#and scars from past injuries would also get healed especially if they have a strong core

[chuuyrr]

I LOVE YOUR WORK, YOU ARE AN ANGEL. Imagine that Kakucho is teen reader's boyfriend, IT WOULD BE TOO CUTE.

kakucho as scarlet witch! fushiguro! reader's boyfriend

jujutsu kaisen x reader x tokyo revengers

masterlist of the series

╰➤ CW(s): possible spoilers for tokyo revengers, mentions of violence, major themes of fluff, just soft boyfriend! kakucho

╰➤ PAIRING(s): kakucho hitto x reader, dad! gojo x reader

i may or may not have cried a little writing this because i really miss kakucho 😭 i know i love mikey and i still defend him, but i freaking love kakucho in secret!! the manga has me bawling my eyes i swear FJWKSJSHSJS thank you so much for the feedback anon it means a lot ♡

headcanons ! (kakucho as your boyfriend)

kakucho had always had feelings for you. you were not only beautiful, but you were also strong and powerful with your chaos magic, and you had a very kind heart. you are literally perfect. In his eyes, everything you are and do is perfect, including your laugh and smile. even when you burp, he thinks it's adorable, especially when you blush and cover your mouth with your hand afterwards.

before you two got together, kakucho was a little hesitant—no, make that incredibly hesitant. kakucho honestly thought you wouldn't reciprocate his feelings because of how close you were to izana, ran, and rindou in tenjiku compared to him, but that was just his mind and you two were actually pretty close. either way, he was in for a surprise that you felt the same way to him. ehen you said yes to him, kakucho was so overjoyed that he couldn't help but pick you up and spin you around.

having kakucho as a boyfriend is like winning the lottery. sure, his scar and height make him appear a little scary, but he's such a gentleman, an absolute big softie for you, and it's not like you're supposed to judge people based on their appearance anyway.

kakucho is the type of boyfriend who always picks you up from school and provides snacks and drinks to help you recharge after a long day. he'll also carry you and bring you to the hospital if you come to him with an injury from a jujutsu-related mission you had to deal with and cannot heal due to exhaustion. kakucho will take care of you and make sure you'll be in tip top shape.

despite the fact that he was a delinquent and you were a sorceress, kakucho has grown to accept and grasp what you do. he wasn't happy at first because he doesn't like seeing you injured and exhausted while knowing you still have school to go to. you have a lot of respect from kakucho. it is a huge responsibility to exorcise curses and save people. it's also admirable that you don't do it for money, but rather out of compassion and kindness. he'll never forget how you previously saved him and tenjiku from that curse in the past.

kakucho is quite shy with physical affection, not because he dislikes it, but because he is afraid you will be uncomfortable, which is the last thing he wants, so he always asks for your consent. it could be holding your hand, hugging you, or even kissing you. once you assure him that it is okay for him to initiate initimacy in that manner, he will gradually begin to do it more frequently, surprising you with a kiss or hug once in a while.

when it comes to you, kakucho is also very attentive. he's there to listen to you talk about school, jujutsu, your favorite animal, favorite food, or anything else. tell him about your likes and dislikes, how you like your coffee, and which vegetables you despise. kakucho discreetly takes notes on everything he needs to remember about you. he recalls even the most tiny things about you.

kakucho is always there to support you in your endeavors, just as you always support him and tenjiku, so if you ever get tired, feel like giving up, or simply lost, he's there to comfort you in any way he can. he'll even give you advice if you want him to. after all, kakucho is all about consent, so he's not the type to impose things on you.

your boyfriend loves you wholeheartedly. kakucho envisions himself spending his entire life with you, but in order for that to happen, he must first confront the strongest jujutsu sorcerer alive and your family figures.

scenario ! (getting caught kissing kakucho)

"kikufuku?"

you found yourself immediately pulling away from your boyfriend, who had bent down and leaned to kiss you, and turned around to see your adoptive father, gojo satoru, staring at you with wide eyes and a mouth hanging agape as he took hold of his sunglasses.

when you said you were going out with a friend, this isn't what gojo had in mind. you should have said boyfriend.

gojo's crystalline blue eyes met yours, then those of the tall young boy with natural black hair styled in a buzz cut and a prominent scar running from the back of his skull to the leftmost side of his face, just touching the corner of his left visually impaired eye. to be fair, he did appear intimidating, which explains your father's reaction.

"w-who is this?!" gojo exclaimed, grabbing you and pulling you to him before readying into a stance to protect you from this tall and 'scary' man, "why the fuck are you kissing my daughter, huh?!"

"daughter?" you saw an embarrassed blush spread across kakucho's face as he stared at the limitless sorcerer in surprise as he recognized him, "y-you're [name]'s dad?"

"dad! he's my boyfriend!" you blurted out, causing gojo to release you out of surprise, allowing you to run up to kakucho and cling to his arm.

"b-boyfriend? this guy?!" gojo looked at kakucho, puzzled, before snapping his head at him. the gears in his head were turning extremely slowly, processing what you had just said but remaining in denial, "you're not blackmailing [name] are you? because if you are, i will infinite void you right here and now."

"infinite void? what? no!" kakucho immediately shook his head, raising a hand defensively, knowing what gojo meant after hearing from you your dad's cursed technique and capability as the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, "i really am [name]'s boyfriend, sir!"

"i'm not lying! we've been seeing for some time now." you confessed, pursing your lips into a thin line as you looked up at gojo and sighed, "so don't infinite void him! that's all you ever do whenever i have a person i like!" 

"oh yeah? then how about i use hollow purple?" gojo folded his arms across his chest, "red or blue?"

"you can't delete him from existence." you grumbled, clutching kakucho's arm.

"oh alright, but you two are coming home right now, and when we get home, i'm having a talk with him," gojo sighed sharply before looking at kakucho, eyeing him up and down.

"i'm looking forward to getting to know you, gojo-san," kakucho said, dipping his head in respect, "and i'll tell you everything you want to know about me and us. my name is kakucho."

"kaku.." you blinked as your boyfriend's hand became entwined with yours.

"i like your spunk kid, but don't get too cocky alright?" gojo scoffed, but smiled anyway before shooting you a look, "okay, but really kikufuku. we really have to talk about your type. what's it with you liking delinquents like him, huh? did you get it from your mom?"

"uh, maybe?" you laughed nervously at gojo's statement, "haha.. can we just go home..?"

#i love him so much hhhh #writing this literally had me screaming #東京卍リベンジャーズ x reader #東京卍リベンジャーズ #kakucho x reader #kakucho hcs #kakucho scenarios #kakucho x you #kakucho x y/n #tenjiku x reader #bonten x y/n #bonten x you #bonten x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo rev x you #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers hcs #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers scenarios #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

[static-sulker]

The Explosion (Science Party)

Hi again! I have another headcanon that I think i've mentioned before about Dell's scar. Yes, the engineer must have dozens of scars throughout their body, but its specifically the staple of my Engie design, which is the eye scarage

This scar is apart of a whole situation that i've thought about for the past couple days- so uh yippie

also TW violence and semi gore? but it's pretty soft

Medic hadn't been with Engie at the time, but damn did he obsess over that Engineer.

It was just a silly crush sure, but Medic would spend hours at night just THINKING about him. His crystalized blue pupils, His intelligence, and his natural beauty that brought Medic to his knees.

Anybody with the right brain would keep eyes on him, especially in combat. It was the job for a Medic to help his team of course!

He was busy staring at the engineers attacks, basically swooning over his friend, before a semi-mangled scout crawled towards the doctor.

"Doc... please heal me..." He looked to have several broken bones and a series of arrows plunged into his back.

The Medic took one last look at Engie, and began to heal the scout begrudgingly.

"Such a baby..." he muttered, causing Scout to spout out a series of insults at the man who currently held his very own life in his red gloves.

"Oh, beruhige dich, kleiner Späher." He chuckled, taking out one of the arrows from his back rather harshly.

after a minute or two, the scout was good as new. "Thanks Medic!" He called, already dashing back into the heat of battle.

Medic nodded, and turned back to where he was holding post.

Engie was gone? That was strange, Engie wasn't one to move that fast so quickly.

He stepped down from the balcony-like platform he took post at to recover from his past injuries down to where the Engineer had been placing his series of machinery and dispensers.

Faintly, in a nearby building, there was the sound of heavy machinery and yelling of a familiar texan man. Medic followed the sound, through a hallway.

Around a corner he could hear the familiar tone of bullets hitting walls and people alike, and the ear-piercing screech of explosions. He carefully stood at the corner, peering over the wall to see the events of a bloody and aggressive fight.

The other teams rather crazed and drunken enemy demoman, fighting against the doctor's teams Heavy. An enemy Scout was assisting the demoman with a stupid smirk. Those scouts always have that stupid expression..

Engie was working behind his sentry, the machine booming with force and almost pushing the smaller man back. Medic smiled, getting ready to enter the combat...

until a large echoing boom erupted, covering Medic in a white light. He took a moment for the ringing in his ears to stop, and his eyes to regain focus.

"Ow..." The german muttered, holding his head in a daze. He was shoved against a wall after the explosion from that blasted demoman. Obviously he would throw such a strong explosive in such a confined space. Medic wasn't torn up too much in the blast but-

Dell.

Medic shot up from his fallen state, seeing that the demoman sprinted off with scout, and Heavy was already up again. He did look pretty banged up but enough to keep moving.

The explosion must have centered down on the sentry specifically, it not becoming nothing but rubble.

Engie was crumpled on the floor, eyes hazy as his entire right side of his face was covered in blood and open wounds. His goggles had completely shattered at this point.

Medic sprinted towards him, pupils dilated. He slid to the floor, holding up the limp Engineer.

"Engineer, are you alright..?" He had never seen somebody so utterly broken down. He knew the respawn machine would keep him alive, but these wounds couldn't be healed so easily.

Wounds like these need to actually be tended to, or he wouldn't even be able to function, like a constant loop on the brink of death.

A fucking nightmare

Dells eyes-well mainly eye, as the other had been screwed shut at this point, drearily opened.

"Oh...Is that you, Doc?" He smiled weakly, blood streaming from his lip. His stupid smile stayed true, like a lopsided smirk, with no negative motive behind that smile. Just a genuine smile.

"Yes, yes it is me Dell, can you hear me...?" He held the engineer softly, not wanting to tighten his grip to hurt him more.

"your a bit foggy but, yeah..?" His voice slowed, and he winced, trying to touch at his bloody mess of a right face, quickly being stopped by Medics free hand.

"You shouldn't touch it, it'll just make it worse." He tried to slip past the definition of 'it'.

"How bad...Is it?" He chuckled, hacking up some more blood accidentally.

"It's...It's pretty bad Dell but It's going to be okay I promise-" He bit back tears, caressing the others left cheek solemnly.

"Don't shit-talk a shit-talker, Doc." He mustered up the courage to tease the doctor. How could one joke at a time like this?

The Medic let out a depressed giggle, feeling the start of tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Im going to get you back to the infirmary, ja? Your going to feel all better soon, Okay..?" Ludwig carefully picked up the almost corpse of man, who winced in pain.

"Doc..Has anybody told you how pretty you are when you cry like that? You look..." The Engineer smiled, before slowly resting his eyes shut. "...Heavenly..." And that was it from him.

"Engineer? Engie? DELL?!?" Medics eyes melting into tears as he gripped onto the body he held so dearly.

_______

Ludwig basically scrambled to the infirmary, body in hand.

Fuck the Admins rules of staying on field until the round was over.

He stayed in the infirmary for hours, working on Dell's barely breathing body.

When the crew came back to their base, cheering for their win, it only made the Medic angrier.

"Wie soll man in dieser Situation jubeln … Ingenieur, alles wird gut, ich schwöre es." Medic whispered to himself, looking over his coworkers face. He looked so peaceful, still covered in blood. In a different situation, Medic would like this appearance a lot more.

He spent 9 whole hours working on keeping Engie alive.

9 hours spent trying to save him, going through about 3 breakdowns throughout the situation.

Funny enough, he almost called for Engineer to hand him his tweezers. Dell had a tendency to assist Medic every now and then with his experiments.

It felt awfully quiet during the surgery.

_______

Ludwig slept in the infirmary that night in one of the beds. He made sure to scoot his bed near the engineers, just in case he awoke in the night.

He didn't.

His heart rate was normal again, but he was asleep for a few days.

Ludwig was a mess for those few days. He hadn't showered the entire time, he didn't go on missions at all through the week. His hair was unkept and he was barely eating or drinking water. Nobody was there to remind him to keep up with his hygiene after all.

Anybody else who mentioned his appearance would get a bitter syringe in the eye, obviously.

He waited, eyes sparking at any rustle or shift in his friends sleep.

He waited.

and waited.

Waiting for a rather long time, but it only was a week.

For Doctor Ludwig?

It felt like years.

_______

Finally, 7 days after the accident, Engie regained conscious.

Medic was taking a review on his scar when he did, looking over the scar to see if it would open up again and begin to bleed again.The scar seemed to look a bit better after his rampant healing and nonstop care over the week.

Engie let out a soft groan, eyes wincing slightly.

Medic almost let out a choked sob to hear his voice again.

"Dell, are you okay..? Can you hear me well?" He leaned forward slightly, seeing his expression finally move after what felt like forever.

"I sure can Doc, whats going on?" He opened his left eye, squinting at the light. It looked alright, no damage there. His right eye definitely would have some damage, but he hypothesized that he would still have sight through it.

"Oh thank God you're alright, Dell." He smiled, eyes threatening to tear up again. "You got caught in the center of an explosion and you passed out..For seven days." He winced at the amount of time it has been.

"Good lord, seven days? Thats a lot longer then I expected...Are you okay?" He smiled, looking at the disheveled doctor.

"Me? Engie, you were in a coma for a full week and you're asking about me? Thats...Thats not important right now." Medic was flabbergasted at his coworker. Nobody could actually be that humble, right?

"Whats important is your right eye," He paused, searching for the right words. "Can you open it? The right side of your face took the most damage in the explosion. If you can, we can see the damage over your eye and see where to move on from there." He smiled reassuringly, seeing the semi-concerned Engineer.

"Alrighty.." He closed his left eye, before opening both completely. His right pupil was almost completely grey, losing its bright blue to now a dull form. "I can..Kinda see? It's a bit blurry but uh, yeah I can see ya Doc." He smiled, his eyes crinkled in a smile. Medic smiled, tears streaming down he face again. He was okay.

Medic was okay.

_______

A few months after the accident, the two of them got together. It was quite obvious that the Medic had never actually been so crushed when his patient was near death.

Heck, their teams demoman was nearly burnt alive after going through the respawn machine, and Medic did it with a smile on his face. No breakdowns. Nothing.

Engie started using glasses every now and then for reading, and he grew used to his eyesight. He was back to what could be described as normal.

Now he just a grotesque yet interesting conversation piece right on his face. Medic actually liked the scar a bit after they got together. He would trace it carefully with his finger when they slept, softly smiling at the man he held. He was so happy.

so so so happy.

_______

OKAY DONE, THIS TOOK TWO DAYS TO WRITE ON AND OFF YAY! OKAY I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT KIDDO SO UH BYE TOODLES IM GOING TO GO PASS OUT :D

#science party headcanons #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 engie #tf2 engineer #medic x engineer #team fortress two #tf2 au #fanfic #fanfiction #my rambling

[heroes-r-us]

Chubby female s/o who is very strong women but has gotten injured during a battle and now will deal with back pain for the rest of her life. She can usually manage it very well but sometimes she gets really bad pain and tries to hide it even tho it may not be completely discrete. Coukd I have the boys, Zoro,mihawk,sanji and crocodile headcanon/scenario of what they would do?

I also ask this because I had back problems go unsolved for years and had serious back surgery and the pain sometimes flares up and sometimes I like to imagine be being a strong devil fruit user and being comforted when the pain is extremely bad.

Again please and ty!!

GIRL everything you've sent in is so CUTE!! Also I hope your back is feeling better, I don't have serious back issues but I tend to hunch alot when writing and drawing and then end up with neck and back pain. (;-;)

I hope it feels better with the healing power of these headcanons! ( • ̀ω•́ )✧

>3<

Zoro:

- This man is as oblivious as they come.

- He won't notice small winces or when you need to sit or lay down. When you do, he simply assumes you were tired of standing and doesn't think much else about it.

- When the others are talking about past battles, your own battles get brought up. You'll casually mention your near death experience and get shocked faces all around, afterall the scars from the battle were on your back, and so far you had no need to expose your back.

- Of course you'll be peppered with questions about your injuries from Chopper, who's worry only increases when you mention your surgery.

- "You don't feel it anymore?" This question eventually leads to mentioning the back inconvenience d how you deal with it.

- Chopper is the first to begin talking about pain meds he can mix up, only to be stopped in his tracks by Zoro.

- "She's strong, she doesn't need any medicine."

- Cue enraged Chopper and Sanji.

- Zoro has a much better alternative than back massages from Sanji and pills from Chopper.

- Zoro had one thing they didn't.

- Sake.

Sanji:

- He's pretty tuned into all of the women on the ship, so any inconveniences they might face are usually taken care of by Sanji.

- There's very little this man won't do for a lady.

- He'll be one of first to notice any signs of pain or uncomfortability. He'll also be the first to offer you a back massage and the absolute royal treatment.

- Snacks, sweets and anything that you desire is already being prepared. Are the others being too noisy? He'll shut them up.

- He'll work together with Chopper to ensure that your medicine gets to you on time everyday.

- "Alright my sweet dove, don't worry, once you finish that disgusting medicine I'll feed you okaaay?"

- "I made this especially for you, dear! I hope you feel better today! If not I can always give you the most pleasurable massage-" "You're just a perv, stupid cook." "THE HELL DID YOU SAY MOSSHEAD-"

- At least you'll always know what his intentions are.

- He'll be certain to notice the occasional wince or when you place a hand on your back and sigh. Any sign of pain and he's there to soothe it.

Mihawk:

- Well, he's not as inclined as Sanji to jump to your rescue, but he will ask if you are in pain once or twice. He's not the type to completely ignore or miss signals like that either.

- If you deny, he'll assume you have it handled and will let you deal with it on your own.

- Should you mention it, he'll make an effort to assist you in finding an adequate doctor who can get you the proper medical care.

- He's not the type to smother you or constantly badger you with questions of your physical status. However, occasionally he will indeed bring up your treatments to ensure that the doctor is doing their job properly.

- He won't really remind you to take your medicines, but if you have a particularly poor memory he may set the pills beside your plate at breakfast.

- He takes a more observational stance, but don't take that to mean he doesn't care. Look into the library late at night and you'll find him reading up on doctor's books and notes about the human spine.

- He'll be the one to research and mention something he may deem helpful.

- Should you ask, he'll even assist you in carefully stretching out your back and neck in the evenings.

- He'll help out in small ways to ensure you don't put any unnecessary excessive strain on your back, but he won't baby you either.

Crocodile:

- This man is pretty observational and likes to plan things out. So, once he does notice the scars on your back, he'll be quick to set up a doctor's appointment for you. Whether or not you consented to a check up doesn't bother him in the slightest.

- He'll probably have learned about 'That Battle' through rumors or word of mouth before he met you. He's no stranger to body and life altering scars.

- Suprisingly the most understanding. He's experienced similar problems with his arm, and will probably sound mocking when he mentions your back pain. It's hard not to when comparing the loss of a limb to an injured back.

- Losing a hand seems a bit more extreme after all. Though he's not exactly nice about it at first, he will make certain you have proper care. What's a weak partner to him after all?

- You'll have to be pretty strong to gain his admiration, so I'd imagine that the back pain you feel would have killed a regular person.

- Once the doctor informs him of your spinal damage and that overall a regular human shouldn't be able to live let alone walk, he'll stop the mocking behavior and his tune will change real quick.

- Suddenly your pills and doctor appointments become a bit more important to the man.

- He does care somewhere deep, deep down. He just doesn't like to show it.

#one piece headcanons #x reader headcanons #zoro headcanons #one piece x reader #one piece #x reader #sir crocodile x reader #zoro x reader #hawkeye mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk imagine #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #sir crocodile #sir crocodile/reader #sir crocodile headcanons #one piece crocodile #sanji scenario #sanji x reader #chubby reader #reader insert #one piece reader insert #female reader

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bent, not broken 3

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; violence; injury; blood; fingering, mean Steve

This is a dark!fic and features the winter soldier and Captain Hydra x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: An attack leads to the uncovering of decades old secrets when you are taken by the deadliest assassin in the world

Note: Here’s part 3. Right now I’m bouncing between things but open to suggestion for the upcoming week for ongoing series. (I’ll likely just add onto my Lee fic).

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The days passed like a pendulum, swinging between paranoia and suffocating tension. You felt like an animal caught and caged. Much of your time was spent in that room, abed and alone. Your only contact was when Steve brought you your meals but the soldat did not appear again. You were relieved not to have the silent watchdog around but it also made you uneasy.

The pain dulled. Your shoulder loosened up first and no longer sent a jolt down your arm every time you moved. Your ribs were another issue and even as the agony was less intense and consuming, the echo of the injury remained. You felt brittle as if one wrong move would break you completely.

Then, when the pain was not so strong to distract you, you grew restless. The walls seemed closer together and the meals further apart. Steve’s appearances were brief and mostly wordless. He’d linger to check on your injury or bark at you to eat, but he wasn’t as talkative as your first day in the hideaway.

There was little for you to do. You were left with a copy of War and Peace and the tight font often left your eyes fuzzy and fatigued, your mind as well. There was a booth hidden behind the narrow door and you washed when you felt up to it, the water ice cold. You spent much of your time staring at the ceiling, wishing it would collapse on you.

You weren’t stupid. You knew it was all methodical. The indifferent isolation. You were being conditioned like a dog with a bell and it was working. You longed for any contact, any company, and conversation.

That day, the door opened but you didn’t move. You laid with your head on the pillow, arms crossed, and one leg over the other. Steve placed the metal bowl on the nightstand and sighed as he stood by the bed. You felt him watching you as you ignored him for the pale white above.

“Sit up and eat,” he said.

You glanced at him. The scar through his eye wrinkled as he grimaced and tapped his fingers on the table. You shrugged at him and sighed.

“I’m not hungry,” you said.

“Eat,” he repeated.

“I will,” you relented, “when I feel like it.”

“Now,” he grabbed the bowl and put it over your chest, “come on.”

You rolled your eyes and sat up and took the bowl. His eyes clung to you as you bent your legs and stirred the thick oats. The goopy mixture made a gross noise as you did.

“You don’t like it?” he said.

“Bland,” you took a bite, “doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” he rebuked, “you better be done by the time I return.”

You looked at him as he turned away and headed for the door abruptly. You choked down the thick porridge and took another bite. You were hungry but the pasty oatmeal went down like rocks.

When he came back, you scooped up the last mouthful and put the bowl aside. He neared and draped a lilac dress by your legs. You stared at it then looked him in the face. His expression was as impenetrable as the mountain compound.

“What is that?” you asked dully.

“Don’t be stupid and put it on,” he put his hand on his hip, “I’d say it’s a bit more fitting than that prison uniform.”

“Is it?” you grumbled as you tentatively reached for the purple fabric.

“Or you can go naked,” he reached out and jabbed your shoulder.

“Fine,” you turned your legs over the bed and watched him expectantly.

He raised a brow and waited. You shied away at his unflinching stare and swiped up the dress. You crawled to the other side and kept your back to him. You took off the shapeless shirt and dropped it behind you. You pulled on the dress and stood, pushing down the baggy bottoms. The dress floated at mid thigh and left you feeling exposed.

“Your ribs are healing,” he remarked, “you should be able to take the bandage off.”

You faced him as he went to the foot of the bed. He waved you over and continued to the door.

“Should get the kinks out,” he said as he set his thumb in the sensor and the metal slid up, “a proper tour is in order.”

You neared as he turned and waited for you to precede him. As you passed, his eyes slipped down your body and he tilted his head. You looked away quickly and carried on into the hallway. There was little point resisting a man who could break you in two with his pinky, especially in your state.

“Looks good,” he said as he followed you out and came up arm to arm with you, “you know, you, me, the soldier, we’re the only ones who know about this place. Not that you know much, huh?”

“I don’t like games,” you retorted, “I’m… tired. Please, don’t--”

“I found this place in 1955,” he led you along the shining halls, “it’s had a facelift since then. A hobby on the side. Used to be Stalin’s hideout, akin to Hitler’s bunker if anything ever went south. When he died, the co-ordinates were lost. They sent me out to find it…”

“They? Hydra? Why--”

“Because the other guys didn’t care,” Steve said, “I saw how they celebrated my death as some patriotic feat. Like I was just a shield. You know, the ‘bad guys’, at least they don’t try to lie about what you are. They use you exactly like they need to and don’t sugar coat it.”

“And your… friend… you like how they use him?”

Steve stopped short and caught your arm, “it’s best for him. He couldn’t handle a clear mind. We keep each other safe, like we always did.”

“Mmm,” you hummed.

“As I was saying,” he nudged you onward, “I gave them a fake map and all they found was a demolished bunker. It kept them happy and me too. I got a place to lay low. Place of my own.”

You turned down the next hall. You were quiet as he led you along, past that room with the bar and around another corner. You lost sense of direction as he took you deeper into the hideaway. You came into a large corridor with a glass wall that overlooked a mountain pass without. You were breathless as you stopped to peer through.

“He’ll hurt you again,” Steve said bluntly, “we both know that.”

“Then why keep me here? You can let me go. I wouldn’t say a word, I wouldn’t even know what to say--”

“And why would I do that?” he asked blithely as he admired the deep drop and jagged offshoots.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“It’s much more fun to keep you,” he chuckled, “and he wanted you so taking you away won’t do shit.”

“I don’t--”

He raised his finger and hushed you. He squinted as he listened but you didn’t hear anything but the winds on the other side of the glass. Steve’s mouth slanted and he stepped past you. You turned to the end of the corridor and heard a soft padding that grew to a tremulous stomp.

“Speak of the devil,” Steve taunted, “sounds like a rough mission.”

When the soldier emerged from the next hall, you gasped. His face was a smear of grit and blood, his locks dangling and slick around his mask. His gear was torn and gashed in places and his metal fist clenched as the plates of his arm bore even more scratches than before.

He stopped and his eyes dilated as he saw you. Steve went to him calmly and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, you’re back,” he said softly, “snap out of it.”

He tapped the mask so the soldat looked at him instead. Their eyes met as the soldier’s chest puffed and slowed. Steve’s other hand went to his chest, just over his heart. The captain leaned in and kissed his temple, issuing a whisper you could not hear.

You were too shocked and confused to do more than watch. Steve gripped Bucky’s jaw and turned his gaze onto you. He smirked as he held him.

“Look at her,” he slithered, “isn’t that what you wanted? A pretty little plaything.”

The soldat didn’t move, just stared.

“She’s all ready for you,” Steve let go and clapped his chest, “isn’t that a nice dress, huh? A nice peek of her legs… don’t you want to know what’s underneath? Don’t you want to touch it?”

You took a step back as goose bumps rose on your skin. Steve released him and snickered. The soldat brought one boot down and then the next, marching slowly towards you.

“Let’s have some fun,” Steve boomed and his eyes narrowed over Bucky’s soldier, “soldat, engage.”

His next step came down quicker and you spun on your heel. Without thinking, you dashed away in a blur of terror. You could hear him behind you, the heavy soles thunderous against the slap of your bare feet. You got around the next corner and your ribs throbbed painfully as your lungs burned.

You peeked over your shoulder. He wasn’t running, he was walking. A mock of a chase as he kept within sight even as you raced on. Your heart pounded in your ears and your legs felt like jelly. It was so long since you did more than pace your room or lay in bed.

You stumbled deep in the maze, all recollection of the path Steve led you on gone. You hit your knees on the hard floor and hissed. You had only a moment to gulp down air before you were seized by the back of your neck. You staggered as you were spun and your back collided with the cold wall.

The soldier’s metal hand was quick to grasp your throat and push your chin up as he held you on tiptoes. You clawed at his fingers as his other hand crept up your thigh. Your eyes watered as it felt like a vice was wrapped around your neck and chest. You quivered as the skirt caught on his hand and slowly rose with his touch.

You squeezed your thighs around his fingers and he poked you so harshly you whimpered. Your legs parted for him and he pushed against your bare cunt. You clung to his wrist as your other hand slapped at his bicep. His blue eyes focused on your skirt as he delved between your folds.

Your feet arched as you tried not to slip and your calves cramped. You whined through your teeth as he turned his hand and pressed the heel of his palm to your clit. He bent his finger into you and drew a pathetic yipe from you. He felt around inside and added another, eliciting another tremulous yelp.

“Pl.. please,” you rasped, “don’t… you don’t want to…” his eyes flicked up and met yours.

He paused as he gazed back at you and you squirmed. He hesitated and for a moment, it felt like he might drop you. Another set of footsteps approached evenly and Steve tutted as he came upon the scene.

“You shouldn’t play with your food,” he said, “go on. You know what you want to do. It’s why you took her.”

You choked as his fingers tightened and he buried himself to his knuckles, his hand firm to your clit. He rocked his hand and your body, every tilt sending a jolt through you. Your walls were scoured by his intrusion and your core thrummed at the distant stirring of instinct.

“Please…” you cried.

“Shhh,” Steve came closer and leaned on the wall next to you, “we don’t want him to break something else.”

“Wh-why--” you coughed.

“Faster,” Steve snarled, “make her feel it.”

The soldier lifted you off your feet with each dip of his fingers. You slapped your hand against the wall and reached for the captain. He swatted your hand away and backed up as he watched you. He rounded Bucky and peered at you from the other side and hummed. He sucked his teeth and came closer, his hand on the soldier’s shoulder.

“More,” he urged.

You closed your eyes and shrieked as his hand sped up, slamming into you over and over as your thighs clamped around him. You gritted your teeth as your pulse raced and you were swept up in a sudden fit of dizziness. You felt fire flickering from his touch, building and building a spark at a time as your body rebelled.

“Look at her,” Steve purred, “so weak, so small. Nothing. She’s not like us, she’s just one of them.”

You groaned as your cunt made slick noises around Bucky’s fingers and his hot breath glossed over you. He leaned in and his hand moved so that his thumb pressed along your jaw painfully. You whined as you felt as if he’d crush the bone.

“She’s almost there,” Steve mused, “faster, yeah, like that.”

You wailed as you came, terrified of the man before you and the way your body bent to him. Your nails grazed down the leather across his chest and your hand dangled limply as you let the tide wash over you. He kept on until you could hardly breathe and dropped you suddenly. Your legs folded and you crashed to the floor.

You kept yourself from keeling over onto your face and pushed your back against the wall. You peeked up as Steve took Bucky’s hand and licked his glistening fingers. You cringed as he let go and his attention turned on you. He knelt and exhaled deeply as he smirked at you.

“You want to know why?” he blinked and his nose scrunched sardonically, “because I didn’t want this. I was happy. Just me and him. Decades and he decides to go out and catch a pet.”

“No, I…” you rubbed your throat as it burned.

“Him, I know, but it doesn’t hurt any less,” Steve scowled, “but we can make it work.” He reached to you and brushed his thumb over your cheek, “I can make use of you. Just the way you took his fingers, that look on your face…” he retracted his hand and leaned his elbow on his leg, “and he could use an outlet. Something to ease the tension.”

“You… and him?” you wondered aloud.

“It’s the twenty-first century, isn’t it?” Steve stood and slapped the soldier’s ass. He got a sharp look in response, “not that it ever really mattered.”

“It’s not… I just didn’t… realise,” you rasped.

“Mhmm,” Steve intoned, “you’re just innocent.”

“I didn’t--”

“Get her up,” he ordered, “take her to our room and get her cleaned up. You too. You smell.”

You flinched as the soldier grabbed your arm and forced you up. Your thighs quaked in the after shock and your core ached. He pulled you away from Steve and you limped beside him. You shivered as the cold air enshrined your hot flesh.

“No touching,” the captain warned, “not until I say so.”

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #dark steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #dark!steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #stucky #dark!stucky #dark stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #bent not broken #mcu #marvel #captain america #winter soldier #captain hydra #au

[pascalpanic]

He is My Home (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: Din’s going to have a nasty scar from the wound on his side, just like the ones you have, the ones you’re insecure about.

W/C: 2.3k

Warnings: light mentions of blood and injuries. mentions of birth. scars (none are explicitly from SH) are mentioned.

A/N: Fluffy Din can I get a hell yeah?? @binarydanvvers sent me this request and it’s absolutely precious so I’m really happy I got to write it. I hope y’all will love it too!!

Din Djarin’s body is defined by his scars, even if few or no other living beings have seen them.

The very first scar on Din’s body came from his birth. Vha Djarin’s baby came out happy and healthy, but an apprentice midwife with an unsteady hand nicked the child’s skin with her blade as she severed the umbilical cord. That’s where the small white line above his belly button comes from.

The other scars include various missions, combat as a young adult, some nearly mortal wounds. There’s a scar across the bridge of his nose from some mission where he was fighting for your little green son’s life. There’s a long line along his forearm from a slice due to an opponent’s blade, on the underside, where the beskar didn’t protect him.

Everything about Din is beautiful to you. Even his name is so beautiful to say- Din Djarin. It sounds like poetry in his mother tongue’s accent. You’ve married him, become his riduur. You see his face daily, the face he was so scared to show you.

Din had feared you’d find him ugly. That you’d think him unlovable, that his nose was too big and eyes too deep-set, his entire body and even his soul too scarred. It wasn’t until after your wedding, when you removed his helmet and cried in joy, that his fears were cast away. You pressed your forehead to his and cupped his face and genuinely told him that you couldn’t imagine a more beautiful man, a more handsome and wonderful Mandalorian behind that beskar.

That night was spent exploring each other’s bodies now that you had total and complete access to Din’s body. It wasn’t entirely sexual, though much of it was; you just felt his abs and his arms and his warm skin beneath yours, and he did the same to you.

Your life has been perfect for the past few months as Din’s riduur. You get to see his face every day, kiss the scar on the bridge of his beautiful nose. You have the privilege of rolling over in bed and seeing his sleeping face, his brow furrowed even in his sleep. You get to see his little green son squeal in excitement when he gets to see his daddy’s face, the way the three small green fingers of each hand grab at one stubbly cheek.

Din is equally as happy. Being with you allows him to be a human again; it allows him to be Din, not Mando. Your warm arms around him in the middle of the night stall the nightmares of the siege of his hometown and the kills he committed and the way the pile of Mando helmets looked in the corner of the covert.

Of course, practicality dictates Din still must work. As a bounty hunter’s riduur, your options are really either to be a bounty hunter too, or a stay at home buir to your little green son. As you have next to no fighting skills, you stuck with the role that introduced you to your husband in the first place: interplanetary nanny to your bug-eyed baby boy.

You enjoyed the pretend domesticity, but you also appreciated the charm of the fact that home is literally where you make it with the Razor Crest: on any planet, moon, or space station. Your home travels with you, your home is wherever the Crest is tonight.

Even before you found the Crest, Din has been your home. He’s your place and your person, ever since the first time someone threatened you and Din shot them dead where they stood and you stared for a second in utter terror they’d jerk back to life before running into his arms and burying your head in the skin between his helmet and his cape. And that’s when you realized that Din’s arms were your safe place, the one place nothing can hurt you. Not when Din is protecting you.

Tonight more than ever, you miss Din’s arms. He took a honeymoon phase of one or two bounties a month after your riduurok, to spend time with you and the child and your newly formed, legally Mandalorian family. Your aliit, your clan. All good things must come to an end, though, and Din was back into his hunting. It’s been a week without him. Your beskar ring feels cold on your finger tonight as you trace your hand over the etched mudhorn in the wedding band.

Your green baby is cuddled to your chest, snoozing happily with his mama. You press a kiss to his head, thinking about Din. The child’s father. The little creature radiates warmth and relaxation and hypnotically urges you to fall asleep alongside him. Rest, mama. And you do.

-

The next morning, you startle awake at the sound of beskar clanging against the metal of the ship. “Riduur?” You call out, sitting up excitedly.

“Hi,” he says weakly, and the tone sets panic into your body. You jump out of the bed to find Din kneeling next to the carbonite, a freshly sealed and still sublimating creature trapped in it.

Din clutches his side and you sink to your knees frantically. His orange gloves are covered with blood as one reaches to you. “Din,” you panic, unsure what to do for a moment. “I’m going to go get the medkit. You start undressing now, beskar off, clothes off,” you order him and get to your feet. You pull out a cot and pop it open. “Lay here and wait for me.”

You fly into a tizzy around the ship, grabbing the various things you need. Bacta, needles, bandages, the official medkit. Good. You return to his side, where he lies in his boxers and helmet. “Baby,” you coo gently and remove the helmet. “Just me, remember?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, dazed eyes looking up at you. His dark hair is drenched in his sweat, and there’s a trickle of blood from his lip.

You fly into action. “Bacta’s going in first, love. Going to jab it in, get ready.” He softly nods and makes a whimper as you stab the needle in, pushing down the plunger and emptying the syringe into his body.

He’s numb now. You wipe the wound and grab the cauterizer. “You might feel this, Din. It’s gonna be quick, I promise.” He doesn’t even respond, eyes shut. You use it and he twitches, his face cringing in pain.

“I know, I know. Doing so good, almost- there we go,” you sigh as the wound is finished cauterizing. “You did wonderfully, my warrior. Providing for us no matter the cost,” you tell him and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

You press a large gauze patch and bandage over his wound, to ensure it stays clean. “Okay, okay baby. You can sleep now. Did so good for me, my strong man,” you mumble, cupping his face.

“You did all the work,” he mutters, a soft smile on his face. The medication wipes him out into a deep sleep.

-

Bacta isn’t a miracle drug. It can’t save you from certain death, can’t reverse the growth of diseases that have already infiltrated. The miracle, really, behind Bacta, is how quickly it works. It heals wounds that would take weeks in days, and days in hours.

When Din wakes later, the cauterized wound has shrunken exponentially. He’s still got lots of bruises and nicks, but he’s better. There’s a familiar hum, the soft roar of hyperspace surrounding the Crest.

He sits up with minimal pain and looks around. There’s a soft light coming from the bunk, where you and the baby sleep. The light is for the child. He’s scared of too much dark; you’d learned that especially in the days where the hull would be coated in blackness in order for you and Din to kiss and touch and love. Your face is peaceful as you sleep, and Din looks at you with all of the love in his heart.

He stands, albeit slowly, and walks to the bunk with a jerking and awkward stance. He just wants you, your softness and warmth. It’s common that he’ll sneak into bed with you after a mission or piloting the ship, or simply because you took a nap and he just needed some sweetness in his day. You instinctually nuzzle into him, attracted to his warmth. The child follows suit, nestling between the two of you. His two favorite people in all of the galaxy, his buirs.

The three of you are at peace, in your home: with each other. You roll over as you notice the warm presence and a small smile graces your slowly waking face. “Mm, riduur. You were supposed to be on the cot,” you chuckle softly and press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Bacta fixed me up enough.”

“You’re gonna have a nasty scar,” you chuckle softly.

“I’ve got plenty of those already. What’s one more?” He asks, nudging your face with his nose.

It’s unbearably soft and warm. “Scars seem to be our problem,” you nod in agreement.

He pulls away and looks at you, in the soft blue glow of the baby’s nightlight. “Cyare, scars aren’t a problem. They’re reminders, of everything we’ve been through and will prevail through in the future.” He kisses your collarbone softly, setting your child aside.

You frown. “Doesn’t mean I like them. They’re gross.”

Din’s frown matches yours. It’s a warm night in the Crest, leaving you sleeping in just a breastband and a pair of shorts. He can see the scars littering your abdomen, the ones you’re so insecure about. “Tell me about them.”

“Din,” you pout.

“We are one when together, we are one when parted,” he mumbles, scooting down to press a kiss to one scar. Your wedding vows, the ones you took and meant with all of your soul. “Your pain is mine, my love. Tell me about this one,” he says, a featherlight fingertip tracing the line.

You sigh, making your abdomen inflate and deflate deeply beneath him. “I was 11 cycles old when I got that one. My appendix ruptured, they had to remove it.”

He nods and kisses along the scar, big brown eyes looking up at you. “I see. And this one?” He asks.

You chuckle softly. “This is from when I was stupid enough to sleep in just a breastband and shorts, like this, and I rolled over on green bean and his claw stabbed me.”

Din recalls. He chuckles happily at the memory and presses a kiss to the scar, his fingers still tracing the last one. There’s one on your knuckles. He takes your hand and traces it, looking at you. Silently asking.

“Lothcat bite. They’re not as cute and docile as they look,” you nod as Din’s lips ghost over your fingers.

You think about the places you got those childhood scars. All at home. The newer one? From your newer home. Yes, your old home may have scarred you, most certainly physically and maybe mentally or emotionally, but they left their mark on you. Your eyes water as you look down at Din. “Your turn,” you tell him and push him down into the mattress of the bunk.

There’s been one you’ve always meant to ask him about. You straddle his hips and sit between his groin and his navel. “What is this one?” You ask of a little mark above his navel. It’s a stark white, contrasting his skin.

“My birth. A midwife nicked me while severing the umbilical cord. I’ve heard that my mother was ready to take the surgical tools herself and go after her,” he chuckles.

You smile softly. There’s a scar on his cheek and your fingertips slowly draw the outline of it. He nods. “As a teen, obviously. Before the helmets went on. Close call with a spear,” he admits, a soft smile on his face. “Those are the only fun ones. The rest are from bounties,” he admits.

You chuckle softly. “Fun ones?” You tease.

“Interesting, I suppose,” he admits, taking your fingertips from his scar to rest them on his lips, kissing them then just holding your hand. “Do you see, my love?” He asks.

You simply nod, eyes watering again. Din reaches up and wraps you in his arms, lowering you to lie chest to chest on top of him. “You are so beautiful, my love. My riduur,” he mumbles to you. You sigh contentedly and kiss the scar on the bridge of his nose.

“Easy for you to say. You’re a bounty hunter. These all suit you. Besides the fact that you’re already covered head to toe in beskar, it would just work.”

He frowns. “Cyar’ika. Neither I nor anyone else cares about your scars. They’re part of you; how could I?”

You whimper and bury your head in his neck, allowing yourself to cry. “It’s been a hard day, Din. Please let me have this.”

“I will not. I absolutely refuse to let you think like that,” he tells you and cradles your head. “You can cry all you’d like, riduur, but it won’t change the fact that I find the scars absolutely beautiful. They’re so perfectly you. They’ve made you who you are, the woman I love so dearly. How could they be ugly when they’re made of you?”

His words make you cry harder, and you sob into his bare skin. He strokes your back, allowing you to cry it out. He mumbles sweet words in your ear; just letting it happen.

When you’re finished, you lift your head with a sniffle. “I love you so much, Din. You make me feel like I have a home with you.”

He kisses your forehead softly. “This is your home, my love. Right hear, in my arms, wrapped up with me.”

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #mando x reader #mando #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pascalpanic

[romanapologist]

montreal - roman hurt/comfort

pairing: this was written to all be platonic prinxiety, but can definitely be interpreted romantically !

warnings: unconventional self harm, non-graphic descriptions of wounds/injury

summary: a post-POF roman hurt/comfort fic in january 2021? yes <3

word count: 3.2k

notes: large portions of this were salvaged from one (1) night last summer at 4am when i was having a . time. the rest has been mainly recently written before i go to bed, with some extra bits added during my history classes B)) also shout out to [REDACTED]. u may not read this but if u do, i hope u know who u are & ilu

Virgil had been trying to calm himself down for the better part of an hour, as soon as they got back from the wedding fiasco; and he was doing a relatively okay job. Considering the circumstances, at least. Or so he thought, when he registered a spike in Thomas’s anxiety. This only served to make Virgil more anxious, because he had thought he had been doing well—until, he realized it wasn’t anxiety, not exactly, not fully—and it wasn’t coming from him.

Once he'd figured that out, it wasn't hard to trace the feeling to the imagination. He paused at the door. If this was where the strongest negative emotions were coming from, he already knew which side this was about. And could he really be surprised? Roman had wanted that callback for so long. Even at the court case, even when Roman gave Thomas his sentence, Virgil knew it killed him. And Virgil didn't do anything. Because he was so fucking scared of Thomas being bad, or of Janus winning, or something, and now whatever was going on was his fault, and--

And now was not the time for these thoughts. He breathed in. He opened the door.

Immediately, he was coughing out soot, heat burned his cheeks, his eyes blurred with protective tears forming against the smoke. It was hard to see, let alone process, what was happening. Then, he caught sight of the Dragon Witch. And he caught sight of—

“Roman!” Virgil choked on the yell, coughing again.

Obviously Roman couldn’t hear him from the distance, especially considering the brutal roar of the creature. Adrenaline kicked in, and as Virgil began to sprint towards the prince, he took in the entirety of the scene with alarm. Roman was...fighting, sure, except that Virgil had seen him fight before, and this... wasn’t right. Roman bested manticore-chimeras like it was a breeze, he HAD bested the Dragon Witch herself in every form she took, “just for training.” He always moved like he was in a ballet, not a battle, like it was more for show than challenge, and now...

Virgil watched Roman fall to a hard swish of the creature’s tail, and stay there. He almost expected the Dragon Witch to take mercy, or at least, to accept an early victory. But he watched her rear back, raise a taloned hand, the magma-red in her throat glowing brighter and brighter—just as Virgil got close enough to let fight win over flight.

Virgil crashed into Roman; they rolled just far enough that the swipe of claws only ripped the edge of Virgil’s jacket.

Immediate danger out of the way, Virgil clenched his eyes tight, trying to do it how Logan taught him. He found something that didn’t make sense--the grass. The grass was dry, therefore it should have been burning, but it wasn’t. He took that foothold to dispel all the fantastical elements of the scene, Dragon Witch and all her carnage blinking from existence. The new calm of the scene was jarring.

That just left a great big field, Virgil, and one absolute dumbass.

"What the fuck, Princey?!"

Virgil’s voice was distorted with stress, and Roman stared up at him wide-eyed, unsure—even terrified in a way that hurt. Virgil quickly pushed himself up so he wasn't pinning the other. Roman tried to copy this movement, only to groan, start coughing, and fall back again.

“Shit, I—“ Virgil looked at his hands and found red on them, looked at Roman and saw the color painting his chest. “I thought I dispelled all the imaginary stuff, why—?“

“Left brain sides can only dispel so much of what right brain sides feel,” Roman said, voice rough and thin and upsettingly casual, “Since they feel so real to me, you can’t get rid of them.”

“They feel…? Christ, ok, you need a medical kit, uhm—“ Virgil closed his eyes again; he was notoriously shitty at summoning things, and he had to concentrate for this—

“That’s ok; I’ve got it,” Roman said, letting out a quiet hiss as he propped himself up on one arm, and summoned the medical kit with the other, “You can go now.”

Virgil gaped at him in disbelief. When Roman attempted to stand up, and Virgil could no longer deny he wasn’t joking, he exclaimed, “Like Hell am I going, idiot!”

Roman just stared at him, and Virgil cursed under his breath. “Ok ok, let’s just... we should do this in the bathroom, uhm—“

Virgil awkwardly clambered over to Roman again, taking his hand, so he could blink them over together. He knew it would probably be more comfortable for Roman to sink in and out, but considering Virgil wasn’t practiced at that, he wasn’t going to risk screwing it up.

They apparated into the bathtub, and Virgil scrambled up, taking the med kit from Roman's hands.

Ok, ok, now Virgil just had to remember that one time Logan lectured them all on “Side Safety.” He took a shaky breath and washed his hands quickly, before turning back to Roman. He allowed himself to fully assess the prince this time and… Jesus. He was slumped against the back of the tub, having given up his attempts at composure while he thought Virgil wasn’t looking. His litany of scrapes, cuts, bruising, his shallow breathing, and--most of all--the wet, red patch slowly growing on his shirt, sparked renewed panic in Virgil.

“Ok, fuck, ok--let’s do this,” Virgil said, mostly to himself, as he knelt down by Roman to undo his already tattered shirt and take a wet towel to his chest. He had to suck in a breath at the sight of the jagged wound, a nauseous feeling catching up to him.

“You’ve already done a lot, you know,” Roman insisted. “You can--”

“If you tell me to go, Princey, I swear I’ll make these wounds worse myself,” he said, not meaning it in the slightest, which he would assume Roman knew--but the way Roman flinched and shut his mouth told a different story. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. Of course I didn’t mean that!”

Roman glanced away, and Virgil reached to cup his cheek, an instinct he didn’t know he had. Luckily, he caught himself in time to retract his hand. They both avoided eye contact for a second; Virgil cleared his throat; and he reached for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide before pausing. He vaguely recalled Logan mentioning how strong alcohols would only cause more harm, and they should just stick to mild soap instead. He gave the cut a longer look-over—it was certainly not a pretty sight, but probably not as bad as it looked. It was large, but not too deep. Plus, as sides, it would heal itself without needing anything like stitches or professional medical work. The past scars littering Roman’s body were proof of that. Actually--had he always had this many scars? Virgil squinted. How often did he do this?

Virgil finished cleansing and bandaging the wound to the best of his ability, with little talk beyond the occasional, soft “sorry” at Roman’s winces. When he had finished, he gave Roman his hoodie (an action the Prince was too tired to take much notice of), since summoning a new shirt seemed like a waste of whatever energy he had left.

“Ok, Princey, all done. Uhm, are you—how, how are you?” Virgil mentally kicked himself.

A small, bitter smile tugged at Roman’s lips for just a moment. He opened his mouth and then closed it, and finally shrugged. “Thank you for your help.”

It hurt, Virgil realized. Roman’s quiet voice, where near-shouting was his usual speech. His unkempt hair sticking to his forehead, where it was usually styled to be very lightly and intentionally ruffled. The bags beneath his eyes where there was usually concealer. All of it hurt.

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m being annoying, but I hope you know there’s absolutely no way I’m leaving yet.”

“Virgil,” Roman almost said it as a whine, which was closer to his usual style, so Virgil considered it progress.

“Roman,” Virgil deadpanned back.

Roman huffed. “Maybe I need space to really explore my feelings, and you’re actually being a terrible friend right now,” he argued.

“Uh-huh, well being a terrible friend is always my favorite, so,” Virgil leaned down, fumbling slightly as he picked Roman up bridal style, “We’re gonna get you to bed, and you can explore your feelings by sleeping.”

“Great, now you’re damsel-in-distressing me,” Roman said sarcastically, but he leaned his head into Virgil’s chest as he did so, which kind of ruined his point.

“Yeah, yeah. Act more like Megara next time, and maybe it’ll be different.”

•••

Roman groaned upon waking up. His whole body ached, but mainly it was focused around a sharper pain in his chest. He let his eyes flutter open, only to find Virgil staring at him from his desk.

“Ah,” Roman uttered, a jumble of memories from the past few hours returning. They felt foggy and mildly icky, but mainly the pain in them was the numb kind of pain, the tired kind. Really, it was indistinguishable from the dull ache of his bruises and cuts.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, as though he understood, even though he couldn’t possibly. “Uh, wanna talk about it?”

It was clear Virgil felt awkward asking the question. It was unclear whether that was due to his tendency to be embarrassed by everything he said, or—far more likely—that he wanted to stop babying a stupid prince, and just go about his business.

Roman sat up, suppressing a wince as best he could. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“Of course I do.” Virgil said it without an ounce of hesitation. Roman’s breath caught.

“Oh.” Roman shifted slightly over, and Virgil took a seat by him on the bed. “Okay. Uhm. I don’t know, I just—I messed up.” What else was new?

“...What did you mess up?” Virgil asked, with an inkling of suspicion, like he knew what this was about. But it wasn’t that; it wasn’t the callback—that was over and done and dead. Roman had created so many fantasies, so many crazy scenarios where they could somehow still make it in that stupid movie, and it had always filled him with hope or crushing pain or something, but as of this afternoon? He didn’t even care. It didn’t matter.

So, Roman ignored the question, and instead commented, “Janus got accepted.”

“What the fuck.”

Roman observed Virgil’s stricken expression like an unsettling kind of mirror of himself when—

My name is Janus.

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, “I didn’t take it so well either.”

Virgil looked at him for a long moment, seeming to go through several series of emotions, before he was able to ask, “...What happened?”

Roman inhaled sharply. “I was wrong about being wrong about the wedding. Patton was also wrong; Janus was right, and then Patton was right because he wasn’t a total asshole to Janus, and I’m evil; Thomas hates me; whatever, you get it.”

He thought he would break down, saying it, but he felt oddly… fine. He sat, staring at the same spot as he was before, absentmindedly annoyed at the way his bandages itched. The normalcy of the situation almost made it worse. This sucked. This wasn’t even bad.This was the worst he had ever felt.

“Oook,” Virgil said, clearly not knowing where to start, “I—you—what do you mean: Thomas hates you?”

“Thought that one was self-explanatory.”

“He can’t hate you,” Virgil said with a laughable amount of conviction. “You’re still his… y’know.. goals. Desires. Hopes. Whatever. Just because this one didn’t go… perfectly, doesn’t mean you won’t keep—“ he struggled to find the phrasing for a moment— “...fighting, uh, valiantly for Thomas’s dreams!” he attempted at the encouragement with a weak smile.

Roman just shook his head. “No. I don’t know what he wants.”

Virgil’s smile dropped into confusion. “But… you are his wants.”

“That’s kind of the problem.”

Virgil seemed at a loss, and Roman felt like an asshole. Here he was trying to help him, and Roman couldn’t even be bothered to put on a smile to dismiss him from the duty.

“Please go,” Roman attempted weakly when he couldn’t find a more convincing argument in himself. He was meant to be an actor, but he knew he couldn’t hide the fact that he wanted him to stay, of course he did, so badly. He hoped Virgil would just quit with the chivalry and go despite that.

Virgil sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I'm going about this all wrong.”

Roman knew it probably wasn’t really him Virgil was mad at, but it was hard not to shrink away anyway.

“Look, Roman—“ Virgil turned to him, looked at him seriously, took his hands in his— “To be honest? I don’t care what happened. I don’t care who was right or wrong—I mean, we all know I’ve been in the wrong more than my fair share. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Roman didn’t miss the ambiguity of the end statement. “But… look, you don’t get it. When you mess up, you’re still you. You’re still...,” Roman gestured vaguely, which upset his bandages, and when he looked down at himself, he took note of the black/purple hoodie he was wearing. He melted slightly. This was exactly the point he was trying to make, “You’re still... y’know. Important.”

“Wh—? Of course you’re important, Ro. You’re creativity—“

“Thomas has two of those.”

Virgil looked at him like he was stupid. “Right, as if you’re anything like Remus.”

Roman’s lip quivered at that, and he had to look away, which was so stupid. And suddenly he felt all of the embarrassment at once—of this situation, of everything that had happened before, of the way he was about to cry, in front of Virgil, after he said that, which must look so—

“Roman?”

A hand was on his cheek, softly turning his face towards Virgil’s, though Roman still refused to meet his eyes.

Virgil cursed to himself under his breath. “Shit, this is exactly what I was trying not to say.” He sighed, and Roman hesitantly looked up at him. “Look. Even if you weren’t creativity, if you weren’t hopes or dreams or any of it—if you were a completely pointless side, which you aren’t, but if you were—I wouldn’t care. What I care about is that you’re... Roman. That you bother me until I sing Disney with you, that when you put your heart into something, you do it to a stupid amount, that you make Thomas take trashy buzzfeed soulmate quizzes when he’s stressed, and that you fucking try so hard for everything, even when I’m being a little bitch about it,” he paused. With the hand on Roman’s cheek, he traced the line of a scar down his jaw. It was one of the ones Roman usually made sure to put an illusion over, he noted offhandedly. “I care, because you’re my best friend.”

“Don’t say that,” Roman choked out. He couldn’t handle it if it was a lie, and part of him couldn’t manage hearing it as anything but exactly that. “Just—just—“

“Oh, Princey..”

Virgil held him as he broke. Roman didn’t know how long they sat like that as he let everything wash over him for a final time, let it all truly sink in at long last. He took heaving, messy sobs, no doubt ruining Virgil’s shirt in the process—he was quiet, though. He shook silently, save a couple choked breaths, in the other’s arms--that was a habit he had taught himself long ago.

When Roman had tired himself out, when all that was left was the pain in chest, (which was also suddenly duller—he was healing fast, even for a side—) he pulled back from the embrace. Virgil didn’t move by much, kept them so their fingers were laced together, as they sat staring at each other.

“Uhm. Thanks,” Roman gave a shaky smile, “You really—uh... I... I said some stupid stuff, huh?”

Virgil hesitated before he spoke, as if he knew he shouldn’t ask this right now, but needed to anyway. “...Roman, why’d you go to the Imagination?”

Roman felt ice stab at his chest upon the question. He didn’t want to do this. They had already talked about so much that he shouldn’t have gotten into; this was meant to be the part where they either parted or watched a stupid movie. And this, out of everything, was the conversation he most needed to avoid.

“Uh—I mean, to let off steam?” Roman gave a laugh as best he could. “Obviously, it didn’t go to plan—“

“Didn’t it?”

Roman’s face fell immediately. He struggled to come up with an answer, and even if he had had one, he didn’t think the sound would come out. This was enough of an answer in itself

“Shit,” Virgil breathed. Roman couldn’t help but be mildly annoyed by his surprise—clearly he had already known, he didn’t have to make it a big deal now.

“I… Princey—Roman…” Virgil looked him up and down, and Roman wanted to curl up and hide. “...how many times?”

“Not many,” Roman mumbled. Virgil must have known he was pushing the subject too far, because he just frowned and said,

“OK. I mean...it’s not OK, obviously, but you already know that, I just—“ he sighed. “Just… can you talk to me? Instead? Please? When you feel like… that.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Roman responded hastily, wanting an out from this topic.

Virgil gave him a look. “I’m serious. I mean—look, you don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want. Just, come to me first, yeah?”

Roman’s face burned; he was embarrassed; he wanted to shrug this whole thing off, or roll his eyes, or maybe scream in annoyance. But the rational part of him knew Virgil was right. “OK,” he agreed softly, “...Thanks. For everything.”

Virgil looked surprised, and then flustered, and then waved off the earnest reply. “I mean, it wasn’t--I didn’t--it’s not like I did anything really--”

“You did.”

Virgil’s face softened. “Yeah, well... you’d’ve done the same for me. You... have done the same for me.”

Roman smiled gently at him. “By the way, Virge--” He hesitated. He was about to sound like a real dumbass if Virgil had only been saying this stuff for comfort’s sake. But making a fool of himself was becoming a theme for him anyway, so he continued, “You’re my best friend too.”

I love you.

In the same beats Roman thought it, Virgil squeezed his hand lightly 3 times. A breath passed between them. An understanding. That Roman couldn’t say it out loud, and Virgil wouldn’t.

Instead, Virgil fell back across the bed, bringing Roman with him in the motion. Roman let out a startled gasp and elbowed him lightly. “Hey! I’m injured, that could have been a fatal impact for me!” he whined.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, yeah, OK. So, do you wanna watch a stupid movie, or what?”

#lucy.fic #romangst #roman sanders angst #roman hurt/comfort #prinxiety #platonic prinxiety #ts roman #ts virgil #everyone ik reading the title of this fic: ohhh my god we know u like penelope scott we know #‘we know u associate this song w roman we KNOW</3’ #roman sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #also standard statement that im not a writer i just write sometimes pls do not. judge thishehusgs

[aquietwritingcorner]

Sicktember Day 21: Unlikely Caregiver Word Count: 1836 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T Characters: Alex Louis Armstrong, Olivier Mira Armstrong Warning: Mentions of past torture Summary: A younger Olivier is home healing from capture and torture at the hands of Drachma. Her relationship with her family is still broken. The last thing she wants, is to show weakness. So of course Alex finds her at a weak moment, and there’s no way she can refuse his help. Notes: This goes back to a headcanon I have that when she was young, perhaps a Warrant Officer, Olivier went undercover in Drachma. She stayed there for months, until she was found out. Once she was, she was captured, taken to a Drachman prison, and tortured for three days. She was pulled out by a team, but not before she had suffered severe injuries. She was sent back to Central as soon as she was stable enough to recover, and to the Armstrong Mansion. This took place before Ishval. Olivier is a young officer, Alex is in his first year since graduation, working towards his State Alchemist License. See Whumptober 2020 Day 5 for specifics on how Olivier was captured. AO3 || ff.net

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Unlikely Caregiver

Olivier paused, panting for breath as she pulled herself along the forest path. She still had her crutch, but she couldn’t get herself up to use it. Perhaps if she could get to something that she could pull herself up on she could stand and hobble toward the edge of this planted forest on the family property, but—

She flinched as she heard dogs barking again and, while she knew in her head that they were just some of Strongine’s rescues, kept safely pinned up until she could find homes for them, Olivier’s heart jumped, and panic coursed through her.

These were the wrong kinds of trees. This was the wrong season. Those were the wrong kind of dogs. She was in the wrong condition. But it was still a forest. There were still dogs. She was still alone and trying to escape something.

Her heart beat faster, and she resumed her journey, trying to drag herself down the forest path. This wasn’t Drachma. She wasn’t being chased. There weren’t dogs about to set upon her. She wasn’t about to be captured and dragged off to a prison to be tortured. She was home, in her family’s gardens, healing from torture in a Drachman prison.

She pushed on, reaching out with the arm that wasn’t still healing from being broken to pull, and pushing with the unbroken leg to propel herself forward. Her back, still a mess of healing scars from whipping, protested, but they were healed enough that they weren’t a detriment to her. Her abdomen, the muscles still healing from the surgeries they had to do to repair the damage to her lower abdominal organs from the deep stab wound she received, ached and protested, but the fear overruled any thoughts of further damage she might be doing. All she knew was that she had to get out of there. Her panic said to get out before Drachma got her again, and her rational side said to get out because it would help her calm down. She had one focus.

Reach. Push and pull. Reach. Push and pull. Reach. Push and pull. Reach—

“Olivier?”

Her head snapped up, panic threatening to clog her throat again, her hand going to her sword, but she pushed the panic down as best she could. Standing on the path before her was her brother, looking both concerned and perplexed. He had stopped, not coming any closer to her, and he appeared to be waiting for something.

“…Alex,” she said, and it seemed to be what he was looking for.

He made his way over to her, the concern in his expression overriding everything else. “Olivier, are you alright? What happened?”

Mentally, Olivier cursed. She didn’t want him to find her here like this. She didn’t want anyone to find her here like this, but especially not him.

She made no secret of the fact that she resented her brother. Oh, as children she had watched over him as she had all of her siblings. It was her duty as eldest. But she had always resented the way that just him being born a male had stripped her of her birthright, of the inheritance she deserved. She had been kinder when he was younger and didn’t understand. But as he grew older, she had made sure that he understood.

“I just fell,” she said. “I’m f—”

A dog barked again, and it sounded closer. The panic surged again.

Understanding seemed to light in his eyes, and he knelt before her, still in uniform from his day of work. “Olivier, how can I help you?”

His eyes and voice were soft, kind-hearted, and she wanted to curse at him, just to see if it would toughen him up a bit, but she knew that would just be a waste of breath and words and wouldn’t help her at all. “…Help me up. I need to get out of here.”

“Of course,” He nodded, and reached out with strong, gentle hands to help her stand. He helped her to her feet, allowed her to lean on him to get her balance back, handed her the crutch, and then let her go, although he stayed close to her side.

Oliver said nothing. She just focused on walking enough to get out of here. Bad enough that he had found her like that. It would be worse if he saw her panicking more. He, for his part didn’t say anything, just walked beside her.

They finally emerged from the forest, which was like a breath of fresh air. Olivier, energy spent, headed straight for a bench that was nearby. She hobbled to it, practically falling down into it. Alex followed her, sitting beside her. He didn’t say anything and neither did she, not for a long time.

Finally, though, he spoke up. “Are you alright, Sister?” he asked her.

Her default reaction was to say “Of course!” but she found it stuck in her throat. “…I need some water,” she said instead, and he nodded.

“I’ll go fetch some,” he said, and got up without complaint.

It left Olivier there, alone on the bench, and she tried to calm herself down. But her brain was going, and the forest was right there, and she could still hear the dogs. It felt like everything was closing in on her no matter what she said or did. It was getting closer, closer, and then it would take her and deliver her back into his hands and she didn’t think she could do that again. She could feel the cold of the prison, taste the blood and iron in the air, feel the hands setting her up for more torture, the touches, the comments, then—

“Olivier?”

Her head jerked up again, and this time, she couldn’t quite hide the panic she was feeling. Alex was looking down at her with concern, but she couldn’t respond to him. She almost wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t.

He set the water he had down, and reached out to her, taking her hands in his. They were large and warm and strong.

“Olivier,” he said. “Why don’t we get you back to the mansion? We can take some tea there.”

Shakily, she nodded her head, and he took that as leave to help her up. She let him, although she didn’t want him to have to help her. But she needed the support, and she hated it.

Slowly they made their way back to the entrance to the garden. The further away from the forest and the dogs she got, the less panicked she felt. Instead, she started to feel disconnected from everything, and she wasn’t quite sure how to parse it, nor did she have the energy to.

Instead, they walked to the entrance of the gardens. A tea service was already there, no doubt thanks to her brother and his thoughtfulness. He helped her sit down, poured her some tea, pressed something sweet into her hands. He talked about Catherine and her latest escapades. And all the while, he kept concerned eyes on Olivier.

Eventually, she felt as if she were back to herself, although she was very tired and in pain at that point.

“Enough, Alex,” she said. “I don’t need to hear any more of your prattling.”

He stopped. “Of course, Sister. What do you need?”

Normally she would have replied with something sarcastic, or even slightly insulting. But tonight she was too tired to think. “… Rest,” she finally said.

He nodded and stood up. “Then allow me to escort you to your rooms.”

She was too tired to argue. “Fine. Whatever.” She went to stand as well and made it partway up before her good leg gave out under her and she started to fall.

“Sister!” Alex was right there, catching her, and she had to lean on him for a moment before she fought back.

“I’m fine, I just—” she tried taking her own weight back, and she started to fall again. She cursed out loud.

“Please, Olivier, let me help you,” Alex said.

She didn’t like it, but she didn’t see that she had a choice. “Fine.”

He shifted her weight around, letting most of it rest on him, and kept a gentle hand on her waist, just in case she couldn’t handle walking like this. Olivier hated it, but it was better than being carried, and Alex, resent for him or not, was preferable to the rest of her family.

Slowly, they made their way back to her rooms. Alex practically taking all of her weight by the time they got there. She was exhausted, and she collapsed onto the small settee that was in her suite. Alex helped her onto it, and then disappeared further into her rooms. She had no idea what he was doing, but she found that she didn’t care at this moment.

It was only a few minutes later when he returned with a soft nightgown for her. “I took the liberty of going head and turning down you bed,” he said. “You’ve also a glass of water on your nightstand.”

She blinked at him, then with great effort reached out and took the nightgown from him. He dutifully left the room, after making sure that no one else would be accidently barging in on her, and slowly she changed. When she was finished, he came back and helped her to her bed, making sure that she was settled in. After that, he set about cleaning up her clothes and straightening her rooms before returning to her side.

He placed her sword against the nightstand, within reach, the same sword that was supposed to be his, as heir, that she had fought for and won, that meant so much to her. “If you have need of nothing else at the moment, Olivier, I’ll take my leave of you. But if you need me, please, let me know.”

“Whatever, Alex. Leave me be. I’m tried.” Her eyes were still looking at her sword.

He nodded. “As you wish, Sister.”

He left her suite, making sure that the lights were off and low, and Olivier found herself drifting off to sleep as she stared at her sword hilt. She couldn’t help but think about her brother.

She still resented him and what he took from her. She resented him not standing up to their father more and instead speaking up for the traditions. He was soft-hearted, which would cost him. And he expressed his emotions too freely. But he was a good man. He cared about his family. He was principled. He was strong and skilled. She could respect that, at least. She still didn’t think that he deserved to be the heir by virtue of being male alone, but at least he was a good man. There was something to be said for that.

Who knew? If he proved his mettle in the military, perhaps one day they could reach a truce.

#sicktember2021 #Olivier Mira Armstrong #alex louis armstrong #fma #Fullmetal Alchemist #fma fanfic #fullmetal alchemist fan fiction

[blitzturtles]

Title: Can't Fix Everything

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable (Future Fic)

Pairing(s): JotaHan

Summary: Jotaro frowns when he rings the doorbell and no one answers. It’s not as though he’s unexpected. He and Rohan had discussed this beforehand, but he knows that it’s entirely possible that Rohan got too caught up in his work. That he’s got his eyes glued to the pages with such a hyperfixation that he hadn’t even heard the doorbell going off.

Notes: When I went to write the ‘Flail Chest’ piece, I couldn’t make up my mind if I wanted it to be with Jotaro or Josuke, so here’s the Jotaro version (if it can be called that. Same injury, very different story.) Ngl, kind of frustrated with the end, but I've been sitting on this for a few weeks now.

[Copy and pasted from the Josuke version: Unimportant bit of trivia: the first rib fixation for adolescent flail chest wasn’t actually done until ~2006, but this is fic, so fuck it.

Flail chest: When a section of the chest wall becomes detached due to the ribs being broken in two or more places. The treatment for this can be a wait and see method (with pain management and physical therapy), but there’s also rib fixation, which is a surgical procedure that can help dramatically reduce short and long-term complications.

The rib injury is canon; the extent of it in this fic, not so much.]

-

Jotaro frowns when he rings the doorbell and no one answers. It’s not as though he’s unexpected. He and Rohan had discussed this beforehand, but he knows that it’s entirely possible that Rohan got too caught up in his work. That he’s got his eyes glued to the pages with such a hyperfixation that he hadn’t even heard the doorbell going off. At least, that’s what Jotaro tells himself. How he tries to rationalize the lack of response.

Unfortunately, too many years on this earth-- facing some of the worst creatures to have ever disgraced her surface-- means that Jotaro has a good idea when he’s being pointlessly paranoid and when his ‘gut feeling’ is something to be taken seriously, and he’s feeling the latter right about now.

Star breaks the door’s lock with a particularly nasty twist of the knob. It’s nothing Jotaro can’t fix with a quick trip to the hardware store later, but that doesn’t matter right now.

“Rohan?” He calls into the seemingly empty house. The majority of the lights are off, and there’s no movement. No sound, and it’s far too early for Rohan to consider bed, which means he’s either closed in his studio or gone.

Jotaro makes a beeline for the familiar door that leads to Rohan’s sanctuary. It’s possible Rohan went out on a whim. Impulse control isn’t exactly his strong suit, especially when it might be something related to his manga, but it’s smarter to check the one place Rohan haunts most in life before bothering with anywhere else.

The door is unlocked, which doesn’t necessarily mean anything, though it doesn’t stop Jotaro’s heart from hammering away in his chest. There’s a flash of red across his vision, like a filter of blood, but he shakes it off in favor of taking in the room. He can’t let his past trauma affect him now.

Or maybe he can, because there Rohan is. On the floor, huddled partway beneath his desk. There’s a low whine that accompanies the screwed up features, and it’s all Jotaro needs to know that Rohan is in pain. A significant amount of it.

“Fuck,” Jotaro grinds out. He makes his way to Rohan quickly. Star Platinum itches to freeze time. A natural reaction to walking into an obviously bad situation with little information to work with, but Jotaro won’t waste the opportunity. They might only have one shot to work with, and he can’t waste it before he even knows what he’s walked into.

Carefully, he crouches in front of Rohan, His eyes don’t quite fixate on the mangaka. Instead, he’s too busy taking in their surroundings, searching for a threat.

Rohan startles and yelps. “What the fuck?” He grinds out after the initial shock washes over both of them.

“I could ask you the same thing. What happened?” Jotaro demands. His gaze shifts to Rohan. It’s a raking thing. Slow and deliberate as he searches for any sign of injury. There’s no blood that he can see. No limbs twisted horrifically out of place, and no holes punched where they don’t belong. Jotaro doesn’t allow himself to relax. There’s obviously something wrong; he just hasn’t figured it out yet.

“Ribs,” Rohan breathes out after a moment of hesitation. The mere effort of talking leaves him struggling for air.

Jotaro’s frown deepens, and he tunes out the rest of the world to focus on Rohan.

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“Rohan.”

“Go away.”

“Kishibe,” Jotaro grinds out. He doesn’t have time to put up with Rohan being a toddler when he could have a punctured lung.

“Fine,” Rohan concedes, though doesn’t move.

Jotaro sighs and carefully maneuvers Rohan onto his side. He uses Star’s hands as a cushion between Rohan’s body and the floor. A gentle effort to avoid making the situation worse, and, for once, Jotaro is incredibly thankful for Rohan’s penchant for crop tops. It’s a convenience-- rather than a nuisance and a distraction-- in a time like this.

Slowly, Jotaro pushes the fabric out of the way, and he sucks in a sharp breath out of sympathy the moment he gets an eyeful of the bruising that’s blossomed across Rohan’s side.

“That Stand got you right in that old wound of your’s, huh?” Jotaro asks. He barely resists the urge to reach out and touch the scars hidden underneath the black and blue mess. He’s known about their existence for a while, though Rohan rarely lets him lay eyes on them for more than a few seconds at a time.

There’s three scars in total, and each one runs the length of a rib, starting at Rohan’s sternum and wrapping around midway to his spine. A childhood injury from a freak accident that still causes unnecessary pain.

(”Why not just let Josuke heal you?” Jotaro remembers asking the first time he caught a glimpse of the scars.

“Josuke can’t fix everything,” Rohan had answered, short and irritable.)

Jotaro wonders if Rohan would allow Josuke to help now. If only to take the edge off, but Jotaro will worry about calling his nephew later. For now, he’s more concerned with getting Rohan off the floor and checked over properly. Jotaro hadn’t seen Rohan take a hit, which means that he has no idea how hard it had been or what kind of damage they might be dealing with. There could be internal bleeding, a collapsed lung, or god knows what else. The bruising is extensive enough, and Rohan’s breathing is ragged. Too shallow and a touch uneven.

“What gave you that idea?” Rohan snarls at him, breaking Jotaro out of his thoughts. He forgot how ill-tempered the mangaka is when he’s hurting.

“Good grief,” Jotaro mutters, though he takes it as a positive sign that Rohan’s got enough fight in him to make this as difficult as possible.

As carefully as possible, he scoops Rohan up into his arms. It isn’t easy, given the location of the wound, but he only makes Rohan whimper rather than scream. That has to count for something.

The path to the bedroom is blessedly short, considering the size of Rohan’s house. Jotaro gently deposits the mangaka on his oversized bed and heads for the en suite bathroom to retrieve the bottle of prescription painkillers that he knows Rohan underutilizes whenever possible (Rohan doesn’t like what they do to his head, and Jotaro can’t say that he blames him). It takes some rummaging, but he manages to find the pills and a cup to pour some water into.

“Here,” Jotaro says once he returns to the bedroom. To his surprise, Rohan takes both the cup and the proffered pills without complaint. He swallows the painkillers dry and chases them down with the water before falling back against the pillows with a quiet groan.

Jotaro takes that as his permission to resume his earlier inspection. Once again, he rolls the edge of the crop top up and tries not to grimace at the sight that greets him. It’s definitely no better than before, not that he had expected it to be. There’s more bruising than not on the scarred side, and some of it has branched across, spreading to the other side. Despite how horrific it looks, Rohan’s breathing is mostly even. It’s obvious that he’s in pain and holding back, but the lung seems to be inflating properly, which is… something. Far from great, but definitely better than the alternative.

Slowly, Jotaro palpates the area. All while ignoring the squirming and gasped breaths that he gets from Rohan. At some point, Rohan has enough, and he tries to swat Jotaro away, but he pulls back before Rohan can reach him.

“I don’t think you’re bleeding internally,” Jotaro announces with a barely level tone. Relief edges his words despite his attempt to keep his tone even. He tries not to think of what could have happened if Rohan had been left alone, bleeding internally, and without any way to call for help. Jotaro chastises himself for not noticing the hit or its aftermath. How could he have missed something so obvious? He can’t imagine that Rohan had been able to fully hide it.

“Fantastic,” Rohan grits out with a roll of his eyes. The way he relaxes into the mattress gives him away, though. He’d been scared.

“I’m going to go get some ice for that. Do you need anything else?”

“No,” Rohan says too quickly. His fingers twitch, but he doesn’t speak up again. Jotaro takes that as his sign to go ahead, and he wanders downstairs and toward the kitchen.

The pantries are unsurprisingly bare, though Jotaro manages to find a baggie to put a decent amount of ice into. He grabs the hand towel off the counter to wrap the makeshift pack in and heads back upstairs, where he finds Rohan exactly where he left him. He hasn’t moved so much as an inch. It’s one more sign of the agony he must be in.

“Do you want me to call Josuke?” Jotaro asks, already knowing the answer. He passes Rohan the ice pack, figuring it will be better if Rohan places it himself. The cold is already going to make him tense up, and he doesn’t need the added pain.

“No.”

“He doesn’t have to see.”

“No.”

Jotaro gives a half shrug, “If you insist.”

“I do,” Rohan sniffs, snooty and irritated until he places the wrapped ice against his skin. He hisses and jolts away from it, but it only takes a moment before he relaxes and presses the pack that much closer. “Stop being a mother and lie down. ‘m not going anywhere anytime soon.” It’s not meant to be a reassurance, but Jotaro takes it that way anyways.

“I could call the Foundation.”

“Don’t you dare,” Rohan shoots back like Jotaro’s words had been a threat. They hadn’t. It’s an offer to have a specialist come to Rohan rather than to force Rohan to the hospital, but it doesn’t surprise Jotaro that he took it to be something else entirely.

“You’re wheezing,” Jotaro points out with the same frown he’s been wearing since he found Rohan on the floor.

“I’m fine. Get in this bed or get out.”

Jotaro can’t help thinking the words might hold more weight if Rohan weren’t practically wheezing them, but he decides to let the subject drop for now. There’s no apparent sign of an emergency. Yet. He’s not sure he can relax enough to get comfortable, but he does toe off his shoes. He rolls onto his side after another moment of contemplation. At least this position allows for him to keep an eye on Rohan without jostling him too much.

Rohan rolls his eyes, but he settles against the mattress with a half-shrug. A ‘suit yourself’ sort of gesture that’s far milder than the rest of his responses have been. His eyes slide shut and he keeps his hand firmly pressed to the ice he’s still holding to his side. His hold is still too tight, and his posture is too stiff. Jotaro wishes he could do more, but he knows how chronic pain goes. There’s really nothing more either of them can do now other than sit and wait for the medication to kick in. Rohan won’t see Josuke, and he’d probably bite Jotaro if the older man tried to take him to the hospital. Waiting is their only option, and time moves at an impossibly slow pace.

Nearly thirty minutes go by in complete silence. Rohan keeps his eyes stubbornly screwed shut, and Jotaro watches him unashamedly. The moment he thinks Rohan is getting worse, he’s dragging both of them to the nearest hospital, repercussions be damned.

Likewise, he keeps having to remind himself to take a breath. Rohan is alive and-- well, mostly-- breathing, granted it looks strained and painful, but it’s better than the alternative. Better than the rattle that Jotaro’s heard too many times before, and there’s no needless gasping. Only the occasional, low whine that manages to slip its way past Rohan’s thin-pressed lips.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Rohan’s body begins to relax. His limbs go slack against the mattress, and his core sinks downwards. He’s no longer holding stiff as a board, and the difference is nearly palpable. Jotaro can see the moment exhaustion takes its hold over pain, and Rohan begins to slip under the blanket that is sleep.

Jotaro takes the risk of removing Rohan’s headband then. His fingers card through the mess of hair left behind. Rohan leans into the touch like it’s the best thing he’s felt in awhile, and it probably is, given what his body’s just gone through. Jotaro won’t deny him that bit of relief, so he continues to pet through Rohan’s hair until there are soft snores escaping the mangaka. Even then, he doesn’t stop. The last thing he wants is to accidentally wake Rohan up.

Eventually being curled on his side and having nowhere to go takes its toll. Jotaro’s eyelids grow heavier the longer he stays put, and he doesn’t bother to fight the sleep that settles in his limbs first and comes for his mind second.

#jotahan #kujo jotaro #jotaro kujo #rohan kishibe #kishibe rohan #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba part 4 #part 4 #blitzwrites #blitz

[carewyncromwell]

“There's somethin' in the wind, I can feel it blowin' in: It's comin' in softly on the wings of a bomb... There's somethin' in the wind, I can feel it blowin' in: It's comin' in hotly and it's comin' in strong... Lately I've been thinkin' it's just someone else's job to care -- Who am I to sympathize when no one gave a damn? I've been thinkin' it's just someone else's job to care -- Who am I to wanna try?  But change is a powerful thing...people are powerful beings...”

~“Change” by Lana Del Rey

x~x~x~x

I was totally inspired by this rockin’ coat and decided to draw some Reincarnation-AU!Batticus, specifically during the events of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and Half-Blood Prince. (Grim’s look is very slightly based on this -- because Atticus @cursebreakerfarrier​​​ is the OG Academia fashion icon. 🥰💙)

At this point in Bat and Grim’s second lives as Robert Bellamy and Atticus Lestrange, the two seventh-year Ravenclaws (and, the following year, Ravenclaw alumni) have solved the mystery of their past lives and are now roommates sharing a dinky little flat in London. Atticus has miraculously landed an internship at the Ministry of Magic, specifically in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, while Robert’s an apprentice at the apothecary in Diagon Alley over winter, spring, and summer break to earn enough money to help pay the rent. 

When Cedric Diggory died in their sixth year, though, Bat was thoroughly unconvinced by the Ministry’s cover-story that it was a tragic “accident,” and -- upon colliding with Dolores Umbridge at Hogwarts in their seventh year -- was pretty soundly convinced that the Ministry was covering things up. Grim, for his part, had his misgivings about the Ministry’s version of events, but being the Lawful Good person he was, he had a bit more trouble expressing those doubts, especially now that he was on the way to joining the Department of Magical Law Enforcement himself. Sensing Grim’s inner conflict on the matter and not wanting to put him in the position where he’d have to choose between his friendship with Bat or his family and future, Bat made the decision to not tell Grim when he -- despite his intense personal dislike and distrust of Albus Dumbledore -- nonetheless chose to join the Order of the Phoenix. After all, in all of his lives, Bat is a soldier, and he couldn’t in good conscience not fight back against Voldemort and the Death Eaters, just as he did against Grindelwald so many years ago. 

From the start, however, Grim got a bad feeling Bat was keeping something from him. In early January 1996, while on an assignment with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Grim ended up coming across Bat, who was likewise on an assignment for the Order in hooded black robes with white trim not unlike his old British Redcoat uniform and a high turtleneck-like collar that hid the lower half of his face. Even if he was very anxious and didn’t understand what was going on at all, Grim covertly covered Bat as he fled before the Aurors could discover him and -- upon rushing back to their apartment -- helped Bat with the injuries he’d sustained. It was only that that Bat finally came clean to Grim about his alignment...and he also, having just been made aware of the Azkaban break-out, offered to leave their apartment to Grim and move out. 

“My alignment with Potter and Dumbledore already endangers your livelihood. But if your family’s out on the streets now, then that means Voldemort has gotten strong enough that soon he’ll be bold enough to act out in the open. And once that happens...well, then it’ll be open season on Muggle-borns like me. Your ancestry protects you, Grim -- your family name would protect you from people like Him. Associating with mine would put you in the cross-hairs -- ”

But, of course, Grim stubbornly shot this down. 

“You seem to have forgotten that in our previous lives, you already tried to ward me off from helping you once by talking about how dangerous it’d be for me. And trust me, you’re no more persuasive in making me abandon you now than you were then.”

“This is different -- ”

“Perhaps it is, but the result is not. I am not going to kick you out -- nor am I leaving you.”

“Grim, if things get worse, I won’t be able to protect you from the Death Eaters -- ”

“ -- then it’s a good thing I’m more than capable of protecting myself!”

“I know you are -- but they’ll try to force you to join them or die, Grim. At least if you distance yourself from me, you might be able to slip under the radar -- not draw so much attention. If you’re with me, then they’ll target you just as fiercely.”

“Well, then, we’ll just have to fight them off together, won’t we?”

“Grim...”

“Bat...I already lost you once. I do not intend to lose you again. ...You...mean far too much to me. You must know that.”

“...I do. ...I do know...Atticus.”

The occasion was one of the few times Bat has ever been serious enough to call Grim by his full name. It was also followed by one of the two men’s very first kisses, and one of their deepest.

As the War went on, Bat would continue to go on covert, mysterious missions for the Order, often coming back to his and Grim’s apartment nursing wounds that Grim would help him patch up with healing potions and spells. One particular injury, which left an array of terrible vein scars down Bat’s arm, had been the result of a Dark curse chucked at him by Atticus’s relative Rodolphus Lestrange. Meanwhile Atticus would do his best to help Bat how he could through his work at the Ministry, both under Fudge and even more so under Rufus Scrimgeour. Although one worked within the law and the other often worked outside of it, they both had the same goal in mind -- to fight evil however they could, in the hopes of circumventing the Death Eaters’ growing thirst for control over the Wizarding World. 

#hphl #hogwarts legacy #golden era #reincarnation!au #bartholomew varney #atticus grimsley #other people's mcs #my art #voldemort #order of the phoenix #albus dumbledore #cornelius fudge #rufus scrimgeour

[popatochisssp]

can we get an update on the body insecurities with a human s/o for the new boys, if you're up for it?

This one? You bet!

Ash (Undergloom Sans): There’s nothing about his body that he’s particularly self-conscious of, actually. ...But there’s also nothing about his body that he’s particularly proud of. It’s...fine, it does all the things a body is supposed to do, more or less, but it’s just...there. Not bad, but not good either. He’s very much the type of person who’s mentally drawn a line between himself and his body, thinking of them as separate things, and the qualities of the latter have nothing to do with the former. He can say honestly that there’s nothing he hates about his body, but the fact that there’s nothing he especially likes about it either is probably not ideal. He’d almost certainly benefit from his s/o helping him learn a little self-love to nudge that pointed neutrality into something positive, and to give him at least one or two things he could actively like about the bones that carry him around from place to place.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): Much as he knows it’s a silly thing to worry about, he tends to fret about falling short of human standards of masculinity, at least as they’re broadly, popularly defined. All the things that men are ‘supposed to be’--big, strong, athletic, tough, et cetera--are things that he...isn’t. He’s on the taller side so he’s got that going for him, but he’s not all that strong, physically, and his hobbies are...pretty domestic. He loves cooking and cleaning, books and scented candles, nature and knowledge! And of course, he knows all about the concept of toxic masculinity and that striving to be anything at all but what he is would only harm him, but with a human s/o, who was born in and brought up around those ideas and stereotypes, he sometimes wonders if that...matters to them??? If he’s...maybe not being all the man they want or need him to be??? A frank conversation about all of that would do wonders to put at least most of those fears to rest, but it’s definitely a topic for his s/o to be a little tactful and sensitive about it!

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): Most of the physical consequences of Everything that happened Underground don’t make him feel self-conscious at all. His size, the hole in his head, the pins in his jaw, they all make him look cool and scary as hell, and he almost looks at them all as a point of pride that he survived everything thrown his way. Even only being able to manifest one eye-light is really not that big a deal to him and doesn’t really register as anything to dwell on. But... there is one thing... He really doesn’t like the cracks in his vertebrae. He thinks they’re ugly and even after all this time, they still look fresh and raw and feeling eyes on them, or catching a glimpse of them himself in the mirror makes him feel entirely too exposed. Human docs couldn’t figure out a permanent way to fill them in without restricting his range of motion or further agitating his magic, and he quickly got to the point where he couldn’t take all the poking and prodding around his neck trying to figure something out and just wanted to get on with life. There are a lot of turtlenecks in his wardrobe and any attention paid to that particular spot by his s/o is best kept short and sweet.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): You’d think it would be his scars still, or even his missing leg. But it’s neither. It’s not something he’d ever express in a million years, but his biggest insecurity is that he... kind of hates the way he looks in clothes. Not all clothes--he has a few expensive, tailored suits he’s very fond of, however rarely he gets the occasion to wear them these days--but most everything else... He doesn’t have a problem with his body as much as he has a problem with the way clothes that weren’t designed with his proportions in mind make his body look, and on the surface, among humans, that’s just about all of them. Half the shirts he tries on look like ill-fitting crop-tops and even the longest pants end up being capris when he tries to buy off the rack and it’s...frustrating that he can’t just buy something and look good in it right away. Because of that, he has a relatively small closet and tends to wear things that cover him up as much as possible, in dark colors (always black if possible), finding that it accentuates his height and slimness and blends his long limbs and torso into himself to look less odd. He’d probably be happier if he just bought everything he liked and then had it tailored to him, so he could branch out more into some of the types of things he used to wear, but that much tailoring would be expensive and for something he looks on as a vanity... He’s resistant, feeling like there’s just more important things to save and use the money for, like food, medical expenses, actual necessities... A little (a lot) of persuasion from a s/o to treat himself to more than just a mere handful of outfits that he likes and that fit correctly might be helpful in getting him to indulge.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): Pretty obvious, he’s most self-conscious about the fact that sometimes he’s not altogether solid. Humans especially don’t seem to think too highly of things that are slimy, goopy, and drippy and caught at the wrong time, he’s all of the above. He doesn’t like the thought of anyone, but especially his s/o being grossed out by him, thinking he’s disgusting or creepy or downright disturbing because he couldn’t keep enough of a handle on his emotions to stay solid and normal. He doesn’t particularly love his eye-lights either, formerly just blue but now ringed with bright, burning red. The color combo can be...intense... and though he isn’t aware of it, he’s definitely been a bit conditioned lately into not making as much direct eye-contact with people as he used to, subconsciously noticing the better, more relaxed response he gets when he looks down or slightly to the side instead. But if we’re talking post-DT integration, when his form is stable and his eye-lights are pink......... he’s not insecure about a damn thing--he worked hard to get his body back and he loves and appreciates every inch of it.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): He tends to expend more energy worrying and being insecure about his personality than anything physical, quite frankly, but if there were something physical...well, even more obvious than his brother, he’s missing a couple limbs and it’s just a bit too fresh for him to be totally comfortable with it yet. There’s a lot he misses and a lot he’s still getting used to doing differently and a lot of mental and emotional baggage from the circumstances that led to him not having legs and he hasn’t really dealt with any of it. As a result, he tends to be self-conscious about anything he can’t do the way he used to before, or any time being in a wheelchair turns something that would be routine for anyone else into an Ordeal... It gets better the more he heals and copes with what happened, and especially when he acknowledges that he does want to try prostheses, even if it means committing to all the time, effort, (metaphorical) blood, (not metaphorical) sweat, and tears that’ll take, but until then... yeah, it’s his lack of legs and wondering if his s/o wouldn’t be happier or at least find it easier to be with a guy who just had two legs and didn’t need to see a prosthetist to get them.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): Unapologetic about himself--his scars, his blunt(er) claws, his blindness--but with a human s/o especially, there is one thing he’s at least a little hesitant about. It’s the hole in his face, jagged and dark and unsightly...he assumes. It’s not like he’s ever seen it for himself, but he’s certainly felt a change in atmosphere in the past whenever its been exposed and he can only assume it’s disturbing to look at. When disturbing people is not his end-goal, he tries to keep the hole (mostly) covered with a pair of blind-glasses, and that will definitely be the case with his s/o, too... at least until he can suss out their unique reaction to his injury. If it doesn’t bother them, he’s happy to do away with the glasses in private, but the last thing he wants is to make his datemate uncomfortable and if the sight of his wholly uncovered face has that effect... Perhaps it’s for the best to keep them on, then...

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He’s really conscious of his exaggerated startled response at what feels like every little thing. It isn’t, and it’s wholly understandable and maybe even expected for what he went through Underground (especially those last few weeks), but it frustrates him a lot, especially when he gets a s/o. There’s someone he likes, someone he wants to get to know better and to be close to, and they’re right there, but all they have to do is move too fast or do something he wasn’t ready for and his automatic reaction is to flinch or reel back like they were about to...attack him or something! It’s absolutely a case of his mind knowing one thing and his body knowing another and he hasn’t yet figured out how to make the two of them share notes and realize that one of them might have some more up-to-date information than the other. There’ll be lots of nervous apologizing over it until he gets past thinking that they’re probably one disproportionate flinch from deciding he’s a little too high maintenance to make things work.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): If he could change anything about himself, it would be his hands--or at least, just the holes in the middle of them. Looking through his palms is a very visceral, inescapable reminder that he used to be...or was part of??? somebody else, and that attachment to an identity he no longer owns nor wants makes him a little uncomfortable. He wants to forget all about that stuff and what little he does remember of That Time and just be who he is now without having to think about the past. Still, it’s... always right there, whenever he looks down at his own hands, and some days that’s harder to deal with than others. He knows the circular holes in his palms are probably really cool and interesting to his human s/o, but at the same time, he kind of hopes they don’t pay overly much attention to that part of them. He’s trying to just let his hands be... his hands, and to not attach a whole lot of weird baggage to them. And on days when that doesn’t quite pan out, he’s got all kinds of pockets and gloves and busywork to keep them out of sight, out of mind.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): He tends to spend more time in front of the mirror, tracing the asymmetrical cracks in his skull, than he would ever care to admit. He’s not sure why he dwells on them as much as he does, his brother has them too and doesn’t seem to care about his, but... He doesn’t know what they are, or why they’re there...or how he got them and when...or if they were always there and he...they??? had just been born with them. Maybe he frets and grumbles about them because of what they represent--how much of his...their past was lost when they, as separate beings, came to be, even in spite of sharing what they do know and remember. The life and times of W.D. Gaster are a mystery that can never be completely solved, and that loss bugs him. The cracks make him especially insecure because anyone can see them, right there on his face, and ask what they are or where they came from, and he’ll have no answer, just like he wouldn’t have one for a hundred other completely normal and reasonable questions someone could ask him about his life Before. He definitely dreads and overthinks how to answer those questions from a s/o, in a way that doesn’t either make them think he’s lying to avoid being honest with them or freak them out with too much of a very crazy and unbelievable story too soon. It’s a hard hypothetical balance to strike, and maybe if he didn’t have ‘please ask me something about my past’ essentially written on his face, he’d have more time to figure out how to do it best...

#anonymous #headcanons #undertale #sans #papyrus #sans/reader #papyrus/reader #undergloom #ug!sans #ug!papyrus #horrorfell #hf!sans #hf!papyrus #horrorswap #hs!sans #hs!papyrus #horrorswapfell #hsf!sans #hsf!papyrus #gastertale #g!sans #g!papyrus

[tg-headcanons]

Since ghouls heal so fast, does that mean they’re always healthy? Do they ever get permenant injuries or do they always heal?

I’ve been wanting to talk about this! Even with increased healing ability, it’s possible and not at all uncommon for ghouls to have scars and disabilities

Sometimes even advanced healing isnt enough. Repeated injuries with not enough food or heal time between them can be disabling. It’s uncommon, but missing limbs, lost senses, and chronic pain can be caused later in life

The most common way ghouls get disabilities is just by birth. Sometimes ghoul kids are born blind or deaf or paralyzed or with chronic issues same as humans. In their culture it’s treated very differently than it is with humans though, since they’re quite community oriented and adaptable. It’s understood that they won’t be able to function the way abled ones do, but with the right conditions and supports, they can thrive alone or even outmatch others

Blind or deaf ghouls can often use their kagune to sense vibrations more effectively than abled ghouls, making them terrifyingly effective fighters and hunters in environments with harsh light or sound that would cause others distress, and the CCG is ill equipped to fight them since their tactics rely a lot on the assumption that their enemies are relying on sight and sound to fight. Since feeling and smell is a large part of how they hunt, losing other senses isn’t too much of a blow.

Sign language is a common practice with many ghouls because of how useful it is when hunting in silence, so deaf ghouls or ones with speech issues don’t have as many issues communicating as the average human would

Mobility impaired ghouls will have some difficulty hunting, whether they’re paralyzed or have disorders that make their ability to move unreliable, they will have problems there. That’s why they tend to join up with groups. Since almost every ghoul has had a debilitating injury in the past, they’re better at understanding how loss of physical functions can impair daily life and what they can help with

Scarring happens sometimes when a ghoul is injured while too hungry to heal for a long time, so when they do heal the tissue stands out. It can also happen from being bitten by other ghouls as they have an enzym in their saliva that drastically slows the healing process. It’s a big part of how marriage bites work, but can be annoying for people who got in a fight a month ago and still have teeth marks on them

Sometimes scars or damaged organs that get injured again grow back working better, leading to a gruesome type of healthcare. You can’t hear out of one ear? Just take out the ear bone! Don’t like that scar on your arm? Take the skin off! Paralyzed stomach? Just remove it! If it works it works, if not then damn bro you really did all that for nothing, oof. Try again maybe?

Rc disorders are more common and can be disabling. Some underproduce and can’t maintain a decently sized kagune or any kagune at all, but that’s still less difficult to deal with than overproduction. Those who overproduce may be able to grow larger kagune and heal faster, but it comes at a cost. Extra rc will cause patches of kagune mass to grow around the kakuhou, make containing kagune difficult, and even form claws on the hands and feet since it can escape the body through keratin easier than through skin. It’s a sort of psuedo kakuja, especially when it gets so out of hand that it makes them grow another kakuhou. It’s not very well understood, especially by ghouls who think of it as extra power, but those who have it know that it’s stressful, can cause spikes of pain, and makes hiding one’s ghoul identity next to impossible. It can be managed with rc suppressants, but those are expensive. It’s just something that every individual has to find ways to deal with, and hearing other ghouls go “Oh I wiSh I hAd Rc OvErPrOdUcTiOn I wOuLd Be So StRoNg” isn’t helping them in the Enxhausted Rage department since it gets tiring to explain to every single person that this isn’t a cool superpower, it sucks

Certain autoimmune diseases can effect them. Though they aren’t as deadly to ghouls as they are to humans, but they still leave them more vulnerable to illnesses and infections. They can usually survive these, but it certainly isn’t fun and they need to boil their meat before eating it to prevent catching anything

Ghouls, obviously, have little to no access to healthcare. Anything they do they do themselves, and they’re lucky to find a ghoul who knows a little about how healing works, and a single ghoul doctor within fifty miles is a windfall. The best most of them can do is frontier medicine and a small list of safe over the counter meds. Though when they can find a ghoul doctor, they tend to be very good about prescribing things that can help with chronic issues. Much less of that “are you sure it’s not in your head?” Bullshit since they know better than anyone that if someone is spending the time and money to see a doctor, they obviously know it’s not. Even when ghouls are decriminalized, ones that are chronically ill will be more likely to request a ghoul doctor because they’re sick of dealing with humans who callously second guess everything

#tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul headcanon

[thatonesadending]

After being set adrift as a sheep in the astral sea, and making it into this strange city that they had followed Lucien into, Caleb is left alone with his thoughts and suspicions on what's really going on in Lucien's head. Can he bring all of his friends safely home while not being able to use the magic that Lucien can so easily dispel.

Or in other words. How Caleb defeats Lucien with a kiss, and ends up with two magical purple men by his side. Oh and it was really Sprinkles that saved the day!

Read more

He liked being a sheep. It was almost peaceful, floating in the astral sea without a thought in his fuzzy head. The tumbling only made him a little dizzy, but other than the occasional shout of his companions, his mind was quiet. He would like it to stay that way, maybe.

But of course, that was not in his cards. Beau had grabbed him by the wool shortly after she had come through the gate, keeping him from straying too far. He didn't mind the rough yank from her, or even mini Veth clinging to him as they sailed towards the city. But Jester's aggressive petting once they reached their destination was a little much. He very much didn't like when she put Sprinkle/Artigone on his back and declared them "best furry friends", and the damn fey weasel began tunneling through his wool coat trying to tickle him. Essek had wordlessly picked up the small fey and handed it back to Jester, while stroking Caleb's woolen head, and apparently ignoring the others as they bickered about a plan.

Sheep are not very smart, so it took Caleb a very long time to realize Essek was petting him. And even longer to realize he was bleeding fairly heavily. Suddenly, whatever wild magic had changed his form evaporated and Caleb was himself again, on his hands and knees in this mysterious magical city, and Essek's hand midway through carding his hair.

"Oh, apologies." Essek snatched his hand back before Caleb could even process their positions. The movement had obviously hurt whatever injury the Dow was suffering through, but before he could comment on it, Jester was calling out to him.

"Oh good, you are back! You were really really cute as a sheep Caleb, but you couldn't cast the tower. Can you do that, and we can do the hero's feast, and rest, and -" Fjord cut her off.

"Jes, we might need to figure out where Lucien and Cree went first before we are safe taking a long rest."

Right. Lucien.

The whole reason that being a sheep had been initially a very nice experience. He could stop thinking about Lucien. And, well, what wasn't Lucien.

"You good?" Beau was in his head, and he turned his head to look for her and realize he was still on his hands and knees next to Essek. As the embarrassment crawled up his neck, and thump his ass to the ground and took a moment before responding.

"Is good even an option at the moment?"

"Fair. But like, right now, you are in check? That was pretty reckless teleporting like that."

Caleb found her standing 10 feet away, shifting uncomfortably and staring at him. Instead of answering he just nodded his head, he wasn't sure if it was a lie or not but Beau took it.

They had decided that the tower wouldn't be a good idea until they knew they were safe, and the dome and a short rest would have to do for now. They had set up their quick camp in between two of the unfamiliar buildings, thinking that to be safer than out in the open. The alley was only 15 feet wide, but opened out to two large streets that hopeful they could get away quickly if need be. Caleb was not really paying attention though, all of his swirling thoughts and overthinking came back. What they were facing was …. daunting. There were too many unknowns, questions, and possibilities to think through and make a plan. Lucien has proven to be incredibly powerful, but also impossibly confusing. None of them really knew what he wanted, or why he wanted them to be there to watch. Whatever it was, it could not be good.

Lucien said he wanted to make dreams come true through his reign, it was vague and threatening enough to send a chill through Caleb’s spiking hope. Caleb had only one dream at that moment, and that was that all of his friends made it safely home from Aeor alive. All of them. It was an impossible dream, especially since he wasn't sure how many friends he had here in this strange city.

A purple hand was resting on his knee as he sat in the dome, eating and tuning out the Mighty Nein’s arguing. Caducess had healed Essek as much as he was able, but the other wizard was still clearly very tired and out of his element. It was the second time that day Essek had reached out to Caleb, well if you could count petting him through his shock of the battle, while Caleb was numbly enjoying being a mindless sheep. Normally this would have caused a little rumble of warmth and pleasure in Caleb’s chest. They had been through so much as of late, and despite it all, Caleb would be lying if he said he wasn't beginning to feel more than just friendship for the other man. However, right now, the sight of those purple fingers touching him was causing his vision to become watery, and his chest tighten with anxiety.

They were reminding him of the one thought he didn't want to dwell on, the dangerous suspicion he had not said out loud yet to anyone. They reminded him of a very different friendship that, while short, had influenced almost every choice he had made in the last year or so. Had encouraged him to see himself as more than just the worthless scars of his past, worthy of love and caring from his friends, and to leave things better than when he found them. These dark purple hands brought back memories of lavender ones that were quick to help him up when he had fallen, slap him when he was lost, and to embrace him when he was lonely. A lavender that now was being worn by a man that did not deserve them, or the memories attached to them that he claimed not to have, but still seemed to affect him.

Caleb said nothing, not just for fear of how the others would react, but how it might be their undoing. He had tested this theory a few times now, with different degrees of success. The other’s had too, but he wasn't sure they had known what they could be doing at the time. Beau couldn't help annoying Lucien, it was just in her nature. And Jester, how for all the God’s she had pulled those cards was beyond him, but it had clearly had an effect. And now, despite having multiple opportunities, Lucien had not killed them, but rather invited them to the show. But what if ….

No, he couldn't think about that, he had to push it aside. If him and his found family were going to make it through this alive, he could not continue to entertain this dangerous thought. They - he - had to focus on the problem at hand, and that was what they were going to do next time -

“So you have paid for your ticket I see. Why don't you come see the preview of my show?”

You would have thought a spell had been cast to turn Caleb and Beau into stone, for how suddenly ridged they had gotten. It was too soon. They hadn't had any time to rest, plan, they could not survive another brutal confrontation. Essek’s hand tightened on Caleb’s knee, a silent quention, one that he didn't have an answer for. He slowly met Beau’s eyes from across the dome where she sat next to a very nervous Yasha.

“I promise, you all will make it to the main event, as long as you come and be a friend.”

“Beau, is it him? Is it - is it Lucien?” Yasha was strong, but her normally quiet voice that was now shaking was giving away how distressed she was. Caleb knew this had been all very hard for her, watching Lucian reak havoc on them while wearing the face of her oldest friend. It was part of why Beau, wanting so badly to comfort her new girlfriend, had been extremely cautious as of late, trying to minimize the damage when possible. However, she was clearly losing her cool at the moment. Beau was firmly holding on to Caleb’s attention as the now visible anger was tensing all of her muscles, causing her words to be more spat than spoken.

“The dick couldn’t even let us eat in piece before fucking around with us again.”

The dome was very quiet, as they all were incredibly aware how vulnerable they were, and how they couldnt even tuck tail and run if they wanted. They were not just tired, but not nearly healed enough, and so emotionally worn out from the excitement of the day that none of them were capable of a wise thought. Maybe that's why he did it.

Caleb dispelled the dome and stood. It's not like the dome provided safety to them from Lucien if he wanted their attention, he would just dispel the magic. Besides, he couldn't leave it in place and do what he was about to.

“I will go speak with him. You all can stay here, it would be safer.” He said. Beau had already led the way once today, and she was clearly too wrung out to be asked to do that again. Lucien had not said all of them needed to go, and for whatever his promise was worth, he claimed not to want to hurt him yet.

“Like hell you will.” Veth had since returned to her normal size, but her shrill voice cut through all of the tenuous silence of the others, unleashing a new wave of arguing. Caleb was tired of the back and forth, the fear, the unknown. He just wanted to get this over with, and if the Gods had any mercy left, would get Lucien to leave them alone long enough to get a bit of sleep. Hell, if he had to welcome Lucien back in his tower so that he could get some rest so that he could think through whatever upcoming plans Lucien had, he was just about ready to do that.

The only one who caught him walking about from the group in the dark was Essek, the others too busy rehashing old plans they already knew weren't going to work. “Where do you think you are going?” He hissed in the dark as Caleb followed Lucien’s mental pull.

“I am going to get some answers. Please go back with the others, you will be safer.”

“Do not pretend to care for my safety when you are carelessly abandoning yours.” Essek could have just replied with a thought, but he did not, choosing to let his commanding voice echo in the dark, bouncing off the alley walls, destroying any chance Caleb had to slip away from the others.

Veth and Jester were already on their way to drag him back when they all saw the familiar pair of red glowing eyes heading towards them in the direction Caleb had been heading.

“I thought I would continue to be a gracious host and meet you halfway.” Lucien said aloud, his gaze trained on Caleb.

“How thoughtful.” Caleb didn't even try to contain his sarcastic weariness. “Where is Cree?” He had just needed a couple more hours of not thinking about this man, what the future held, and the danger they were all in. Just a couple of hours and then maybe Caleb could have thought of a plan for survival. As it was, Lucien was making large confidant strides towards him, and Caleb felt himself stumbling back to the others.

“She is waiting for me, getting the show prepared.” He offered, as though it was the only natural answer.

“What the fuck do you want Lucien? We followed you through, we haven't tried to attack you, should that earn a fucking moment for ourselves before you drag through whatever stupid shit you have planned?” Caleb had been right, Beau was not in the right frame of mind to be talking to Lucien right now. Maybe that was what he wanted though, his usual annoyance at her was missing, and he was grinning a fang laced snarl at her.

“Now, I promise you I have no ‘stupid shit’ planned.” He said, with an amused condescension that Caleb was sure irritated Beau as much as it did him.

“Are you patronizing me, Lucien? That’s two promises you have made in the last five minutes that I doubt you plan on fucking keeping.” She snapped back. The tieflings smile disappeared, replaced with confusion. Genuine shock at something Beau had said, his guard only dropped for a moment, and Caleb could swear those red pupiless eyes flickered for a moment. He had twitched again, but it faded, and with it lost any good humor he had.

“No, was hoping that you’re going to patronize me. Would rather me reward your group's bravery in joining me here to witness the greatness magic you’ll ever experience, with simply killing you before you get the chance? It would not change any of my plans.” His words came as a growl, a threat. That voice had once been on their side, threatening violence to those that aimed to hurt the Mighty Nien, not directed at them.

“No,” Caleb sighed, trying to gain back a bit of control. “We have come as requested as friends, not foe, for the time being.” The silence was heavy for a moment, the tension thick as none of the Nien knew how to proceed. Jester eventually spoke up.

“So, are you gonna like … tell us what’s going on or like whatever. Because if not, we would really like to finish eating.” Jester was trying to sound cheery, motivating Lucien with her effortless charm to give him more information. However, Caleb’s mind was still lingering on that twitch he had seen, just a moment ago. His suspicion was full force now in the front of his mind, he couldn't shake it, no matter how foolish or unlikely. Maybe his exhaustion was making him soft, it was definitely clouding his judgement, but a plan was starting to form in his head. A foolish plan. More of an experiment, but if was all he had without magic. Caleb was suddenly grateful for his perfect memory, the one that allowed him to remember every word those purple lips had ever spoken to him or around him. All of seemingly wise words and quickly spun bullshit.

“Now Jester, you know his mother always told him to never give away a story for free.” Caleb interjected before Lucien could respond. His red eyes snapped to him, but almost as soon as they did they unfocused. They were surely going to argue with him, ask him why he was appearing to take Lucien’s side, so he quickly pressed on. “So friend,” he directed at the tiefling in front of him, unable to conceal more sarcasm in calling him friend, “ you clearly wanted us here for a reason. You wanted us to come make ourselves useful. Tell me, how can we be the chaos you want to see in the world.”

You would have thought Caleb had struck the blood hunter, his whole lavender form constricting for a moment. Tearror, fear, uncertainty, all flitting across his face before settling on anger. It didn't take Lucien more than two steps to reach Caleb, roughly pushing him back into the alley wall.

“Get the fuck out of my head Widogast.”

Caleb was paralyzed with fear, his half formed plan had had an effect, but now what. He couldn't raise his eyes to meet Lucien’s, knowing they were clear again, and staring him down with venom.

“I was not in your head. Whatever is there, whomever is there, is not of my own doing. I know you do not want to remember anything, do not want anybody else’s baggage in your head, their problems, thoughts, ideas.” Caleb was taking a gamble speaking to Lucien telapaically, but he wanted to make his appeal as deep as possible, take any ounce of luck he might have. Lucien froze again, his eyes impossibly wide with fear. He was too close to Caleb for him to get away, his grip strong on the shoulder that he shoved back against the wall, and pain was ripping through Caleb’s fear. Fire began to curl around his finger tip automatically, just in case this foolish plan went south. Before Caleb could continue though, he caught out of the corner of his eye, Essek preparing a spell, no doubt in effort to save Caleb. But Lucien simply removed his claws from Caleb’s shoulder for a moment, waving angrily to dispel any and all magic around him sending Essek flying backwards in force, and replaced his hand now around Caleb’s throat.

“If any of you so much as think a thought of magic, I will wring his throat until he is dead.” Lucien spat, but his eye still seemed to have lost their sheen, not that the others could see it. Caleb knew he had to act quickly, before Lucien fully came out of his daze that his words had left him in.

“Don't worry, the only thing magical here is you my friend.” Despite the pressure on his neck, and the searing pain in his shoulder, Caleb reached a hand up between them and pressed it lightly to Lucien’s lavender cheek. He stroked it ever so softly. The grip lightened, and the tiefling looked as though the ground had been pulled from under him. The rest of the Mighty Nien must have noticed the change, because they all went still and were watching the odd exchange, none of them knowing what Caleb was saying. The red eyes that had been nearly boiling with rage moment ago, almost looked like a dull pale ruddy marbles, not focused on anything but whatever was going on inside. Purple limbs were trembling around him, not backing away from Caleb, but unable to move other than to shake.

Caleb threw up a silent prayer to the Moonweaver. Hells, to the Wildmother, to the Luxon, to the Traveler. He was going to need any ounce of favor he could garner for what he was going to do next. Keeping his hand on Lucien’s cheek, he used his other hand to guide the now limp and trembling fingers away from his throat, and interlocked them with his. It had been so long since he had gotten to hold these hands, he had to force himself not to look down at them and try and take them all in. Instead, Caleb pushed himself away from the alley wall, closer to the dazed and confused blood hunter, and placed his lips to the man’s forehead.

He was just as warm as Caleb remembered. A curl falling in front of his face as he leaned in to Caleb’s kiss.

“Caleb!” The surprised voice rang through his head like a beautiful chime announcing the morning was here. There was no anger, no hint of condensation, just surprise and … joy. Caleb was failing in his attempt not to hope, his kiss lingered longer than it should, not wanting to face whatever ugly expression could be back on that handsome face. But when he pulled away, he got a smile. His knees nearly gave out in relief, but the free lavender hand was wrapping around him, keeping him upright and from pulling away farther.

“Caleb!” He was now speaking to him outloud, saying his name light a gasp. The smile dancing on his lips was light, it was sweetly mischievous, and not a lick of malice. Then in his head, “Caleb, darling, would you be so kind as to help me get this fucker out of my body.” It wasnt a demand, but a plea to a friend. Caleb felt an almost immediate draining of any will power that was keeping him from hoping, freeing his inhibition. He had no idea how to get Lucien out of this body, but he knew how to draw this voice closer. Closer to him, hopeful never to go again.

The hand that had been resting on a lavender cheek, now threaded through deep purple curls, pulling the tiefling as close as Caleb could get him, lips fitting together perfectly, if a bit desperately. He could hear Jester’s attempt to stifle a gasp, Beau non-attemp to yell “What the fuck!”, Fjord’s chuckle and then loud whisper at Veth to “Just hold on, give’em a minute”. But Caleb didn't care, not sure if he ever would. This kiss was bright, gentle, and held all these unexplored feelings he hadn't wanted to explore on his own. The ones he had just started to open up when death seemed to come and stop him, the ones of accepting love and forgetting guilt. And then there were ones he continued to explore on his own and with his friends, trying to make this world a better place.

Caleb let himself feel the joy in this moment, choosing not to care for now if it would last. The kiss was long, embarrassingly so, arms were still wrapped around him with no indication of release, so he just leaned into it. He didn't know how to banish Lucien, but he felt himself reach out in his mind, and gather up everything that wasnt that evil soul and pull it close. Every good memory, every hopeful moment, every bit of light he could find, he gathered together. Eventually he felt the tiefling chuckle against his lips. The laughter sent such a brilliant sensation of hope, Caleb had to pull away so he could see the face in front of him.

“Mr.Mollymauk Tealeaf?” He inquired, surprised at the hesitation the sent thought had.

“Ja, ja. The one and only Mr.Caleb.” It was no less cute the second time he heard Molly playfully mock his accent with his own barely there one. There was a long moment where the two simply rested their foreheads together, coming down from the incredibly high emotions from the last few minutes. Eventually it was Molly’s turn to pull away and look over Caleb.

“I mean I knew you could clean up pretty, but bless the Moonweaver, how the fuck did you get this handsome?” The easy flirting tone, the one Caleb hadn’t quite gotten used to until it was gone, filled him with more joy then he could possibly hold.

“And you my friend could use a bath and a change into old clothes.” Caleb spoke with a lightness he didn't know he was capable of, laughter lifting up every work. Molly looked down at himself, still water logged from Aeor and missing all of his color.

“You know, I think you are right. Gods this coat should be a sin, a capital offense.” There was no offense in his tone, just mirth. Caleb wanted to reach out and kiss him again, except suddenly Molly was holding him at arms length and looked worried.

“You know he is still in there right? Just … deeper? Like I was.” and the out loud, as though it was an afterthought “He is fighting for center stage. Like fuck I will give it to him with out a proper showdown though.” Even though his words were quite serious, Molly seemed not to let the situation take hold of him, optimism still shining through. Still smiling.

“Gods you two are making quite a show of this, and I really do hate the theater.” An exasperated voice cut through the shocked silence that had taken over the Mighty Nien, and a small wessel wormed its way off of Jester’s shoulder and over to Molly. Before he could say anything, the little quasi-deity of trickery and joy, jumped up to catch him by the wrist and bit down hard. Molly was jumping up and down rather undignified, swatting unsuccessfully at the fey creature but yelling quite a few obscenities. Yasha was the first to break from the Nien, striding over and removing the Traveler from Molly’s wrist without a word.

“What the fuck. Why did a talking rat just bite me Yash?!” Molly was holding his bleeding wrist, looking up at the familiar barbarian like he had never left.

“Excuse me, I would have you know that I am currently a wessel.” The traveler rebuked in what was probably more admonishment then he actually felt.

“Ok, well, whatever the fuck you currently are, why the fuck did you bite me?” But before an answer could be made, Molly was turning to the still stock still group of friends that were currently making no movements to understand all of the events that just happened. “Jester, love, you think you could heal this up? I would hate to make a mess of this lovely drab coat.”

Jester didn't move however, her mouth opened and gaping. Caduceus however was looking between Caleb and Mollymauk, and seemed to be the first to accept what was happening and walked over to Molly. Clasping both his hands the tieflings wrists, he said a prayer of healing without a word.

“Um, thanks. I don't think I have met you before. My name is Mollymauk, but my friends call me Molly.”

Caduceus, is regular form, laughed easily at the introduction. “I am Caduceus, and our friends - well, they call me lots of different names.” Their smiles were easy, that of a fast friendship.

“And the rat-wessel thing that bit me? Does it have a name?” Molly asked.

“Oh, um, that’s the Traveler. At least I think.” Cad spoke as though he was just giving the time of day.

“God’s, and I thought I was good at conning people. Jessie, you really got - oof” Jester slammed her full body weight into Molly, and impossibly, picked up the taller tiefling at the same time.

“If this is a trick, I will never forgive you, I don't care if you are dead Molly, I will really haunt you if you are pranking me!” Jester sounded on the edge of tears.

“Love, how would you haunt me if I was the one that was dead and you weren't?” Molly lovingly replied while stroking Jester's hair while she clung to him.

“Don't underestimate us, we would find a way!” Veth chimed in adding her arms to the hug, despite all she could reach was his thigh.

“Um, I feel like I should know you, but I am not really one to deny a hug.” Molly laughed through obvious confusion at the halfling clinging to his leg.

“It’s Nott you asshole.” she said, never letting go.

“Oh, ok. That makes perfect sense.”

They eventually let go for the others to see, leaving Fjord shaking his head in disbelief, Beau obviously wrestling with either punching or hugging the man, Essek standing back in confusion, and Yasha … arms crossed and distrusting.

“Prove it. Tell me something only he and I would know.” Molly looked a little hurt, but then a wide grin took over his face. The kind he had saved when he had a really great story to tell.

“Well, Yash, there was that time a couple weeks after you brought me to the circus, and I was really trying hard to save up the coin for my first tattoo. And well, I volunteered myself for that ‘after hours’ performance. You being the lovely dear that you are, volunteered with me thinking you would be gentler than the rest, and what was a little rubber and oil between friends. Only, you got me to use a safeword for the firs-” He was tackled for the second time that night, the rest of that story snuffed out by Yasha’s arms.

“I thought we agreed never to bring that up again?!” But she obviously wasnt mad.

Fjord and Beau both broke at the same time, gathering up Molly into a shared embrace. Of course, Beau had to end it with punching him in the shoulder and muttering “asshole” under her breath. Essek was still clinging to the shadows, obviously not wanting to be part of this reunion. Caleb didn’t know how to introduce the two just yet, so instead he clung to the familiar.

“Mollymauk, it seems like we might have a lot to talk about, -”

“Like how you two were KISSING!?” Jester interrupted excitedly.

“Um, well, ah - I meant more of where we are and what to do about Lucien.” Caleb replied.

“You don't have to worry about him anymore.” Sprinkles was once again on Jester’s shoulder, speaking much louder than a wessel should. “I have removed his soul and sent it to the Moonweaver to deal with it. She is a lot better with that kind of thing.”

“Um thanks?” Molly said, clearly still thrown off by the talking fey wessel.

“Not a problem. Besides, I am the only one around here who gets to strangle people until death.” That should have been a horrifying sentence, but Jester was just giggling along with it.

“Ok, before we talk about anything else, you lot wouldn't happen to have my coat? And a place to sleep, I feel like I haven't slept in a year!” Molly playfully whined. He did however look fairly tired. They could get the rest of their questions answered later, all that matter was right now. And right now, they had Molly back with them. Caleb had Molly back.

He couldn't help but shoot the tiefling silly grins as he summoned the tower, looking forward to every next moment Caleb could spend with Mollymauk Tealeaf. Even as he pushed back the guilt of still having Essek by his side.

#critical role #caleb widogast #caleb saves the world #mollymauk is fine #mollymauk tealeaf #i love molly #lucien is an asshole #shadowgast #its still totally a thing and eating caleb alive #mollymauk #i am hopelessly in love with mollymauk and caleb #circus man #its complicated #cr2e136 #cr fanfic #cr fandom

[halcyon-writings]

family

requested?: yes (anonymous) //tldr, if alucard had a sibling (the reader, of course) dealing with the loss of family, both living and not

note(s)/warning(s): canonical character death, spoilers babyyyyy, violence and injury, angst it’s rare for anyone in this series to have a good time huh?, also for this being that the reader can literally look however you want, imma say Lisa isn’t white bc I do what I want and it’s my fic :) this is also the most i’ve written in a good while omg, im highkey proud so pls don’t let this flop

Lisa Tepes is dead.

Your mother, is dead.

Killed, burned alive. Gone to ashes.

All because the church had believed she was a witch of sorts. Several thoughts dance in the back of your mind as you gaze upon the pyre. Smoldering from the heat, the flames gone. Your father leaving his message, no, his warning, that he would act in one year.

“A farce that was!” You hear a shout, and you force down the bitter laugh, throat tight and eyes burning. Especially so when you slowly begin to hear continued shouts of agreement, from voices previously silent.

Here your mother was, her final resting place. Burned to ashes for some sick show of power.

And you could do nothing as she was mocked for it.

Your fist clenched at your side, you feel your nails cutting into your skin, but you walk away to return home.

And to say that the castle was no less better was an understatement. Your father was most likely in his quarters.

And when you finally sit down, the weight of your weary finally settling against your soul, do you allow yourself cry. Quiet tears turning to sobs as you muffle your voice with a pillow.

You had failed her. Missing the chance to save your mother, too late to have done anything.

But you pause, noticing the presence at your door, your brothers familiar knocking pattern resounding suddenly through the empty hall.

“Come in,” Your voice is embarrassingly raspy. As you clear your throat, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. But it wouldn’t hide the redness of your eyes.

Adrian says nothing, and a part of you wishes he did. His larger hand takes yours. A comforting squeeze.

You blink again feeling your eyes burn, and you squeeze his hand back.

“Father is...” He trails off, no doubt thinking of what he could say next.

“What he plans on doing, it’s not justice.”

You stare up at him, But it would be deserving. A bitter corner of your mind supplies.

While Adrian had taken after Mother in his demeanor, much more kinder, more welcoming. You were no doubt like Father. Reserved, distrusting, easily prone to grudges if you were wronged in some way.

But you bite your tongue.

“He gave them a year,” You murmur after some time, “But no doubt he’s ready to calling his armies.”

At this Adrian turns alarmed. the warmth from his hand slips away.

“We must stop him!”

You’re still reeling from the events from earlier today, and a part of you wishes to have no part in his attempt to try and stop your father. But then you remember your mother.

Her kindness, regardless of how she was viewed for being different.

And your warily stand anyway.

If only you had more sense. Your father remains eerily silent as he embraces you both. His hold tighter, and while Adrian seemed convinced, you saw the dark look in his eyes.

The year had passed. You weren’t surprised to hear of the bloodshed.

It was naive to expect otherwise. While reluctantly following your brother, you can only stand, frozen as your blood feels like ice in your veins as your remaining family clashes.

“No.” Your voice is barely a whisper.

They don’t hear you.

Glass shatters.

And foolishly enough, you rush forward.

-

With your brother injured and fleeing, and you yourself were not free from any sort of pain.

Stepping in between the two as they fought ended with a gnarly gash on your shoulder, as you fell to your knees and blood slipping past your fingers. Your father stands in front of you, like a protective pillar as your brother stares in shock, quickly wanting to help you in some way.

And then the fight is over. Your brother is gone too.

The castle is much larger and colder now.

As you’re confined to your room, the wound healing into an angry red, then to a muted and dull scar. For a moment you wished it took longer, your father guilty and you were reminded of times you had been sick when you were younger. While you had not been too keen on the typical children’s books, reading theory on physics and other sciences only seemed fun when he would read to you and you’d ask questions in between passages. (Your voice funny from a stuffy nose led to laughter and a small coughing fit but otherwise it was nice).

But now was not the time to reminisce on the happy childhood.

You know you cannot stay. Ultimately, Adrian had been right. Once you feel as though you can move your arm once again, slowly, you begin pack a small bag. You didn’t want to build up any suspicions, finding some money in your room and whenever you could take a few coins or so from your father that he would not miss.

Extra clothes were folded and put away separately.

And you make your escape on a rainy evening, the uneven droplets helping hide your tracks. But you knew now that your father had brought back Hector and Isaac, new generals to help fight in his war, you had to be weary of the night creatures that would no doubt be sent after you.

Well, you were creative. At times flying in a transformed look, no one would suspect a bat in the dark of night afterall. And it was easier to. find good vantage points that way. But to also avoid any people, you didn’t quite trust yourself to not get into an altercation with a bigot.

You rarely slept longer than necessary, especially not when those dreams were memories or nightmares.

Now that you had learned how to walk, you were a right menace. It was an uphill battle in itself to keep you in one place. You were curious and the world you knew (being your father’s vast castle) was huge. Your childlike curiosity was never let down by your adventures.

You laugh quietly, which sounds like small squeaks as you fly up and hide above the gaudy chandeliers. Your father, giant coat gone, hair tied back and in a plain dress shirt and slacks as he searched for a curious toddler.

Snickers continuing as he paces down the hall. You hop down, landing slowly and feet planting into the ground, knees bent. Before you had down the opposite direction.

The lab usually wasn’t a place you could be allowed in on your own. But having heard that your mother was there, you knew it wouldn’t be a problem! So your little legs carried you along. Until you found the familiar doorway.

Dozens of tubes and mechanisms had you turning your head as you wandered in, your shoes tapping against the marble floor.

“Now what brings you here, sweetling?” The warmth of your mother’s voice has you smiling before you see her. As you run forward and hug her side, clutching her dress in your small fists. “Not causing trouble for your father are you?”

You shake your head grin betraying your word, “Nope! I’m not doing any trouble!”

“And how since when did that happen?” She laughs gently.

“Now.”

Your brother looks up from his own books, waving before returning to work. Your nose crinkles, so much for playing experimenting. But before you can say much, your nearly yelp as you’re brought up into the air by a pair of strong arms.

“I’ve found you, little wanderer.” Your father’s voice carries no heat behind it. Then again, he was always soft hearted for you and your brother. But most of all, your mother.

“I’m not little!” You pout, “I’m big now!”

-

You’re taken away from your reverie at the snap of a twig.

With your lack of sleep, as you had insisted on traveling more, you were less than surprised to have been snuck up on.

“Peace, my friend,” The old man murmurs. You keep your knife in an iron grip in front of you. Who you’re guessing is his son or grandson, has his hands raised the same way, but no weapon to be seen, magic, oh good. Then again, not like you needed a knife when you could make your nails go into claws and the fangs. Don’t forget the fangs.

“I can’t exactly be peaceful when it’s the middle of the night and suddenly figures in blue robes appear out of now where,” You answer dryly. But seeing as how the others behind the main two have not done or said anything noteworthy, nor were their stances make them look like they could really fight, you lower your weapon slightly.

Clearing your throat, “Although, I shouldn’t be swinging my own weapon around either.”

The old man just smiles gently. And you can’t help but be just slightly comforted.

In the end, the speakers stop for the evening. And the Elder, despite looking like a frail old man, is firm in his decision that you stay and “eat properly.” And like a scolded child, you listen. Food and drink all but pushed into your hands as you’re quickly brought into conversation, the previous confrontation all but forgotten.

And then you perk up when he mentions Gresit.

“So... the sleeping soldier,” You begin, slowly chewing on the sweet bread you had been given. “It was true?”

The Elder nods, “My grandchild and a traveller, they had gone to explore it. Well, the traveller had gone to save my grandchild. I will not hide the fact that I was a bit doubtful. But Belmont had proved himself a man of his word. Although, he does need to drink more water.”

You blink, a look of a surprise clear on your face. Belmont...

Fuck. 

“Although I hadn’t expected the legend of the sleeping soldier to be realized so quickly.” 

At your inquisitive look, the Elder begins to explain. Of a holy warrior beneath Gresit, who would come to save it’s people in their most dire of hours. 

“The pair had come up with a man with long hair, like gold.” You couldn’t help but let out the breath you had been holding. So the Belmont didn’t try to kill him. you could breathe a little easier at that fact. 

“Where are they now?” You ask, holding the empty cup in your hands, as you stare down as though waiting for something.

Getting your answer, you stand, adjusting your bag over your shoulders. You wave off the concern in staying, if it had already been several days since the Speakers had left Gresit, then you needed to cover a lot of land to get to your brother. 

That is, until you saw the expression on the Elder’s face grow stern, as though he was scolding a child. With a heavier bag, one that the Elder insisted that you take some more things you could eat along the way, in exchange you give the Elder a small trinket you had been using to hide from the monsters of your father’s army, you finally set off. While your worries were not completely settled, your shoulders felt lighter. Metaphorically of course.

Of course, giving away the object that kept you hidden made it a bit more, difficult, when it came to trying to hide and travel at night. Much less even try to stop and rest. 

It had barely been two days since you had left the speakers, and already, you had run into some trouble, a beastly creature’s claws barely caught on your sleeve, leaving your arm bare as you shuddered from the chill in the air. You can only sigh mournfully, you really liked that coat. But, better your sleeve than say, you actually getting wounded. 

Your nails resemble claws, while your free hand holds the dagger in a steady grip. But being surrounded on all sides, it did not look promising.

Well, you thought mournfully, if you died you could at least see your mother again.

Until you hear the sound of what reminds you of a whistle? And then a sword flying through the air, slicing through the night creatures, giving you a chance to get some distance.

You hear the surprised shout of your name, and look up, to see your brother wide eyed, sword now returned to him, and a man and woman standing at his side.

“Um... hi.”

-

Much to your relief, the night creatures are easily taken care of.

And as you’re finally able to explain your story, you find yourself relaxing into the extra cloak given to you by the Elder.

“You mean you met the Speakers on your journey?!” A woman, petite with short blonde locks, who you learn is named Sypha, asks, and you notice the way her shoulders sag in relief.

You nod, “Yes. They all were safe.” If her shoulders sagged anymore she’d full on be slouching. You leave out the part of leaving a possibly precious trinket with them, not wanting her to think you cursed them or something.

“So you mean to tell me, Dracula, fucking Dracula, had more than one kid? That he actually had a woman not only give him not just one, but two children?” Is incredulously asked next by the scruffy looking man. Trevor, as your brother says.

You only stare in annoyance, sure your father was about to raise an army to annihilate the human populace but he didn’t used to be that way.

Before you can retort with a scathing remark of your own, Sypha elbows him harshly in the side. And you know it hurts from the way he immediately puts a hand where she hit him, eyes widening slightly. Serves him right.

“And what of...” Adrian- no Alucard as he wishes to be called, asks, near hesitant.

“Father?” You ask, arms crossed, “Same old same old. Planning the same amount of destruction here or there.”

As he looks to the snow covered earth, you roll your eyes, “Did you expect anything different?”

It’s quiet, and neither Sypha nor Trevor speak.

“No.”

You all sat around camp quietly for a while after that.

-

Your lungs feel like they’re being constricted. Your throat burns as you struggle to breathe, claws digging into your skin like knives. Before you’re thrown backwards, landing harshly against the wall. Books fall from the book case and your weapon clatters noisily from the ground. 

You take shallow breaths, barely standing before you’re thrown once more. Curse your father’s stature and supernatural strength. You close your eyes, waiting for another attack and at least hoping to brace yourself for it, but it never came.

Instead, your brother stands in front of you, as he and your father remain in a standstill. Sypha and Trevor’s footsteps are rushing towards you three. 

It all continues to move so fast, until he stops noticing the painting of your mother, as she had been holding your brother and then you as a baby, and the next thing you know, your father is staked through the heart. And with wobbly legs, you take your sword, and swing. So falls Dracula. But it felt like no victory. 

You sit up with an alarmed look, stopping yourself from shouting.

That was... a dream? You rub your eyes, feeling that your cheeks are wet and you sigh. 

When you see a shadow looming over you, the light of the fire giving slight visibility, you freeze. Before noticing it’s your brother and not his companions. 

“Sorry,” You say, making sure to not look at him, so that he didn’t see your tears. 

Quietly, he places his coat over your shoulders, sitting beside you, wrapping his own blanket loosely around his own shoulders. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

You only grip the jacket lapels tighter, shaking slightly as you hiccup, unable to stop yourself from crying again. 

He must think it’s because you miss your mother, and you do. But this dream was far different. And you say nothing as he brings you into his arms. Your tears having long since dried when the sun rises moments later. But you find yourself falling asleep as your brother rubs soothing circles on your back, feeling the build up exhaustion finally leaving you. 

When you’re awake much later in the day you can’t help but laugh a little when Sypha scolds your brother for being mean enough to make you cry, he didn’t you assure her quick enough, although you’re back to laughing when she then turns around to scold Belmont when he makes another slight comment. 

#castlevania netflix x reader #castlevania imagines #castlevania imagine #castlevania netflix imagines #mine

[generallynerdy]

One life, I thought—a thousand deaths (Jon Antilles & Fay)

Summary: On Queyta, Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the only one to escape Durge and Ventress. One of the four legendary Masters, Jon Antilles, emerges from a lava stream despite knowing he’s going to die. He’s so sure of it that he crawls his way to Fay’s side, wanting to spend his last moments with the woman who he considers his Master. But she has other plans. Plans to make certain that Jon Antilles lives past today.

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, On-Screen Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, there’s both sorry, Self-Sacrifice, The Curse of Immortality, holy shit i made myself sad dude Word Count: 2,191

Prompt: Angstpril Day 2 - Sole Survivor

Author’s Note: listen I know nobody knows about these characters that are in literally one comic but I have FEELINGS about them okay?? Jon is meant to be a badass mysterious enigma but he screams sad boi and Fay is like...the greatest cryptid Jedi ever, I love her. So, of course, I decided to make them and Knol and Nico suffer. (Also I know Obi-Wan survived the mission but the Sole Survivor still applies because Jon is the sole survivor of the four legendary Masters, just in case that wasn’t clear.) I just finished this today, so the editing is minimal.

Read on AO3

*

Using the Force as a shield is, in theory, one of the easier skills a Jedi utilizes. That is assuming, of course, that the Jedi in question is in good health, a decent mental state, and isn’t under a severe amount of stress. If said Jedi is, say, three feet into a pool of lava, already bearing grievous injuries and the weight of the deaths of two close companions, and feeling the fading life of another, the simple task, understandably, becomes something of a problem.

Jon has finally managed to pull the Force around him like a blanket. It protects him from the bubbling lake around him now, but the first few seconds he couldn’t pull it off were torture.

As it turns out, lava burns. It burns like shame, like failure, like the nightmares Jon used to have about his Master abandoning him on a planet in Hutt space for getting just a little too mouthy. And it hurts nearly as much.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He makes a rule of not cursing, but right now feels like an appropriate time to break it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He claws at the charred remains of his robes. Contrary to popular belief, lava doesn’t melt initially, as Jon now knows. Instead of melting, he burst into flames for the few seconds it took to pull himself together, though they felt like an eternity. Red, throbbing burns litter his entire body, his hair singed but miraculously intact thanks to his hood, which is entirely ashes now. The pain consumes his thoughts, making his shielding start to flicker in and out.

And then, through the debilitating agony, a touch of something familiar.

Jon’s eyes fly open. “Fay,” he whispers.

Her light is dimmer than it should be, not flickering in and out mischievously like it usually does. But still, she makes an effort to reach out, to check on him. It sends a sob up his throat.

“Hold on, Fay, hold on.”

Clenching his fists, he opens himself up to the Force. His actions are ones of faith, not of desperation, and he lets it flow through him as he takes a deep breath. The idea of using one of his Master’s abilities would normally make him nauseous, but the disgust doesn’t even cross his mind this time as he prepares to teleport. He thinks of that open, flat space of rock that Obi-Wan and Fay ran to, their enemies close behind. Focusing fiercely on that distant image, he pulls on the Force and folds the two points—

Jon collapses on solid ground with a heaving gasp.

Every inch of his body protests the change, especially his knees, which burn when they make contact with the ground, but somehow he manages to ignore his own complaints.

Fay isn’t far, or she shouldn’t be, at least. The distance between them seems gaping when he tries to move.

Still, her light is fading fast. And he wants to be by her side.

So, Jon Antilles crawls on hands and knees, dragging his body across sharp stones and past bubbling streams of lava. He aches with each movement and cries out when it becomes too much, but he persists regardless. Something in him knows it may be the last thing he ever does.

Finally, he sees her.

She’s sprawled out, her chest hardly moving as her breathing becomes shallow. Her near-golden hair is filthy with ash and her eyes are dim. She’s hardly herself, Jon thinks, and feels his stomach sink.

Hundreds of years the great Master Fay has lived and breathed. Hundreds of years and he’s going to watch her die today.

“Jon,” she calls out weakly.

He pulls himself to her side, grabbing her hand with his own shaky ones. “I’m here, Master.”

They only met when he was a teenager, but he feels as if he’s known her all his life. They’ve travelled the Outer Rim together, following the Force, for decades now and he’s never regretted a second of it. In all but title, Fay is his Master. She was always better than Dark Woman, even when the bar was six feet under. The only record with both their names will be at the Temple, where the dead are listed, a handful of mission reports with other Jedi, and the stories the younglings share of the 4 legendary, nomadic Masters.

“Knol and Nico,” Fay breathes out, “they’re one with the Force.”

Jon grimaces. “Yes. And the Force is with us.”

She laughs, breathy and half-choked. It’s an old lesson, familiar and grounding. “And so too are they,” she adds.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?”

“Gone, with the cure.” She smiles just a little. “The Republic fights another day.”

Suddenly grim, he squeezes her hand. “But not us.”

A pause.

“But not us.”

The silence overwhelms them. The wind whistles in the distance, carrying with it nothing but smoke and ashes. Queyta isn’t the best place to die, Jon thinks absently. He would rather it have been someplace with flowers.

“I wish it could’ve been Jedha.”

He almost jumps at her voice, but her words jarr a surprised laugh from his sore lungs. “Jedha? I thought you hated cold planets.”

“Oh, yes, but not that one. Force, I should have taken you. The Force there is so...so strong, so pure, you can feel the kyber from the surface,” she explains, staring straight up at him. If anyone else were to gaze so intensely at his scars, he’d be uncomfortable, but she’s safe. She’s family. “And the Guardians of the Whills are so kind. I met a young one of theirs some decades ago. You two would’ve gotten along.”

Jon laughs a little. “You’re always looking to find me friends, Fay.”

Her smile turns sad and she lifts a hand to his face, letting it rest on his cheek. “You’re so young,” she whispers. “Too young to be so lonely, Jon.”

He shuts his eyes, lets himself be comforted by her touch. When he opens them again, she still has that gut-wrenching look on her face. He places his hand on top of hers, unsurprised at how cold they are despite the blistering heat.

“I’m not lonely,” he promises.

Jon doesn’t say that it’s because of her, Knol, and Nico, but Fay picks up the thought anyway. Her eyes fill with tears.

“I have watched so many I love die.” Fay’s voice wavers as she says it. He realises that it’s the first time he’s ever heard it do that. To be honest, he’d thought it was impossible. “Taken by age, by Darkness, by foolishness. Never have I met a soul as good as yours, Jon. And never a Jedi so worthy of love.”

“Fay…”

She shakes her head. “Your Master did not deserve you. The galaxy did not deserve you.”

Pulling her hand away from him, Jon squeezes it. “You did,” he says firmly, though his voice cracks.

“I hope so,” she admits with a rueful laugh. “I hope so.”

He smiles weakly. “I wish you’d found me first. But I thin-I think the Force knew when I needed you to save me. Because you did save me, Master. I could never thank you enough.”

She takes his word silently, holding his hand even tighter. “You never needed to.”

“Thank you,” he says now, even though it’s useless.

Fay’s grey eyes meet his pale ones and suddenly, she’s distressed. “You’re so young,” she repeats.

But Jon can see that she means something else this time.

“Not too young to do my duty.”

“Too young to die doing it.”

Jon thinks of Tan Yuster, one of four Padawans to die on Geonosis. The Jedi have experienced great loss these past months since the beginning of the war and so many so much younger than Jon have died in battle, the clones included. Of course, to Fay, they all may as well be children.

“I will go proudly into the Force,” he promises her. At your side.

Fay’s expression twists. “No.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think we have a say in it.”

“The Force let me live this long,” she says suddenly, as if it’s a realisation, “longer than I should have. Obi-Wan is gone, I’ve done what good I can, except...you’re here. Why are we here?”

“To say goodbye,” Jon offers.

She shakes her head, then tries to sit up, struggling until her would-be Padawan helps pull her up. “I’m done with goodbyes.”

“What are you—?”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his question. Fay presses their foreheads together and grabs his hands with a newfound energy that terrifies him. Chills go up his spine when her presence in the Force covers him like a blanket. Warmth climbs up his hands, then his arms, and with a glance down he finds that his skin is healing.

“Fay, no!” he cries, trying to shove her away.

She only tightens her grip. “Stay still, Jon.”

She sounds more like herself, certain and unwavering. Jon would be happy-crying if he weren’t horrified. He tries to drag himself out of her grip, but she’s impossibly strong. Her healing creeps up his entire body, soothing his burns, though scars remain behind.

“No, no, no—FAY! Fay, stop it!” His screams turn to sobs. “You’ll die, stop—!”

“I already am,” she says, just as certain in her abilities as her fate. “But you don’t have to.”

Trembling, his attempts are weaker now but still there. “Please, please,” he begs. “Not without you!”

Tears stream down her cheeks. She allows herself a moment of weakness; she opens her eyes and meets his tearful gaze, remembering the teenager she first met. He was so scared and so brave. And for a moment, she’d thought he must be a ghost. But no, he was just a boy. For the first time in a long time, she had let herself build a bridge between them, like Knol and Nico before him, even knowing she would have to watch him die one day.

Now, she thinks with fierce stubbornness, she won’t have to.

It feels like her life is leaving her for him, though she knows it’s just fading into the Force. It’s to it that she speaks, the cosmic energy she’s dedicated her long, long life to.

“If anyone is deserving of the time you’ve given me,” she gasps out, “it is Jon Antilles.”

She doesn’t see the horror in Jon’s face, but she can feel it in his quiet Force-presence, so subdued. He hides himself on purpose and it truly breaks her heart. His light is so strong. The galaxy is all the better for his existence.

“I don’t want this! Fay, I don’t—let me die, please—”

Fay only lifts her head and kisses his forehead, the sort of gentle gesture a mother might give her son. “One day,” she promises. It rings with truth, with the strength of the Force behind it. “But not today.”

Jon cries out and tries to rip himself away, but freezes when pure light washes over him. The warmth he’s always associated with Fay soaks into him, healing all his wounds in an instant and rejuvenating his fading energy. Stars burst before his eyes, like he’s seeing into the very universe beyond Queyta, beyond what he’s meant to see with his petty Human eyes. In another instant, it’s gone and Fay is slumping over.

She falls to the ground with a thump, a noise that jolts Jon back into focus.

“Master!” he sobs.

He pulls her up from the ground with the sickening realisation that she’s a complete deadweight. She’s limp in his arms, already paling. Desperate, Jon pushes her hair out of her face and finds...nothing. Her eyes are dull. With his fingers on her wrist, he can’t feel a pulse.

“Fay?”

The steady beat of her Force-presence is gone, a gaping hole in his universe. Their bond, one strong enough to resemble a training bond, is shattered, a physical pain that throbs in his skull.

Jon begins to hyperventilate, his sudden gasps for breath burning his now-perfect lungs.

“Come back,” he begs Fay’s corpse. “Fuck, please. Please, come back.”

He pulls her into his lap, clutching her robes like a child being left behind for the first time. It doesn’t hurt to move anymore and, thank the Force for it because his entire body shakes with the force of his cries.

Overwhelmed with grief he’s never experienced, Jon wails into Fay’s shoulder, rocking back and forth. The agonizing sound rings across the valley, a noise like torture.

It’s only now that he feels the frayed edges of his bonds with Knol and Nico.

He screams again, his vocal cords protesting it sharply.

The last time Jon was this alone, he was a child. And now, he’s right back where he was before he met his three closest companions. Except now, now, he knows what it means to love and to lose. It aches. It aches like nothing he’s ever felt.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely. “I can’t—I need you. What do I do? What am I supposed to do?”

He never gets an answer.

*

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

Masterlist

#sw #star wars #sw fic #star wars fic #angstpril 2021 #day two #sole survivor #sw imagine #star wars imagine #sw oneshot #star wars oneshot #jon antilles #master fay #fay #jon antilles & fay #knol ven'nari #nico diath #star wars legends #river #rivika #generallynerdy #one life a thousand deaths #angstpril2021

[tiredkeys]

Strider Bros with an s/o who’s very used to pain, but laughs it off

i have a request, if that's ok!! the strider bros with someone who's very used to pain and getting beat up and covered in bandaids/bandages daily?? but she laughs it off and no matter how hurt she gets, she's always so kind and trusting towards others and very physically affectionate. she acts pretty memey and breezy alot of times, but she will try and fight back if someone tries to hurt those she loves,,ahh sorry if this is too much, i kinda projected here,,,sorryy

Requested by anon

Oops this one is really long, I really enjoyed this and got a little carried away...

Requests are open!

Dave

Oh man

Oh man oh man

He got this exact same treatment from bro and he is devastated you have so many bandages on you all the time

Like? You both are out with some friends and someone twists their ankle

And you, at the speed of light, have some bandage out and their foot is fixed up in no time

On god, he almost starts crying on the spot because only boy scouts are supposed to know that and he knows you needed to know how to patch yourself up but you shouldn’t have needed to repair yourself so quickly and GOD

Honestly, he’s convinced you don’t have a right elbow because it always has a colorful bandaid on it

Speaking of bandaids, sometimes he’ll draw stars or hearts or just doodle on ones that cover paper cuts or that are wrapped around your fingers

He always asks first and he’s just so careful

When y’all first got together, you learned very quickly that he is NOT physically affectionate

He loves you so so much, and he hates it that his instinct is to flinch away when you brush up against him or go to hold his hand

It takes him quite a while, waiting for you to initiate and several sweaty palms that he doesn’t quite know what to do with, but when he does get comfortable showing affection around you? He’s so touchy

He’s not a huge fan of PDA (the cool kid facade is still strong) but in private, he just want cuddles and he wants them now

But he’s so so gentle, especially when you have new injuries

Often times, he will hold your arm and trace some older scars you have while y’all watch movies

And even when he accidentally puts too much pressure on a new cut, or his pointy elbows hit a soft spot, you’re smiling at him and cracking jokes while he apologizes for the next ten minutes

He’s baffled by you in the best way possible

He sees someone you care about being bullied for something and you are up and defending them SO FAST

It looks like you’re a hair’s breadth away from throwing punches 

And he’s astounded

The change in you demeanor was so fast

And his first instinct is to be worried, then the bully leaves, and he’s still worried

But god he is so proud of you

I mean, he’s seen some of the bruises you have

But you just are so trusting and nice and soft towards others, you have no bitterness in your heart and he has no idea how you do it

Your constant vulnerability so revolutionary to him 

One time, he accidentally walked in on you touching up your bandages

This beating was particularly bad, injuries stretching from just below your collarbone to around your ribs into your lower back

And he cannot move

He’s stuck in the doorway for a solid minute before you notice him

Shooting him your most convincing smile, some sluggish finger guns and a quick jipe you’re back to fixing yourself

“All these colors are really making me look like a piece of art, aren’t they?”

Oh my god he doesn’t know what to do

He just stands there until you’re done

“Who did this to you?”

Whether its a guardian, bully, or just a stranger, his heart still drops

He’ll make sure you are as comfortable as possible, in bed with snacks, drinks and a book or movie

He’ll crawl in next to you and pretend to be invested in whatever you are doing

But he’s crying

It’s hard to tell because he still has his shades on, and you don’t actually notice until you see him swiping at his face

You have to push his glasses up into his hair so he will look you in the eye

Y’all talk a lot that night

You wake  in the morning and bathed in the sunlight and Dave wrapped around you like a blanket of protection

And you are safe

Dirk

I mean, he’s had his fair share of fighting robots so he’s pretty scared up right along with you

He’ll totally be up for comparing scars and stories about them

You got any you’re insecure about? He might not know how to comfort you but he will most definitely sit down with you and try and distract you

He sometimes forgets that you are as used to pain as he is and it's like a cold slap when you get hurt and shake it off

I mean, your pain tolerance is through the roof

You get hurt, say something like, oh this is nothing and he’s like so?? We are getting you patched up

And he will pick you up and will not let you move until you are fully bandaged, even if he knows you can do it yourself

On the flip side of that, when he gets busted up, he is always starstruck when you pull out the proper medical equipment and heal him up

Fixing up his twisted wrist, and he’s just staring at you because you’re just so gentle and caring with him, he feels so safe

Whenever he makes his own bandages and splints, he always ended up wrapping them up a little too tight, not enough to actually cut off blood flow, but enough that it was always more uncomfortable than it needed to be

Once, someone tried to pick a fight with him, and he just kinda squared up and went “ight i'm going to get decked this time”

And you BUST DOWN to DEFEND HIS HONOR and it's so scary

The offender? Flees so quickly at the sight of you, in a rage, and this anime character lookin dude, about to be in a rage because that kind of passion is contagious 

But he’s so oblivious to your advances it isn’t even funny

He’s a little caught in his self-hate to even consider that you might be into him

Because what on Earth would you ever see in him?

Also, he is not a touchy person!!

He has -5 experience with physical contact and he will literally jump out of your arms he is so perturbed

You go into hug him one time and he zips off so fast and you don’t see him for quite a while

Did you move too fast? Did you hurt him?

Nope, he’s just cooling himself down

Despite his best efforts, he can not keep a cool face around you

Even when you’re gently punching his arm or touching his shoulder as you brush past, he will get so flustered so fast. There's just nothing he can do about it

One time, you cornered him about it

Not even flash stepping could save this fellow from your onslaught of questions

Does he hate you? You stopped your bigger physical affections long ago and while you know that he really doesn’t get a lot of that but would he like you to stop? It’s alright if he does, you’d just like some verbal confirmation. I mean, you really really like him and your love language is touch, but if he isn’t okay with it he isn’t okay! And if he doesn’t reciprocate your romantic sentiments towards you, it’s all alright! He shouldn’t feel pressured to do anything he doesn’t want and... Man, you’ve really gotten off track here. You’ve said far too much but you mean all of it. Is he okay?

Even with the added defenses of his tinted glasses and his rock-hard demeanor, you can see he’s shaking

This, to you, is not a good sign and you begin to backpedal like HELL

While you’re chattering away, he is going over his options in his head after it stopped yelling and the list looks like this:

You’re lying to him and this is a joke

You’re not lying, but would be miserable in a relationship with him

You’re not lying and both of you would put the effort into a relationship and it would be beautiful

He decides to take his chances

Grasping your wrists to effectively stop the word soup spewing out of you, he lets you know how he feels

He also really likes you, like… you know… but it terrifies him, just like you do! You’re always beat up and those weak excuses really won’t work much longer, and you care so much and that’s so scary, so breathtakingly scary, and you’re so funny and easy to talk to and he knows he’s not used to touching people, or just people at all, but if you'd like to teach him, that’d be okay. Someone has to watch your back, anyways. 

And that’s the whole story right there, folks

Stay safe! Thank you for reading!

#homestuck x reader #dave strider #dave strider x reader #dirk strider #dirk strider x reader

[dalekofchaos]

Rian Johnson did Finn dirty and we gotta stop pretending he didn’t

Every now and then I am reminded how I hate how dirty Finn was done in the Sequel Trilogy. TFA started it, but TLJ continued it. JJ started it with the bait and switch, Rian continued by making sure Finn would remain a side character, which JJ would finalize in TROS.

Like I like TLJ for the visuals and Rey and Ben’s dynamic, but let’s be clear. It absolutely did nothing for Finn, Poe or Rose. Pretty much all the characters of color were given the shaft.(and one of them didn’t even get any speaking lines, NO I WILL NEVER NOT BE MAD ABOUT THIS)

Let’s take a look at what Rian Johnson did with Finn

Finn is repeatedly harmed for comedic effect. Most of his important scenes were either cut or rewritten. He is constantly belittled and mocked throughout the movie.

The beginning of Finn in the movie. Finn awakens from his coma. Does he struggle to come to terms with his near-death experience? Is he fearful that Rey is dead and he failed her? Is he scared, in pain? Nope. He falls on his face and squirts juice everywhere. The medics on-duty were on a coffee break and allowed their patient to wander the fucking halls unattended. And with that, his duel with Kylo is worthless and made a joke to laugh at.

Finn’s deleted scenes. The deleted opening where Finn wakes up. Finn and Poe’s scene on the Raddus where Finn declares he’s not joining The Resistance, but Poe simply says “you are where you belong” and hands him his coat after stitching it up for him. Then the scene where BB-8 shows Finn Rey’s last moment with Finn. Then the deleted scene with the one Stormtrooper where Finn shows restraint. and Finally the scene that shows a better death scene for Phasma......why were any of these scenes deleted? ESPECIALLY THE PHASMA ONE! I will never understand why this was deleted. Finn calls her out about her betrayal of lowering the shields and when this information is revealed, the Stormtroopers near her look suspicious and it looks as if they are going to turn on her. Phasma like the ultimate survivalist she is kills them with no hesitation. Finn cuts her hand off and blasts her into the abyss, giving Phasma a more deserving and better send off. Seriously, this is way better than their actual confrontation.  What I really like about this scene is its direct connection to The Force Awakens plot point and that it acknowledges Phasma’s survivalist attitude which was introduced into her novel.

Finn’s injuries do not get attention, but Kylo’s injuries do. In The Force Awakens, Finn fights Kylo Ren. He does well, but is ultimately defeated.  He is slashed in the shoulder and the spine by Kylo Ren and falls into the snow, unconscious. Now if this were in the first 6 movies, Finn would be dead or would be paralyzed. But because it’s a Disney movie, Finn heals up. Rey continues the fight and slashes Ren across the face, leaving him with a gash. The characters all escape, but Finn has to be carried to a medical station, unconscious until TLJ. Kylo Ren seems fine, ultimately jumping in a TIE fighter to try and kill his mom before getting patched up further.  Finn, again, has to wake up before doing anything. Here’s the difference between Finn and Kylo’s injuries.  Finn awakens in a medical bed wearing a bacta suit.  His first instinct is to call out for Rey. As he jolts up, he slams his head against the medical container.  He slams against it again. Regaining awareness, he opens up the medical container to find himself alone in a cargo room.  He falls out of the bed, spraying medical fluids all over the place.  He trudges down the hallway until Poe and BB-8 find him. His injuries are never mentioned, shown, or even referenced again.  Kylo, on the other hand, is asked by Snoke how his wound is, to which he responds “it’s nothing.”  He then takes that ridiculous thing off, complete with a close-up of a sad kylo Ren face, with his sutures  framed to draw attention to them. This happens again in the elevator.  Then we get a scene of him getting patched up soberly by a medical droid.  Then we get a shirtless scene as a final showcase of his other two scars.  Throughout the film, Kylo’s scars are present and framed as a constant reminder that he went through pain.  Finn’s injuries are used as a joke once and promptly forgotten, and let’s not pretend that these injuries are  one-to-one aside from how they’re framed.  Remember Finn received injuries trying to protect Rey, while Kylo received injuries trying to murder Finn and bring Rey before Snoke, a fate worse than death. Finn received a deep wound across his spine, which can often be fatal in the real world.  Kylo received a gash across his face.  Finn’s injuries were worse and nobly gained. Kylo’s injuries were comparatively tame and well deserved.  Yet the movie uses Finn’s pain as a joke, and Kylo’s pain as a humanizing factor. That Rey, as well as the director, cinematographer, and a considerable portion of the audience sees a scar and is willing to find sympathy with the person, no matter what they have done, is pretty reprehensible. Not only is Kylo Ren’s scar not enough to be considerably a change to his appearance, as Rian Johnson specifically modified the location of his scar because, “it looked goofy,” the scar is not the mark of an accident or from an assault, but rather from a failed assault on his part. Also, I could get into how messed up it is that scars that don’t fit Rian Johnson’s preferred model are considered goofy. Is a scar that isn’t kept to one side of the face not worth showing? Is a person with a scar you don’t personally like somehow less able to be taken seriously? By treating Kylo’s minor wounds as a big, life-changing deal, and treating Finn’s life-threatening wounds as a trivial matter of no more consequence than a joke, The Last Jedi reinforces century-old stereotypes about Black people. Specifically, it implies that Black people are somehow less affected by pain, have higher pain tolerances, or cannot be physically damaged the way White people can. This is a demonstrated, dangerous trend, where white people actually perceive Black people as experiencing less pain than White people under the same situations. Older textbooks, including some used as recently as late 2017, suggest Black people over-report the pain that they are experiencing. Doctors have declined to give painkillers to Black patients expressing the same level of discomfort that would grant a White patients the same painkillers, and some surgeons even believe that less anesthesia is needed for operations on Black people. This, of course, goes beyond the medical field, where Black people are not believed when they speak about suffering, and are expected to take more physical abuse than their White counterparts. However as the injuries are framed in a medical setting in this movie, I wanted to primarily address the medical bias as in the real world. This has been referred to as an empathy gap. When two people are hurt, with everything except the skin colour being the same, and White people feel worse for the hurt White person, there is a gap in empathy. Now, when the conditions are not the same, and the White person deserves to be hurt, and is hurt much less, and is still empathized with more, and the White man’s acts of attempted murder are framed as romance, while the Black man’s friendship is framed as harassment. Let’s also talk about Finn’s treatment. He’s placed alone in a room filled with cargo, without any monitoring.  It’s almost like the medical staff doesn’t even deem his injury serious enough to receive attention.  He’s not on the medical ship, which we know they have.  He’s not even in the Raddus’s Medical Bay, which, again, we know they have. Finn is isolated, left unattended,  injures himself, and stumbles out into the hallway without any assistance. All for a joke.  Finn’s injury should have been treated with respect and acknowledgement. A scene with the doctors examining his injuries, telling Finn he is medically clear to join The Resistance and Finn  sorrowed by his inability to help his friends, would have been light-years better than a scene where Kylo looks sad getting hurt while trying to kill people.

Finn’s rivalry with Kylo Ren drops instantly. Like Finn’s injuries, Finn’s rivalry with Kylo Ren is dropped for no reason whatsoever and never mentioned again. Finn and Kylo Ren are narrative foils, yet after TFA it’s dropped??? From the start they have been prominent foils to each other: dark from light and light from dark, both in the First Order but in drastically different positions. And Kylo too obviously has strong feelings about his defection. I also believe that Finn is the awakening in the force that Kylo and Snoke felt. Perhaps that is why Kylo focused on Finn and is so angry about him. Finn is also the first person to use the legacy lightsaber and is the first to actually fight Kylo. TLJ could've focused on Finn and Kylo being  narrative foils having a force connection and Kylo wondering why Finn would switch to the Resistance while Finn wonders why Kylo joined The First Order and  Rey standing in the middle of it all wondering with the new realization that her family has a mixed past of good and evil and her questioning where exactly does she belong? The way at the height of tfa when Kylo Ren rejected Han Solo’s offer for redemption and killed him he looked over and noticed Finn. Like they both locked eyes and in that moment was a surge of emotions between them— shock (and some fear) on Finn’s end, and anger on Kylo’s as he shouts at Finn that he’s a traitor— and those circumstances set Finn and Kylo up to be the dynamic for the sequel trilogy. They were foils, and the trilogy had the potential to truly expand on that and see their development in a final standoff/rematch at the very end. But it was wasted, because why have good movies.

Finn repeats the character arc from the last movie. Finn’s character arc from The Force Awakens was dropped completely in The Last Jedi. He does want Rey to be safe, but TLJ paints it as if  Finn just wants to run away, despite the fact that he learned to be courageous, face his fears and stay and fight at the end of TFA.  The First Order kidnapped Finn as a child, from his family(possibly killed his family) he was able to leave The First Order and resist the indoctrination. He no longer wanted to fight, he wanted to leave everything, he wanted Rey to come with him. When Rey was captured, Finn had something to fight for and when Kylo Ren pushed her. Finn finally stood up to his past and The First Order. He overcame his fear. So Finn should have been wanting to fight The First Order and become a big deal in The Resistance, we could have even seen Finn inspiring a Stormtrooper rebellion  against Phasma and The First Order. Finn just wanting to leave is just bad writing and backtracks his entire character arc from TFA.

Went from one of the major focuses of this trilogy to a side character. Finn is the very reason why The Resistance is alive. Finn breaks his life-long brainwashing, informs Rey and Han about the importance of BB-8 and helps out in getting BB-8 to the resistance and provides vital information that lead to the destruction of STB and gets nearly killed while helping to achieve this. If it were not for Finn saving Poe, BB-8 would’ve been scrapped for parts and Rey never would’ve left Jakku. The map would either be destroyed or be in the hands of The First Order. Starkiller Base would’ve destroyed D’Qar and Ach-To. He is the reason why Poe is still alive. He is the reason why BB-8 isn’t parts and Rey left Jakku. Because of leaving Jakku, this is the sole reason why Han and Chewie were able to find the Falcon. And he is the reason why The Resistance was able to find out about Starkiller Base’s weakness. he Helps out in sabotaging STB so that Poe, the very pilot he saved in the beginning can deliver the finishing blow to Starkiller Base and destroy it completely. In the Last Jedi, Finn awakes from a coma with no one attending him. No medics or guards. He's not even on a medship, he's in the fucking cargo hold. Finn recovering from his injuries is meant to be seen as a joke and his injuries are never mentioned again, while Kylo gets sympathy and shown his scars. There was also no marketing for Finn in the build up to TLJ. Despite Finn knowing that the First Order must be fought and knows there is something bigger than himself and Rey, we then see Finn attempting to flee in an escape pod to hide with Rey. Then he meets Rose. Rose in mourning meets Finn and expects him to be this big Resistance hero, only Finn never officially became one. Rose thought he was deserting. Finn wants to escape to save Rey and because The Supremacy is tracking them through hyperspace, but Rose sees this as desertion….Desertion? You taze people for desertion? How exactly am I supposed to root for either side again? This is probably the same only less lethal treatment one could expect from The First Order. And what if The Raddus took critical damage? Are you trying to tell me Rose would taze anyone going to the escape pods? I thought she was supposed to be a mechanic, not someone who prevents escape. Despite Finn explaining himself, she tazes him. She spends the majority of the movie berating, insulting and belittling him. It's even worse in the novel. Finn, who was the main focus of the last movie, and one of the main protagonists, is now made the sidekick to Rose in a pointless side plot. Finn and Rose then get caught because none of them could bother park their ship legally. Finn, the child slave doesn’t even get to say they should save the child slaves of Canto Bight, instead he blindly follows Rose into freeing the space horses. Then they openly trusts a man who talks like a snake and is shocked when DJ betrays them. Finn and Rose are made to fail their mission pointlessly, when they could've succeeded and get caught on the way to the escape pods. Finn gets to face his oppressor and fight Phasma and end her, but Phasma's better death scene was stupidly cut for reasons I don't understand. Finn then makes one last effort to save The Resistance, the people he loves. Rose stops him. She takes one last chance to insult him and kiss him without his consent as the bunker is destroyed while The First Order prepares to kill what Finn loves....and people see this as love???

The racist undertones of how RIan Johnson wrote Finn. Finn is treated like a racist slapstick caricature. The first real problem for Finn. He is reduced to a slapstick joke in his very first scene. Finn awakens from his coma, slams his face and it is revealed that he isn’t even on the medical ship or even in the medbay on the Raddus...he is in the cargo hold and is made to be a joke. This is the Co-protagonist of the trilogy, and he’s reintroduced as a slapstick joke. Then once again he wants to runaway. I am getting a real racist vibe that Rian Johnson sees Finn as the cowardly black man troupe. That’s just downright disgusting. Moving on. Finn is paired with Rose Tico, honestly I want to like her, but bad writing prevents that. Finn is put with someone who abuses him and we are supposed to root for this and see it as romance? Let me explain. Finn is then tazed by Rose, which is understandable, she thought he was running away and she was in mourning. He also was objectively posing absolutely no threat to her, wasn’t running away, and was even trying to explain himself. Additionally, just the threat of the taser seemed to have been enough to stop him from leaving. But Rose attacked him anyways. The difference between Rey and Rose attacking Finn is Rey subdued Finn just enough to stop and interrogate him, Rose went completely overboard by paralyzing him and knocking him unconscious. It was completely unnecessary and gratuitous. Rey and Finn have a real friendship and partnership from the last movie. Rose, on the other hand, spends the rest of the movie belittling Finn and talking down to him. The book also says that she thought about using violence against him more than once after the tasing (for annoying her) and even pushed him. This displays a really problematic pattern of violence and disrespect towards Finn so yeah,  multiple uses of violence and expressed desire to inflict violence on him as being abusive. I would argue that she is undeniably verbally abusive with Finn. In the movie and in the book (more so in the book) she often belittles him by calling him names and using other put downs. It seems she wants to make him feel bad about himself and bring him down, which is abusive. Of course, it doesn’t really matter what her intent is, even if she doesn’t “mean to be mean” it still counts as verbal abuse. So, in summary, her repeated threats and use of violence against Finn and her continual use of insults and put downs causes me to come to the conclusion that she is abusive to Finn. For the record I am not saying Rose Tico is abusive towards Finn, I am saying how Rian wrote Rose towards Finn is hostile for no reason whatsoever and could be interpreted as abusive and it’s downright tone deaf how the abuse and tazing is directed at the black man of the trilogy. Then Finn is made to fail. The only time he is allowed to be portrayed as a protagonist is him facing his abuser and taking her down. My only problem is they cut out Phasma’s better death scene. Finn reveals Phasma shut down the shields for Starkiller Base, and that gets the Stormtroopers to turn on Phasma. This is what I would hope starts a Stormtrooper Rebellion. Finn’s defection was withheld information by Hux and Phasma in fear of a full on rebellion. Humanizing Stormtroopers and having one become a hero is kind of genius, but the way they did it in Episode 7 made it seem like Finn was the ONLY good Stormtrooper, which has to be an impossibility. If one Stormtrooper can suddenly switch sides, what's to say that others couldn't? And since Episode IX will most likely see the fall of the First Order, I personally think that Finn should convince all (or most of) the Stormtroopers to turn against Kylo and Hux, leading to a cool final scene where the First Order is ultimately destroyed by their own henchmen, children who were abducted and indoctrinated take back their narrative. That would be cooler and more unique, I think, than another Resistance vs. First Order space shootout, or Rey and her possible Jedi apprentice army taking them down. The most insulting part of the movie is the last part. Finn’s suicide run. Finn was the best Stormtrooper and knows about The First Order’s weapons, he should know full well that speeder would be destroyed trying to destroy the mini death star. Finn’s attempted sacrifice was pointless, Finn was treated like garbage throughout the movie, he deserved better.

Finn was almost a big deal for the Resistance in the beginning. It is shown through cut material that Finn was in Cobalt Squadron uniform. If this was the case, there is something real simple they could’ve done. Have Finn be with Paige, have Paige and Finn have a short friendship(this actually gives Ngo Thanh Van speaking lines), Paige being in awe that Finn, someone who escaped The First Order helped The Resistance destroy Starkiller Base is working with him and she is more than happy to show him the ropes. They are co-pilots.  Finn was able to save Paige from dying in space and instead she dies in his arms while leaving a bloody handprint on his heart, working as a callback to when Slip died in Finn’s arms and left a bloody handprint on his helmet and her last words being “tell my sister I love her. Finn brings the bad news to Rose and gives Rose Paige’s pendant. Rose breaks down and hugs Finn. Both Finn and Rose have a good relationship at this point and there is no pointless hostility. You could even have Finn and Rose together finding the hacker and having their plan succeed and just having DJ betray them as they make it to the escape pod. And Finn and Phasma do have their fight, but keep in the deleted Phasma death scene. Instead of that? Nothing and instead of that we get a conflicting and hostile relationship between Finn and Rose and Paige has no speaking lines.

Rian Johnson rejected any and every possible character arc for Finn. Rian squandered a proactive, clearly-defined character from TFA, trying to make him fit moment after moment because he had no real big-picture idea what to do with this guy. And in light of Rian presenting himself as a progressive voice, he deserves to be challenged on why he failed a complex, heroic black character so abysmally while giving clear focus and dignity to the white male villain of the piece. (And this isn’t to say I want Kylo Ren’s character development to be worse, it’s saying I want Finn’s to be better.) But he shouldn’t just have treated Finn with care and dignity because it would’ve been more “progressive” - he should’ve done it because it would’ve made a better MOVIE.

Finn is brought to a white man, put on his knees, and is slapped in the face by said white man who once commanded him. Why? No Answers

Rian Johnson had Finn and Rose arrested and locked in a prison cell. Him and Rose are the only characters to be arrested (as in, not kidnapped by evil regime) in the Skywalker saga. PLUS they were immediately electrocuted after being pointed out to the space cops.

Rian admitted not wanting Finn and Poe together because he can't see them as two separate characters(he can't see two men of color as two different characters, let that sink in) and because in his words they "got along too well" and Rose is only there to give Finn 'conflict" We were robbed of Finn and Poe being boyfriends. I love Rose Tico as a character, but I will always want Finn and Poe to be together, aside from the amazing chemistry Finn and Poe have together and John and Oscar have together, if we get to see a gay relationship portrayed in Star Wars, it will show boys and girls who are gay that nothing is wrong with you, you are perfect the way they are and the way they love is beautiful. Oscar Isaac fought to have Finn/Poe together, he encouraged the shippers that the relationship they want is valid and supports it. And I feel so bitter after finding out Finn and Poe were meant to have scenes together in Canto Bight but were separated because Rian Johnson said “those two were getting along too well and that would be boring”  aka Disney doesn’t want gay characters in their cash cow. Despite Oscar’s fight, FInnpoe did not happen and it’s a damn shame. 

Rian Johnson joked about keeping Finn in a coma

Rian had a scene written where Finn was too bumbling/confused to know how to put on a tuxedo. He also had a scene where he sees alien ass unconsensually. 

Finn’s suicide run. Finn knows about the weapon during his time as a Stormtrooper, so he should know full well that speeder would be destroyed trying to destroy the mini death star. Finn’s attempted sacrifice was pointless as he knew that it wouldn’t work.

Rian has Rose explain to Finn, A CHILD SOLDIER, that war and child slavery are wrong.  Surely you see the issue there.

Finn almost had memories of his upbringing, but Rian chose to cut it. "In the original scene, Rose’s story of her childhood was a bit tamer and Finn shared his backstory with her, revealing a further connection between the two characters – that they both had family members taken by the First Order. Most of the sequence was reshot."

Rose stopping Finn. “that’s how we win, not by fighting what we hate, by saving what we love.” That makes no sense and ignores the entire narrative of Star Wars and heroism of the saga. Paige, her sister sacrificed herself to save The Resistance. Holdo sacrificed herself to save The Resistance. The Rogue One crew sacrificed themselves. Kanan Jarrus sacrificed himself to save what he loved. Finn’s entire arc in the movie was learning not to just think about running away with Rey and fight for a greater cause and when the time comes for Finn to prove that he’s grown as a character, he can’t? What was the point of Finn’s arc in the movie? And let’s talk about Poe. Shouldn’t Poe be sacrificing himself? Poe has spent the entire film watching others die and give their lives and he’s never backed down, so shouldn’t Poe be in Finn’s place? And if Rose stopped Finn who would save The Resistance? We saw after Rose stopped Finn, the bunker was blown up by the battering ram. Absolutely NO ONE knew that Luke was going to make his surprise entrance and save everyone. For all we knew, The First Order would’ve moved into the bunker and killed everyone and The Resistance.

I am well aware that JJ Abrams did Finn no better, I even talked about it here. But let’s be honest, Rian didn’t know what to do with Finn and truly did him dirty. 

This was really the easiest character arc for them to write. Indoctrinated Child Soldier turned Elite Soldier who after realizing what he was doing was wrong, wants to make things right, hunted by the FO for treason and because he knows too much, he slowly finds his path with the resistance and trains in the force with Rey and together they rise as the new Jedi, oh and Poe is his boyfriend.

It is my own personal headcanon that The force chooses Finn because he chose empathy for his fallen brother and chose to walk away from killing innocents.

Finn had potential to be one of the best characters we ever got in Star Wars. It’s been over 3 years since he was sidelined in the sequel trilogy and it still upsets me to this day. John really deserved better, to be marketed like this and then sidelined is just awful.

Finn in The Force Awakens: trooper number as call back to Leia, Awakening in the Force, & call to the hero’s journey/defending the symbolic hope of the Skywalker family is peak Star Wars & whatever was Abram’s original intent for Finn’s prominence in the ST; undone by studio interference because KK and China did not want a black lead.

Finn was the literal 1st face we saw when they teased The Force Awakens, it's clear he was supposed to lead the way for the future of Star Wars, criminal what they did to the character and god forbid a person of color saves the galaxy because some of ya’ll can't handle it

Finn was setup as the male lead and co-protagonist of the sequel trilogy. That’s not an opinion, that’s not a headcanon, that’s a literally fact. He was set up to be equal with Rey & Kylo’s foil and we all know why that changed.

At the start of the trilogy, we all thought people of color would have a prominent role in the new trilogy and there was a potential for the first LGBT relationship in Star Wars. But no, it’s clear that both TLJ and TROS gave us the impression that only white people can be Jedi and save the galaxy, people of color can only have secondary roles. And the blink and you miss it kiss? Only white women, not two men of color who clearly love each other.

Finn deserved to be a main character alongside Rey and Ben. He deserved a good character development, a great arc, an interesting backstory. he had the potential to become one of the most epic star wars characters. TLJ and TROS was an insult for him and he deserved better. nobody will EVER change my mind.

Finn should have been a Stormtrooper turned Jedi.  It doesn’t matter that you think it tells a better story for him to not be a Jedi. “Finn being a hero who is not a Jedi is important.” Poe and Rose are great examples of ordinary heroes coming from nowhere. Rey was supposed to be a jedi related to Skywalker or Kenobi legacy while Finn was the perfect "nobody from nowhere" that becomes a Jedi. And honestly, Black kids deserved to see themselves in the Black Jedi and black kids deserved to see themselves as one of the three protagonists of the trilogy.

#Star Wars #Finn #Finnpoe #Finnrey #Reylo