#Cat Supplies Cheap

[eats-the-stars]

being an adult who makes my own income is also realizing i can actually buy some of the pretty art i see online. some day i might even be bold enough to directly commission an artist.

[pikonv5]

Ohhh maybe an interview this week 😭😭😭 manual labor that will probably be too hard on my body but if i can survive it, i will try my hardest for us, if i get the offer !! 😭😭

[hellenhighwater]

So, every animal shelter around me is heinously overloaded/understaffed and begging for fosters. I am considering applying to be one for a momma cat with kittens, but I don't know if I have enough space/time/energy to do so and don't know anyone I can ask IRL about the experience. Are you willing to go into detail about what exactly foster duty entails? Also, do the fosters coexist peacefully with Malice and Vice or do you need to keep them separated?

Fostering can be a relatively small time investment, or it can be a big one. Nearly every shelter hits capacity in the warm months, due to the overwhelming quantity of kittens.

I talked to my local shelter and explained that I don't have a ton of time to work with--I can't take neonatal kittens, or ones that need regular hand feeding, or basically anyone medically fragile. But I can take litters that are doing well, who just need time and space to grow big enough to hit the minimum weight to be spayed/neutered and adopted. On a daily basis, I swap out water, food, and clean litter, plus general tidying-up as needed. That takes maaaybe half an hour to an hour--most days I do it before work. Because most of my litters have moms, the moms do a lot of the work of feeding and cleaning the babies! They may need bathing sometimes, depending on how much of a mess they make. Beyond that, I try to spend time with them as much as I can--I'll go in and eat my meals with them, sit and do digital work, or watch movies while I do projects with them around. The goal is to socialize and handle them as much as you can.

Kittens generally litter train themselves, but accidents happen when they're little, so a space with easily cleaned floors is ideal. I start my fosters out in a jumbo sized dog crate, allowing for supervised time outside of that, and then eventually give them my whole den to run around in when they're old enough to be more independently mobile (basically when they're old enough to realize that losing sight of their mom does not mean they're lost forever, and can navigate the space on their own.) I do keep Mal and Vice out of the den when I have fosters, but there's a glass door so theycan see each other.

Most shelters with foster programs will supply everything you need for them in terms of food, meds, and litter--you just give them space and time. I got my own jumbo dog crate to use, and I pick up secondhand towels for cheap--that gives me something easy to wash for them to sleep on. If you're just getting started, a shelter can probably find you an "easy" litter to begin with. Not that there's ever a 100% guarantee, because kittens are fragile, but usually they can set up a litter that seems strong. At least for me, there's an urge to play the hero and take on too much--I have to be careful, and accept that I only have so much time to work with; I have to say no to some of the more tiny, delicate kittens, and leave them to be fostered by those who can handle them. Those people are awesome and I'm not one of them.

If you're setting up space for fosters, I'd choose a place that's easy to clean, that's not going to leave them vulnerable to being bothered by other animals or kids all the time (they sleep a lot), and which allows for you to spend time with them. You can keep your fosters in a large dog crate or other kennel--honestly, it's comparable to how the shelter would house them--or in a room you have set up to handle them, but I'd hesitate to give them complete free run of your place unless you live somewhere quite small. Kittens are fast, and you really don't want to lose one. I remove rugs and less durable furniture from their space as well, and sometimes will cover the couch in a thick blanket to reduce claw marks.

Overall, I think it's totally worth it. It's fun to get to have them through the baby days, and they have more individualized attention in a home than they would get at the shelter. It's worth trying! If it doesn't pan out--or if they start needing more attention than you can give--you can give them back, but in the meanwhile they have a more enjoyable home than a shelter.

[letmeliedown]

update post - my cat and i still need help staying housed!!

new post bc this one was getting rly long

we put down the $1485 for half month's rent and deposit but still need:

$196 to rent an ozone generator until oct. 1 to deal with mildew & allergens in the new place

$120 for an air purifier for my room

$200 for a portable AC unit (i have severe heat intolerance & no windows in my room )

$200 for cleaning supplies

moving expenses - don't have an exact quote yet for the truck but it's not looking cheap

we are at 926/2500!

p*yp*l is thelandofyesterday at gmail dot com

please reblog or donate if you can. thank you so much to everyone who has already!

[raincoat-movings]

My abusive mother is trying to institutionalize me & put me in a conservatorship. Please help me fund my escape plan across a few states.

This is a remake of my original post that lost traction as it gained over 4k notes, but I still need help. Things have gone to shit I need to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible. That means the moving fee will be much more, but if we can get enough I am going to go for it as soon as May (I have to give a 30-day notice to my current landlord before I can leave) or June instead of my original post's estimate.

My mother has sold her house and is bringing her pets to the new house, but she is leaving my cat behind with the new owners knowing that will upset me. She gave me a few options - move in with her and I can keep him in my room, I can let her leave him with strangers whom I don't know or know what they'll end up doing with him, or I can pay the pet deposit on my current apartment of 350 dollars to have him with me instead. I would like to have my cat back as I have been alone in this apartment since I moved, and I am so afraid of her giving him to strangers and something happening to him before I can take him with me when I can move.

Since she is moving she has also informed me today she is also giving me another choice - move in with her to keep rides or stay in my current apartment and not have rides to the grocery store + doctors. Insurance can help me with the issue of the appointments, but I need rides to the city next to me as the town I live in has no store with decent prices on food. Everything is priced to hell here - I used to ride with my mom to Costco or Walmart where I could get a lot out of my food stamps - those are out of my reach without a car. (We do not have public transportation here. It is a small town. We don't even get pizza delivery here unless it's from doordash the city next to us.) As stated in the original post I will be renting an apartment with my beloved, but they are 3 states away so this is not going to be cheap. I am getting my stuff professionally moved as I cannot make the trip myself as it would cost more, be worse on my body, things can happen with me being alone, it will not be insured, etc.

Again, I am so sorry for having to remake this post I am sure many of you are tired of seeing me pop up on here, but I want my cat back + this is getting very fucking bad so I need to get out of here soon as I can.

paypal: partange1 cashapp: par1demon wishlist: https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/37P45EQYVHZZT?ref_=wl_share <- This has cat, medical (I am disabled + get injured a lot), and packing supplies you can directly buy for me in case you can't donate through paypal or cashapp

[hellenhighwater]

So a while back, you showed Vice or Malice lounging on a truly impressive cat-sized bed of cat grass. I'm assuming you made it (though if you purchased it, I'd love to know that too.) What materials did you use?

Oh, that's super easy! It's just wheatgrass seed and a couple handfuls of potting soil, chucked into a large plastic tray. We're talking maaaybe an inch of dirt, and an even (but decently dense) layer of seed on top. I douse it in water to get it started, and then just keep it damp, and it grows very quickly. I often do a couple trays in rotation--I have some cheap LED grow lights from amazon on a little shelving unit, I just do it there--and when one mat of grass dies, I pull out the whole thing and put it in my compost.

Most of the seeds sold as "cat grass" are just a mix of wheatgrass seeds, which you can often get far more cheaply at a feed supply store. I plant in the large plastic base tray for starting seedlings, because I have a bunch of them, but you could easily use those disposable foil pans, or thrift a pyrex dish to use. If you're not going too crazy with watering, you don't need drainage holes.

But it's super easy! I just keep a gallon bag of wheatgrass seed and a little bin of soil, mix and let it go. It's a good short term houseplant--for those who forget to water in the long term, fear not, this is like a one-month operation--and it's fantastic enrichment for indoor cats.

[blkkizzat]

ꨄ︎『Sneaky Links』ꨄ︎ (PART 1)

Sukuna x Reader (Mentions of Yuji x Reader)

18+ Minors - DNI

PART 1 of 2

Summary: Y/N is a dickmatized manipulative brat. Sukuna is Sukuna. Poor sweet Yuji is collateral damage. CW: cheating, rough play, unprotected sex, spit play, brat taming, spanking, pussy slapping, manipulation, fingering, anal play, edging, tit job, blow job, slight dubcon, sukuna being toxic, y/n thinking with her pussy not her brain (but it’s hard not to when you got that wet wet). WK: 3.1k of 8.5k Slightly Black female coded but no descriptors.

A/N: All I do is eat hot chip and bump Spotify so nearly everything I write has song(s) that goes with it.

Sukuna POV: I Mean It - G-Eazy (this mv is so unsrs but I'm criiiine imagining Sukuna as G-Eazy in this video lmfao) Reader POV: You Right - Doja Cat (not like Sukuna couldn't be The Weeknd POV here but he's so much more of an asshole than that)

Enjoy!

‘2:37 AM’. Fuck.

You had to stop looking at the clock, it was only making you more restless. Usually sleep came to you easily as the peaceful dark of your room and light snores coming from your boyfriend Yuji would lull you into a comforting slumber each night.

You sighed.

Your head lay on Yuji’s chest and his arm was loosely draped around your waist. This has become your typical sleeping position since moving in with each other. You have only been living together for over a little over a month now. But living with Yuji was great, even if your apartment was smaller than you would have liked. 

Despite the both of you being full fledged sorcerers and risking your lives constantly, exorcizing curses didn’t pay the best salary. You wanted something bigger but it was cheap enough to allow the both of you to save for something much better down the line. 

It was Yuji who had mentioned that fact to you, to both console your protests and to hint at more promises for the future. That had been enough to make you giddy and you would have agreed to live in a closet if it meant you could be together.

Sure, Yuji could be a little clueless at times but he always tried his best to make you happy. The two of you rarely had any disagreements even when you were being a stubborn brat. His easy going nature took your faults in stride, meeting your needs without complaint. 

Yuji was always doing sweet things for you like waking up a bit earlier so you could drink your coffee (that he always burnt) in bed. He would shower you with soft kisses to coax you awake with a wide grin and a whispered ‘good morning’ that made you feel warm just remembering it.

You really couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend.

You were happy with Yuji.

You love him and are very happy with Yuji. 

Sigh.

So then why exactly is your mind torturing you with thoughts of the cursed object inside your boyfriend taking control of his body and fucking you dumb into the mattress?  

You caught yourself unconsciously chewing your lip in nervous anticipation. 

Your mind couldn’t allow you to sleep because it was filled with Sukuna, The King of Curses and every jujutsu sorcerer’s sworn enemy. 

Your enemy.

How could you let it come to this? 

You felt guilty but it’s not like you had asked for this to start happening. That said, you made no real attempts to stop Sukuna thus far from showing up to fuck you before disappearing again like a thief in the night. 

Rode hard and put away wet, he used you on his whims and it had been happening more frequently ever since the first week after you and Yuji moved-in together. 

The fateful night it started was the night of your housewarming party, ironically enough.

You honestly didn't even want a damned housewarming, you recalled looking back. You thought it was impractical and a bit embarrassing to throw a housewarming for such a small flat. 

Everyone would be on top of each other the entire night. 

But Gojo had insisted, promising to supply the drinks and food which automatically had Yuji on board, so you just gave in. Anything to get Gojo out of your hair and seeing Yuji so excited made you smile.

The housewarming itself went well until the six eyed sorcerer had suggested a ‘friendly’ drinking game. All which would have been fine if Gojo hadn’t brought over what he called Reggae Punch.

However, it wasn’t the standard recipe of peach liqueur and oolong tea you could find in any Tokyo bar. The dark orange drink Gojo concocted was a heavy mixture of actual punch and different liquors that you couldn’t identify until you were already 2 cups in.

The son of a bitch. He had literally tricked y’all into drinking Jungle Juice.

You were already faded as hell by the time the game started so you eliminated yourself early on purpose. 

Yuji, who was a good boy and never even took a sip of alcohol until he was legal earlier this year, actually thought he stood a chance at winning against his seniors. He foolishly joined-in with earnestness.

Rolling your eyes at the memory, the night ended as expected. Yuji was beyond shitfaced. 

His head hung heavy and was barely still on the low chabudai table by the time Nanami (the winner) had dragged a drunken Gojo out of your apartment, who was still singing songs from the pricey digital karaoke machine he had gifted the both of you earlier in the night. 

Maki and Yuta, sensible enough to stop drinking early like you, had already left.

Meaning Nobara, Inumaki and Megumi, all pretty lit themselves, had the near impossible task of dragging Panda home which you did not envy. 

With everyone gone, getting Yuji into bed proved a far easier feat than expected. 

You had left him some ibuprofen and pedialyte on the nightstand and a small bin next to the bed just in case he woke up and felt sick. You really didn’t mind taking care of your boyfriend who always took such good care of you. 

You just wished it didn’t have to be this night. This night when you realized for the first time that mixing that much alcohol in large quantities just went straight to your pussy.  

Pleasing yourself usually wasn’t an issue but after you pulled the second yet still unsatisfying orgasm from yourself is when Sukuna had made his appearance chuckling at your failed attempts. 

Admittedly, you were terrified at first.

You had been dating Yuji for two years but Sukuna didn’t often show himself and he had never even addressed you directly before. It was dangerously easy to forget the most powerful evil sorcerer in existence was residing rent free inside your bf’s soul. 

Nevertheless, you were hard up for a real release at that moment. A cloud of lust fogged your brain and it didn’t take much goading at all for your legs to spread like a warm jelly for The Curse King.

And he did not disappoint. 

Sukuna’s sharp tongue flooded your ears with degrading praises sending electricity through your body that settled in your core where the even sharper strokes of his hips corrupted you from the inside out. 

All your senses utterly stupefied, you came hard. You made a mess on him, yourself and your sheets.

And that was only round one.

Sukuna had near limitless stamina. 

The next morning, achy and sore, you could barely look Yuji in the eye. You were preparing to beg for his forgiveness but you quickly realized he barely remembered the party, let alone what happened after. 

In fact, it made you feel even more guilty that Yuji apologized to you. He was mad at himself for being so rough with you when he noticed the bites, bruises and marks that decorated your body thinking you both actually had sex the previous night. 

You were the worst. 

You really were the worst as truthfully, if you told him in that moment, he likely would have forgiven you then without question. 

It’s not like you alone could stop Sukuna from doing anything he wanted to you while Yuji was unaware. You were a semi-grade 1 sorcerer, strong enough for most curses, but you would be kidding yourself to think you could take on Sukuna in a fight. 

In fact wouldn’t the issue of Sukuna being able to take over Yuji’s body freely while he was unconscious be a much more pressing concern rather than how many times the curse king had made you squirt? 

Yet in spite of the danger, the logic and your better judgment, you were too ashamed to tell Yuji what really happened. 

That was because subconsciously a part of you knew it could happen again.

And it did. 

Many times.

Except for tonight. 

Sukuna had yet to make his appearance tonight. 

In fact, he hadn’t shown up in the last 5 nights in a row. The longest you had gone without his dick since he started toying with you. 

You recalled you had snapped at him after his last visit when his insults had started swaying from you to Yuji and his inability to please you. You told him never to visit you again and threatened to tell Yuji if he did. 

Honestly you didn’t expect your threats to do much. They hadn’t previously. 

As much as you wanted to be relieved that maybe Sukuna had finally grown sick of dealing with ‘Yuji’s bratty pillow princess’, a name he often called you while digging deep in your guts, you weren’t relieved at all. 

If anything it annoyed you. 

He hadn’t listened when you told him to leave you alone the first, second or third time so why now?

Why now after your cunt has started craving the burn of being stretched out by Sukuna? 

You shiver, thinking of his heavy grip on the fat of your hips. His claws would be so dangerously close to breaking your delicate skin. 

He constantly reminded you how easily he could rip you apart if he wanted to while he relentlessly clapped your cheeks from behind. 

Near salivating, you snapped your head up a little too eagerly for your own liking when you felt Yuji stir beneath you thinking it was Sukuna and more than a little disappointed when it wasn’t.  

You knew Yuji’s tender caresses should have made you melt, and it still did in a way. You were still in love with him. 

But it wasn’t until Sukuna tainted you did you realize you didn’t want to be treated like a delicate princess. 

You wanted to be manhandled. 

You wanted to be made a mess of. 

You wanted to be called names like the filthy cheating whore you were currently proving yourself to be. But Yuji was too tenderhearted to ever fuck you like you needed.

Squeezing your eyes shut as if you could block out all thoughts, you knew the reason you couldn't get to sleep was because you were horny for Sukuna. 

The higher the heat in your belly rises the more sleep becomes impossible. Your clit burned in response to the heat in your belly which made your pussy flutter as it desperately clenched around nothing and pushed some of Yuji’s cum from earlier in the night out onto your thighs.

In that moment, all your resolve was lost.

Yuji was simply the appetizer and you were a famished woman. Still left starving for the main course.

Sukuna. 

You swallow, unsure of yourself as you attempt to steel your resolve. You had already resigned yourself to the hell Sukuna put you in.

You turn your head deeper into Yuji’s chest and whisper softly against his pectorals, fingers lightly tracing his lower abs under the blankets.

“Yo…um.. Hey…Hey Sukuna… c-can you hear me?” 

Silence. 

You tried again. Nothing.

You huff, your patience waning. 

“Damnit, Sukuna!” you whisper harshly, your voice rising slightly with irritation. 

You waited more. 

The only reply you received was the rise and fall of Yuji’s chest. 

You were seeing red. 

This lame ass motherfucker. 

Was that it? Was he really done with you now after all this? 

Slowly rising off of Yuji’s chest you glare down at your boyfriend as if you could somehow scowl past his body and into his soul at Sukuna.

You quietly mutter to yourself about ‘the headass lord king of body snatching curses who gots more dick in his personality than pants’ while you shuffle over to the night stand on the side of the bed. 

You turn on the small light and dig deep into the drawers to pull out a toy you saved for nights you were particularly hard up and Yuji was out on a mission. 

Sukuna may have been ignoring you but you could no longer ignore the throbbing screaming at you between your legs. 

Maybe if you rubbed one out you could calm yourself down enough just enough to cease your anger at least. 

You needed to make an attempt to relieve yourself before you really lost your mind and did something insane like knocking the mario coins out of your sweet unsuspecting boyfriend in frustration at the curse inside of him. 

He didn’t deserve that. 

Not like he deserved any of this, the curse inside of him nor a girlfriend like you who would spread her legs so easily for a cocky smirk and a big dick.

You closed your eyes and pushed that thought aside for now. You were sweating and near shaking in need of release. 

Making yourself comfortable on the bed, you turn your vibrator on its lowest setting, so as not to disturb Yuji. 

Dragging it across your skin, you snake a path for it down past your breasts, across your belly and lower still relishing the sensations across your body. 

Licking your lips you barely ghosted your vibrator across your clit before a hand grabbed your wrist and another flung your toy across the room instantly smashing it into pieces.

“You really are a bratty fucking whore, you know that?”

The voice you immediately recognized as belonging to Sukuna. 

And how could it not be? 

It was more sultry than Yuji’s. The deep bass in his voice both teased and admonished you causing your aching clit pulsate to the rhythm of every syllable.

“As your King, I don’t recall giving you permission to touch that nasty little cunt, bitch.” 

You whined in protest and attempted to pull away but it was futile in Sukuna's grip. You could feel the fire from his touch on your wrist alone beginning to spread and torch your entire body. 

Exceeding the levels of any sexual frustration you ever knew in your life, his further denial to let you touch yourself threatened to spill the tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. 

“I don’t recall asking you, my lord,” you spat his words back at him without thinking, “I’d ask you if you knew you were a trifling asshole but we-”

And in an instant he was on top of you.

His tattooed hands now hold both of your wrists, placing them up over your head effectively caging you in and shutting you up before you could even finish your sentence. 

Your eyes widen in response to the hot snarl of his breath and the red of his glowing eyes burrowing into you. 

The reality of who exactly you just decided to sass sunk in.

Sukuna on the other hand revels in your dismay.

“‘Eh? Triflin’” he said, mocking your tone and slang. “Me? Not the filthy slut who is begging me to use her boyfriend’s body to dick her down while he is sleeping? Then you have the fucking nerve to throw temper tantrums when I don’t.”

Fuck, he had heard your insults from earlier after all.

“You think a bratty bitch like you can summon me on your whims and so address me so casually at that? I’ve killed many for far less.”

He was close now, too close. 

However, although hovering over you Sukuna still wasn’t touching you with the exception of the bruising grip on your wrists. 

Despite the lack of contact your body still responded to the suffocating amount of heat and cursed energy radiating off his own. The intense primal instincts of your fear and arousal brewing together in your body was creating a toxic reaction, one which threatened to tear you apart if Sukuna didn’t first. 

Your lip was quivering and your body was squirming beneath him. 

You are completely at his mercy once again.

“And Yuji?” Sukuna continued mockingly. 

His face dipped closer to yours and you let out the shaky breath you weren’t even aware you were holding.

“You’re so needy after he already gave you this dick tonight too? Tsk tsk, you really are a brazen n’ greedy whore.” 

He was wrong. 

Not about you being a whore, of course.  You couldn’t deny that fact even if you wanted to at the moment. 

But he was wrong by implying it was the same as if you were with Yuji.

When Sukuna took over, except for facial similarities, he was all but a different person. 

Sukuna was taller, more muscular and thicker in all areas, his cock not being excluded from that. The tattoos that decorated his body and bound his dangerous muscles caused him to look more intimidating than Yuji ever could. 

Even his scent was different. It was almost as threatening as his presence and was intoxicatingly masculine, more alpha.  

You knew fighting him further was a losing battle. But you were still mad at him for ignoring you.

Nevertheless, he was here in front of you now. 

You were so close to getting what you wanted. If you had to give up more of your dignity at this point then so be it, you didn’t have much left to covet anyway. 

Completely surrendering yourself to him like the little bitch in heat that you were, you appeal to his ego in hopes he would fuck you.

“If you know I’m a whore then just fuck me like one already Sukuna. My King… please? Pretty please? I-I need you. Make me cum please.”, your saccharine tone contrasted with your depraved pleas coming out like a twisted prayer. 

You humbled yourself and hated it. It broke the tears of frustration that had built in your eyes. 

Moisture spilled down the sides of your face, yet you blinked through them in order to maintain eye contact with him. 

The desperation that called to him from every fiber of your being was apparent to Sukuna, his smirk widening at your distress. 

Releasing your hands in favor of your neck, a hand enclosed it applying pressure as he licked a tear trail down the side of your face.

“Tch, Even when desperate and begging you still can’t help but to be an insolent brat”, he whispered, blowing warm air into you that made you tingle.

That’s when you felt his tongue salaciously lick into your ear before pulling back to bite and suck at your lobe and neck, leaving more marks for you to try to cover in the morning.

The full weight of Sukuna’s naked body was now pressed upon yours. You whimpered as he had finally granted you the contact you craved for.  

You could feel his heavy cock begin to twitch on your belly. You panted as you arched up into him, rubbing against his form creating beautiful friction between you both sending you into euphoria. 

But as quickly as the contact was given, it was taken away.

“You should know by now, Y/N.... Disobedient brats need to be punished.”

Part 2

This was originally supposed to be a one-shot but it got a little out of control with writing the lewd scenes. Part 2 is almost done and is FILTHY omg. I will try to post by tomorrow night or Saturday. (updated as of 9/12).

Lol also for anyone who doesn't know Reggae Punch is actually a popular drink in Japan. I did not make that up. It really doesn't have much alcohol content in it at all. But I LOL'd at Gojo tricking them into drinking Jungle Juice cause its literally night and day.

Also imo, Nanami and his salaryman vibe you know would win a drinking contest out of any JJK man so thats canon to me (excluding Toji as according to official fanbook alcohol has zero effect on him so he doesn't even drink it).

Any mistakes please DM, no rude or criticizing comments please.

P.S. I promise I don't hate Yuji.

Reblogs, likes, comments appreciated!!

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

[uwurakax]

˖ ˳·˖ 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏, 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐊𝐀𝐈'𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄! ᥫ᭡

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 finding an obscure otome game on the internet wasn't on your 2024 bingo card, but with only the cover art and no blurb, you decided to give it a shot. it looked promising enough at the start, and nothing could go wrong, right? ��

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢��𝐠 various jojo's characters x f!reader

𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 otome || university/college!au || isekai || alt!universe ||

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 cursing (duh) || me thinking im funny asf || dio

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 2.8k

masterlist || next

-> 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You liked to think that you were an otome game expert. Even if it sounded… strange to the everyday person, it was your niche and who didn't have an out there hobby anyway? Supply and demand, right?

So you’d pride yourself on your extensive, and completely useless, knowledge regarding fictional pixel romance.

That was how you found yourself here, at two in the morning researching a really obscure listing of a dating game that you had never heard of before. There was no description, release date or year, and no mention of a publisher found anywhere.

A Bizarre Dating Adventure.

That was all you had to work with, the title of this so called game. There wasn't even an item picture uploaded. Spending a whopping thirty minutes gave way to absolutely nothing and you weren't going to lie, you were pretty miffed about it. A piece of so-called lost media just happened to be put on sale on a totally legitimate looking website at the grand old price of.. wait, $10?

Now you were intrigued. An otome game for that price? There was no way this was authentic when games of this nature cost upwards of $50 to $80.

With a few more clicks on your laptop, you came to find out there was free shipping included as well.

That was surely safe, you thought to yourself in your sleep deprived mind.

You faltered for a moment before closing the tab, shutting off your device and promptly collapsing onto your bed for the sleep your body craved hours ago.

Damn, you’ll feel that tomorrow.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The following days were mundane at best, your mind drifting to the odd listing of the game. The circumstances alluded you, and during your free time, you found yourself naturally going back to it. Exploring any and every corner you could, even going on the occasional forum. You didn't get much information however, and it seemed the more you looked, the more elusive it seemed.

How was it that no one else seemed to know of this game? Surely that wasn't possible.

It became more and more tempting to just shot the odds and buy it outright and trying it yourself, but you were still apprehensive.

The website didn't do any favours for itself, looking like it hadn't been updated since 2009, and there didn't seem to be any reviews on the authentication of the site either.

You groaned, sinking back into your chair and staring at your ceiling. Closing your eyes, you cautiously rubbed at them, deep in thought as the listing displayed at attention on your screen.

With a deep inhale you leaned forward again, focused as your hand hovered over the trackpad. The inner debate followed; curiosity killed the cat…

but satisfaction brought it back.

Super sketchy website, but if you played it smart, you wouldn't need to give out too much of your personal information. Plus it was dirt cheap for what it claimed it was.

‘Fuck it’, with a click and a few taps of your keyboard filling the otherwise silent bedroom, you received a congratulatory email and in red capital letters were the words ‘SOLD’ on the now ended post.

And so, you were now the future owner of the enigmatic video game, and if you so happened to be scammed… rest in peace that ten bucks.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were honestly pleasantly, and weirdly, surprised at how quickly your package arrived. Didn't you just order this thing yesterday? The no bigger than A4 sized parcel sat at your doorstep in a white bubble mailer, perched upright. The keys jingled in your hand as you bent down to pick it up, purse falling forward slightly in an uncomfortable manner. Your mood was already soured from the days events, and any little inconvenience had grated you. You were about to roughly shove your bag back and open your door when you realised there was no label stuck to your package. You flipped it over, only to find the same blank space.

That's definitely not worrying at all.

You jammed the key inside your door and forced your way inside with an all too loud slam. You knew you shouldn't have trusted that damn website. Now some axe murdering lunatic knows where you live! You could feel the nerves wash over you, and your heart began to palpitate. Twisting the deadbolt lock on your door gave you some sense of security, but it did little to appease you.

Tossing your keys and bag on your coffee table, you sat into your much too old and worn out lounge as you ripped the parcel open.

Discarding the plastic wrapping, you’d clean it up later, you found that inside was a small case with what you suspected was the game. There was nothing of note on the back, no text, rating, or any other information found. Turning it over, you saw the images of various male characters decorating the cover.

These must be the leads.

You glanced over each of the men as your fingers traced their features.

Four blondes, one brunette, one with dark blue hair, another with dark purple, one with a green undercut, a redhead and at the center was a brooding character with black hair and a tipped down cap.

What an interesting cast.

You couldn't help but wonder what made the creator go for ten different routes. It wasn't like that was unheard of, but it was quite a larger cast of romantic interests. In the midst of your thoughts, you felt a chill.

Like you were being watched.

Walking over to your kitchen window you looked outside, hand still holding onto the keep case. You stayed there for a few seconds, looking at the now setting sun against the trees. The orange glow offers little warmth within your small apartment. You gaze back down at the cover art, focusing on the dark, capped character. You didn't know why, but there was something unsettling about them. The longer you looked, the more the feeling began to fester. Gently facing it down on the marble counter, you headed into your bedroom to shower and change; hopeful that a new set of clothes and washing the day's grime away would lighten your mood.

Spoiler alert, it didn't.

Clad in only a towel, you went back into the kitchen to get a drink, throat parched and getting dry. You drank the cool beverage as your eyes began to wander back to the faced down disc. You still felt unexplainably wary, but it didn't feel so bad in that moment.

Gosh, you were such an idiot, who gets freaked over plastic?

You took the few steps towards it and turned it back over again. Tapping your fingers against the countertop in thought you wondered if you should actually play the game. It's highly possible it was just some kind if virus ready to wipe your entire harddrive, but your curiosity was getting the better of you.

You really needed to see what this was, consequences be damned!

Deciding that you’ll use your old high school laptop, you headed back to the bedroom to change into comfortable clothing. You found a pair of old white, cotton shorts and your well loved gray t-shirt that was much too big for you, left behind by a long forgotten ex. You couldn't even remember his name, or maybe you didn't want to remember. He was an ex for a reason, but the shirt sure was comfortable and his loss for leaving it with you. The only scent lingering on it was your own, so by definition and for all intents and purposes, it was yours.

Placing the game on your desk, you went rummaging around your room for the laptop.

Searching high and low; under your bed and in the wardrobes, resulted in nothing. You spend a good twenty minutes before checking the drawers of your desk and finding it hidden under stacks of scrap bits of paper in the bottom drawer. How cliché, and of course it was there.

Agitated, you moved your current laptop away and plugged in the old tried and true. It got you through high school, so hopefully it’ll make it through this.

Though you had hoped inside it wasn't a dud, as you began to feel sentimental about the outdated electronic.

If it did, you'd think about setting aside the money to have it fixed, even if it wasn't worth it - and it most definitely wouldn't be worth it.

You waited a couple of minutes for the thing to boot up, dusting off the slight dirt that accumulated from its lack of use. The age of the laptop was clear as you heard the fan blare to life.

Would it even be able to run the thing? There's no way you'd risk your actual computer on this…

Once deemed ready enough, you pressed down on the disc drive a couple of times, using much more than necessary force on the last push when the reader wouldn't open.

You waited impatiently as it closed with a quiet click, tracing your finger over the trackpad as the cursor moved violently across the screen.

You kept waiting… and waiting… and waiting… until….

Black.

The screen had shut off, and no amount of pressing the power button, force restarting the laptop or even hitting it did anything.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” the disbelief and anger present in your tone as you plugged the charger cable in and out of the port.

You weren't entirely surprised it was a scam, a virus now killing your laptop, but that didn't mean you weren't any less pissed.

Yeah you were lucky it was an old laptop, anything on it long since gone when the thing was reset before you graduated, but still…

What a waste of a laptop and the ten dollars spent on a useless thing. On the off chance that the laptop's hardware was too old to run it, you couldn't even get the disc back unless you wanted to pry the drive reader open and damage it further.

With a huff you slammed the laptop shut, grabbing your phone and laying down in your bed. You’d figure out what to do when you had time, but you were too upset to deal with your broken device now.

At least you had the sense to use an old laptop with no data. Gotta take those silver linings.

To lift your spirits, you ordered some takeaway, eagerly awaiting to stuff your face full of the greasy food. After the later half of the day, you felt like you deserved it, and the knock on your door couldn't come soon enough.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Switching off your television, you reached beside you and tapped on your phone screen to check the time.

10:34pm.

You debated whether you did want to sleep now, but your body decided to answer for you as you let out a loud yawn.

Your lounge was pretty comfortable right now, but after previous experiences, you'd definitely be feeling it in the morning.

The longer you stayed, the more difficult it would be to leave so you quickly got up, threw away the rubbish from your order and went on to do your nightly routine.

After the final step of brushing your teeth, you went to bed, flicking off the bedroom light before you looked towards your desk. Your laptop illuminating a glow along the edge.

Well that's suspicious… that's weird…

You shook your head off the image and voice of Cardi B and slowly sat down at your desk. Tentatively reaching out and opening the laptop you were met with a title screen.

A Bizarre Dating Adventure.

A deep blue background with the words in a hot pink gradient that faded to white. Deep violet coloured roses garnished the sides as different hues of purple petals fell from the top of your screen.

A Bizarre Dating Adventure, that was the name of the game from the listing, wasn't it?

Absentmindedly, your middle finger moved across the trackpad, white sparkles glittering off the cursor with every motion.

Surely a few minutes wouldn't hurt right? Just to get a feel and understanding of the game.

Small, white text slowly flashed underneath the title text reading ‘PRESS SPACE TO START.’

“Here goes nothing.” you murmured, as the screen faded to black, shrouding your entire room in darkness as well.

After a few seconds of nothing, you became apprehensive. You silently prayed that it didn't conk out on you again. There was no way you’d be teased like this.

It felt like a minute before the black screen started to light up again imperceptibly, a slight purple tinge colouring against the blackness. More white text appeared.

>> ‘HELLO’

You awaited the continuation, but nothing else had occurred, the bold letters staring at you. You clicked all over the screen and tapped enter, but there was still nothing. On a whim, you ran your hand over your keyboard to see it typed into the screen, right underneath the greeting.

How peculiar.

You held backspace to remove what was a mess of letters and numbers before typing back a ‘HI’ and hitting enter.

>> ‘ARE YOU THE NEW STUDENT?’

New student? Was this game set in a school?

> NEW STUDENT?

>> ‘AT SWF UNIVERSITY’

At least it wasn't in high school, thank goodness. You’d be damned to face another high school otome game. Figuring this was how the game went, but deciding to see what would happen you typed,

> NO

You tried to hit enter, but nothing happened. I guess it wouldn't accept that answer. You deleted the text before following what you assumed to be the correct response,

> YES

>> WELL, AREN’T YOU A SIGHT FOR SORE EYES

The text response was different now, a yellow instead of the earlier white. You felt a shiver run up you, looking behind at your empty room. You sensed that something was wrong, yet you didn't know why.

>> WHAT’S WRONG? SCARED?

Okay this wasn't funny, and this disc was obviously some kind of troll or some deep web, tracking crap. At minimum it was designed to scare you and at most… well you didn't want to think about that.

> A LITTLE

You don't know why you decided to be somewhat honest, but something was telling you that it would be better than lying. Not like it mattered much.

>> HMM, YOU SHOULD BE

You kept rereading the text before the screen flashed with your name, repeating over and over and over again.

Fuck that!

You unplugged the charger, covering your room, once again in darkness. Your breathing became laboured, as your heart beat thundered furiously in your chest, threatening to explode. That most definitely was some type of tracking, data hacking bullshit! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

What were you supposed to do now?! Call the police? Move? You were only kind of kidding about being sent the disc by an axe murderer, but it was now a very real possibility.

You tried in vain to calm down, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. This was so stupid! So completely, utterly and devastatingly s, t, u, p, i, d! You closed the lid and shoved it back into the drawer. It gave you some semblance of safety. Tomorrow you’d go far away and toss it in a random dumpster. To hell with sentimentality, that laptop was now dead to you.

You wished it would've worked earlier, at least then you would've been able to dispose of it. There's no way you were leaving your unit now at this hour.

Maybe you shouldn't throw it away and instead give it to the proper authorities? But if it was just some troll, you'd either be laughed at out of the station, or berated for wasting their time with nonsense.

You triple checked your deadbolt and closing every curtain, also ensuring that every window was sealed shut and locked.

Retreating back to your room you hid under the covers, the fluffy security net doing little to curb the anxiety that was manifesting inside.

You were surprised to feel yourself growing drowsier, the cute cat compilation video that you put on was only 6 minutes in.

You fell asleep shortly after that, your phone showing a ginger cat jumping off a shed roof and face planting into the concrete.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up with a start, sitting up as you gasped for breath. You could feel the slight sweat covering your body, a stuffiness surrounding you as you attempted to slow down your breathing. You looked around the room, a new panic forming as you saw the furniture and belongings of someone who was definitely not you.

Your room didn't look like this! Neither was that desk, or that chair! These sheets weren't yours either.

You closed your eyes as your breathing picked up again, thinking of what to do next before your phone went off with a ding.

Reaching down, you unlocked your phone screen as the words ‘A BIZARRE DATING GAME’ faded into view.

Uhm…

WHAT THE FU-

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Spooktober. Lantern

Self-Aware! Ichiyo Higuchi x GN! Reader x Self-Aware! Natsume Soseki

Description: You and Higuchi are trying to praise an ugly decorative lantern, and Natsume is a cat.

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Fluff. Short

A/N: A short fic for a Spooktober.

You were eyeing a decorative lantern on your table. It was a present from one of your distant uncles. He worked in a decor stores and, for some reason, took half of his paycheck in decorations.

Probably for presents.

You weren't against a new decor item. But, you were against this one lantern.

It was ugly. Not in a "cute ugly, "Halloween ugly" or a "funny ugly" way. In an "ugly and cheap" way. The mansion might not have a luxurious decor, but you still have standards.

And you can't get rid of it. Because your uncle used a courier to deliver the lantern to you, and you were currently on the video call with the uncle, and he knew and saw, that lantern were in good shape. And, if you threw it away, he will be disappointed.

"So, what do you think?" your uncle sounded proud of himself. You were thinking for the best way to answer his question. Higuchi decided to fill the awkward silence.

"It looks... unique." she tried not to look at the lantern or at the monitor. You slowly nodded.

"Yes... Unique..."

Your uncle frowned.

"You didn't like it?"

You quickly grabbed the phone and start circling around the living room, shoving it to your uncle.

"No, I like it. It will be the great audition for the room, see? Everyone will pay attention to it the moment they come in."

Higuchi lips moved, but she didn't make a sound. Thanks to Gide and Rimbaud, you started to learn, how to read lips.

"Not in a good way. It's ugly and have no place in this house." Higuchi noticed your look. "What? [Y/N], honey, don't tell me, that you disagree?"

You didn't show your disappointment in Higuchi. Because you weren't disappointed, and secretly agree with her.

Still, you continue your honeyed words to ensure uncle's happiness.

None of you noticed a calico cat jumping on the table.

"Hm, [Y/N], I must say, your living room needs more lanterns. I will send more similar... Get away from here, your beast! Get away from the lantern!"

You and Higuchi jumped, not expecting the yelling. And then, something crashed behind your backs.

Here, on the table, Mii-chan was sitting. One of his paw was stretched out. And on the floor were the remains of the lantern.

Your uncle screamed again.

"No! You won't get another lantern from me! Not until you taught your cat, how to behave!"

Your uncle ended the call. In a second, Natsume Soseki stand up from the table, dusting himself. He gave you a sly smile.

"I am sorry, Dear Muse, for taking away your lantern supply."

You and Higuchi huffed with laughter.

"Just help me clean this mess, and you are forgiven, Mr. Cat."

Natsume gave you another smile.

"Well, I could, but I have paws..."

Okay, who taught him him about that meme? Higuchi, who was standing near you, caughed and rubbed the back of her neck. She looked embarrassed and guilty.

Huh. Either Higuchi can read minds, or you are a seer.

You raise an eyebrow.

"You having paws doesn't stand in a way of your little war with salesman from the fish market. Or did Higuchi do most of the job?"

Now both Higuchi and Natsume looked embarrassed. Yes, you knew, that the duo, for some reason, didn't like that one guy from the fish market and have a mini war against him.

You rubbed your temples.

"Let's just clean up the mess and do something more interesting or productive."

Higuchi and Natsume nodded, agreeing with you.

[syoddeye]

the warren

price x reader | 895 words

had the overwhelming urge to write creepy!price. this is the result. not closely edited, apologies.

CW: blood (mentioned), hunting (mentioned/implied), theft, stalking

Bare footprints, neat impressions set into the loam ringing the lake. They veered left to the woods, to the direction of the climb leading to meadows.

Where'd you run now?

The signs of her trail are near invisible in the night - disturbed foliage and snapped twigs - but not to him. Crouching at the edge where the prints disappear into the underbrush, he sees dark droplets of blood, wet, painting leaf and root. He wipes one off of a stone, brings it to his mouth, and runs the pad of his finger over his gums and tongue. Salt and metal, the very things she tried to use to keep him out, keep him away.

The very things he had developed a taste for.

John admires her spirit, even with his plan to snuff out that independence. Her frenzied escape only heightened his anticipation for when he'd catch her.

Run, rabbit, run.

~~ Three months earlier ~~

John knew the day he spied her trespassing at the hutch that her hands were clean. Soft and unsullied. Not a speck of dirt under her fingernails. Polite and easy with her apologies, lips parting to show a pink tongue and good teeth.

She saw the cat, followed it over the unmarked property line, and then spotted the colony in its enclosure.

"You like animals?" 

"Yes, who doesn't?"

"Come see the kittens, then."

She trailed after him, around the side of the shophouse and back to the business side. He held his tongue when she observed none of the lots on the road bracketing the bay were fenced.

Fences were unnecessary this far out. Everything, everyone, knew their place. Knew where they were not allowed to tread without invitation. Everyone except her, apparently.

A newcomer to this neck of the woods.

She crouched, peered into the plastic, straw-filled tub on the porch, and watched the week-old creatures half-blindly search for their mother. The heat lamp was a functional substitute while the queen was out filling her belly.

"So, this is your shop?" She brushed herself off when she stood, eyeing the store's interior through the front windows.

"Mhm."

"Are you closed?"

"For lunch, as of five minutes ago."

"Oh."

He sighed. "But I can delay my meal. C'mon."

"Thank you, I promise I won't take long."

~~

She takes ten minutes. John leans against the back counter, steel thermos down to the dregs of the morning's coffee. The basket in the crook of her arm carries a week's worth of canned and dry goods. She presents it with a small smile and digs into a pocket for her cardholder.

He rings her up, poking through the haul. In addition to the sundry of foodstuff, there are basic toiletries, insect repellent, a lighter, and a pack of twelve-hour candles. She adds a pair of cheap red sunglasses from the revolving display. They do not make it into the final total.

"Can I ask what brings an Englishman here?" She asks after handing over a wad of cash, setting her wallet down to take the tag off of the sunglasses.

Like clockwork. Always the same question with every new face.

"Retirement," He cards through the bills and makes change. "And you? Visiting?"

"I'm renting for the summer."

He smirks and closes the cash drawer. Holding out what she's owed over a manicured hand, he tilts his head slightly. "Would that be the old Warren place? Or the Lakeshore Arms?" He drops the money.

A few coins slip through the cracks of her fingers, clattering sharply against the formica, some ricocheting to the floor at her sandaled feet.

"Limited housing supply here, least longer term," John explains, making no move to assist other than lazily pushing a quarter back across the counter.

She scrambles to collect the scattered tender, resurfacing from the other side of the counter with a sheepish look beneath her brow, clearly flustered. "The Warren place."

"Hm. Need a bag?"

"No, thanks," She says, smiling tight when she pulls two canvas bags from the sling over her chest. She drops the items into each bag inelegantly. Cans settle atop the loaf of white bread, and the bug spray slots snugly next to the toothpaste.

Never bagged her own groceries before, I'll bet.

She grabs her wallet. "Are there…any other stores nearby?"

"Next place is two towns over. About an hour and a ten-minute drive, forty-five minutes if you speed," John leans back, arms crossing. I assure you, though, the store's got everything you need right here. And if it doesn't…All you need to do is ask."

It's heavy-handed. He knows. But it's better to plant the seed now and let it take root.

"I'll keep that in mind," She sets the sunglasses atop her head and turns to leave, only to spot the short stack of bagged deer corn near the door. One hand on the door, she takes a closer look. "Aw, I didn't know you could feed the deer like this."

His mouth slowly curls. "It's bait, sweetheart."

The instant drop in her expression sends a wicked thrill down his spine.

When she leaves, he watches her hurry down the road through the glass. He flips the sign on the door again: Out to lunch. 

John fishes her ID card out of his pocket, murmurs her name, and looks back at her retreating form.

You're a long way from home, rabbit.

[guillotine-drop]

Rating POSTAL Dudes by how good they smell:

POSTAL - 9/10: I think his habitual reclusion and distrust of the world would probably mean he’s showering constantly, moreso than any other Dude, especially if he thinks there’s a ‘Hate Plague’ going on. I think he smells basic; very simple routine, just enough to make sure he feels clean, so at most he’ll smell like some generic 3-in-1 body wash and shampoo/conditioner, maybe something slightly nicer just for himself (some decent $15 aftershave for that menthol scent and cooling relief).

POSTAL Redux - 3/10: Exact opposite of his original incarnation, this greasy son of a bitch isn’t scared of shit he just wants to throw explosives at ostriches and parades. Barely showers, constantly stinks of stale sweat, old blood, cheap leather and cheaper cologne, punctuated with the scent of burnt gunpowder. Borderline noxious.

POSTAL 2 - 4/10: Smells just as bad as Redux Dude but gets the edge here because every now and then he goes outside and uses the neighbor’s hose to blast himself. Shockingly uses deodorant, still not enough to be perpetually leather and denim clad in the great state of Arizona. Almost constantly reeks of sweat and has the recognizable yet faint scent of stale piss wafting off of him, accompanied by the scent of even staler crack and pungent fast food. Almost pungent enough to drown the rest out. Almost.

POSTAL 3 - 2/10: If you were to raid the wash cart after a double overtime football game, steal every jockstrap in the place, wring the sweat into a bucket, and then bring it all to a boil, you’d have somewhere in the realm of what a clean P3 Dude smells like. On average, however, this man has managed to combine the overwhelming sensory nightmares of cat piss and cheap spray deodorant into an almost lethal concoction, ONLY made breathable by the strange and overpowering smell of gasoline that seems to seep from his pores. Approach with caution and for the love of god: do not bring bleach or matches near this freak.

POSTAL 4: No Regerts - 5/10: Despite looking like he crawled out of a dumpster after a bad divorce or a fantastic honeymoon, P4 Dude is shockingly passable in terms of being able to stand next to him for a prolonged period without gagging or killing him. Having learned the efficacy of not being encased in leather in the desert, he’s managed to bring his pungency down several notches. Still reeks of sweat most of the time, and the smell of burger grease and pepperoni follows him like a specter of death, but the piss scent stopped clinging on as hard. He’s also upgraded from hose showers with no supplies to sink baths with tiny gas station travel soaps. It’s an improvement, trust me.

Brain Damaged - 2/10: Take a look at his living space in the title screen, then watch the game’s cutscenes. Just soak it all in. Now that you’ve done that, you can understand that his rank ass smells exactly as bad as you might think it does. If it can come out of his body, it’s probably soaking some part of him. If you think any of the clothes on him have been washed, you’re wrong. This man smells like if someone firebombed an outhouse and pissed on it to put it out. The best thing for him would be getting blasted with a firehouse and a box of laundry detergent. Please.

The Other Dude - 1-10/10: Entirely depends on how the BD Dude would imagine he smells depending on the situation.

POOSTALL Dude - 6/10: Despite the name, this one actually smells pretty decent. The clearly larger coat with the rolled sleeves implies some level of understanding about how not to smell like swamp ass and sweat soaked leather, and truthfully, he looks like he bathes semi-regularly, a rarity amongst these guys.

POSTAL Doe - 9/10: I admit fully and entirely to my lack of impartiality to this one, but I’m willing to stand by it even if I lose my Stink Judge License: first of all, sleeveless leather trench coat AND a crop top mean less overheat which means less sweat. Second of all, visually cleaner than pretty much any of the dudes which implies some kind of self care regimen. Third, and most importantly, girlstink counts positive. I will not be turning in my badge or my gun.

Movie Dude - 8/10: This may be controversial, but despite the squalor he lives in and the fact that hems a cuckold and that his life sucks and that he can’t get a job and that he’s a loser- I digress. I think Movie Dude is in the top echelons of Dude Stink solely because I think he’d have a breakdown if he smelled bad. This man uses Dr. Teals. He stinks like a mix of eucalyptus and peppermint. If ever there was a Dude who had a skin routine, he still wouldn’t, but he’d definitely think about it one day. I think by the end he gets an extra point just because he gets a little hotter the more deranged he is. Overall very pleasant but I still wouldn’t give him $4.

John Murray - 2/10: Hasselridge seems to have a very… interesting relationship with what is and isn’t normal, so unsurprisingly, Johnny Boy would probably smell pretty rough. Considering how dingy, run down and shitty everything in that town appears to be, I can’t imagine anyone else is smelling like roses either. Just avoid the entire place, not least of all because of the zombie thing.

Shtopor - 0/10: Bad.

Nottem Portant - 5/10: Despite the misanthropy, dollar store Nathan Explosion thing and the absolutely abysmal gameplay, Mr. Hatred is actually extremely middle of the road on stink. Sure, he doesn’t smell great, but shockingly he washes his ass despite the whole ‘death to humanity’ thing. He does get point deduction for not washing his hair though, grease mop motherfucker.

[typingcorgi]

can't quit you

rating: e (minors, please shoo. you will be blocked) word count: 4.1k+ pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: mention of age difference, tipsy sex, mutual pining, emotionally unavailable but totally fuckable joel, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, creampie, praise kink makes brain go brrr, taylor swift references if you squint, porn with plot, moody-ish joel, no use of y/n summary: joel miller isn't able to tell you what you mean to him, but he can show you. author's notes: this is probably the fic I'm most proud of (not that I've written very many) and if you read, i would absolutely love feedback, reblogs, or comments. tell me what you like! tell me what you hated (kindly pls lol). i am open to feedback and love praise can't you tell so enjoy reading your thoughts. now enjoy getting dicked down (respectfully) and thank you to @foli-vora for letting me pick your brain on some of the plot devices; truly appreciate it (:

Right now, you have two things on your mind: cheap whiskey and Joel Miller.

The former comes from the promise of your smuggler who’d agreed to deliver an unopened bottle of Rittenhouse in exchange for three or four cigarettes you’d hand-rolled that morning. Quality tobacco is a thing of the past, so you’re fine with offering up one lackluster product in exchange for another slightly less lackluster product. There’s a good chance the bottle will be half-empty by the time your visitor makes it to your meeting spot. No one is ever as good as their word anymore, and their word means virtually nothing.

You hold Joel Miller to his promises, though. He said he’d run out to barter for his own offering of supplies—he’s low on ammo for his shotgun, and he needs to find a good number of batteries for the two-way radios he’d stolen off a sleeper last night. He figures it might be a good insurance plan, a good backup just in case either of you split up in this next leg of the trip to Jackson. And while you don’t like the idea of him traveling alone—despite knowing he can very much take care of himself—you don’t fight him on it. He’s not wrong, and more significantly, if you try and argue with him, you’re probably going to be disappointed. 

You used to bicker more when you thought he hated you; when you were the annoying neighbor and not the escort out of Boston and downstate. You fought like cats and dogs when you lived next door to him in those mangy apartments, never liking the way you looked at each other—like both of you knew the other had an ulterior motive to force yourself out of the QZ, and you picked up on it, tapped into this common secret you hadn’t planned on sharing with anyone else. And while the proverbial walls with which Joel shields himself are crumbling at a painfully sluggish pace, it’s something. You’ll take something over nothing.

You’re hiding out in the basement of an abandoned convenience store on what was probably a main street in this New York suburb. There isn’t much by way of furniture; just a couple of rust-ridden folding chairs, a worn green couch, empty, dusty shelves, and a sink that probably hasn’t run clean water in fifteen years. Small privacy windows along the top of the walls offer little by way of natural light, and the angle of its golden rays tells you that it’s time to go. Your connect is waiting for you on the street’s southern corner. Or at least, that’s where you planned to meet right before sundown.

Joel’s left you with his smaller, quicker shot, a semi-automatic that he usually entrusts you with while you’re apart. He doesn’t say it, but you can sort of tell that he doesn’t like leaving you. And it’s probably not personal because yes, while Joel Miller is slowly coming out of the shell he’s lived in for the last twenty years, it’s not as though he’s developed some sort of overt attachment to you. In a life like this, attachment is almost as dangerous as the Infected. There’s no room for him—or for you—to seek anything beyond a sort of temporary comfort with one another.

Get him to Jackson. That’s it. And then you’re on your own again on your route back home.

You switch the safety on the rifle, then keep it tucked in the front pocket of your jeans while you head up the dilapidated stairs and push open the cellar doors. The sunset meets you right in your eyes and you squint, and then the same thought you have at almost every beautiful encounter sweeps through your mind. Am I seeing another sunset tomorrow?

With any measure of hope, yes.

You close the cellar doors behind you, careful to avoid stepping on any overgrown grass along the cracked sidewalk toward the street corner. You’ve been unusually fortunate to not run into any runners or clickers today, but that streak would come to a dreadful end if you’d stepped on any patch of cordyceps fungus hidden along the green. They’d come charging at you in an instant, and if their overbearing strength didn’t kill you first, the brain parasite would. Eventually.

A quick death sounds better. You can’t fathom slowly losing your mind as many have. You can’t fathom losing the memory of Joel.

Fuck. You’ve really got it bad for him, you’re fucking thinking about him when you should be on guard, when you should be looking out for—

“Girl,” a voice calls out from behind you. You don’t know this smuggler that well; it’s not as though he has a voice you’d recognize. Your shoulders jump and you try to downplay it as you turn around, rifle now held in your dominant hand.

“Yeah,” you say, unimpressed with his greeting. You notice the edges of a paper bag crumpled in his strong grip, and as you eye him, you take out a tin-wrapped package of cigarettes, holding them out for him to take. He accepts your barter and unwraps the foil, inspecting each product to ensure you’re not ripping him off.

“Yeah,” he echoes, then hands you the paper bag. It’s heavy, containing the glass bottle that he’d promised, but right away, you can tell its contents aren’t completely full. You don’t mention it. Some things aren’t worth the energy. And you’re fairly confident you’d start feeling it after a swig or two, considering your last drink feels like ages ago.

When you return to the cellar, you’re alone again. Concern and disappointment flood your veins as you realize Joel hasn’t returned. Fuck, now would have been a good time for those fucking walkie-talkies. Hey, Joel, you dead? No? Great, get back here in one piece.

You dig around your pack for something to eat, eventually settling on something that you think was a protein bar at one point in time, but now just tastes of slightly sweet dust. It’s unappetizing. It’s all this end-of-world can offer you, and while getting good and drunk on an empty stomach sounds like it would be a fan-fucking-tastic idea, you can’t afford to slow down tomorrow. You can’t afford the hangover.

It feels like hours have passed within the span of minutes, and you take a swig of Rittenhouse before you hear a clang at the cellar door. FEDRA wouldn’t wait for you to open up—they’d just bust the door open without hesitation. Joel. Maybe. It could be him, or it could be your smuggler coming back to collect, realizing now your flimsy cigarettes weren’t worth the trade.

Your shotgun is again in hand—someone told you long ago that alcohol and firearms aren’t a wise mix, but that was probably before they realized the world was eventually going to end—and after carefully walking up the wooden stairs, you push open the door, gun ready to fire.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel mutters, lowering your aim away from the space between his tired eyes. “You really are ready for anythin’, aren’t you, honey?”

He says it almost sarcastically, like he doesn’t mean it. Like he’s teasing you in an aloof sort of way that only makes total sense for the Joel Miller. And you know he doesn’t intend for your stomach to twist like it does when he says it—honey, fuck, you could just melt onto the cold cement floor—but it does.

“In times like these, you have to be,” you offer, leading you both down the stairs.

You sink into the couch, finally able to exhale that long-awaited sigh of relief as it hits you: Joel is back, and from what you can tell, he’s unharmed. He’s alive. You don’t give yourself much time to relish in the silent celebration of it, though. 

“How was it out there?” You ask. “Run into anything? Anyone?”

“Couple’a stalkers,” he replies, shrugging. “Shot ‘em before they could get close. Got the batteries for the radio, along with some other crap.”

Your smile is small but genuine. “That’s good. Anytime you don’t end up maimed or dead is a win in my book.”

He almost chuckles, and it makes your heart squeeze. “Yeah.”

—

The “other crap” Joel has brought back to you includes a used, but functional woolen blanket and a stash of beef jerky that’s likely way past its expiration date. “I don’t need you passin’ out from hunger,” he says as he hands one of the pieces to you. Your fingers brush and it feels fucking electric, but likely only to you, since you know Joel has shut himself off to any sort of emotional electricity long ago.

He sits next to you on the couch, and honestly, takes up a considerable amount of space. His legs are splayed open, his broad back resting on the cushion behind him, and the full extent of his intimidating size begins to sink into you. It’s not like you ever thought Joel Miller was small, but you’ve been with him long enough that sometimes you forget how he might appear to others: menacing. Threatening.

You’re passing off the whiskey bottle between you, taking swigs every couple of minutes to fill the silence that’s fallen between you. Your conversation started benign enough (if benign could be used to describe the next leg of your runaway route, now that FEDRA knows two of its civilians have escaped the Boston QZ), but then it’d taken a more personal turn. Suddenly you know a sliver more of Joel Miller’s past; you know he’d been separated from his brother since Outbreak Day. You learn he had a daughter.

“I’m sorry,” you say lamely. It doesn’t feel strong enough. I’m sorry is what you might have said had you accidentally closed the cellar door on Joel’s pinky finger. He doesn’t say anything back for a while. He just takes another swig of whiskey as he leans back into the couch, as though it fully catches the weight of his grief.

“Was a long time ago,” he says finally. “She would’a been close to your age by now. Maybe a little younger.”

You nod and immediately feel a little guilty. You’d somehow survived, against all odds, against losing your family—if not to the outbreak itself, to the violence it’d caused. Your family was collateral damage in a devastating blow. It could have been you instead of her—Joel would still have his daughter, and you’d be with your family in a place hopefully much better than this hell on earth.

“Still,” you try, still not feeling as though your words convey your true meaning. “I’m so sorry. Thank you for trusting me with that.”

Joel’s eyes flicker towards yours as if he’s only now realizing that’s what’s happening here: he’s trusting you. And whether it’s an effect of the whiskey, it’s something. Neither of you is full-on drunk, just loose enough to take the edge off, to put aside some of the overwhelming weight that comes with surviving the literal plague. It’s just enough to let some of the walls built between you begin to chip away, bit by bit.

You don’t leave him hanging out to dry, though. You can’t. Joel just exposed one of his deepest wounds, so the least you can do is mirror the gesture.

You tell him everything. You tell him about your life in New York, your escape out of before you’d barely begun to drive. You tell him about your family and the hit it took to your life to lose theirs. You tell him about your connection to the Fireflies (although you’re pretty sure he’d already picked up on that, considering your frequent interactions with Marlene and Kim). You tell him you’d needed a light to cling to in the everlasting darkness until you’d realized even the light was no good, even then, you’d come to accept the only risk worth taking was one that ensured your security and yours alone.

And now, as it happens, his, too.

He doesn’t say anything afterward. He doesn’t come out with a line like thank you for trusting me with that or anything gooey or empathetic. How you have the emotional space for such reactions is beyond even your understanding, so you understand why a complete stoic like Joel Miller just…sits there. Stoic, nodding his head a bit in an effort to communicate he hears you. He doesn’t say he’s sorry. Everyone is expected to live like this.

“You know,” you continue, the whiskey warming the blood swimming in your veins. “When you didn’t come back as quickly as I thought you would, I got worried.”

Joel exhales through his nose. “Yeah,” he replies. “What else is new.”

You turn your body to face him, legs crossed over one another as you adjust your seat. Your eyes widen with meaning. You’re like a kid with a secret to spill, a story to tell, and you’ll be damned if Joel Miller doesn’t hear it.

“I mean it,” you push. “I’d been thinking about you all damn day. You just come and go as you please, or at least, you think you do. You’ve only just started telling me where you plan on going, or how long you think it’ll take. And I stick by you despite it all. You know why?”

“Yeah, and why’s that?” Joel presses, but the sarcasm dripping from his voice signals that he doesn’t actually want to know. Wanting to know what you mean—and then actually knowing—translates to pain. And this sort of added pain, the one that comes from wanting too much, is just not something either of you can manage at a time like this.

Your pointer finger gestures between the two of you, and with a bolt of whiskey courage, you finally say what’s been plaguing your mind for months. “It’s you and me,” you admit. “That’s my whole world. I got nothing else worth saving or fighting for anymore. So when you leave, half of my world walks out on me. Half of my fucking reason for being here is just—”

He cuts you off, and you don’t fucking believe what’s happening. His kiss is harsh, biting, bordering on punishment for you to shut the fuck up and he knows yelling at you won’t work (when has it ever?) so he kisses you. He lunges for you, his broad palm and dirt-coated fingers covering your entire cheek, the pads of his fingers pressing slightly into the flesh of your face.

Stop.

He pulls back, and both of you are met with the heavy breathing of the other. Your eyes open, slow and dreamy. You wish you had something more articulate to say.

“What the fuck?”

He says nothing.

“No, really, Joel. What the fuck was that?”

He pulls back, observing you. The weight of his gaze is nearly paralyzing.

“Don’t make me say it,” he concedes. You lean back against the arm of the couch, waiting for something more satisfying.

“Had too much to drink,” he tells you, but you know for a damn fact that you’re the one that put most of that liquor away. You’d had a head start, after all, waiting for him to get back to you.

“Not buying it,” you argue, shaking your head. “Just admit to me that you feel something between us, too?” And there’s your index finger again, flicking between your two bodies, tracing a line over the invisible string that binds you to the other. “Admit to me that this isn’t just about getting to Jackson. That you need someone here with you, because you can’t carry the damn weight of the entire world on your shoulders anymore.”

He can’t tell you that. It’s as though the words simply don’t exist in the Joel Miller lexicon. Your gaze drops, casting downward at his thigh, though you’re not exactly looking at anything.

Finally, he says your name. It’s low and pleading. Stop.

He’s leaning into you again, and this time, you meet him halfway. It’s agonizing, the painfully short distance between your mouths before he kisses you again. He’s slow and hesitant this time, almost seeking permission for a kiss as biting as your first. Your tongue sweeps along the seam of his lips, and when he parts them, you kiss him like the world is ending.

You can’t fucking believe what’s happening. It’s as though you’ve manifested this moment within your dreams. On the nights you’ve fallen asleep alone, you’ve touched yourself thinking of this. You’ve played your own body like a harp, imagining every stroke and rub of your fingers belonged to him instead. Joel is kissing you, and you’re kissing him back. Joel’s hands are running up through your hair, and your hands are on his chest, bracing yourself for him to pull back when he inevitably realizes this is a bad fucking idea.

It doesn’t come. He pushes you down, a gentle press of his hand to guide your back along the couch. His lips move from yours toward your neck, his kiss a brand, declaring you as his for as long as he’ll have you.

For as long as you survive.

Your bodies dance between wanting to savor the moment and needing to feel the heat of the other. Joel’s fingers toy with the zipper of your jeans, eventually pulling them down your legs and discarding them toward the cement floor so he can better focus his energy on you. On pleasing you, of course, but maybe to also give into the desire he’s been repressing for so long.

“Joel,” you whisper. “Are you su—“

“Don’t,” he interrupts, and then his mouth is on your cunt.

It’s sudden and harsh, but fuck, your body needs this. Nothing about this man is subtle, and now you learn his sex isn’t either. His tongue traces patterns against your clit, eventually probing deeper to taste you from the inside. Maybe if you’d been a little more firm in your inhibitions, you’d tell him this was a bad idea. Maybe he wouldn’t be fucking you with his goddamn perfect mouth like this. But he is, and you’re here, beneath the twitching overhead light in this decayed basement until it flickers once, twice, and goes out.

You learn Joel is braver in the dark.

Your hands grip his hair while he eats you out. His fingers press so deeply against the flesh of your hips that you know it’ll bruise, but it’ll be a pleasant ache to remember a night like this. It’ll be proof that even for a moment, Joel Miller felt something for you, and he could show you even if he couldn’t tell you.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he mutters, pulling back to catch his breath. You crane your neck to glimpse at him. His lips and beard glimmer with evidence of your arousal, and he sighs into the flesh of your thigh. “Too—too old for this.”

“Fuck that.” You actually laugh at his unexpected comment. “Keep going.”

For a rare moment in your relationship, Joel listens to you. His head dips back between your legs, mouth returning to deliver your pleasure. He’s slower this time, but just as deliberate. His hands hold your legs apart to give his tongue the perfect space against your clit, and when you feel your body begin to crest in relief, you give a sharp inhale through your mouth.

“Joel, I’m—I’m going to—“

He doesn’t need to hear anymore. He drinks you in while you climax, your limbs tensing while stars explode behind your closed eyes.

You kiss him when you push yourself up, needing to taste your own lingering flavor—needing confirmation that all of this is real. Joel fucking Miller just ate you out in this dingy little basement, and you can’t be sure, but you think it’s because he might actually have developed some sort of feeling for you. Something beyond the need to run or hide or defend. And you reciprocate it, eagerly.

How inconvenient for you both.

He’s breathing heavily against your mouth, and you smile in the earnest afterglow.

“You’re really good at that,” you praise into your ear, and he offers something between a growl and a moan in response.

His jeans are dirty and stiff, but you’re just as impatient to pull them off his thick legs and experience him as he’s delighted in you—the weight of his body, the feel of his cock. You hold his length in your hands and immediately notice he’s fucking huge. You practically gasp at the realization, thankful that the dark room hides your growing blush.

You’re laying on your back, and Joel’s fingers slide against your entrance, priming you for his next move. He speaks again, and while you’d normally have a little internal celebration at any ounce of vulnerability he’d be willing to share with you, this time you immediately cut him off.

“You sure abou—“

“Never more about anything else,” you confess.

It’s all too damn much, the amount of immense sensation that comes from Joel teasing briefly with the head of his cock. He pushes into you, and it’s almost as if you can see the way his eyes roll back into his head. Your own body has to adjust to his size, and you bite your lower lip as you brace yourself through the sweet pain of his length filling you with all he has.

He groans against the warmth of your neck, eventually building up his slow thrusts to a rhythmic pace that causes your blood to dance.

“G—god damn it,” you choke out, your ankles hooked around each other along his spine.

In the darkness, you can make out the slight reflection of his tired eyes. His breathing turns ragged quickly and he hisses once or twice—whether out of pleasure or plain you can’t determine (especially because you’re certain you heard him grumble something about his damn knees while he slid out and pushed forward, but honestly, you’re so fucking spent that it’s hard to be sure).

“Feels good?” You ask, clenching your walls as he thrusts home. 

He groans. “Uh-huh.”

He pulls you to sit up on his lap, and it’s only then he realizes you’re both still too damn clothed. He hurries to pull your white t-shirt overhead, then pushes your bra straps off your shoulders before managing to unhook the thing with both hands. Hs teeth nip and lips suck at your nipple while he fucks you, while you softly bounce on his damn cock, and shit, you want this night to last for fucking ever. 

You’re fucking ecstatic. Your heart sings with the knowledge that you’ve managed to bring Joel pleasure, if only for tonight. Your body thrums like a guitar string plucked by his experienced fingers, and you pant against his lips, sweat forming along the hairline at your temples.

“I’m c—close,” you warn him. “I’m going to—”

“M—me too,” he stammers. “Let me feel you, honey. Just l–let go.”

And you do, you really fucking do. You feel his heat begin to spill inside you and it only intensifies the blinding orgasm Joel coaxes out of you. It reverberates within you, spanning from your fingertips down toward your toes, turning your spine to liquid.

He fucks into you slowly while you both come down, humming into your ear during the aftershocks.

“That’s it, darlin’. Did so fuckin’ good.”

The praise alone is nearly enough to send you over another edge. You suddenly want to bury your head into the crook of Joel’s neck, hiding any evidence of vulnerable relief along your expression. But Joel doesn’t let you. Instead, he holds your chin between his thumb and the crook of his index finger, and kisses you through it.

Joel falls asleep on the couch in his jeans and an old t-shirt. He lets you wear his flannel (though he tries telling you it’s dirty and bloodstained, but mostly everything you own is, so you don’t care).

He falls asleep with you resting behind him, trusting you to hold him while you keep each other safe. He kisses the inside of your wrist, lips lingering at your pulse point.

When you wake in the morning, he’s already gone. And your heart would completely sink had you not realized one of the two-way radios standing upright on the shelf across from you, low static playing through its speaker. There’s a little red light next to its antenna.

You feel as though you can breathe again.

Padding across the basement floor, you grab the radio with both hands, press the call button, and speak into the receiver.

“Joel?”

[elbiotipo]

Little details about the Biopunk Future of 2143:

Coca-Cola, Pepsi and other Usamerican soft drink brands aren't made anymore. Their ecological niche, so to speak, has been taken over by Guaraná Antartica. Most kioscos in Argentina are painted in green and red. Many of them feature modified guaraná vines -adapted to the city, of course- though the brand is concerned they might actually compete with the soda itself.

When you go alone at night (and you better have a good reason to break curfew) you can hear the low hum of the biosecurity towers. Like a palm tree in the shape of an antenna, it hosts buzzing hives of defense organisms arranged in a precise self-contained ecosystem, ready to create antigens and swarm over the city at the warning of a biological attack. At the top, a soft blue light says 'all-clear'. Pray it never turns red.

The post-Ecocide recuperation plan left lots of consequences, but mostly, boxes. Supply boxes of all sizes signed with "FOR EARTH RECOVERY - SUPPLIED BY UNITED NATIONS" in all languages litter the planet. They don't go unused, though; people use them to store all sort of stuff, craft some things, even improvised construction... most have been painted over, but wherever you look, you will find one or two "UN blue" boxes.

Cosmetic genetics had their apogee at the 2080s. Fur, feathers, tails, horns, scales... tegumentary implants were cheap and easy as tattoos and the fastest way to become a biopunk. 60 years later and with the weight of a global biological war, they aren't that appealing anymore, they are rather uncommon in the younger generations. Many even removed them. But you can find around, if you know where to look, old ladies with cat ears and a grandpa swaying a reptilian tail while taking his grandchildren to school. Listen to their stories, they might be interesting.

When one reads "bioforge", even today, one thinks of a nonsensical mess of organs, or sterile metallic vats. Though many are still bacterial brews in giant pots, in truth, bioengineers have long used the most efficient factories build by nature, plants. Rows of vines grow in greenhouses, producing compounds, medicines, and more, stored in fruit, all carefully color-coded. Despite the more appealing visuals, workers still use full body protection and the environment is sterile. These crops are as delicate as a clean room lab.

[choerypetal]

The Perfect Love / Halsin

summary: while battling against the Durge and embracing your new you. you struggled to pinpoint the source of your envy towards the elf druid you had been ordered to save and return to the grove. it wasn't until one night, with perhaps a bit of help from a mischievous vamping, that the true nature of your feelings began to surface.

ps ; english isn't my first language but i hope you appreciate this story!

words ; 2654

Halsin was a man unto himself, his charm both undeniable and somehow elusive. Admirers far outnumbered foes, drawn to the balance he maintained with nature and the quiet prosperity he exuded. He wasn’t just the revered druid everyone spoke about in hushed admiration—he was also a striking Elf, impossible to overlook. Those fortunate enough to attend his lectures on harmony found themselves captivated, much like you, lingering at the back of the group, ever more intrigued by his words and presence. Brooding in silence.

“You know,” Astarion’s voice slithered into your ear, his gaze flicking between you and the unfortunate soul who had become your prey that night. Although calling them a "threat" felt like an understatement—it was more of a fleeting obstacle, your mind entirely consumed by Halsin’s perfect smile. The temptation to tear Astarion to pieces in that very moment simmered just beneath the surface. “If you keep staring like that, he’ll eventually notice,” Astarion teased, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Perhaps even get nervous.”

"Nervous?" You nearly choked on your drink as the rough, cheap alcohol scraped down your throat—courtesy of the most bare-bones camp supplies Faerûn had to offer. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you shot back, trying to sound confident. Astarion, however, was anything but convinced, the arch of his brow giving you away before you even finished. “I mean, just look at him. I bet half the people listening to him right now are only here for his looks. His perfect eyes, his perfect hair, his perfect mus—” Your words faltered as you realized the dangerous path you were treading. Complimenting Halsin's physical perfection was not where you wanted this conversation to go. Too late. You caught the wicked smirk curling Astarion’s lips, the one he reserved for moments like these—when someone proved themselves wrong. “Mus? I didn’t quite catch that, darling,” he teased, eyes glittering with mischief.

The emphasis on the word had only deepened your worry, and now your gaze locked with the vampire spawn’s. Astarion leaned in closer, his silhouette casting a shadow over you as if daring you to continue. His smug satisfaction was unmistakable, reveling in the fact that he had you cornered. You tried your best not to fall into his trap, but the pull of his teasing was undeniable. 

“Astarion, I won’t say it,” you insisted, voice strained, struggling to hold onto your pride. “It’s not in my nature to—” But even as the words left your mouth, the smirk on his lips grew wider, knowing full well he’d already won.

“Nature of what?” That voice—rich and unmistakable—cut through the tension, catching both you and Astarion off guard. While Astarion had been thoroughly enjoying his own mischief, his amusement quickly faded as the shadowy figure stepped closer, drawing both of your attentions. Even Astarion, usually so composed, faltered. A delicate flush bloomed across his pale cheeks as he hurriedly returned his lips to the rim of his wine glass, avoiding further scrutiny. The silence stretched long enough for you to wrestle with the question, wondering why Astarion, of all people, had fallen so quiet. Then came the follow-up, dripping with amusement: “Or has the cat caught your tongue now?”

A small cough escaped Astarion, his amusement evident as a few splashes of wine dripped onto his pale skin. He quickly stifled a laugh, wiping the droplets with one finger, his gaze dancing between you and Halsin. The druid's expression was endearing—innocent, really—blissfully unaware of the conversation he’d nearly walked in on. Astarion, ever the opportunist, made a mental note to bet some gold next time, just for the chance to see your face at a moment like this again.

Your eyes followed Astarion’s motion, and when they landed on Halsin, your heart nearly skipped a beat. Halsin, with his effortlessly handsome features, was now looking directly at you. The sudden shift in your demeanor—cheeks flushed, eyes wide, and brows raised as if you'd seen a ghost—hadn’t escaped him. "My dear Y/N," he remarked, a soft concern in his voice, "you look a bit flushed. Are you alright? Do you need me to fetch something to cool you down?"

But the worries faded into the background as Astarion's laughter echoed through the air, his amusement wrapping around every word. "Oh no," he began, clearly relishing the moment. Because when the attention wasn’t on him, Astarion always found a way to redirect it. "Actually, it’s—"Before he could finish, your hand shot up, covering his lips. You couldn’t let him say it, not here, not in front of Halsin and the others, all of whom were now watching intently. The last thing you needed was for your rambling to be exposed.

"I—I must go. I'm so sorry," you stammered, your voice trembling with nervousness. Halsin’s brow furrowed in concern, his keen eyes noticing the slight shake of your fingers as they fell away from Astarion’s mouth. The druid could sense your anxiety, but what puzzled him more was the question that lingered in his mind: why did you always seem so flustered around him?

As Halsin watched you retreat to your tent, his brows knitted in confusion. Astarion, still amused, casually wiped away the remnants of your hand from his lips, further drawing Halsin's attention. The druid, perplexed, turned to him with a quiet question. "Care to explain why she acts like this around me? Every time I try to approach her, she either freezes or... leaves."

Astarion, for once, refrained from teasing, but the air of mischief lingered around him. Meanwhile, the camp, already buzzing from the commotion you’d stirred, was now curious, eyes darting between Halsin and your tent. Amidst the rising murmur, it was Shadowheart who finally spoke on your behalf.

“I can’t say for certain,” she began, her voice calm, “but she’s been like that ever since you joined us. Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s something she’s quite ready to share.” Her gaze softened as she looked in your direction, a quiet understanding in her tone. "Give her time." The camp fell quiet again, though Halsin couldn't shake the feeling there was more to your behavior than what met the eye.

Gale nodded thoughtfully, stroking his chin before offering his own insight. "I’ve noticed something too," he said, his tone measured. "It seems to happen most often when you're teaching, Halsin. As someone who’s done a fair bit of teaching myself, I understand the challenge. When two lives—especially so different—cross paths, tensions can arise. And, let’s face it, good looks don't make things any easier." He offered a wry smile. "It’s no surprise you have admirers, Halsin. But I have a suspicion that our dearest Y/N might be dealing with a bit of… jealousy."

Halsin’s brows raised slightly in surprise, though he remained silent, the new piece of information settling in. Gale’s words made sense, but they only deepened the mystery for the druid, whose mind now lingered on the complexity of your reactions around him.

Astarion raised his glass with a triumphant grin, clearly reveling in Gale’s conclusion. “Gale, you’re absolutely right! She can be hard to read at times, but jealousy? That’s crystal clear. It’s obvious she’s got a thing for our charming druid.” He turned, his smirk widening as he gestured toward Halsin. “After all, we elves are just naturally irresistible, aren’t we, Shadowheart?”

Shadowheart, caught off guard, gave Astarion a sidelong glance, clearly unamused by his antics. “I wouldn’t count on all elves being charming,” she replied dryly, though her gaze softened briefly toward Halsin. “But I’ll admit, Halsin does have… a presence.” Halsin, for his part, shook his head with a quiet chuckle, though Gale’s observation and Astarion’s playful commentary left him more curious than ever. Could it really be jealousy? The idea seemed both flattering and perplexing.

As the party continued to banter about your supposed jealousy, Halsin’s gaze drifted elsewhere, lost in thought. He found himself reflecting on his time teaching the others about nature. It struck him as odd that, despite his dedication as a teacher, it wasn’t the admiration or the attention he received that seemed to unsettle you. What truly seemed to bother you was the constant presence of admirers crowding around him, often preventing you from even getting a simple greeting.

While some might view the notion as a bit far-fetched, Halsin understood the frustration. It wasn’t just about the superficial interactions; it was the lack of meaningful connection. You were always on the periphery, never having the chance to truly get to know him. Despite his knowledge of you, the details of your life remained largely unknown to him. This disparity in understanding seemed to create a barrier, one that he now felt compelled to address.

“I’d suggest you go talk to her,” Astarion’s voice interrupted Halsin’s thoughts, his gaze fixed on your tent. The druid's brows furrowed as he considered the suggestion. "She’s probably sleeping by now—" Astarion shook his head, dismissing the notion. “You know her better than that. She’s either restless or busy with something else.”

Determined to resolve the uncertainty, Halsin approached your tent, only to be met with faint, sorrowful sounds coming from within. The cries were soft but unmistakable. They cut through the night air, revealing a vulnerability that neither he nor Astarion had anticipated. The realization that you were struggling alone hit him hard, stirring a sense of urgency and empathy in the druid.

“Y/N…?” Halsin’s voice was soft but clear, cutting through the darkness of the tent. Though you were numb and struggling with your inner turmoil, the sound of his voice was unmistakable. A surge of jealousy and frustration surged within you, a painful reminder of your emotions. 

You fought the impulse to lash out, the temptation to hurt him as a way to release your pent-up feelings. Tears, which had momentarily dried, began to well up again. Desperate to maintain some semblance of control, you turned away, trying to cover your face and silence your sobs, hoping he would take the hint and leave you in peace.

But Halsin did not leave. He remained steadfast, his concern growing stronger. When he managed to peek through the tent, he saw you as he had anticipated—your face flushed, your body curled up as if to shield yourself from the world. The faint cries he'd heard earlier were now more apparent, a stark contrast to the usually composed and serene image you presented.

“Are you afraid of me?” he wondered aloud, though he quickly dismissed the thought. It couldn't be fear, he reasoned. If anything, it was something deeper. He began to pull away, respecting your apparent wish for solitude, but you reached out, your hand gently gripping his arm. Your touch was hesitant but firm, a silent plea that spoke louder than words. "Please, I beg you," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and vulnerability.

Halsin stopped, his heart aching at the sight of your struggle. It was clear now that your need for help outweighed your desire for isolation. He knelt beside you, his voice soft but determined. “I’m here,” he said gently. “Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you.”

Halsin’s soft features met yours as your gaze finally connected. His lips curved into a reassuring smile, a silent promise of support and understanding. Without needing to say more, he accepted your plea, recognizing that it went beyond mere words or shared battles. 

He understood that these moments of vulnerability were crucial, that his presence was more important than any simple greeting or fight alongside you. If nights like these required extra effort, he was more than willing to give it. The reassurance in his eyes spoke volumes, a quiet commitment to stand by you and help you through the darkness, no matter how long it took.

When Halsin settled down beside you, preparing to wrap his arms around your waist, you instinctively rushed to him. It was as if the shelter you’d been seeking was right there in front of you. Halsin chuckled softly, his voice carrying a hint of playful reproach. “You know,” he began with a scoff of laughter, “I always wondered why you seemed so distant during my lectures. Aren’t my classes engaging enough?” His tone was light, almost mockingly offended.

Despite the fact that your discomfort had nothing to do with his teaching or demonstrations, you felt a flush creep onto your cheeks. It was hard to ignore the feelings bubbling up inside you. “Would I be damned if I admitted that it’s because I find you utterly breathtaking?” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, the warmth of your blush reflecting your sincerity.

Halsin’s laughter joined yours, his amusement genuine as he found your comment both adorable and endearing. Yet, beneath the surface, he sensed that your feelings ran deeper than mere admiration. The revelation that you were the Durge—an identity everyone spoke of—had shifted his understanding of you.

As you spoke, your voice carried a tremor of vulnerability. “But it’s also my fear of being alone,” you began, your eyes fixed on him. “Being the Durge has its advantages, but it also feels like a curse. Ever since my father, Bhaal, and my siblings came into my life, I’ve struggled with the fear that no one would ever truly love me. Not even someone as wise as you.” Halsin listened intently, his gaze unwavering as he absorbed your confession. The weight of your words was not lost on him, and he felt a profound sense of empathy for the fear and loneliness you carried. His focus remained solely on you, his presence a quiet reassurance in the face of your deepest insecurities.

As you shared your fears and vulnerabilities, Halsin listened deeply, feeling a connection to your struggles. He reflected on your accomplishments, like saving the grove and rescuing Zevlor and others from the goblin camp. These were feats he often spoke of with admiration, and they were the very stories that captivated his students.

“You know,” Halsin began, a hint of pride in his voice, “I might be an accomplished teacher, but it’s actually you who excites the students the most. They’re always eager to hear about your deeds. In fact, many of them have expressed a wish to meet you. But I’ve been hesitant, understanding that you don’t seek the spotlight.”

He looked at you with a reassuring smile, his words conveying both admiration and a deep respect for your desire for privacy. “You’ve made a greater impact than you realize, and while you might not seek attention, your actions speak volumes to those who know about them.”

You listened intently, your fingers gently cupping Halsin's face as you lifted your head from his chest to meet his gaze. “So that’s what Alfira was talking about last week?” you asked, a hint of shame coloring your words. “I always thought the hero was someone else in this party, considering my story.”

Halsin's lips curved into the same reassuring smile you had admired since you first met him, the same smile you had once envied but now found deeply comforting. “How about…” he began thoughtfully, “next week, I have a lecture to attend. Perhaps you could join me? It could be a first step for us to get to know each other better.” His suggestion was warm and genuine, offering a bridge between your shared experiences and the budding connection between you.

The phrase "a first step to our relationship" echoed in your mind as you continued to gaze at him. A small smile curved your lips, and with sincerity, you replied, “I would love to, Halsin.”

Halsin’s heart warmed at your response. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead, drawing you closer into his embrace. The warmth of his touch was soothing, a comforting reassurance that you were no longer alone.

“We will work this together, my dear.”