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#is anyone else just SEVERELY unsettled by that
vampcubus · 1 year
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𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐄
𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
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:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : kyojuro sure likes to stare, doesn't he? :ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : sfw, gn!reader, pre-established friendship, background obamitsu meddling. :ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 : 1.4k+
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Kyojuro, bless his heart, is so hopelessly attracted to you in ways he’s never experienced. 
Everything about you draws him in, from your striking beauty to your quick wit, how despite your snark you always treated others with compassion. You were fast friends, not that Kyojuro was particularly difficult to get along with. You’d even argue that such a person as him was impossible to dislike, at least without feeling guilty about it. 
He was blunt, genuine, and brimming with so much enthusiasm it tended to unsettle some. But never you. You would look upon him with quiet acceptance, hanging onto his every word. You didn’t seem to mind his complete disregard for eye contact or his erratic conversational skills. 
You just get him, he muses. And he’s never felt a kinship like that with anyone.
Kyojuro has always felt like he was moving faster than everyone else, both in mind and body. The man couldn’t sit still or shut up to save his life, or so the other Hashira would say – endearingly of course. No matter the sentiments his comrades held for him, none of them seemed to keep up quite as well as you did. Which is why he presumed you worked so well together.
He could blabber on about anything and have you following along just fine. Though after a few roundabout conversations ranging from swordplay to street food, he musters the confidence to ask if he talked too much for your taste. 
You only quirk a brow and snort, “Pffft, of course not! I like listening to you talk.” and you see something shift in his gaze, the softest shade of pink tinting his round cheeks.
It’s around there when the staring starts.
It’s a subtle change at first, catching his wide-eyed gaze from across the training field. Feeling his eyes upon you as you shared meals together. Stumbling over your words when you realize for the first time that he’s actually looking you in the eye as you talk.
It’s a new and exhilarating feeling to be able to admire those honey-colored eyes fully fixated on you for a change. Too often you found yourself staring back. And the way he brightens when your eyes meet sends your fickle heart into pesky palpitations every time. You swore his pupils bled further into his golden-red irises every time he spotted you. 
The idea of his eyes dilating at the mere sight of you endears you even more fiercely to him. As if such a thing was possible. You’re already attached at the hip, not to mention the dozens of joint missions you’ve taken. 
His exuberance could be trying when your objective was to blend in, but his swordsmanship more than made up for it. He was incredibly good at taking the edge off when tensions were high, he was an emotional pillar of support, and you were honored to have his focus.
The beloved Flame Hashira was enthusiastic about many things, but you most of all it seemed. You’ve been told by several other Hashira that you were one of his favorite topics of conversation. The image of him gushing about you to other people is as embarrassing as it is flattering.
“Y/n is so easygoing, I cherish their company!”
“Did you know Y/n makes the best rice cakes?”
“Y/n is such a fierce swordsman, I am honored to fight at their side!”
“Y/n this, Y/n that. You’re all he talks about you know,” Iguro points a finger in your face one morning.
“So I’ve heard,” you hum, hand perched lazily on the hilt of your sword, though you’re unsure of precisely why he’s telling you this. Your eyes stray to Kaburamaru, who only flicks his tongue at you, leisurely slithering down Iguro’s shoulder from his coiled position around his neck.
You’ve always known the Serpent Hashira to be abrasive and confrontational, but the sudden interest in your relationship with Rengoku was uncharacteristic. Especially since he usually disregarded your presence unless he had something to criticize. You didn’t dislike him, but you wouldn’t say that you were close.
Did he know something you didn’t? 
You try not to make assumptions based on the worries of others, but Kyojuro’s childhood friend approaching you out of the blue to tell you something like that? It makes you wonder just what sort of things Kyojuro has been saying about you to warrant such an interrogation.
Was Iguro trying to discern your intentions as a way of looking out for him? Perhaps your feelings for Kyojuro weren’t as internalized as you’d thought. 
“Is this your way of saying you’ll snap me like a twig if I break his heart?” you ask, lips curling up into a sly grin, head cocked to one side.
Heterochromatic eyes blink in surprise, and then narrow.
“You catch on quick.” 
“You can relax, Iguro. I won’t hurt him.”
“Few can be entirely sure of that. For your sake, I hope that’s the truth,” he waves you off, turning away in disinterest upon hearing your response.
The encounter leaves you with mixed feelings. Would Iguro have asked if he didn’t already know how Rengoku felt in return? It's an unsettling and gnawing feeling. Not the idea that your feelings could be returned, just the uncertainty of it all. If Iguro noticed it, why didn’t you?
“Iguro approached me earlier,” you say as you sit across from the flame-haired swordsman, currently having lunch at one of your favorite spots to eat.
“Did he now?” Kyojuro acknowledges, eyes still closed as he stuffs another bite of octopus into his mouth. His round cheeks puff out cutely, the image of a chipmunk with its cheeks full of nuts forming in your mind.
“He told me you talk about me a lot.”
“All good things of course!” he assures, seemingly unbothered by the news.
“That’s the thing,” you chuckle nervously, poking at your food with your chopsticks. Kyojuro’s eyes fluttered open, now focused on your fidgeting hands. “He seemed concerned that you had feelings for me beyond friendship.”
It’s silent for a moment, and you stuff food into your mouth to escape it, eyes focused on your plate. You can feel his gaze, but you’re too intimidated to meet it.
“Would that be a bad thing?” for once, Kyojuro sounds nervous. 
It's a subtle strain in his tone that others who didn’t know him as well might have missed. But years of close proximity have made you perceptive to the almost invisible chinks in his armor. Kyojuro was heavily guarded for being such a friendly man, always eager to lend a hand or ear when others were in distress, but quick to clam up when it came to his own problems.
Your heartbeat skips, excited and terrified. Was that a confession? Were you reading too far into things? Was the question rhetorical? All these questions well up inside until you feel like you’ll burst. 
You can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh.
“You’re so hard to read,” you lamented, nearly jumping out of your skin when his fingers brush yours from across the table.
“Perhaps If you looked at me, you’d have an easier time,” he laughs, and your heart already feels lighter at the joyous sound. 
The anxiety in your tummy melts into giddiness, and you demurely tilt your head up to meet his eyes. They’re crinkled fondly, pupils large, and fully fixated on yours. His golden-red eyes consume yours, inspiring your fingers to twitch against his. You can only compare such an expression to a smitten puppy. 
You suddenly feel silly for entertaining any doubts that the Flame Hashira was any less enamored than you were.
“To be completely honest, I have been interested in you romantically for quite some time now, and at a loss of how to contain such strong feelings,” he confessed, and suddenly a lot of things started making sense.
He stared at you so much because he liked you. He talked about you so much because he liked you. He let you tag along to missions he could have easily handled on his own because he liked you. Iguro approached you because he noticed.
“Then no, I don’t think that would be a bad thing at all.” You turn your hand with your palm facing upward to accept his own into your grasp.
Kyojuro’s smile widens, and he nearly shakes the entire restaurant with the volume of his declaration of, “WONDERFUL!”
“See, Obanai? I told you they just needed a little push!” Mitsuri gushes from across the restaurant, just her green eyes and the top of her head peeking over the menu.
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I love it when Elrond is portrayed as someone who is a little bit incomprehensible to most of the elves at first. Not even just because he's a half-elf, but because he reminds them all of so many other people, and that layering can be kind of jarring.
He sings beautifully, with a voice that sounds like no elf or man, and it reminds many of the Sindar of Luthien. It reminds some of the Noldor of someone else, another singer with raven-dark hair and starry gray eyes.
The braids he does his hair in– and he always keeps it braided at first, because letting it run loose is another thing that makes people whisper of Luthien– are in the traditional Noldor style. The survivors of Gondolin love that; Turgon always wore his hair in classical styles too. The other part of the House of Finwe that clung to traditional braids goes unmentioned. But everyone knows.
And he was clearly taught about court manners; taught to be gracious and charming, and a very good listener. The elf who could have taught Elrond those things is usually skipped over entirely, in favor of those reminiscing about Idril's graceful poise or Melian's endless patience.
He looks very much like Luthien, but there is a particular Finwean sharpness in his facial structure; something that makes him look a lot like Fingolfin, as well. Fingolfin looked very much like his father. And his older brother.
His smile is just like Earendil's (whose smile is just like Tuor's), and his strange, birdlike laugh is from Elwing. He fights and writes with his left hand– but then, so did Earendil, because while all elves are right-handed, not all humans or half-elves are. He eats no meat– just like Beren, they say, but the way Elrond tells it the choice had nothing to do with that history. There is ainuric power in him and something very human in the set of his shoulders. The flowers grow around any place he stays long enough. He gets sick in a way no elf, and certainly no maia, ever would. His accent is odd, and archaic, and changes noticeably when he's too tired to obscure it. His mannerisms are a mixture of about twelve people, almost all of whom are dead, and several of whom are not spoken of by the time he shows up in Gil-Galad's camp.
And the reflections of Elrond unsettle a lot of people; because one moment they see a fallen hero or loved one, and the next they see the person that took them. Or perhaps someone else, that they never knew at all. There is reverence and fear and uncertainty. It's messy.
Elrond himself is coming to peace with this by the War of Wrath. There is love in carrying the parts of your ancestors with you, even when they aren't around any more. And he knows better than anyone that he is always himself, first and foremost. Still, it takes everyone else a while to stop seeing a ghost and start seeing Elrond.
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letoasai · 9 months
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dp x dc Chronos part 2
Part 1  and Part 3 
The Justice League sat in the Watchtower, some of them at least. The meeting was meant to be a quick one, only certain members in attendance to make sure they were all on the same page after the debrief of the last mission. Not all of them were necessary and most were usually busy. 
Today Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash and Green Lantern were in the middle of wrapping things up when the alert sounded. The siren blared twice before the red lights in the corner of each room flashed in an emergency.
“What in the world…” Flash grumbled but was obviously the first to the controls to look for the problem. None of the main alarms had been triggered, none of the doors messed with. No unusual motion noted in parts of the station that were currently vacant. “Weird.” 
“What is it?” Batman was next beside him, arms crossed as he peered at the screen with narrowed eyes. 
“It’s the sensors.” Flash said. “We’re picking up some kind of  interference.” 
“Way up here? What kind?” Green Lantern asked, he’d moved to one of the wide windows of the viewing deck as if he would be able to see something approaching. As things were, there was nothing but the normal vastness of space with Earth to one side.
“No idea.” Flash said. “Never seen something like this before.” 
“Any idea on a location?” Superman asked, appearing by Green Lantern’s side. 
Flash just clucked his tongue, hitting buttons much faster than a normal person. It was almost an irritation that he had to wait for the computer to keep up with him. “I mean, there’s nothing exactly to track yet.” 
“An anomaly then.” Wonder Woman said, leaning back against the conference table they’d all just been sitting around. “Something natural?” 
“There’s nothing natural about this.” Batman said, tone skeptical as he gazed at the screens. 
“Gonna side with that bat on this one.” Flash said, “It’s more like a warning before anything happens. Something setting off the sensors but nothing else? Feels like it was on purpose.” 
Green Lantern rolled his eyes. “What, like something’s knocking before they make themselves known?” 
Before anyone could even offer their opinion on what they thought of something so ridiculous, a spark of green ripped through the air like lightning. Just as quickly it spread out into an obvious portal. Every member of the Justice League sprang into position, circling the phenomenon to block it in from every direction. Things like this shouldn’t have been possible, but it wasn’t the first time an intruder had gotten creative to get inside the Watchtower. 
Without any fanfare, a man stepped out. They presumed it was a man anyway. He was dressed in mostly shades of purple other than his leather boots and gloves. He was covered by a cloak and hood, but when he looked up, it was hard to say what about him was the most unsettling. The red eyes. The blue skin. The pendulum clock that set back into his chest so far that he could only be missing crucial organs. 
“Who are you?” Superman demanded, quickly trying to assess if there would be a fight or not. 
“How did you get here?” Batman said right after, gravel tone somehow more frightening because he was calm. 
The intruder just gestured with his thumb at the portal behind him. “Thought it was rather obvious.” 
“Your purpose?” Wonder Woman asked, looking relaxed but her body was tense and ready to react in a moments notice. 
“My purpose?” He chuckled quietly. In his hand was a staff they’d almost missed before, the top of it cradling a clock. It seemed to be a theme given the number of watches and clocks he wore. “I’ve come to call in a favor. The Justice League owes me several.” 
“We owe you? Ppfff. Yeah right. We don’t even know who you are.” Flash rolled his eyes.
The intruder turned to the Flash, his brow raised. “Speedster, with the amount of times you’ve dabbled in the time stream, you alone owe me your life a fair few times.” 
“Time, huh?” Green Lantern looked him over. There were a lot of clocks... “Guess that’s your schtick.” 
He chuckled again. “I go by many names, only one will be relevant to you today.” He turned his attention onto Wonder Woman who squared up under his gaze. If she was going to be his focus then she’d take him head on. 
“And?” She arched a brow at him. “What name may we call you?” 
He looked amused, red eyes filled with mirth. “You, Diana, may call me grandfather.” 
The room stilled, the others looking around in varying degrees of confusion while Wonder Woman just paled. 
“Chronos. God of time…” she muttered, making it very clear to the team what they were dealing with. A God. 
“I go by master of time these days, but yes. I am that Chronos. I have a task for you, Diana. One i do not think you will turn down but i’ll give you the illusion of choice.” Chronos said, the minute and hour hands on his staff moving strangely. 
“You’re a god, and you come to us for help?” Batman asked, unimpressed no matter the glowers he was being sent by the others. 
“You are the Justice League, aren’t you?” Chronos looked pleased. “Righting wrongs. Defending Earth. Justice is in the name and everything.” 
He didn’t talk like a god. He didn’t even talk as formally as Wonder Woman herself tended to occasionally. 
“Doing tasks for you is asking for trouble.” Wonder Woman muttered. She’d heard stories, so many stories. 
Chronos shrugged. “Time is messy. Keeping it in line is difficult. Especially when there are those who mess with it who should not.” He was not above verbally throwing speedsters under the bus.
“What do you want?” Green Lantern asked, obviously suspicious but paying very close attention. 
“Simple.” Chronos answered, still looking at his granddaughter. “You will take custody of your uncle for a time. He needs a safe place to rest and live.” 
The silence that followed was loud, no one knowing what to make of that. Wonder Woman herself looked puzzled. 
“Are you claiming a sibling of Zeus needs a babysitter?” 
Chronos hummed. “He is my son though he holds no biological relation to your father, i suppose.” 
“Then how is he her uncle?” Flash asked, with a hint of sass. 
“You can ask Batman how it works.” Chronos mused, saying all he would say on the matter but that was enough. 
Wonder Woman couldn’t fathom what kind of person her grandfather would see fit to adopt. “Are you going to tell me more?” 
“Telling you more would imply you were agreeing to the task.” 
She tsked. “None of your word games. I want to know what i could be walking into.” 
Chronos never once looked threatened or put out, he did however, appear to look a few years older than he had when he’d first appeared. “He recently needed to be removed from his home for his safety. He can easily visit me but staying with me long term at this time is not beneficial to him for health reasons.” 
Superman frowned. “Removed from his home? How old is he?” 
“Sixteen. If that is all you need to know, i will fetch him. It may take some time for him to regain consciousness.”  Chronos said. 
“He’s been hurt?” Batman was frowning at the thought, looking more and more unhappy as the conversation progressed. 
“I did say he was removed from his home.” Chronos said, almost flippantly as he stepped back into his glowing green portal. It remained open, everyone exchanging looks. 
“Diana, is this a good idea?” Superman asked, willing to accept her judgment. Greek gods were more her wheelhouse. 
“Chronos was a titan. Is a titan?” She frowned. “His power is immense for a being thought to be killed.” 
“Something about him is off.” Batman agreed. “He was not worried at all. That is someone aware they have the upper hand.” 
Wonder Woman just nodded her agreement. Chronos was the god of time. There was no telling what he knew. “I’ve never met him before.” 
“Hell of a time for family reunions.” Flash snarked, heading back to the controls to see what readings they could get on the floating portal. It was obvious each of them wanted to study it in their own way. Scans and samples were first on their minds but it was clearly some kind of magic they weren’t familiar with. 
It was almost a shame there wasn’t a single member from JLD currently in the Watchtower. They might have been able to provide answers. 
Before much of anything could be done, Chronos returned, somehow looking several years younger than when he first appeared. In his arms was a lanky teen, cradled carefully as if he were fragile. He was equally a sight that left the League speechless. He wasn’t blue, in fact he looked more or less human other that the freckles that shined. 
Superman was the one to immediately note they were constellation patterned. 
His hair was a stark white that wisped and flowed as if he were under water. His clothes were strange, a detailed variation of an old hazmat suit, all done in black and white. Floating above his head was a crown that didn’t seem to know if it wanted to be on fire or covered in ice. It bobbed back and forth and even did a slow flip in the air but never left the area about the boy’s head. 
When no one uttered a word, Chronos took that as permission to begin the introductions. “Diana, this is your uncle. Danny Phantom. Son of the Stars. The Personification of Balance. The Ghost King. High King of the Infinite Realm.” 
“He’s a king?” Batman frowned. “He’s a boy.” 
“He could be both, Bats. He’s got a crown.” Flash chuckled softly. 
Chronos shared his amusement. “I did say he was only sixteen.” The god paused for a moment as the teen twisted in his arms, his face pressed against Chronos’ shoulder and a hand lightly pressed against the door of the clock embedded into the man’s chest. 
The fact that, even asleep, the boy was comfortable in the gods arms didn’t go unnoticed. 
“Is he injured?” Wonder Woman asked. They’d gone over this already but he didn’t look actively wounded. He seemed to be sleeping only. 
Chronos grunted once. “One form heals faster than the other. He needs rest, ambient ectoplasm which he knows how to get on his own, and food. He can answer your questions if he feels like it.” 
“If he feels like it?” Green Lantern frowned. 
“He’s the King.” Chronos’ lips twitched in amusement again. “If he decides to tell you more, or seek help, that is his decision.” 
“Seek help?” Batman’s eyes were narrowed. “Seek help for what?” 
Chronos approached and shifted the teenager into Wonder Woman’s arms. His crown shifted back and forth but never left the teen. The grip he had on the god wasn’t noticed until he tried to pull away and Chronos needed to carefully extract the boy’s hand. 
Ignoring Batman, he pressed on. “He’ll need to follow up with his doctor by the end of the week. He’ll know how to do that. If he doesn’t, his doctor will come to him. That should be incentive enough.” 
“Does he know you’re dropping him off here?” Superman asked, brows knitted together in concern. The heroes had been expecting a fight, not to be handed a royal teen. 
“He has a fondness for for space, so you might want to let him wake up here.” Chronos said instead, ignoring that question too. He was growing older again, a short, white beard starting to form.
“How long will he need to be in my care?” Wonder Woman asked, noting the boy weighed very little in her arms. In sleep his features were soft, hopefully he was as sweet as he looked. 
“Good luck.” Chronos said, staff reappearing in his hand now, turning back to the portal without giving her an answer. 
“Hey! Wait!” Flash yelled but for once, he was too slow, the god and the portal disappeared. 
Five members of the Justice League just stood in a mild stupor, their attention shifting to the sleeping teen. 
“Well…” Superman muttered. 
Wonder Woman looked at the boy, floating hair and crown moving in tandem. “I’ll set him down. We’ll see if he can answer any of our questions when he wakes up.” 
“You gonna call him Uncle Danny?” Flash asked, not bothering to hide his smile. 
Wonder Woman just ignored him and turned to stride off towards the med-station. -------------------------
------------------------- No idea at all if i’ll continue this. If anyone else wants too, go for it. ^_^
@markus209
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buckybarnesb-tch · 3 months
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I Will Always Believe You -Aemond T.
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He had been inappropriate for a week now and no matter what you did, he always found a way to watch you.
You had been betrothed to Aemond as children, him having requested you as his wife with his mother when you were young and dragonless together. You were the best of friends and it had been devastating to be torn from him when your mother decided to leave the Red Keep for Dragonstone. Your mother however, knew that she couldn't break off the engagement that the King had ordered himself, loving to see his granddaughter happy with his son and insisting you stay that way. Viserys had a soft spot for you as the only daughter his daughter had.
Since you turned 16 with Aemond now 18, it was decided that you would come back to Kings Landing and prepare for the Wedding. You and Aemond had been getting to know each other again and it was great fun, the only problem was your guard. He had been keeping a very close eye on you and it had been unsettling for the first week but nothing to really complain about. It wasn't until a week ago that it became a problem.
He had come into your chambers while you were getting dressed, shushing you before you screamed in fright for help, reminding you how it would look for a Princess to have a guard in her chambers with her. He insisted no one would believe her if she told them and all he would have to do is tell them that she invited him in. She would look like a whore, her innocence would be questioned and the wedding would be cancelled.
More than anything though, the idea of the look on Aemond's face was what stopped her. She couldn't imagine the disappointment and disgust on his face when he found out that his betrothed had allowed another man into her bed. So now instead, he watches whenever she gets dressed, a truly discomforting look on his face as he leans against the door just staring.
He was her personal guard and so he followed her everywhere, to all of her meals, to the library when she wanted to read, and even on her outings with Aemond as they strolled through the gardens. As the days went on he got bolder, eventually sitting himself on her bed as he watched her undress, palming his crotch and groaning. It caused bile to rise in the back of her throat every time he did it, nearly making her vomit.
Aemond had noticed a change in you. No one else in the world knew you like Aemond did and you loved that, he had been your favorite person since you were a toddler and if something was wrong he always knew. He ignored it for a while since you didn't seem to want to discuss it but as it was coming up on the date of your wedding, he refused to ignore it anymore and he scheduled a date for the two of you.
It was night and you had just had dinner an hour before when he sent for you. He had told you not to have dessert that night and while you found it odd, you did as your betrothed asked, finding yourself on the beach later that night with Aemond. He had laid out a blanket and brought several desserts and wine, shooing off all the guards as Vhagar laid about 50 feet away and there was no telling what she would do around anyone but Aemond and his soon to be wife.
'This is absolutely lovely my Dragon! Thank you for thinking of me like this, no one has ever done something so sweet.' You were blushing like crazy as he poured you a cup of wine .
'Of course Princess, you know how much I enjoy spoiling you. Hungry?' He asked and you nodded before he handed you a plate with a lemon cake on it. 'I had hoped to speak with you about something.'
'Of course. What is on your mind, My Love?' He hesitated a moment before just coming out with it.
'You've been acting strange lately, as if you're uncomfortable-' as he started speaking you gasped, choking on the cake and coughing like crazy with him patting your back, a worried look on his face as you finally took a deep breath again. 'Is there something you want to tell me?' Aemond asked but you shook your head, a bit too quickly honestly. 'Y/n, I won't marry you if that's not what you want, I don't-'
'Oh Aemond! No! Of course I want to marry you, I've wanted this since we were children-'
'Then what is wrong? You've been acting odd and...scared almost. I will not have my wife afraid in my presence for any reason...what's going on?'
He sat there waiting and you wanted to tell him. You wanted to tell him so badly but what would he think of you? Of a Targaryen too afraid to defend herself? Of his soon to be lady wife having a man watching her undress every night?
'I am afraid that you will think less of me...' his eyes widened in shock before he moved to pull you into his arms.
'Byka Zaldrīzes, that is impossible! I love you more than anything else in this world, I could never think less of you. Please? Tell me what is bothering you so much that you think you need to hide it from me.' His hand came up to wipe the tears that escaped down your cheeks.
'There is a man that is making me uncomfortable...and I am scared that if I say something that...I will not be believed, or worse, my innocence will be called into question and he...he used to just stare at me and make me feel unease but now he...he watches me...he-' you cannot stop the sob that explodes from your chest and Aemond's arms tighten around you.
'Tell me my love, you are safe I promise you.' He tucks your head under his chin as he holds you firmly and you can tell by the way he is breathing that he is enraged.
'He watches me change in the evening-'
'He what?!' He exclaimed, pulling you back to look at your face just as you hear Vhagar rumble in displeasure (at Aemond's anger or at being awoken you aren't sure). 'He has entered your chambers and you have not told me? How has your guard not done something about-' It seems he answered his own question as he realized why you were so afraid. 'Oh my love...I am so sorry you were forced to endure this, the man that should have been protecting you was the one hurting you. That is despicable!' He pressed his lips to your head and held you close once again. 'Rest assured, he will never do this to you again, I promise you my love.'
'Thank you!  Thank you Kepa!  I'm sorry that I did not tell you sooner, I-'
'Shh, no more of that.'  He shushed, brushing his fingers through your hair and moving to rest you back against his chest.  'There has been no moment before now that he was not with us and I understand your fear, but just know-'  he turned my face towards him to lock his eye on mine.  'My Princess is no liar, and as long as you do not start lying to me, I will always believe you.  I believe in your innocence, and I believe that some men are horrid enough to take advantage of my Princess.  Your next guard will be vetted by me personally, I will insist upon it. I already have one in mind, don't you worry.  You will be free of that man tonight and I will have Ser Criston watch over you...Vhagar will enjoy getting rid of him, she hasn't burned anyone in quite a while.'  I giggled as he said that, snuggling into my soon to be husband and protector, loving being fed my dessert like a queen until it was time to retire.   'You two, with me!'  Aemond demanded as we walked into the Red Keep, 2 guards doing as their Prince told them and following behind us, another one going to fetch Ser Criston as we made it to my chambers and found my guard outside the door.
'Princess.'  He greeted, opening my door but I didn't move from my Uncles side.
'Guards, I want you to escort this...man...to the Black Cells until morning, when he will join me in waking my dragon for breakfast.'  Aemond told them.  'You will watch over his cell and if he is somehow not there in the morning, you two will escort me to Vhagar instead.  Is that clear?'
'Yes, my Prince!'  They replied in unison, my guard looking at me angrily.
'My Prince, I don't know what she has told you but I only did as I was told-'
'My future wife told you to watch her changing, she told you to threaten her with my displeasure and having her innocence questioned?'  It was at that moment that Ser Criston arrived, Aemond's mother right alongside him which shocked us all.
'My son, what is the meaning of this at this late hour?'  She asked, confused and tired.
'I am sorry to wake you mother, I require Ser Criston to guard my bride tonight until I can replace this vile creature with a proper guard for her tomorrow.' 
'What's happened?'  Alicent demanded, looking me over and taking hold of my face firmly, inspecting me.
'It seems my brides guard has taken it upon himself to threaten her and force her to allow him to watch her while she dresses.'  Aemond explained and Alicent looked up at the guard, glaring hatefully.  She had always loved me and I loved her as well, despite the fact that my mother didn't.
'Kill him!'  Alicent ordered but Aemond stopped Criston quickly.
'He will be Vhagar’s in the morning mother, for tonight he will be taken to the Black Cells.  I just need Ser Criston to watch my bride for the evening if that's alright.'  Alicent looked contemplative.
'She will spend the evening with me.  Come darling, you must be exhausted.'  Aemond quickly kissed my head before I was dragged off to the Queens private rooms and helped change by a maid.  'I am so sorry you had to endure that.  He did not touch you, did he?'  She asked me as I crawled into the overly large bed, though it was the most comfortable bed I had ever experienced.
'No your Grace, only himself.'  She nodded, taking my hand in hers.
'You are to be my sons bride, you will be protected here. Do you understand?'
'Yes, thank you.  You have made me feel most welcome, despite your trouble with my mother and I cannot express my gratitude.'  She smiled, petting my hair as I laid down and felt truly safe for the first time in a weeks.
'Of course.  You know how I feel about you, and I adore how you love my son.  I've always worried for him...even before Lucerys cut out his eye...but you've never wavered from his side.  You are truly meant to be his bride.  Sleep well, sweet one.'
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The next morning I was awoken with the sun and quickly dressed, being escorted into the chilly morning before even breakfast, though as I stepped out of the castle a cloak was thrown over my shoulders by my soon to be husband who walked with me towards the beach where Vhagar slept soundly.
Aemond didn't even need to wake her, her head peeking up as we stepped onto the sand while 2 men dragged along my guard who was whimpering like a 3 year old as he stared at the largest dragon he had ever seen.  'Dohaerās Vhagar!'  His voice was loud and commanding as the old dragon sat up and looked down at the people that had come to witness the spectacle, Aemonds mother and grandfather as well as his sister and many of the Kingsguard.  I suppose Aegon couldn't have been bothered to wake up this early...if he was even in the castle.  'Let this serve as a warning and a lesson to any who would bring harm to my soon to be Lady wife!  I will make sure that you suffer 10 times what you put her through...should there be a next time...I will not be so kind.'  I held tightly to his hand before he pulled me close and kissed my head.  'Dracarys!' 
I could instantly feel how intense the flames were even from 50 feet away from them, flinching back into my betrothed who held me to his side protectively.  'Thank you for believing me, Aemond.'
'I will always believe you my love...like I said, should there be a next time, don't wait so long to tell me.  I will always ensure your safety, you have my word.'
With that, he escorted me back into the building for breakfast as Vhagar snorted, the ashes that were left of the man blowing away in the wind and letting me know that no matter what happened, I would always be safe with my husband.
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captain-mj · 7 months
Note
Biblically accurate Ghost. Give.
Delivered! Hope you're the original person
Soap wasn’t sure when exactly he started to notice Ghost was… different. Besides the obvious stuff. Yeah, he moved quicker and quieter than average. That was normal for a person in the SAS. He had weird quirks. All normal honestly. He wasn’t the only person who never took off a mask. Half the Shadows didn’t. Several recruits had permanent medical masks. It was strange and he teased him, but it wasn’t exactly the strangest thing about him. 
Ghost’s back moved. Well, to be more accurate, his shirt rippled. Something slid and moved beneath it. When Soap pointed it out to Gaz, Gaz claimed it was the work of shadows. Though funnily enough, the two of them were never alone in the same room again. 
Price never gave anything away, but Soap started to pay attention and he noticed the way he tensed when Ghost first entered a room before relaxing on cue every time. If he had to have his back to someone, it was always Ghost. He did more dangerous things if Ghost was there. 
Soap had no idea what made him first get suspicious. Part of him wondered if he was working himself into a frenzy over nothing. If his desperation to be close to Ghost made him make conspiracy theories. 
But he knew what made him realize it was bigger than some quirks. It was when someone shot Price point blank and nothing happened. 
They all saw it. The person slipped by them and their bullets sprayed across where Price was. And nothing happened. 
Nothing. 
There were bullets by Price’s feet. No other explanation. 
Price had called it a miracle and then never acknowledged it again. When it got brought up, Price simply looked away. He said they shouldn’t question fate. 
It was strange. 
Then, Gaz broke his arm. It was so clearly broken. Snapped and hanging wrong. His fingers didn’t move. 
Soap got the stuff to wrap it. He felt the break in the bone. The two separate breaks in the bone. 
Ghost scoffed. “It’s nothing.” He stalked over. 
Gaz scowled. “Are you serious??”
Ghost grabbed his arm hard. And twisted. It looked painful. But Gaz didn’t flinch. He stopped and stared at his arm, slowly moving his fingers. 
Soap felt his arm. Nothing. Clean bone. Not a hint of any damage. 
He saw the look in Gaz’s eyes. 
“Just a sprain, Sergeant.” Ghost walked away from him and continued to guard them. 
Gaz started at Soap. Soap stared back. 
He checked the medical records of his team. They had far less than anyone else. Far far less. Not all of it could be blamed on them being better trained than the others. 
Soap waited for his moment. For the bullet to miss. The bone to heal. Or shrapnel to just miss his skin. 
This mission, the knife went through his ribs and punctured his lungs but there was no blood. No bleeding. He wasn’t drowning in his own blood. 
That didn’t stop the blow to his head. That he smashed to the ground at the same time as Ghost.
One of them stabbed Ghost with something. It looked like a blade but it was shaped weird. 
Ghost stopped fighting. Soap could hear the tiny, heart wrenching whimper the pain got out of him before Ghost quickly regained control of himself and shut up. His body looked broken. Laying there in a way that unsettled something in Soap’s chest. Big brown eyes stared right into Soap from that skull mask. 
Soap didn’t feel a thing. Even when the butt of the gun slammed into his temple. When he woke up, he didn’t even have a headache. There was a taste of blood in his mouth, but nothing else. 
He had been tied up pretty tight, but there were no guards. The chair was just wooden. Soap gritted his teeth and fell back, feeling the legs snap before it even hit the ground. 
How insulting. 
If Ghost was in a similar situation, that would explain the lack of guards. He probably killed them all. 
Soap found his gear on the table behind where he was sitting, just out of sight if he was still tied up. He grabbed his radio and tried calling out. 
It was a miracle he got a response from Price. 
“Bravo 6 this is Bravo 7-1.”
“Soap.” Price dropped the titles so Soap followed suit. “Where are you?”
“Facility of some kind. Don’t think I’ve been out too long so can’t be far from where we were. Haven’t seen Ghost yet. I’ll find him though.”
“You both got captured?” Price’s voice sounded rather worried. “Something happen?”
Soap sighed. “Just got the jump on us. One of them stabbed me. One of your little miracles happened.”
“That explains it.” Price responded, which was honestly just cryptic as all hell. “Find Ghost. We’ll be there soon.”
Soap frowned and put his tac vest back on. He tightened it and put one of the plates in it in case he ran into trouble. Everything was quiet. Very quiet. He found some people but they all were dazed. Barely reacted to him before he shot him. 
“Did you know?” One of them mumbled. 
Soap held the gun steady. “What?”
They didn’t attack him just grabbed their cross. “May God forgive me for my transgressions. I beg for forgiveness.”
Soap was unnerved. This soldier had set his gun to the side. 
He didn’t get a chance to stop them. Just watched their brains splatter against the wall. 
Soap continued on. Something was wrong. These weren’t shadows. They had a weird logo instead. 
As he searched further into the facility, more and more of them were normal. Immediately starting to fight back. One of them didn’t bother to shoot, aiming instead to bash his brains in. Soap stabbed him, watching blood that looked a little too dark splash everywhere. 
Maybe, with everything that had happened, he shouldn’t be as shocked. But opening the door to see Ghost was a nightmare. One of the liminal ones that leave you questioning reality for days afterward.
Soap almost left, not recognizing Ghost as… Ghost. There was a man with many thin blades, almost like spears, going in and out of his body with blooms of golden ichor. Through his hands, his torso and his…
His….
The wings. 
Three giant pairs, all bending and twisting oddly. Soap couldn’t be sure if it was because of the spears or if they naturally looked like that. 
Without his mask and the rest of his clothing, it took noticing the tattoos to realize who he was staring at. Ghost was kneeling, head down, arms stretched and twisted slightly, probably to keep him from trying to escape. It meant the spears tangled with the muscle instead of just going through it. 
“Simon?”
A slow hum. It echoed and reverberated around the room, starting borderline inaudible before coming increasingly loud. Right before it could reach the horrific crescendo, when Soap’s ears felt on the edge of bleeding and bursting, Ghost cut himself off and looked at him. 
Something black oozed from his eyes, staining his cheeks all the way down to his chest. Where he was run through, there was no red, just the stunning gold color of ichor. It did not puddle underneath him, instead it made intricate symbols on the floor. 
Even hurt and trapped, Ghost was ungodly gorgeous. Ethereal. That’s the word.
“Don’t be afraid.” Ghost said softly. Voice echoing and breaking and flitting around the room. 
“I’m not afraid of you.” Soap stepped a bit closer. He most certainly was. Thought not of Ghost. 
His wings were so big. They took up every bit of space in the room. The spears cut straight through them, breaking feathers and bones. Though, it appeared as if Ghost had healed around them somewhat, which might make removing them even harder.
“They’re very sharp. Be careful.” Ghost mumbled, his head falling back down. Soft ginger blond hair looked matted with gold ichor. 
Soap had been wrong Spear was not the best word. It was more like razer wire that had been yanked taut. He found a knife but it couldn’t cut through it and the pained sounds Ghost made from the vibrations was enough to make him stop. 
Instead, Soap found where each strand was being held, usually tied to one of the loops in the floor next to Ghost. Ghost sat as quietly and as still as he could. 
Soap’s thoughts wandered. He had an angel. An actual angel. Right here at his fingertips. His hand slid through the feathers, trying to find where a particularly nasty looking wire was cutting the flesh. 
Silk, egyptian cotton, velvet, none of the fanciest materials he could think of came close. It was softer than down. Warmer than sunlight. 
He found the wire and removed it. The slow process of pulling the wire through his wing and then letting it hang from the ceiling or wall or wherever the other side was. 
Mind numbing. The work was repetitive. That’s what he blamed on the fact that he was crying. 
The ones through Ghost’s… more human looking parts of his body were actually spears. He yanked them out as quickly as possible. Ghost clearly wouldn’t die from something as dumb as internal bleeding. 
Soap went to catch him but Ghost didn’t fall. Just stayed kneeling. With nothing to stop it, more blood poured from the wounds, gathering with the rest of it on the floor and continuing the intricate symbols. 
“Simon, you gotta get up.” 
Ghost tried. He pulled himself to his feet and then grabbed Soap hard. His tactical pants were soaked in red and gold. His chest exposed but so bloody he might as well be covered. But the main concern was his face. 
Soap checked his gear, trying to see if he had anything they could use. Anything at all. Ghost took advantage of the fact that he was distracted and buried his face in his shoulders. 
Soap paused in surprise, feeling warm breath against his skin. Shivers wracked Ghost’s body and Soap wondered if he was wrong and he could bleed out. 
“I got you, Simon. Being so tough for me.” Soap whispered nonsense to them. They were on an enemy base. Current whereabouts unknown. Price was looking but that could take ages. He didn’t need Ghost in fighting condition, but he did need him okay.
“Are you hurt?” Ghost asked softly. “I can heal you.” 
Soap shook his head. “Absolutely not. No. I’m fine. Just focus on you.” He pet his hair, trying not to grimace when the ichor stuck to his hand, shining against his skin. 
Ghost stayed quiet. 
Soap managed to find his clothing in a closet connected to the room. He helped Ghost get dressed, including his tac vest. Needed to keep him safe. 
Ghost watched him as he moved, head lolling any time he wasn’t focused. Even well dressed, he looked wrong. His wings were very visible. They were smushed instead of artfully disappearing. Then they just tore through everything. Stretching out and once again filling all the air in the room. Ghost’s tatters of a shirt just fall around his chest and arms. 
Soap stared at him and sighed. “Alright, can’t do that. No big deal! Just gotta get you out of here, okay?”
Ghost looked weary. He nodded along and grabbed Soap’s hand, but if he had his way, he’d just lay down and suffer the consequences. 
But Soap could never let him do that. He dragged him along and kept his gun out despite how empty the halls seemed. Full of dead people. Some clearly self inflicted and some clearly not. 
“I tend to have this effect on people.” Ghost joked, watching all the carnage with such emptiness. He didn’t care they died. The world was honestly better for it. 
Soap held him tight and got them outside. He started to speak into his radio again. “Price, come in. We’re outside of the building. Looks like we’re on a hill.”
“Closer to God.” Ghost mumbled, sinking back down into a kneel.
Price quickly replied. “We think we’ve located you. Should be there in less than 5. What did Ghost just say?”
Soap stared at the bloody wings. “You’ll see when you get here sir,”
Ghost stayed kneeling, head tilted back to look at the stars. Soap realized he was praying. Kinda. It wasn’t in english but it sound like prayer. 
His wounds stayed there though. Soap kept waiting for them to magically heal. He didn’t know why. But they didn’t stop bleeding. 
Ghost looked pale, but his hair had a faint glow. He got up when Price arrive. 
Price stared at him, blinking his eyes slowly. Gaz went to grab Soap before shuddering and stepping back. Ghost sank down further, smashing to the ground like a piece of china. 
Soap almost thought he would shatter. 
It was remarkable how easily they all just… ignored it. Price and Soap helped Ghost while Gaz kept watching, firing at anyone that got close. They left a thick trail of gold behind them, but it wasn’t something they wondered about very much. Just… needed to get Ghost to the heli. 
Soap had never been a religious man. But with Ghost right there, a glorious angel, though not nearly as scary as he was expecting. 
Nik stared at the giant wings and slowly raised his sunglasses. “Price, what the hell?”
Price stared at him. “I don’t… know. Just, just fucking fly.”
Nik got them in the air faster than the last time they were being shot at. 
Soap watched Ghost start to kneel again and he quickly grabbed him, pulling him into the seat instead. Ghost fell into his side. Vulnerable. Beautiful. Angelic. 
Soft lips stained gold. Giant white wings that were soaked. Wounds along his wings that still hadn’t healed. 
“What do you need?” Soap asked, feeling useless. He wanted to help him. 
Ghost looked at him, eyes so incredibly dark. “Can I sleep on your shoulder?”
“Yeah. Of course, Simon.” He pulled him so his head was resting on him. It surprised him how quickly he fell to sleep. Ghost shivered and Soap looked at Price who nodded and looked for more clothing. Without his balaclava and only half of a shirt, he looked small somehow. And cold. 
An angel. 
Simon Ghost Riley. 
A man whose hands were soaked in blood. 
A bloody angel. 
Soap shook his head before quickly stopping when Ghost moaned in pain. “Sorry, didn’t mean to jostle ya.” 
Ghost buried his face in Soap’s neck and dozed back off. He stared there for the majority of the trip, barely reacting when Price pulled a thick jacket around him. It just barely covered his wings, but it looked like it was the material instead of something underneath it. 
Gaz and Price took Ghost from Soap. It was because all of the adrenaline had left Soap, leaving him sore all over from being hit, but it didn’t feel that way. Ghost felt stolen from him. 
Nik followed, clearly invested. Soap had never noticed the crucifix around his neck. 
“Russian Orthodox. Haven’t followed in a while.” Nik explained. 
Soap wished he had his rosary. “Scottish Catholic. Also haven’t followed in a while. Kinda regret that now.” 
Nik nodded wordlessly and they all managed to go to Ghost’s room. Ghost was still clearly dazed, falling in and out of consciousness. He laid on the bed and pulled off his jacket, laying on his stomach. His skin had slowly started to stitch back together. 
Gaz carefully used the back of his hand to move one of the wings and they could see where the majority of the skin on his back had a weird glow with dozens of intricate symbols burned into him. The wings were not orderly and in two straight lines like one would expect. There was no symmetry that was discernible. Just chaotic placement. 
Soap looked over the wings again and realized they were not, in fact, three sets. Each wings was a slightly different size. They folded perfectly, blending together to look like a normal pair of wings on a bird. 
It was unsettling.
There were also… lines. Little spots among of the feathers were there were… wounds? Possibly? It was hard to tell. 
Price stared. “I always assumed he was just a lucky bastard. Or maybe that there was some demon deal he made that I didn’t know about. Not quite… this.”
“Demons don’t make deals.” Ghost croaked, eyes opening. His arms were folded to his chest. “Those things Soap killed were demons. The ones that bled black.”
Soap frowned. “You can shoot them to death?”
“Rather easily. Just like how they almost killed me with those spears…” Ghost went into his nightstand and grabbed his mask, slipping it on. 
Gaz stepped back a little. “What’s taking so long for you to heal?”
“Lot of damage. It hurts. I’m sorry.”
Soap frowned. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Yeah, but I damned you guys to hell.”
“What?”
“You know. Gazing upon an angel. Don’t exactly have to trust in god if you have proof.” Ghost shrugged. 
Panic rippled through the room for a solid minute. Gaz started to hyperventilate while Nik stared blankly at him for a solid moment. 
“Kidding. Kidding. I’ll pull some strings for you guys.”
Soap hit his shoulder. “Asshole.” 
Price tried to break the tension. “Thought angels were supposed to be scary looking, not making scary jokes.”
“You don’t think I’m scary looking?” 
Price hesitated. “No?”
Ghost paused what he was doing and looked at him. 
The things in his wings opened. 
Dozens. 
Hundreds. 
Maybe thousands of… eyes. 
All blinking and focusing their sole focus on Price. They vibrated in their sockets, spreading and narrowing and opening and closing and…
Price winced but didn’t back down. He stared at him until Ghost relaxed and put his wings back down. 
“Guess I’m not scary anymore.” Ghost stretched and flopped back down. “Can you guys leave me alone?”
Price left the moment it was asked of him. Gaz lingered, watching him until Nik tugged him away. 
Soap did not leave.
“Johnny…”
“Simon. I get why you wouldn’t tell me. Don’t worry. Are your wings heavy?”
“Yes.”
“What about your family and stuff? Was that real?”
“Yeah. Just made them human sounding is all.” Ghost relaxed again, unable to help himself in Soap’s presence. “If you want to touch them, you can. Just be careful of the eyes.” 
Soap took it. He ran his fingers through those soft feathers, watching beautiful brown eyes open up and look at him before closing again, wings leaning into the heavenly touch. 
“I’ll make sure when we get to heaven, you’re in mine.” Ghost mumbled. 
Soap felt a shiver. “Yeah?”
“Yes. God doesn’t watch there.” 
618 notes · View notes
anakin-pilled · 3 months
Text
𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘴 - anakin skywalker x fem! reader (part one)
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pairing: anakin skywalker x fem! reader
wordcount: 4.8k
warnings: minimal uses of y/n (trying to avoid writing this as much as possible but sometimes u need to!), awkwardness, anakin needs a break, POV switching (im trying something new, but its still in 3rd POV), reader is a popstar (very loosely based of taylor swift), too many scenes (i'll limit it next chapter) rating: 18+ (my blog is 18+ only)
rating: 18+ (my blog is 18+ only)
taglist: lmk if u want to be added!
author's note: well, here it is!! my first anakin fanfic!! i was listening to gorgeous by taylor swift and it just reminded me of how much i hate beautiful men (hayden christensen) and the effect they have on me and then this feeling just spirialed and became a fanfic--and my first ever mini series! i'm aiming for four or five parts? enjoy!!! (proofread but if u see a mistake pls tell me). sorry if the first part is boring, i'm just trying to set the vibe and introduce the major plot elements! creds to saradika for the header!
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All Anakin Skywalker wanted was one, uninterrupted kriffing break. Yet, even that seemed like too much to ask from the Maker. With an annoyed sigh, Anakin quickly ended the call on his comlink and made his way out of his living quarters and towards the Jedi Council’s meeting room. “What do they want from me now?” Anakin thought to himself. 
It wasn’t unusual for Anakin to sport an attitude, but lately, his foul mood had been exacerbated in the last few months for several reasons. Anakin’s recent breakup with Padme laid heavy in his heart. As the war raged on and both of their duties called them away for weeks, even months, at a time, the young couple rarely had time to see each other. It was supposed to be a small break at first–Padme was working on an important bill that could change the tide of the war, so she wanted to focus all her energy on gaining support for the bill from fellow Senators and campaigning for its passage on the Senate floor. So, Padme suggested that she and Anakin take a quick pause on their relationship until she was finished with the bill. But even after the bill passed, Padme was too consumed by her senatorial duties to put her all into a relationship. Anakin was just as busy on the battlefields, traveling to distant systems, and ensuring that the Separatists did not win any more than they already had. However, he was still willing to put an effort into their relationship because he loved Padme more than life itself. Padme was Anakin’s first love, and they had already been through so much together. Didn’t that mean something? It was late one night when the couple retired to Padme’s apartment that she dropped the news. Anakin felt as if his whole world shattered. He begged on his knees to Padme, to give them another chance. She insisted it was for the best and that she would reach out to him in a few months when she felt ready. Anakin would be lying if he said a part of him was shocked. After all, Padme put her job as Senator above everything else. But still, it hurt knowing that the one person who he would abandon everything for, would not do the same for him. 
Aside from the breakup, Anakin was tired of the constant fighting, the rising death toll, and the never-ending chaos that always seemed to follow him. The 501st Clone Battalion’s most recent war campaign was brutal, and they lost a few men to Trandoshan separatists while in battle at a small, Outer Rim planet. Anyone could see that Anakin thrived in war. He was nicknamed the “Hero With No Fear” for a reason. But, the death of his men, or any man under Republic forces, always left his heart and mind unsettled. 
As Anakin reached the door to the Jedi Council, he quickly shook his head as if to ward away his dark thoughts. He really should meditate more. The door opened and Anakin was greeted with the sight of the Jedi Masters sitting in a circle, he noticed many of them appeared via holoprojectors. 
“Hello masters,” Anakin said with a bow. He looked around until he met eyes with Obi-Wan, who happened to be off-planet at the moment. Obi-Wan gave Anakin an uneasy smile which blared the alarms in Anakin’s head. Anakin was already in a defensive mode due to his rocky relationship with the council. 
It was Mace Windu who spoke first. “General Skywalker, we have called you here today to discuss an upcoming mission. It is to our understanding that you are currently on a break right now, however, you were specifically requested by the Chancellor for this task.” It must be an important mission if the Chancellor himself requested that Anakin carry it out. 
“There will be an upcoming charity event hosted in honor of the Republic to raise funds for the war effort. The event is being held in Corulag in ten rotations from now. While Corulag is part of the Republic, there have been recent Separatist activities within the planet and its system,” Master Windu continued.
“And what will I need to do while in Corulag?” Anakin asked with a slight edge in his voice. He really didn’t want to travel off-world.
“You will be the personal escort and bodyguard to the charity’s main event, singer (Y/N) (L/N). She will be performing a show as part of the charity and her presence is estimated to bring in a lot of credits for the war effort. While we don’t personally believe there will be a threat on her life, the Chancellor suspects that the Separatists may try to infiltrate the singer as a way to ruin the charity’s efforts.” 
Anakin felt his annoyance flare up again. He was being taken away from his well-deserved break time to babysit a singer? This was a job that even a Padawan could carry–Ahsoka could do it with her eyes closed. 
Even through the holoprojector, Obi-Wan could see the tale tell signs of his former student’s growing anger. He pitied the boy. Obi-Wan felt that Anakin deserved his break, especially after his most recent mission. However, it was not up to Obi-Wan alone to make these decisions. With the war prolonging itself more than necessary and the expenses rising every day, the Republic needed as many credits as it could get from its supporters. Obi-Wan quickly piqued up from the side to calm his friend, “Anakin, the Chancellor personally requested you as the singer is a family friend of his, and he trusts you. The Council will discuss giving you vacation time after completing your mission.” As vexed as Anakin might have been at first, he certainly didn’t want to disappoint the Chancellor. He had no choice but to accept the mission. Anakin silently nodded to the council. 
“Recieve more instructions tomorrow, you will. Rest for now,” said Yoda from his chair. 
And with that, the meeting was over. Anakin said his goodbyes with a bow and walked out.
After Anakin left the meeting, he headed towards the Jedi Archives to conduct some research on his new mission. He wasn’t interested in who the singer was, or what she did. Rather, he wanted to know what kind of person she was–was she a controversial celebrity, or did she stay in the lines? Anakin prayed he wasn’t dealing with some crazy, entitled celebrity who did whatever she wanted. That would make his mission harder than it needed to be. He had heard of the singer’s name in passing from Ahsoka, who kept up with recent trends via the HoloNet. As a General and a Jedi Knight, Anakin no longer had the same sense of freedom that he had as a Padawan, even though he had much less freedom than his other Padawan counterparts. “Perks of being the Chosen One, I suppose,” Anakin bitterly whispered to himself. 
Anakin filtered past the front desk of the Archives after giving Madame Jocasta a quick nod and small time. He wanted to be in and out so he could get food from the Temple’s cantina before retreating to his living quarters for the night. 
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“What do you mean they are assigning a Jedi Knight as my security detail?! I thought this was supposed to be a simple concert for a charity event, why are they assigning a Jedi if there is no imminent danger?!” you exclaimed to your manager, Gido Frisco, with a pointed look. 
When you agreed to perform at this charity event, you did so because you wanted to help raise credits for the Republic. Your management discouraged you from having any outspoken opinions on politics as it could lead to alienation from fans and tabloid backlash. But after your home planet became a recent victim to Separatist forces, you could no longer idly sit by and continue living as if the war didn’t affect you. When the charity’s organizers approached you to do this event, you happily agreed because all the credits earned were going to a meaningful cause. To the Republic. To democracy. 
The event was to consist of several performances by famous artists from throughout the Core Worlds, but you were the headlining event. Though you would humbly deny it, your popularity superseded everyone else set to perform. The media and your fans dubbed you “the Galaxy’s princess” due to your popularity as a singer across the Galactic Core. You hated that nickname. You were very far from a princess–you were just lucky enough to be born with an innate musical talent. Nonetheless, you were still treated as if you were royalty. 
“Look, I’m going to be blunt with you. There has been Separatist activity in and around Corulag, but we don’t predict that it will directly affect you. Think of the Jedi as an extra security personnel. They won’t let anybody or anything hurt you,” explained Gido. 
“Who is we?”
“We as in myself, and the Chancellor. He was quite worried for your safety when he heard of your acceptance to perform.” That made much more sense. The Chancellor, an old family friend of yours, often looked out for you throughout your years on Coruscant. You had no family on the planet as all your family lived on Bar’leth, only visiting you every few months. While you saw them as often as you could, the help and care they provided you was limited to messages on your holo tablet and calls via communicator. The Chancellor took it upon himself to help you whenever he could. You were extremely grateful for his help, but you couldn’t help but feel unnerved by the thought of having a Jedi accompany you. You knew Jedis were the peacekeepers of the galaxy. As the war started and worsened, the Jedi were thrust into a new, partial position. Where the Jedi went, trouble unfortunately followed. Would more trouble follow you if you were accompanied by a Jedi than if you were not? Only time would tell. 
“Very well. And when will I meet this Jedi?” 
“You will meet him tomorrow morning. Please do not stress the situation. We are merely taking precautions. Rest for tonight and we will talk more in the morning. Goodnight, princess.” And with that, Gido walked out of your apartment and you were left alone.
You walked outside and onto your balcony and observed the night sky. Your eyes followed the speeders flying through the air–a cacophony of honks and whizzes! reached your ears. You leaned upon the stone masonry of the balcony’s railing and rested your elbows on its surface. You then laid your cheek in your palm and closed your eyes as the lights of Corscuant reflected off your statue. You took into the slight breeze of the night and enjoyed this moment of serenity. Who knows what the next few rotations will bring? You could only hope you would suffer a nicer faith than your home planet. Your eyes opened, and you retreated into the lush interior of your apartment and began your nightly routine. 
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Holy kriff, this man is kriffing gorgeous! Those were the first words that popped into your head when you saw the Jedi knight walk into your living room. It was early in the morning. You thought he was only supposed to accompany you at the charity benefit, but your team thought it would be best if he accompanied you throughout the week as you prepared for the event and ran errands. 
As he walked closer to you, you felt your mouth run dry and a creeping heating sensation sprouted from the base of your neck to your cheeks. You could only hope he didn’t feel the heat radiating off your body. He was wearing dark-colored robes, with a maroon long-sleeve undershirt, and only one leather glove on his right arm. Was this a fashion statement of some kind? Gido spoke up before you could say anything. 
“Welcome, and thank you for being here Jedi. I can assure you that it means very much to us and I hope that you find yourself comfortable for the next few rotations. Our team will do its best to ensure you are properly accommodated. My name is Gido Frisco, and I am (Y/N)’s manager.” Gido reached out his hand for Anakin to shake. Anakin took his hand in a firm grip and replied.
“Thank you. My name is Anakin Skywalker, general of the 501st Legion. I will do my best to keep (Y/N) safe.”
Anakin. You had heard of him before–he was the Republic’s poster boy and a very successful leader. Though you knew of him, you had yet to put a face to the name until now. Instead of making eye contact with the man, you simply stared at the ground until Gido included you in the conversation. 
“And this is (Y/N),” Gido said. 
You then looked up at Anakin and made eye contact with the gorgeous man in front of you. Your eyes widened slightly as you took in the color of his eyes. They were a dazzling shade of blue that was highlighted by the scar running down the right side of his forehead to underneath his eye. 
There was an awkward moment of silence before you stuttered as you reintroduced your name to Anakin and shook his hand. Shit, he's strong, you thought as he shook your hand with a firm grasp. If there was one thing you were weak for, it was a strong man. A strong, beautiful man!
“Pleasure to meet you too. I’ll be at your service this week,” Anakin stated with a small smile. Kriff, even his voice was attractive! You could only stare at him and nod. You were truly at a loss for words. Wait, can he hear my thoughts right now? You thought to yourself. You heard the Jedi could use the Force to read minds, but you didn’t know if this was just a rumor. You hoped it was just a rumor or you'd find yourself burying yourself six feet under the ground out of embarrassment.
“Well, now that you two are acquainted, I’ll be taking Anakin so we can go over the security details. Stay here until then.” Gido then led Anakin out of the room and that was the last you saw of the Jedi until dinner time. 
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When Anakin woke up the next morning, he walked toward the Temple’s catina to grab a warm cup of caf and breakfast. The food was meager most days, but it beat having to live off the plain-tasting ration bars that he ate most of the time when he was on missions and campaigns. As Anakin walked through the tables to find a seat, he was greeted by the site of his former master sipping on a cup of tea and conversing with Ahsoka. 
“Ahh, Anakin. Nice to see you this morning. I am terribly sorry that you have been called upon for another mission. I do believe that your rest was well-deserved, but unfortunately, I had no power over this decision,” Obi-Wan stated as he continued to sip on his tea. 
“Thanks, Master. I can’t say I’m particularly excited about this, but hopefully, after this is done, I can properly enjoy my rest.”
“Master, you’re so lucky! I am so jealous of you right now. I wish I could join you, but Master Sinabu has requested that I assist him in a few lessons with the younglings,” Ashoka pipped in. “Hey, do you think you could get me an autograph?” She was excited. Ahsoka was no stranger to being in the company of high-profile people, but most of the time, it was limited to officials and members of the Senate. Boring! The thought of her master working with one of the most famous singers of this generation was honestly hilarious to her. A part of her wished it was her on this mission instead. The last time Anakin was on babysitting duty was when Ahsoka first joined Anakin as his Padawan was to rescue Jabba the Hutt’s son. Much like Anakin, Ahsoka believed this task could’ve been carried out by a Padawan, but as Obi-Wan explained to her, the Chancellor personally requested Anakin for this task. 
“Snips, I’m there to protect, not get autographs. Try practicing your mediation skills, and maybe I’ll get you an autograph,” Anakin said with a small smirk on his face. Much like him in his Padawan days, Ahsoka found meditating tedious and boring. He honestly should meditate more to set a better example, but Anakin’s teaching method was more of “Do as I say, not as I do.” 
“Oh come on Skyguy! You owe me this favor after I saved your butt back on Florrum. What would you have done if I wasn’t there to save you from all those assassin droids?” quipped Ashoka with a slight raise in her eyebrows. Damn, she got me there, thought Anakin to himself. But, he wasn’t going to let her have this win so easily. One might say that Anakin was acting immature for his age, but he and Ahsoka’s relationship thrived off witty remarks and friendly competition. Anakin’s relationship with Ahsoka was one of the most precious things in his life. 
“Except I won our last sparring battle. That makes us even, no?” Ahsoka’s smile quickly dropped, and she glared at her master. Anakin took a sip of his caf and continued, “Only kidding, Snips. I’ll try to get you that autograph. I might be too busy trying to keep this singer out of trouble.”
Obi-Wan observed his former student and Ahsoka with fondness. “Do not worry, young one. You will beat Anakin one day. A student is only as good as their teacher, and you have a good teacher. I would know–I taught him,” Obi-Wan joked with the two. “Anakin, I hope this mission goes smoothly. I know how badly your last assignment went.” Obi-Wan placed his hand on Anakin’s shoulder and squeezed it.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Though Anakin’s ego subsided since he lost his arm at the Battle of Geonosis, it didn’t mean he liked talking about his failures. The Separatists somehow acquired important Republic intel and managed to ruin Anakin’s battle strategy with a surprise attack. He and his men just barely made it out on time before a full Separatist takeover happened. Anakin’s appetite was ruined by the thought of it. 
Suddenly, Anakin’s commlink beeped and he knew it was time to head out to the hangar and receive his instructions for the week. He said his farewells to Obi-Wan and Ahsoka before going to the hangar, where he was surprisingly greeted by the Chancellor. The older man smiled at Anakin and shook his hand.
“Anakin, my boy. I cannot express my gratitude to you for accepting this assignment. You see, I specifically asked for you because I knew that I could trust you with my dear family friend. I do hope that you take care of her well.” 
“Of course, Chancellor. She will be safe under my watch.” 
“Now, she shouldn’t give you any trouble. She is a well-mannered girl. However, I have just received secret Separatist intel and wanted to share it with you before I visit the council. According to the intel, Count Dooku has ordered intelligence to interfere with the benefit. Our report says that he is planning on hacking our broadcasting signal and threatening the talent for the whole galaxy to see. For what, I do not not know. While we do expect the benefit to raise many credits for the Republic, the show will also provide a boost in morale for the citizens of the Republic. I theorize that Count Dooku wishes to ruin the public’s perception of the Republic’s efficiency and control over the war and the talent are a way to do this,” explained Chancellor Palpatine.
Anakin furrowed his brows. “Seems like Count Dooku is running out of scare tactics. Chancellor, the Jedi will ensure that the benefit proceeds as expected and that no harm comes to anyone there.” 
The Chancellor smiled at Anakin’s words. “Thank you, my boy. Now I mustn’t take any more of your time. I will let you go now. You will receive more information on the Separatist intel later on.”
Anakin and the Chancellor shook hands once more before Anakin boarded his ship and plugged in the coordinates provided to him by the council. 
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Anakin’s first impression of you was that you were pretty. A delicate kind of pretty that Anakin had only seen in one other person before, Padme. But as quickly as the thought entered his conscious, he pushed it toward the back of his mind. What was he even thinking? He chalked up to him missing Padme. Yeah…Anakin just missed Padme and now that he was in the same familiar situation that he was in a few years ago when he first met Padme, familiar feelings are rising. After all, this wasn’t the first time Anakin had been sent on bodyguard duty for a well-known beautiful public figure. 
Your manager introduced himself to Anakin and then introduced you to him. Though he wasn’t excited about this mission, he couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit relieved that he would be staying in your luxurious apartment for the next few rotations until you traveled off-world. It wasn’t very often that the Jedi were afforded such accommodations. Anakin had spent his fair share of nights seeking refuge in strange, foreign biomes with only mere sticks and leaves as shelter. If he couldn’t sleep in the comfort of his private quarters at the Temple, he might as well enjoy the lavish high-rise Coruscanti apartment. 
Despite Anakin’s initial impression of you, your reaction toward him was…intriguing. Based on his research last night, Anakin couldn’t anything on the HoloNet that painted you in a bad light. Sure, there were the occasional tabloid articles that made outrageous claims about you, but all of those were overridden by the amount of good publicity you got. Charismatic, friendly, confident, a sweetheart–these were all words used to describe you by the various media outlets. But the person standing in front of Anakin seemed everything but that. 
Your nervous energy radiated off you and permeated Anakin’s senses through the force. You avoided eye contact with him until your manager forced you to properly look at Anakin and introduce yourself to him. You definitely didn’t seem as confident as the Holo Net made you out to be, but Anakin didn’t fault you for this. He’s sure you felt nervous in the presence of a Jedi because it implied that there was some danger lurking around. If there wasn’t, he wouldn’t have been assigned to his task. What did you know about the terrors of war and the cruel reality of death and destruction? You were just a rich celebrity located within the safe confines of the Galatic Core. Anakin felt a twinge of jealousy at this notion. He knew that he belonged with the Jedi, but Anakin couldn’t help but feel envy at the fact that you were simply an innocent civilian whose daily life was virtually unaffected by the war. You didn’t have to witness violent bloodshed, say goodbye to your comrades, and live life constantly on the move. Sometimes Anakin longed for his days on Tatooine when he lived with his mother and worked in Watto’s workshop. He was a poor slaveboy, but at least he had his mother, and life was relatively peaceful. Before Anakin could harp on these thoughts any longer, he caught a stray thought that didn’t belong to him. 
Kriff, even his voice was attractive! Anakin was sure the thought didn’t belong to Gido, so he could only assume that it belonged to the woman standing in front of him. Anakin internally smirked to himself. Could it be that Anakin made you nervous for reasons other than him being a Jedi? Perhaps…you found Anakin attractive. Anakin didn’t care if you found him attractive, but it did boost his ego a bit. It seems his split from Padme was affecting him more than he thought. Since when did trivial things like this matter? 
Anakin looked over you once more before following Gido to discuss the schedule and plan for the upcoming rotations. 
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Dinner was…awkward, to say the least. It was just you and Anakin eating in your dining room. Gido had some business he needed to attend to so he could not join you for dinner. Anakin insisted that he could eat somewhere else as he did not want to intrude, but you insisted that he eat with you. It was the polite thing to do. But after you insisted that Anakin sat with you, you realized that you had nothing to talk about. A singer and a Jedi Knight turned war general? What would you have in common? A pregnant silence enshrouded you both. Only the soft clinks of silverware could be heard. 
You sipped on your water every few bites to calm your nerves. This was so unlike you! Honestly, you were never one to shy away from anyone’s presence. A part of your job was selling a likable persona to the public–countless interviews, media appearances, meet and greets! You had done these all with grace and a smile. Yet you couldn’t find the proper words to say to the gorgeous man sitting right across from you. Geez, he must think I’m one of those stuck-up celebrities, you chided in your head. You were far from stuck up, but something about Anakin set your nerves on fire and made the social part of your brain feel like mush. Sweat started building up in your armpits as you thought about it. You had to do something to salvage your reputation and stop yourself from sweating through your outfit.
You cleared your throat and looked up from your dinner plate. “So, Anakin. How do you know the Chancellor? I hear you’re friends with him.”
“I’ve known the Chancellor since I was a little boy. We first met when I left my home planet after I was discovered by a Jedi named Qui-Gon Jinn. He was Naboo’s representative back then.”
“Oh, that's interesting. My family goes way back with the Chancellor too. My father and him studied at the same university on Naboo. Though my father was a few grades below the Chancellor, they became good friends,” you replied. 
Anakin nodded at your story before focusing his attention elsewhere. You internally deflated once you saw he did not seem to care about keeping a conversation. However, if you were going to spend the new few rotations together, you’d rather it not be more awkward than it already was. 
“Uhm, where are you from? You mentioned that you left your home planet. I’m not from Coruscant either! I am from Bar’leth.” 
“Tatooine,” Anakin answered curtly. The way Anakin said Tatooine almost made you think that he disliked his home planet. He didn’t say it with any fondness, or longing. 
“That’s in the Outer Rim, right? I’ve never been. How is it?” you questioned.
“Hot, lawless, and sandy.” Another short answer.
You got the impression that Anakin wasn’t exactly fond of his home planet, so you decided to change the subject of conversation. “You travel a lot as a Jedi. Which has been your favorite planet so far?”
Anakin was silent for a moment before, as if he were thinking deeply about it. In reality, Anakin knew his favorite planet. Naboo. He only paused for a moment because he was unsure if he wanted to reveal this information to you. Though it was seemingly an innocent question (and it was), Anakin felt it was a vulnerable question. Naboo is the planet he spent days frolicking in the lush, romantic meadows with Padme, falling deeper in love with her as the days passed. Naboo represented a part of Anakin that no longer existed–an Anakin that didn’t know the pain of losing a mother, losing a part of himself in the process. When his mother died, gone became the young boy with a golden aura and eyes full of hope. On Naboo, Anakin was still bright and naive with a laughter full of joy and excitement. That Anakin died the day he and Padme set out to find his mother on Tatooine. Anakin wished every day to the Maker that part of him could come back from the dead and replace who he currently was. To better days.
“Naboo. That’s my favorite planet,” answered Anakin. He decided to be truthful instead of responding with a random planet. Anakin didn’t know what compelled him, but he knew you were only being polite. 
“Naboo is beautiful. Though I mainly grew up in Bar’leth, I spent a lot of my childhood summers in Naboo. I don’t think there is any other planet with views as stunning as Naboo,” you revealed. 
You felt that there was nothing else to say. The remainder of the dinner was quiet. Though there wasn’t as much tension as before, it was still awkward. You finished your dinner as quickly as possible before retreating to your personal quarters for the evening. 
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To be continued!
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rollinouttahere-writes · 11 months
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Could you do a platonic crew with a reader who has a devilfruit that gives them similar abilities to deadpool (aka any injury regenerates)- but unlike deadpool they can die if they gain enough damage, but the reader doesn’t realise/accept this and constantly risks their life for the crew cause they think they’ll be okay?
Yandere Straw Hats x GN!Reader
1.2k words
Warning for descriptions of serious injuries
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“Dammit, let me out!”
You yank on the infirmary door again despite knowing what a waste of time it was. With an aggravated huff, you turn around and shamble back to the bed. Your body was in agony from the wounds you took on today. Even though your devil fruit was working hard to fix it, this would take time to fully heal and stop hurting. It’s probably best to lay down for a bit, you just wish you could do so in your own bed.
They’re all over reacting, and they know it. You’re borderline immortal, and sure, you cut it a little close this time, but you were fine now! The battle was over, it’s not like you’re in any danger. 
You’re aware that your devil fruit can be unsettling at times, it’s unnatural to see someone recover from what would be a mortal wound for anyone else. Even Chopper couldn’t help but look disturbed when they found you after you threw yourself over a bomb. The explosion mostly damaged your legs, even taking one off entirely. 
The worst part though was the piece of shrapnel that shot up and cut open your abdomen. If it weren’t for you manually holding the wound shut, your organs would’ve all spilled out onto the ground.
Chopper had given you some painkillers to hold you over until you finished healing, but they can only do so much against something this severe. You roll onto your side to grab the water from the bedside table, but an intense pain shoots through you, making you drop it on the ground.
The glass shatters on impact, and you drop your head back onto your pillow with a groan. As you attempt to slip out of the bed again to pick up the broken glass, the door is thrown open and Chopper rushes in, “I heard something break! What hap- Get back in the bed!”
He ran over to you and shooed you back into lying down, “You’re too hurt to be moving around like this!” 
“I’m already mostly healed, it’s not like I’m going to die,” you grumbled, annoyed that you even have to state this. Everyone on board is well aware of how your powers work.
“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!” Chopper stopped picking up glass and snapped his head towards you. Tears were pouring down his face, but he forced himself to speak through them, “Y-You won’t know what is going to be enough to kill you until it’s too late!”
Now you just felt bad. You care about your crew, and making them cry is not something you ever want to do. Even if you have done so multiple times. Awkwardly, you reach out to put your hand on his shoulder, “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Chopper aggressively rubs at his eyes and sniffles loudly, “You n-need to stop d-doing this! I hate it, everyone hates it! We’re all-”
“Chopper.”
Both of you snap your attention to the door, where Luffy is standing. His hat is obscuring his eyes, but you can feel them on you regardless. What’s worse, he’s openly frowning. That’s never a good sign, especially not after you’ve landed yourself back in the infirmary.
The ship’s doctor walked out without another word, closing the door behind him. Now it’s just you and Luffy. He’s eerily silent as he approaches your bed and takes a seat at the foot of it. You can already guess where this is going. He’s going to tell you to stop acting like you’re the only one who can protect everyone else and to let others help. 
You’ve had this conversation with him many times. It’s not like you were intentionally trying to go against his words, you wanted to heed his orders and be a good crewmate, really! It’s just that whenever you are in the heat of the moment, you instinctively put yourself in harm’s way. You could take damage better than anyone, what else were you supposed to do?
“You’re done.”
Your blood ran cold in your veins, “Excuse me?”
“I said you’re done, we’re not letting you do this again,” Luffy stated plainly, like it was the most obvious conclusion to come to. 
You attempt to sit up, but the pain that shoots through you brings that to a halt. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you kicking me out?” You ground out.
“I never said that. You’re just done fighting, that’s it,” Luffy finally lifted his head enough for you to make eye contact with him, and you wish he hadn’t. The look in his eyes is so intense that your argument died on your tongue. “Is that understood?”
“Wha… What else am I-”
Luffy’s hand clamped over your mouth, you see anger flicker across his face as he grinds his teeth together, “Don’t argue with me! I’m sick of you never listening! I’m your captain, if I say you’re done, then you’re done!” His voice raises in volume with every word until he’s practically screaming at you.
Tears drip onto your face as he looms above you, hiccupping as his own sorrow overcomes him. “Why do you keep doing this? Why do you act like you’re going to survive no matter what? You almost died!” He abruptly lets go of your mouth and collapses on top of your body, clutching onto you like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. His hat tumbles off his head and onto the bed beside you.
His weight feels uncomfortable on your recovering injuries, but you don’t say anything. Lightly, you bring a hand up to his head to gently run your fingers through his hair. This action only makes him hold you closer as his cries get louder.
You’re torn. As much as you want to be upset about his previous words to you, it’s impossible to act on those emotions when he’s sobbing on top of you. Your near death clearly bothered him more than you had realized. Were you really in the wrong for acting the way you did? If what you were doing was so great, why was it hurting all your friends so badly?
“I’m sorry,” you croak out as your own eyes start to tear up.
Luffy doesn’t answer. You’re not sure he even heard you over his crying. You can faintly hear hushed words being spoken outside the infirmary door, but there’s nothing you can do right now to hear it better. Your crewmates are no doubt discussing what to do with you now that Luffy was seemingly dead set on not letting you onto a battlefield again.
Hopefully, this was all said because he lost control of his emotions, and when he calms down he’ll change his mind. That had to be the case. I mean really, it’s not like you could just sit back and do nothing while everyone else risked life and limb. You’ll be more careful from now on, for real this time. You’ll take their feelings into consideration before acting so recklessly. It won’t happen again.
Although… it’s unclear if that’s because you’re going to change your ways, or if they are going to make you whether you want to or not.
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uselessheretic · 6 months
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trauma's going to be a huge theme this season and i'm really excited for it. more than anything, the thing i like the most about the show is how compassionate it is to its characters especially ed teach. the show doesn't feel afraid to dig in deep to the ways he's fucked up and presents a stark, unsettling image that in anyone else's story would make him an irredeemable villain. ofmd sidesteps that though and offers the idea that just because you've done bad things, doesn't mean you can't do better. it's never too late to try and do better.
as a fandom, we keep going back to accountability and consequences. x deserved this because they did bad thing. y should have to face severe consequences for this bad thing. wanting z to be a part of the cast isn't holding them accountable to their mistakes.
as a mindset, it's strikingly punishment based where the only two modes of being in fandom seem to be that someone is either innocent and did nothing wrong or they're guilty and have to be punished.
but it's like... a character can do bad things. they can acknowledge it, make amends, and work on healing from it. so far, interviews and articles of the new season have highlighted the delicate way it handles healing from trauma, and i'm really excited about that. to actually address harm and prevent it in the future, you have to get to the root cause of it as well. doing so requires a community, compassion, and empathy for oneself.
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uglypastels · 9 months
Text
Not Wholly Evil |V| Pirate!Eddie au
a/n thank you to @eddies-house for helping me figure out this darn chapter. you saved me from a menty b.
please remember to support by reblogging and commenting!! you don't know how much it helps writers
Series Masterlist
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word count: 8.2k
"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying.
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Chapter 5: Flintlock
“A taste for adventure is by no means a masculine monopoly” ― Lloyd Alexander
It was certainly strange, seeing the cabin through the daylight. The wooden panelling of the walls and floor looked softer, and the decorations on the walls were no longer covered in menacing shadows. The bed, however, was softer than your dream made it seem. It was better than the ground, but knowing who usually occupied it made your back stiff with dread. 
The room was empty as you got up, stretching your body out of the foreign feeling of a bed. Another thing to thank the captain for— perverting the concept of a bed. There was no space for anyone to hide in the cabin, but you still looked around, waiting for him to appear out of thin air. It seemed like just the thing he could do and had been doing all your time on board. Only once you checked every corner could you properly set your mind at rest.
Besides the sunshine, nothing had changed from the night before. It was as if you had stepped through time, from night to morning. Your old clothes hung on the edge of the bed. The bookcase was missing the one book you had pulled out, leaving the rest at an awkward angle. Your dinner plate and ale jug, alongside the captain’s empty rum bottle, were left behind on the desk, but as you walked towards the table, you noticed the cup to be filled again, and on the plate stood two thick slices of bread and some brightly coloured fruit you had not seen before—more food that must have been retrieved during the brief exploration of the nameless island. You sat down on the throne and tried to push aside the feeling that came whenever you touched something, anything, to do with the captain. It was like he haunted all his possessions, never leaving you alone.
The bread was the safest option; it was your first bite, breaking your fast. After the delicious meal you had been given last evening, the salty dryness of the dough did not compare by the slightest, but the cool fresh water that had also been left for you made up for it.
And the fruit… 
You were still unsure of what it was, but the juice of it felt healing to your senses. You ate it slowly, trying to savour every bite. 
Once done, you noticed that all the documents the captain had thrown off last night still lay spread out on the ground. This, in particular, unsettled you. Just seeing the mess of it all splayed out there. So, without much thought, you went to pick up the papers, stacking them in neat piles and placing them on the corner of the large desk. Soon enough, you were done, and only one piece of paper was left. It had fallen right under the desk. You went to pull it out when you noticed it.
The drawer you had tried to open the night before. The one Munson had unlocked with the key around his neck and had taken a bottle of rum from. It was ajar. So close to being locked that Munson must have thought he had closed it when he slammed it. But no, with a quick pull at the handle, it opened up for you. 
Inside was a collection of bottles in different shapes and sizes. Most were still full. You picked one up out of sheer curiosity. Why lock up this stock? Unless it was valuable, or dangerous? Maybe he tried to keep it away from everyone else on board. But as you held the bottle, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just a simple, red glass bottle, the cork wedged sturdily into the neck. The liquid sloshed against the container like any other drink as you tipped it around. Still trying to understand the content of the locked drawer, you put it down in its place.  
Or were about to. Because that is when you noticed the paper sticking out from underneath the other bottles. That gnawing feeling in your stomach returned as you contemplated what to do. The captain had made it very clear he did not appreciate you looking through his things, and you were sure that if he were to catch you again, it would not end as simply as you having to star-gaze for an evening. The warnings were loud and clear. 
Then again, when did you start caring about those? Or anything he said. 
Moving the biggest bottles around carefully to create space, you pulled the paper out of the drawer. At first, you thought you had ripped it, but upon closer inspection, you realised it had been torn in halves long before you had gotten your hands on it. The paper was browned at the edges, a corner half-burned as if someone had decided against its destruction at the last minute. The words meant little at first, but as you read on and became more familiar with the hand they were written in, pieces fell into place. And they fell hard. 
Like the loud clash you heard from outside the cabin, startling you. Scared you were about to get caught, you put the paper down into the drawer and shut it with your leg, holding your breath for the door to open. You waited for several seconds, but nothing moved. 
You did not know what caused the commotion or if you were about to be greeted by someone outside the door, but you knew you could not stay in the cabin alone for much longer. The more time passed, the more similar the situation felt to the night before. The gnawing urge to look through all the drawers and nooks was just as big as the risk of being caught, and it was dangerous. Fortunately, the door opened flawlessly when you pulled at it. 
It had remained a cloudless sky, but now the dark navy sprinkled with stars was exchanged for a vibrant and youthful blue. The sun hung above your heads, piercing the air onto your skin in a warm glow. 
The crew was below you, spread out around the deck, and now one had looked up or probably even noticed your presence. So, making yourself comfortable on the stairs, you sat by, peeking through the balustrade bars, and watched what was happening. After all, it was a morning full of observations. 
The men were spread out over the ship in groups, all busy with their own activities. The easiest to make out were those in a circle, watching as two of them attacked eachother with swords. The smiles on their faces told you enough; it was merely another session of training or some form of playfighting. The last time they had been doing it, you did not care to stand by and watch, not at all interested in their antics. This time, however, you took the opportunity to observe how they went about it. Since it was nothing but leisure, the moves were wide, easy to block, but once in a while, they would nick eachother just to stay sharp. Then, the attacked would groan in pain, grabbing at the part of their body that was hit in agony. 
Each time it happened, the small crowd observing would show their satisfaction or disappointment, depending on which side of the duel they supported, with shouts and encouragement. 
‘C’mon Harrington! Get him!’ 
‘Shut it, will you,’ “Harrington”, as he was called by his audience, turned to look in their way, annoyed, but in that short second, his opponent took a shot with his sword’s pommel, hitting him in his temple. Harrington was knocked back a few steps and had to shake the hit off but remained on his feet. 
You were unsure what the game's rules were and how one would win in the circumstances, but one thing was clear—Harrington stood little chance as his opponent managed to get another cut in. A bruise, most likely from a previous encounter much like this one, had already formed under his eye, but even with the dark purple shade on his skin, you could not deny he looked quite handsome… for a criminal. You had seen him around, pulling at ropes, carrying around their precious cargo, and keeping other crewmates from breaking out into fistfights—he must have brought your meals down to the cell once too. 
His brown hair was sleeked back but tended to move around as he did, so he constantly had to push it out of his face. The collar of his shirt was wide open, revealing a sweat-stained chest. 
‘I really don’t get it,’ a raspy voice spoke from above you, making you strain your neck to look back up at the quarter-deck. Somehow, in your spectatorship of what was happening below, you had completely missed the fact that someone had been steering the ship and had, in fact, stood beside you next to the captain’s door all along.
You had not expected to hear your thoughts reciprocated and voiced anywhere near this ship, so they left you stunned. And perhaps this was the reason why you had not got up and run off at the sound of them or the presence of someone at your side but instead stammered out a clumsy response. ‘Sorry?’ 
‘They run around with their shiny sticks, hit each other just to cry about it like children,’ your new conversation partner said, ‘I just do not understand the appeal of it.’
‘No, me neither, really.’ In your opinion, there were much better, less barbaric ways to release energy and tension than this brutish behaviour. The fight below was still firmly underway, but you had gained a new interest in the person by your side. You couldn’t help but notice how they wore clothes in a very similar manner to you—a large shirt tightened by a leather vest, long trousers kept in and shorter with rope. It was as if they made do with things that had never been intended for them. Their hair could be short or long, depending on who you spoke to, but you could not tell. 
‘I’ll tell you this, I’ve sailed across all possible seas in the world and men are still one of the biggest mysteries I have not been able to solve.’
You blinked slowly as the words reached your barely awake mind. A revelation that had struck you more than anything on board. 
You weren’t the only woman here. The other just sat down next to you on the steps. 
‘You can stop staring,’ she said, slightly frazzled, and you quickly looked away, mumbling an apology. Despite that, you kept stealing glances her way. Her hair, light as sand, was chopped messily as if done by hand with a blunt knife. Her skin was sunkissed with freckles and perhaps a bit of dirt. ‘I’m Buck. I know who you are, of course.’ 
‘How—’ How had you not seen her before? How were you not aware of a woman on board all this time? And perhaps it was wishful thinking to assume that she might be someone you could be comfortable with just from that one common trait, but you could not deny that something in you felt more at peace than seconds before.
‘Surrounded by this type, I understand you’d want to keep your head down,’ she smiled awkwardly, ‘but you can’t forget how to look up.’ She tilted her head back as she said it, so you followed suit. The sun blinded you, but as you focused on what was above you, you saw the masts towering tall in their black silhouettes and there, atop the tallest one, was the lookout point. 
‘You sit in the crow’s nest,’ you smiled understandingly.
‘Robin’s nest, I took it upon myself to rename it, don’t know why, I just resonate more with them— call it superstition, I don’t know— and I’ve earned the right considering none of them want to make the climb.’ she pushed her chin towards the rest of the crew. ‘But it’s a good view, you should join me up there some day. If you ever need to get away, you know.’
‘I— I’m not the greatest with heights.’ The speed at which Buck spoke left your brain gripping onto words to keep up, and so your reply came out a bit frazzled.
‘Me neither,’ Buck shrugged. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t seen me get stuck in the nets before. It happens twice a day, at least.’ 
‘And they still let you climb up there?’ Surely, she could not be the smartest choice for the task. Robin snickered at your shocked expression. 
‘Like I said, none of them will do it.’ 
‘Why do it at all, then? Why risk your life every day for… them?’ These hooligans, criminals, fraudsters, monsters, villains…
‘Because I am one ofthem.’ She knew what you had meant with your comment as she spoke softer, giving you a gentle tap on the shoulder with her hand in reminder. 
You glanced at the men in front of you and then turned back to Robin. ‘No, you’re really not.’
‘What because I’m a woman?’ Robin raised a brow.
‘Well, for starters.’ From a very early age, you knew that men and women were two entirely different beings. Just the way mankind treats eachother on that principle is evidence enough. 
‘Intelligence wise, you would be correct,’ Robin stated, leaning back on the steps, resting her weight on her elbows. Despite her petite frame, you noticed she wasn’t afraid to take up space. Despite a comfortable distance between you, her knee still met with yours as she sat in a wide position. ‘But we are all just people.’
You had wanted to reply but thought better of it. She saw herself as a part of them, and so an insult to the others would be an insult to her, and for some reason, you did not want to say anything that might hurt her. Strangely, for a second, you considered the idea of actually liking her. Out of everyone aboard the Hellfire, the barrelwoman seemed like the most likely person you could find yourself befriending. 
But before any more of the conversation could be led, giving you a chance to let those thoughts bloom or rot, another voice boomed over everyone else’s to prompt Buck of her duties. 
‘Robin! The ship won’t steer itself!’ It was none other than Munson, but you could not find him among his people.
‘Aye, captain.’ Bunk, or Robin as she also went by apparently, rolled her eyes, getting up with a heaved breath. ‘See you around then.’ 
You didn’t say anything, too confused by your own thoughts. You couldn’t keep your eyes away as she returned to the helm; couldn’t stop thinking about what had brought her here? What had made her choose this life to live with all these men and act in such ways? You had wondered about everyone aboard the Hellfire, but Robin… a lady sea robber. You had never heard of such a thing. It was spinning your world around but also genuinely fascinating to think about. As you sat on that step, more things came to your mind: you wanted to ask Robin about life at sea, her crewmates, and her captain. But this opportunity had sailed; it would have to be another time. 
You also could not believe you had just had a… civil exchange of words with one of them and that you had not even minded it all that much. As you looked around, it all did not feel as bad as it used to. You could see the idea of pleasantness in the actions happening before you; the laughter and the antics. 
These antics continued. The fight you had been watching had not yet ended, but by the looks of Harrington, it could not possibly last much longer. His, to you unnamed, opponent had just pushed his blade flush against Harrington’s throat, locking him into an uncomfortable tight spot. With a tap on the arm, heavier than Robin had done to you, he tapped out of the game. Half the men cheered while the rest groaned and cursed out their wager.
As the winner of the match was picking out his next match, the audience was slowly losing interest, and one of them must have found you sitting on the sidelines. Curious glances were shot your way as they all slowly caught sight of you, not saying much. Just as they had gotten used to the new addition to the ship, you appeared in clothes that were unmistakably the captain’s. Feeling all their eyes on you, as if your seat on the stairs was a pedestal, you moved away and tried to make your way down to your designated space on board below decks. 
However, your path was obstructed by one person specifically as he dried his face off with a piece of cloth.
‘Excuse me,’ you dared to say, hoping they would move out of the way. Something about having had an entire conversation with Robin made you feel a bit more comfortable speaking to the rest of them. After all, they—you—were all just people.
‘I wouldn’t run away if I was you.’ Harrington said. ‘Or you’ll never stop.’ 
‘You think they’ll let me stop?’ If you stayed, letting them near you, look at you like that, wouldn’t that be surrendering to their power.
‘I let you,’ he said, throwing the cloth over his shoulder. 
‘I’d say you made me, rather than let.’ You crossed your arms. He had, after all, stood in your way and objected to letting you pass.
‘You could always,’ he turned a quarter of a circle, pointing to his side, ‘move. Unless I am that terrifying.’
‘It may come as a surprise but I have very little reason to be afraid of you at this moment.’ It was a half-truth, as his skills in the fight have shown you little to worry for, but there was little you knew about him or what he was capable of. 
Harrington nodded. ‘I take it you watched me from up there.’ 
‘I watched the fight, yes.’ You could not admit that you had not paid as much attention to whom he was fighting as you did to Harrington himself. ‘It was… entertaining.’
‘I’m glad my suffering amuses you. Yes, that makes this all worth it.’ He pointed up to his bruised eye. 
‘You cannot blame me for your misfortune.’ 
‘Well, you are to blame for my inattentiveness.’ 
His words left you too dumbstricken to respond, and unfortunately, the commotion around you diverted the entire conversation. Another duel had begun, and men were already cheering for their victors as swords clinked together. 
Harrington, being nothing but a simple man, ran over to his designated spot in the crows to cheer on his successor. However, it was all a bit too loud, and instead, you noticed what else was happening on the deck. From where you had sat before, there had not been a clear view of it, but now you were only a few feet away from another small group of the crew. 
They sat around a small table. It wasn’t clear what they were doing, but someone would shout out every few minutes and slap their hand on the surface while the rest groaned in frustration. 
That is where you found the captain. Huddled between two other men, sitting on a low-built crate, occupying more space than there was with his legs, arm on one thigh as he leaned forward, laughing at whatever was happening at the table. It was a scene like no other. The casualness and pleasantry of it all felt foreign.
You had been used to the men on the Red Tail and their routines, but the ship always came first and, with it, their work and duty. There was never any time for… games. And you would never have caught the captain participating in any of it. Not even at home. This wasn’t something men did. Children, maybe, but no soldier or respected merchant. Only drunks and frauds. But as you looked at it, you had no idea why it was deemed so peculiar to find pleasure in these silly activities.
You were still trying to figure out, from a safe distance, what it was that they were playing when you caught Munson’s gaze. Or more so, you met it, as his eyes had already been on you. Much like everyone else’s had been previously, and yet there was an intensity there that no one else could remake.
‘There you are!’ He shouted out once you saw him, making everyone around him stop and look your way. A dozen pairs of eyes were directed at you now as you stood frozen in place. ‘Took you long enough to join as, darling.’ Some men from across the ship, around the duel circle, stopped to look at what the captain was doing too.
‘If I had known I was invited, I wouldn’t have come.’ You quipped back and felt a gust of pride at the sound of a few chuckles from the men standing nearest you, who were quickly stopped by the stern look of their captain. 
‘Now, now, don’t be like that.’ He got up from his seat, raising his voice and gaining the attention of all now. It was like a siren’s call, making everyone stop in their tracks to listen. ‘My thanks are in order for, gentlemen, our princess has led us back on course. Worked all night, in fact, to find the correct coordinates and directions—which is more then I have seen of some of you in the past days.’ With this, he raised a cup in your honour, and while no one else had anything to raise, they all cheered. You stood there, speechless and confused, unsure of what was happening. Why was the captain suddenly so openly appreciative? So… nice?
You ignored the feeling to reciprocate the thankfulness and instead opted for the unfiltered thoughts going through you. ‘You do know “princess” is not my title, right?’ 
‘And I was never ranked captain… yet here we are, princess. So let us enjoy this fantasy we live in!’ He encouraged another cheer from his crowd. Then, once the rest settled down, he spoke directly to you from across the ship. ‘Come, why don’t you join us, darling. We were about to start another round.’
‘I don’t think there are any seats left.’ The space around the table seemed rather crowded, with each seat taken and many more men standing around. You had no business or interest in getting involved in that, but the captain, as always, persisted. 
‘Wheeler was just leaving.’ He pointed to the man sitting across from him.
‘No?’ The man said slowly.
‘Well, you were loosing anyway,’ Munson shooed him away, creating an empty spot for you. 
‘I don’t know the rules.’ You persevered in your own opinion. 
‘You’ll learn soon enough, come.’ 
You were about to object, but what else could you expect than the captain calling over another of his crew, this one at least a head taller than you and probably triple your size overall. The giant walked straight, making everyone else move, until he reached you. Then, with a grin, he showed you the path in a straight line towards the table.
Unimpressed, you just said, ‘Thank you.’ and made your way over. 
‘Glad you decided to join us.’ Munson said as you looked at the table. On it were six cups; only one turned the right side up. ‘Please, do take a seat.’ You felt a large hand on your shoulders, pushing you down on the crate.
‘Rules are simple,’ the captain began explaining; he picked up the cup before him, ‘5 dice. You roll them for yourself and place a bet, indicating the number of dice you think should be on the table. Speak the truth or bluff, it doesn’t matter, but if you’re caught on a lie… well,’ he shrugged, with it saying enough. The rules sounded simple enough, but one piece of vital information was missing.
‘What are the stakes?’ This was a betting game, so there must be something they were all betting on. You took the cup in front of you and pulled it closer. The dice rattled underneath.
‘We are but humble sailors,’ Munson said, already shaking his set of dice under his cup with a swift wrist move, ‘it’s mostly ship duties and chores. Sometimes meal rations if you’re brave. Anything that speaks to you, darling?’ Oh, there was plenty, but you had to play it smart.
‘If I win,’ you began shaking your dice as well, hovering over your words for a moment to think, ‘I get your cabin… until the end of the journey’ ‘I’ll happily share my bed with you, princess,’ Munson snickered. 
‘I wasn’t finished.’ You smiled back. ‘I get your cabin. You get mine.’ Honestly, you did not have a preference for either sleeping option. The bed in Munson’s quarters was stiff, so you might as well have slept on the floor. It was more about what it meant to kick the captain out of his own cabin. You enjoyed the idea and the prospect of encouraging the captain to bring you home faster so he could return to his quarters.
Something flinched in the captain’s muscles as he tried to remain unbothered by your words. The dice kept rolling underneath the cups. The crowd backed off, quickly understanding that this was a game only two of you could play. 
‘You sure about that?’ he tried to play it off smoothly. You simply nodded. 
‘Name your price, captain.’ 
‘How about… If I win…’ a small smile grew on his lips, ´we just play another round?’ 
‘What?’ That couldn’t be it? ‘And if you win again? What happens then?’ Would you be playing this game until the end of time? 
‘Got such low chances for yourself?’ He leaned forward a bit while you pushed away from the table. 
‘I would just like to know the game before I play.’ 
‘I think you’ll learn best if we just play, so, shall we?’ He shook his cup with one last flick of the wrist before putting it to a halt, his ringed fingers clutching to the top of it, eyes locked on you as you did the same. Lightly, you tilted the cup to show the dice. They were wooden, carved out with a knife, most likely by someone on this ship. The sides were uneven, so who knows how even the odds were for the game, but to you, they seemed alright. The eyes were dug out of the panels like small holes. 
One large eyes, two pairs of threes, a four and five. 
Putting the cup back down, you looked up at the captain, his face untelling of any emotion.  
‘Ladies go first,’ he announced with a hand gesture. It was up to you to start the betting. With the numbers twirling around in your mind, you thought of what would be the best move to make. To predict his dice was impossible and would only drive you crazy, but perhaps you could predict his next move by what you presented. 
‘Four fours.’ You did your best to speak with a flat tone, to not show any emotions. Keep your breathing steady and keep your hands still. To not show any signs of nerves. The captain nodded and took another glance at his dice. There were maybe two before his rebuttal. 
‘Five fours.’  There was nothing you could read off of him. The tension across the table only intensified, growing thicker with every moment of silence that passed by.
‘Three fives,’ you replied. The captain raised a suspicious brow. 
‘Three sixes.’
‘Four sixes.´ You spoke slowly but confidently. Or with what you hoped could be seen as confidence. It was a lost battle, really. With you having none, there was no chance the captain held four sixes under his cup. He must know it, too, in your case. You knew it just is how the corner of his mouth raised in amusement. 
‘Four sixes?' he asked, and you simply nodded again, but he wanted more from you. ‘Speak up, princess.’
‘Yes.’ You spoke sternly, remaining as still as possible. The captain shook his head once, grimacing.
‘See, darling, I don’t believe in beginner’s luck.’
‘Well, captain, I couldn’t tell it’s your first time playing. But don’t worry, you’re doing really well.’ You gave him a sweet sort of smile. So sweet that it could make you sick to your stomach. A few men around you pushed down their laugh, ignoring their captain’s deadly glares.  He refocused his attention your way. 
‘Show up, princess, because I doubt luck is this much in your favour.’ He tilted his chin, nudging you from across the table to reveal your dice, which you did with a sigh because when is it ever. Since you had stepped foot on this ship, luck seemed to have been missing from your life in its entirety. And yet, with this being a known fact, you were confused to see Munson’s reaction at the reveal of what you had rolled. It was not quite pride nor disappointment. His shoulders slacked down, and something pulled at the muscles in his face. He needed a second to compose his reaction to his winning. 
‘Congratulations,’ you muttered without looking any longer at him. Ready to play the next promised round, you grabbed the cup to roll your dice again but were surprised to see Munson get off his seat. ‘What are you doing?’ 
‘Time for round two, darling.’ He smirked, walking past his crewmates to the centre of the deck. He had moved so far back that you had to turn in your seat. The confusion blocked your speaking ability, but fortunately, the captain was ready to explain. ‘I never said what game that would be, now did I?’ He stood there, surrounded by his men. His stance was wide, and his forearm hung lazily over the helm of his sword, which hung by his side. He let his fingers dance daintily across the silver while waiting for your response, the rings adorning them glistening in the sun. 
‘What–’ you took a deep breath as you felt it getting stuck in your throat, ‘what game will this be?’ 
‘I have been rather looking forward to a little duel, in all fairness. I think we all have.’ He pointed around to everyone in the audience around you. You looked at them. Their smiles were big, and their posture relaxed but eager. They were expecting a show, and, in all fairness, you wanted one too. It’s the least of what you deserved after days of this hell. 
Your shirt, still rather ample on your frame, slid down your shoulder as you got up, but you pulled it up with a swift move. Munson, and the rest, watched as you walked up. 
‘Any new rules for this round?’ You asked loudly enough for everyone to hear, but the captain had other plans. He closed the gap between the two of you to answer, whispering the words right against your ear.
‘First one to be on both knees loses. How about that, princess?’ He pulled away again to ask you the question, but only a step. You blinked, took one more deep breath and nodded. 
‘Oh, this will be fun,’ he smiled, and of course, he had. You could only imagine how much joy it would bring him to humiliate you in front of all these men. Especially since you had already, in front of everyone, admitted that you had not been taught to fight. How easy will it be to win, then?
He called out: ‘Someone give the lady a sword!’ It was aimed at no one, precisely who had handed you your weapon. You barely had the time to look around to see who had given you their sword, as it was thrust upon you with quite a lot of force, pushing you a step back. You tried to get a good grip on it, but no matter how you held it, the sword felt awkward in your hand. 
‘You expect me to fight with this?’ You looked at your sword, suppressing any visual reaction to its form. The blade looked tethered and most visibly abused in the previous battle. 
‘Not alluring enough for the lady?’ the captain said, pulling his sword out of its scabbard. 
‘No, it is not that,’ you kept inspecting your sword apprehensively, ‘though I am sure you have more handsome weapons in your property. I just hoped for a more balanced blade.’ While already at a large disadvantage, with a sword like this, you had absolutely no chance at winning. You tried to hold it up on your hand, balancing the blade against the grip, with the former immediately falling to the ground no matter how you attempted to hold it. You gave the captain an apologetic smile as the sword clanged across the floorboards. He, in response, avoided your gaze by looking at his men for a substitute. 
‘Harrington!’ he called out. Harrington stepped out from the ring of spectators, a bit stunned by the sudden call. Munson cocked his head your way, so the crewmember approached you and handed you the sword you had watched him fight with earlier. Closer up, you were taken aback by the harsh scar across his throat, like a deep indent from what must have been a rope tightened around it once upon a time. Another bruise, you noticed, was also already forming around his temple. There was his earlier opponent who had hit him. 
‘Thank you,’ you said softly as he handed you his weapon. Just from your initial grip, you could tell it was much better. Harrington nodded and moved away quickly from your and his captain’s fireline. 
While you knew enough about the objects to know what quality was good enough to use, the sword still felt foreign and awkward in your hand. You did not know how to stand while holding it, and seeing Munson opposite you, with his full confidence aglow, made you feel even smaller. But despite it all, one thing was for sure. Enough time had gone by, and enough had come between you for you to know that he could no longer treat you the same as he had the day you were broad on board. He could not do whatever he pleased with you. You wouldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t. So, while he looked you up and down with his casual smirk, you made a point to, somewhat confidently, keep your head up. 
‘What do you say, princess,’ Munson swung his sword back and forth, ‘I’ll go easy on you.’ With a weak attempt to release some tension from your shoulders, you rolled your head from side to side before copying the captain and letting the sword smoothly move around with the slightest wrist movements. It cut the air with audible slashes, leaving the captain and everyone else mute. 
‘It’s appreciated, captain,’ you didn’t forget to respond to his generosity. 
The captain simply nodded. No formal duelling rules were aboard the Hellfire since no one had time for the silly rituals. He simply stepped into position, and so you followed behind. He was, naturally, also the first to attack. 
You were just in time to block it. The blades clinked at the point of impact, and there was a moment of confusion on Munson’s face. Hesitation. It was brief and all-telling in his eyes and brow, and lucky for you, it didn’t go unnoticed. It was a blink of an action as he tried to process what you had just done. The instinct at which you performed. Did he see your smile? 
But the moment was soon as he proceeded with his next swing. And the next. Next. one after the other, locking you in with his movement. From each new angle, never passing on the theatrics of it all with turns and bends at which you should not have been able to keep up—but you did. You counteracted every attack, perhaps not flawlessly, straining to keep up with the speed and agility at which the captain moved, but it was more than anyone had expected you to be capable of. 
And finally, the opportunity presented itself. A brisk moment of stillness gave you a chance to swing your sword. Of course, he blocked it, steady on his feet, but Munson took a small step back as you kept coming forth. The metal practically echoed over the ship. Cheers from the audience subsided as everyone got lost in the duel. There seemed to be no end; you only moved faster, harsher, harder.
As you kept moving, the crows had to move along with you, making space for the extended movements of the blades. If it had not been for the well-times duck, there would have been a head short on deck. The captain kept moving back from you until there was a thud. He had nowhere else to go as you backed him up against a barrel. There was that brief flash of panic on his face again as he came across a situation he had never expected to land in, but it washed away just as quickly. There was no time for him to react to the situation, for your sword was coming closer and closer to him again, and this time he had nowhere to go. With a final move, you pressed the blade against his throat. You were both breathing heavily. Sweat poured down on both of you underneath the scorching sun. The tip of your sword remained under his Adam’s apple, which moved up and down as Munson heaved in the air. And yet, even with his neck tightly stretched as he was forced to look up because of the sword digging into his skin, he had a bemused smile upon his face.
‘You said no one taught you how to fight?’ It was more of a question than a statement, as if he was confirming his memory.
‘Which is true,’ you pulled away, happy to see you had left your mark as a small cut. ‘No civil man would teach their daughter how to draw a sword, or let a lady compromise her polite statue with violence, or put her in any compromising and potentially dangerous situation, for that matter. 
‘But they will also not let an opportunity to boast go by.’ You watched him swipe his hand at the blood pooling from the cut you had made, and you could not ignore the pride you felt with it. ‘So, I observed as they made me watch them train.’
‘That much is obvious,’ he wiped his now bloody fingers on his trousers, but the blood came pouring, slowly, down his neck. A thin red line marking your moment of victory. You couldn’t help but smile. And yet, he spoke with the most confidence, leaning against the barrel that had locked him in. ‘but we’re not done yet, princess.’ And then he attacked with a strike so flush and quick you had almost missed it. It cut the air by your side in half, and you could feel the repercussions hit you in your cheek. 
Of course, the game was not over just yet. The winner was meant to be the last one standing, literally. You might have locked him in, but he would not give up until he was down on his knees.
Munson attacked once more, taking advantage of the incoordination that came with his first blow. His target had become low, with a focus on your legs. He swiped at your feet with such an intensity that you knew if he hit you, it would leave its own mark and one much worse than the cut you had made. The only thing you could do to avoid his force was to backtrack, jumping from one leg to another. You moved around the ship like a dancing monkey in the circle of everyone’s attention. Your attempts to attack had become poorer as the captain’s smile grew wider. 
He took one long swipe down at your ankles, to which you could only respond by jumping as high as possible. The new clothes you had taken the night before certainly aided you in the acrobatics necessary when dealing with a duelling partner such as Munson, but you still wore your own shoes. The heels buckled as you landed on the ground, throwing you off balance. You felt yourself falling, but the final drop never came.
Your side hit someone’s sturdy frame. When you looked up, your eyes met a pair of brown ones. Brown, surrounded by a sea of dark purple bruises. Harrington held you up with one arm. 
‘Your footing is all wrong,’ he spoke softly, but not enough to keep it a secret between the two of you as he pulled you up to your feet.
‘Funny, as I was just copying you,’ you laughed.
The captain called out to you impatiently. ‘C’mon, princess, the fun isn’t over yet.’ But perhaps it was, as he went in for a poorly calculated strike, and you screamed out, silencing everyone to their core, bending in two as a searing pain met your side. Still holding you, Harrington kept you up as much as he could. A task that came harder to be when you went limp. He stumbled back, almost falling over himself.
When you looked down, you saw your shirt, brand new in a sense, now had a large gash. The bottom half of it hanging on by loose threads. What once was pale ivory was now coloured crimson. You looked up at your attacker, who stood only a few feet away, his weapon hanging loosely in his grip. Higher, you saw his eyes, big in fear. An indescribable expression was painted across his face, but you hoped that he could read yours. 
Trying to ignore the pain that was now overwhelming your whole body, you pushed yourself away from Harrington and passed the captain. His hand reached out to you, but you froze before he could anchor himself. Before getting yourself into more trouble, as a million thoughts raced through your mind, you dropped the sword to the ground. It fell onto the floorboards with a deafening clatter, and like that, you walked on quickly to the trapdoor, ignoring the captain’s calling of your name and the feeling it brought upon you to hear it for the first time in so long. There were more important, more painful things on your mind now.
Everyone moved out of your way, but their eyes stayed on you until you passed them. Robin had just reached the bottom of the stairs down from the helm, but she stood there just as everyone else, unsure what to do. She glanced at what was happening behind you, as you could hear people talking and moving but could not bother to turn around. You just wanted to get away from it all. The last thing you heard before heading below deck was someone angrily calling out the captain’s name, but it all felt like a blur around you.
Only once you were in your cell did you dare look at the damage he had caused. With a deep breath, you pulled the shirt’s material up to reveal a long narrow cut on your ribs. The only thing that made you feel alright was the fact that it did not look deep. As far as sword wounds go, it was a graze, but the blood continued streaming. And so did your tears. But you let that pain, and fear, boil down to anger and strength to rip the last few inches of the loose hanging pieces of shirt and wrap them around your middle as tightly as possible to stop the bleeding.
This is what happens when you let your guard down when you do not run away and instead stay and let yourself be hurt by these monsters. You did not what to think that Robin and Harrington had been a play, some kind of ruse of the captain’s invention to give you that fake sense of security, to slip you into dropping your apprehensions and lead you to… where you were now, bleeding out on the heap of hay, back in your cage. 
With your heart beating into your ears, you didn’t realise that someone had followed you down to the lower deck, or hear the footsteps coming down to see you, nor the chuckle of the chains and buckles that came with the steps.
‘For what it’s worth,’ he said once he had already stepped into your holding cell, ‘I am truly sorry.’
You had no idea what it was lying beside you, but you grabbed it and, without saying a word but with as much power as you could muster, you threw it in the general direction of his face. With a small lean, he managed to dodge it and the item fell through the railings of the cell to shatter on the ground. You stared at him darkly, hoping the message was clear. He had never seemed to be able to do it, but maybe this one time, he could let you be alone…
Of course, it could not be that simple. He would not start listening to you now. Instead, the captain bent down to his knees, meeting your line of sight. In his hand, he held one of the bottles from his drawer. 
‘Please, may I?’ he showed you the spirit bottle, and you got the idea of what he meant with it. It still took you a moment to formulate your response as you took it all in. ‘No, you may not.’ With a snap of your words, you removed the bottle from his grip and pulled the cork out with your teeth. You kept it in your mouth as you poured the alcohol over your fresh wound. The groan that left you as the alcohol burned away at the wound was only slightly muffled. 
‘It was never my intention to hurt you.’ He said in that same, defeated tone.
‘And yet,’ you had spit out the cork, this time hitting him in the chest, ‘that seems to be what happens any time you come near me.’ 
‘There is no excuse for me, I know whatever I will say will mean nothing to you.’ He watched you scoff at his response. ‘See?’ 
‘What are you doing here?’ You sighed, already tired of his presence. To think that maybe not an hour had gone by since you had woken up, moderately at peace, in his cabin and now you were lying before him, hands covered in blood and spirit, and your mind dizzying with pain and rage. 
‘How– how bad is it?’ There was a shake in his words, and you could not understand whatever for. Each move you made sent shocks down into your ribs, but as you did not feel like saying much more to him, you tilted your arm up to show the severity of the cut. The alcohol had washed off most of the excess blood and left behind the thing and precise cut over your side. Munson looked at it and another muscle in his face flinched at the sight of what he has caused. ‘It does not seem to be perilous.’
‘Yes, considering I am not dead I had figured as much.’ As you still had the bottle in your hand, you lifted it up to your lips and took a large sip. The burn at your throat was comparable to the feeling of the liquid touching your wound, but it was much more appreciated. After one more sip, you looked back at Munson. ‘Anything else, captain?’
‘No, I— I do not know what came over me, and I will not forgive myself for what I have done.’ He was stumbling over his words, but those he managed to produce left you in a whirl. How genuine it all was, you could not tell, but the deep regret he seemed to have reflected in his being. But you had learned your lesson to fall for such weaknesses.
‘Yes, it must be horrible seeing your investment get compromised.’ You took another swig of the drink. The captain opened his mouth to respond, but decided against it. He stood up already turned to leave when a final thought came to you.
‘From what I remember of the rules of the game,’ your words paralysed him mid-step as you called out, ‘I never fell to my knees.’ He, however, had. 
The captain turned enough for you to see his profile and how the corner of his mouth turned up in amusement. ‘Fine, you win.’ Then he continued walking up to the ladder.
You smiled to yourself as he left.
You won.
Chapter 6
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thank you so much for reading!! if you want more of where this came from, check out my masterlist.
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taglist (part 1)
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jacenbren · 6 months
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Deeply fucking unsettling things about the Honored One himself, Satoru Gojo
Thanks to his ability to fuck with gravity, you put him in a blank, empty room with identical walls, floor, and ceiling with no doors or windows, he'll quickly lose track of which way is up. Realistically this situation would probably never happen, but the concept freaks him out ever since Geto made a joke about it once.
Gojo's body maintains a perfect thermodynamic equilibrium, making his skin creepily cool to the touch. He can go out in a blizzard with shorts on, and between that and Infinity, he'd be perfectly fine. It makes for a cool party trick, because he can stick his hand in a candle flame or put cigarettes out on his arms with no ill effects.
He's unsettlingly clean at all times, because dirt can't touch him. Gojo hasn't needed to use stain remover on his uniform in years.
He quite literally has six eyes. He keeps four of them shut and all of them hidden most of the time, though, because a) looking into all six at once would liquefy the brain of your average human, and b) his Six Eyes are constantly feeding unfathomable amounts of information into his brain every second. Even with his tolerance to his powers and mastery of the reverse curse technique, there's only so much stimuli a human brain can process without completely shutting down, and Gojo doesn't want to find out what that'll do to him--in a nutshell, just because he can see things that mankind can't even hope to comprehend doesn't mean he wants to.
He can perceive the entire electromagnetic spectrum, meaning he can see shrimp colors. Everyone else desperately wants him to describe the shrimp colors. Gojo continues to smugly refuse.
Because of his reverse curse technique constantly refreshing and regenerating his body, he just. doesn't really need to eat anymore. or drink. or even breathe. His body is basically frozen at peak physical condition, and it's very likely that he is functionally immortal.
Sometimes, Gojo forgets what pain feels like, because nothing can touch him. Pain feels almost like pleasure to him, because nothing can hurt him. Nothing can even touch him, and Gojo has secretly developed a perverted interest in seeing how badly he can mutilate himself before he's forced to reengage his technique and heal.
Gojo can bend and contort himself in ways that aren't humanly possible, run faster and farther and lift heavier objects than anyone alive, because his body can repair itself almost as fast as it's damaged, depending on how severe the injury. Basically, he has permanent hysterical strength, letting him push his body past its limits to perform feats that would kill a normal human with no ill effects.
Gojo doesn't sleep. He literally can't unless he releases his technique, because his body is constantly being refreshed and doesn't need to shut down. Oh well, it's for the better. He's most vulnerable while he's sleeping anyway, and it opens up his schedule by a lot.
His teeth grow now, almost like a rodent's. He has to file them down to be able to open and close his mouth properly, along with much more frequent trimming of his hair and nails.
His skin is oddly smooth, and unnaturally pristine. Gojo hasn't recieved a single scar since Toji sliced him open, and all the ones he'd recieved before are healed flawlessly at this point. His hands are so soft they make it look like he hasn't fought a day in his life, because calluses aren't able to form anymore.
Gojo's been around the world countless times now. He can go wherever he wants with a thought; the only cost is his sanity. Warping himself across the Pacific for lunch in San Francisco is fun, but he can only do it a few times a week if he doesn't want to have another... ah, episode.
These episodes involve blackouts, gaps in his memory where his powers manage to slip their leashes from overuse and literally short-circuit his brain. He's only had a few so far, and every time, he wakes up in the infirmary completely unscathed, with blood all over his clothes and an awful fucking migraine. Nobody knows what happens or where he goes, and all Shoko's been able to tell him is that when it happens, he seems to go into a giddy fugue before blasting his way out of the compound and vanishing for anywhere from days to weeks. Gojo's absolutely terrified of these episodes, because he's wholly aware that if he lost it for real, nobody would be able to stop him.
He looks human enough, but if you look closer, he quickly starts to set off the uncanny valley effect. It's like a wolf in sheep's clothing--because you know how dangerous he is, even though he appears relatively harmless at first. Everyone who meets him has the same fear response clawing at the back of their mind as their hindbrain screams at them to fucking run, because Gojo is an apex predator in the body of a prey animal. His very presence awakens primal fear that's been entrenched in every human since the dawn of time--the fear of things that go bump in the night, of cosmic horrors beyond what mankind can even hope to comprehend.
His eyes glow all the time now, and the energy crackling in the air around him feels like the static that comes before a lightning strike. Satoru Gojo is insistent that he's still human even though he's the strongest, but... is he, really?
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robot-horde · 8 months
Text
Discoveries
This started as headcanons, but y'all, I am down bad for Prowl, and this is the smutty proof. I don’t even have a good introduction, it’s just rambling filth. Hope someone finds some enjoyment in several thousand words of ridiculous fantasies. Have fun!
TFA Prowl x GN!Reader NSFW
Warnings: no human genitals described, but reader bottoms, mech with human kink, wet dream, feelings of guilt, masturbation, Prowl’s a virgin, creampie, primal play, licking cuts, hints at you both being switches, breeding kink, saying I love you, praise kink, cum eating, I probably missed something, there’s just a lot.
Word Count: 3.5k
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Prowl absolutely has a human kink, though it takes a while for him to figure it out. He’s fascinated with organic life and that obviously extends to humanity, just in ways he didn’t expect. On Cybertron he’d had romantic feelings or relationships, but he never felt that sexual connection and just never had the desire to interface. Since interfacing isn’t treated the same way socially as sex is on Earth, and virginity isn’t really a concept to them, it was never a big deal to him or anyone else. He didn’t think about it much, so imagine his surprise when he meets humans and experiences sexual attraction for the first time.
You show up and he takes a liking to you right away. Prowl appreciates how observant you are, often remembering things others have forgotten or never noticed in the first place. He likes how you’re not only able to, but excited to sit in silence with him just watching the world around you. No matter how much or little you know about science, it’s almost guaranteed to be more than he knows, so he listens with fascination to whatever you can tell him about it. If you do know more than the average person, he gets excited for your little lectures on biology and earth science, coming to you with his questions about Earth and its inhabitants of all shapes and sizes.
You’d been friends with him a while, and at this point, you were close enough you could let him in on whatever chaos you had in your personal life. After one particularly heated rant about trouble at work, you took a second to apologize for how you were monopolizing his time with your complaints. Of course, he didn’t mind one bit, and was happy to give advice on your situation. Considering how well he knew you, his advice was very helpful. 
Before you left, you thanked him and hugged him for the first time. It was just a spontaneous expression of appreciation, but it caught him off guard. You weren’t opposed to physical displays of affection, but you never really shared any with the bots since they were all so much bigger than you. Hugs were kinda awkward with the height difference and not something any of them ever initiated, so you didn’t either. But since Prowl often sat on the ground to be eye level with you, it felt more natural to hug him, and you did it without thinking.
Once you were gone, he noticed how his spark was humming. How his cooling fans were whirring when there was no apparent need for temperature control. He couldn’t stop thinking about the interaction, and the more he thought about it, the more flustered he got. Feeling you so close, having your body pressed against him, it just felt really nice. You were so soft, how were you so soft?
All of these thoughts were just from curiosity about humans, obviously. At least, that’s what he told himself. Feeling his frame heat up when he saw you and feeling more shy talking to you when he’d never experienced that before was just a shift in your friendship. He surely just had some unaddressed insecurity he needed to focus on and everything would go back to normal.
But then he had a wet dream about you, and that threw everything off. Waking up covered in his own transfluid and replaying the dream in his head had him spiraling. These feelings were unfamiliar to him, and he felt unsettled that the object of his desires was a human. His human friend, no less. He couldn’t deny the feeling of your organic body fascinated him, but he felt guilty wanting to feel more. It was wrong… Right?
After that incident, it was difficult to interact with you. He couldn’t stop thinking about the dream and the feelings it awakened in him. He thought about your body, and how pliable it is. How it would move under the pressure of his servos. How massive his servos were compared to your tiny human hands, and what those little hands would feel like touching him. What it would feel like to have your nimble organic fingers running across his body and sneaking their way between his transformation seams. Only someone like you could do that, and he felt so, so guilty for not trying harder to push these fantasies away.
The more he tried not to think about it, the more thoughts of you plagued him. He’d end up unbearably frustrated and uncomfortable walking around so aroused that he’d sneak away to relieve himself. Fingering his valve imagining you were pegging him, or furiously pumping his spike, aching for relief. He had to hold a servo over his intake to muffle his cries of pleasure, whimpering your name as he overloaded.
You hadn’t done anything to warrant these filthy thoughts of his, and he tried so hard to hide how much you affected him. But considering you’d awoken something new in him, the mech had zero previous experience hiding these feelings and didn’t really know what to do. No one seemed to notice though, so he must have been hiding it well enough for now. To his dismay, that didn’t last long.
It happened when you were watching a nature documentary together, and the topic of mating came up. Okay, it was fine, he could keep his composure. But then another species' mating habits came up. Then another, and another. Primus, how many were they going to talk about? It was educational, but he barely absorbed any of it, too focused on regulating his venting and not glancing over at you.
“Hey Prowl, you good?” you asked with genuine concern evident on your face.
Slag, slag, slag-
“Perfectly fine, why do you ask?” he replied.
“I don’t know, you just feel a little off, so I figured I’d ask, just in case.”
Ok, good, that’s all. It’s fine. They don’t know. It’s fine.
And it was fine, until you went to hug him goodbye. He involuntarily gasped at the touch and you pulled away looking confused and worried.
“Okay, what’s up? Obviously you’re not okay.”
Prowl froze, staring at you with a blank expression. You just raised your eyebrows back at him, waiting for a response. You had no idea what was coming.
“I,” he paused, looking away from you, “I believe I have feelings for you,” he spoke with nervousness evident in his voice.
“Feelings? Like, romantic feelings?”
“Yes,” he sighed, “And… perhaps sexual feelings, as well.”
You appreciated his bluntness, and Prowl’s anxiety was immediately calmed by your nonchalant response. You acted like it wasn’t a big deal and just asked to talk about it like it was any other topic. He thought it had to be a good sign that you hadn’t had an extreme response.
Turns out, it was a very good sign.
In the past, the two of you had talked about Cybertronian biology and interfacing, which didn’t phase Prowl at the time, but that was before he’d developed these feelings. Now he was a flustered mess, hesitant to reply to your questions. He couldn’t lie to you. He couldn’t even hide the truth by omission at the moment because of how disoriented he was, so he found himself sharing honest answers to everything you asked
By the end of the night, you’d confessed your own feelings for him, and to his surprise, you ended up planning for a sexual encounter together. Was that unsexy? Should it be? Prowl didn’t care. You guided the conversation with a confidence he lacked, and before you left, the two of you had basically scheduled a date for Prowl to ‘lose his virginity’. He decided planning can be sexy. It’s about anticipation, right?
And anticipate he did. He was so anxious, but awfully excited. He was too embarrassed to express that though, until you did first. You told him you looked forward to it, and he just about melted into a pool of molten metal. You looked forward to interfacing with him? Of course you did. You cared for him so deeply already that this just felt like a surprising, but natural, next step for the two of you. 
Although you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you loved that he was a virgin. The fact he trusts you enough to be with him and guide him through the experience. You thought about what he probably would and wouldn’t like, considering his personality. And about how overwhelming it might be to have your first time be with an alien species. Thankfully though, Prowl felt a sense of relief knowing even though it wasn’t your first time, it was your first time with an alien. So at least you’d both be experiencing something new in one way or another.
When the time came, you went slow and put him first the entire time. You started by undressing and simply letting him explore your body. He tried so hard to compose himself, but he couldn’t help letting his modesty panel open, revealing himself to you. The feeling of his spike softly brushing against your thigh was exciting, but you resisted the urge to touch it until he was satisfied with his exploration.
He took his time, lovingly examining all the little details of your face up close. The discolored patches of skin, beauty marks, visible veins. All the little hairs covering the entirety of your body, and how the texture varied depending on its location. He was fascinated by your eyelashes in particular, careful to be impossibly gentle running a single digit across them. He tested how much pressure he could use against your skin, grabbing your arms, waist, thighs and pressing gently, watching how your flesh filled the spaces between his servos. No Cybertronian could ever do that.
Your body seemed to mold itself to fit him perfectly, and he needed more. You saw how much he was enjoying himself and playfully moved one of his servos to your ass, giving him a mischievous smile which he shyly returned.
“You like how I feel?”
“Oh yes,” he sighed, “It’s lovely.”
“Well,” you purred, “just wait ‘til you’re inside, sweetspark.”
He froze, thinking about what was to come, and absolutely enamored by your use of the Cybertronian term of endearment. You tried not to laugh at his reaction, since it was so cute. But you soon discovered his reaction to burying his spike inside you was even cuter. Neither of you had even moved yet and he was already hissing profanities. You admired his open intake and the purr of his engine, enamored by his expressions of comfort and pleasure.
You checked in on him often to make sure he was okay. All these new pleasurable sensations overwhelmed him to the point he couldn’t move, so you happily did all the work and steadily bounced on his spike. You committed this image to memory. Prowl with his helm tilted back, faceplate flushed, intake open and drooling. He was panting heavily and had an iron grip on your hips, following whatever move your body made. He was a gorgeous moaning mess beneath you and it sent warmth flooding through your entire body. Every noise he made was music to your ears and you couldn’t get enough.
When he was getting close, his body took over, and Prowl began rutting into you. He met your hips with a fervent desperation for anything and everything you could give him. You were so fragging tight around his spike, and the fact your tiny human body could accommodate his size not only comfortably, but pleasurably, sent his helm spinning. The sounds that fell from your lips were so lewd, and your words of encouragement and praise were far too much for the mech to handle. His overload hit him hard and he quivered, crying out your name as he filled you with his transfluid.
You watched him with deep satisfaction, savoring this moment and the blissful look on his face. You ground your hips against him to help him ride out his high and he shuddered at the sensation. It was hard not to smile at the sight. He was fucked out of his mind, frame going limp and breath heavy while he was still burried inside you. You felt a little bit of pride seeing what you could do to him, and you were more than pleasantly surprised when only a few minutes later he was ready for round two.
After this sexual awakening he was insatiable and you loved it. It surprised you how open he was after that night, talking about interfacing as though he’d been doing it for millennia. It seemed like Prowl had thrown all anxiety and caution to the wind, sharing every new dirty idea he had with you and asking what you thought about it. You were excited to indulge him in all of his fantasies and overjoyed he was so comfortable and unashamed with you.
One fantasy you accidentally discovered was primal play. You and Bee had been joking and pressing Prowl’s buttons while roaming the forest until Prowl got fed up with your intentionally annoying behavior. When he turned to confront you, you and Bee scattered to avoid him. In his frustration, he decided to go after you, which turned into a game of chase that ended with the two of you on the ground sharing languid kisses. His desire for you was heightened by the adrenaline of the chase, so once you realized, you told him about the concept of primal play and he was hooked.
Whenever you could get away with it, you’d find the most remote forested area you could to play. You’d get a few minutes head start, since you could never outrun him, but you might be able to hide from him. You’d sprint through the forest, breath heaving and a massive smile plastered across your face. He loved watching you when you first ran off. The anticipation of following your trail and inevitably catching you only making him more eager.
He couldn’t bare to wait more than five minutes before starting his pursuit, too excited to find and take you. If you wanted the game to last longer, you’d try and find a clever place to hide. Your favorite was when he got close enough to hear, causing your heart to beat faster when he approached. You hoped the rustling of leaves under the weight of his pedes would drown out your heavy breath as you listened to his voice calling your name, sweetly trying to coax you out of hiding. You wouldn’t fall for it since that would just ruin the fun.
If you were impatient and decided not to hide though, the chase wouldn’t last long. No matter how fast you were, he was faster, even with the head start. You dodged trees and leapt over tree roots, determined to go as long as you could. Sometimes he’d toy with you, slowing himself down and pretending like he was putting in an effort. You were too hyped on adrenaline to notice or care. You rarely spared a glance behind you, but squealed with glee whenever you did. He was always right there, so close he could pounce and devour you. You never had the breath to taunt him, too focused on evading capture to give it a single thought.
Eventually though, you’d run out of stamina, or he’d get tired of toying with you and you ended up getting caught. He tried his best not to hurt you, but you told him it was fine if he roughed you up a little bit. Most of the time, he’d grab your entire body, enveloping it in his own and rolling across the forest floor before coming to a stop. Sometimes he’d get really into it though, grabbing an arm or leg to stop you, dragging you to the ground. Those times often ended in a skinned knee or chin, but you felt like it almost made the game better. He’d slowly, sweetly lick your wounds clean before dragging you wherever he wanted and having his way with you.
The state of mind you ended up in during these sessions had you shedding all caution, neither of you inhibiting yourselves. Prowl got loud, grunting and moaning the entire time. If you were lucky and he felt bold, he’d start sneering dirty talk against your ear. Exposing every filthy thought he had about you. How pretty you looked on your hands and knees, how good you were for him, letting him push your face into the ground. Whatever he had to say, it made you putty in his servos, willing to do whatever he asked in that moment.
But what really got you both going was breeding. You talked about it when you weren’t fragging, and neither of you really knew where the mutual kink came from. Maybe it was the idea of having a biological compatibility that the two of you lacked. Maybe it was the theoretical production of something reflecting your union. Maybe it was the power play involved with one of you dominating the other, singularly focused on knocking the other one up. Prowl was enamored with the image of your belly growing, whether it was physically possible for you or not.
It played into his attraction to humans. Your body could adapt to his spike, so watching your body grow and change to create a life, one that he contributed to, was immeasurably erotic to him. He’d growl into your ear about how he was going to fill you up, flood your body with his seed. He’d hold a servo to your belly as he railed you, telling you how he longed to watch you carry his offspring. How he ached to see you swell with life until you were too heavy to move. 
His words were tinged with frustration and desperation. These emotions were heightened by the fact it would never happen, no matter how much he wanted it to. It still made you clench around him though, aching for him to fill you like he promised. When he finally overloaded inside you, his cries of pleasure were so intense his vocalizer was fried after. You’d try and get him to talk when you were holding each other afterward just to hear how hoarse and gravelly his voice was. You loved how it served as audible proof of his passion for you. 
The two of you often poured praise into each other. From the very beginning you set a standard of telling him when his actions pleased you, to encourage him and let him know exactly what you liked. He did the same in return, and this evolved into your own feedback loop of affection. How wonderful you felt, how good you behaved, how attentive you were, how moving like that was perfect. Neither of you held back, letting any words of affirmation, any expressions of devotion, fall from your lips. This often culminated in one, or both of you, slurring out a string of ‘I love you’s over and over between thrusts and kisses until you fell apart in each other's arms.
He adored how willing you were to please him. To you, his requests usually weren’t surprising, and even when they were at first you settled into the idea quickly. One request that made you pause involved his transfluid. He already liked when you’d suck his spike and let him finish on your chest or face, and when his mind wasn’t flooded with thoughts of breeding you, he liked to finish on your stomach or ass. Anywhere, as long as he could see the pink fluid against your skin. But now he wanted to do more than just see it, he wanted to lick it off of you.
You weren’t particularly interested, until he actually did it. He’d overloaded on your stomach and chest, covering as much as he could. He only took a moment hovering over you to catch his breath before pulling back to admire his work, seeing you sprawled out beneath him. Then he leaned down, dragging his glossa against your body at an agonizingly slow pace. His lewd expression was mesmerizing, emphasized by the image of his own transfluid coating his glossa, making sure you got a good look before he swallowed. Prowl took his sweet time, savoring the salty taste of your skin and making sure every drop was cleaned off of you. 
He discovered he liked to kiss and suck at your skin, leaving little marks behind. The fact he could mark your skin, and it would slowly fade away without any intervention amazed him. You often found yourself littered with little bruises at different stages of healing for him to observe. He liked to softly trace his digits across the hickies when you were curled up next to him, exhausted from your time together. It was sweet, how much you trusted him, how excited you got to try something new, and how peaceful you were resting with him afterwards. He kissed the top of your head as you slept, a little jealous of how worn out you were. It gave him something to look forward to though, since next time it was his turn to get fragged until he passed out.
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greyskyflowers · 2 months
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I really like the idea that Ichigo has always done some strange stuff, even before any of them had any idea about soul society.
Chad, Orihime, and Uryu (as well as Tatsuki, Keigo and Mizuiro) very much take the approach of don't say a fucking thing, leave him alone to anyone who looks like they may say something about it.
Ichigo makes a strange noise? They've figured out which noises are good ones and which ones are bad ones.
He's a little colder, distant, and sometimes a little cruel? Give him a little bit and he'll be fine again.
He gets a little too bright eyed during fights? Licks blood off his lips and sometimes off a wound? His nails look a little sharp and his teeth a little meaner? All good. He'll beat the shit out of someone, pace around a bit and be fine again.
Eats an unbelievable amount of food and still stays on the lean side of skinny? It's a metabolism thing.
Runs a little colder? He's great to sit by in the hot summer!
Gets a little distracted, looks at things and listen to noises that aren't there? That's normal, he's been able to see weird stuff his whole life!
Even after they all gain the ability see ghosts and that's obviously not what Ichigo is doing, they just tell people he's listening to and seeing ghosts.
Everyone else is a little confused by that but it's clear they're not going to get a real answer and tbh they're not sure they want one.
It's also important that they don't call too much attention to it. Ichigo doesn't seem to realize he does some of those things.
Like when someone pointed out the blood thing and he spent 20 minutes gagging and throwing up, tongue still stained rusty from the blood.
Or when someone mentioned the noises and he doesn't speak for days, quiet and withdrawn. And even now he cuts the noises off, biting them back and swallowing them down.
Or when people called him cruel, a thug, someone who wants to see others hurt, because he got into fight. He didn't fight back the next few times he got jumped, letting the hits land and taking it because the fear that he was all those things people said was stronger than any pain.
All the times he kept his mouth shut because someone joked about wolf teeth.
Or when he ripped his nails down until they bled so they weren't sharp enough to hurt anyone on accident.
Or when he kept his eyes down so no one could say he wore colored contacts to go with his "dyed" hair.
Orihime being so upset after the cookies she had given to someone, who made fun of a noise Ichigo made, had ended up bad! Oh no, oh gosh, how terrible that they got food poisoning! She's so sorry about that but there's a gleam to her eyes that has everyone backing off.
Chad disappearing and coming back with busted knuckles that go unnoticed, Ichigo focused on keeping his fingers curled into his palms and his mouth firmly shut.
Uryu ripping into some of the people who started rumors about Ichigo, channeling every cold and cruel part of him until several people are crying and no one dares say Ichigo's name for awhile.
Tatsuki throwing punches and Keigo attempting too, Mizuiro making things happen that no one can directly link back to him but everyone knows it's him.
Ichigo doesn't ask for a lot, but he gives a lot. Too much.
So, they can give him this. They will give him this. Let him do his odd, little quirks and they'll deal with anyone who tries to say anything.
💀
Shinigami are strange, strange enough that Ichigo blends in with them well, even though he's still sometimes a little strange for a shinigami.
Chad, Orihime, and Uryu are pleased that Ichigo fits in so well with all these new people, especially as they get to know them more.
Renji and Ikkaku are animalistic with too sharp teeth and a wild air to them.
Kenpachi is a monster wearing human skin.
Rukia, and her brother, have moments of cruelty and distance.
Unohana is something old and dangerous.
Kisuke is... unsettling, raises the hair on the back of their necks a little bit but Ichigo likes him. And as unnerving as he is, he's been very helpful.
Yoruichi has a mean streak in her that is very much like a cat batting around a dying mouse.
The visored are even worse.
The humans don't meet them until Ichigo after has already firmly included them in his ever growing group of important people.
The visored are unsettling in a way similar to Kisuke, but heavier. Something about them makes the little animal part of their brains sit up and take notice, the hairs on the backs of their necks standing up and they have to fight the urge to run.
But the visored are strange in the same way Ichigo is strange.
And they'll gives some bonus points to Kisuke and his, because they've never so much as batted an eyelash at Ichigo's more bizarre quirks.
The visored show off too sharp teeth in proud smiles and angry snarls.
They make odd noises between themselves and understand them.
They force people to look them in the eyes, black and gold occasionally making an appearance.
They lick at their wounds absent-mindedly and on purpose.
They make no apologies for who they are or how uncomfortable they make anyone.
More than anything though, they let Ichigo do those things. There a fondness to all of them when Ichigo does something strange front of them. Something that's normal to them.
💀
Ichigo doesn't seem to realize that everyone is actually charmed by his little quirks.
He's saved most of them enough times that there isn't much he could do that would make them anything less then incredibly fond.
It's fun and interesting to see all the things Ichigo does when he's happy and comfortable.
He does a little head tilt, exposed throat move to certain people. The humans don't even think he notices it, it took them awhile to notice it.
He does it to most of the captains, excluding a few like Mayuri and Soi Fon. Particularly to Unohana, Kenpachi, Byakuya and Toshiro for the captains. He does it to Kisuke and the visored.
They notice it and they just roll with it. Kisuke and Shinji (and most of the visored to be completely honest) touch his neck and shoulders a lot.
Unohana makes the smallest nod to him and never acknowledges it again.
It took Ichigo a long time to be comfortable enough with them to touch as much as he wants to. After they saved Rukia and returned home, he was constantly touching them. Grabbing at hands, throwing arms around them, sitting close enough to touch, etc. He even includes Tatsuki, Keigo and Mizuiro in the new, open affection.
He's comfortable enough to be that way with a lot of people now.
Shinigami, and the visored, are actually a pretty tactile and intimate bunch. Living as long as they do and having such dangerous and traumatic lives, makes touch and comfort very important.
So it's not uncommon for Ichigo to disappear, finding someone to nap with or someone finding him. People are already drawn to Ichigo, getting to know him and all his quirks just makes them love him more.
---------💀--------------💀‐----------------
*holds up photo of Ichigo*
Karin, Yuzu, Chad, Orihime, Uryu, Tasuki, Keigo, Mazuri: he is baby
*hold up photo of Ichigo after fighting Aizen*
His sisters, the humans, Kisuke, Yoruichi, Kukaku, Ganju, most of soul society, all the visored, Nel: baby
*holds up photo of Ichigo fighting yhwach*
His sisters, the humans, Kisuke, Yoruichi, Kukaku, Ganju, all of soul society, all the visored, Nel, Grimmjow, Dondochakka, Pesche, Bawabawa : ba~by
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therobotmonster · 8 months
Note
So many kid's toys these days just. Arn't fun. They're designed to be COLLECTED rather than PLAYED with. Everything is a fucking blindbag. Materials are flimsy and cheap and designs don't hold up to an actual child throwing them around. And it's all so EXPENSIVE, even accounting for inflation.
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To expand on my thoughts here, I'm unrolling a Twitter thread I made about this trend. (with some additions)
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The Big H's handling of mainline figs is... distressing, of late. Very little push for show mains, oversupport of already saturated legacy characters, and some frankly unsettling engineering and materials choices (esp in Cyberverse).
Increase in overall fragility, thinner parts, styrene-on-styrene joints that will go floppy in a few months of light play, very little "clicks" or locks solidly... the passion is clearly in the collector's end, and that's just bass ackwards.
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This repugnus would have been amazing triumph from Mego in 1970s. But for a mainline big H TF line in the 2020s? This is a backslide. And before anyone brings up that it's from the kids' line, that's the point. They're KIDS, they should get MORE care and effort in their merch.
Every toy you make might be a kid's only birthday gift or holiday present. Toys are /given/ to children, and if the work is subpar, you make a chump out of grandma. You won't be there to blame if it breaks or disappoints.
It seriously drives me nuts seeing how far the stuff-for-kids industries have fallen. There's no brands without the work, but as the poet DMX said: "these cats done forgot what work is."
All your blockbuster superhero empires start in the pulp gutters. Compared to the movies toys, games and comics will never be profitable ENOUGH to be worth it on a billion-dollar scale ledger.
"Give me mighty oaks! There's no profit in acorns!"
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If you want the stuff that makes the Michael Bay blockbuster, you have to start with the stupid goofy cartoon no one had seen before where anxiety over the oil crisis was acted out by robotic Punch and Judy puppets. How many studios would greenlight TMNT or TF sight unseen today?
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If you make toys and cartoons and video games, your job is to make kids happy. How is that not sacred? If anything is sacred it should be that.
Art is the act of evoking emotion, and fun is an emotion (what else could it be described as?) and it is SO IMPORTANT.
I fear that gets lost in the "what to do over next?" rush. Every artist at those companies has a dozen amazing ideas in their back pocket that won't get a chance to become the next Transformers because a studio is terrified they'll make Jayce and the Wheeled Warriors instead.
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Since the world is run by Captain Planet villains, I wouldn't bat an eye if we found out venture capital was a ploy by some disgruntled warlock who just hates the goddamn Care Bears.
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Just some dick at Bear Sterns singing "There's no room for joy on a spreadsheet" to a weaselly sidekick.
Cuz guys, we've got companies that make GAMES for CHILDREN hiring the Pinkertons. I repeat. Games. For. Children. That's not normal. That's not a normal thing. That is a very disturbing thing.
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And its hard to even discuss without sounding like a frickin' Care Bear myself. Because how do you sum up the creeping dread that the support beams are being mined thin, and everything fun for kids will go the way of Toys-R-Us, dragged down like Artax.
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I'm not advocating pure altruism here. There's plenty of money to be made giving kids an awesome experience. It's investing in future fandom. Real Brand loyalty. If you want the blockbuster 15 years from now, get them hooked on the fun cartoon now. The value-add always pays off.
For every Transformers or He-Man there's going to be several Robotix-es or Power Lords. That's a risk. A risk worth taking. New ideas should be easier and cheaper to bring to fruition now than ever. But the system won't let it happen.
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marlynnofmany · 9 months
Text
Just a Rock
For all the time I’ve spent traveling through space, I haven’t spend much of it actually out in space. It’s unsettling. Inside the ship, I can forget how close the airless void is, how small our precious bubble of air. But outside, everything is black like some vast creature ate all the color in the universe first, then the air, and is now hungering for life forms too.
Sometimes those distant stars look like teeth.
These are the thoughts that tend to pop up when I’m in my exo suit, hoping that my thruster pack doesn’t run out of fuel before I make it back to the ship. But then an empty pack of chips will float by my visor, and I can refocus on business.
That’s how it happened today, at any rate. (And yes, “day” is a silly concept in the blackness of space.) We’d made a detour to see if we could pick up some extra funds by gathering salvage from a museum ship that had gone kablooey, but so far all we were finding was trash.
Paint jetted past in her own exo suit, upside-down to my frame of reference, then stopped to pull apart a jumble of carpet fragments. “They really did clear out the good stuff already,” she said over the radio. She swatted aside a drink cup with her tail, looking like a little space-suited dinosaur, a thought that kept me entertained for a good few seconds.
Captain Sunlight’s voice said, “Keep an eye out for scrap metal. That may already be gone too, but it’s worth a shot.” She was somewhere else in the drifting junk pile, or maybe back near the ship; I couldn’t tell. There was too much stuff in the way. This was a mildly alarming thought — out of sight meant out of safety — but I caught a glimpse of the Frillian twins posted as safety guards at the edge of the cloud, and my heartbeat settled a bit.
“Do you think anyone will buy some mildly used carpet?” Paint asked the captain. “It’s only in several pieces.”
“Let’s go with ‘no.’”
“What about some very exotic — what is this — napkins? Made with authentic Earth wood fibers!”
I looked over at that. “How can you tell?”
“Oh, I have no idea,” Paint said. She held up half of a wall placard. “But this is from the Earth exhibit, so maybe the napkins are too.”
I looked around at the trash in a new light. “Man, it’s a pity we weren’t here for any of the good stuff.”
“Yeah, and all these food packages are empty! We can’t even get you a slightly exploded taste of home!”
I waved my hand through a cluster of soda bottles. “I appreciate the thought.”
Paint jetted over to a different pile of whatever. “Hey, do you think any of this food trash was actually an exhibit? Packaging from olden days?”
“Uh, maybe,” I said. “Probably not. That’s not the sort of thing I’d expect on a multi-species museum ship. A janky little humans-only one, maybe. But even then, most people aren’t going to care.”
Something clunked against the back of my helmet. I hate that. Nothing like a reminder that I can’t see behind me like some species can. I toggled the jets to rotate in place, so I could find the offending object.
It was a rock.
“What’s this doing here?” I asked, closing a gloved hand around it and bringing it in for a closer look.
“What’d you find?” Paint asked, sticking out sideways from behind a twisted bench.
“A rock.”
“A meteorite rock?” she asked. “Oh hey, do you think it pierced the hull?”
“No, it doesn’t look like a space rock,” I said, turning the small gray-and-white lump over. It was mostly smooth, with a divot that would have fit a fingertip if I hadn’t been wearing the gloves. “Weird. I wonder if it was part of some Neolithic exhibit or something.”
“Can I see?” Paint jetted over to park herself in roughly the same orientation as me. She was very good with that jetpack.
I showed her the rock. “It doesn’t look like any gemstone I know. Maybe some kid had it in their pocket, then threw it away.”
Paint cocked her head. “Is that normal, for your young to carry rocks around?”
“Sure. You never picked up something you thought was neat as a kid?”
“Not a rock,” Paint said with exaggerated disdain. “A sweet-smelling seednut or herb, absolutely.”
“But look: it’s even got a little finger groove,” I pointed out. “You could stick it in a pocket and rub it for luck.”
“Could you?”
I smiled. “You could. You probably wouldn’t, but…”
“Why?”
I looked at the rock again, already fond of it. “I get the feeling that I couldn’t explain this to a point where you’d agree.”
Paint shrugged. “Probably not. But hey, we found you a souvenir after all. From probably the Earth section of whatever museum this is.” She grabbed a handful of colorful pamphlets drifting by. “The ‘Galaxy in a Bottle Museum Tour Ship.’ Who named that?”
My smile turned into a wide grin. “Humans.”
Paint grumbled about the unflattering comparison of an elite starship to a simple bottle. When she moved to toss the pamphlets away, I held out a hand.
“What’s that white one?” I asked. “It looks like a display sign.”
Paint flipped over the stack and separated the one I meant. “You’re right. Hey, it’s about a rock!”
I reached out a grabby hand. “Gimme.”
She passed it over. “Is it that rock?”
I read the title, then was gut-punched by familiarity. I’d heard about this. “Yes,” I managed, skimming the rest of the sign and holding the rock close. “This is Bethan’s Rock.”
“What?”
I fumbled to explain. “Ages ago, a kid visited a museum — a human kid — and learned what museums were for, then offered her favorite rock as a donation, so other people could appreciate it too.”
Paint cocked her head in the other direction. “And they took it?”
“Yes!” I must have looked a little wild at this point, but I didn’t care. “The adults agreed that it was a fine thing to donate, not to mention adorable, and the only one of its kind that I’ve ever heard of. More museums should house the occasional favorite rock, though I suppose they wouldn’t be as special if they did.”
“So just to clarify,” Paint said. “There isn’t anything valuable about this rock, except that one of your youths decided there was. And all the adults played along.”
I smiled down at it, careful not to let it drift away. “It’s the most precious non-precious stone I’ve ever seen.”
Paint stared for a moment. “It’s not even one of those shiny ones you like.”
I laughed. “I know!”
The captain called us back in at that point, having found one decent chunk of metal among the mountains of trash. We had a schedule to keep.
I folded the sign and tucked it into my suit pocket, but held the rock tight in my fist as I jetted toward the ship, working the controls with one hand. I was already thinking of the safest place in my quarters to keep it until we got ahold of the proper Earth museum authorities. Other humans would want to see Bethan’s Rock, after all, but it would be my honor to watch over it until they could.
~~~
(Inspired by this post. Long live Bethan’s Rock.)
These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character of this book. More to come!
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drefear · 9 months
Text
Hopelessly Devoted To You…
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Yandere Hizashi/Present Mic x Reader
TW: blood, fighting, death, anxiety, smut, p in v, rough sex, pain, slight choking, lying, angst
Guess mine is not the first heart broken
My eyes are not the first to cry
I'm not the first to know
There's just no getting over you
The pain in my legs was proof that the strain on my muscles was ripping them apart. I couldn’t hold myself up for much longer, let alone keep running. How did I not see this coming? Music hummed in the decaying building, his loud humming like the lullaby of my death. The blood in my eyes from the wound on my head made it very hard to see where I was going, but I was able to make out the halls and doors. Grabbing a doorknob, I struggled to force it open as the knob felt like it had been cemented shut. Where were the police? Where was Aizawa? Hawks? Anyone?
My lungs burned like they were filled with acid, every breath causing a severe stabbing pain in my chest. Shoving myself into the door, it finally burst open and I saw my fears coming true.
The red feathers on the ground were a lifeless and dull, no beautiful scarlet shine like I’d seen only a few hours ago. No, they were completely desolate of any shine. This was bad, this was really bad. Tiptoeing into the room, I quietly shut the door behind myself and made my way around the big desk in the center. The sight was unsavory, almost nauseating.
The stuttering breathing of my partner, Hawks, was just loud enough to overshadow the music echoing and my heartbeat. His eyes shot up at me, shakey and panicked as he gasped once again. I moved like lightning, pulling fabric from my hero costume to compress his wounds. He did this? Loud, quick footsteps made my hands freeze for a split second before I recognized the weight of those steps, continuing to push down on his wounds.
“Move, I’ll cauterize his wounds a bit with my fire, just go find him.” Dabi nudged me out of the way slightly as I sucked in air from his presence. “Just remember, once this is over, we’re still enemies.”
“Agreed.” My eyes glared at him as I tugged my visual blockers down over my eyes and dashed out of the room. The faint steps I heard were coming from above.
You know I'm just a fool who's willing
To sit around and wait for you
But, baby, can't you see
There's nothing else for me to do?
I'm hopelessly devoted to you
“Lime green and unseen. She is pristine!” His voice was quieter than usual, casting a spell of fear over my body.
This wasn’t the Hizashi we all knew and loved. This was a monster, a man possessed.
“Come out and play, little listener!” He called, the windows breaking from his quirk. I couldn’t help but cover my ears and duck down, then dashing to the nearest staircase. He wanted to find me, and so I’d play into his hand.
Finally getting to the top of the stairs, I saw him leaning against a doorframe, swirling a finger around something, bulky and strangely shaped. Stepping closer, I saw the light shine on him. His hair down and wild, sunglasses tucked into his hair, sleeves ripped off his arms and voice modulator covering his neck. He was unhinged.
But what caught my eye was the yellow goggles he was toying with. Covered in blood.
My sensei was in trouble.
But now there's nowhere to hide
Since you pushed my love aside
I'm out of my head
“Where is he?!” I screamed at him and his lips just smirked into an unsettling expression.
“Whatdya mean? Ya didn’t see ‘m when ya walked in?” His eyes looked at me through his lashes and a shiver went down my spine. I glanced from side to side but nothing. That’s when I saw it. A single drop of liquid fell from the ceiling. Looking up, I saw Aizawa tied in his own scarf with his eye blindfolded, bleeding from his arm and head.
“Let him down!”
“Now now, little listener. You aren’t in any position to be ordering me around. We both know your strengths and weaknesses, and none of this would have happened if it weren’t for you.” His words rang in my ears as I thought back to the weeks leading up to this.
Hopelessly devoted to you
I’d gotten close with Hizashi, my old teacher and friend. I’d confided in him, trusted him, and he would comfort me when I needed it. Days turned to weeks and soon, we had become more than just friends. I knew about his feelings, I knew I had some too, but I wanted to be a hero and focus on my dreams. Comforting turned to something else one night and we went to a place we couldn’t go back from. It was wonderful, he was wonderful. Everything I’d ever wanted.
Hopelessly devoted to you
At least the good side of him was, but jealous was something I’d never seen from him and when I worked with Hawks, he seemed to get unexplainably irritable and angry. He would ignore me for hours after I’d get off of work, not answer my texts, and then show up at random hours of the day to visit me at work. Patrol was even worse, he was always “running into” us. I knew Hawks was in a serious relationship, but he couldn’t talk about it because of our job. We were hero’s, and his partner was not, so anyone knowing about his relationship could put their life in jeopardy.
Hizashi didn’t believe me, didn’t care what I said. So naturally, I broke things off. It hurt, it hurt so badly, as I was in love with him, but if he couldn’t trust me and communicate with me, what was I to do?
And now here I was, standing across from my ex lover, the man I thought I’d marry for a time of my life, about to fight him to the death.
Hopelessly devoted to you
“Hizashi, this isn’t you. This isn’t who I’m in love with, just give in and we can go home!” My eyes filled with tears and my hand reached out, hoping he’d take the short amount of steps in between us and hold it.
His eyes flashed to uncertainty for a second before hardening again and locking me out.
“You’re lying to me. You were always lying to me!” He screams and the power of his voice has me clamping my hands over my ears, blood dripping out a bit. I take a step forward, hand still reached out.
“I never lied. You’ve always been the only one for me. How could I love anyone else when I had you?” My voice is weak, stuttering as I feel my bottom lip quiver. The sadness I feel is uncontrollable and I’m doing everything I can to not fall into a crumbled mess on the ground. “Come back to me, Zashi… please.” I beg, and he steps to me.
“I’ll fix this if you promise to be mine. Right here, right now.”
“I’m already yours until the end of time.” I answer but he sneers, aggravated.
“That’s not what I mean.” He pulls off a glove and what he wants finally clicks.
“We- Shota is on the ceiling-“
“He can’t see anything, and he probably can’t hear.” The comfortable way he says this makes my skin crawl, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been craving him this whole time. “You want me to surrender? Prove I’m your man.”
My head is saying, "Fool, forget him."
My heart is saying, "Don't let go.
I gulp, the dryness in my throat making me sputter a cough and he reaches out to me from concern, his true self breaking through. “Okay…” I agree, “yes.” And his hands are on me, pulling at the costume, or what’s left of it. The torn pieces of my outfit were ripping wider, the seam of my green pants tearing all the way up to my stomach. His calloused hands trace my thighs and without hesitation, two of his fingers rub against my clit. It’s rough and hurried, but god it feels amazing. His mouth finds the spot behind my ear instantly and I reach out. The groan he lets out against my skin as I palm him through his jeans is intoxicating.
“Zashi… please!” I whimper, and he nods, biting me and inserting a finger in me at the same time. My world spins for a moment as the two sensations collide and I grind against his hand, his thumb taking the place of those two fingers on my sensitive button.
I make quick work of his buckle and try to tug down his pants, getting them to his thighs as his hard erection slaps up against his abdomen. Even in the darkness, I can see his jacobs latter and my insides are preening at the memory, of how I remember it feels.
His lips attack when he catches me staring and I use my own slick to coat my hand and pump him slowly, but he rips my hand away and picks me up by the waist. It all happens so fast, I can’t even see anything until my back hits a cold wall and his head is at my entrance, spreading me open and about to enter me raw. We’ve never done that, and I’m so anxious about it, but I need it just as bad as he does.
“Ready, baby?” He asks and I nod, gazing into those green eyes I know I never want to be without. He pushes in and we both let out a pleading sound, the piercings shuffling around my insides and making me arch my back in pleasure. After the first push, it’s a relentless fucking and I can just hold on as he takes me against the wall. As he’s facing the wall, I peer one eye open just in time to see a specific shadow drop from the ceiling silently and take off his blindfold. My cheeks heat up and I shake my head, hoping he gets the message and he does. He runs out, but Hizashi can’t hear him over his own grunts and my whines.
His hand grabs my throat and I orgasm immediately, feeling him near his end from the clench of my walls around him. A few more destructive thrusts and I feel him fill me, but warmth flowing into me as I twitch from the pure endorphins this is causing.
Our bodies slump together as he pulls himself out and watches our mixed juices drip down my thighs. I moan a bit from the feeling and pant from exhaustion, right before looking up at him and beginning to cry.
Hold on till the end.
And that's what I intend to do
I'm hopelessly devoted to you
“Baby, why are you-” He cups my cheek as I cut him off.
“Forgive me… Hizashi, forgive me and know that I will never love anyone more than I love you…” I keep my head nuzzled into his open hand as I bawl my eyes out, then feeling his hand ripped away from me and seeing him get handcuffed and pinned to the ground through my tears.
“You lied to me!” He yells at me, but Eraserhead had understood my silent plea from before and was able to get the police and backup, also erasing Hizashi’s quirk so he couldn’t yell anymore.
“I’m sorry!” I cry out as Aizawa grabs a blanket and covers my half naked body, costume ripped and torn from both the battle and my ability to give him a false sense of safety. “You would have killed…”
But now there's nowhere to hide
Since you pushed my love aside
I'm out of my head
“It was all because I love you!” He yells again and I turn my face away, still shaking from sobs. Aizawa pulls me into his chest for a hug and shields me from Hizashi’s constant screams and verbal attacks. My heart shatters in my ears and I’m left with the feeling of pure emptiness, much like the whole week of us being apart has felt like. Now, Hizashi will be sent to prison and I will be alone again. “All for you!”
But he won’t be able to harm anyone else.
Hopelessly devoted to you
About a week later, I’m still recovering and visiting Hawks in the hospital, as well as Bubble girl and Fatgum. We all went into that battle and only a few came out able to function, the rest were under 24/7 hospital care. Like Hawks.
“Kid, relax.” He said to me, “none of this was your fault. You didn’t know he was a yandere.”
“He… he isn’t.” I blurt out and I hear a cough from behind me, turning to see Aizawa.
“Actually, a few psychiatrists sent in the reports yesterday. He has been classified as a yandere, and they are keeping him under surveillance because of his uncontrollable emotions.” The black haired man spoke and my chest was once again empty.
“But you’re safe now, he’s locked up, and you have nothing to fear.”
Hopelessly devoted to you
That was almost ten years ago. I have a family, children, a loving husband, and I haven’t looked back. But sometimes, I feel like someone’s watching me, or calling my name. A few times, I feel someone grab my wrist or whisper in my ear in public, but when I turn, no one is there.
I knew I was just imagining things, as I turned out the lights in my kitchen and slid into bed. My husband barely moved as the bed shiftly, getting into my side and feeling him.
“Baby you’re so cold…” I mumbled and kiss the back of his neck.
He doesn’t answer.
But the voice coming from my doorway does.
Hopelessly devoted to you
“Hello again, Little Listener.”
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emberwritesinsight · 1 year
Text
The way the over-the-top imagination sequences in Nanami’s Egg reveal how terrified Nanami is of being seen as subhuman retroactively makes the sequence in The Cowbell Of Happiness where Touga treats her like an animal to be slaughtered (as a metaphor for the way he’s grooming her into his own Anthy) even more horrifying.
Or, possibly, Nanami’s oddly specific “being treated like an animal” fears in Nanami’s Egg are because that dream planted in her mind the idea that somebody she loves very much sees her as more of a pet than a person.
Nanami’s fear of being abnormal probably comes from several places, not the least of which being that she’s obviously been demeaned for her oddities before (consider the adults’ disapproval when she shows up to Touga’s party with a stray kitten). But one of the most unsettling reasons is that she’s convinced that her abnormality will give people free reign to consider her subhuman. 
Nanami wants to be loved, that much is obvious. But she also wants to be respected. Being loved like a pet or a toy isn’t enough for her. Above all else, she fears hatred, ostracization, and dehumanization. And that’s why she wants so badly to distance herself from Anthy.
Anthy is a Nanami given much more time to stew in her suffering. She’s escalated beyond just being dehumanized by others, and has started doing it to herself. She’s not an animal, though. That would imply some kind of life or desire or survival instinct, despite lack of sentience. Instead, she is a self-described “doll with no heart”.
It’s all a lie, of course, no matter how much she or anyone else believes it. Anthy is a person. She has desires and fears like anyone else. She can feel pain, even if she’s been steeped in it for so long that it’s become normal for her. She can feel joy, even if she rarely has reasons to. Anthy’s performance in the role of the Rose Bride requires her to cultivate a doll-like image, but she can’t cut herself off from her personhood completely. But still, she’s been so thoroughly stripped of her right to Be A Person that she’s stopped thinking of herself as one.
This was what Touga, and Akio, and the system of Ohtori itself had planned for Nanami. A cow to the slaughter, a doll in the making. And she obviously has a vague understanding that she’s in danger, even if it’s subconcious. But when she finds Anthy sprawled on that couch in the planetarium in the middle of the night, she finally, conciously, gets it. She finally knows why she was so afraid of being dehumanized. She finally sees the sword that she was sensing as it hung above her head. She sees where the road she’s on leads, and that’s all it takes for her to immediately do her level best to sprint in the other direction.
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