that was very clearly already happening at a more subtle and still somewhat functional level. And that something, that anxiety disorder, existed since before I even tried weed.

So... what I'm kinda getting at? This whole... "I need to come up with an escape plan so I can do this (drink, drop ecstasy, smoke weed, drive while tired, anything that reduces my faculties and makes me vulnerable)" thing originated from those experiences. Almost 19 years ago. When I have had trusted friends around, it has eased. This self-protective planning mechanism. The anti-impulse. When I took benzodiazepines it was nearly non-existent (along with many other things, like... most of my emotions). This was really the genesis of my struggle to just go out and do shit. It was the birth of my agoraphobia, and the maturation of my anxiety disorder.

When I was in middle school, we had a really small school. I was one of two people in the first graduating 8th grade class. I was one of their first students ever. And in the first bit of school, I won an award for going around and meeting everyone and being able to remember all of their names. And I mean every student, and there were like... 50 of them? And I was 11. I was shy, I was a bit on the quiet side... I preferred one-on-one interactions... but I knew how to socialize. I've always known how to socialize. I used to work a fucking register at a gas station, that job is entirely socializing. So, I really don't think I'm "bad" at socializing, or I'm going to "screw up", like my self-protective fears keep fucking neurotically drilling into my brain with these weird paranoid fantasies that I have to meticulously prepare for.

Those fantasies, those scenarios, those judgments, they all live in my head. And I'm sure that moment in my freshman year of college was not their origin, but it was most definitely when they reached maturity and started to grow deep, deep roots into my life. Instead of me just being tactical about when I needed to use the bathroom... it was me being tactical about... being in social situations at all. It spread from when I was high or tripping to... being drunk... then being on anything... then being tired. (Because I need to be alert and present in order to safely escape a bad or dangerous situation.)

So yeah, that dream was very simple, but very important. It was the primary reason why I started smoking weed again after 15 years, to just face that fucking demon once and for all. It was the reason I wanted to incorporate smoking weed into therapy. And I genuinely, wholeheartedly believe... that a major breakthrough with my social anxiety, my PTSD, this whole compulsively planning for disaster shit? I genuinely think that breakthrough, for my specific traumatic narrative and associations, would come from using weed in therapy. Or, at very least, smoking with a trusted loved one who knew all of these stories, knows what my panic looks like, and is able to be my escape rope. To guarantee that the person I am with is not a threat, but is rather an ally, and help me talk through what I'm going through and face it with me. 4 fucking years I've been trying to get one of 3 different therapists to do this with me. At this point, I think I'm destined to just... wait until I find a romantic partner.

Wow, I really went off there. Yeah. 6 hours of sleep, woke up to that. Did not go back to bed. Went downstairs and played some Mini Metroways very briefly. Actually... I think I did yoga first? I don't remember. I was very eager to try some yoga techniques to unlock my hips that I was breezing over last night. I tried them and realized... I've been struggling in seated positions because... I've been sitting all wrong. I'm sitting on the back of my sitz bones, and my knees have been raised. It's going to take work to really get there, but I remembered a few years ago when I was just first getting into yoga and I was really excited to try half-lotus. And I was actually somewhat good at it, I was much more flexible back then. It's pretty nuts how much of a toll grief and being sedentary for even just 2 years can take on your body. I remembered that when I was trying to get into half-lotus, and I practiced daily, I got to this point where I was just... sitting differently. I felt more perched on top of my legs, rather than what I considered "seated". It physically felt different. And I actually... got to that place again today. I warmed up a bunch, loosened my back and hips up and tried to do seated positions for a good half hour. And I felt a big release that felt almost like a snap in the side of my left hip, and suddenly... I could shift pretty close to that position. It was really cool.

So... again... the double-edged sword of practicing without a teacher... a teacher would have picked up that I was sitting wrong immediately. It took me almost 7 months. God knows how many other poses are like this. So... maybe more reason to consider taking yoga classes. (Oh god, don't think about money... ugh...)

After yoga, cereal, tea and Mini Metroways. That was it. Then... I decided to start work on the griptape. I put on a video that was an artist I really respect that was doing commentary on the Senate hearings about AI art and artists rights and shit. It was... a lot. But not in a doom way. Not for me.

See... I was sitting on the floor hand-painting a mandala on a skateboard. If it's one thing an AI can't do? It's hand-paint. Motherfuckers aint got no hands. See... that hasn't been the reason why I've been gravitating back to the roots of artistic expression. Polishing stones, decorating beads, making precious jewelry, carving staves, decorating bones. Everything hand-made, as much as possible. I prefer it. I prefer to put in the extra effort, to do it slower, to have more time put into the tedious details. That means there's more of me in the piece. Sure, I could just fucking... buy blue dyed wooden beads that are already sealed and finished and string them on a string that has already been manufactured in a factory with the findings already on it and then... it's done. Speedy! But... my only contribution was choosing the parts, and assembling the parts.

Now please do not get me wrong. This is not bad. I love Lego kits as much as anyone else. I was actually really into model building - like model planes and tanks and Warhammer - I absolutely understand and appreciate and value that process. But creatively, as an artist, it's not what I fucking do. What I do is make things by hand. At least currently and in these avenues of artwork.

Given that, I didn't really feel... threatened by AI? Because AI is designed specifically to spit out something quick and thrown together. And that's great, and if in 5 years people are still interested in the novelty of this the same way they love those filters that make it look like they're wearing dog-ears or have sparkles all over their face or something... more power to them!

What I did feel a tremendous compulsion to do... was to get out there and get involved in the art community and preach the gospel of making things by hand. Train those skills, encourage people not to take short-cuts if they want to do it the soulful way. Do not be ashamed of tracing or using AI art, those are simply different things. And also, do not be ashamed of using your hands when there are power-tools readily available, they are different things as well. But with all of this fear of theft and stuff... I mean, that hugely impacts digital artists. And... I'm not a digital artist. I do some digital stuff, but like... okay... an AI could absolutely take my profile picture colored pencil owl illustration and recycle it and someone could sell that shit. Yep. In fact, someone could probably go find it somewhere on the internet and just copy it and sell it as their own. I have a lot more protection if that's the case, but like... Okay. The core of my work... is the soul. The stories behind the piece. What stories/memories/associations the piece might be based on, and its own story as it was being made. What it means to me. Where I was when I made that piece. What I was thinking while I made it. My art... is a relic. It's an artifact. It's far more than just a display of technical skill... or a something pretty... or something useful... It's all of those things, and it has a soul. I have a sorta... animist approach to art, to life really... Every piece has a soul, every item in my home has a story, every piece of clothing, every paper bag. And, to me, those stories are incredibly meaningful. They are precious. They're the story of my life, they are set pieces in my story.

This is what makes it so fucking hard for me to even imagine putting my art in a gallery, because... what do I say?! I could write a fucking book for each and every individual piece of all the soul that went into that piece, the stories attached, the emotions and passion that were put into that. But galleries are not libraries... XD Maybe I'm overthinking, maybe... when I find a gallery owner who actually asks the stories... and I sit down and have a pot of tea with them and tell them everything... they'll reveal to me that... the real ones will seek out the story. The real ones will see a set of hand-polished stones just sitting there on a display with no explanation and both form their own conjectures... but perhaps also seek out what that pieces identity truly is. Why I chose to put those there. Why they were special enough to be on display like museum artifacts. Because, in my life? That's what they are. And I'd love to share the stories.

So yeah, good news. The one thing AI doesn't have? It can imitate my "styles" all fucking day. It can plagiarize and mutate my pieces all day long, and mass produce cheap knockoffs and sell them for pennies. Yep. Like cheap-o postcards of the Mona Lisa for pensioners to send to their grandkids and have them throw it in the trash a week later. Yes, AI can absolutely do that. In the blink of an eye, in fact. But what it can't do - by fucking definition, because of its design for speed, efficiency and mass production... - is make something with a soul. It can't make something with a story. So... I honestly don't really feel threatened by it. That does not mean it's not a problem, especially for artists.

So... I kinda got this fire under my ass to get out in the community and start training people... this. The value of working with your hands. How yes, you can absolutely use power tools, and you'll get a quicker and often more accurate result. But maybe that's not the point. Maybe the point of art is not perfection. Maybe the point of life is not gogogo faster faster more more more. To produce as much stuff for as many people at as perfect precision as possible, as quickly as possible. Of course a machine is going to win that race, every time. What I want to teach is... that race is optional. And there is profound value in... being human. In using your hands. In writing by hand. In polishing by hand. You put more of yourself into your work. Literally. You are directly in contact with it, it has your DNA saturated into it.

But most importantly, at least with where I am right now with the piece I worked on all fucking day... when you work on something by hand there is a higher margin for "error". "Human error". Because, remember... "to err is human", right? So... all the little imperfections? All the little fuck-ups? Mistakes? "Whoops, slipped there..." Those are the piece's humanity. That's the direction I've been starting to go. And I really need it. Obsessing over perfection and speed and detail is so fucking... exhausting and stressful. And I kinda just want a quieter, slower life where it's welcome to make mistakes, to be honest... it's much more peaceful and enriching.

So yeah, I painted and listened to that. I went to take a nap and ended up not napping. I revised my Art To-Do list... elaborated on what I'm going to do when I get to the end of this journal project, reorganized the priority list. Then I took a shower and went for a walk in the woods.

It was super buggy after the flooding. I got eaten alive by mosquitos, it was honestly very difficult because I was trying very hard not to kill them while being swarmed. I understand now why Jainists carry around brushes for swatting away bugs without hurting them. But it was very beautiful out, the sun was pretty when it was setting, I saw lots of rabbits which were so cute and mind-blowingly unafraid of people. I went to give one my apple core, I got within like 8 feet of it but it wasn't down with me crouching down to put the apple core on the ground. It got scared and took off.

I saw lots of young women out, which made me feel... old. Lots of college-aged people around. I've been detached from society so long, I often forget how old I am now... but my hips and back and my quickly fading love handles are definitely a reminder. I kinda just felt... lonely and out of place. Like it would be super hard to find a partner around my age. Like I didn't belong here, and that I even might be intimidating. I mean good lord, with how panicked I get in the city about my safety, I have no fucking clue how women do it. I am constantly in awe of your courage just in daily life, especially juxtaposed with my PTSD safety over-exaggeration. Oh, what I was leading towards... yeah, I was feeling very like... out of place and like I don't belong and "maybe I would fit in better in Canada or Northern California or something..." And then a homeless guy started screaming from a plastic chair by the river nearby. And I immediately started to feel much more normal, much less threatening. XD

Just a quick tangent, I went through like 5 straight minutes of analysis as I was walking... the kind of fascination where you completely forget you have music in your earbuds because of how immersed in the thoughts you are. And I was just exploring... how alien that guy's behavior was. How I am like... the polar opposite of him. Where he does not give half a shit about how other people perceive him, to the point where I was unsure if he was even aware of other peoples' existence, let alone the effect he was having on them. But me? I am constantly concerned with how I am affecting people around me. Even in isolation! Even when I was living in a house that was 50 yards from the nearest house and my neighbors were rarely around, I would try to keep my volume at a moderate level and be mindful and courteous. Yeah, it was just completely alien to me, and I think that's the hardest part about being around people like that. No offense at all to them. I just... and I really do try, trust me... I desperately struggle to relate to them. I have no idea how a person ends up like that, or if they were always like that? And it makes me curious, and it makes me want to understand, so I can deepen my compassion. But... when people have such flagrant disregard for others... to the point where they don't seem to even really be aware of others very obviously around them... I get concerned about personal safety. And though I do feel a bit hasty and... uneducated(?) about that judgment... it does appear to be a situation that I should be cautious of. Typically, when people are showing a blatant disregard for how they are affecting others, to the point of wildly screaming in public... I mean... they are clearly displaying that they don't really care about how their behavior impacts others. So... yeah.

Though I was tossing the idea around while cooking dinner of going around and interviewing homeless people and asking them really personal questions... like "what is your favorite childhood memory", "why do you do drugs", "do you have any goals you are working towards". Shit like that. I'd love to piece together mini videos of people who are normally completely overlooked and give them a place to shine, to show that these are people too. To capture and share the humanity in people who are kinda treated a bit more like wildlife than humans. But honestly, there are some snags. One - I wouldn't really feel safe doing this alone. Not in the current anxiety state I've been in. Two - I'd feel bad about... making money from a piece like that... kinda feels like exploitation a little... and... Okay, I'm gonna say it. I might even feel worse about paying royalties to a drug addict, knowing it wouldn't be enough to turn their life around. That's a complicated one to unpack. But it's a cool idea.

So yeah, to wrap up chapter 10 of this epic novel... I spent a huge amount of time working on the grip tape. Four of the nine rings are completely done, short of a final pass. The theme has been set for the fifth, I just need to do the iterations. And every layer has a sorta... outline? Kinda? Like an inner line tracing the outline, forming a margin, kinda. I did those for every single pedal and leaf. So... of the 72 leaves... I have 33 done. And then a final pass and the mandala is done.

Again, I'm still a bit scared to skate it before I finish and photograph the detail work... but I've been taking progress pictures after ever session and I'm really glad I chose to do that. This is much less stressful than streaming, and I still have a chronical of its progression.

That was pretty much my day. I watched some more Adam Savage and I'm really glad I did. He's a very enlightened person, and likely doesn't fully realize half of it. It's wonderful. He was talking about hand-painting in the video I was watching, he was making replica armor, and was like... literally IN a flow state, talking about the flow state, while I was cleaning and polishing beads also in a flow state. XD And I was just like... "yeah, dude, why the fuck do you think I do this every day! I basically live here as much as I can!"

Yeah, I guess the only last thing I wanted to touch back on was the education bit. It was both teaching people the importance of human error and personality in art, encouraging hand-crafting and manual forms of expression... but also... entertaining the idea of just being a creative coach in general. Any discipline. Art, music, engineering, writing, dance, even sports, anything really. To help people reach their creative/making potential, and help creators and makers reconnect with their true selves. If that takes the form of a blog, or personal coaching, or videos, it ultimately doesn't matter. But I do feel a calling towards that. I have for a very long time. I guess I just need to get over my personal hangups about... qualifications... but that's way too big of a thing to unpack here tonight.

Okay, well past bed time. Huge day. Time for rest.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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sukirichi · 3 years

Text

sweet lies [02]

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

cw. explicit smut, slight body worship, public sex, dirty talk, praising, toxic megumi, fwb dynamics, slight angst, body marking, sukuna bullying megumi, age gap, scratching, mentions of oral (m receiving) and mutual masturbation, the traditional unedited fic

note. choose your fighter, megumi or sukuna 😈 also UHM do you guys want me to make the ending angsty or fluffy? i wrote out two versions so LOL let me know what you think! we’ll get more of the megumi scenes on the next chapter though~

series masterlist | 01 | 02 | 03

Sukuna isn’t kidding when he said he’ll have you unable to walk by the end of this.

You’ve lost count of how many times you guys have fucked.

Once more in the stalls when you thought of repaying the favor by sucking him off, followed by him growing impatient and hauling you inside his car. Both of you were too tired to go for another round, but were still very much addicted for the other’s touch that mutual masturbation seems like the best option.

Thankfully, Sukuna’s cut his nails, so having three of his fingers buried knuckle deep in you feels like absolute heaven. He’s not complaining about your smooth hands wrapped around his shaft either, especially not when you’ve had enough practice with Megumi to know just how to make a guy lose his mind. By the time you’ve made it back home, Sukuna’s grown hard again, too impatient to make it to the bed before he just fucks you raw against the wall. You’re trembling at his hold, left with no choice but to trust his strength to drop you on his cock and bounce you to his pleasure.

It’s a miracle you’ve made it on the bed.

His digital clock reads a quarter at three in the morning, and for a moment, you worry about how tired you’ll be in class tomorrow when Sukuna’s large hands grips your thighs sharply.

“Goddamn,” he hisses through clenched teeth, chuckling at the irresistible sight of your breasts bouncing before him. Limbs tangled, minds controlled with the primal need to fuck, and moans shared with his deep grunts – you somehow end up on top of him, your thighs feeling like they’re on the verge of giving up as you continue to ride his thick length.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he slaps your ass and causes your hips to rut deeper, forcing that delicious curve of his cock to meld with your walls. You throw your head back, palms planted on his chest, focused only on that burning pleasure between your thighs. “I could fuck you all night long.”

Even though you truly have no wish to, you shake your head, fingers balling into a fist. “I have class tomorrow, need to wake up early,” you protest, the words falling into deaf ears as Sukuna thrusts up into you. He must’ve noticed how you’re growing tired and took matters into his own hands, feet grounded on the mattress to pound deliriously into you. You’re debating whether to be thankful or frustrated he still has so much energy even after hours of fucking, but it honestly doesn’t matter. You’re falling into his chest, arms slipping on your equally sweat-covered bodies. Right now, you just wanted to cum – once more, again, one last time! “Ah, Sukuna, t-too much!”

“Too much?” he laughs and tangles his hand to caress your scalp, the gesture too soothing that you almost forgot he’s fucking you into oblivion. “Want me to go slow?”

“No…”

“Thought so, sweetheart,” his grin is absolutely cocky as he bends his knees in a fold, pushing you until your back rests on his muscular thighs. Your mouth falls open at his hands wrapping around your threat, keeping you right there, hips flat and grinding on his cock. “Come on. Come for me,” Sukuna urges, tightening his hold around your neck a little harder.

That’s all you need for your vision to blur and see stars, your body’s shaking uncontrollable. He’s thrusting with all his power and energy that it feels like you’re nothing but a hole on top of him, tongue falling open in a wanton manner as your drool trails down your chin.

You look filthy, you feel filthy, and yet, Sukuna sees it entirely different.

“So – fucking – gorgeous, fuck. I woulda fucked you sooner if I didn’t feel weird about it.”

“What?”

“Aw, come on, sweetheart,” he smirks at your half fucked out state. Sukuna rolls his hips in such a mind numbing manner that you end up staring at the ceiling, trying your hardest to decipher the colors of his room to get a grip of yourself. But he feels so hot, cock throbbing and pulsing inside you, your puffy lips encasing him with a translucent ring of cum and it feels so fucking good you don’t really understand what he’s saying anymore. “Did you really think I never saw you in my dreams?” he slaps your ass again, the reflexive response of tightening around him pulling a deep groan from the beautiful man beneath you. “I have such a sexy roommate, I couldn’t help it.”

“Then why didn’t you – ah, right there, shit – tell me?”

“Cuz,” he snickers and finally lets you breathe, your pupils blowing wide from the sudden flow of air. Sukuna kneads your breasts greedily, never stopping his mind-numbing rhythm of ramming deep into you. Your body burns, your thighs ache, your pussy feels sensitive but you can’t find the energy to stop him. Instead, you fall prey, failing in your mission to keep him wrapped around your fingers because now you’re wrapped around his cock, and you were quite fucking addicted to it. “You’re my friend’s student. Felt so fucking wrong.”

“What’s the difference now?”

“The difference is,” Sukuna’s face contorts into something of discomfort for a moment before he leans forward, his sturdy grip homing in on your hips again. You feel his searing breath on your ear, so parching it puts the warmth of your pussy to shame. “Having you like this has never felt so right, and I’ll keep fucking you if you let me.”

“I-I’d let you,” you concede absentmindedly and capture his lips for a sloppy kiss, tongues giving up on a battle of dominance. You’re always so clingy when you’re about to come, something Megumi never fails to chastise you for, and you fear Sukuna might push you away as you wrap an arm around him, nails painfully scratching down his back. Red marks leave a trail on its wake until his blood pierces through the sheets, the pain manifested through the increasing roughness of his pace. Now it’s your turn to whimper in his ear, pulling the man close and tugging harshly at the ends of his hair. Gosh, were you actually crying? “Sukuna, I’m close! Yes, yes, right there!”

Sukuna groans at the erotic sounds you reward him with. “Come for me, that’s right, ohhhh,” he stills inside you, his seed spilling deep inside you. You wince at the burst of warmth spreading all over your belly and Sukuna chuckles at your bulging belly. He presses down on it to coax his cum to trickle all over his cock, and he’s fucking filthy – you learn easily – to watch you make a mess on his cock with a childish smile on his face.

You push yourself off him and fall to his side, him following suit not long afterwards. The room feels completely stuffed from your intense fucking, the bruises on your body and scratches on his back a huge attestment to that.

Your legs remain wide open as you clench around nothing, his cum oozing out like a waterfall. Sukuna (that damned pervert) dips two fingers into your hole for one last moment just to drench his fingers in it, his eyes lit up in wonder while he lets it web around his fingers. You snicker at his actions and roll to his side, eyes fluttering close from the wave of exhaustion that comes into full force.

The lingerie set you intended to wear for Megumi was now ripped at the other side of the room, discarded, forgotten – merely evidence of a moment that had never been given to him.

Oddly enough, you don’t feel bad, not even when Sukuna faces you, his cheeks squished by his soft pillows. “I’m spent. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired. My gym sessions can’t compare to this.”

“You go to the gym?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t born this gorgeous, you know. I had to work hard for this,” Sukuna gestures to his body. You can’t help but follow the gestures and admire the hard planes of his muscle ripped above one another, the smatter of dark hair leading down his hips adding to his already immense sexual charisma. It makes you want to jump on him all over again, and you have to bite your lip to resist that urge, rolling your eyes at him in favor of letting him know you could totally go for another round.

“Dork.”

“Got me laid though, was worth the effort,” he jokes, and you both laugh.

It’s actually…weird, to laugh so casually with someone like this. It might be normal for Sukuna in his past sexual endeavors, but it’s totally a different thing for you. You and Megumi had never even bothered with aftercare. As long as he’s satisfied himself, he’d clean himself off in the bathroom and wear his sweatpants, winking at you before he leaves you alone all over again. The memory – albeit not really a regrettable one – is still painful each time you’re reminded you’ll keep coming back to him.

But are things different now? Could you go back to Megumi? You only ever wanted to fuck Sukuna because you’re sad and horny, but it wouldn’t be fair to him, especially when your roommate has been nothing but nice to you. Besides, him being a little more decent doesn’t immediately equate he’s different than Megumi.

For all you know, you could just be another cheap fuck. Sukuna is older and sexier, after all, he’s clearly had a lot more experience than you do.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna rests his head on his palms, elbows flat on the bed as he turns to you. The expression on his face is unreadable, but there’s some sort of softness behind it – a softness you’re not really familiar with.

“Hey. I don’t exactly know what you’re going through, not everything, anyway, but whatever we have right now, I want you to know it’s not because I see just as a pretty pussy, okay?” he says with a straight face, but you really shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up because Sukuna smirks, mischievous eyes darting back and forth to your soaked pussy and bare breasts. “Although you do have a pretty pussy. Can I eat you out again?”

With that, you snatch the pillow underneath him and whack it straight at his face. Sukuna laughs at your protests, the sound growing louder and a lot more mocking the harder you hit him. “Gosh, Sukuna, shut up!”

You end up hitting him way too many times in the face that he can’t get his words through, and before you could react, Sukuna’s ripped the pillow away from you. He cages you in his arms and hovers over you once more, his boneless dick grazing the insides of your thigh. It’s not meant to be sexual, and nothing about his stance gives off anything that shows he wants to do it again, but you can’t help but feel aroused, shifting your legs up and down the bed as you squirm.

“Seriously though,” he repeats, “We can be casual, or this could be a one time thing. Card’s all yours to play. If you want to forget everything tomorrow, I’d gladly do it. Let’s just go back to the way we were-”

“Sukuna.”

“Yes?”

“Did you really think I was only using you to distract myself?”

Sukuna’s lips flatten into a line. “I’m not stupid,” he says somberly, “I could tell you were still thinking about him. Not that I mind, though, you can’t stop yourself from loving someone,” Faintly, you’re distracted by his thumbs rubbing at your pulse point. It’s so lulling you want to fall asleep, but Sukuna isn’t done talking. “My point is…you don’t have to worry about being weird with me. We could just be friends with benefits, if you want, and not the kind you have with your boy toy either. ”

His blatantly catches you off guard and your eyes widen before they narrow at him, trying your best to hide your embarrassment. If Megumi was painfully honest, Sukuna’s ridiculously blunt that his mere words make your heart do weird things you’d rather not feel.

Careful, you remind yourself, Megumi is the one you want. You have to keep reminding yourself that before your feelings get the best of you. It’s Megumi, it’s always been Megumi and it always will be Megumi. Sukuna is just your roommate who’s nice enough to take your mind off things. You only wish you weren’t lying too much in case he gets the wrong idea you’re leading him on, but then again, isn’t that what you’re doing?

Friends with benefits or not – you still have no plans on getting involved with this guy any longer.

It’s always Megumi. You just really needed a quick fuck, someone whose dick didn’t belong with the guy you’re so hung up on over. The change feels nice and you definitely feel a lot better than the last time you met Megumi, but this guilt…it tastes bitter on your tongue, too heavy to swallow and ignore. It’s always Megumi, you tell yourself again in an attempt to relieve your pain.

Though it doesn’t subside and you huff in exasperation, turning away from Sukuna. You can’t stand looking at him right now.

“I’m not,” you mumble weakly, but the tears – the guilt, the heartbreak of not being Megumi’s lover, the regret and the ironic need to be closer to Sukuna feels all so confusing – all threaten to burst through. You don’t want him to see you cry, that would be lame, so you scoot closer to him and kiss his shoulder as you shyly ask, “C-can we cuddle?”

“Of course,” he chuckles, pulling you closer, “You don’t have to sound too nervous to ask.”

“Sorry, it’s just-”

“He never does that?”

“…Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not him,” Sukuna answers confidently, surprising you when he grabs your ass to press you flush against him. You’re both sweaty and hot to the point it’s uncomfortable, but Sukuna smells so sweet with his lingering cologne that you can’t help yourself from planting your face in his neck, breathing in the little hums he makes. Sukuna kisses the crown of your head – which is a little too sweet than you’d like – while his other hand runs down your back in a slow, sensual manner. Hell, it feels close to body worshipping, and you hate that you silently want more of this. “I’d cuddle you every day if you asked me to.”

“You’re surprisingly sweet,” you voice with a smile. Sukuna’s chest rumbles from the low laughter, and like that, you cling to him like he’s the only sturdy pillar in your life. It’s pathetic, maybe even desperate, but if he doesn’t mind, then why should you?

However, the moment is quickly ruined when the bell rings. “Shit, I forgot he was coming over!”

Sukuna glares at the door and holds you tighter, almost possessively, and refuses to let you go even as you squirm under him. “At three in the morning?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to meet him right now,” you groan helplessly.

Sukuna shoots you a blank look after that, then shoots out of the bed in an instant. You watch as he quickly dresses up in a fresh pair of sweatpants, grabbing a random hoodie from the back of his chair, presumably to hide the scratch marks. You have to hide your smile behind your hand because he looks so drool-worthy with marks littered on his already marked skin, and the fact he lets you mark him is even hotter.

He pauses at the door for a moment, pointing a finger at where you peered up at him curiously. “Stay there. I’ll talk to him and say you went out or whatever. Just make sure to silence your phone in case he calls. Better yet, turn it off.”

Sukuna closes the door behind him, already on the way to the entrance just as you press your ears against the door to eavesdrop. There’s a slight shuffling before the door unlocks, then, “Why the fuck did you lock-” Megumi pauses in his words, and you can perfectly picture his infamous scowl painting his handsome features already. Gosh, you wish you could actually see it, but if Megumi catches you sleeping with someone else, he might totally lose interest in you. That’s not something you could afford to happen.

“Oh. You’re her roommate.” You snigger at his usual what the fuck tone – how Megumi of him.

“Hey, kid, it’s a little too late for a visit, don’t you think?” Sukuna taunts, and it takes everything in you to not burst through the door at that moment. You’re stuck between wanting to laugh and crying, mostly because you would love and hate for Megumi to get riled up. “Do your parents know you’re here? Kids shouldn’t be out this late.”

“I’m not a fucking kid, I’m in uni,” he defends, “Do you know where Y/N is? I need to talk to her.”

Deciding fuck it, you open the door by an inch, just enough to peek. As expected, Megumi is glaring behind Sukuna’s shoulders in search of you. Meanwhile, Sukuna’s completely calm, checking his nails boredly as if Megumi isn’t fuming in front of him. And boy, do you know how much Megumi hates being ignored. “Oh, I think she went out, I don’t know why though. House was empty when I got here.”

“She didn’t tell you where she was going?”

At Megumi’s imposing tone, Sukuna tilts his head to scrutinize Megumi. Now that you’re seeing them together, Sukuna’s twice the size of Megs, their height and shoulder width too different to start comparing. But knowing Megumi, he’s not going to back down from a tattooed guy twice his size, not even as he sarcastically remarks, “Ain’t you her friend? She should be telling you that kind of stuff.”

Truthfully, you expected he would put up more of a fight. The two of them share a heated staring competition before Megumi scoffs, the first one to look away. “Whatever,” he dismisses, “Tell her to pick her damn phone up. I’ve been calling for the past hour.”

“I think I should tell her to get better friends.”

“What was that?”

“I said get home safely,” Sukuna chirps. Even with his back turned to you, you could tell Sukuna’s just further pressing his buttons with a grin that’s not meant to be inviting at all. Just when you think it’s done, however, Sukuna finishes off with, “Kid.”

Megumi rages. His blue eyes flame into something feral, his fists balled at his sides. He’s always had a temper issue and you nearly reveal yourself to stop whatever fight is about to ensue, but Sukuna’s already closing the door, ridding any opportunity for the younger one to retaliate. At the sound of the door closing, Sukuna leans against the door, his smile still plastered on his face as if he knows you’re watching the whole time. He meets your eyes from the slight peep of his door, waving his hands sarcastically.

“Sukuna, you didn’t have to be so mean.”

“Sorry,” he isn’t apologetic at all. “Next time I’ll be nicer to your asshole crushes,” he adds with a slight roll of his eyes and you punch his chest playfully. You don’t stop him from grabbing your wrists to embrace you in a hug that doesn’t seem so platonic – but not so suggestive either. Sukuna rests his chin on top of your hand while he sways you both side to side, his voice muffled in your hair. “I understand why you’re attracted to him though. He’s really handsome.”

“Yeah, he is,” you agree sadly, thinking of how much it’s really all a waste Megumi has to be like that. “Just sucks his personality ruins everything.”

“A pretty face is always deceiving,” Sukuna suddenly pulls away and holds you an arm’s length away. “Hey, want to have early breakfast?”

“I think that would be late dinner,” you frown at him.

“Whatever, food is food,” he responds rather excitedly, and you watch as Sukuna rummages through the fridge. Now that you think about it, having sex so much really took a toll on you, and your stomach grumbles loudly. Sukuna hides his chuckles through the fridge but you hear him anyway, shouting at him that you’re not hungry. “Wasn’t asking, sweetheart. Now go get cleaned and changed, I’ll make something for you.”

If anyone were to tell you that a good fucking is all that’s needed for you to immediately form a new kind of friendship with your roommate, you’d call them weird. Sukuna isn’t necessarily out of reach, you and him just simply didn’t cross paths.

But now, you’re dressed comfortably in his boxers and the oversized shirt you stole from him, eating the slightly burn cheese sandwich he’s made, sharing conversation and laughing with him like you’ve been doing it for such a long time. Your sandwich is actually half forgotten on the plate as you whack your palms on the counter, “That’s how you and Prof Gojo met? I never would’ve expected you guys fought over a girl!”

“He was fucking annoying in high school,” Sukuna grumbles over an angry bite, “He was getting all the girls that when someone confessed to me, the hottest chick, no less, he straight up punched me in the face,” you laugh as you imagine the memory of a younger, already rebellious looking Sukuna getting smacked by the even more intolerable Gojo Satoru. Sukuna is lost in his own memories as well, shaking his head from around the last bites of his bread. It’s clear he hates the burnt crust judging from the way he turns a little green, but he’s bragged about his cooking skills so proudly that he has to save face in front of you. “Ah, such good times,” he muses before wincing at his own words, dropping his bread in disgust. “Damn, I sound old, don’t I?”

“You’re only like, five years older than me, it’s fine,” you giggle, “I like the maturity that comes with older people. You’re a lot easier to be with than guys my age.”

“Please,” Sukuna smirks, “Just say you like fucking older men. I won’t judge.”

If anyone were to tell you that you would be jumping over the counter to strangle your roommate who’s now running like hell, your laughter bursting through the once silent apartment, you would call them a liar. But now, you and Sukuna are panting on the floor, too tired from sprinting all around before calling it quits. Maybe it’s a lie – maybe this connection will never really be that much of a big deal – but as long as this lie and play pretend of friendship lasts, you’ll just enjoy every sweet moment of it.

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed) (bold can’t be tagged) @uwubby-1 @expectoscamander @your-consulting-fangirl @dora-the-grownup @cosmotoic @charlie-xo @kittaliapenn @sukunas-cult-leader @flowersgirl02 @cloudsinthecosmos @90s-belladonna @averysheart-raleighsdick @generousstudentpsychic-bat @kat-su-ki @issamomma

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader smut #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #sukuna x reader angst #sukuna x reader romance #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader imagines #ryoumen sukuna imagines #sukuna imagines #sweet lies: part two

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Text

Anakin Introduces his Jedi Babies (and Himself)

Context: Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

Warnings for: canon-typical dismemberment, unfortunately-aimed puppy crushes

Word count: 5,839

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

The first time a Jedi meets a Skywalker, it’s on Bandomeer.

The planet is close to Mandalorian space. Finding someone associated with Mandalore is, technically, not that surprising. There are even Mandalorian operations on the planet.

What is surprising is the fact that the person from Mandalorian space is an unfamiliar Jedi Knight who is utterly unstoppable.

(Obi-Wan Kenobi has no way of knowing how similar his experiences are to what might have been, on this planet. Mandalore has been interfering in operations here ever since Ylliben Skywalker started reporting visions about the coming catastrophe. Where that interference has helped or hurt... well. There’s no way to know.)

(Is there?)

When Xanatos shows up and starts taunting Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, there’s a giggle from the doorway.

All three have to turn to look at the individual in question.

Mid-twenties, leaning against the doorframe, slim but strong, covered in dark fabric and half a set of armor. A scar by one eye, well-kept hair, and a smirk that could burn the longest fuse. A lightsaber, unlit, in one gloved hand.

This man is... very attractive, Obi-Wan thinks. This is not an appropriate thought for the situation. Obi-Wan thinks he can maybe blame it on the exhaustion.

“No, no, keep going,” the stranger says, sounding like there’s a laugh stuck in his throat. He waves dismissively. “Let’s, ah, let’s hear the master plan. Good ranting voice, maybe a six out of ten on the ‘I’m better than you’ and a four on the actual intimidation. You can do better.”

“Excuse me?” Xanatos hisses, sounding incredibly malicious to Obi-Wan’s ears. “Just who do you think you are?”

“And now you’re overselling it,” the stranger sighs. “Are you new at this? You seem new at this.”

“I would... also like to know who you are,” Master Jinn admits, shifting uncertainly as he tries to keep both du Crion and the stranger in his sights.

“I’m just your friendly neighborhood Jedi Knight, here to fight darksiders because... that’s my life, apparently,” the man says, looking down at his arm for some reason. He shakes his head and looks up at them with a bright grin. “Do you need some help, Master Jinn?”

“You still haven’t told us your name.”

“This is true,” the knight says. “That said, I’ve been told by my boss to explicitly avoid naming myself while on this mission for a variety of reasons.”

“Your... boss,” du Crion drawls. “Not the Council, then.”

“Current supervisor,” the stranger offers as correction, completely unconcerned. “It’s a complicated situation, don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t worry about nonentities.”

The man purses his lips like he’s trying very, very hard not to laugh again. It’s very mocking. “Sure, kid.”

Xanatos has had his lightsaber out ever since Obi-Wan and Master Jinn entered the room, but he does one of those fancy, meant-to-be-intimidating one-handed saber twirls as he turns to face the Knight.

The man’s smirk widens. “You do realize you’re going to lose, right? C’mon, kid--”

“I’m older than you!”

“I did like zero research on you as a person, just your many and varied crimes; how old are you?”

Du Crion’s face goes pinched. “I’m twenty-five.”

“Ah, yeah, no, I’m older,” the knight says. “Only a few years, but I’m also a delightfully obnoxious little bastard who ages real slow for, uh, reasons--”

Obi-Wan is fascinated. This man is very strange. And very pretty.

Obi-Wan may be light-headed. Is he bleeding? Blood loss would explain this.

Obi-Wan isn’t bleeding. Damn.

“--anyway, I’m sure I’ve got a more interesting life with more mature experiences than you,” the knight says. “So even if I wasn’t older in body, I’d be older in spirit.”

The knight’s entire sense of being carries such an air of banthashit that Obi-Wan can barely believe it. It’s almost impressive. Obi-Wan wonders how often this man just opens his mouth and immediately gets punched in the face.

“You talk a lot for a man in someone else’s domain.”

“Hey, look on the bright side,” the knight says. “At least I’m not flirting with you. That’s what my master did with almost every darksider we met except his grandmaster.”

Du Crion pauses.

Obi-Wan has the distinct feeling that he and Master Jinn have lost any control they might have, at any point, had over this situation. They hadn’t had much control in the first place, but anything they did have is squarely in the stranger’s court right now. The silver lining to that is that du Crion is thoroughly distracted and has also lost some control of the situation.

“Besides,” the man continues, completely ignoring the very red lightsaber that is being very obviously readied for his death. “This is not that big of an advantage for you. I mean, hey, the fancy central console that can only be reached by skinny walkways with no railings are a nice touch, all chromed metal and minimal lighting, very dramatic, but there’s no lava. I’m not, like, chained to a rock in the middle of an arena for a public execution at the hands of starving animals the size of a fighter ship. You’re threatening to kill me personally instead of standing in the most expensive box of the theater, sipping your wine and congratulating yourself on step one of a plan that has another fifty-thousand steps and no end in sight. You--”

“Is there a point to this?”

“I’m just saying, I’ve been in worse situations by better darksiders than you. This is sad. You’re sad. Try harder.”

Obi-Wan makes a little noise in the back of his throat. Nobody seems to notice, but Master Jinn does put a hand on his shoulder. That’s nice.

“I don’t have any interest in setting up a public execution.”

“What kind of a Sith wannabe are you?” the knight asks, tilting his head. Obi-Wan distantly notes that his hair is longer than initially assumed; it’s just held back and curled. “Public executions are a whole thing. It’s like you’re not even trying. Tell me you’ve at least got vague plans to hand me off to a pirates instead of killing me so you can make some comment about me not even being worth the effort.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” du Crion asks, his voice the kind of forced casual level nonsense that shows he’s actually very, very frustrated. Obi-Wan could almost believe that du Crion is as uninterested as he’s pretending to be.

“If I was trying to get myself killed, I’d... pick a fight with the Trade Federation, maybe? I mean, I survived that when I was nine but they’d probably take me more seriously this time.” The knight taps at his chin. “I don’t even know where the actual Sith is, but--”

“There are no more Sith,” du Crion scoffs.

Oh, the knight looks pitying now. Obi-Wan likes that much more than he should. It just really suits the man’s face.

Quin’s going to make so much fun of him later.

“I have fought multiple Sith,” the man says, slowly and clearly, as though explaining something to a child. “My master fought more than that. I lost my arm to a Sith when I was nineteen. You can say they’re gone, but I don’t trust like that.”

“It’s not a matter of trust,” du Crion says, rolling his eyes. “It has been a thousand years since the Sith were wiped out. Much as I’d like them to still be around, I’m not going to--”

“Oh!” the knight exclaims. “You’re lying! You do think they’re back, this whole mess is you auditioning.”

Du Crion stares at the man as though he’s lost what few marbles he had. “Excuse me?”

“You want to be the next Sith Apprentice,” the man says, cheerfully unconcerned by the mounting tension in the air. “That’s adorable. Well, no, actually, it’s very bad, both for you and for everyone else, and now it means I can’t just kill you in battle like I was planning because the Jedi are going to need you for information. Blast.”

Du Crion’s eyes widen. It is not in fear, but in incredulity. Obi-Wan thinks that it’s all in the eyebrows and the tight, befuddled smile. “You were planning to kill me, Jedi?”

“I mean... yeah, kinda,” the knight says, shrugging. “Quick and clean option, that.”

This time, Master Jinn is the one that makes a disbelieving noise that both of the bitchy twenty-somethings ignore.

“You’re a Jedi,” du Crion points out, entirely pleasant.

“...yes,” the man says, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Technically.”

Du Crion is very much distracted by this. “Technically?”

The man wiggles a hand. “Arguments can be made. I certainly was trained as a Jedi and consider myself to be one. My knighting was according to protocol, and at the Temple. Technically.”

“...but?” Master Jinn prompts.

The knight smiles like he’s got something very spicy in his mouth and is unwilling to admit it’s too much for him. “But nothing! Don’t worry about it. There’s a fight to be had with a Sith wannabe who doesn’t realize he’s not going to measure up.”

“Arrogant,” du Crion accuses.

“No,” the knight immediately says. “You just don’t fight a galactic war without learning which opponents are actually going to kill you.”

Obi-Wan leans into Master Jinn’s side, his legs feeling a little too much like jelly. He whispers, “I have so many questions.”

“As do I, Padawan,” Master Jinn mutters back, and something in Obi-Wan’s heart twists. He’s a padawan! Master Jinn’s actually going to go through with it!

The fight does actually happen, at that point. The knight lights his saber and leaps forward, flashing through Djem So movements without a moment’s hesitation. For all the trash talk and boasting, the fight isn’t actually over very quickly. Du Crion is good, even without having had a chance to spar against a real person since he left the Order. Power flows around him, dark and heavy and sharp in ways that the Force usually isn’t, and the red saber snaps through the air with a speed Obi-Wan can barely track. Xanatos du Crion is, without question, danger incarnate in this moment.

The unknown knight is better.

There are attempts at banter, mostly by the stranger. Du Crion is too focused on the fight to bother responding. Obi-Wan just clings to Master Jinn, trying to stay awake and aware. It’s difficult, given the past few days, and even with help from the Force, he’s flagging.

The way the knight moves is... captivating, though.

(Quinlan’s going to laugh at the top of his lungs, later. Obi-Wan’s going to blush and stutter and bury his face in a pillow, and Bant’s going to pat his back like the amazing friend she is, and Quin’s just going to laugh, like an asshole.)

The fight doesn’t end cleanly. The knight cuts du Crion’s saber in half and, in the same movement, cuts the man’s hand off.

Obi-Wan’s seen too much blood in the last few days for it to shock him, but the smell is... unpleasant.

“I don’t suppose either of you carries Force-nullifying cuffs?” the knight asks, holding his saber to du Crion’s neck with an expression that is amused and satisfied in equal measure.

“No,” Master Jinn says. He seems... very bothered. Well, du Crion was his student once. Obi-Wan can’t imagine he’d be very calm if he had a student that went dark and started killing children. “Was cutting off his hand really necessary?”

“I feel like half my fights end with either someone dying or someone losing a limb,” the knight muses. “Sometimes that limb is my own, even!”

Obi-Wan isn’t sure if the man is manic or just trying to throw them off their rhythm. It probably doesn’t matter.

“Okay, I have Force-nullifying cuffs of my own,” the man says. “But these things are expensive as hell, and they weren’t paid for by the Order, so just giving them to you isn’t really on the table. That said... my ship kind of got shot down on the way here. If you could give me a ride off-planet--”

“Our ship was also shot down.”

The knight blinks at him, and then kicks du Crion in the hamstring. It’s not a very hard kick, but du Crion shoots him a look of offense that’s probably justified. Getting kicked when one is already down is never a great feeling.

“Stop shooting people,” the knight scolds.

Obi-Wan feels vaguely like he’s having a fever dream.

“Okay, new plan,” the man says. “What kind of ship did you come in?”

“KYL-3400 small transport,” Master Jinn says, with not a little hesitation. “Why?”

The knight grins. “I’m going to cannibalize it for parts.”

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

Jango has known Anakin Skywalker for six years. Many of those years have been spent being yanked into babysitting for the man. For reasons Jango doesn’t feel like examining, this will likely continue.

“You’re late,” he says, as the man in question stumbles out of a battered ship that looks only barely like the one that left three months ago. “I thought you said Bandomeer was a quick fix.”

“Ship got shot down, had to help some Jedi, ran into fucking Onaka on the way back,” Skywalker grouses. “I feel like shit. Where are my kids?”

“Buir says you have to go to medical.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. My kids, Jango.”

“They can visit you in medical.”

“And, what, Mereel’s gonna go there for a debrief?”

“Your debrief is going through me,” Jango says, and doesn’t let himself flinch when Skywalker makes a face. “He’ll check in later.”

“Yeah, no,” Skywalker says, taking a step forward and then swaying with a curse. “Listen, this actually does need to go to Mand’alor direct, not just the Alor-in-training--”

“Please don’t do that with my language,” Jango immediately says. “That’s not--no. ‘Alor-in-training’ isn’t a thing. Don’t do that.”

Skywalker turns on his heel with a frustrated snarl, and Jango’s eyes widen as the stupid tunics the man wears flare out.

“Is that a blaster wound?”

“No.”

“Yes it--for fuck’s sake, Skywalker!” Jango growls and just goes over to grab the taller man by the shoulders and march him to medical. “I’m calling your sister.”

“Don’t tell Shmi, she’s got enough to--”

“I’m calling your sister,” Jango snaps. “And you’re going to deal with it. Ka’ra, do you even think? Is there a brain in that head of yours?”

“I’ve been told my braincell is lonely.”

“I’m going to shove you in a trash compactor, dikut’la jetii,” Jango mutters. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“If I say yes, will you let me go deal with it on my own?”

Jango strangles his own scream and shoves Skywalker into the nearest examination room. “Fix him!”

The medic looks up, raises a brow, and turns to Skywalker. “What did you do?”

“What didn’t I do?” Skywalker shoots back, grinning like they’re sharing battle stories over a drink in a cantina.

The medic--Mirka’lu, he thinks--crosses her arms. “General.”

Oh man, the medics must be angry with him already if they’re already jumping titles like that.

“I’m just a knight--”

“General Skywalker.”

The man in question grimaces. “I maybe got shot during an altercation with some pirates.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And... I maybe--maybe--picked a fight with some Hutt enforcers.”

Jango’s going to wring his neck.

Right after he calls Shmi.

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

Komari does her level best to not shift nervously under the judgmental eyes of the man they’re pretty sure is the Mand’alor. Her master’s got the situation under control. She’s just there to observe. They’ve got an entire team--

“Is that your way of telling me that your Order did minimal research on the situation before coming to intervene, and the only reason you bothered to reach out is because one of my men, weeks ago, let you know that Death Watch is setting traps for both my people and yours?”

Komari feels the flare of annoyance from Master Dooku. She doesn’t react, but she can hear the tension when her Master speaks.

“I assure we would not have attacked on Galidraan unless attacked first, or if we’d found solid evidence of the actions we were informed of,” Master Dooku says, quiet and even. “All your messenger did was save us all a little time.”

Mereel smiles thinly. “Saved us all some lives, more like it.”

“Perhaps.”

“Ah, jetiise aren’t the only ones with Force-Sensitives,” the Mand’alor says. “I’ve more than a few under my command. Visions aren’t foolproof, I’m aware, but I’ll be damned if such a warning goes completely ignored.”

Master Dooku makes a low humming noise. “Be that as it may, I’m unsure of what it is that you’re expecting out of our... presence. We are not here to help you claim your presumed throne. We are only here to stop the killings we were told about.”

“I don’t need your help to reunite my people.” Mereel waves a hand, batting the mere suggestion away. “But I’d appreciate the help with taking out the terrorist group that’s actually going out and murdering the helpless, this planet’s farmers and doctors and children. Kyr’tsad isn’t just a thorn in my side, Master Jedi.”

“And what proof do I have that you aren’t just the same kind of monster as you claim they are?” Master Dooku challenges.

It’s a little brazen, considering how dicey these negotiations are. For all that Komari herself doesn’t wince, someone behind her outright hisses in dismay. She agrees with the sentiment.

Mereel just laughs at them. He catches the eye of one of the armored individuals along the wall, human or close to it, and nods to himself.

“Right,” the man says. “Well, we have our own Jedi. Would you like to meet him?”

Master Dooku is immobile, as if carved from stone. The rest of the group is... not.

“I suppose that would be acceptable,” Master Dooku says, and Komari feels the tension in him wind further through the training bond. There are a million questions to be had here. None of them can be answered without the supposed Jedi.

“Great,” the Mand’alor says. He leans back in his seat and turns to the door. With the press of a button, the door slides open. “Ben!”

A child darts into the room, stops, and bounces on their feet. Probably male, Komari thinks, and very anxious. The child’s eyes dart about the room, taking in every single Jedi in sight. When that gaze lands on Master Dooku, there’s a flash of recognition and... not hate, but distaste. Confused and distant dismay, maybe. The child turns back to Mereel.

“Mand’alor,” the child greets, still bouncing. “Am I needed?”

“Thought I told you this meeting was for grown-ups,” the Mand’alor says.

Ben shrugs. “I wanted to listen in.”

“That door is soundproofed and you know it.”

“So?”

The Mand’alor grins. “Do me a favor and go fetch your dad.”

“Buir’s still sleeping,” Ben says, grave as dirt. It’s a strange expression for such a small child. He can’t be older than eight, and Komari’s pretty sure even that’s a stretch. “Shmi’s gonna be mad if he has to wake up before the bacta’s done.”

“I just need him for negotiations,” Mereel assures the child.

“Aggressive negotiations with a lightsaber?” Ben asks, and Komari nearly chokes.

“No, just regular ones.”

Ben nods sharply, and then turns and runs out.

“That boy...” Mereel mutters, but it’s fond. “Anywa--”

“BUIR!” Ben’s voice echoes from the hall, faint but audible, along with some very loud banging on what is presumably a door. “DAD! WAKE UP, THE COUNT IS HERE!”

The Count? Komari wonders. Even Master Dooku seems surprised.

The question is clearly on more minds than just her own. Mereel raises a brow at Master Dooku and gestures vaguely. “Didn’t know any of you were nobility. You a Count, Master Jedi?”

“No,” Master Dooku says, and before the Mand’alor can press further, he adds, “but if I were to retire from the Order, the title would be mine to inherit. As I have no intentions of retiring, I am not and will not be a Count, but I assume that is what the child is referring to.”

“Ben,” the Mand’alor corrects. He seems pleased with the reasonable answer. “Ylliben Skywalker. I suggest you refer to him by name.”

“You have a fondness for him,” Master Dooku notes.

Mereel shrugs. “No more than any other child, objectively, but his father is one of my more effective allies, and he gets antsy about things. Saying ‘your child’ won’t be a problem, but ‘the child’ is... well.”

The smirk is a challenge that Komari doesn’t feel ready to meet. She’s glad it’s not hers to handle.

“Why do you ‘have’ a Jedi?” Master Dooku asks, pushing the conversation back to the point Komari’s sure he was initially aiming for.

“Found him in a snowstorm, brought him inside,” Mereel says, grinning. “And then he refused to leave, the shabuir. Troublesome man, like you wouldn’t believe, but useful.”

“Like a feral tooka,” someone behind Komari mutters. She feels a part of her soul die.

You can’t just say that in front of the Mand’alor! she screeches in the depths of her mind, despairing.

“Exactly,” Mereel agrees with a laugh. “Skywalker’s a feral tooka.”

Komari dies a little more.

“Talkin’ shit about me, Mereel?”

...oh no.

This one’s pretty.

The man is tall, dressed almost entirely in black, and looks like shit.

“You look like you got run over by a herd of bantha,” the Mand’alor notes.

“I got back less than a day ago,” Skywalker growls out. He leans against the wall behind the Mand’alor’s desk. He folds his arms. He glowers around the room. “The kriff is Count Dooku doing here?”

“Master Dooku,” the man in question says, a little pained. “As I informed Mand’alor Mereel, I may technically have claim to that title, but I am a Jedi. So long as I remain a Jedi, the title isn’t actually mine.”

Skywalker makes a face, and then shakes his head. “Fine. Whatever. Jaster, what the hell do you need from me?”

“Well, some manners would be nice.”

“I got shot and am putting myself in a position to get yelled at by baar’ur Mirka’lu for coming here when I’m supposed to be on bed rest,” Skywalker growls out. He kicks Mereel’s chair, glaring at the back of the man’s head. “You’re lucky I put on pants.”

Mereel seems unbothered by this statement or treatment.

Komari thinks her eyes may currently be the size of dinner plates.

“You’re the one from Bandomeer.”

Skywalker’s head snaps up to focus his gaze on Master Dooku. “Say what?”

“You’re the one my former Padawan encountered on Bandomeer,” Master Dooku says, something satisfied in his tone. “He said you refused to give a name, but the physical description does match.”

“Oh, lovely, Jinn’s been gossiping,” Skywalker mutters. “That’s just--”

“General Skywalker,” Mereel says, voice finally slipping to something more stern than amused. “If you could please focus.”

Skywalker rolls his eyes and mutters something about painkillers.

“Buir?”

Skywalker’s head tilts to the side, and he holds one arm out to the side. The kid from before--Ben--darts in to cling to the man’s side. A slightly taller Togruta follows in and ducks in under his other arm. Both children keep a wary gaze fixed on the same person, and their adult...

Every look from this man is a new challenge to Master Dooku.

“They’re yours?”

That is the exact question Komari was hoping her master wouldn’t ask.

“We’re in Mandalorian territory,” Skywalker says. “They’re Force-Sensitive orphans with an incredible amount of potential. If I didn’t claim them, someone else would have.”

It’s not an airtight justification--the man could have just sent them to the Temple--but the air around him is roiling with aggression. This man does not like Master Dooku, and is more than a shade protective of these--his--children. Komari shifts her weight and worries as the pregnant silence grows heavier.

“As you say,” Master Dooku allows, and some of the bowstring-tight tension in the room loosens, drains away like foul bathwater. “If I may... I was unaware you were a General, nor that Mandalore had a standing army large enough for such a position.”

“He’s not,” Mereel says. “Used to be, won’t tell me where. It’s not my business, or yours. Title’s a holdover from whatever war he was fighting before we got him.”

Komari is not the only person whose heart drops as Master Dooku says, “Qui-Gon claimed that the rogue knight he’d met on Bandomeer mentioned a galactic war against the Sith.”

Mereel blinks, and then turns his seat around to look at Skywalker. The other Mandalorians look at Skywalker. Every single Jedi also looks at Skywalker.

The Togruta child sticks her tongue out at Master Dooku.

“I did say that,” Skywalker says. “What of it?”

“You know, when I said I didn’t care what fight you were running that turned you into a soldier, I kind of assumed it was something on the level of, say, a system-wide civil war,” Mereel drawls. “Not galactic Force nonsense.”

Skywalker shrugs. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

“Because you’ll lie?”

“No, I’m just going to be really annoying about it,” Skywalker tells him. The Togruta giggles and shoves her face into his side. “Or, hell, I’ll let Ben do it. We both know he can talk circles around basically everyone in this room.”

“Skywalker.”

“Mereel.”

The two hold gazes for a moment that lasts just a little too long, and then Mereel breaks it off. “We’re talking about this later.”

“Of course, Mand’alor,” Skywalker says, with a grim sort of smile. “Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

Mereel doesn’t seem particularly impressed by that.

Komari wonders if anyone else remembers that Skywalker was supposed to be here to make negotiations easier.

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

Yan Dooku is having a Day.

He’s not entirely sure whom to blame for this mess. Perhaps Yoda, for suggesting he handle this mission. Perhaps the governor of Galidraan, who decided collaborating with terrorists for his own gain was a good idea. Perhaps Jaster Mereel, whose influence and power is enough that Yan needs to tread carefully. Perhaps Qui-Gon, for giving him just enough information about Skywalker to cause some drama.

Perhaps Skywalker for being a recalcitrant, ornery bastard who delights in Yan’s suffering.

(One of the Mandalorians calls him that to his face, and Skywalker informs the man that “my mother always told me I didn’t have a father,” and stares until the Mando stammers out an apology and turns on his heel.)

(The smirk on Skywalker’s face is certainly informative.)

“Hi.”

Yan looks up from the datapad he’s been using to try and punch out a report, for all that he can’t find the words he needs, and sees the Togruta youngling from Skywalker’s side hanging upside-down from a ventilation grate.

He blinks evenly at her. “Good afternoon. Is that your normal manner of traversing the building?”

“Yeah, when Jan-Jan isn’t yelling at me about it,” she says, and drops from the ceiling. Seemingly without paying attention, she directs the grate itself back into place with the Force, screws reattaching themselves with only the slightest whisper. She’s done this many, many times.

“I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”

“Jango Fett,” she clarifies. “Ad be Mand’alor.”

Child of the king.

He does remember that much from the briefing.

“I see,” Yan says, rather than try to tackle whatever the usage of such a nickname implies. “I’m afraid nobody’s seen fit to introduce you, youngling.”

“I’m Sokanth Skywalker, but most people call me Soka,” she says, with a bouncing, shallow bow. Full of energy, this one. “I’m eight.”

“The General is your father, then?”

“Mm-hm! He adopted me when I was almost two,” she says, and climbs up onto the bench. She wraps her arms around her knees and beams up. “Ben was still a baby, and we didn’t go get Shmi until a few months later when Skyguy could afford it.”

“Skyguy?” Yan prompts.

“My dad,” she explains, head tilting a little as she studies his reaction. “I... I’ve always called him Skyguy. He took care of me before he adopted me, for at least a year. He says I called him Skyguy when I first started talking, back then, and then he didn’t make me stop when he adopted me.”

“I see,” Yan says. “Does your father know you’re speaking with me?”

“Probably.”

“And would he approve?” Yan hints as heavily as he can. “He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

“That’s because we’ve all seen what you could be,” she says. “But you’re not the Count yet, so it’s okay.”

Information. “Ah. Visions, then. That would explain some things.”

“Ben gets them the most,” she keeps talking. “But it’s not just that. It’s like... patterns. The Sith are going to target you, because they’re going to think you’re worth corrupting.”

“And you’ve seen enough Sith to know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Visions are not foolproof,” he says, trying to keep his tone gentle. He’s not used to interacting with children of this age, and this one comes with a father in the Mand’alor’s confidence, someone he can’t afford to irritate by making a daughter cry. “I have a friend who is very prone to visions, and some come true, some don’t, and others--”

“Are self-fulfilling,” Sokanth finishes for him. “I know that. But my dad’s actually fought Sith, y’know. The guy who cut off my dad’s arm used to be a Jedi Master, like you, and he was all fancy-schmancy and a history nerd for Sith stuff, and didn’t like the Council or their decisions very much. Like you.”

That’s... very personal.

“A surface-level similarity is not enough to make the claim that I am to become a Sith,” he says.

She blinks at him, eyes too large for a face that’s so near to human in bone-structure. It’s unnerving. “Whether or not you Fall is your choice, Count. All I can tell you is that you are the kind of person they look to groom... if only as a pawn.”

The words are too old for a girl her size.

“You speak as if you’ve faced the Sith yourself,” Yan says, well aware now that he needs to tread carefully, but... “You’re too young to go out into the field. I can’t imagine your father would allow a child like yourself to go up against someone that dangerous.”

She blinks those too large eyes, and tilts her head in the other direction, and then smiles. “You care. That’s good. Keep that compassion, Count.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I feel like you’re evading the question.”

Sokanth giggles. “Maybe. Buir doesn’t like us talking about it much. It makes him sad, ‘cuz he can’t help us not hurt, and a lot of it is really scary. It’s like... my memories are too big for my head. I don’t get a lot of visions, but I get a lot of dreams of things that happened that I’m not alive for. And buir does remember those things happening, so it’s true, and it happened, but I only... sort of remember it, and when I think about it too hard, it hurts my head. Or I get nightmares about it, and I don’t like those. Ben’s got it worse, though. He has more to fight.”

It’s a lot of information.

It’s confusing information.

It’s... possibly information that the General has asked her to feed him for reasons he can’t even begin to guess at.

“In this war your father fought,” Yan asks, “were you a soldier as well?”

“Commander,” she corrects, voice soft. “That’s what the dreams call me, before they start screaming.”

“How old are you really?” He asks, before he can quite stop himself.

She laughs, suddenly bright again. “I’m as old as I look. I’m eight. Just because the Force gives me memories I shouldn’t have doesn’t mean that my brain isn’t a kid. Sometimes Ben tries to act older than he is ‘cuz of the memories, y’know. Buir gets sad whenever he does that, ‘cuz he thinks we deserve to be kids before the galaxy goes to hell again.”

“He’s sure of such a thing?”

“It always does,” she says, with the air of someone who isn’t sure how their conversation partner could be quite that dense. Her voice takes on a sing-song cadence, like she’s telling a fable instead of a philosophy. “War always comes eventually. Not every sentient is selfish, but enough are, and they tend to be the ones that claw their way to the top. The rich and powerful will take and take and take, and then, when there’s nothing left, they will use their living stepping stones to tear each other apart. All we can do is be ready to end it as quickly as possible once it comes.”

Yan lets the claim sit for a long, quiet minute. “Did your father tell you that?”

“No,” she says. “Ben did.”

The six-year-old.

“He has a way with words,” Yan manages.

“Sometimes he uses his stuffed animals to host courtroom dramas,” she says. “He makes me look up the right laws so it can be procedurally accurate, ‘cuz he’s a nerd but so am I, and it makes Skyguy happy when he sees us playing like that instead of just doing saber forms and stuff.”

Yan has... no idea what to do with that. “I wouldn’t normally call courtroom dramas a normal children’s activity.”

“Yeah, but Ben’s a nerd,” she says, as if that’s all that needs to be said. Maybe, for her, it is. “And there’s only so much time I’m allowed to spend hunting.”

Right. Togruta.

“And what was your father doing at that age?”

“I’m not allowed to talk about that,” she says immediately. “Because it’s very private and he and Shmi get upset if we bring it up, ‘cuz of trauma and stuff.”

Shmi. The... sister, he thinks. People seem to be unclear on that. He’s heard a few refer to the teenager as just “one of Skywalker’s,” so that’s something to consider. She’s near-perfectly halfway between the children and the General, in terms of age, so it’s a little ambiguous where she fits.

That said, he’s been in a lot of places in his time as a Jedi Master. It’s taken him a little longer than it should have to realize, but he thinks he’s got at least part of the puzzle.

Skywalker’s a slave name. Tatooine, specifically.

It’s not confirmation, really, but...

Well. He thinks it’s better he doesn’t dig, on that subject.

“Hey,” Sokanth says, tugging at his sleeve. “Can I ask ya something?”

“I cannot promise an answer, but you may ask.”

“Can you spar with Skyguy? I wanna see who wins.”

#Disaster Lineage #Anakin Skywalker #Ahsoka Tano #Obi Wan Kenobi #Qui Gon Jinn #Count Dooku #Yan Dooku #Ben Kenobi #Jaster Mereel #Xanatos du Crion #Jango Fett #Komari Vosa #time travel #de aging #age shifting #family #phoenix files #Anakin and the Jedi Babies #500 notes

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strayen-fx · 3 years

Text

Red.

》 HHJ x reader

》 angst, vampirish theme

》 warnings: mentions of blood, hints of physical assault

》 2.1k words

》 a/n: short and simple, after months of writing break. Hope you guys enjoy regardless :)

“Stay away from them, my dear. Save your blood from the horrors of their fangs. Be wary of solitude, and be wary of the crowd.”

It was a day not unlike any other. My morning kicked off lazily, with me waking up almost an hour later than a college freshman was supposed to. Nothing unusual there. I did my usual morning prep, took a cup of grandma’s tea in one gulp, and went my way. I was already late for the train—I had to run after a departing bus with an exceptional speed that would put Olympiads to shame. I got in the room just in time as the bell rang for first period. I came in huffing like an old man, but it’s alright. Way better than walking through the early jam-packed hallways.

The first aberration in my daily humdrum existence happened on my way to fourth period. A student from another department stopped me on my tracks. I knew him; he was a member of the student council. Was I in some sort of trouble?

He introduced himself as Han Jisung, then proceeded to ask if I have seen his friend.

“He’s tall,” Jisung explained. “But like, not super tall. Not the towering-over-people kind. He has a mole under his eye. He’s got black—no wait, I think he dyed his hair again the other day. Anyway, have you seen someone like him? He’s noticeably handsome. I guess. I’m more handsome, though, but you know what I mean.”

The whole school would know who he is talking about. The one and only Hwang Hyunjin: champion swimmer, council member, and just a general talk of the town. The Prince. Even if I did see him around, though, I wouldn’t know. I never pay attention to the people I walk by.

I shook my head and muttered a soft sorry. I did feel bad for Jisung. He looked so worried and dejected, and I can’t blame him—not after after the incident with Seungmin. I can’t really take it against him to worry about his friends. I sauntered off to my next class, my mind still stuck on the fact that a normal person in my school has actually talked to me, and I was able to keep my composure.

Fifth period: P.E. I don’t even know why we still have this subject in college. I opted to take a stroll instead. You see, a huge, dense forest is situated right behind the main school grounds. You could say that the school itself lies within the bosom of greeneries. Unkempt bushes and rows of towering trees stretched over several miles deep, starting from the edge of the campus to god-knows-where. It is my goal to scout the whole area before graduation.

Weighed down by my personal monstrous beast, I trudged through. I walked for at least fifteen minutes before I finally reached the spot—my spot. Sheet of decaying leaves cushioned a huge gray boulder, standing at least ten feet tall, shaped like an odd piece of egg smashed against the forest floor. Against it stood a larger stone, this one dotted with moss and weathered with cracks. They were propped against each other for support, as if stopping one another from tumbling to the ground.

There was a smaller rock at the foot of the smaller stone, and I use it as leverage to climb up and sit on top of the largest boulder. It was my favorite place. Most times I could just pretend that I was alone in my own tiny bubble, at the center of that clearing that nobody else ventures but me. I don’t feel the breath of people suffocating me with every step that I take. I don’t feel my heart thumping with the sight of anyone else. I don’t need to hold back. Here, I don’t feel weird.

But today felt somehow different.

It was awfully silent. The wind felt sharper and colder. Electricity was humming in the air, leaving my skin prickling with discomfort. There was a tension in my veins that I couldn’t quite explain—it felt like an omen of an incoming disaster.

Time ticked slow. A couple hours could have passed—or maybe it has only been five minutes—when a nearby rustling perked up my senses.

Trying to keep my movements as quiet as possible, I hopped down and took up a defensive position, which wasn’t easy to do for a student with no actual weapon aside from an almost-empty bag and a worn-out calligraphy pen. My instincts told me to take cover—but my feet seemed glued to the ground. Sweat trickled from my forehead. My hands started to feel clammy.

And then, just as I was about to scamper away, a figure crashed into view from behind the nearest oak tree. I almost threw my bag towards the person’s direction, until I had a clear view of the intruder’s face.

It was Hwang Hyunjin, wide-eyed and disoriented, with his cheeks and uniform smudged with traces of blood.

“Help me.”

His voice came out as a tiny croak, as if his throat was filled with acid. He stumbled towards me, reaching out his hand for support. I wasn’t able to move an inch—and who could blame me? The situation was way too hard to process.

Hwang Hyunjin, the university prince, was hunched huffing before me, his clothes caked with mud and dried blood, his hair a nest of mess on his head. He had a cut on his cheek, I noticed. His breathing was heavy and labored, as if the mere act of standing on his own two feet required all the effort he could muster.

“Help me,” he repeated.

“What happened to you?” I managed to blurt out. My initial thought was that some random outsiders kicked his butt for stealing their girlfriends. But no—someone like Hyunjin would have been able to handle that. Plus, something in his eyes showed an elaborate fear—something only a beast would be capable of instilling. I should know.

My heart began thumping faster, a colossal drum barreling in my chest.

Just as my schoolmate was about to open his mouth and explain, a loud rustling broke the stillness of the air. Before I could process what was happening, Hyunjin grabbed my hand and bolted away, dragging me with him.

“Don’t look back!” he warned.

I did.

At least a dozen feet behind us was another male, probably as old as Hyunjin. He was sporting our school uniform, walking casually under the shades of trees as if time wasn’t of any matter. What puzzled me, though, was the fact that we can’t seem to distance ourselves from him despite the heavy efforts Hyunjin had been exerting to drag us both away from this newcomer.

I took another glance behind me, and to my surprise, the young man wasn’t there anymore. Nowhere behind us, as if he dissipated without a single trace.

Hyunjin took a sudden stop, causing me to bump my head against his back. I was about to call him out for stopping, but then I saw the looming figure a few meters in front of us.

“You…?” I began, my mind a juggle of unanswered questions. How on earth did that happen? How is he—

Hyunjin's friend, Kim Seungmin, stood before us in his dirty school uniform. He looked pale, his eyes bloodshot, but he was standing there in full grace, very much alive, giving us a toothy grin. “You’re hurting my feelings, Hyun. Why are you running away from me?”

Hyunjin’s grip on my hand went tighter. “Seungmin...”

“Friends are supposed to help each other, am I right?” Seungmin continued, faux dismay dripping in his voice. He bared his fangs, its tips dripping with fresh blood. “So help me, Hyunjin.”

I felt my body run cold. I wanted to scream, run, anything—anything to get away from this. From him. From the two of them. From everything. But Hyunjin's hand remained strong around my wrist, and my legs were close to turning jelly. I could start to feel the fullness in my mouth, the pointy ends of my incisors. Something that only happens when I'm in an extreme hunger or danger.

“Stay away from them,” grandma said. “We are the same kind, but we are different. Weaker. They see us as preys, as special commodities. They can smell your blood despite my concoctions, my dear, remember this!”

Seungmin tilted his head to one side, finally regarding my presence. “And you, over there. I’ve never tried drinking such special blood.” He grinned. “Satiate my thirst.”

The last thing I knew, a strong hand was pressing tightly around my neck, turning my vision green.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°

“Have you heard of the news?”

“What news?”

“Kim Seungmin was safe! They found him in the forest yesterday.”

“Thank goodness! Was he hurt?”

“He had a few gashes, but he’s fine. Hyunjin found him and brought him to the hospital right away.”

Students filled the corridor, everyone bustling and hustling about the news: after his sudden disappearance, Seungmin was finally found by his best friend, Hyunjin. The latter saw him in the forest, hungry and disoriented. They went straight to the hospital to treat his minor wounds, and that was that—nobody bothered to ask how he managed to lose himself in the wilderness, or how we managed to survive seven days on his own. Nobody asked him stupid and unnecessary questions. Seungmin was safe, and that was all that mattered.

I brushed my way past the milling crowd, flinching at every accidental touch. I kept my eyes on the ground, forcing my mind into silence. I was expecting everyone to be in their respective classrooms at this time of the day, but apparently, the news of Seungmin’s return has become enough reason for everyone to wander about and neglect their individual duties. It was a grand miscalculation on my part—I hadn’t braced myself for this huge number of people.

Not here. Not now. Not ever.

I just have to get back home, and then it’ll be over. My insides would stop churning once I’ve drunk grandma’s tea—that has worked for 18 years now. I can stop this. I can stop me.

I made a run towards the comfort room. To my luck, nobody was inside. I washed my face over and over, as if doing so would cleanse me from the impurity stamped on every drop of my blood. The face on the mirror horrified me—I had to stop myself from punching the glass over and over.

The moment I stepped out, I felt his presence.

He was there, leaning against the wall, lurking behind the shadows. There was a faint gleam of terror in his eyes, but at the same time, I can feel it: the hunger. Lust for meat. Thirst for blood.

“Don’t be like him, Hyunjin,” I pleaded. “Don’t be like us.”

He shook his head in resignation. “It’s too late.”

He took a step closer. Another. He kept on walking until he stood right in front of me, too close I can feel him breathe.

Too close I can see the faint traces of blood on his lips.

“I’m still hungry,” he sobbed. “I’m still hungry…”

Fear was apparent in his eyes—fear of what would happen to him, fear of what he had become. “You will be fine,” I offered, taking his hand in mine. “Trust me on this. It will be fine.”

And then I felt it, stronger this time—the hunger he was talking about. The thirst. My stomach growled in protest at the sight of Hyunjin’s pale flesh. I can smell his blood—I can feel its steady rhythm as it flowed through his pulsing veins.

I need to get home. Maybe my grandma could do something about Hyunjin, too. Maybe she could produce a stronger tea, and both of us wouldn’t have to worry about our instincts anymore.

We stood next to each other for a full minute before he broke the silence.

“We need each other to survive,” Hyunjin whispered. “If we drink the blood of our own kind, we can last for a month without feeding on others.” He freed his hand from my hold and gripped my shoulders tightly. “I need you. And you need me, too.”Hyunjin leaned down until we were staring at each other at eye level. He closed the distance between us. I closed my eyes, and for the first time, I allowed my monster to take ove.

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chimielie · 3 years

Text

on the way home

summary: Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader. He comes to you to cure the bad vibes.

word count: 801

cw: fluffy fluffy fluff with the minorest of angst at the beginning. no set timeframe but they’re adults.

a/n: no thoughts just hajime. god i’m in love with him

There’s a light that flashes in his vision no matter how he angles his curtains when he shuts them for the night. On, off, on, off, a little pinprick of red that reminds him that he’s no longer in his childhood bedroom, but instead in his own apartment, in his own adulthood. Sometimes, the light keeps him up, sometimes a blinking, obnoxious force of nostalgia, prodding him further and further along until he breaks down and calls Oikawa so he can reminisce over their golden days together and pretend he’s not sick with fear of the future. Sometimes, it’s a comfort, a reminder that he’s a man in charge of himself and his life, that he can go out in the morning and buy blackout curtains. He hasn’t yet, but he could.

Tonight, he’s only barely managed to sneak his way into dreamland when he jolts awake again, cold sweat covering his shirtless torso. He feels awake almost instantaneously, even though he usually drifts for hours in a half-asleep haze before falling asleep and it’s two A.M. He groans loudly and fluffs up his pillow, turning it over and hoping the fresh side will help him. He closes his eyes and the light blinks, blinks, blinks, shining through his vision, and he sits up again.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi grumbles, shoving the sheets off and making his way to his dresser to grope blindly for a shirt. “Y/N.”

He’s halfway to you when he realizes that this is a little crazy. He doesn’t want to wake you up, but— he needs to see you. You’ll understand.

Keeping an eye on the road, he composes a text to you during the course of a few red lights, about as cut and dry as his average message. On my way, it reads. Answer the door.

You do, once he gets there, sleep shirt slipping off your shoulder, pajama pants looking far too hot for the temperature of the night. You’re yawning, rubbing your eyes, and he grins at you, pleased.

“Thanks for answering,” he says. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was, asshole,” you say, but you tilt your head and kiss him when he crosses your threshold, and you cling sleepily to his side when he walks in.

The two of you go straight to the bedroom, and you collapse onto your bed immediately, back hitting the soft surface and legs falling open. You beckon and he crawls up between them, laying his head on your chest and looking up at you with soft, adoring eyes.

“Why’d you come, anyway?” Your words are slurring with exhaustion, and he can feel your chest vibrate when you speak. He entwines his fingers with yours and nuzzles his way up to below your chin.

“Had a bad dream,” he says, and even though he only slept a little, his voice is raspy and deep. It usually is, but you imagine that if an earthquake could speak, it would sound like your Hajime in the hour after he’s woken up. “About you.” You can feel him go very still in your arms, the way he does when he doesn’t want you to think he’s upset.

“Mm?” You hum, closing your eyes, rubbing at his shoulders with your free hand. Wow, that muscle is solid. “What happened to me?”

“I dunno,” he says. “I forget my dreams fast. Woke up with a big sense of doom, so I wanted to come see you, make sure you were okay.”

“I’m okay,” you tell him. “Perfect, actually, now you’re here.”

“You are perfect always,” he tells you, voice rumbling into your chest. “Shit, it’s hot.”

You cease the lazy, one-sided shoulder massage so he can sit up, yanking off his shirt, a green shirt for an American band you’re sure he’d never have touched beyond laundry day if he were fully awake or getting dressed in the light. You put your hands on him, on his golden skin, always warm to the touch, and he leans up to kiss you. Kissing him is approximately a million times softer and goofier than his appearance might suggest, as is the rest of his personality around you. You can feel him smiling, pressing closer, and your own lips curve into a smile, dopey and lovestruck.

“You know,” you say when you separate, “overheating causes nightmares. That was probably what it was.”

“Probably,” he agrees, settling down on top of you again. “Comfy?” The two of you wriggle, adjusting, until you can cuddle comfortably.

“So you didn’t have to come,” you say, voice teasing. “Could’ve let me sleep.”

“Sorry, baby,” he says, and you can tell he’s drifting away quickly.

“Kidding,” you murmur. “I’m glad you came.”

“Love you, baby,” he says. You close your eyes and savor the scent, the feel of him.

“Love you too.”

It’s dark in your bedroom. He falls asleep peacefully, and your body is warm and soft, and he has nothing to worry about in the world.

#listened to you are in love by taylor swift and went insane before i wrote this #can u tell #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fluff #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #hq fluff #hq!! fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!! fluff

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babyloposts · 3 years

Text

MY HERO DAD-CANNONS

Summary: How my favorite boys would react to their child having a nightmare. Some single dad head cannons because my baby fever is back

Includes: Bakugou Katsuki, Midoriya Izuku, Kaminari Denki, Takami Keigo

Warnings: none, fluff, aged up characters, references to GN parent titles

———————————————————————

Bakugou:

He was up and down the hall as quickly as the first wail left his daughter’s mouth. He was desperately hoping that the screams were not from a villain trying to kidnap her.

He was relieved for only a second as he saw her safely tucked into bed as he left her earlier that night, but the worry came back as he saw her broken out in a cold sweat.

Careful not to startle her awake Katsuki rubbed her forehead gingerly removing the sweat and bangs from its place matted on the top of her head.

“Kid. Wake up.” His tone soft. The one he reserved only for her.

“Daddy?” Her brows furrowed and her eyelashes fluttered open to see a stoic yet comforting face.

“You okay? I think you were having a nightmare. Scared the hell out of me.” He chuckled, still soothing her as her breathing slowed.

“M-me too. I was so scared Dad. The monsters were trying to get me.”

“What monsters?” Katsuki feared the worst. What if she had seen a villain and they knew she was his kid. That could mean she was being watched and in danger. He couldn’t let anything happen to her.

“From the movie dad. The one I watched when hanging out with the Midoriya’s.” Bakugou’s face scrunched and his daughter winced in fear of being in trouble for watching a PG-13 movie.

“What’d I tell you about watching scary movies with Deku’s kid. Now look at you all scared with nightmares.” Bakugou scolded, but his expression softened. He was just glad she was safe.

“I’m sorry Dad. I won’t watch scary movies anymore. I don’t want any monsters to get me.”

“It’s okay. I promise I won’t let any monsters get you. They have to go through me first, alright squirt.” She nodded and gave Bakugou a small smile, knowing she was safe and in the most capable hands of the #2 hero.

Bakugou smoothed her hair back and placed a kiss to her forehead. “Love you squirt. Sweet Dreams.”

“I love you too Dad.”

———————————————————————

Midoriya:

Izuku is no stranger to weird dreams, but he had never expected his One for All induced visions to transfer to his daughter as well.

He wouldn’t even know if she hadn’t been weeping by his bedside at one in the morning.

“D-daddy.” A small voice warbled out next to Midoriya. His eyes shot open not expecting to see a teary eyed five year old only a few inches away from his face.

“What’s wrong Bubby?” Izuku quickly sat up in bed and moved to the edge of the bed, scooping the crying child into his arms.

“I had a bad dream.” She whimpered as he wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Aww I’m sorry.” He hugged her tightly to his chest rocking slightly to soothe her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She nodded slightly before starting. “I was so scared Daddy. You were there and somebody—a bad man—stole your quirk away from you. He was too strong. And nobody would help you. Not even All Might. And I was too little to help you, Daddy and I’m so sorry.” And just like that the tears were flowing from her tear ducts again.

Izuku shushed her and started back trying to soothe her again. “Don’t worry, I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” He brought his daughter back to her bedroom and tucked her into her Princess themed bed. “Are you comfy?” She asked and she nodded.

Izuku gave her a kiss to her temple before getting up to move to a bookshelf on the far side of the room. “Would you like to hear a story?” She nodded and Izuku climbed into the side of the bed and wrapped his arm around her.

Midoriya read the story book to her that were more kiddie versions of some of All Might’s best missions (even in fatherhood he was a total fanboy).

His daughter was knocked before he was even halfway through the book, the tales of heroism and safety lulling her into a peaceful sleep. Although she was peaceful and very cute Izuku had realized his grave mistake far too late.

His daughter was the lightest sleeper he knew. It would be almost impossible to remove himself from the bed without waking her up.

He tried several times to stand from the bed without causing her to stir, but ultimately failed and gave in to the reality that he’d be spending the night on the edge of a twin bed.

It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but Izuku would give up anything for his little girl, even the comforts of his own bed, to make her feel safe.

———————————————————————

Kaminari:

It took a lot to get Denki up, which wasn’t always a good thing having such a young child to look after. He was finally awoken by the third kick to his ribs by a little foot in bed.

“Ouch, what the-?” Denki whipped the blanket down to reveal a small body in the fetal position hunched against his side.

“Wha- hey Little Man. What happened? Why aren’t you sleeping in your big kid bed?”

The small boy was unmoving, pretending to be asleep to prevent being bothered or moved from his comfortable position.

“I know you’re not sleep, Buddy. Tell me what’s wrong. Please?” Finally Denki’s son’s head poked up from his arm shields and showed off his pouty face.

“I don’t want to sleep in my big kid. It’s too dark and scary in there. I don’t want to have bad dreams.” The child’s eyes started to water.

Denki sighed. “Bud, I thought we agreed that when you turned four you’d stop sleeping in Papa’s bed and sleep by yourself.”

“I don’t want to anymore. I’m scared. It’s too dark and you are too far away.” He whined. Denki knew that he was the age where he needed to start being able to self-soothe and sleep by himself, but he couldn’t deny his son. He was a good kid, maybe with a bit of separation anxiety, but all around he was pretty easy.

Denki’s nanny would probably scold him for babying his son, but he didn’t care. It’s not like Denki liked sleeping alone anyway.

“Bud, you can’t sleep down in the covers like that. You’ll get way too hot.” A small smile spread over Denki’s lips as his son shuffled his way up onto Denki’s chest with his arms wrapped around his neck in a death grip.

Denki chuckled once the grip loosened and rubbed his son’s back as he slipped into sleep. “Can we try sleeping in your big kid bed tomorrow night?” Denki whispered.

“I’ll try Papa, but no promises.” Denki chuckled and closed his eyes in content.

“That’s okay Buddy. I love you.”

“Love you too, Papa.”

———————————————————————

Takami Keigo:

Keigo really hoped that an intruder wasn’t in the house right now. He knew it was irrational to think, but stranger things have happened, plus he was already worked up from the last patrol he went on last night where he fought a surprisingly difficult villain.

Stealthily Kei climbed out of bed and sent a feather flying into the kitchen where the noise was coming from to scope out the intruder.

When he heard a high pitched scream and low thud he was actually more relieved than worried.

He rushed from behind his bedroom door out to see his son sat on the ground in front of the open refrigerator.

“The hell are you doing up? It’s 2 AM!” Keigo whisper yelled to ensure he didn’t bother the neighbors.

“Sorry Dad. I was hungry.”

“What are you still hungry for? You basically ate a whole chicken by yourself for dinner. At this rate keeping up with your eating habits cost more than the rent.” Takami chided, but he couldn’t be too mad, his son was a growing boy and they needed their sustenance.

“I’m sorry Dad. I just woke up and wanted a snack that’s all.” That’s what he said, but the glossiness in his son’s eyes gave him away.

Keigo bent over to pick up the food that had fallen out of the fridge and grab a carton of ice cream out of the freezer along with two spoons. His son watched his father intently as he moved to the kitchen island to sit and patted the stool next to him.

“Come sit down and have your snack.” Keigo sighed. Reluctantly his son sat down beside him and grabbed a spoon scooping into the slightly freezer burnt cookies and cream.

“So tell me what’s really going on. You wouldn’t tear up just from me knocking you on your ass earlier.” His son’s eyes grew wide, surprised that his dad had noticed that small detail.

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“I know when you’re lying to me Kid. So just go ahead and tell me.” Kei said wrapping an arm around his son’s shoulders.

He took a deep breath before finally caving. “I... I had a dream about Baba. When they died.” Keigo’s usual cocky demeanor faded away and his eyes softened as he recalled the painful memory.

“Wow.” Keigo said as he cleared his throat. “That uh... hasn’t happened for a while. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault Dad. I just wished... I don’t know. I just miss them a lot.” He began to tear up again. Keigo sighed. It has been almost seven years since his significant other died tragically from cancer. Their son was just a kid then. What Five year old can really comprehend that and grieve a parent properly. Since then Kei’s been doing his best as a single Dad, but maybe he should have talked about them more.

“I know you miss them Kid. I do too. I miss them everyday, but you remind me of them. You’ve got the same face and spirit they had, so it’s like a little piece of ‘em is always with us. They’re in you.” Keigo’s grip tightened around his son’s shoulder and he left a comforting rub up and down his forearm.

“I know sayin all this isn’t going to bring them back, but just know they’re always in your heart and they loved you very much.”

“Thanks Dad.”

“No problem Kid. Just finish your ice cream and get to bed. I don’t want you late for school in the morning.”

His son nodded. Keigo stood from the island and ruffled the hair of his son before depositing his dirty spoon in the sink. Before he made it all the way to his bedroom a voice rang out behind him.

“I love you Dad.”

Keigo smiled softly. “Love you too Kid.”

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etherrreal · 3 years

Text

“when you pass out at practice”

Pairing: tsukishima x reader ; kyotani x reader ; aone x reader Genre: comfort-fluff ; drabbles & headcanons Summary: the reader hasn’t been taking care of herself which leads to her passing out at practice Word Count: 2295 Warnings: fainting, or passing out, from sleep deprivation/not eating/heat exhaustion, some explicit language because i’m an adult A/N: thanks for the fun request! i took a little bit of artistic liberties with the scenario to keep it from being so repetitive so I hope you don’t mind! -Luna

it was rare that you had a beautiful sunny day on a weekend with no chores to attend to or work to complete

so when your boyfriend Tsukishima texted you and asked you to come join him for casual volleyball practice outside, you decided to take him up on that opportunity

however, not even a cap and some cold water could stave off heat exhaustion

Despite it being 95°F and so humid that the air feels thick when you breathe, it is a beautiful day outside. The sky is completely clear of clouds; the sun is shining directly on you as you, your boyfriend, and Yamaguchi head out to practice at the open field nearby Karasuno. The change of scenery was refreshing and even with it feeling just as hot as it usually does inside the school gym, the occasional breeze and lack of sweaty stench was a huge welcomed change.

There’s very little shade provided by the trees, but you lay out a small blanket under the nearest one anyway. You become the bag and bottle keeper when Tsukishima and Yamaguchi hand you their items, your boyfriend dropping it haphazardly onto the blanket while Yamaguchi delicately places it down with a ‘thank you.’

You usually don’t get to see Tsukishima practice, seeing as his normal practices run until the dead of night, so it was fun watching them set and serve the ball back and forth. When the occasional ball lands by your feet, you get the chance to enjoy setting it back to them, even if it often falls short or misses the target completely.

“Thank god you’re not on our team,” Tsukishima teases, as he watches the ball you set fall 6 feet away from him.

“Yeah, because I’d kick your ass. I know I’m a threat, and you should fear me,” you retort sarcastically. Before he turns away to retrieve the ball, you see him crack a small smile at your tomfoolery.

However, after a few hours of getting up and down repeatedly to send the balls back under the beating sun, your head starts to pound. Your body is radiating so much heat it makes you want to remove your skin. You know it’s just a matter of time before you start feeling physically ill, as well. You loosen your cap and drink some cold water in hopes that it will relieve some of the tension, but you just feel the same.

You decide to lay down on the blanket, cap laid over your face to block out the sun. You don’t know if you passed out or if you simply tuned out everything around you for a bit, but you jump when you suddenly feel something wet and cold touching your neck.

You reach up to swat it away, thinking it was a bug when you hear Tsukishima’s voice. “Stop that. I’m trying to help you, dummy.”

Relief washed over you to know that it wasn’t a beetle crawling up your neck but instead your stoic boyfriend pressing his plastic water bottle there to cool you down.

“Yamaguchi thought you died,” he brought up suddenly. “He actually ran to the store to get some more water after I told him to stop overreacting.”

You chuckle, picturing Yamaguchi already mourning over your body just because you were lying down with a cap over your face. “It’s sweet that he cares though, in his own weird way.”

Suddenly, the sky and Tsukishima’s crouching figure are in full view as he flicks the hat off of your face, feeling annoyed that you praised his friend and not him. “What do you think I’m doing, huh?”

“Aww, do you want me to tell you how you’re the bestest, sweetest, most handsome boyfriend I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing, and that I’m so grateful that you’ve graced me with your help?” you whine in a sarcastic tone, making grabby hands at the tall blond hovering over you.

He slaps your hands away, knowing that if you get your hands on him, you’d squeeze his cheeks and ruffle his hair like you always do. “Well, that’s the last time I ever take care of you.”

You know he doesn’t mean it and that, if you were ever in some form of peril, he would casually stroll rush to your rescue to make sure you’re okay. You hope that when you look up at him he can see how much you appreciate his efforts.

“Thank you, Kei,” you say sincerely.

“Yeah, whatever.” He sounds dismissive, but you can tell by the scrunched eyebrows and soft look in his eyes as he gazes down at you how much he worries about your well-being, and you’re genuinely grateful to have him be your unofficial nurse.

you heard from some classmates that your math teacher was seen printing out math quizzes

*cue studious panic*

you decided to completely skip lunch and use that time in the library to hit the books hard

your stomach was rumbling, your head was hurting, and your vision would become spotty if you stood up too quickly

you completed your quiz at the end of the day, but by then, you were starving and ready to get something to eat

in your panic, you forgot that you were supposed to meet kyotani after school so you could force him to go to practice that day (or else Iwaizumi would have your ass)

he heard your stomach make monstrous noises and when you let him know you hadn’t eaten, he looked more upset than usual to see you not taking care of yourself

“Let’s skip practice and get some food,” he suggests.

“What? So you can skip out on one of the few practices you go to? Absolutely not!” you reprimand.

“But you need to eat.”

“Look at you being a sweet boyfriend who cares,” you tease, watching him roll his eyes like he’s annoyed, but the pink hue dusting his cheeks says otherwise. “I’ll be fine. I should have an extra granola bar in my bag somewhere.”

"Whatever, if you say so." He turns his body diagonally, a gesture you know means 'walk with me.' Kyotani has never been keen on PDA, but one thing you have noticed is that he prefers for you to walk directly by his side at all times. To others, it may look like he’s uninterested in you, but you can tell by how often his arm brushes yours that it’s his way of showing affection.

You stroll across campus together, enjoying a quiet conversation with Kyotani about your day thus far. It doesn’t take long for you to reach the gym entrance, already hearing the balls slamming against the ground inside. You both switch out your shoes before walking in, him going to join his teammates and you finding a seat on the sidelines, seeing Iwaizumi give you a thumbs up for your job well done.

You take a moment to search through your bag for that granola bar you mentioned earlier. After sifting through books, loose notes, and forgotten pencils and pens, you realize you have no snack to tide you over until the end of practice.

The market is just down the road. I could probably go pick something up and be back quickly.

You wave Iwaizumi over, figuring you’ll tell him your plans while Kyotani is distracted so he won’t follow you out. You see his back turned to you as Oikawa speaks to the rest of the team, gesturing wildly with a volleyball in hand.

As Iwaizumi gets closer, you stand up and immediately begin to sway. Your vision grows spotted, and your head feels like it’s floating.

You hear Kyotani yell out your name before everything goes black.

When you wake up, the lights are beaming overhead as you lay in some sort of bed. Once you’re coherent enough, you sit up, looking around to see that you’re in the school nurse’s office. You pick up your hand to hold your still aching head when you notice a very angry Kyotani attached to it, already glaring at you.

Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, not quite knowing what to say after you just passed out in the middle of practice.

"I told you that we should've gotten something to eat," he starts, growling out each word.

You shrink into yourself, feeling embarrassed that you've upset him and couldn’t even take care of yourself properly. "I'm sorry, Kentaro.”

He notices you plucking the lint off your shirt to avoid direct eye contact with him. His eyes close as he collects himself, realizing that now’s not the time to lecture you for something you couldn’t have predicted.

He sighs, standing up slightly to lean over your slumped figure, laying a kiss on your temple. He mumbles a quiet apology against your skin, feeling bad for snapping at you when he should’ve been more kind. He’s working on that, slowly but surely.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” he says, holding your hand while you stand slowly from the bed. You wobble slightly, Kyotani quickly wrapping his arm around your waist to stabilize you. You give him a nod when you’re firmly on your two feet.

“From now on, if you’re hungry, tell me.”

You agreed reluctantly, not exactly wanting him to worry so much but knowing he wouldn’t let you leave without your compliance.

From then on, he always makes sure to check on you to check if you've eaten or if you need one of the many granola bars he now carries, and while sometimes it's annoying to have him acting like a mother hen, it's also very heartwarming to know that he cares about you that much. Not to mention, he’s saved your ass many times when you have to study overtime for another intense math quiz.

the end of the semester was coming to a close and you were scrambling to get everything done on time

there weren't enough hours in the day to study for finals, finish projects, complete homework, and also take care of your human needs, like eating and sleeping

so, you just didn't sleep one night, opting to stay up with some caffeine to power through all of your work

at the beginning of the next day, you felt energetic and peppy, but as it went on, the sluggish feeling started to settle in

by the end, you were feeling absolutely exhausted and ready to drop at any moment

however, you still wanted to accompany Aone to practice that day, as it was your favorite part of your week

aone initially insisted that you head home without him, but he realized it might be safer to go with him after practice, just in case you fell asleep on the train

It feels like it takes ages, but eventually, practice begins to wind down, soreness seeping into each and every team member’s muscles after hours on their feet. A few of them are still practicing quick attacks with each other, but Aone is one more move away from passing out from exhaustion.

He walks over to you sitting on the sidelines, watching you take longer and longer between each blink. Yet, when he gets close enough, you still manage to give him a small smile that kicks his heart into overdrive, his face, no doubt, resembling a tomato because of the gesture.

He sits on the creaky folding chair beside you, taking gulps of his water to try to cool himself down. He almost chokes when he feels your head press up against his shoulder, hand resting on his forearm gently. Sitting still as a rock, he tries to take his mind off his cute partner cuddling up next to him.

"We should stop somewhere and pick up some food on the way to the train,” he suggests, doing his best to ignore the warmth filling his cheeks. “Do you want anything specific?"

You're silent beside him. At first, he thinks you're contemplating what to eat, seeing as you're very particular with your cravings. But when two minutes pass, and there's not even a peep from you, he looks down carefully to find you knocked out against his shoulder, face squished uncomfortably and mouth parting with each deep breath you take.

Aone never pictured this happening to him –mostly because he didn't think he'd ever have a partner who'd feel comfortable enough around him– so he didn't quite know where to go from here. He could wake you up to at least bring you home, but if this is the first time you've slept in over 24 hours, he didn't want to deprive you of more necessary sleep.

The only way Aone can think of bringing you home is to carry you all the way to the train station and... Well, that's as far as he manages to get, but future Aone will figure the rest out.

He asks Futakuchi to gather his things for him because he doesn't want to risk waking you. After some light teasing, he hands Aone his packed duffle and helps put on his jacket with minimal stirring from you.

Aone thanks his friend with a nod before turning to you and slipping his arms under you, one beneath your knees and the other behind your back. He freezes when you begin shifting around, but relaxes once you settle into him.

Aone waves at his team on the way out, with what movement he is allowed, and begins his trek to the train station nearby.

His arms are aching after hours of practice, but it doesn’t matter, because you nuzzling into his neck with an adorable sigh gives him enough strength to carry you halfway across the country if he needs to.

Written by: Luna

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