#and it is STACKING UP i will get through every single one though. eventually

[ranhaitanisgf]

Can I request headcanons of Ran with “cafe love” and “star gazing” Ran met her at a cafe and one day he asked her out. They spend all day together having a great time. And then at night he takes her to a roof and they watch the stars together. And then they kiss under the stars. Super fluffy!!! Thank you!!!!!!🤗

— ran haitani // cafe love // stargazing

[𖤐] me after going almost 500 words over the limit bc i have no self control lol. thank you for requesting this so long ago anon; i finally got to it !! i hope you enjoy my loveliessss xoxo

wc ; 1.5k+

masterlist || 2k masterlist

♡ you’d first noticed him when he became a regular at the cafe you worked at; tall and lean, with his long hair parted into two slightly messy braids, his violet eyes seeming to pierce right through you as he walked up to the counter. even though it was his first time coming into the cafe, you jumped at the chance to take his order, immediately rushing over to his selected table before any of your coworkers could. 

♡ it was in this way that the two of you eventually became closer. ran, (his name, which you learned fairly early on) would come in every single day, and he would always order a caramel fudge mocha with extra caramel sauce. you hadn’t expected anyone to be having such a sugary drink every day, but when you asked him about it, he just mildly shrugged, saying something about how he wants to actually be able to enjoy the coffee, (which you suppose is fair enough). he would sit at the same table in the corner, would stay for the same amount of time, then would repeat it all again the next day. 

♡ sometimes, there were moments when you felt his gaze on you while you were working, and when you would look over, he would give you a teasing smile, gesturing for you to get back to working. 

♡ despite your interest in him, you were never really planning on doing anything about it; you were already so swamped with school work and exams, and adding your long work shifts on top of that, there was no way you could handle any more stress on top of that. and so, you decided on just admiring from afar. 

♡ spoiler: your little plan wasn’t successful for very long. 

♡ it had been a stormy and rainy day when ran came in as always. today though, his hair dripping with water and his clothes were soaking wet, clinging to his body, (no?! you were most certainly not staring…)

♡ he had actually been the first person to come in all day due to the rain outside, and you were the only one working since all your other coworkers hadn’t been able to work today, (it really wasn’t as if you needed help with customers anyways). as soon as you had seen the state ran was in, you’d rushed to the back, grabbing a couple dry rags to help dry him off. 

♡ you’d set the stack on the counter as you came out from behind it, frowning a bit at the puddle that had formed at his feet. he didn’t seem to be too affected by the rain at the moment, instead just watching you intently as you grabbed one of the rags, patting it against his hair and braids. 

“what are you doing out there in this rain? you could get sick if you stay in those wet clothes for too long.”  “well i had to come and keep you company, yeah?”  “no, not at the price of your health.” “mm, i think i’ll take that chance.” 

♡ you sighed at ran’s words, gently taking his hair bands out of his braids so that his hair could dry a little bit more. there was silence between the two of you for a while, with him just watching as you dried off the parts of his hair and clothes that were dripping. 

“d’you wanna go out with me?” 

♡ your eyes immediately flicked up to ran’s face, seeing a lazy smirk across his lips as he plucked the now damp rag from your hand, placing it on the counter next to you. his sudden question made your heart skip a couple beats, wondering if he was being serious or just teasing you. 

“...depends on where you take me tonight.”  “i’ll be sure to pick something good then. i’ll pick you up after your shift~”

♡ the flirty lilt in his voice was almost enough to make you follow after him as he left the store, leaving you with a wink as the door closed. you kept your composure though, busying yourself with cleaning things up as your excitement started to build. sure, you had said that you weren’t going to pursue anything with him, but that didn’t include him asking you out, so it was fine! right?

♡ you had only realized that you hadn’t told him when your shift ended when he came back, his entrance (somehow) perfectly timed with you finishing your closing duties. when you asked him about it when you were locking the front door, he’d given an extremely vague answer of, “well why wouldn’t i know?”. 

♡ you had felt a little bit hesitant to get on his motorcycle; despite the fact that he was your regular and you two would talk a lot, you couldn’t exactly say that you weren’t nervous to go to whatever mystery place he was taking you to. when he’d seen your hesitance, ran had merely chuckled, holding his pinky to promise that he wasn’t going to do anything creepy, (even though it was small, it did make you feel a little bit better). besides, with his braids gone and his hair down, he was even harder to resist. 

♡ ran had teased you at red lights, looking back at how your eyes were screwed shut and how your arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, acting offended that you didn’t seem to trust his driving skills. you were thankful when he finally slowed down and stopped, holding out a hand for you to grab onto as the two of you got off his bike. you weren’t exactly sure where you were, but you didn’t get much of a chance to look around before ran went behind you, gently covering your eyes with his hands. 

“just trust me; you can do that, right, pretty?”   “oh, uhm, yeah.” 

♡ it had taken a whole lot of directions and hesitant steps up a whole lot of stairs, but after the long journey, you were feeling a bit excited as to what ran was going to show you when he finally announced that the two of you had arrived. when his hands finally left your eyes, you were met with a beautiful sight of thousands of stars in the night sky. 

“wow…it’s beautiful.”  “hmm, i told you i would pick something good. did you doubt me?”  “wha- no! i just…well, i wasn’t sure what to expect. this is really just…wow.” 

♡ ran’s confident smirk as he looked at you was making your stomach feel fluttery, but you tried not to let it show on your face as you walked up to the edge of the roof, leaning against the barrier and looking at all the stars. after a moment, he joined you at your side, and although you were still looking at the sky, you could feel his gaze on you. 

♡ when you took a moment to glance over at him, you weren’t able to pull your eyes away. his violet eyes had a soft look for once, and there was a genuine smile across his lips for once. as if that wasn’t enough, the slight breeze in the air blew through his hair softly, making him look almost…ethereal. 

“you see something y’like?” 

♡ the teasing look was back in his eyes as he moved a little bit closer to you, his hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder, keeping a bit of a firm grip to keep you from backing away. although there was a chill in the night’s air, your face felt hot as ran’s face moved a bit closer, just enough that you could feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. you still hadn’t responded to his question, hoping that it was rhetorical. 

♡ there was plenty of time for you to pull away from him, but you felt as though there was some kind of magnetic force between the two of you, wanting to pull you even closer to him. as much as you felt embarrassed and wanted to look away from his gaze, you couldn’t; you’d already been ensnared in his trap. 

♡ and so, you stayed, even as he slowly inched closer and closer, his other hand moving to whisper over the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. even as his face tilted, giving you one more chance to pull away, you stayed. you stayed as his soft and warm lips pressed against yours, the gentleness seeming wholly unlike him, but somehow exactly like him at the same time. your heart was leaping with joy as ran’s lips slowly moved against yours, the hand that was on your shoulder moving to the back of your head to pull you closer. 

♡ after a minute, you had to tap out, gasping for the cool night air as he pulled away from you, that teasing look in his eyes the same as ever. there was no need to exchange any words; ran just smirked, his long arm wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him, the warmth from his body seeping into yours. 

♡ you could definitely get used to this.

alright gather round kids this is a psa ; don't get on the back of a stranger's bike unless its ran haitani 👍🏽

#˗ˏˋ𖤐 tokyo revengers ˎˊ˗ #˗ˏˋ𖤐 hana’s 2k event! ˎˊ˗ #東京リベンジャーズ #東京リベンジャーズ x reader #tokyo卍revengers #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tok rev #tok rev x reader #ran #haitani #ran haitani #haitani ran #ran haitani x reader #haitani ran x reader #ran x reader #x reader #reader #reader insert #anime #manga #anime x reader #manga x reader

[withacapitalp]

How to Rehabilitate a Jock pt 14

Part One Part Thirteen Link to Ao3 Part Fifteen

Thank you to @stevethehairington for betaing and @thefreakandthehair for always being the world's best cheerleader/support!!! Also everyone @angstflayer-council for motivating me to finish this chapter. I hope you guys like it!! ALSO I FORGOT TAG LISTS FOR PART THIRTEEN SORRY YALL I FIXED IT THIS TIME

Step Fourteen: Ask for a Second Opinion

Eddie and Wayne had a routine for gig nights. 

First Wayne would get home from his shift and go about his normal business. Shucking off work clothes, grabbing a quick cold shower, fixing himself a sandwich with whatever leftovers they had in the fridge- the same thing he did every night when he came back from the plant. Then, when all that was taken care of, he would turn on the radio to listen to the news, grab a beer from the fridge, and pull out the most important thing in their trailer. 

The waffle iron. 

It was an ancient thing, a giant heavy slab of metal that had been passed down from Great Granny Munson herself. Eddie was ninety nine percent sure it would outlive him too, but that was just a fact of Munson life. The cord for the waffle iron was frayed in about half a dozen places, and it smoked if it was powered on for longer than an hour at a time, but there was no denying that the beat up old thing made the best damn waffles Eddie had ever had. 

If Eddie had it his way, they would eat waffles every single day. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They were his all time favorite food and when he had first moved in with Wayne they were all he would eat. Eventually the two of them had come to a compromise- Eddie could have waffles on Sundays, birthdays, holidays, and any day he brought home a test with a grade that had a B or higher. 

And gig nights. 

Of course, that addition had come later. Wayne hadn’t allowed him to play at the Hideout until he was legally an adult. It came from a good place (It was just one of the many many ways Wayne had tried to keep Eddie from becoming his father.) but it was still annoying being forced to wait that long. 

The waffles kind of made it worth the wait though. 

The next part of the routine was Eddie. Eddie would come home egregiously late, and they would eat together. As they ate through ridiculously high stacks of delicious syrupy goodness, Eddie would tell Wayne everything that had happened.

Nothing was off the table. Eddie would tell Wayne about whatever drugs he took, if he drank, if he dealt, whatever his uncle asked about. By now he had learned that Wayne was just looking out for him. And as long as he was honest, Wayne would let him keep doing what he was doing. He just wanted to be in the loop, and that was a small thing to ask. 

This was the first gig night that Eddie was home before Wayne. 

“I didn’t know how to make the batter,” Eddie said as soon as Wayne opened the door, causing the man to jump out of his skin from being started. Eddie gave his uncle a nervous little grin from where he was sitting on the couch, tapping his fingers against his thighs in incomprehensible patterns. 

“And I was also worried about turning on the waffle iron. Figured you wouldn’t wanna come home to a burnt down trailer and a pile of bones instead of your beloved beloved nephew,” Eddie joked, trying to cut through the tension that had been surrounding him since he came home two hours ago. 

The anxiety fueled energy running through his veins was making it impossible to sit still, impossible to make eye contact as Wayne stared at him with a raised brow. 

“What’d you do?” Wayne asked as he hung up his hat with a put upon sigh. 

“Nothing! Geez Wayne, have a little faith,” Eddie complained, tossing his head back and giving an exaggerated groan. This was easy. Playing a game and making a show of things was something Eddie could do in his sleep, and it was so much more simple than the alternative. He even looked Wayne directly in the eye, just to really sell it. 

“You just think I’m a good for nothin’ troublemaker, don’t you? Spill it, old man, I already know the answer! I am distraught that even my own flesh and blood thinks I’m only capable of tomfoolery.”

Wayne grunted, crossing his arms and giving Eddie one long slow look, peeling back all the layers, lowering all the walls. 

“What’d you do?” Wayne repeated, his tone short and to the point. 

Eddie wilted like a flower. His shoulders hunched inward, and his gaze shot straight to the floor. He dragged one of his socked toes across the carpet in the living room, avoiding his uncle’s piercing gaze. 

“Nothin’” Eddie mumbled, “we just got cut short, that’s all.”

That wasn’t even scratching the surface, but they both knew that. There was no way Wayne was going to leave it at that. 

Sure enough, his uncle just hummed, walking into their small kitchenette and pulling open the fridge.

“Y’all ended early ‘cause of the power outage?” Wayne asked, rhetorically, already knowing the answer. 

Eddie stood up from the couch, coming over to the bar and sitting on one of the stools, nodding glumly as he let his head fall in his palm, still avoiding eye contact. 

“Then what’s wrong?” Wayne asked, passing Eddie a beer as he took a sip from his own and grabbed the eggs. 

“I’m annoyed that our show ended early?” Eddie said, hating that it came out as a question. 

It wasn’t a question, he was annoyed about that. The power outage just wasn’t the thing that was bothering him. 

“And?” Wayne pressed, carefully unwrapping the cord of the waffle iron and gingerly plugging it into the socket. The red light on the front lit up, promising delicious fresh waffles in just minutes.

“And I messed up this super easy riff which pissed me off,” Eddie added, his stomach clenching up as he continued to avoid the actual problem. 

The issue was, he was probably one of the worst liars in the world, and Wayne could smell bullshit a mile off. 

“Eddie, you know our rule,” Wayne said, sounding like the epitome of patience as he whisked batter, his back still turned to his nephew. 

“…Always be honest,” Eddie mumbled, his cheeks flushing as he was forced to recite the single rule Wayne actually had for him. 

Eddie could run as wild as he had to, do whatever it took to get through being a boy like him living in a town like Hawkins, but there couldn’t be secrets between them. Wayne couldn’t protect him if he didn’t know what Eddie was dealing with, and Eddie couldn’t trust that Wayne would always support him if he didn’t give him the chance. 

Normally repeating those words was a comfort, a cathartic tradition that settled Eddie’s soul. No matter what he told Wayne, he would still love him, still support him. Nothing Eddie could do would make his uncle abandon him. 

Today it just felt…invasive. 

“If you can’t talk ‘bout it yet, you can say that,” Wayne reminded him, looking over his shoulder for a second so Eddie could meet his eyes for the first time that night, “just don’t pretend like nothin’s there.” 

It wasn’t that Eddie didn’t want to talk about it. He was actually pretty desperate to, but he didn’t know where to start. He hadn’t intentionally forgotten to tell Wayne about Steve, but he hadn’t come up at all in the last six weeks, and with everything that happened earlier, there was no easy avenue to explain. 

“And I’m worried about my friend,” Eddie admitted quietly, starting with the only thing he was absolutely sure of. 

He was worried about Steve. Really, really, worried.  

“Which friend?” Wayne grunted, pouring out the batter for the first waffle with a satisfying hiss of the iron, “Gareth? Or Jeff?” 

“Steve,” Eddie replied, taking a sip of his drink before he clarified, “Steve Harrington.” 

“Richard’s boy?” Wayne wondered, doing nothing to hide his shock at a Harrington mixing with a Munson. 

“Yeah, but he’s nothing like how you’d expect!” Eddie said quickly, rambling away his anxiety as he drummed his fingers on the countertop. “I mean I thought he was for a while, but he’s actually really cool and sweet and thoughtful and funny and stuff. Like he brought us cookies today before the gig, and he babysits all these weird little nerdy kids too! There’s this whole-“

“Eddie, breathe,” Wayne chuckled, giving his nephew a fond eye roll as he put down a plate in front of him. An absolutely ginormous waffle stared back up at Eddie, already glistening with butter and maple syrup. 

It was perfect. Glorious. Eddie’s stomach was growling. 

“Why are you worried about ‘im? Did somethin’ happen tonight?” Wayne asked, turning back to the iron and starting on his own waffle. 

Eddie launched into his story as he dug into his treat. He started straight from the beginning, right from the first time Steve had accidentally sat at their lunch table all the way to tonight and the panic attack in the middle of the parking lot. He even admitted to the tiny crush that he had once had that was burning a hole in the back of his mind every time Steve smiled at him. 

But there was one big glaring hole in the middle. 

Eddie didn’t say a word about the bet. 

He tried to. He really honestly did. But every time Eddie got close to it, he started to think about the disappointed look Wayne was going to give him, and the deep sigh that was coming with it. Wayne never yelled, never insulted him, but there were times Eddie would have honestly preferred if he did. 

Anger would be so much better than the deep shame that always came with knowing that he had done something Wayne would disapprove of. And this was definitely something Wayne would disapprove of.  

“Then he just left with them, Wayne!” Eddie exploded, finally at the end of the surprisingly long story. Both waffles had already been consumed, the dishes were in the sink to soak, and the two of them were sitting on their beat up old couch, with Eddie’s head resting against Wayne’s shoulder. “Steve got in the car and drove off. With his ex-girlfriend. And the guy she cheated on him with!” 

“Sounds like you’re more upset about that part then he is,” Wayne said, the smile in his tone evident. “Is that what’s actually botherin’ you about all of this?”

“Wayne,” Eddie snapped, cutting off his uncle’s teasing before he could even start. He pulled away, sitting up and waiting until his uncle met his eye before continuing, “this is serious. There’s something wrong. Really wrong. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to help him if he can’t even tell me about it.”  

Because that’s what Steve had said. Not that he didn’t want to tell Eddie. That he couldn’t tell Eddie.

That Eddie wouldn’t have even believed him if he could.  

Which was insane, because Eddie was pretty sure Steve could say that he had seen the second coming of Christ, and Eddie would believe him. Steve could tell him that aliens existed, and Eddie would believe him. Steve could even spout off about characters from Dungeons and Dragons coming to life and dragging him on a quest and- 

Well, Eddie wasn’t sure he would totally believe that, but he would definitely listen at the very least! 

Steve wasn’t even giving him a chance to prove him wrong. He was just locking this all inside, holding it and bottling it and expecting it to go away when it wouldn’t. Eddie had been there, and he knew that trying to force something down only made it come up even worse later on. 

“Eddie,” Wayne said with a sigh, instantly putting his nephew on edge. It was a sigh Eddie knew well- the one Wayne gave when he wanted to tell him something that he knew that Eddie wasn’t going to want to hear. 

“You can’t help him if he ain’t ready to be helped.” 

Wayne’s hesitation there was right. Eddie definitely didn’t want to hear that. 

“That is such bullshit-“ 

“Kiddo,” Wayne said, cutting Eddie’s rant off before it could even really start with just one word. 

Eddie’s jaw shut with a snap, and he dragged a sharp breath in, looking at Wayne with wide eyes, trying to silently convey exactly why he was wrong. 

His uncle’s tough exterior melted away, and a gentle sympathy took over. If it was anyone else, Eddie would have bristled, gotten angry, pushed them away. On anyone else, that look would be 

pity. 

With Wayne, it was just kindness.

“Is it just the fact that you have feelings for this boy that’s makin’ you so damn persistent?” Wayne asked in a soft tone. 

Eddie instantly reared back, a surprised laugh bursting out of him. 

“No, Wayne I used to have a crush on him,” Eddie stressed, trying to make Wayne understand. “Back when we were younger. Years ago! It’s gone now.” 

“Eds,” Wayne said in a no-nonsense tone, “be serious.” 

“I am,” Eddie retorted, a heavy blush staining his cheeks as his heart hammered in his chest. “I don’t have a crush on him anymore. I don’t. I can care about my friends without it being a gay thing, so just drop it!” 

“Eddie, I’ll drop it if you can look me in the eye right now and tell me you don’t have any feelings for that boy,” Wayne challenged, keeping his cool as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the cushions, waiting. 

“Well that’s stupid, Wayne. Of course I have feelings for him,” Eddie sneered. He got up and began to pace, unable to hold it all in anymore as he continued to rant. 

“I care about him like I care about all my friends. It’s not like he’s nothing to me, but he’s just a friend, that’s all. I just think that it’s really cool that he was brave enough to join our group, and it’s sweet that he’s trying so hard. He isn’t half-assing it, and he doesn’t half-ass anything! Steve puts his whole self into everything he does and everyone he cares about, and caring that much is such an easy way to get hurt, but it’s like he’s not even worried! I mean, you should see the way he is with the kids! We’re just friends, that’s all, and that’s fine. I don’t need it to be anything more. I don’t want it to be anything more. Look we have a few stupid inside jokes, and some moments, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like I love him, I just-“

Eddie cut himself off, taking a sharp shaking breath in as the reality of it all came crashing down on his head. He took a stumbling step backward, trying to breathe as he staggered back to the couch and fell down into his seat. 

“Fuck,” Eddie whispered, burying his face in his hands, the lump in his throat constricting his breath as his eyes burned. “Fuck.”

A warm hand fell between his shoulder blades, and Eddie blindly tipped on his side, letting Wayne’s arm curl around him as he burrowed into his uncle’s side. 

“It’s alright,” Wayne murmured, rubbing his thumb against the side of Eddie’s head as his nephew tried to catch his breath. “It’s not wrong for you to feel the way you do. It’s not somethin’ you can control. It’s not a bad thing.”  

“I know,” Eddie croaked out, hating the way he kind of didn’t believe the words. 

This wasn’t his first crush, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Eddie had always known who he was, and he had never pretended to be anything else. He wasn’t ashamed, but he couldn’t help the fear that still lived inside. 

That fear… it was terrifying, and painful. He hated being scared of himself, but he still was. Eddie was scared of the way people would look at him, scared of the way the world would treat him if they knew for a fact instead of just assuming. Scared of the way things would change. 

Scared of the way Steve would probably hate him if he ever figured it out. 

Steve. That’s what this was all about. It wasn’t about how Eddie felt. Tonight was about Steve, and how worried Eddie was for him. 

“Okay but even if I am attracted to him, that’s not why I want to help him,” Eddie said, carefully pulling away from Wayne’s grip and rubbing at his dry cheeks. No tears had ever come, but Eddie did it anyway, just to be sure. 

“Then why?” Wayne asked, genuinely curious. 

Why? 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” 

Eddie looked up at the other boy, furrowing his brow. 

“Why not?” Eddie said with a shrug, going back to his notebook. He was scratching out another tik-tac-toe board to add to the dozens that were already on the page. 

“People aren’t just nice,” The boy insisted, giving Eddie a guarded look. “They always want something.” 

“I want to make this afternoon a little less unbearable, and I want to make you feel better.” Eddie offered, quirking his head to the side and offering the pen to the other boy. “Is that enough?” 

They stared at each other for a long second, until the other boy’s face broke into an incredulous smile and he ducked his head down. 

“You’re really weird,” He said with a soft laugh, taking the pen. It was a lovely sound, like birds singing in the morning, or the first soft strum of a guitar as practice began. 

Eddie needed to hear it again.

“He needed me,” Eddie said softly, lost somewhere in between now and the memory. “Still does. I think.” 

Did Steve need him? Eddie wasn’t sure. All he knew was Steve needed someone and Eddie was the one who knew it. 

“Then be there for him,” Wayne suggested, patting Eddie twice on the back as he stood and walked over to his bed, beginning to pull it out, “You don’t need to know why he needs help to support. Sometimes all someone needs is someone to be there.”

“You’re right,” Eddie replied, sensing the end of the conversation coming. Exhaustion was tugging on his eyelids, and Wayne was beginning to yawn,. “I just wish I could do more.”

“I think you’re doin’ more than you realize,” Wayne offered, settling on the side of his bed and stretching. 

“Thanks Wayne,” Eddie sighed, turning and heading towards his room. 

“Is there anything else on your mind?” Wayne said from behind, stopping Eddie in his tracks. “Feels like you might’ve left something out.” 

Eddie paused, feeling like a mouse caught in a trap. He knew that if Wayne could see his face, he would’ve been done for, but just with his back, there wasn’t enough to prove he was right. 

Briefly, Eddie wondered if Wayne was a psychic, or had some sort of power to know when Eddie was keeping a secret. It felt like there was a big yellow sign above his head, shouting that he needed his uncle to help him before it was too late. 

I think I’m doing the wrong thing, Eddie thought, desperately working his throat, trying to force the words out, I think I’m doing something mean, and it’s going to end up hurting Steve. Badly. I’m doing the wrong thing, and I don’t know how to stop it before he gets hurt.

“No,” Eddie whispered, hating himself for the lie, “there’s nothing else.” 

Taglist: @paopaupaus @zerokrox-blog @surferboyzaza @whatever-is-a-good-name @minjintea @addelyin @5ammi90 @hagbaby420 @shinekocreator @bornonthesavage @starxlark @electrick-marionnett @resident-gay-bitch @ash-a-confused-enby @classicdinosaurdeathpose @valon-whomsttf @rotten-lil-goblin @thereindeerlady @love-ya-kash @kerlypride @sparkle-fiend @thefreakandthehair @flowercrowngods @milf-harrington @sadcanadianwinter @gothbat99 @hotcocoaharrington @henderdads @lightwoodbanethings @colorful565 @h0n3y-dw @craterbbox @sourw0lfs @lesliiieeeee @bidisastersworld @tinynebula @ravnlinn @bonescaro @mexmatch @cottagecoredreams @joruni @hellykelly @maegan1116 @farewell-wanderlvst @desertfern @due-to-the-fact-that-im-a-slut @anythingforourmoonyedits @eerielake @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sidekick-hero

#Steve joins hellfire au #Steve harrington #Eddie munson #steddie #steddie au #steddie ficlet #st #stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things au #post stancy breakup #post s2 #Steve and eddie #st au #stranger things 2 au #ptsd Steve harrington #Steve Harrington has ptsd #steve harrington #Liam speaks up #Writing(withacapitalW) #Wayne munson #Eddie and wayne #Wayne and eddie #good uncle Wayne munson

[mikhailwrites]

Remotely Possible / Ghost x Soap

Short fic inspired by a recent Patreon art from Umikochan where Soap gets to have a sort of remote control for Ghost (you can guess where this is going). It's a stub, might or might not add a second chapter eventually.

Ghost's face is unreadable, a deceptively blank canvas adorned with scars, thin lips, blond eyebrows, and surprisingly cold brown eyes. His voice rumbles low and gravelly as he firmly dismisses Soap's idea with an emphatic "Absolutely not" before returning to the stack of documents that must be done by tomorrow morning.

Soap isn't so easily discouraged. Persistence has served him well in the past, particularly with Ghost. Moreover, he is reasonably sure Ghost is actually intrigued.. The only thing holding the Lieutenant back is discipline and, well... common sense. Johnny slips in behind Ghost, placing both hands on his broad shoulders as he leans in close. "'Fraid ye wouldn't last, LT?"

"You're not going to taunt me into it, Johnny," Ghost replies, attempting to ignore him. The tension in his muscles under Johnny's touch tells a different story.

Soap's hands move lower, sneaking around Ghost's neck in an intimate embrace. "Fine. How about a trade, then?"

Ghost hums, contemplating the offer. "Depends."

Soap thinks it over. It won't come cheap, so the only question is, how badly does he want this?

"An eye for an eye. You let me do this, and I'll let you do the same," Soap finally proposes.

"Deal," Ghost's agreement comes quickly enough to make Soap wonder if he's just made a mistake. Not that he can back out now. Even if his pride would allow it (unlikely), Ghost wouldn't.

It's early, too early for Soap's liking. He yawns openly, not bothering to stifle it. Price shoots him a disapproving look, and Gaz mirrors the same disapproval as he himself yawns and remarks, "Can't you control yourself? It's contagious." Soap shrugs, taking a sip of the mediocre coffee. His other hand discreetly slips into his pocket, searching for the button on a small remote. The moment he presses it, Ghost, who had been utterly motionless until now, jerks as if something had bitten him.

Every pair of eyes in the room instantly fixate on him, but Ghost simply shifts in his chair, appearing as detached from the rest of the room as ever. The briefing isn't all that important, certainly not enough to justify a morning meeting this early. Usually, Soap would complain about it, but today, he has a remote control for Ghost in his pocket. Well, sort of, and only for a single day, but he plans to make the most of it.

Price continues to brief them about the layout and potential hotspots in Al Mazrah. Soap already knows all of it, as does Gaz, and Ghost has been deployed there too many times not to be intimately familiar with the place. The only ones who genuinely need this briefing are the Marines, about half a dozen squeezing around the table. They'd be much more comfortable if they were willing to sit closer to Ghost.

Soap discreetly taps the control in his pocket once more. Above the button is a slider. Carefully, he nudges it up a notch. Ghost shifts once more, clearing his throat to mask a sound that's less innocent, perhaps. The corner of Soap's mouth twitches. He's feeling powerful and smug. He's also turned on.

Price raises an eyebrow, glancing up from the map on the table. "Do you have anything to add, Ghost?"

"The airport. It's obviously the best spot for exfil," Ghost begins, even though Soap is quite sure he hadn't planned on saying anything. The slider goes up again. Ghost stills, his gasp audible even through the balaclava. However, he manages to collect himself enough to finish the sentence at least. It's impressive, really. "The enemy would expect it. We should use the quarry instead."

"Yes, I was just getting to that, Lieutenant. Are you feeling alright?" Price frowns, clearly running through a hundred scenarios in his mind to explain what's happening. Soap would be willing to bet that none of them would involve Ghost having a remotely controlled plug up his arse.

Ghost's reply is clipped, his voice slightly strained. "Solid, sir."

Soap can barely contain his grin. This is an absolute treat.

His amusement is rudely interrupted as he feels a hand gripping his forearm. "What the hell is going on?" Gaz whispers into his ear. Soap carefully takes the control out of his pocket and opens his palm under the table for Gaz to see. It takes all of two seconds before the puzzled look shifts into one of utter shock and soon after into a full-blown smirk. "You've got to be kidding, mate." Soap doesn't respond, not in words, anyway. Instead, he pushes the slider another two notches up.

Both Sergeants watch as Ghost grips the edge of the table while his other hand discreetly moves between his legs. "Can't believe he'd let you do that, absolute madman!" Gaz whispers, unfortunately not quietly enough.

"You, too, have something to add, Sergeant Garrick?" the tone is sharp. Their Captain has apparently had enough of interruptions.

"No, sir. Sorry, sir!" Gaz straightens up, doing his best to appear apologetic.

The debriefing wraps up, and the Marines stick around to go over the maps a bit longer. Ghost slips out like a shadow, making a quick exit without raising any suspicion. Gaz struggles to stifle a chuckle, while Soap does his utmost to look utterly bored as he rises from his seat and trails after his Lieutenant.

Unfortunately for him, Ghost is just too damn good at what he does. As Soap passes by a door marked as a storage room, it swings open, and he can't help but let out a startled yelp as he's forcefully dragged inside. Instincts honed by rigorous training kick in, prompting Soap to try and elbow the assailant, but his efforts are met with rough resistance. The resulting hollow thud echoes through the cramped space as Soap's back hits the wall. A strong forearm presses against his neck, and Soap realises it's best to give up any struggle. Simultaneously, he identifies the threat.

Well, perhaps this whole scheme wasn't such a grand idea after all.

“You smug little shit,” Ghost growls, his voice low and dangerous. He sounds breathless. Soap, somewhat belatedly, also realises that Simon is pressed up against him way more than necessary. The outline of Ghost's hard prick he feels against his thigh is a welcomed bonus. Soap was never quite right in his head, so he takes advantage of Simon’s distraction to subtly touch the controller through the fabric of his pants. He has no way of knowing which way is up, and he’s much less precise. He has no idea what’s going to happen.

Simon shudders against him, dropping his forearm from Soap’s throat as his head falls into the junction between Johnny’s neck and shoulder. He moans into Soap’s tee as he grinds against his thigh. Soap smiles, deeming the situation safe enough to hold Simon close. He also adjusts his leg to provide better friction.

Ghost’s breath is hot and moist against Soap’s neck; the edges of the skull mask scrape him a bit, but he doesn’t mind. The only thing on his mind now is how much he wants to find out if Simon can come like this.

Simon’s movements quicken. Soap’s had his fair share of uncomfortable boners in jeans, and with the force Ghost is putting into it, it must be borderline painful. There’s no stopping Simon, though, and Soap doesn’t even try.

Simon’s grip on Johnny tightens to the point of bruising. Soap doesn’t as much as wince; his full attention is on Ghost and the way his hips stutter and his breath comes in ragged gasps. Johnny knows Simon well enough to sense how close he is. The way his body tenses and he grows quieter as every ounce of his consciousness turns inward, entirely focused on that one last thread holding him back from completely breaking.

The moment the thread snaps, Ghost stops breathing. He thrusts a few times before going completely limp in Soap’s arms. Johnny might be a bit of a bastard, but he’s not cruel, so he fishes the remote out of his pocket and turns it off. Simon lets out a long, shuddering breath.

They stand there for a few minutes. Ghost is boneless, resting his full weight against Johnny.

“Bloody hell,” Ghost mumbles quietly. Johnny only hears him because he’s so close. It doesn’t sound pissed, so Soap dares to hope he’ll live to fight another day. Ghost peels himself off Soap and does his best to make himself look at least decent enough to make a short trip to the barracks and his room. “Are you going to come with me to collect the damn thing?”

“What do you mean? It’s still early in the morning; we’ve got a whole day ahead of us, LT,” Soap offers him his sweetest smile. “That was the deal, remember? A day.” The way Ghost’s eyes widen triggers something in Soap. Something a little bit wicked. “Unless you want to call it off?”

He can see the moment Ghost commits to it, his shoulders squaring and his hands flexing at his sides. “Not a chance, Johnny.” He leans in, his voice quiet and measured. “I’m looking forward to your end of the deal. Gonna make you scream, sweetheart.”

Coming from Ghost, the pet name sounds more like a threat than an endearment. And Johnny would be lying if he said he doesn’t like it.

#call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #soap mw2 #ghoap

[theeeveetamer]

Rune Factory Tides of Destiny (extended thoughts)

@saficswrites asked me to go a little more in depth and I've actually been planning on talking more in depth anyway, so this is a good opportunity! I'm also going to throw in some of the resources I used while playing because there's a lot of great ones but they're kind of scattered.

So I will start by saying that I started on the series with RF4 back when it originally came out for 3DS and I played the heck out of it. Like, tried taming every single monster in the game levels of played the heck out of it. I've since played all of RF1, RF2, most of RF3 and RF5, and now RFToD. I chose to go back and play 1, 2, 3, and ToD after RF5 was announced. The only one I haven't touched is Frontier.

And yeah, Tides of Destiny does have some quirks and I can see why some people don't love it as a Rune Factory game. Just starting with some of the criticisms (because they lead into one of the things I actually really like about the game): The farming is very pared down and it's entirely reliant on the monsters you tame. Basically you just plant generic seeds and the monsters you put on the seasonal island determine what they grow into. Different monsters can grow different things.

That is somewhat annoying because you can't see what the monsters are called or what they plant before you tame them, the game doesn't really give you a clear list of everything you can plant, and you only get to tame 30 total so you're going to be doing a lot of swapping. It is possible to get everything with some planning tho (I borrowed the monster setups from this GameFaqs thread).

That said, I personally kind of prefer this? Micromanaging the farming has always been my least favorite aspect of the Rune Factory games. In Tides of Destiny you don't have to worry about that. There's no watering, no harvesting, no spreadsheets keeping track of exactly what seeds you need to buy, and the crops grow so fast (most are done in 1-2 days when you have your monster friendship maxed out) that you don't really feel the randomness. I'm in summer of year 2 and I've already got a storage full of full stacks of basically every crop in the game. That means you can focus 100% on the exploration, dungeons, making friends, etc.

And the exploration is. My god. I love it. It's basically if you threw Rune Factory and Legend of Zelda Wind Waker into a blender. For reference, Wind Waker is one of my favorite Zelda games ever so that colors my impressions of the game. The exploration is 100% riding around through the ocean on a giant golem, fighting giant monsters, and digging up islands and salvage points. The quests usually point you toward specific islands to unlock and there's no point where I felt like I needed an external tool to explore, but if you want help someone made an excellent, detailed map of the stuff you can find in the ocean. You also eventually unlock a fast travel and there is a way to speed up getting from point A to point B, so I never felt like wandering through the ocean was too intrusive.

I also really, really, really like the characters. Each one has a little required "friendship event" you need to watch to unlock their next friendship level, and each of the main island inhabitants has at least 6. All the friendship events are connected to a little character arc which is completed with level 6. The bachelor/ettes get an additional 3 event arc if you unlock their love events as well, though you can't access that until after the main plot is over (and gender locked unfortunately). And there's actually a reason to get them up to the max (level 6) before the endgame, since you get a benefit in the final boss battle.

IMO they're all just really likable, funny characters. Some of the events actually made me laugh out loud, and I was usually smiling the whole time any of the them were talking!

I also really like they way they handled the main characters (Aden and Sonja). The plot of the game is that Sonja gets trapped in her childhood friend Aden's body, and the story is about figuring out how to separate them again. You can play as Sonja once they're separated at the end of the main plot, but you do have to do the entirety of the main story as Aden. Initially I was kind of miffed about this, since I vastly prefer playing as female characters in games, but I actually really like how they did it. For two reasons.

One, I just really like Aden as a protagonist. I was expecting him to be kind of the goody two-shoes amnesiac like a lot of Rune Factory protags are, but no. He's sassy as hell. There was at least one point where one of the characters (I think Joe) is like "hey buddy ol' pal" and Aden is just like "Yeah we're not friends sorry you thought that tho."

Two, initially I was thinking that the whole "my best friend is living in my head" thing was going to be some secret they kept. Like Sonja was going to be there, but she was going to be quiet most of the time or not really interact with the world. But no. The first thing that happens is the obligatory RF starter girl (Odette) finds Aden, and the first thing out of his mouth is "Sonja is stuck in my head, isn't that weird?" and EVERYONE just goes with it. I love it. They really lean into the wackiness/silliness of it all. Sonja is very present in the dialogue and the plot. On her birthday characters wish Aden happy birthday to pass it along. The writing frequently plays around with the dynamic of them being stuck together (such as the two of them arguing over how Aden is going to take a bath), and they frequently swap off in dialogue and give different perspectives. They each kind of have their own relationship with the various characters around town. Most of the friendship events feature both of them in some way. It's also really nice how they'll talk to each other throughout gameplay. They'll say good morning to each other, Sonja will warn you when your health is getting low or what time it is, etc.

Despite playing as Aden (physically) I really feel like you're actually playing as both of them to some degree, and I really like that. It actually feels kind of lonely once they split at the end of the main plot and you don't get Sonja's little quips in your head anymore.

I think those are the big things. There's also lots of little things I enjoyed. I love the aesthetic of the world, and the gameplay systems relating to RP management and stuff are much more refined than the older games. I'd say the only mane difference between it and RF4 is that swinging your weapons still costs RP. The crafting is a little annoying until you get the hang of it (you can craft anything up to 20 levels higher than your current level, so it doesn't suck to grind too badly). There's a bizarre amount of spelling errors, which isn't super intrusive but it is kind of funny lol.

On the negative side, the story is pretty short. You can easily beat it in less than one in game year if you're rushing. I'm also not a huge fan of the main story needing to be 100% completed before you can do marriage and the like, since the game is basically done at that point. I don't think there's much post-game other than the goals you make up for yourself. I do think playing as Sonja was a bit of an afterthought. She has like a quarter of the romance options Aden has and there's some odd mistakes I've noticed playing as her (like trying to knock on Sierra's door while she's asleep will have Sonja saying a line about how the bath is closed ???) but it doesn't bother me too much so far.

Those are pretty minor negatives though. I still had (and am having) so much fun with the game!

I also heavily used this website as a guide. The only thing is that I wish they had pictures of the monsters because I think they have slightly different names from the rest of the series, and it can be confusing cuz some monsters have different colorations and therefore do completely different things.

#rune factory #rune factory tides of destiny #RFToD #long post

[inourselveswetrust]

Alright straight to the point

TW Mc dies

Now Mc died how that’s up to you but Mc has never allowed the ROs close emotional to them and is very closed off but one day they died.

The ROs get a mail delivery and it’s Journals. Dozens of them. The Mc wrote every feeling they had in it. Including on how they feel about them. The last page says who they will tell the Ro how they feel.

You don’t have to do this i just thought about it as an ask. Was writing my own story and this came up for a character and I thought perfect ask. Maybe.

Anon's out here trying to collect my tears 💀

This was written at 3am so it's definitely terrible, but I hope you enjoy anyway! ❤️

The journal falls from August’s grip, landing on the floor like lead weight. August stares at the furthest wall of their living room with an absent gaze, they remain unmoving for perhaps minutes, maybe hours. They don’t know, they don’t care. 

Swallowed by a sudden, all-consuming rage, a roar escapes August as they stand to their feet and tip the coffee table. The sound of glass shattering and objects being thrown is all that can be heard in August’s home. Their home is torn apart when they finally collapse to the ground, exhausted and not even slightly relieved.

August is inconsolable. Nothing – not a single thing – would repair their shredded heart. They remain in their home for weeks, refusing visitors and withdrawing contact from everyone. They will never be the same again, rather a mere angry, bitter shell of who they used to be. 

A world without you is not one worth enjoying or exploring. The journals remain on August’s nightstand, an August reads through them every single night until sleep steals their consciousness. 

___

Tears gather in Blair’s eyes, burning and reminding them of their failure. The tears fall freely, Blair doesn’t try to withhold them. Every tear is homage, a token, to you – an acknowledgement to you. Withholding them would be a disgrace, a dishonour to you. 

A strangled gasp escapes Blair as their tears splatter on the pages of your journal, marring the ink. Blair quickly, but gently, drops the journal on the tabletop as if the journal has burnt their skin. Tiredly, they roughly rub the palms of their hands across their face wiping away their tears, spreading the wetness across their face. Guilt churns within them as they stare at the blemished page, bile threatening to escape their stomach. 

They spend days in their home reading every page. They allow themselves to feel everything – smiling at the happy entries, laughing at the entertaining entries and crying when the emotions become too much. 

They bury themselves into work, entering and exiting the office wearing a stoic mask each time. Gone are their smiles and polite conversations with each person they pass. 

The journals remain safely tucked in Blair’s bedside table’s drawer. They deny themselves reading the journals a second time for months, desperately avoiding the feelings they stir, but one day they’ll cave. They’ll take weeks off work afterwards.

___

Wren stacks the journals on their table, refusing to touch them for weeks. The books taunt them, temptation swirling in their thoughts, yet they know reading the entries means admitting you’re gone. It means accepting you’re gone, and they’ll never do that.

They do anything to avoid thinking about your death, opting to keep themselves occupied with meaningless errands and hobbies. Though, eventually, on a rainy day, when the walls feel as if they’re closing in on them and their boredom cannot grow any further, they’ll hesitantly begin scouring the journals. 

An uncharacteristic anger brews deep within them as they read your words. Why couldn’t you tell me this? Why did I have to find out this way? They would give anything to hear how you feel from your lips. They would give anything to hear your voice again. They read every entry without interruption, refusing to eat or sleep and willing themselves to memorize every detail – every word you use, the curve in your writing, the space between each letter. 

Your journals become their most treasured possession, secured in a box in their closet where no one can find them, where no other person can invade you and your feelings. They read every page again and again, until they have them engrained in their mind. 

___

Neve clutches the journals close to their chest, imagining it is you who they’re holding. Tears pour from their eyes; their body shakes with each sob that escapes them. They cry until sleep embraces them, offering relief from the pain weighing them.

It isn’t until hours later when they wake, still clutching the leather bound journal in a firm grip. The tears begin again, returning with vengeance as if they never stopped. Every muscle aches, sore from the sobs wracking Neve’s body, yet nothing hurts more than their heart.

It takes weeks before they can get past the first page without breaking down. Tears are endless as they scan each page, a hollow throb making itself at home in their chest. Neve has always felt the world is bleak, yet never have they felt this hopeless. 

Neve places your journals on their bookshelf, nestled alongside their favourite novels. There is no author they adore more than you. They cry every time they read your journals, a familiar agony growing within them each time.

#anon ask #ro ask #tw death

[urarakasdiary]

-SOULMATES (FINALE)

Muzan Kibutsuji x reader

"guys I smell a demon!" Tanjiro spoke to his friends. [name] wandered the street unknow of the demon slayers that were trailing her.

When the girl reached the path near the forests the slayers jumped from her side, cornering her. Her husband had not turned her into a demon and she was still very human, just carrying a demon baby. that must've triggered Tanjiro's instincts.

As they took [name] back to the corp for further investigation, her lover sat in their dark home wondering when his dear wife would come back. It was midday and the sun was still up, The slayers who had her captive were confused. did demons finally defeat their allergy to the sun? the woman tried to explain herself but they wouldn't listen.

In came the wind hashira, he was a very aggressive human and did reckless things without even thinking twice! he took out his katana and stabbed the poor woman in the stomach on suspicion of being a demon. In the process, he killed the baby that she loved so much. Her ex-husband rushed to her side arguing with the wind hashira and told him to get the f away from the injured woman.

"MY BABY!!" screamed [name] earning shocked gasps from the people surrounding her. As she cried in anguish, guilty eyes looked at her. "I hate you!! monster!!" wailed [name] she earned nothing but a 'tch' from the white-haired man.

meanwhile, in the infinity mansion, her husband sat worried for his wife. He looked everywhere for you, every single corner of the market, the forest everywhere. when he had enough he had one of his minions go and fetch you.

he was hella mad when he got the information about your whereabouts. every night he went to the main building of the corp throwing bodies of innocent humans inside. he didn't care if they were children, infants, women, or men. he just wanted you back.

in the morning, the people in charge of cleaning would find stacks of dead bodies as tall as the walls. Inside the demon slayer corp, you were being treated for the stab wound and getting better day by day so that was good. The bodies appeared for days non-stop and the hashiras had enough. the white-haired crazy psychopath blamed it on you, while you told them that the bodies would continue coming if they didn't let you go. The hashiras had to decide quickly it was already evening.

Once they let you go, you stayed outside in the forest waiting for your demon husband to arrive. when he saw you he hugged you so tight you thought you would suffocate. but he saw your stomach covered with bandages and he was very upset about this. You insisted on letting it go even though it hurt, you lost your unborn child.

It's been two years since you lost your child to that traumatic experience. Muzan eventually got you pregnant again and your baby fever was up. Kibutsuji was so happy to see you smile, his only wish was for you to be elated. You were 2 weeks due for delivery when your husband was forced into fighting with the hashiras. he took you with him to encounter the fight and you were terrified and heartbroken when your lover passed away. your child would never get to see its father and you would never be able to see your husband again.

tears were flowing out of your eyes. thankfully there was someone that was there to talk to you, your ex-husband he helped you through the pain of childbirth. surprisingly he took you in and took care of you and your little daughter.

every happy thing has to come to an end. You wanted to be independent, you had started a herbal shop and were making good money. You told Tengen your plan on buying your own house and he was supportive and promised to visit your house every other week. As you bid your goodbyes, Uzui offered to take you home safely. you agreed. and then came the end of your hectic lifestyle now you were solo with your daughter to take care of. your heart had still not recovered from the pain of losing Muzan but now you had your sweet little daughter.

as you talked to your previous lover in the sunset, you knew it was over. the rule of demons over humans, the murder and cannibalism was gone and you were partially safe around your fellow humans. as you waved goodbye to Uzui you sighed looking at the house you bought with your money and you couldn't stop a smile from forming on your face.

and from now on you promised yourself to live your limited time on this planet to the fullest.

and it's done! this is the finale of soulmates. thank you for reading and I am sorry that it's short. I'm pretty sure everyone who reads me stuff knows about my condition right now. special thanks to @z3r0art sorry that the uzui taking care of the reader was wrong. I only found out it was different when I had already typed it. thank you again for this wonderful request. If you have requests please send them I hope you enjoyed it!!!✨✨

#demon slayer #kny x y/n #urarakasdiary #yandere x reader #kny headcanons #muzan #Kibutsuji #muzan kny #muzan demon slayer #manga #muzan x reader #kibutsuji x reader #soulmates #kny #sanemi #uzui #tengen #tengen uzui #kny uzui #kny tengen #tanjiro #senitsu #reader #zenitsu #kny zenitsu

[vodika-vibes]

His Angel

Summary: You eagerly wait for Dogma to come home from his deployment.

Pairing: Dogma x Reader

Word Count: 1413

Warnings: Fluff, spicy implications at the end

Songs: None

A/N: I actually have time to write today, which means you get two stories in one day. Maybe even three. It depends.

Divider by Saradika

You like order and you like rules. Rules means that you know how people are going to act in a given situation, and order means that everything that you need is exactly where it's supposed to be when you need it.

It makes life easy for you. And easy is good.

As per the norm for you, you wake before your alarm. You roll to the side and quietly turn off the clock, and then you coo as your kitten crawls up onto your chest for her morning cuddles.

You indulge her for a moment, until she starts whining for her breakfast, and only then do you kick your comforter off and roll to your feet. Your kitten dances between your feet as you walk from your bedroom to the kitchen to make her breakfast.

And only once she’s happily chowing down on her breakfast are you allowed to tend to your own needs. You turn to pour your caf, and your gaze drifts from the mug over to the calendar that covers your wall.

Each day is crossed out as it passes, and today is circled in red. And, written in a delicate hand, are three words that make your heart jump. Dogma comes home.

Dogma has been gone, deployed, for months. And while you managed to talk to him almost every day, it’s not quite the same as being able to talk to him in person. And it’s definitely not nearly as enjoyable as being in his arms. Your fingers brush against your lips for a moment, a small, fond, smile crossing your face as you imagine the feel of his lips, warm, soft, welcoming, against your own.

You take a deep breath and drop your hand from your face.

You have no idea when, exactly, Dogma will be home. That’s fine, it gives you time to make sure that everything in the house is sorted. And it gives you time to make sure that you have a frame for the flower that Dogma is undoubtedly going to bring you.

He always does, after all.

You finish your caf, and check on the kitten, who’s now passed out in a patch of sunlight, and then you turn back to the bedroom. You pause in the hallway, your fingers ghosting against one of the many frames lining the halls.

Each picture frame was filled with a single pressed flower. Gifts Dogma brought you on every single date. Starting with your first date, when he panicked and ordered you flowers from Dantooine.

The flowers had been beautiful. Beautiful enough that you pressed all of them, and saved them all. Though only one bloom was framed, the rest are sitting in a much larger frame in your personal storage unit. Eventually that frame will be filled, and you’ll bring it out to show Dogma, but until then-

You shake your head. You’re distracting yourself. You smile one last time at the picture, and carefully straighten it. And then you turn towards your bedroom. 

You dress, and grab your notebook, and then return to the kitchen. You place the notebook on the kitchen counter, and flip it open to a blank page, and then, slowly, start going through the kitchen. 

You’re about halfway through your shopping list when you hear your door slide open. Your pen pauses halfway to the paper, and you straighten when you hear familiar footsteps, and then the sound of a heavy bag hitting the ground.

And a grin crosses your face as you hear the even more familiar sound of armor being removed and stacked on the shelf that you bought for that exact reason.

You move out of the kitchen and poke your head into the hallway. You lean against the wall and fold your arms and you just watch Dogma for a moment.

“You’re staring, angel,” He says with a small laugh, he lifts his head and regards you with the soft smile that’s saved for you and you alone.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so early,” You reply warmly, “If I knew, I would have gone shopping yesterday and made breakfast for you.”

He pulls off his boots, and stacks them with the rest of his armor, and then he stands and walks over to you, “Give me enough time to shower and unpack, and we can go shopping together, how’s that sound?”

You unfold your arms and slide them around his waist, leaning heavily against him. “Mm, very domestic.”

Dogma settles his hands on your hips, and then slowly drags his hands up your sides, ghosts them up your spine, and lightly cups your face. He tilts your head back and presses the lightest kiss against your lips, “I like domestic with you.” He murmurs, he kisses you again, still very gently, and your heart melts.

You know what this is. Dogma is not a violent man. Dangerous, yes, but not violent. And when he comes back from deployment, he has to be so gentle with you, to prove to himself that he’s more than what his job forces him to be.

He won’t kiss you properly until he’s had a proper shower. Until he can wash away the memory of his deployment with hot water, and the ridiculously expensive body wash you buy him.

You trail your fingers, feather light, up his sides, and gently cup his face. “Would you like me to run you a shower, Dogma?” You smile so gently at him, “I bought some new shower melts, they smell like lavender.”

His gaze is almost molten as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “Yes please, angel. That would be wonderful.”

You don’t move until he slowly releases you, and you quickly press a kiss to the palm of both of his hands, before you slip out of his grasp and back towards the bedroom. 

You start the ridiculously hot shower, and break off a small piece of the shower melt and toss it into the corner. You make sure that his towels are draped over the towel warmer, and you also make sure that his favorite body wash and shampoo are in the shower.

And then you step out of the fresher, as he steps into the bedroom and sets his massive bag on the bed. You sit on the bed next to the bag, and he kisses the top of your head before he slips into the fresher.

As soon as the door is shut, you turn and open his bag. Clothes go in the laundry to be dealt with later. His datapad and com go on their respective chargers on his side of the bed. Books get stacked on his side table, so he can sort them at a later point in time.

And as soon as the bag is empty, you pick it up and put it in the closet, where it will remain until the next time he gets deployed.

As soon as you shut the closet door, the fresher door opens, and Dogma steps into the bedroom proper. He’s much less tense, and he shoots you a grateful look. “What would I do without you, angel?” He asks.

“Have to unpack your own stuff,” You tease gently, as you move closer to him and allow him to pull you flush against him, “Welcome home, Dogma.” You whisper as you slide your hands across his bare chest.

He rumbles out a hum of pleasure, and ducks his head to kiss you properly, his lips and tongue leaving you breathless and leaning against him. “Missed you,” Dogma murmurs against your lips, “So much.”

“Missed you too. Talking to you over com isn’t the same,” You reply softly.

There’s something hot and needy in his gaze, and you grin up at him. Dogma’s grip is tight around your hips, “How much food is there in the house?” He asks.

“Enough for us to not have to go grocery shopping until tomorrow,” You reply lightly.

And he grins. His gaze flickers to the bed for a moment, and then he scoops you into his arms, walks a few feet over to the bed, and drops you on the center of the bed. “I really hope you don’t have any plans for today, angel.”

“Only spending the day with you,” You reply as you sit up just in time to see him toss his towel to the side.

“Good.” He replies with a sharp grin as he crawls over you.

#star wars #tcw #Clone Trooper Dogma x Reader #Dogma x Reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction

[pinkglitteranddeath]

I am Just a Boy

Prompt- L is convinced he will never be good enough for your love. You convince him otherwise.

Pairing- L x Reader

Fandom- Death Note

A/n- maybe a bit ooc but i thought is was cute

Unfortunatly for L it was one of those days. One of those days where everything and everyone seems to hate him. Where he is constantly on edge and he feels so unproductive but at the same time usesless for not doing anything. So he sat there not even wanting to ask you to get some cake incase you thought he was being a burdon.

Now L may of thought that he was hiding how he felt very well and maybe to an outsider he was but you were not just anybody. You were his partner, the light of his life, the person that made him laugh the loudest and sometimes his only reason for getting up in the morning. So you saw how he was feeling through subtle things only you could pick up on. The fact that he didn't absentmindedly stack sugar cubes ontop of each other, that he didn't rock gently side to side like he did when he was concentrating and how he answered everyones questions as curtly as possible unusual even for L.

So you waited because even though L was a very closed off person and hated talking about how he was feeling you knew that when he was having a bad day he would always see you out to comfort him with soft words or even just hold each other for a little while. And eventually he did come and search for you.

'Y/n' he said standing in the doorway of your room. 'Yes darling' you hummed turning to face him. 'Can we just lay down for a bit...?' he muttered staring down at his feet.

'Of course we can' you said gently. You felt proud of him because you knew how hard it was for him to admit that he wanted affection.

It was always nice to cuddle with L. He smelt like peppermints, old coffee and new paper. He clung to you like a koala burying his face into your neck and letting his bushy, black hair tickle your face. You didn't know how long this impromptu cuddle session would last however after a few minutes he spoke up but it was not what you were expecting to hear.

'Y/n why do you love me?'

Shocked you turned his head to look at him in eyes. They were big, round and midnight black but they were also slightly red as if he had been crying. This must of been a very rough day for L almost never cried.

'Lawliet what do you mean why do I love you? I love you because you're the only person exactly like you in the world. I love how smart you are and how you use your intelligence to help people. Love everything about how you look especially your lovely soft hair. I love your laugh even though I don't get to hear it often. But most of all I just love you and there's no other way to say it.'

'Do you truly mean all those things he asked pulling you closer until your foreheads were touching. 'I mean every single word I said plus there are still so many more things I love about you that I could never express them all and I don't even know how to describe the love that I feel towards you. Don't you ever worry that I won't love you. Now come on let's take a nap I think that would do you good.

And so you did. You fell asleep in each others arms bathed in the afternoon sunlight. The last thing L thought before slipping into dreamland was that even thought he had his bad days he always knew he could rely on you to bring him back up.

#death note #death note x reader #l death note #l lawliet #l x reader #gender nuetral reader #x reader #reader insert #fluff #l lawliet fluff #death note fluff #death note reader insert #death note fanfiction #death note one shot #one shot

[nettedtangible]

Photos. Wolfstar Microfic. 1770 words.

Remus was sitting at the tiny, overflowing table in in his kitchen having his third coffee the morning after an extremely taxing full moon when it happened. A large barn owl flew straight into his window. He froze, head snapping up to look at it as he slowly drew out his wand, never in much use these days though never far away. Who would be writing to him? He hadn’t had correspondence with anyone from the wizarding world in years, and Mary always just telephoned. He opened the window slowly, looking down at the poor thing, hopping indignantly and ruffling its feathers. On the envelope attached to its leg he spied the green Hogwarts crest. He sighed heavily, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. If Dumbledore was writing him, it couldn’t mean good news. Resignedly, he ushered the owl in and tapped the kettle with his wand, setting it to boil. If Dumbledore was writing him, tea was most definitely in order. He pulled the letter from the owl and sat back down at his little table, noticing vaguely that the bird made no motion to depart. Waiting for a response then, he thought grimly, certainly not good news. He pulled open the envelope and shook out the single sheet of paper, surprised to see not a long looping script but a cramped messy scrawl.

Dear Remus,

I hope you don’t mind me writing to you. Harry’s just started at Hogwarts this year and he’s every bit the son of Lily and James. The way he looks at magic is Lily all over and he’s already had 150 points taken from Gryffindor, detention, and been in the forbidden forest- that’s all James. So I know you’d be right proud (he’s in Gryffindor by the way). Anyway he don't have a single picture of his parents. His aunt and uncle are great ruddy Muggles I’m tellin ya, and I would like to give him something to remember them by. If you have any pictures of them would you be able to send them back with Archimedes? I wouldn’t ask- but it’s for Harry.

Hagrid.

Remus stared at the page, reading it over and over again. It couldn’t be, Harry couldn’t be at Hogwarts yet that would mean it had been… ten years. Ten years since Lily and James- He closed his eyes, running a hand over his face. He finished his tea and turned it in for firewhisky.

For the rest of the day Remus drank steadily as he conversed with Archimedes, the owl, who seemed haughtily impatient to return to the school. He’d always found comfort in talking with animals, particularly magical ones. They understood you. Sometimes they were even your best friends. He closed his eyes against the building tears, pushing the memory of running a hand through thick black fur as he confessed things that would be impossible to say to grey eyes to the back of his mind, unwilling to go further down that road.

Eventually, when the light began to dip and Archimedes began nipping his whisky-numbed fingers, Remus turned to his wardrobe, digging through the overflowing stacks of books and effects that had been shoved in here long ago and forgotten, the door never opened and Remus’ own clothes simply remaining in a dresser, or cast over the chair in the corner of his room. When he saw a leather jacket, he broke down fully, clutching it to his face as he cried all-consuming, rattling sobs.

Eventually he’d been able to get a hold of himself, schooling his sobs into something more manageable in order to find the box at the very back of the closet with L+J scrawled in shaky writing over the top. Gingerly, he lifted the lid, something visceral swooping up from his stomach as he caught the slightest hint of Lily’s perfume. It shocked him but seemed to fill him with an odd sort of calm, and he was reminded of the disastrous Amortentia he’d attempted to brew in fifth year potions that had to be rescued through Lily’s assistance. He allowed himself a small smile.

Slowly, he picked up the box and carried it back into the main room of the flat, bending over his single table and attempting to make some space with one arm as the other wedged the large box against his hip.

He placed the box down and sat shakily after it, reaching in and beginning to pull everything out, a flick of his wand bringing the bottle of firewhisky zooming back into his hand.

As he sifted through the contents of the box, he was surprised by how much he had. He was never much one for sentimentality, and never much one for being photographed either. But Sirius was, and Sirius’ things were his things, he supposed. He found countless pictures of Lily and James, the day they moved in together, the two of them arm in arm with Mary and Marlene at a seventh-year party, their wedding, Harry’s first birthday. And in many of the pictures, there was Sirius, smiling wider than all of them, the enchanted magical picture version of him running around with the same jubilant chaotic energy he’d always possessed in real life. Remus cried some more.

There were letters too. Correspondence from Lily or James, notes from the depths of the war with shaky writing asking after peoples’ safety, their whereabouts. Swapped rumours of attacks or death eater activity. It clenched a fist of ice around Remus’ heart to relive those memories. He tucked them away.

Eventually he came across a photo that made him draw in a sharp breath, it was one of the few with him in it, having been taken when he was unawares. It featured him sitting peaceful in one of the bay window seats of the Gryffindor common room, reading a book. Then Sirius would run into frame, taking a dive and jumping bodily over Remus’ lap, followed by a clearly laughing James and Peter, the boys tussling for a moment before they all settled in some sort of companionable heap, James wedged up against the glass of the window, Pete sprawled across Remus’ legs, and Sirius sitting happily in his lap, reaching up to twirl one of Remus’ curls around a finger, ‘it’s gotten so long,’ he’d said, the memory coming back to him with perfect clarity, ‘it suits you’, and then the three boys turned with massive smiles plastered on their faces to wave at the camera, held laughingly by one Lily Evans. Photo Remus threw a hand of embarrassment over his face, and the scene reset.

He looked down at the photograph for a long time, watching the same loop play out over and over again, knowing that if he had the choice, he would live those thirty seconds out in eternity, never once feeling cheated of a true life’s experience.

He gathered up all the photos he’d found of James and Lily, tucking the one of the four Marauders away in his pocket before bundling the rest up in some brown paper, tying off the parcel with some string. Archimedes hopped forward with a huff, looking eager to be going. Remus paused for a moment, wishing to write something to go along with it. Harry was at Hogwarts now. Harry who was every bit James and Lily’s son. Harry who was already getting into all sorts of trouble. Harry who he’d played with as a baby and whose first word had been Pad- though James had argued until he was blue in the face that it had been dad.

He'd tried to see him before- of course. A few months after the end of the war he’d gone to Dumbledore, pleading to be told of Harry’s whereabouts, pleading to see the little black-haired boy with piercing green eyes who clenched Remus’ finger in his whole fist and rode around on a toy broomstick better than he could walk. Dumbledore had outright refused, asserting Harry’s safety as the number one priority, and when Remus had protested, the man had invoked the fate of Frank and Alice, asking Remus if he wished the same upon Harry. Remus had gasped, the last flickering nodule of hope sputtering out in his chest as if blown out by a gust of cold wind. Nodding, he’d seen himself out, pleading for Dumbledore to let him know if ever a time came when it would be safer. Dumbledore had merely nodded, already turning back to the piece of parchment he had been pouring over on his desk when Remus had entered.

And that had been that. That had been ten years ago and now Remus was staring down at a blank sheet of paper, pen clutched in a shaky hand, the word Harry scrawled at the top of the page.

Harry,

I know you don’t know me but I’m Remus Lupin, I was good friends with your mother and father, best friends in fact, I knew you when you were a baby. I’m so sorry Harry I’m so sorry I couldn’t save them. I never suspect-

He closed his eyes in frustration, shaking his head at himself as he balled up the paper and threw it away, pulling forward a new sheet.

Harry,

My name is Remus Lupin, I was friends with your parents in school. I’m sorry I haven’t written to you sooner, I’m poor and a dangerous werewolf you see

Shake, scrunch, throw.

Harry,

Oh you sound just like James, he was the biggest trouble-maker I’ve ever known, well- second biggest trouble maker-

Cry, scrunch, hurl at the wall.

Harry,

I know Lily would be so proud of you, she loved you so much more than you could even imagine, and that’s saying something, I never knew a more loving person than Lily Evans, she even loved me. James too, they loved me. God knows why

Scream, tear to pieces, little paper confetti in his whisky.

Harry,

He lifted the pen, staring at the page for a while longer. There were dozens of balled up letters strewn about him, all covered in ink blotches and tear stains. He shook his head, thick and spiking with pain from the aftereffects of the whisky. He gazed for a moment longer at the paper before standing up with a scrape of the chair, startling Archimedes from his slumber on the windowsill.

“Here you go,” he murmured to the owl as he attached the little brown paper parcel, bending down to hurriedly jot two endlessly insufficient words on the face of the wrapping.

For Harry.

#sorry #wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #harry potter marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #mwpp #james potter #peter pettigrew #marauders #post first wizarding war

[pls-hold-me-im-justa-weeb]

Jinbe as a father

Headcanons

CW’s: brief mentions of racism but it’s fluff otherwise 😊

Very minor Fishman Island arc spoilers

———

For some reason I’ve been getting a lot of “what if the monster trio / shanks / law had children? What kind of father would they be?” And it got me thinking. Like yeah, I’m sure they’d all be great fathers but what if Jinbe had a daughter??

After getting used to the idea and reading up on how to be a father, I think he’d be super excited to have a family, even if it were just him and his daughter.

Like imagine him cuddling her to his big body while he wrangled the curls she got from him. He’d do matching hairstyles 🥺

He would let her put makeup on him, play dress up, decorate his hair, etc.

He’d make sure she’s a strong fighter because he knows that she will face racism because she’s (at least part) fishman. Though she’ll be able to kick ass

GLARES at all potential suitors. Scares them away with a single look

He would SPOIL her. My man can’t say no to his little girl.

Overprotective and his daughter would probably end up getting into a fight with him over it that ends up in a duel between them so she can prove she’s strong.

He might struggle a bit with braiding at first with his thick fingers so Usopp would be the unfortunate victim of his harsh fingers as he walked him through it

He’d help her put her bonnet on every night as part of the routine of tucking her in and reading a story

He’d probably only feel safe with her being baby sat by (some of) the strawhats. Like Nami, Robin, Franky, or Usopp. Maybe Chopper. But in a fight he’d leave her to the monster trio if he absolutely had to leave her for her safety

He’d let her take naps laying completely on his chest/tummy. Father/daughter naps are his favorite

Tickle fights and when he was roaring with laughter she’d try to copy it but it was just adorable instead

Eventually, he’d tell her the story of the sun pirate tattoo. It would be hard for him, knowing he was destroying her view of the world being a place that could be solved. He’d cry, she’d cry, and it would be a deep bonding moment.

When she reaches puberty, he gets SO AWKWARD lmaooo he’d call on Chopper, Nami, and Robin armed with stacks of books to explain everything.

Assuming the fishmen race has periods like humans, he’d be standing awkwardly in her room after she came out of the bathroom holding some chocolate and a heating pad. He gets scared when she starts crying from the gesture

She would never be ashamed of him, or if anything embarrassing he does (he tries so hard not to embarrass her). She proudly announces they like to watch The Little Mermaid together.

I think he’d have some dad jokes that she’d roll her eyes at but snort at Luffy when he cracks up.

He makes sure that she’s exposed to fishmen culture A LOT. They make at least yearly trips to his home.

Note: I’m fully white, I just have curly hair (3a-3c depending on the strand/day). I also read a lot of fics with a black fem!reader so that’s where I got the Usopp one from.

#one piece fluff #one piece jinbe #knight of the sea jinbe #first son of the sea jinbe #jinbei #op jinbe #one piece headcanons #Jinbe as father #one piece #one piece fanfiction #Jinbe headcanons

[katsu28]

pancakes

pairing: Drew Starkey x reader

summary: Y/N gets a craving for late night pancakes but she’s a disaster in the kitchen

warnings: none just fluffy Drew content 

a/n: oh look it’s me, back with another short and fluffy one shot (two in one night who is she??)

masterlist + taglist

You hadn’t been able to sleep for most of the night, and it was starting to piss you off. You also couldn’t toss, turn, or make frustrated noises like you usually did, because you’d just recently moved in with your boyfriend, Drew—who, adding to your frustration, was sleeping soundly beside you like a little baby. 

Looking at the clock, you let out a small huff when you saw it was 3:27AM, and gently eased yourself out of Drew’s iron grip around your waist. You had just crept your way into the kitchen for a glass of water, when the craving for pancakes hit you like a truck.

Being as quiet as you could, you grabbed all the ingredients you needed. The only thing you were missing was a huge bowl to mix everything in. 

The only problem was, you and Drew hadn’t unpacked much yet, seeing as you’d both had a hectic few weeks, so all your kitchen stuff was still sealed away in the cardboard boxes littering the entirety of the apartment floor. But your pancake craving was so strong, there was no way you weren’t going to make them. 

Very carefully, you combed through every single box on the floor, but unfortunately came up empty. You eventually spotted the labeled box, but it was just your luck that it was the top box of the tallest stack. Maybe if you climbed up on the counter, you could reach the box.

Either you miscalculated, or your judgment was impaired by your pancake craving, because when you hopped on the counter and reached for it, your fingers ended up tipping it the opposite way. You watched in horror as the box went crashing to the floor, the contents of it falling out and rolling every which way loudly. 

Before you could even react, Drew materialized from the hallway,  squinting at you with half-open eyes, and hair a fluffy brown mess on his head. 

“Hi.” You said sheepishly, offering your very sleepy—but very adorable—boyfriend a guilty grin. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, rubbing his eye and fighting a yawn. “And why are you standing on the counter?” 

“I needed the big bowl to make pancakes.” 

“At four in the morning???”

“I couldn’t sleep.” You pouted, plopping down on the counter and swinging your legs over the side. “Sorry I woke you up—turns out I’m not as tall as I thought I was.” 

A flicker of a grin made its way across Drew’s face as he padded over to you with outstretched arms.

“I thought someone was breaking in, and when I didn’t feel you beside me, I got scared,” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as his arms slid around your waist. “Next time, just wake me up, okay, sweetheart?” 

“You looked so cute sleeping.” You sighed, wrapping your arms around Drew’s neck with a tiny nod. “You can go back to bed now, I got this.” 

���You’re using the stove, I need to make sure you don’t burn our brand new apartment down.” 

“Fuck you,” You grumbled, pushing him away with a hmph, even though you were smiling, because he was probably right. Drew laughed, grabbing your hand and pulling you back for a kiss. You kissed him back blissfully, threading your fingers through his messy bedhead. 

“I love you.” He whispered against your lips. 

“I love pancakes.” You giggled, wiggling out of his embrace and skipping to pick up the fallen metal bowl. 

“Oh, now that’s just mean.” Drew groaned, throwing his head back with a squinty pout. 

“Come on, help me make them!” 

“I hate you.” 

“I love you too, baby, you know I do!” 

“Apparently you love pancakes more.” 

Taglist!

@unbelievablystillafangirl @fearthewalkingbitch @laneybobeczko-g @conans-folk

if your username is crossed out it means tumblr won't let me tag you :(

#someone get me a drew starkey #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey fluff #outer banks #obx cast #drew starkey x you #obx imagine

[nirikeehan]

hi I am obviously going to ask you for Thalia & Pravin, from the horror prompts: "At a costume party, you see someone whose mask looks a little too real." (interpret as you like!)

omg ok this one marinated in the old brainpan for AWHILE.

Also I confess I ended up writing a long preamble to hammer out the parameters of the mission the blorbos are on in this scene, which I'm not gonna post here but it will end up on ao3 eventually when I put this together as some sort of larger masquerade-themed side quest fic.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1985

Also featuring a little Thalia/Blackwall AND Thalia/Cullen

---

Thalia flitted from room to room, taking stock of the Comte de Valette’s so-called cottage: high ceilings, ornate furniture, grand floor-to-ceiling windows with balconies that overlooked Lake Celestine. Dusk was falling, and the myriad colors of the setting sun reflected in the calm lake waters, a contrast to the atmosphere inside. 

Upon gaining entrance to de Valette’s estate, Thalia knew the evening would be anything but dull. The chateau had three stories, and the marble entry where she and her retinue announced their presence spilled into a half a dozen rooms. These in turn opened into nooks, hallways, staircases, and courtyards of all sizes and shapes, creating a veritable labyrinth. The seneschal who took her cloak encouraged “creative exploration” of the chateau and its grounds. No, the Comte could not at this moment greet her in person, but rest assured he would meet her before the night was through. 

The lights were down low, the mood up high. Every room Thalia stepped into had at least one musician playing. In one, a lone woman sat by a winding staircase and plucked a high harp; her full face mask, as well as her hat, sleeves and skirts were decorated with bright, fake flowers. In another, a man in the widest pantaloons Thalia had ever seen stood beneath a flickering chandelier and played a bawdy tune while party-goers danced around him. His pantaloons, as well as his ridiculously puffy sleeves, glowed in pastels complementary to his get-up. Some minor practical enchantment he could have had done cheaply, Thalia gauged, or else the fool had stuffed himself with deep mushrooms. 

Activities, as far as Thalia could see, ranged from imbibing alcohol — one courtyard sported a bar, from which bare-faced servants hurriedly poured wine, ale, and stronger spirits into goblets — to smoking in a private perfumery, to mummery on a dozen improvised stages. It was difficult to tell whether the performers were all strictly hired for the party — everyone was costumed and masked, and for every professional grade performance, another stumbling drunk took the stage at the insistence of another, to spout lyrics off-key or half-remembered lines from popular plays. 

Yet for a night that promised to be both wondrous and strange, Thalia had seen little more than the mundane. Oh, to be sure, the costumes were a sight to behold. She couldn’t go more than a few steps without bumping into a woman with a miniature ship replica sailing out of the stacks of her headdress, or a man so elaborately masked, with painted lips and full black eyes, that one mask evidently was not enough, and he carried another with an even more intricate pattern in his hand. In case he lost the first, Thalia wondered? And the costumes: the miles and miles of fabric, the ostentatious flourishes, the feathers, the tiny gemstones sparkling from hemlines, the veils and the bows and the capes… 

It made her feel a little dizzy, and woefully underdressed, but none of it seemed to Thalia to be magic. She’d only seen one display that looked authentic, though the mage in question stuck to minor parlor tricks any acolyte out of single digits could manage. The crowd oohed and aahed all the same, but Thalia wondered if party magicians were difficult to come by now that they were free to charge any fee they wished. 

Thalia turned a corner into a dark corridor, and nearly plowed into a wall of solid black. She reared, grasping for an apology, when she saw the beaked griffon mask over a long forked beard, and her heart skipped a beat. 

“Warden Blackwall,” she said. “Forgive me. I didn’t see you there.”

“My lady,” Blackwall grunted, unmoving. 

Thalia stared up at him. The mask obscured most of his face, ending in an array of brown feathers framing his temples — a piece he had literally scoffed at when presented to him, but he’d donned all the same. She could barely see the hard scowl under his beard, the one it seemed he’d been wearing ever since the night he kissed her. 

Thalia swallowed and lowered her voice, determined not to let their troubled history jeopardize this mission. “Have you seen anything suspicious?”

“Not as of yet. Loads of privileged nobles, pissed out of their minds. But what did you expect with this lot?” Disdain dripped from every word. 

Thalia pressed her lips together, trying to think of a delicate response. Had Blackwall’s hatred for the aristocracy always been so apparent, or did he hold special enmity for the Orlesians? She thought of reminding him that she herself was highborn — but he couldn’t have forgotten that, not with his impeccable courtesies. Is that why he treats me so coldly? Did something between us remind him of the difference in our stations, and his pride won’t allow him to pursue a lady?

It was no use speculating. She lifted her chin and opened her mouth, but words failed her. She caught the barest glint of his grey eyes from behind the holes in his mask, and realized the intensity with which he’d been watching her, from the light filigreed half-mask to the neckline of her dusky scarlet gown, accentuated by the velvet green bodice that drew up under her bosom to — well. “Flattering proportions” had been Vivienne’s term for it, but she was always chiding Thalia for not properly taking advantage of her Maker-given assets. 

Thalia felt herself blush down to her toes. 

“I — ought to be going,” she blurted, and side-stepped the Grey Warden with as much grace as she could manage. 

She cursed internally with every stride; at her own childishness and stupidity, at never knowing what to say to Blackwall to get him to open up, at the fluttering in her stomach and the certainty that he still desired her while somehow simultaneously loathing every inch of her. 

She stepped out of the dark corridor and into a room where light trickled down strangely from the ceiling. Thalia looked up; dozens of tiny butterfly-shaped lanterns floated above her head, radiating purple and blue and pink. Perhaps another enchantment, or just excellent craftsmanship — in Orlais, who knew? 

Thalia was relieved to see Pravin standing against a pillar below this display, half-hidden by shadows. He saw her and slid in beside her in an instant. Her cousin fully embodied his stage persona of Fidencio Frye this evening, wearing a doublet so purple it glowed black, hemmed with silver thread. The green half-mask of the Orlesian theatre obscured his eyes beneath the wide-brimmed hat. 

“How is it going?” he asked low in her ear, taking her gently by the elbow; to any observer he might be an admirer, appealing to the masked-but-not-quite-masked-enough-to-be-anonymous Inquisitor. This was by design; she was intended to be the mouthpiece for this evening, though the company thus far had been abysmal. 

“I’m starting to worry this is a waste of time,” Thalia replied, stifling a sigh. She tried to banish the encounter with Blackwall from her mind. “No eyes on de Valette, I take it?” 

“None yet. No way he’s been missed, either; my agents are quite thorough.”

“Leliana’s agents,” Thalia correctly primly. 

With his face cast in darkness from his hat, she could sense, rather than see, his smirk. “They are answering to me, so tonight they are mine.” He paused, looking down at his hand on her arm. “Are you all right?” 

He must feel how tense she was. Thalia pulled away, straightening. “Fine.” 

Pravin cocked his head, but said no more. Thalia suppressed a shiver. She could not understand how he’d lived in Orlais all these years, with everyone hiding their faces behind cold, dead masks. The guests in the room with them, tittering about the butterfly lights and whispering gossip to each other, all had the telltale white porcelain that froze their faces, making it impossible to guess who might be underneath.

“Have you seen the others?” Thalia had been making the rounds earlier with Dorian, the two of them laying the charm on thick with the guests, but after awhile had decided they would cover more ground if they split up. 

“The sartorial delight that is Lord Pavus was just here,” Pravin replied, nodding in the direction Dorian had gone. “And I believe the Commander is two rooms adjacent, clutching the hilt of his sword and hoping a fight might break out so he can be useful.” He stroked his chin beard and added, “You should go say hi.”

“Please.” The last thing Thalia wanted right now was another awkward encounter with a man. Cullen had been staunchly avoiding eye contact with her since the carriage ride here — perhaps also because of her flattering proportions? Thalia resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest. “I think we’ve bigger concerns here than your matchmaking attempts.” 

“He was very keen on accompanying you here tonight, you know, despite his protestations.” 

Thalia wanted to smack the grin off Pravin’s face, but such behavior hadn’t done her any favors as a child, either. She averted her gaze, staring out the balcony door and into a terrace covered with ivy. A woman in a glittering gold dress stood amid the foliage, staring directly at Thalia. At first she thought the woman shrouded in darkness, and that was why Thalia could not make out her face. But upon closer inspection, the woman wore a full face mask of purest black. No features were visible, just a deep, dark, inescapable void. Thalia felt herself being pulled forward, entranced. As she stared, the din around her faded away, and all that seemed to exist was the woman and her facelessness, the eyes boring out, shining out, beckoning her—

A tendril of darkness snaked outward from the mask, reaching through the air toward Thalia, intent to wrap around her wrist and pull gently, ever so gently… 

A hand took her shoulder, and Thalia jumped, jolting herself free of whatever had taken hold. Pravin turned her to face him, concern seeping through his own masked visage. “Thalia? Are you all right?”

“Did you see that woman?” Thalia asked, pointing to the terrace. A wisp of gold skirts slipped under the hanging ivy, disappearing from view. 

“I think— perhaps—” Pravin started, interrupted by Thalia as she lurched through the balcony door. “Hey!” Pravin ran to catch up, keeping pace beside her. Thalia stalked toward the wall of ivy, her heart hammering. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?” 

“Her mask, Pra— Fidencio. It was… too real.” Thalia stared him in the eye, her voice a fierce whisper. “Powerful illusion magic, I think. She was using it to call to me.” 

Pravin was frowning deeply, glancing this way and that. The courtyard was deserted, the stars above them bright and cold. “And you think it is a good idea to follow her?” 

Thalia ducked under the hanging ivy. The space beneath was empty; it was simply an awning where the courtyard buttressed the stone exterior of the chateau. In the far wall, however, stood a door, behind which glowed a soft golden light. 

“I think she went this way,” Thalia breathed. 

“I repeat my question,” Pravin huffed, disentangling ivy from the feather in his hat. 

“Experimenting with the dark arts, isn’t that what Leliana said the Comte de Valette was known for?” 

“And? I don’t see what that has to do with chasing a sorceress through hidden doors. I’ll send some agents in, and then we—”

“It will be too late if we wait,” Thalia argued, her hand reaching for the knob. “Turn back if you like. If I hurry I can still catch her.” 

“Wait.” Pravin snatched her wrist, leaning in close. With his free hand he produced his stiletto blade from the hidden sheath strapped to his thigh. “There is absolutely no chance, from here to the Fade itself, that I am letting you go alone.” 

#thalia trevelyan #pravin talavera #pravinquisition #blackwall #blackwall x trevelyan #cullen x trevelyan #fics #i'm not sure this even makes sense after awhile #but i suppose that's the spoopy part #dragon age drunk writing circle

[arrowflier]

My water heater is broken, and I had my first hot shower in two weeks visiting my parents this weekend.  It made me think of this.

Cleansed

Mickey had never really thought that the Gallagher bathroom was anything special.  A spit-splattered mirror, cracked tiles, and a toilet that wouldn’t flush unless you jiggled the handle—even he’d grown up with that much.

But right now, standing naked in the center of it as steam starts to fill the room, listening to the soft splash of water on over-scrubbed porcelain and the quiet rattle of metal rings as he pulls back the curtain, he thinks it might be the best fucking bathroom he’s ever seen.

Water is already filling the bottom of the tub, pouring out faster than it can drain through old, clogged pipes.  But it’s warm when Mickey steps in, as it swirls around his aching feet, and if he closes his eyes he thinks it might feel like the ocean had back in Mexico.

He doesn’t, though.  He keeps them open.  

Open, so he can see where he is.  Not for safety, but to make sure it stays real.  He tugs the curtain closed, a flimsy thing covered in childish patterns that barely even keeps the water inside, and feels more secure than he ever had with three guards watching and a wall at his back.

The stream from the shower head is weak.  He ducks his head into the spray, lets it trickle down over him like rain.  Light, and soft, and welcome, and so unlike the hose-like cleaning he’s come to expect that his shoulders relax despite the lack of pressure.

His eyes do close then, despite himself.  Just for a moment, one single blissful second when nothing else exists.  Then there’s a voice in the hallway, someone walking, and they’re open again in an instant.

But he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t need to.

He does, however, need to get clean.  Needs to wash of the stench of prison, the remnants of the past.  The bits of roadside gravel still stuck in the scrapes on his hands.

And his options seem extensive, all of a sudden, as he eyes the brightly colored bottles that line the edge of the tub.  So much more than the shared bar of soap he’d been using for months.  There’s something pink and flowery, the label faded from overuse; an organic wash for “baby-soft skin” that looks like something out of a magazine ad; a half-used bottle of blue dishsoap with suds running down the sides; a bar of Irish Spring that’s been used down to the last misshapen sliver and then stacked on top of a new one rather than wasted.

Mickey reaches out.  Hesitates with his hand over the soap he knows is Ian’s, before it veers left.  He pours out a healthy dollop of creamy organic bullshit onto a faded washcloth—he never thought he’d be so glad to see a rag that hadn’t been bleached beyond the very concept of color—and works it into a lather.

Even taking his time, it goes quickly.  He’s too used to rushing, too used to making the most of every second.  But the wash feels good on his skin, the grime rinsing off with the soap to stain the water around his feet like sand, and eventually even the puddle he stands in is clear again.

He swipes the washcloth once more over his chest, eyes scanning lazily over a bottle of shampoo, a child’s chipped bath toy, and woman’s razor, a worn loofah, a—

His eyes go back to the razor, washcloth slowing.  Suds cling to the hair on his chest, clean but mussed.  Dark over the ink he knows is there, no matter how many times he thought it might be better to forget.  Ink that’s more part of him than parts of his own body.  Ink that he trapped there under his skin and never let free.

He grabs the razor, and a can of girly shaving gel.  

-

The water has been running a long time.  It’s fine, Ian told him to take as long as he likes.  Is glad that he’s taken him up on it, that he’s comfortable enough to do so in a house that’s apparently full of strangers.

But he knows the hot water will run out soon, and he doesn’t want Mickey to get cold.  So he grabs a change of clothes, a fresh towel, and sneaks through the door as quietly as he can to leave them.

“Who’s there?” Mickey calls out anyway as Ian sets the load carefully on the closed lid of the toilet.  A dark head pops out from behind the curtain, rosy-cheeked from the heat, blue eyes narrowed under wet lashes.

“Ian?” Mickey asks.  “What’re you—“

“Sorry,” Ian rushes to apologize, backing up with both hands out.  “Not trying to interrupt, I know what a big deal that first shower is when you get out.”  He chuckles a little, and adds, “First time in a year without keeping your back to the wall, it’s kind of weird, right?”

“Ian,” Mickey says again, softer.

“I’ll just leave you to it,” Ian rambles.  “Let you have some time alone for once.  And if you need anything just let me—“

He tries to back out the door.  But Mickey steps one foot out of the tub, reaches out with a dripping arm to grab Ian’s wrist.

Ian stares at the point of connection.  Pink skin on pale, water beading along the seam.  Mickey’s hand slips, slides away, and Ian clasps his own tight just in time to catch the very tips of his fingers.

Mickey tugs them back.  Slowly, gently.  Bringing Ian with him through that tenuous connection.

“Come on,” he murmurs, stepping back into the standing water at the bottom of the tub.  

Ian follows mindlessly.  Steps in without even taking off his socks, his sweats, his shirt.  Lets Mickey move his hand up to a broad shoulder, lets it slide down when he lets go.  Settles it over the familiar shape of his own name standing out proudly on suddenly smooth skin.

Mickey reaches up, rests a hand over Ian’s on his chest.  Then he turns around.

“Could use some help with my back,” he says quietly, and Ian swallows back a million words.  A million little phrases to show that he gets it, that he knows what that means.

Instead, he takes hold of the bottle Mickey hands him—the expensive stuff he’d bought on a whim when he got out, eager for all things good until the best came back to him—and gets to work.

#daily speedwrite #julnowrimo #fanfic #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #post prison #soft

[mamamittens]

Thief of Hearts (And Bread)

I hope this is as cute as I imagined it to be @marco--the--phoenix @secretsnailor

Feat. New OC Bandit- A nonbinary Racoon Mink kid and Roger Vs. Whitebeard Pirates custody battle.

Warnings: Allusions to homelessness, starvation, and very much illegal custody battles.

Word Count: 2433

Bandit scowled at the garbage bin, filled to the brim with nothing but useless trash. No food in sight. Life on the streets was rough for anyone for a lot of reasons, especially kids. But Bandit had other concerns on their mind. Mainly food.

Bandit was a self-admitted creature of simple wants. They wanted somewhat clean clothes. Reasonably unexpired food. And somewhere cozy to curl up at night. They looked around for any discarded takeout boxes but found this alley was as empty as the last, unfortunately. Not unheard of, Bandit didn’t dwell on the matter. There was plenty of time later to worry over how cleanly picked the area was.

So the little mink turned to leave before spotting something white near a stack of broken bottles. It was a shirt with a vaguely familiar symbol on it. Some drunk man’s shirt, Bandit assumed, recalling the loud partying that consumed half the island a few weeks ago. The shirt must have been left behind… which meant it was perfectly okay for Bandit to take it!

Bandit pulled the booze-stained shirt over their head, curls popping back into place with a shake of their head. It was too big for Bandit, but layers were important on the street. Eventually you would end up needing every last one you had. Even if that layer stank of beer and had some pirate crew’s symbol on it. The collar dipped almost completely off one shoulder, the hemline reaching their ankles. If nothing else, it would make a good blanket. But for the time being Bandit didn’t feel like carrying it around.

Maybe if they found some food they could repurpose the shirt as a sort of sling.

Feeling accomplished, Bandit scrambled to explore the next alley, pleased with their newfound luck.

Only to get scooped up by the overly large collar of their new shirt.

“Woah there, now what’s one of Eddie’s kids doing all alone on an island?” Bandit wriggled, feet kicking uselessly as they looked back.

It was a man with short dark hair and a moustache, wide grin narrowing in concern. Ah. A do-gooder then, Bandit decided before taking in the fancy hat and red jacket, a pirate do-gooder? Another man walked closer, blond hair slicked back as he looked at Bandit through a pair of glasses. He scowled a little and Bandit grew nervous.

They had claws and fangs, sure, but they weren’t much against adults. Especially when they couldn’t even reach vulnerable skin to strike.

“Captain, I don’t think—”

“I guess we’ll just have to return you to your old man, won’t we?” The man holding up Bandit declared before wrinkling his nose, “There should be plenty of time for a bath, too.” The man’s companion sighed, rubbing his nose and almost knocking off his glasses.

Bandit could only blink up at them as they were handed off to the exasperated and bespeckled man.

“Sorry kid, Roger gets an idea in his head sometimes and… what’s your name?” The man held Bandit carefully, hands curled under their armpits as he lifted them to eye level.

“I’m Bandit!” Bandit grinned, showing off their delicate milk teeth with a single gap where they hoped a proper fang would grow soon, “Cause I steal things!”

The man narrowed his eyes, glancing at the retreating figure of his captain before sighing.

“…Nice to meet you, Bandit. I’m Rayleigh. That idiot is my captain, Gol. D. Roger.” Rayleigh grimaced, “Do you have any folks here or…?” Bandit shook their head.

“Nah, I’m all grown up!” Bandit proclaimed eagerly as Rayleigh started walking again, “I don’t have any ‘folks’. I hear minks come from an elephant though… I don’t think I believe that to be honest. I’ve never seen an elephant nearby. Can they ride on boats? Maybe that’s where it went. I hear they’re big. Real big. Hey, Ray-lay, does this mean I’ll get food?” Bandit chatted, ears twitching as they considered their options.

Rayleigh looked like he would let Bandit go if they asked, but never let it be said that Bandit didn’t capitalize on a good opportunity. If they can get a quick meal in, they won’t have to spend the whole day looking for food! And sure, most of the other street rats said adults were bad news, Bandit had met plenty that fit the bill—but other than surprising them, the two men were quite nice! Smelled nice too, though Bandit could definitely smell a bit of booze, that could also just be their new shirt.

Rayleigh smiled.

“Yeah kid, we’ll feed you the whole trip.”

“Trip?” Bandit’s tail swung with every step, pleased at the promise of food. Rayleigh smirked.

“Yeah. To your ‘old man’.” Rayleigh explained, looking at the shirt Bandit was wearing for a moment, “I want to see how long it takes my idiot captain to realize the truth.” Bandit frowned.

“Huh?” Rayleigh chuckled.

“Don’t worry about it kid, just enjoy the ride and try not to make a mess.”

--*--

The first place Rayleigh took Bandit to was the kitchen. A massive room spotless and well organized, Bandit longed to run around ever last counter and peek into all the cabinets. There must be so much food here! Bandit figured it was to prepare for long trips, but the idea of having that much food at the ready was dizzying.

Rayleigh was talking to the chef about a quick meal, but the man was making a big deal about it!

He would not stop talking about ‘nutrition’ and ‘delicate stomachs’. All the while waving around a loaf of bread.

It was time. For Bandit to live up to their name.

Bandit hopped up, taking a massive bite into the loaf, allowing their body to dangle like a fish.

“Shit!”

“Language, Ray!” The chef tugged uselessly on the loaf as Bandit kept trying to eat it, “I get it, kid! You’re ravenous—where did captain find them?!” the loaf and Bandit fell to the ground.

Within seconds it was gone, crumbs all that was left on their palms. Bandit stuck their tongue out to lick it but was stopped by a firm hand.

Rayleigh looked down in exasperation.

“I think it’s time to clean you up now.”

--*--

In Bandit’s defense, they tried to warn the man it would take more water than a single tub to wash off all the dirt. It took at least an hour of rain in spring to get rid of it all.

Rayleigh despaired at the third tub filled with murky water before shaking his head and changing the water again. At least this time the bottom was visible.

Armed with soap and a sponge, Rayleigh scrubbed Bandit down properly. Revealing a patchwork of gray and black skin. Fur and hair slowly changing from dingy brown to a bright silver with stripes of black. It felt weird to be so clean again, especially with the shampoo and conditioner Rayleigh insisted on using. But there was no denying the results.

Amused, Rayleigh swiped the rag over Bandit’s face again for the last time, taking note of the markings Bandit wore proudly. A black strip clear across their face like a mask with a stripe down from their hair to their chin. With a smattering of salt and pepper freckles over their nose and cheeks, it was a distinctive look Bandit rarely had the chance to admire themselves. Rayleigh dumped a towel over their head, vigorously drying off the silver curls.

“Ack! Stop that!” Bandit complained as their head was shaken almost clear from their shoulders. With a flourish, Rayleigh pulled the towel away to marvel at the explosion of curly hair.

“Would you look at that… under all that dirt was a kid.” Rayleigh chortled, “I’m betting money you join up with our brats.”

Bandit scowled, black ‘gloved’ hands delicately trying to free their ears from the tangle of curls that had eaten them.

“Who?”

--*--

“So…your name is Bandit?” A little boy with red hair and a straw hat laughed, his friend with blue hair and a very round, red nose scowling suspiciously.

“So you’re here to steal things?!” the other boy screeched angrily, “All our treasure?!”

Bandit’s nose scrunched up like they had sucked a lemon.

“Treasure? What good it treasure?” Bandit scoffed, “I am here for the food.” The redhead laughed again, specifically at his enraged friend.

“Hah! See, Buggy, they’re fine! Captain knows what he’s doing. I’m Shanks!” Shanks leaned in and whispered cheekily, “Wanna steal some food? I hear tonight is a roast!”

Bandit’s ears perked up, tail swiping across the floor rapidly.

“You had me at ‘food’.” Bandit whispered back as Buggy rambled on about some diabolical plan he suspected Bandit of having.

The only plan Bandit had was to see how much of a roast they can eat before they’re caught.

The answer was six wide mouthfuls.

The punishment for stealing was being carried like a purse by the captain as he laughed and showed off the ‘thieves’ he caught. Shanks and Buggy complained loudly at the injustice but Bandit indulged in a quick nap, uncaring of how they were squished between the other two.

They were warm, clean, and fed.

Best plan ever.

--*--

It had been a very weird week for Bandit.

They still weren’t sure what exactly they were doing on this ship, but the pirates were quite nice. Even seeming to be amused at how easily Bandit would do chores for snacks. Rayleigh mostly kept an eye out from the sidelines, only sweeping in when it seemed like there would be too much chaos.

Like when Buggy tried to con Bandit into picking the locks on a storage closet that smelled strongly of gunpowder.

Or Shanks and Bandit started playing a game of tag that involved leaping between sails—which was ridiculous, Bandit’s sense of balance was perfect for the task!

It had been long enough that Bandit managed to weasel their way into an official extra snack after lunch. Specifically, a tasty bread roll.

Blissfully, Bandit bit into the soft crust, thoroughly enjoying their special treat for cleaning the whole kitchen by themselves.

Suddenly, once again, they were lifted up by their shirt. The same shirt as last time, in fact, freshly clean and layered over a striped long sleeve shirt. Though it was tied at Bandit’s waist now so it didn’t hang like a dress.

Officially, it was Bandit’s lucky shirt.

Bandit refused to dignify the sudden upheaval with a yelp, instead shoving the rest of the bread into their mouth as Captain Roger cheerfully walked over to the railing.

They were next to a massive ship that looked bizarrely like a whale.

Many people were looking over at them from the opposite side. Especially a man with long blond hair and a white moustache.

Even though he didn’t have a fancy hat, the immaculate white jacket slung over his shoulder made Bandit suspect he was the captain of the other ship.

Captain Roger lifted Bandit up high.

“You forget something, Eddie?” Captain Roger mocked, Bandit swiping at his moustache with his tail, making him sputter.

‘Eddie’ narrowed his eyes, looking directly at Bandit. Their cheeks still stuffed with bread.

“Roger.” Was the only response he deigned to give the sputtering man.

“Hey! You—Well, as I was saying—Think I can keep them, Eddie?” Captain Roger asked gleefully, “They’re so cute! And they get along so well with my apprentices… what do you say? Think you can spare a kid for a friend?”

‘Eddie’ scoffed.

“So you want to fight again, do you Roger?” He gravely demanded. Harshly, Bandit swallowed the last of their bread.

“Who are you?” Bandit asked, “Ray-Lay said something about taking me to see my folks, but you don’t even have a tail! You have a neat moustache though—do all captains have moustaches? What if a lady was a captain? Would she have to grow a moustache too? Do you get demoted if you shave?” Bandit rambled a bit, curious and determined to follow this train of thought.

Captain Roger sputtered again, this time without Bandit swiping their tail over his mouth.

“Wait! You don’t know Eddie?! I thought you were one of his kids!” He despaired.

‘Eddie’ grinned.

“They are mine, Roger! Now hand them over!”

“I’ve never seen him before in my life!” Bandit cheerfully proclaimed. Another blond man placed his heel on the railing, leaning over with a grin.

“Should I get our lost sibling, Oyaji?” Blue fire erupted up the leg, suddenly becoming a bird’s talon.

“I could have just kept them! Without saying anything to you!” Captain Roger continued to despair as the crew laughed at him.

“I would have found out eventually, Roger. Don’t worry though, as a reward for returning my child to me, this time I’ll go easy on you!”

“They’re not even your kid, Whitebeard! What the hell!” Captain Roger screeched, holding Bandit to his chest. ‘Whitebeard’ grinned.

“Are you sure? Looks like they’re wearing my jolly roger, Roger.”

“What’s going on?!” Bandit demanded, wriggling in Captain Roger’s tight hold.

“Surprise! You’re adopted!” A man on the other ship proclaimed with a giant pompadour.

“No?! I’m not?!” Bandit looked around for answers but found only an exasperated crew.

“Well, you are now! I’m Marco, one of your new big brothers! This is Oyaji—otherwise known as Captain Whitebeard!” The blond with a bird leg still perched on the railing explained with a massive grin, “Welcome home!”

Bandit huffed in confusion.

“I don’t think it works like that…” Bandit thought for a moment, “Is there going to be food?”

The pompadour man perked up.

“Absolutely!”

“Sweet!” Bandit cheered, Shanks gasping in shock.

“You can’t just follow people that offer you food!” Shanks huffed. Bandit shot him a confused look.

“Yeah you can. That’s how Ray-lay brought me on board, remember?” Buggy sighed in defeat.

“Good luck.” Buggy grumbled, Shanks looking at his friend in confusion.

“Who are you saying that to?”

“Does it really matter?” Shanks looked between Bandit and the arguing captains.

“No. I guess it doesn’t.”

Despite Captain Roger’s best efforts, it was Whitebeard who won the argument in the end. Mostly because pompadour—Thatch—offered food until Bandit wriggled out of Captain Roger’s hold and Marco scooped them up in his talons.

Undeniably a cheap shot, the argument still lasted another two hours.

Or at least that’s what Marco told Bandit later after Thatch gave them a whole tray of bread rolls.

This really was Bandit’s lucky shirt.

#one piece #one piece whitebeard #one piece roger #roger pirates #whitebeard crew #one piece oc #look #bandit just loves food #that's all they want lol #loyalty comes later #right now they're like eight #what eight year old thinks too far ahead?

[thinkin-bout-milgram]

Tear Drop: Initial Thoughts

Hey, Venus here again with my off the cuff and early morning/late night theory! 

So, on the whole, I feel like Tear Drop gave us a lot less to work with than All Knowing and All Agony. AKAA had a lot of new information as well as some really clear graphics, whereas this one I feel like expands upon stuff I was already pretty sure about. In any case, I’m going to do about the same thing that I did with Haruka and go through my various thoughts and overall standing on Yuno.

Yuno is being portrayed as a cat for some reason.

At the beginning of the MV (0:15), we see a cat silhouette in white light turn into a silhouette of Yuno with the cat ears like hairstyle. I have actually no idea what this is supposed to mean, but figured I’d toss it out there.

Yuno has stopped seeing things through rose colored glasses.

The rose colored glasses initially show up on the stuffed animal she receives as a gift from one of her lovers. The stuffed animal looks at Yuno through these, probably reflecting her clients; the clients see her through rose colored glasses as the “poor naive little girl.”

However, she takes those glasses for most of the MV, seemingly looking at her work through them. Look at this! Her work gets her money, and it’s not all so bad. Clearly, it’s fine. 

Obviously, this is a bit of a front as she cries and the song is called Tear Drop. At the end, after she breaks the rose colored glasses and starts looking at reality, she seems much happier, right? She’s breaking free.

Yuno doesn’t think of her clients like real people and establishes no connection with them.

The thing that interested me the most here was how the different Yunos interact with each other. At the beginning, the Yuno in lingerie (who I'll be calling the real Yuno here) seems almost mad on behalf of the Yuno dressed in white, who appears like nothing more than a doll (0:59). Then, the two Yunos go to bed. Later on in the video, though, the Yuno in white gives a cold real Yuno a blanket (2:07). 

I think that the white Yuno is basically a doll to her, given that it's a front that lacks personality. The scene where they go to bed illustrates that there's no emotional connection there, that it's just her by herself emotionally in those moments. However, as the blanket scene illustrates, Yuno gets what she needs from the relationship: assets in the form of money, and perhaps more importantly, warmth. 

 Yuno's first MV had a focus on "let's reload the warmth," and there's a similar idea behind the line at 2:24: "the fading warmth makes me anxious again." A blanket is a perfect symbol for Yuno, because in her line of work, warmth seems to equal survival. She needs warmth to stay alive. Here in Milgram, she's become cold. I wonder what that'll mean?

Yuno probably had a lot of abortion scares and did nothing to change it.

I’m still not sure about that “hellish” comment, but this is the best I can come up with, really. 

Saturn saw a note by @snakeroll​ that I totally agree with. At 2:45, the windows behind Yuno look like this: 

They look like pregnancy tests. However, because pregnancy tests are usually one line for not pregnant and two lines for pregnant, these are probably tests that are coming back negative.

Still, the fact that she’s seemingly taken at least four negative pregnancy tests if not more means that Yuno is regularly worried about the concept. That means she’s probably not really using much of any contraceptives and has to check basically after every single time.

Assuming Yuno does eventually get pregnant, that does show some irresponsibility on her part. Still, especially if it’s abortion, I still don’t really see how that could possibly stack up to the real murder that others have committed...?

If anyone gets the shots at 2:15 or 2:21, let me know. I feel like they mean something important, but I don’t really get what.

Vampire???

The Yuno vampire cover was really weird, and more importantly, the cover for vampire is in Yuno’s MV. Is this symbolizing the cover getting more important? Is it emphasizing the vampire aspect, that Yuno is gaining by taking away from others? I’m not sure what it’s doing there, but it’s making me uncomfortable.

Current vote: INNOCENT

I don’t see what Yuno did wrong??

Right now, I feel like she’s in a state of self loathing because she feels she, as an unapologetic woman who’s had to use herself to get what she needs, cannot possibly be innocent or forgiven by society. I disagree.

I want to tell Yuno she’s valid! Barring something terrible in the audio drama, I’m currently intending to continue her on her innocent path.

Let me know what y’all think!!

#milgram #ミルグラム #yuno kashiki #yuno milgram #milgram theory #admin venus #btw if you realize some of this is the same as a youtube comment that's me #i post to both #but yeah will do a full theory like the haruka one i posted today once i get my hands on an audio drama translation #this one kinda baffled me though #i don't feel like we actually learned that much #which kinda concerns me with the whole hellish thing #like yeah she should've used protection but... ????

[strawberry-valentines]

☆Korekiyo Headcannons ☆

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

A/N: Not dead yet, friends and trusted companions!! Imma get back to the inbox soon and things will be smooth sailing <3 Love you all to bits ♡

TW: Mentions of Sister Shingujji.

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

- I feel like he really really likes to do his hair in differing styles!! Like somedays he'll let it hang loose sure but other days he will throw it into a messy bun or a braid. It just makes him feel at peace to present more femininely.

- It's been his dream to travel far and wide since he was a child, not only because of his sisters influence but also to just feel what it is to be free and experience things and find out who the hell he IS because deep down he doesn't know that and to him...that is the most terrifying feeling in the world.

-He feels like an alien to put it simply. Like...A shell of a person.

- He would never admit to anyone he isn't sure of his true self though. Not even to Shuichi. He's in heavy denial about it and to everyone else is SEEMS like he knows but to him? No...Not at all. He hides behind the things he likes and sticks with them but truly he doesn't even know if he likes them naturally or under the influence of others.

- Is attempting to heal his inner child. He didn't really have much of a childhood, and is attempting to try things he missed out on currently before its too late. It's really sweet in a way to see that he can get so excited over things that many others wouldn't....Especially seeing how stoic and harsh he may seem upfront.

- He also deals with heavy imposter syndrome and well...He doesn't like the person he's become to say the least.

- On a more positive note, I feel like Kiyo is a lover of candles and incense, and his room always smells of Vanilla or maybe even Cherry. It's practically a fire hazard, his room being filled with stacks of unorganized field notes and papers with candles on every single unoccupied surface.

- Is also like...a very very loyal person to his friends. Its kind of hard to get through to him because of his aloofness but if you try hard enough he will warm up and be so grateful for the company. You see as a child, I feel like he would have been made fun of a lot for his tendency to hyperfixate and infodump and because of that well...became ostracized and made fun of by his school mates.

- Because of that he's a very lonely person and doesn't really know what to do with positive attention...He'll accept it but inside he just feels so confused and unsure if he deserves it. And his trust issues? Boy thats a whole different subject. His loneliness is kind of why he started traveling to be honest...Meet people you'll never see again and learn about them to fill the void.

- If we are talking about his classmates in Hopes Peak however...I feel like he'd be pretty decent pals with Angie, Rantaro, Ryoma, Kirumi and Saihara however! I feel like Angie and Rantaro in particular would be his closest. The three of them would often meet up to travel, so much actually that they eventually buy a van and just set off cross country for weeks at a time.

- Said van is Kiyos fucking pride and Joy and with Angies help he paints the outside with Sunflowers and Poppies painstakingly over the course of a few days. They also renovate the inside between travels adding better seats and plants and well...decoration until its a bit strange and hippiesh. But well...its home right? It feels like that...at least to Kiyo.

- By default, being the only one with a vehicle and being able to drive well on campus he ends up running a lot of favors for everyone when he is back from his travels, even chauffering people from time to time.

- Can and will fuck you up if you mess with any of it though. Like don't touch his van.

(Can you tell that last part was incredibly self indulgent?)

- Finally well...I feel like Kiyo is an avid lover of dresses and collects them on his travels to wear once he gets home. He is also so good at makeup like??? That could be his talent on his own-- He can do his eyeliner flawlessly-

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Thank you for reading!!♡

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