#Everything makes so much more sense all at once

[purple-plum-petals]

Pleaseeee can you fo more homicipher reaction to mc who is very cheerful in every situation like shes either giggling or smiling, she's so unserious and oblivious af too.

⊱ Homicipher Characters’ Reactions to an MC Who Is Cheerful and Oblivious ⊰ || Multiple Character Headcanons

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮ Character(s): Mr. Crawling, Mr. Chopped, Mr. Machete, Mr. Hood, Mr. Scarletella (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Minor Spoilers for Homicipher (Mr. Scarletella’s Part), Minor Canon-typical Mentions of Violence. Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, Romantic or Platonic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~2,100 words. Request: “Pleaseeee can you fo more homicipher reaction to mc who is very cheerful in every situation like shes either giggling or smiling, she's so unserious and oblivious af too.” Author’s Note: This was such a fun request to think about since a human like this existing within the other world would pretty much be a living, walking target – like, you’d probably be dead so quickly if you were oblivious or naïve or too trusting (like me when I first played through the game and was smiling every time a hot monster man talked to me 😭). Since you didn’t specify any characters, I just picked a handful that I thought would have varying reactions to the type of reader you requested. I hope you enjoy! 

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

👣: Mr. Crawling loves your cheerful and friendly personality, finding it a breath of fresh air within the other world. It draws him to you even more, like a moth to a bright flame. He likes how you sometimes just randomly giggle or laugh. He does it, too, so it’s nice to meet someone so similar to him! He definitely feels this sense of kinship with you when he notices all the similarities you two share. Mr. Crawling does everything in his power to keep you safe, wanting to protect you from everything or everyone attempting to harm you in the hopes you don’t lose that sparkle – that light within you.

👣: He’s already very protective of you, and your obliviousness to the other world and its residents makes that feeling even stronger. He is aware that your friendly and trusting nature will be taken advantage of in the world he calls his home, so he somehow manages to take a more proactive role when it comes to keeping you safe… if that was even possible (it’s ON SITE if he sees Mr. Stitch near you. Mr. Crawling knows how that particular resident acts, and he would prefer not to have him kidnap or try to eat you…). 

👣: Whenever you laugh, he also laughs – you do the same thing with him, too, so you both kind of bounce off of each other and act like the other’s personal echo. Any other resident who sees the two of you kind of thinks you have a few screws loose, watching from afar while you both just randomly laugh together without a care in the world. Honestly, Mr. Crawling thinks it’s nice to be able to laugh with someone else like this. 

👣: Overall, your personality manages to make him love you even more (if that was even possible). Mr. Crawling does everything in his power to make sure you never stop smiling, never once making you feel like you’re not supposed to laugh even if it may not be seen as appropriate in the situation. He doesn’t care that sometimes your obliviousness results in both of you finding yourselves between a rock and a hard place. He will be there by your side until the day you tell him to leave – his love for you is unconditional, and that’s just a fact no matter what kind of person you are. 

🗣️: Much like Mr. Crawling, Mr. Chopped also finds himself immensely endeared to you and your personality. He loves how happy you are all the time, and he finds his mood improving whenever you’re around, too! It’s wonderful to have someone like you around, someone who is always so cheerful and upbeat, especially considering the place you have found yourself trapped in. He appreciates it – appreciates you, as a whole – but that doesn’t mean he has no reservations about your personality… 

🗣️: His anxiety spikes whenever he thinks too much about what you were potentially getting up to whenever he wasn’t around, worried about you getting taken advantage of or giggling at the wrong question and ending up injured, or worse, dead. He really enjoys spending time with you, you’re like a ray of sunlight in such a dark place, and the thought of that being gone after having just experienced it is… quite an unpleasant thought (he doesn’t know what sunlight is, but he can vaguely remember a yellow warmth from a time long forgotten that you remind him of). If he had a body, he’d probably be ripping his beloved hair out just because of how oblivious you can be. 

🗣️: Mr. Chopped is definitely the type to just start scolding you point-blank, telling you that you need to be more careful – his beautiful hair is going to turn grey at this point with how often he worries about you! Please don’t make him worry… It’s not good for his metaphorical heart. He even lectures you about how he typically tells the difference between people he can trust (like you, Mr. Silvair, the Hairdresser) versus people he knows he can’t trust (like the Hooded Child or Mr. Stitch) in the hopes it will have you thinking about your safety more. 

🗣️: Sometimes he feels a sense of helplessness whenever he thinks about you and the fact he can’t do anything to keep you safe; it’s something he opens up about to Mr. Silvair whenever you’re not around. Mr. Chopped finds himself wishing that he had a body, even though you had assured him he was perfectly fine in your eyes without one. He just wants to help and protect you the way that others you knew were capable of doing. Whenever you sense he’s feeling down, though, your bright smile is enough to wash away his worries about your well-being, even if only for a moment. 

🔪: Doesn’t understand why you’re so chipper all the time. Honestly, I feel like Mr. Machete would find it annoying, the fact you’re always smiling or giggling at one thing or another. He’ll purposefully chuck his sword at you in the hopes that it will scare you, make you wipe that stupid smile off your face, but it never does… It falters a bit, sure, but it never fully goes away, and that just pisses him off more.  

🔪: He kind of makes it his mission to try and break you, to see how or what he can do to finally make you get angry or upset. After all, you never really fight back when he tries to start things with you, and that’s boring. He wants you to get frustrated at him, wants to see you throw a punch or try to hit him after another attempt at making your smile disappear, yet you never do. You remain smiling, and you’re oh-so blinding whenever you do, and he hates it. He hates you (or does he? He isn’t even sure himself… emotions are too complicated).

🔪: Overall, Mr. Machete has mixed feelings toward you. He can respect the strength it takes to keep a smile on your face, to remain positive and happy in a place filled to the brim with violence and death… That doesn’t mean he likes it, though, hearing your laughter whenever he does something you find endearing or if you see something you find amusing. It’s a sound that's headache-inducing, yet it also makes him want to pick you up and squeeze you (I’m a firm believer that he would have cuteness aggression). He has a love-hate relationship with you. 

🔪: Mr. Machete also finds himself fed up with your obliviousness and naïvety, especially regarding other residents. He’s getting sick and tired of you finding yourself in trouble and, when it finally sets in you’re in danger, you call to him for help. Why the hell are you calling for him? You got yourself into this mess, and you’ll figure out a way to get out of it… Well, that’s what he says, but he usually takes care of whatever resident you found yourself in a conflict with, or he tosses you effortlessly over one shoulder and absconds if he doesn’t think it’s a fight he can win (don’t ask him why he even bothers saving you – he doesn’t know the answer, either). 

🪓: Your cheerful and peppy attitude, the way you’re always smiling brightly and warmly at everyone you meet, makes Mr. Hood feel both endeared to you and worried about you. You do realize you just agreed to give that resident your heart, right? If he wasn’t here, you most certainly would have died, and that’s not exactly a thought he wants to entertain. He felt protective over you since the first moment you met, and that feeling had not died down once (even if looking after you had made him feel like he’d aged a century). 

🪓: Always places himself between you and other residents when you attempt to communicate with them, using himself as a shield just in case you accidentally agree to something absurd or laugh at the wrong thing. Mr. Hood really shifts into teaching mode after cases like these, making sure you know exactly what certain words mean and when not to laugh, smile, or blindly agree to things. Honestly, if you were oblivious and overly trusting, he would feel it was his duty to stay by your side at all times and would be worried about what would happen if he left you alone.  

🪓: However, despite the persisting feeling of worry your personality and some of your traits bring him when watching you interacting with most of the other residents, he can’t help but enjoy your presence. It’s new, and he surprisingly likes hearing the sound of your laughter. He finds your personality and behaviors to be cute, even though they bring you trouble more often than not. Most of the time, sometimes unconsciously, Mr. Hood finds himself resting his hand on the top of your head, patting it softly whenever you look up and smile at him so brightly. 

🪓: Mr. Hood, despite finding that your obliviousness and your inability to take most things seriously typically ends up with you winding up in troublesome situations that could have been easily avoided, he still wouldn’t change a single thing about you (he has no problem staining his hands with more blood to keep you safe – killing residents while protecting you at the same time is something he’s good at, after all). Your smile is just too bright, your laugh almost infectious, and all he wants to do is make sure it never fades. He feels a strange ache in his chest whenever you take his hands into yours and tug him along, laughing all the way. He doesn’t understand it, but he also doesn’t have the desire to understand it, either.  

🩸: Your personality intrigues him, and he finds himself desiring to know what you’re thinking about. What makes you so happy? How can you continue to travel through the other world, facing one traumatic event after another, with a smile constantly plastered on your face? A person like you is new to Mr. Scarletella, and he wants to be around you more. He wants to figure out how he can be the person making you smile and laugh in such a way – he wants to be able to bathe in the warmth and brightness your aura radiates. 

🩸: Mr. Scarletella doesn’t make his presence known most of the time throughout your journey, but he watches you from afar, keeping an eye on you. However, if he does need to step in to keep you from harm, he will. Your reaction to him is unlike anyone else he's met, though. Most people who saw the man with the red umbrella would scream and run the other way, terrified of the story that was intertwined with his existence, but you didn’t. Honestly, it makes him want you more – you’re new, you’re different – and he likes it… likes you. There’s something about the sound of your laughter and your happy-go-lucky nature that makes him feel alive, in a way. 

🩸: However, because of your obliviousness and naïvety, when he asks for your name and you just give it to him without a second thought… well, it makes his goal a lot easier. If I’m being 100% honest, being oblivious or overly trusting around Mr. Scarletella is not a good mix. Because he finds you interesting and different from other humans he’s seen before, he’s pleased that you’re his now – heart, body, and soul. You forget everything about yourself after, though, and he doesn’t find you as appealing as he once did (he low-key kind of regrets asking for your name). 

🩸: For feel-good purposes, though, we’ll just ignore the last point and continue with the fluff… So, overall, Mr. Scarletella would find you fascinating and would find himself wanting to be near you in any capacity, whether it be as your master or your servant, he wouldn’t care so long as he got to be with you. He honestly wonders how you’ve managed to live for as long as you have considering your general attitude towards most things, but he’s glad that you did. Being with you makes his lungs feel like they’re full of fresh air, and he gets a pleasant tingling sensation in his body whenever he hears your laughter echo through the dilapidated hallways of the other world. 

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 2 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 3.8k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), some cussing, adult themes (not smut lol) (yet) (jk) (unless...), the mission finally starts, so much plot from here on out y'all so buckle up

a/n. i didn't get to include the most important bits that were supposed to be presented in this chapter because i got carried away with the buildup lol. exciting times ahead y'all. i have so much in store for you with this series. don't be a stranger and let's talk!

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

You can only stare back at the woman peering at you, her face painted with a thick layer of makeup, her hair styled to staged ‘effortless’ perfection, and her body wrapped in an outfit that’s equal parts provocative and refined.

Her image is so flawlessly curated—so much so that you barely notice the apprehension that’s hidden amidst her features, if it weren’t for the fact that that woman is you.

You can barely recognize yourself—and perhaps that’s the point of all this.

Asahi and Moriyama didn’t have to explicitly state it yesterday—they need you to put in every ounce of effort to make sure that you succeed, and that includes doing everything you can to supplement your quirk all the while keeping your real identity lowkey.

Even if it means looking like this.

You’re about to give in to your second thoughts and change out of the black, low-cut tank and beige cardigan you have on when an array of knocks echo from what you think is your front door, and you freeze.

With a cautious glance at your bedroom’s wall clock, you think you’re supposed to feel a wave of relief wash over you when you see that it’s 9:00 PM on the dot, the exact time Bakugou said he’d pick you up, which means no villain or mal intentioned person is at your front porch, but that doesn’t come.

Instead, the sense of dread that’s been stirring in your gut ever since you got swept by Asahi’s men yesterday only magnifies, leaving you a bit cold and…are you shaking?

You don’t get to dwell on that, though, because another round of rapping resonates from your foyer again, which somehow pulls you out of your nervous stupor. You hurriedly run to the door, not even bothering to check through the peephole, opening it with a turn of the knob to see Bakugou.

Wearing a white face mask and decked in a fitting black hoodie, with his ash-blonde hair peeking through the sides of a dark baseball cap.

His fist is frozen mid-air as he stares at you, eyes slightly widened in shock, as if he didn’t believe you’re capable of this thing called punctuality. He promptly brings it down, though, schooling his expression into a neutral one, but not before giving you a quick once-over.

“Hey,” he offers, voice gruff and way lower than you remembered it back in high school.

“Hello,” you counter, looking back at your messy apartment out of habit. “I’m almost done. I just need to grab my purse.”

And, because you genuinely need to know for the sake of what you’re about to do, you ask: “Do I look okay?”

He must’ve not been anticipating that question, because his eyebrows furrow ever so minutely like you just caught him off guard. “Yeah,” he eventually replies after studying the entire length of your body once again.

And, you may have just imagined it, but you swear to god his eyes linger on your chest for a beat longer than necessary before he meets your gaze.

“You clean up…” he pauses, like he’s grasping for the right adjective, before settling with: “…decent.”

At that, you feel yourself deflate a bit. Maybe you wanted a more affirming answer, definitely not because you want that from him, but because you need to look good. However, if there’s anything the rumor mill told you back when you were still teenage students, it’s that Bakugou Katsuki was a man of few words when he was serious, let alone appreciative, so you take his comment in stride.

Besides, in comparison to how you looked yesterday, anything is an improvement, really.

“Thanks,” you respond, and you debate for a second whether or not to say the next thing but ultimately decide on it. “…And you look mildly disguised.”

That seems to ruffle Bakugou’s feathers. “Mildly?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling unsure about your honesty. “I get the hoodie and the cap and the face mask, but there’s no hiding your hulking frame, man.”

And really, there isn’t. How are you supposed to conceal a torso as large as that?

You gesture to his chest and shoulder area for further emphasis. “I don’t think you can pass up as a regular citizen but like as a non-descript athlete, maybe?”

To your dismay, Bakugou merely grunts before shaking his head. “This’ll work.”

Apparently already over your suggestion, he glances past your shoulder as he shifts his weight on his other foot. “Can you grab your purse now? We’ve to get going.”

Now, you’ve got half a mind to argue and try to convince him that maybe going for a better disguise is better in the long run but you’re silenced by his domineering gaze. So instead, you nod before rushing back to your bedroom and grabbing the bag you already prepared beforehand, as well as your phone that’s charging on top of your bedside table.

Although it won’t be of much use later, or in the coming few weeks, if everything goes according to plan.

“Ready?” he asks when you return to the doorway with your things in tow.

“Yup,” you retort as you lock the door behind you, and just like that, you’re well on your way to a potential death sentence.

You’re in the elevator going down to the ground floor by the time he speaks up again. “We’re commuting,” he starts, not looking at you but instead scrutinizing the barely hanging on floor buttons. “Can’t risk raising suspicion by driving there.”

“Where are we going, exactly?” you ask just as the elevator dings, signifying your arrival.

The doors burst open, and he steps out. “You’ll see.”

The commute to wherever the hell it is you two are going is quiet.

Bakugou didn’t divulge any further details as you stepped out of your building, wordlessly ordering you with a stern look to just follow. Frankly, you don’t like how you’re being kept in the dark, but you don’t contend. You’re acutely aware that you have a limited number of cards to play with Bakugou, and you have to play them right, if you want to even survive this mission without your partnership falling apart and jeopardizing the entire thing. Wasting a card on stupid information would be downright foolish on your end.

Even the walk to the bus stop is silent, and so is the entire ride. Despite it being quite late into the evening, the vehicle is still somewhat crowded, which you chalk up to it being a Friday night. You find yourself relaxing in your seat as the realization dawns on you—perhaps there was no point in getting too riled up about getting noticed.

And besides, you’re taking extra precautions, too. You’re not sitting next to each other, because he’s trying to stave off attention while you’re straining to catch it. Maybe not of these strangers, but of the people you’re going to meet later on.

Roughly 10 minutes and a short subway ride later, you climb up the underground stairs to a stop you vaguely remember hearing from your coworkers about. You recall how she described an old party district right in the middle of Musutafu, and sure enough, the text on the street signs match the name she recounted during one of your lunch breaks.

“Over here,” Bakugou calls out from a few feet ahead of you. You quickly quit your observing and follow suit, mindful of keeping an appropriate, not at all questionable distance between the two of you.

After what felt like walking five blocks from the subway, you see Bakugou halt and make a left into a poorly lit alleyway. You hesitate for a second, having been on autopilot and going straight for the last how many minutes. You’re able to swiftly gather yourself, though, steering in the same direction.

The moment that you do, it instantly registers to you that you’re not just in the party district anymore. If the dingy signages and the palpable seediness of the alley are any indication, you’re most likely in the red-light district now.

Suddenly, everything feels a bit too real, and you barely catch yourself stumbling back on your feet. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou, who instinctively moves to reach out for you from where he’s standing. He pauses, though, when you’re able to regain your bearings with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Sorry,” you offer meekly.

He eyes you with the very same inexplicable expression from before. “You good?”

You’re not about to tell him you’re scared shitless, so you give him a half-hearted nod. Turning to study the exterior of the small building, you take in the lightly peeling paint and the booming music emanating from it. “This the place?”

“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat. “Are you sure you’re good?”

You whip to look back at Bakugou, who, if you didn’t know any better, is now looking apprehensive.

You decide then and there that you have to get your shit together.

Bravery is contagious, but so is fear.

For a second, you contemplate using your quirk on yourself to calm your nerves down, but eventually decide against it. There are much bigger fish to fry tonight, and what’s the point of learning all those damned breathing and grounding techniques if you’re not going to use them?

“I’m ready,” you finally tell him after a moment of both of you standing there. “Let’s go in before we start looking unusual out here.”

If Bakugou notices the unease you’re sure you’re radiating, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he gives you a curt nod, before turning to open the door.

And when he does, you’re almost instantaneously flooded by the music that was just escaping through the cracks and crevices of the run-down building. You fight the instinct to cover your ears as you step into the large room behind Bakugou, eyes quickly darting all over the place to drink in the scene before you.

Right in the back of the space is a stage that extends in the center as a runway to the middle of the room. The orange and pink mood lights illuminating the area are relatively dim minus the bulbs lining the set and walkway. And, beneath the elevated platform are what have to be pleather seats littered all over the floor—all of which are occupied by decidedly rambunctious men.

You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose as their boisterous laughter fills your ears, opting to face Bakugou instead.

“Hey,” you call out to him, who stops in his tracks to look at you. You sneak a glance at the people at the bar nearest the two of you, just to make sure they’re not listening in, before you continue. “Are you sure this is the place?”

You don’t have to peek beneath his mask to know he’s now scowling at you.

“What am I, a dumbass? I told you, this is it.” He then shifts away from you, far enough that you barely hear his next words. “…It has to be.”

Well.

That’s not exactly comforting.

Your discomfort only heightens when the already faint lights dim further, and the music switches from a pop song to which you know a bit of the lyrics to a rap that, if you were to base it on the first phrase, is all about having explicit, unprotected sex. The crowd of men cheers in anticipation, and as if on cue, a woman dressed in nothing but a two-piece lingerie emerges from the back of the stage, confirming your speculation of what the place is.

A strip club.

You watch as the woman confidently struts towards the center, and apparently, you’re no better than any of the men here because your gaze slowly roves over her slim and toned body, eyes catching at her cleavage that’s leaving nothing to the imagination. You can’t help it—you look down at your own chest, sinking in disappointment at the contrast before promptly looking up in embarrassment, only to find Bakugou studying you closely.

“It’s a strip club,” you blurt out, flustered at getting caught in the act. His eyes only narrow in a way that tells you what you’re already telling yourself: Thank you, Captain Obvious.

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, much to your relief, only moving to the far corner of the room where there are miraculously two seats unoccupied. You follow him with no further questions asked, plopping in the chair to his right, thankful you’re wearing black trousers so that your skin doesn’t have to go into contact with the sticky furniture.

You take the opportunity to clock the rest of the room, cataloguing the bar at the other end of the area near the entrance where a barista is swiftly taking and making orders all at the same time, while the men seated on the stools struggle to decide whether to look at the man or at the stripper now performing an elaborate dance around the pole. Amidst the decorated wall adjacent to the bar is a door with a restroom sign on it, and you squint just enough to see it’s only one stall for everyone. You make a mental note to hold in your pee, at least until you get out of here.

And, because you’re feeling nice, you shift to regard Bakugou with a good-natured smile on your face. “I hope you peed right before leaving your house.”

“What?” he says loud enough for you to hear him over the noise they’re calling music. “I can’t hear you.”

“Shit, right.” You lean in ever so minutely, and Bakugou mirrors you. You try to ignore the new-found proximity. “I said,” you repeat, with a little more volume this time, “I hope you peed right before fetching me. I bet the toilet’s filthy as shit.”

To your delight, not that you’d admit that to him in this lifetime, Bakugou smirks at your little quip after confirming the lone comfort room with his own eyes.

“Don’t worry about me, princess,” he starts, and you stiffen at the nickname, “I’m not the one who has to sit on one.”

You’re about to retort with something along the lines of what if he has to poop out of the blue, or at least try to, because the pet name has you gagged against your better judgment, when a ridiculously tall man clad in all black appears out of nowhere, startling you.

“The f—”

“Dynamight,” the behemoth of a guy cuts you off, eyes trained on the pro-hero beside you and completely ignoring your presence. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Took you long enough to approach me,” Bakugou sneers, oozing with the confidence you can’t find within yourself right now. “I hate sleazy places like this.”

To that, the man only bows his head slightly, face solemn but devoid of remorse. You watch him as his eyes finally drift to you, albeit for only a split second, before looking back at Bakugou. “Follow me, sir.”

The ash blonde does so, perhaps a tiny bit begrudgingly, and you speedily get up along with him. The two men turn to move, and you’re about to take a step closer towards their direction when a long arm shoots up in front of you, keeping you in place.

Any protests die in your throat when you look up and see the guy’s menacing glare.

“If you don’t mind,” he grits through his teeth, “Only Dynamight is needed.”

“She’s with me,” comes Bakugou’s commanding tone. You chance a glance at the pro-hero, whose countenance is so serious you’d be afraid if you were the one he’s talking to.

“But, sir—”

“It’s the two of us or we’re leaving,” Bakugou demands.

The two engage in a stare down which you witness for what feels like a few minutes before the man finally looks away, frustration etched across his intimidating features. He glares at you once more, as if you’re the one who’s insisting on being Bakugou’s plus one, and you’re about to be convinced that he’s mentally chanting a spell to make you disappear when he gestures for you to follow him with a flick of a head.

You gradually release the breath you didn’t know you were holding as you shadow them as they enter one of the doors on the wall perpendicular to where you were just stationed. It leads to a staircase that swerves in the middle, and you lock eyes with Bakugou as he makes the turn ahead of you. Neither of you says a word, opting to keep on trailing the man, even as you land on the second floor, which looks more and more like a prostitution den.

Once again, your conjecture is confirmed as you walk down the hallway and past several sets of doors on both sides, from which emanate a cacophony of sensual moans and groans. You wonder what Bakugou’s thinking right now, although you can’t get a read on him as you can only observe his backside.

Finally, after what seems like a tortuous eternity, the man stops right in front of the door at the end of the hallway, and you pause right behind him.

He looks back at Bakugou and you with what you’re pretty sure is caution, before knocking on the door twice, and then another two times but in rapid succession.

“Come in,” is what the muffled voice on the other side says.

And so you do.

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting, because you’ve never actually been in a service room before, but you at least anticipated a bed on which certain…activities can be done.

But what you’re met with instead seems to be a refurbished lounge room with floor-to-ceiling brick walls, black and red quilted couches, and a bar at the far side all lit up with moody orange lighting.

And smack dab in the middle of it—sprawled so languidly all over the furniture—are three individuals.

Three individuals who immediately look at Bakugou.

It’s them, alright. You don’t need your extensive training in reading people to know that these are the ones you came all the way here for.

You quickly take note of their appearances. The seemingly old man who has to be in his late 50s is seated—quite relaxed—in one of the scarlet solo chairs. He’s slim, bordering on frail, but the glint in his eye as he peers at Bakugou tells you that it’d be unwise to rule him out as one of your main threats.

Juxtaposing his age which is further revealed by his shoulder-length salt and pepper hair is the young woman plastered on the couch adjacent to his.

Or maybe ‘woman’ is a bit too generous…

It’s not obvious at first glance, but you immediately notice how some of her body parts appear to be outright robotic in the literal sense. Perhaps it’s her long, pin-straight, jet-black hair that softens her entire look, but there’s no mistaking what seems to be an artificial left eye, a metallic right arm, and angled, silver lips. She’s wearing long pants so there’s no telling which other parts of her are made up of what you think is steel, but the ones visible to you already tell you enough.

And then there’s the third and last man, who, in comparison to the other two, is remarkably…plain.

There isn’t an air of age-induced wisdom around him, nor is there anything peculiar about his body. He looks like just about any other 40-year-old-ish Japanese man you know, with short black hair, an unassuming face, and semi-formal clothes that are quite loose on his not-buff but not exactly thin body either.

But to your surprise, it’s him that the hilariously huge guy from earlier directly reports to.

“Pro-hero Dynamight, sir, as you requested. And…” the ‘escort’ trails off, and for a split second, you feel kind of sorry you’re here and making things complicated for him. “…he brought company.”

“Finally,” the plain-looking man pipes up from his seat, and even his voice is generic. “And here we thought you were never going to come meet us.”

Placing what suspiciously looks like a glass of whiskey on the table in front of him, the man shifts to fully regard Bakugou. “I see that you’ve deciphered the messages we’ve been sending you?”

“No shit,” comes Bakugou’s blunt response, and for a beat, you seriously consider using your quirk on him to make him calm the fuck down.

You decide against it.

To your chagrin, he drones on. “Y’all gotta do better. That was barely even a code.”

At that, the old male barks out a laugh while the plain-looking man only chuckles. “Of course, we expect nothing less from the #2 pro-hero. But…” the latter trails off, eyes finally landing on you. You quickly put on the most endearing smile you can muster, suddenly regretting not touching up your makeup upon sitting earlier. Thankfully, though, he smiles back, before redirecting his focus back on Bakugou.

“I see you brought precious cargo. Is there any reason why she’s here with us?”

“We want in your organization,” Bakugou replies without hesitation. “The both of us.”

And when none of them say anything in response, Bakugou presses.

“You need me, right? I heard you’re planning an attack. I want to join.”

“Yes,” the old man finally speaks up, not even denying it yet his voice is riddled with misplaced humor. “We do, in fact, need you. But what use do we have of this girl?”

“She’s got a useful quirk,” Bakugou supplies, before turning to look at you and then back at them. “Luck. She boosts the success rate of anyone she works with.”

“Luck?” the old geezer says back so incredulously, you feel your eye twitch in annoyance. If he only knew what you were fully capable of. He can’t, though, if you want to get out of this entire situation alive. “I don’t think we’ll need that as long as we have you, boy.”

“Well, tough luck,” spews Bakugou, a little bit too sarcastically for your comfort. “Because, as I’ve told your little lackey here,” he gestures to the definitely not little guy from earlier, “It’s both of us or I’m out.”

“The both of you, huh?” muses the plain-looking man who’s seeming to be more and more like the leader of the group by the second.

Once again, silence envelopes the room when none of them utter a single word, with you and Bakugou watching in anxious (you) and impatient (him) anticipation. You observe their facial expressions as they have a wordless exchange, and judging by how the ancient and the robotic girl are looking at the ordinary man, you guess your hunch about him is right.

Eventually, they appear to reach an agreement, and the leader adjusts just enough to look at the both of you directly.

You brace yourself with bated breath.

He flashes you a modest smile.

“It’s a deal, then.”

˖��‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses | @junehasnotbeenfound @sugalarity @haechansbbg @sikuthealien @reiniella3 @ita606 @xoxoblueyy @mutsu422 @eyesforbkg @kalulakunundrum @venus-xxoo @lemuhr @pinkpantheris @ashers-playpen @bakugouswh0r3 @certaindreampost @3ve88 @tsumuus @4acoffee @anonymity-222 @lousypotatoes | @matchat3a @harryzcherry @h0nestly-though @cc1306 @gold24fish @bakukags @zennypiee @wannabewolf @kameko-ko @lovra974 @arc6021 @kooromin @surprisemodafakas @ilovedenk-i @st4ntwic3 @j1tterbugaboo @call-memissbrightside @arael-asuka @bakugosgothhoe

[capquinn]

Hey I love your Dad!Quinn writings so much! They’re so cute and fluffy! Maybe you can do one about mom’s bump popping up one morning and Quinn is like mesmerized, realizes that a baby is coming and his life is going to change. But he’s so happy. Only if you want to write this. Have fun in NYC!

The hoodie slipped from his hands, forgotten, as Quinn froze in the doorway, caught in the quiet spell of the moment. His breath stilled, his gaze fixed on you — on the reflection of you in the mirror, framed by the soft morning light that filtered through the curtains. You were standing there, one hand resting on the curve of your belly, your fingers brushing over it in a way that was both casual and deliberate.

But it wasn’t the same curve he’d kissed goodnight the evening before. This was new, different.

His eyes traced the line of your profile, lingering on the now unmistakable swell of your stomach. It wasn’t just a gentle hint anymore, not the subtle softness he’d grown accustomed to seeing. It was undeniable, defined. A bump.

His bump. His baby.

Quinn’s arms hung at his sides, his hoodie now pooled in the chair behind him as his brain worked to catch up with his eyes. For a long beat, he just stared, unmoving, as the weight of it hit him all at once. His chest tightened, his heart thrumming in a rhythm he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t panic, not fear, but bigger — something that was overwhelming in its tenderness. Awe, maybe. Or reverence. A sense of this is real that felt too massive for his chest to hold.

He tilted his head slightly, as if looking from a different angle might somehow soften the impact, but it didn’t. If anything, it deepened it.

His gaze dropped to your hand, the way your palm smoothed over the firm swell like it was second nature now. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been holding his breath until he let it out, slow and shaky, his hands flexing at his sides. There was no mistaking it anymore — this was real. Tangible. The tiny life that had been nothing but whispers and plans and grainy black-and-white ultrasound images was suddenly here, making its presence known.

You glanced up in the mirror, your eyes catching his reflection, and Quinn’s heart twisted. You looked at him like you always did — a soft affection that grounded him — but now there was something else. Something unspoken, something shared. Something that said, can you believe this?

He stepped closer without even realising, the movement automatic, like gravity was pulling him to you. His hand reached out instinctively, tentative at first, brushing against the curve of your belly before settling there fully. His palm was warm, steady, fingers spreading slightly as if to take it all in. The bump was firm, more defined than he’d expected, and the simple touch made everything feel sharper, clearer.

“This is new,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion, almost as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile intimacy of the moment.

“It wasn’t like this yesterday,” you replied softly, your voice carrying the same quiet awe that was written all over your face.

“No,” he agreed, his thumb sweeping in a slow arc along the edge of your belly. “It wasn’t.”

For the first time, it wasn’t just an abstract thought in the back of his mind. It wasn’t just appointments or plans or future names whispered in the dark. It was right here, under his hand. The tiny, growing life you’d made together, tucked safely between the two of you.

His gaze flicked back up to yours, his eyes soft and bright with something unspoken. Pride, maybe, and then his lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile.

“That’s… really our baby,” he said, the words tumbling out like a confession, as though saying them aloud might help him fully believe it.

“Really our baby,” you echoed, and the way you said it, so soft but so certain, nearly unraveled him.

Quinn’s thumb brushed over your skin again, slower this time, more deliberate, as if tethering himself in the moment. He didn’t let go, didn’t even think about moving. His fingers flexed gently against you, holding on as though the world might tip if he didn’t anchor himself to this — to you.

He exhaled quietly, his voice dropping even lower as his gaze flicked back to your bump.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” he murmurs. “To you. To seeing you like this.” His voice caught slightly, and his eyes softened even further as they roamed the swell of your stomach, his hands cradling it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you — off the way your body had changed, the way it was carrying something that was a part of both of you. It hit him all at once, an overwhelming wave of awe that nearly stole his breath. The guys had joked about this, their faces lighting up in a way that always seemed a little exaggerated when they said there was nothing more attractive than seeing your partner pregnant with your child. He’d brushed it off at the time, but standing here now, he finally understood. You were stunning, and it wasn’t just how you looked — it was what it meant. What you were doing.

He kept those thoughts to himself, too raw and vulnerable to say aloud, but they lingered, stirring in the quiet space between you.

“You’re just so beautiful,” he said instead, the words escaping before he could stop them. He didn’t need to elaborate — everything he felt was in the way he looked at you, his eyes soft, his expression completely open.

The sincerity in his words made your throat tighten, a warmth rising in your chest that had nothing to do with hormones. He saw it immediately — the way your eyes glossed just slightly, your lips pressing together as if to hold back an overflow of emotion. You stared down at the curve of your belly, your hand resting over his, grounding yourself in the moment.

Quinn’s heart clenched at the sight. He hadn’t meant to make you cry, but the way your reaction softened your entire expression made his chest ache in the best way. His fingers flexed gently against your stomach again, his thumb brushing over your skin in a slow, steady rhythm, his way of silently telling you that he was right here.

Your lips parted slightly, like you wanted to say something but weren’t quite ready, and he stayed quiet, giving you the space to find the words.

“It doesn’t feel real, does it?” you whispered finally, your voice carrying a quiet awe that made his breath catch.

He paused for just a moment, watching the way your gaze lingered on your belly, before answering.

“It’s real,” he said, almost to himself, as if to convince the last part of him that still couldn’t quite believe it. His fingers pressed a little more firmly, cradling the swell of your stomach with the same care he might handle something sacred. “It’s us. Right here.”

He could see the ripple of emotion in your expression, the way your chest rose in a deep, steadying breath. The way your hand tightened over his for just a second, like you needed him to hold you in the moment.

When your eyes finally met his, the look you gave him stopped him in his tracks. It was full of wonder, gratitude, and a love so profound it stole the breath from his lungs. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words, couldn’t do anything but hope that you saw everything reflected back in his gaze: the wonder, the love, the quiet, unshakable resolve that whatever came next, he’d be there — every step, every breath. For you. For the tiny life between you. For all of it.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

requests are open - let’s daydream!

[scrumdidiliyumyum]

Something special

@lotsofstuffsblog hope you all enjoy!! :> Prologue -> Part 1 Yan!batfam x Neglected!reader

A cold, harsh wind flew through the streets of Gotham, just outside the police station, camera flashes going off and helping to illuminate not only the police officers, but the young child that they had surrounded.

A small child stood, one with a small stature, and a face that told anyone passing by that they had seen far too much for their age. And, of course, that child was you. Y/N L/N.

As you stood there, shivering despite the heaters best efforts, you stared hard at the ground as if to try and separate yourself from the people flocking around you. After your mom died, people hadn't really given consideration to you. To them you were just another child that had lost their mother to the cruel streets, something far to common to be normal.

You were originally sent to a child-care center, somewhere you could be kept until further notice. The only problem, well, was that you didn't really have anyone else to take you. Your mom, mama, was the only one who really cared as much, or even at all about you. That was that, and you were going to be sent to an orphanage, just like the other poor kids that lost their parents.

Well, that was the plan atleast.

When your mom died, and you were brought to the police station after having to be dragged walked to the car by two friendly police officers, you had run into someone, Commissioner Gordon. The way he scrutinized your face, as if you had reminded you of someone had been weird. Well, until he made you take a DNA test.

"Hello there Young Master," a soft voice said from behind you.

You turned your head to the side, and saw an elderly man, the perfect example of a butler, smiling at you. But, the longer you looked into his eyes, you could sense the inner turmoil he was experiencing.

You were like so lifeless. He could tell from the way you mindlessly stood there while he talked to the officers, or strode to the car, passing by the news reporters, ignoring the continuous questioning. You ignored it all, eyes blocking out people from questing what could possibly be going through your mind.

When Alfred started the car, and started to drive off, he pondered on how you would affect the future of not only the Wayne family, but the vigilantes of the city. Would they welcome you? Or consider you a anomaly? Perhaps-

Oh.

As Alfred looked into the rear view mirror, he could see small droplets falling down your cheeks, which eventually turned into a steady stream of them. A vulnerability you hadn't been able to show coming forth, a trait he recognized from another young boy he had once raised, many moons ago.

"Young Master?" He whispered to you softly, your sobbing paused as your head snapped up towards him, "...Yes?" His eyes softened as they connected with yours in the mirror, he could see the way you were scared, all the uncertainty that would come with this new home of yours.

"Are you excited to meet your new family?" You paused to think of what to say, before settling on a quiet, "No." After which, you looked away and resumed your sobbing.

In any normal situation, he would've laughed at your honesty, but considering this wasn't normal, he let the two of you sit in comfortable silence. Your honesty, the ability to hide your thoughts and emotions already at such a young age.

You really were your fathers child.

You could feel your heart thumping wildly in your chest, no matter how many times you tried to tell yourself that everything would be alright, it was so hard to believe so as you stood infront of the towering doors of the Wayne manor. As a distraction, you clutched Alfred's hand as hard as a 7 year old possibly could, as he lead you inside the dark and mysterious manor.

Being inside didn't help at all, doing nothing more than making your nerves work overtime, especially when you looked down the dark halls that seemed to lead to nowhere, or the staircase that seemed to stretch for miles upon miles, and for the first time since you were here, or even brought to the police station you thought-

Where's my father?

Instantly you looked around wondering where the man that was displayed as a generous and charitable man was this entire time.

"That's going to be my father?"

"That is your father."

You stared up at Commissioner Gordon for a brief second before returning your gaze to the T.V. , and there he was, in all his glory, Bruce Wayne, the man who gave all he could to the world, after having the world take so much from him at such a young age

Gordon paused for a moment thinking of what to say next, "I know, it's nerve wrecking being thrown into a whole n'other world, yeah? You'll be okay kid, I promise you." He then raised his and ruffled your hair before leaving you to your own devices.

"Master Y/N," Alfred started, "I'm sorry master Bruce couldn't be here for you at the moment, but he had pressing matters he unfortunately couldn't abandon." He stared at you to see your reaction, but as soon as you were going to respond,

"Hey Al," you peaked from behind Alfred and saw a young man, maybe in his 20's walking towards Alfred before pausing after seeing you hiding behind him. He stared at you for a moment before questioning, "who's the kid?" Alfred shifted his attention to Dick, "the new Young Master, Master Bruces child."

Dick's eyebrows went up for a second, before quickly shuffling over to me, "Hey, nice to meet you kiddo!" He ruffled my hair roughly before lowering it and moving his attention back to Alfred, "B needs me to help him with the.." he paused and glanced towards me "stuff. So I'll come back and hang with you in a little, okay kid?" He quickly started to rush down one of the long halls.

"Honestly..." you could hear Alfred mumble before sighing and grabbing your attention, "Let us go and find a place for you to settle down in, alright?" You nodded and followed after him while he led you to what was to be your room.

After walking for what felt like miles, passing walls so big that little you thought would swallow you at any moment, paintings you thought would come to life and drag you into their world with them, you had finally reached your room, one with doors that had door handles you could barely reach. Alfred opened them for you, and pulled you alongside with him.

You looked around, observing the big space, filled with nothing but a bed, T.V. and nightstand. A room that was bigger than your entire apartment, something that made you even more nervous. But not wanting to bother Alfred any further, and be able to wallow alone for the first time in who knows how long without the fear of prying eyes, you looked towards Alfred.

He gave you his full attention as you whispered, "I'm fine, so can you please go?" You both knew that that wasn't true, him from the look in your eyes, and you from the pit you could feel forming in your stomach.

"Understood Young Master. I will be leaving now but, if you need for anything, please just call." He started to head out for the room, hesitating for a moment, with an unsure look in his eyes, but turned his back, leaving you alone in the dark room.

The family was difficult to bond with.

It was after the excuses upon excuses that began to pile up so much, that you always knew word for word what one would say, or the quick glances that were sent your way as someone walked past you, or even the way some ignored you, completely pretending you didn't exist, further cementing the idea that you were nothing more than a shadow to the people that should've considered you family.

Dick, he was a kind man, always willing to lend a helping hand and be there for others. Well, everyone except for you. He was an enthusiastic man, known as the acrobatic, the man that lights up people's days with jokes and charming smiles. He gave you those smiles, the same fake ones he gave to anyone else that wasn't his family. Excuses on how, " I'll hang out with you later kiddo!"

Promises that were never fulfilled. You really did hope that one day they would be, but as a kid, taking all the love you could get out of someone, you believed him and his charming smiles, atleast he smiled at you, right?

Tim, a tech savvy, was in simple terms, a genius. Someone who's mind was never turned off, always at work. Someone who's quiet, and yet always observing, something that unsettled you when you first met, the way he quietly scrutinized you, as if sizing up how important you were, seeing if you were worth his time and the effort.

Clearly, you weren't, as instead of the excuses you were instead met with silence, as if telling you, 'I really couldn't care less about you.' So, you took it as it was, and with little efforts here and there, tried to stick to your lane.

Jason, the bookworm, one that read things that were educational to things that were political to even language guides. He was a man that had a hardened exterior, closed off to people, becoming another person after his death. It wasn't talked about in depth, mainly Alfred wanting to spare the gorier details.

Surprisingly enough, he was alright to you. He acknowledged you, and despite the fact you longed for so much more it was enough to know that someone saw you. He would wave, or nod his head on some days, but all it did was leave you wanting for more, a hug, hell, a high five. But, it was fine, you were used to feeling fine. It was something you found yourself feeling ever since you got here.

Damien, someone you were so so excited to meet. You pushed aside the faces that came to mind when thinking of all the other times you tried bonding with people in the manor, and held hope. You guys were related, by blood, something that may not matter to some, but mattered to you, being able to bond with someone in a way you couldn't with anyone else.

But, when you hovered by him during his first appearance in the manor, the cold look on his face told you just how much he despised you despite only just meeting you.

His eyes narrowed before taking a breath, " You're father's other child?" The way he had said other child made you jump in a way you didn't like, and before you could respond, all you could feel was the harsh shove he sent your way. You yelped as you fell into a table bruising your hip.

"Master Damien, Have respect." Alfred's voice came out calm, but the look he gave him along with the warning in his tone said otherwise. Not taking his words to mind, Damien simply scoffed and looked at you in disdain, "you're nothing more than a whores child, so back off." The sight of his back towards you felt all to familiar.

It was obvious, the looks, the words, the shove. But feeling desperate, wanting something to cling onto, something to love, something to replace mama.

You pushed through.

Barbara, a polite, but distant lady. Also another tech savvy in the family that was introduced to the manor by Dick. She was often helping the family with god knows what on those computers that she and Tim seemed to stick to as a life-line. And before you knew it, you would see her fairly often.

She would say hello, but would abandon you for the first person she saw, or go towards one of the many computers in the manor to once again, do god knows what. But with how fed up you were starting to get, you found myself almost not caring on what was so interesting on the other side of that screen.

Stephanie Brown, a kind and mischievous girl that seemed to lighten up a room from the moment she walked in, though the mood always seemed to dissipate when you walked in she always tried her best to seem friendly. She would crack a joke here and there, but always looked like she didn't know how to talk with you. Sometimes she would just avoid you entirely.

Though, on the days you did run into her, giving her no choice but to talk and smile, you could tell with the amount of experience you had under your belt, that you weren't her object of interest.

Cassandra, quiet and aloof, but always watching and taking in the world and its people around her. When she was brought into this already big family, you were on the way to all hope being lost. But, when you learned of her illiteracy you found yourself wanting to learn with her. You could see yourself learning to read with her, helping her and reading late at night under a blanket fort.

You thought, maybe for once, effort would be enough, though it never was, was it? From the way she passed by you once you had walked up towards her giving you nothing but a hard stare, it was like you could hear your heartbreaking.

Duke, another boy, God how many children was father going to bring into this cold desolate manor before giving you the attention you deserve?- was a nice difference from the other ones that resided here. He didn't have a hidden agenda, or just looked you in the eyes and lied to you, but was just...distant. not like Barbara's distant, no, he would sometimes start to talk with you then just...stop. It was weird, like he was afraid to actually talk with you.

But nonetheless, he was nice, always giving you a smile in passing and not like the fake or strained ones everyone else gave you, a real genuine smile. It really was a simple gesture, but something that you hadn't realized you desperately needed.

Terry, he was a funny and charming guy. He could think up jokes in a flash, and seemed like a chill, but smart guy. You could see it in his walk, and in his eyes. But he was someone you knew from the get-go you could never reach.

He was someone who, despite his..affiliation with father, was someone who had a normal family. One dad, one mom, and one brother, at the end of every day when he came home he knew what to expect, a kind loving home. And deep in your heart you knew you could never be apart of that.

He would often look past you on his way to who knows what, which was fine. You were quiet when it came to people in the family, and would try to just walk past without looking up.

Kate on the other hand, was someone you didn't want to even attempt to talk to. She was brutally honest, a seemingly common trait in the Wayne blood, and never afraid to show or say what she thought.

Other then to you that is.

Unlike Dick who brushed you off with the promises of another day, or Damien who glared and spouted venomous words every chance he got, she gave you pity.

You could see it in the way she looked at you in passing, the way she could see the burdens on your shoulders, far too many for a kid as young as you. Sure, being a Wayne means having those burdens, but by having so many people around you it would seem lessened in a way.

But not for you.

You could tell by the way she would speak without hesitation when it came to Dick or even father himself, but hesitate when it came to you. And in all honesty, it completely sickened you. Not in a, 'I hate you' way, but the unfamiliarity of being pitied by someone made you queasy.

The funny thing is, your mom would always scold you, tell you that making eye contact is necessary when talking with someone, but in the few times you've been able to talk with her, you could never will yourself to no matter how many times mama's voice rang out in your head.

But, nonetheless, she's related to your father, so because of that she-

Oh.

Thats right. Your father.

Your father, he was well, you honestly didn't even know. He was always off doing something else, something that was apparently more important to him then his own blood child, atleast one of them anyway.

You were curious though, some days when you looked at yourself in the mirror, wondering what features you share with him, or late at night when you were alone with nothing but your thoughts, you wondered stuff about him like, 'does he have a favorite food? Does he like to exercise? Does he like to play pretend like you and mama used to?'

Sometimes one part of you wonders if he would ever play with you if you asked, if he'd be willing to put aside his duties for a little while to play with his child.

But the other part of you already knows the answer to that question.

You knew you would never hold a candle to the people that lived here. That you would never be as athletic as some, or have the same brains as others, but you so desperately wanted to.

You wanted to be able to share your accomplishments with your family, to have them show you off with pride look at you with nothing but admiration and love.

And you tried.

You really did, you pushed and pushed through until everything hurt. Ran in track until your legs would give up, played piano until your fingers felt like they would snap, painted until the once beautiful paintings didn't at all make sense to you.

Your mama, you missed her so much, would tell you that no matter what, the eyes were a window to the soul, something that told you more about someone than any words could.

So why is it that your family's eyes are always so cold and closed off when you look into them?

HI HII I hope you guys enjoy!! Please let me know how it was!! :D

[razztazzel]

Thought it would but cute to revisit this old au of mines and give it some lore!

I’m really passionate about this au specifically because I LOVE sci-fi like ALOT… so I might make a lot of content of it… OFC Helios planet will still be going on trust

Non filtered version + lore ⬇️⬇️⬇️

LORE!!!

All the toons are aliens!!! On a completely different planet (exoplanet) about 4.2 Light years away from earth. The company, C.V. inc. aka Cosmic View Incorporated labeled it “Proxima Centauri b” (Its a Genuine exoplanet that’s the closest known to earth it’s so cool) Let’s just say In this au, Earth is extremely Sci-FI like, reaching advances where it wouldn’t be really…. Possible as earth is now…

And so they developed travel though hyperspace (just to clarify, Hyperspace is a fictional concept and not based on current scientific understanding; it's often portrayed as a different dimension where normal space-time rules don't apply - google or something) and managed to land on Proxima Centauri b! The people traveling were highly advanced scientists and they were like, woahhh look at these little whimsical creatures!!! But only like 4 “handlers” went Cause it was still in development!!! So it was kind of a suicide mission to put it frankly

They didn’t die.. Thankfully!!! And they successfully made it back probably old and decrepit, just with a few aliens that totally weren’t kidnapped or anything (They done took the mains, Besides Zee(Vee) she didn’t exist on their planet since she’s a robot made by C.V. Inc.) Vee was made by the soon to be handlers in an attempt to collect direct data from the totally not kidnapped toons! Her emotions are 100% programmed but ran through an advanced ai that study’s the emotion of literally everything living that’s around her so her emotions can be pretty accurate to a certain degree before the robot part generally makes way, Her ai detects any subtle or visible emotion and collects data of it to train itself on how to process and express emotion, but she’ll never have TRUE emotion

Unlike original Vee they’re smart and makes her entirely water proof and very much heat resistant, Zee just cannot be Submerged in water. Anyway a group of.. more like.. scientists in like…training became handlers as a little hands on experiment for them since the owner of the entire thing was really really interested in the toons and wanted to be involved with data processing so she assigned newbies (ish) to be the handlers.. She herself handles Andy (Dandy)!

The toons are all kept in separate rooms similar to those of like experiments just less cruel, like SCP type shit but cooler and not evil… looking… trust trust… so they can be observed and have data recorded…Besides confinement they’re actually treated really well! Sprout learns to bake through his handler and generally enjoys it so he’s allowed to bake every now and then, Shelby (Shelly) gets loads of attention for being an alien bro does NOT wanna leave, Genesis Rock (Pebble) is treated like a legitimate dog gets walked and has play time even though since he’s a rock he probably doesn’t need it, but data is data, Andy hates it there they tried to feed him plant fertilizer once cause he resembles a flower..

Anyway Vee is the only one who’s not in confinement and is generally like a little bot helper for the company, YES!!! THE TOONS ARE ALLOWED TO ROAM!!! Those lovely creatures are not locked away… forever…

TOON TRIVIA

Andy(Dandy) Now has 4 arms!

Astro becomes spiderman ( Ok not really he just gets 6 arms and is constantly floating, Studies show that he cannot seem to stop..)

Shelby (Shelly) Is a mixture of an alienized fossil with a freaky chameleon, with more feral-ish aspects like protruding fangs and sharper hands compared to the others

Genesis (Pebble) can literally walk on air

sprouts hair is ALIVE do NOT cut it he will scream and he has awful fashion sense because refuses to take the scarf off because it was a gift from cosmo before being taken by weird tall things he didn’t know hashtag last thing he has from cosmo hashtag fruitcake angst hashtag NO MORE FRUITCAKE/j

Zee (Vee)is specifically meant to look similar to the alien toons, She doesn’t have a handler though the handlers like to let her wear a coat, they think it looks cute on her small frame…🫶🫶

Sprouts handler encourages sprout to wear the cute aprons they give him, he always refuses… one day.. one day..

Astro generally cannot stop floating, luckily for some reason gravity won’t allow him to float too high so he’s just chilling fr

I think I’ll call this au Cosmic Veiw incorporation /inc or to put it simply, Alien or space au for easy tagging

[joicecubes]

my take on this scene (arcane s2 act 2 spoilers. obviously)

if you’re active within the arcane fandom space recently i’m sure you’ve at least stumbled across the discourse where someone interpreted this exchange to be vi “realizing jinx is a better older sister” or something. personally i think it’s a lot less about comparison and a lot more about guilt.

vi has felt responsible for jinx her entire life. she was her protector when they were kids. she abandoned her after vander, milo, and claggor’s deaths leading silco to take her in. jinx went on to work for him. she killed caitlyn’s mother in the council meeting explosion. everything jinx has done and every horrible thing she’s experienced has been a direct result (at least in vi’s mind) of her own failures as an older sibling. and despite her guilt, eventually she forced herself to accept that powder didn’t exist anymore. even more painful, that since she’s the one who caused jinx to be this way, she also has to take responsibility and stand by caitlyn’s side in ensuring jinx won’t hurt anyone else.

but she fails. jinx runs free, vi wallows in her breakup sorrows, and the next time they see each other, jinx… has changed. and she has that same kid with her from their fight. and she’s come to vi willingly for her help.

i think vi is thinking a lot of things when she sees jinx comforting isha. surprise, firstly, to see this side of jinx she hasn’t seen since they were kids. the jinx she knows is a shell of her former self, changed beyond belief, and yet vi watches as jinx softens and treats isha with so much care. helps her dust herself off, says something vi might’ve said to powder what feels like a lifetime ago. “still got all your insides?”

the truth of it is, it’s not jinx being a better older sister than vi was. it’s jinx emulating what vi once was to her, and i think vi catches onto that. she’s watching as an outsider now, jinx and isha paralleling what her and powder’s relationship used to be like and i think it would make sense if the strongest thing she’s feeling right now is longing. how devastating it is that their relationship feels so irreparable, how deeply she wishes she hadn’t hurt powder so long ago.

but there’s also hope in her asking “why’d you come get me? you don’t actually need my help.” sure, she’s still bitter. how could she not be, after everything that’s happened between them? but she recognizes that jinx doesn’t need her anymore, it becomes especially clear seeing jinx taking care of someone else like vi used to take care of her. so why seek her out? why drag her all the way out here? there’s a deep, wounded, guilty part of her that’s desperate for reconciliation, so she reaches for it. especially now that she has no one else.

they make me so sad :(

[cheshiresense]

Starrk time travels with Ichigo to TBTP is everything I never knew I needed! The pain of surviving again, of still being too strong to die- to give up and rest with Shunsui is chef’s kiss beautiful.

I have questions, ideas, thoughts- feel free to ignore any of them lol. First is do you think Hollows/Arrancars have pack instincts/pack bonds. I can imagine the horrible aching emptiness of reaching for friends and family who aren’t there anymore. Pack is forever, should be forever- but now they have to go on looking in the faces of people who loved them once and see nothing in their eyes. No pack bond or instincts that used to link them.

Second is do you think Starrk and Ichigo would eventually start napping together once they settle in a bit more? Starrk might be able to control it now, but I feel like there would be something reassuring about the fact that Ichigo could take it, wouldn’t buckle under the pressure. And then there’s the fact they’re the only ones who know, who understand the weight of it all.

Third is do you have an idea of who you’d ship Ichigo with in this au? I myself am partial to Koyonagi, but I can also see Shinji noticing something off and prowling around like the big cat he pretends he isn’t to investigate. I also imagine that not a few people would assume Starrk and Ichigo are in a relationship lol.

Lastly is I think it would be really interesting if Starrk and Ichigo ended up in the same division, especially since the draw to join the Eighth would be even more tempting. Do you think they’d stick together or try to spread out to be able to investigate/access more.

Thank you, I'm glad you liked it! And I haven't even gotten to the ShunStarrk parts yet but the prospect of it is incentive to write more lmao.

This got a bit long so I'll shove it under the cut:

1) I haven't thought much on this particular aspect of Hollows, although I do see it around a lot, it seems a pretty common headcanon. I def do think they have pack instincts, because even in canon you see Harribel and Grimmjow and others forming "packs" but idk if I'd go all the way to pack bonds. For me it would prob depend on where I want to take that particular fic. In this AU, I imagine Hollows do have pack instincts (again, that's basically canon) and Hollows in general are more sensitive to the reiatsu of pack members, but Starrk's gone so long without them that he's used to the pain of not having anyone. Plus he's like part wolf so I think that makes it worse, but after a thousand years he's probably numb to it. Then of course he got Shunsui for a while, and I imagine he kind of adopted the Fourth as his own and probably a few other Shinigami he'd grown close to, and now all of them are gone. He's in the same situation as Ichigo and grieving that loss, but it prob also feels physically worse for him. He knows what it's like to have pack now, and then he loses them all, and yeah he can sense Shunsui's reiatsu signature halfway across the Seireitei, and half the Fourth is a comfortable bubble at the edge of his awareness, but at the same time, they're not the same and his instincts can tell that too, so it's basically just a constant reminder of everything he no longer has. But he has a thousand years of experience at ignoring this sort of thing, and it's easy to fall back on it, he has to fall back on it because it's not like he can do anything about it anyway. His people, his pack, are gone, and like all the other things he was never able to change over the course of his long life, he can only resign himself to it and shoulder it as best he can.

But Shunsui in particular is a relentless ache in his chest, at the back of his mind, in the pulse of his very reiatsu, like pressure on a bruise on the days he can force himself to ignore it, like a gushing wound when he can't. It's still okay when he's at the Academy and doesn't actually have to see the man. Then Ichigo goes and picks up a stray who just so happens to be Shunsui's family, damn you too Mimihagi may you suffer from carpal tunnel for the rest of eternity, and because his luck has never been what anyone would call good, Starrk's practically expecting it the first time Ichigo awkwardly pesters him into joining their tutoring sessions behind the Eighth Division compound because Ichigo's excellent at Shunpou but he's never quite managed Yoruichi's flawless execution of it, and even before they'd become allies, Starrk's Sonido had been her equivalent, which had seamlessly translated over to Hohou once he'd gained the ability to learn it. Fujiwara's decent enough at it for an Academy student, but still far too slow for Ichigo's liking and also stupidly clumsy and Ichigo can't for the life of him figure out why, so can Starrk please come take a look and see if he can spot the problem or just tell him that there is no problem and all Academy students are just hopeless like this. Starrk wants to say no, but for all that Ichigo gets irritated with his own family for not being able to take no for an answer, the kid himself is actually no better than them, he's just a little more self-conscious about it, but the family resemblance is definitely there beyond just the appearance. Repeatedly refusing would take energy Starrk doesn't have, and he supposes it's nice too to see Ichigo starting to make friends again in this time period, starting to look past his grief. Starrk knows if he really puts his foot down, Ichigo will back off, but he doesn't want to set the kid back in case Ichigo gets the idea to also return to being a perpetual shut-in just because Starrk is, and if that means indulging Ichigo's whims, then so be it. He'd been sent back to serve as babysitter anyway so he may as well do the whole thing properly. And because his luck is just like that, the first time he goes, he finds that Ichigo has already somehow managed to lure his nosy Shiba cousin, his cousin's captain, and the Eighth Division captain Starrk's Shinigami but no he isn't not really not anymore never again to the training grounds even though it's the middle of the afternoon and they should all be at work. At least, judging by the disgruntled expression on Ichigo's face, this hadn't been Ichigo's idea of a good time either. Familiar grey eyes meet his from across the clearing, and for a moment, Starrk is certain someone's ripped his heart out again, leaving only an empty gaping hole in its wake once more, but a thousand times worse than it had ever felt when he'd still been just a Hollow and had never known anything else.

-

2) Honestly Ichigo already spends like 70% of his time in Starrk's room, his own is there just to gather dust and like fake out Kaien cuz the guy either hasn't thought to or at least still has enough manners to refrain from invading Starrk's room too (for now). So like two weeks into the Academy and Ichigo spending five days out of seven crashing on Starrk's floor, Starrk just gives up and goes out to buy an extra futon (and even more pillows because he's a pillow fiend and you can never have too many in his opinion) and Ichigo basically moves in after that. It's definitely comforting for both of them to have the other close by, especially Ichigo because his reikaku abilities are still hit or miss some days. Starrk can relax because his control hasn't been anything less than perfect since his Aizen days but occasionally he still worries about slipping up, except Ichigo is one of the few who can bear the brunt of it so it wouldn't matter even if he does. And Ichigo can relax because he's never really been one for subterfuge, it's actually killing him a little that he can't just bust out his Bankai and either beat Aizen to death or beat some sense into him over the skies of Soul Society like the good old days, but there's nothing he has to hide from Starrk, and Starrk's one of the ones - the only one left now - who's seen Ichigo at his very worst, and likewise it would take a lot of conscious effort on his part to actually hurt Starrk. Lashing out in the midst of a nightmare would wake Starrk but otherwise wouldn't even make him blink.

They can lower their guard around each other in a way they can't anywhere else outside of their room, and with Starrk's habit of carpeting most of the floor with soft things to sleep on, it's only natural to go to sleep next to each other and wake up - in the middle of the night or in the early morning when dawn hasn't even broken yet because it's easier to stare at the ceiling than spend another minute dreaming of faces they'll never truly see again - the same way. Neither of them really moves much when unconscious, and their instincts mark each other as safe, so these days, they sleep best in each other's company.

(This aches too though, sometimes, even though Starrk won't ever voice such a thing out loud. But sleeping with someone else beside him, even when they don't touch beyond an accidental brush of shoulders or a nightmare-fueled flail of a limb digging into his gut, reminds him of another warm body he'd spent close to a decade sleeping beside, half-draped over him or plastered against his back or letting him curl around them in return. It's another thing he'll never have again, but that's hardly Ichigo's fault, and he knows the kid doesn't do well alone either - who in this world does? - so Starrk's hardly going to say anything that would definitely chase Ichigo away because the kid's stupid like that. He locks the sense-memories behind his teeth instead, even when it keeps him up all night or wakes him in the morning just to make him feel like shit all over again when he remembers where and when he is. And it's not always bad. In this era, Ichigo is the only truly familiar thing that doesn't make Starrk's instincts bristle, which means he can sleep more deeply than he would allow himself anywhere else, and that's a comfort in and of itself.)

-

3) This I actually don't know, even in SP I don't really have a ship for Ichigo. But ship candidates are a dime a dozen for him lol. Kisuke's always my go-to for him but I guess he hasn't really been that prominent, although I can def steer things that way. I've written a few KoyoIchi so that's def also a possibility. Shinji is equally likely, and if they could give past!Aizen future!Aizen's memories, I could even pull off AiIchi, although if they could do that, I'd just do the same with Shunsui and then we would have less angst lmao. And it might be weird but I'm not opposed to Ichigo/Asuka but in a platonic neither of us are interested in other ppl and don't want to be bothered by marriage offers so let's just get engaged and it'll even be good for clan politics close friends sort of way. They might develop feelings for each other sometime down the road, but arranged marriage AU would be how it would start (this is actually a wip idea I've had for a long time that I've just never written). Also I just feel like Starrk would be vaguely amused by how they both got attached to Kyourakus (or Kyouraku-adjacent I guess), like what is it about that family 😂 But yeah nothing really concrete yet. Ppl might assume that Starrk and Ichigo are a thing because Ichigo doesn't hang out with anyone else at first, and Starrk basically only leaves school grounds to accompany Ichigo somewhere, but I imagine that would clear up after like thirty minutes of watching them interact, esp once Rangiku and Asuka and Gin are more permanent fixtures in their group and Starrk's just trailing after them like a long-suffering dad, the generational gap would be pretty obvious.

-

4) Oh man I've definitely thought about this. So unlike SP where Ichigo's like It Is My Duty To Go To The Fifth Just To Keep An Eye On Aizen's Shenanigans Even If That Means Self-Inflicted Emotional Torture The Entire Time, Starrk puts a stop to that nonsense in this AU. He doesn't actually care where Ichigo wants to go, Ichigo can take care of himself even if Aizen breaks cover and goes all traitor on them a hundred years early, and he's not here to tell the kid what to do anyway, but when Ichigo's waffling between the Eighth or the Fifth, and it becomes pretty fucking clear that he only wants to go to the Fifth because he thinks he has to, because there's no other way to keep track of Aizen, and he starts getting tunnel vision the way he does when he's brooding and obsessing over protecting people, that's when Starrk steps in.

"It's one thing if you want to go because you want to," Starrk says, watching the kid pace their room like a caged tiger. "But I don't think you do, not with the way you behave around Hirako. Besides, are you even going to be able to get anything done when you'll be constantly stressed out by being so close to Aizen?" He pauses, then adds with a ghost of a smile, "And then there's the fact that you're a really bad liar."

Ichigo swings around to splutter indignantly at him. "I am not! I can lie!"

Starrk shrugs. "Good enough to fool Hirako and Aizen when they'll be right there observing you up close every single day?"

Ichigo opens his mouth, then closes it again. Good, at least he's self-aware.

Starrk lets him think it over for a moment, tracking the conflicted shift of emotions across Ichigo's face - and he wants to play spy in front of the likes of Aizen like this? - before continuing quietly, "This is it, you know."

Ichigo blinks at him, thrown by the non-sequitur.

Starrk sighs and leans back against the windowsill at his back, slanting his gaze to the sky outside, winter-pale but clear. "What we're doing--it isn't a job with an end date. We don't get to go back home once we're done. There's no home to go back to."

In his peripheral, Ichigo is suddenly very still.

"This is it," Starrk repeats without taking his eyes off the distant horizon. "And you gain nothing from focusing all your energy on one man who won't even be showing his hand anytime soon. If anything, finding out you're suspicious of him will only move up his timeline or cause him to do something drastic, and then we might not be able to predict him at all. And that's not even getting into what the Quincy might do if you show your hand too soon, with or without their king. But even that's beside the point."

He turns back to Ichigo, taking in the weary grief in the furrow of his brow and the bitter curve of his mouth, and he knows Ichigo already understands. Still, he finishes as gently as he knows how, "This is where we live now, and maybe it isn't home yet, but maybe it's time to start thinking about what it will take to make it one. How do you want to live, Ichigo? Once everything is over, what kind of life will you have built for yourself by then? Or will you let Aizen dictate that too?"

A minute flinch ripples across Ichigo's shoulders. Starrk presses on, as ruthless as he'd learned from Aizen, from Shunsui even more. "Will you let him hound you all the way to your final grave? Or will you let Yhwach do it again? Your mother died to save you. Your friends died protecting you. Is their love for you only worth yet another suicide run at a bunch of madmen and would-be-gods? Do you think that this was all you were worth to them?"

Ichigo flinches again, and for a split second, his expression scrunches like he wants to take a swing at Starrk.

Starrk waits him out, because Ichigo isn't an idiot, but sometimes, it's like he just can't understand certain things without them being spelled out for him. And some things, Starrk thinks, should be heard, should be said.

He wonders if anyone's ever told this kid that he's allowed to live for himself too.

(He also wonders how much of a hypocrite every word coming out of his mouth right now is going to make him in the future.

But it's different, with Ichigo. Starrk is over a thousand years old. At this point, going to his grave isn't a big deal. But Ichigo hasn't even reached three decades, and he's spent a solid ten of those years on one battlefield or another. If one of them has to die at the end of all this, it definitely shouldn't be Ichigo.

This kid needs to learn how to live. There's no time like the present to start, and if that means Starrk has to hit where it hurts, well, infections must be lanced sooner or later.)

At last, Ichigo's shoulders slump, and he deflates like a balloon, anger and hurt deserting him, leaving only exhaustion in their wake.

"Sometimes, you sound so much like Kyouraku-san it's scary," Ichigo informs him, flopping bonelessly onto a nearby pile of pillows.

Starrk says nothing. If that had been meant to hurt, well, he probably deserves it.

"Aizen does need to be watched," Ichigo persists, but he sounds almost relieved at the possibility that he won't have to be the one to do it.

Starrk grunts dismissively. "I can sense him from here. I know when he's in his office, and when he leaves a double and takes off for Rukongai. I think that's enough for now."

Ichigo's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "His hypnosis isn't affecting you?"

Starrk tips a glance at him. "The soul remembers. It doesn't affect you either, does it?"

"That's true," Ichigo concedes. "But wait, did he never show you his Shikai? Or you touched his blade somehow?"

"My reiatsu ate it," Starrk summarizes succinctly, then clarifies with a flicker of exasperation at the wide-eyed look he gets, "His hypnosis, not his blade. He never put much effort into hypnotizing the Espada, just enough to make sure we'd obey without too much fuss. And when it comes down to it, even Zanpakutou abilities is just reiatsu cast in a specific shape. It was easy enough to get rid of it after I was whole again."

He thinks of Lilynette and breathes through that particular ache, old now, more scar than open wound, but there all the same.

Ichigo makes a comprehending sound. "That's pretty handy. Can your reiatsu eat it if it's cast on someone else?"

Starrk nods. He'd done as much for Shunsui, and a few others as necessary. Aizen had never been able to affect the Captain-Commander again after he'd been let out of Muken. And for all that they'd been nominally on the same side, Aizen had actually tried a few times. Starrk thinks he'd probably just wanted to see if he could, because after each attempt, he'd turn and look at Starrk with something like amusement and something like contempt.

(Once, he'd remarked in private that Starrk certainly had a preference for kneeling at the feet of Shinigami masters, and he'd asked what made Shunsui the better one to serve, if perhaps he also should've forced Starrk to spread his legs for him, if that would've succeeded in breaking Starrk further, in making him even more eager to please, as much as Shunsui had clearly accomplished with him.

Shunsui had overheard. On hindsight, Starrk's fairly certain Aizen had wanted him to, had waited for him to get close enough to hear everything, though for what purpose even Starrk hadn't been able to figure out, because the resulting confrontation hadn't been pretty. It'd been one of the few times Starrk had seen his Shinigami lose his temper, his wrath a silent deadly creature no one would expect, and in that moment, the shadows around them had almost devoured Aizen whole. They'd certainly left their mark in the aftermath, Aizen's flesh cracked open with scars as black as the void. Even then, Starrk doesn't think Aizen had truly been intimidated, but he'd also never said another word of the sort to Starrk ever again.)

"I'd have to get closer to detect his more intricate workings," Starrk admits. "But I think between that and being able to sense him, it's enough of a safeguard without needing to join the Fifth as well. There isn't much of a point to that anyway. It's not like we don't already have a general idea of what he's doing, or where he's doing it. He isn't the sort to leave evidence lying around either so I doubt you'd be able to gather any."

He glances at Ichigo again, finally letting himself relax when he sees the kid nodding along, albeit with a rather grumpy expression.

"For now," Starrk concludes. "It's best to establish our presence here in this time, make connections, make allies, and eventually make sure we have enough people on our side to tip the scales in our favour. Aizen is one thing, but even the two of us can't take down the entire Wandenreich on our own. When the time comes, there must be people willing to believe us even without concrete proof of the Quincy's existence."

He catches Ichigo's eye, intent to get this point across, if nothing else. "No matter how powerful, there is only so much one can do alone. And you are not alone, Ichigo."

Ichigo's face crumples a little, and for a half a heartbeat, Starrk is terrified he's about to cry. Thankfully, that doesn't happen, and a moment later, Ichigo nods, his eyes a little brighter now, his shoulders a little less weighed down.

"Okay," Ichigo says decisively. "Then… I think I want to go to the Eighth." He smiles a bit wryly. "You're both bastards, but somehow, I like that about you guys. And if it's Kyouraku-san, it wouldn't be hard to work under his command."

He stops and grows more solemn, his gaze a little too sympathetic this time. "Will you join the Eighth too?"

"No," Starrk doesn't hesitate. He's already thought about it, had already made up his mind months ago, even before he'd met Shunsui again. His answer had only cemented further after meeting him. Besides, "I'm going to the Fourth."

He thinks of the agreement he'd hashed out with Mimihagi. He thinks of one of the things that had immediately come to mind when time travel of all things had been proposed to him. He thinks of the things he can do, the things he can create.

He thinks of the life he'd bargained for.

"Back in our time," Starrk only says in the end, meeting Ichigo's gaze calmly. "I was told by everyone who knew her that Unohana-taichou was the best healer in living memory. Now she is alive again, so that's what I want. I want to learn from her."

Ichigo snickers, oblivious. "Well, you are a huge medical nerd so I should've known. So long as you're happy I guess. Try not to take over the division again within the year. I wouldn't bet on your odds against Unohana-san."

Starrk rolls his eyes because honestly Kotetsu had practically gift-wrapped her division for him, he hadn't meant to take over, he hadn't even been a halfway respectable healer at the time, he'd just been strong, with the manpower to support the actual healers, and apparently, that'd been enough. He'd been horrified when Shunsui had sided with them.

Ichigo laughs outright, Starrk shakes his head, and with their choices made, the future begins to take shape once more.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Fading with the Leaves: 1/2

‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎Ellie Williams x Fem! Reader‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

݁ ˖ ◜WARNING: Sensitive content. Mentions of grief, PTSD, violence, etc.

݁ ˖ ◜Word count: 4k

݁ ˖ ◜Description: After Ellie loses Joel, everything changes. Her touch fades from your body, replaced with a bitter shell of who once loved you. There is no promise that she will ever return, and you have to learn to give up, though that's easier said than done.

You followed her everywhere she went like blood trailing behind a body, and somehow also like a blessing that's inevitable to humanity, a much needed saving.

You would someday save her.

Ellie constantly felt the flatbacks hit. All of the moments she once took for granted with Joel and now all of those memories felt as if they were for nothing; she was once factually content with her life. The loss and the trauma that she had faced before Joel came into her life became nothing but a scab when she moved to Jackson.

From top to bottom, Ellie was a smart girl. She knew how to kill, how to survive, and how to get herself out of dangerous situations in creative ways. She was raised into violence and grew into a complicated adult. One thing they don't tell you about living in a hellish world like hers is that the flustered, awkward feelings that arise from a sweet face aren't something any knife or round of ammo can prevent.

You were always in her vicinity and at first, she felt as if she were crazy. This beautiful, sweet girl wanted to talk to her? She just couldn't believe it. As time went on, you'd naturally grow on her like the prettiest species of vines that she didn't think to ignore, unlike the verdure that sprouted on the abandoned bricks of the old world.

The blush in your cheeks, those soft smiles passed around town like your own personal calling card, and the scent of cheap strawberry lotion following you like a cloud only haunted her mind. She felt all of this before Joe's death happened. Unfortunately, she knew how much she loved you much before that, and it would be like an everlasting fear that even if she pushed you to the other side of the world, the salty taste of your skin would be engraved into her mind and it made her sick to her stomach in a way that made bile sound appetizing.

Two happy years of having you, or so she thought.

You had been dating for two long years, and it wasn't like some perfect relationship anyone could say was flawless. Ellie only found that to make you more lovely to her poor heart. She couldn't comprehend how someone could have flaws and her own body indulge in those like she was ravaged from thirst and needed you in every way, shape, and form. She needed your sensitivity, your lack of common sense in pressuring situations, and your clinginess. And somehow, your response to the behavior only put her obsession into a magnifying glass.

Ellie's constant flashbacks will never just be of Joel, as bad as those are. No, it's a mix of yearning and grief.

She'll remember the way your lips parted late into the night when she'd place her warm fingertip to your bottom lip, pressing down and sliding the flesh against your tongue in a way that made her belly clench with an undeniable need to take every bit of your soul away and keep it for herself. Even now, mentally separated from you in her current state of life, she would never get tired of you. You were far too vast, like an ocean and she could not bear to be handed a life jacket.

Being so in love can be such a beautiful blessing. Before Joel, she often returned home from her hunting trips to your presence and while days were undeniably tough, you were always a soothing balm that coated her soul twice-over.

Being in love can also make you want to tear apart the world brick by brick, branch by branch.

Ellie couldn't afford to love after Joel died. She swore it off. There was no immediate shut-down in which she broke up with you and isolated herself. It was more like a slow withdrawal from the life she once felt even an ounce of comfort from. She stopped eating your home-made meals and opted to a beer to tide her. Slowly, it became the stronger liquids. Nights that used to be spent well-rested curled up against you turned into late-night hunting trips that she came back from and collapsed onto the cold couch, regardless of you waiting for her in bed.

Ellie knew her behavior was unfair, and you deserved the fucking world, if not a loving partner. But she couldn't be that for you. You were just so beautiful and sweet, she hated imagining you in place of Joel or beside him, a grave complete with fast-fading flowers and that name she loved to say engraved into the stone. Imagining you bitten was even worse. She wanted to keep you all to herself, lock you inside the home just to know you'll always live. But when she was paranoid with thoughts of illness. There was no key to unlocking the doors of death as it hit all mortals. There was only acceptance, and that was a feeling unplaced in her life after such wretched, unfair acts had caused her to lose the one person who willingly raised her into a semi-okay human being.

There was no proper apology she could give you for the snappy words. There was no hug that followed, and no softness in her gaze when her feelings would implode onto you, coating your sensitive feelings with her own pain; Ellie began to hate herself, and yet the cycle was never going to end, it seemed.

-

You always loved Ellie with every ounce of heart you had, which was a lot. You weren't the angel she made you out to be. You only wanted to feel loved when you took a chance into giving her your heart.

But by God, you fell face-first into the heap of mess named Ellie.

She haunted you just as you did her; her auburn locks that so messily beautiful, even the inevitable loose strands were like pieces of perfection carved into one singular person. Her face was molded by emotions you always struggled to read and yet fantasized about her informing you of, and her skin was tainted with freckles that ate away at the apples of her cheeks. By any means was she flawless, either. Enough said of the endless list that made you fall for her so strongly.

Living with her was once a treasure you thought was too good to be true, like some conditions came with it. It wasn't until after everything happened that the reality of the harsh world hit you and refused to make Ellie see how much you wanted to be there for her.

Most people would believe comforting someone in a time of loss would be the right thing to do. You felt this natural instinct watching the light fade from Ellie's face the day after Joel's soul left the Earth. You'd never wanted to save her so badly from her own obsession with intense loss, yet she didn't even give you the chance to. Stuck was the love that you wanted to feel her release onto you, like a key voluntarily jammed in a lock. You watched her destructive behaviors and your tears were nightly shed. You wanted to feel her love again, and to be reminded that she still had those obsessive needs entailing your presence, but the reassurance never came. The nights got longer and the bed, cold.

-

The cold winter breeze blew over the Wyoming farm. Grass was mainly dead, frigid flakes of snow beginning to coat the ground. The sheep were all cozy in the barn that you herded them into. These past few months, you had a habit of doing most of the work around the farm and the house. It was a necessary habit, because Ellie wasn't in any condition to do the work; she was either drunk, asleep, silent, or out hunting. However, even the contributions made in the form of game were lacking. Most days, it was small rabbits or squirrels. You could tell she was beating herself up over that too, behind the lack-luster eyes.

Your hands reached over for the pie dough, weaving through threads of the material. Your hands always seemed to twitch slightly these days, but it was usually cold in the house, making for a reasonable explanation. More than anything, you wanted to pretend all was well.

Baking was always something you loved to do when things got tough. Before you even knew Ellie, you'd spend your time frosting cupcakes or shoveling a tray of brownie batter into the oven. Now, you were just reminded of how many times Ellie had come into the kitchen to steal one of your creations and kiss your cheek. You longed for the way it was so easy with her at one point in your lives.

Still, you placed the pie into the oven and waited. You waited with the silence, pacing around restlessly. Ellie was in the bedroom, probably buried under the blankets, but not asleep. You wanted to give her something to come out for.

30 minutes later, the timer went off. No sign of Ellie. You sighed and with mitts, took the apple lie out. It had the scent of cinnamon tainting it, an aroma that used to be Ellie's favorite. Still, you didn't want to give up. You carefully placed the pie onto the counter and slowly headed for the bedroom, opening the door as quietly as possible.

"Ellie?" You called out, making sure to be gentle with your tone. Anything could set her off, and even a frown was something you wanted to avoid.

Ellie muttered out a soft respond, mostly incomprehensible.

You sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "I made your favorite pie. You want a slice?"

"Don't feel like getting up," she mumbled.

You frowned slightly at that, but something in you wanted to still push. Gently push. "You can have a slice in bed, I'll bring you-"

You were cut off.

"Just go, okay? I don't want the damn pie."

Followed by a soft sigh from underneath the blankets, and a bit of shuffling.

"I'm sorry..just go, please. Put the leftovers in the fridge or whatever."

Your heart sank a bit, and you hated getting snapped at. Still, you loved her. Sometimes, you endured some fucked up things for love.

You closed the door behind you.

-

Winter season was one of your least favorites of the seasonal climates. Summer was much nicer, you thought. Beautiful rays of sunshine that painted the grass with greenery. Hours spent in the creek a mile from the farmhouse turned into your eyes flickering down into the icy surface, thoughts muddled with Ellie. You hoped she would break soon.

Today, you woke up and went on with your usual morning routine. You made breakfast, and you made sure to leave leftovers in the fridge for Ellie, even though she had already left for another hunt, without a word, of course. You spent the first quarter of the day doing chores and enduring the cold to take care of the livestock. Once done, you felt restless. You wanted to do something, but you didn't know what. Life felt so boring these days, and you wanted to break away from the routine you and Ellie found yourselves in. So you decided to do something special in hopes she'd appreciate you.

-

When Ellie came home from her hunting trip, she opened the door and was floored.

The kitchen table had centralized candles, warm soft glow emitting and adding light to the rather dim room. It was a heat that used to exist between the two of you and lingered like a smoke filling a car, a car Ellie intended to escape from. There was a new cloth laid out, and on top of it were two glasses of red wine and two plates of spaghetti, truly one of Ellie's favorite meals, or was one of her favorites. However, she lastly noticed you standing beside it all with a nervous but hopeful upturn in your lips.

You looked fucking gorgeous.

Ellie always admired your style, even back in Jackson. It was clear that you sometimes wandered off during patrol in search of some pieces to bring back to your closet. She used to find it extremely endearing, teasing you over some claw clip in your hair or a new skirt you found in an abandoned home's master bedroom.

Now, standing in front of her, your hair was up and loose strands fell like a stream from a waterfall, all chaotic and natural but there was much intent behind it. Your lips were an exaggerated rosy pink, and they were slight parted like two delicate, plush petals. They looked like the petals of a pretty tulip picked straight from a meadow, only being the most perfect flower of all. If she had seen you months ago, she would've had the cosmetic substance coating your lips smudged over your pretty face. Now, she could only brush past it as her eyes flickered down to the satin dress hugging your body in ways she'd only seen when you were naked.

"I'm not doing this with you," She stated, trying to sound monotonous but ultimately failing, "I can't do this tonight."

"Ellie, sit down. Just eat with me, please." You gestured to the chairs, vulnerability still written all over your pretty face and signed on your trembling lips.

"I'm not hungry."

"You know that's not true. You skipped breakfast this morning and probably lunch." You knew you were pushing it, but you were at your limit with the way things were going. You knew she was struggling, that no dinner could heal her, but you still wanted to at least make a start.

That's when she doubled down.

"Because I'm not fucking hungry. I'm going to watch tv now." She walked right past the table and when you reached out to grab her, your grip a bit too clingy. She turned around, and the irritation that used to be subtle boiled over.

It used to be subtle, at least. There were always recent moments in which her agitated moods doubled into more, something that bordered the anger that she contained towards Joel's killers. Now, she can't help it; it leaks out through her voice, the tone that you've now grown to hate. You wonder how much you can stand, but she'll be sure to show you.

Her hands gripped at the kitchen table, pushing it away and sending the glasses of wine to be shattered into glass shards spread all over the tiled floor; a quite accurate representation of what seemed to be happening inside of you at the moment. The plates hit the ground as well, and there was a mess that joined the red liquid staining the floor you mopped hours ago.

Everything was a fucking mess.

You stared at her in silence. Ellie stared back, but not meeting your eyes. She wasn't making a move to leave you alone in the kitchen, though, as if she wanted to see your reaction. She wanted to see if you'd given up on her so she wouldn't have to worry about you leaving her like Joel did.

"Why'd you do that?" You spoke, and you sounded so hurt, so done. It sent a pain through Ellie's chest; she had never witnessed such hopelessness from you.

Always so sweet and carefree, as if you were oblivious to the world around you, to all of the death and violence that followed human kind. Ellie used to need that behavior from you because you would provide her with a beacon of light that she wasn't able to be herself. However, now, that beacon felt ever-blinding. She felt the need to drop the lantern that was your hope onto the floor, even if it shattered her in the process.

Silence followed.

You didn't question her again. You simply grabbed a kitchen towel, knees falling to the floor as you began to rub at the spilled wine. It wasn't like how you had cleaned earlier, not like it was something you focused on to forget Ellie's negligence. Now, it was like you were on the midst of reaching your lowest point in life. Fuck, now that made Ellie feel really, really guilty.

Tears were patching up your vision, making it hard to see. Streams of salty moisture was now visible on your cheeks, hands shaking as you frantically tried to gather up pieces of glass without a thought to what it'd feel like to hurt yourself with a shard brushing up against your skin.

Ellie tried to reason that she should scurry off upstairs to leave you alone without a second thought, but her mouth was speaking before she could process what she was saying.

"I know it's not your fault. It's all mine." She sounded, for the first time, like she cared.

You gazed up at her through tear-clouded eyes. You should've probably kicked her out for the night, told her to go back to Jackson and crash on Jesse's couch. Something deep within you, something foolish and perhaps even blind, stopped you.

"Just..head to bed, okay? Go to bed, and I'll get this all cleaned up." You mumbled quietly, and the lack of hope or effort to appease her didn't go unnoticed by Ellie. She could tell you were about to really be done with her.

This would be the first night she would be sleeping in your shared bed. She probably would've protested, but all the fight contained within her to push you away was released. Ellie only nodded and her footsteps faded as she left the kitchen.

Cleaning vigorously only helped distract you from the racing in your chest just a bit.

You used to believe that Ellie was confidently obsessed with you. Her heart used to seem so yearning for you and her hands, those needy hands would always seek you out. Now, you felt as one-sided as this had started. Nothing could completely wipe away the pain of feeling unwanted, no amount of scrubbing away the wine or sweeping up glass. Nothing could ever be the same, you were starting to believe.

The kitchen floor was shiny now, but you felt like a train-wreck inside. You longed for life to feel easier, even with the struggles you were forced to endure. It's much harder to face those alone, and it's especially hard when the person you're losing is slipping away on their own and not by the grim reaper's grasp. Your hands grasped at the table for support as you lifted yourself up off of the ground after scrubbing away the mess completely, and you slowly entered the bedroom.

Ellie wasn't buried underneath the blankets. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, and you could tell she was waiting for you to be done cleaning. You felt uneasy in your stomach, and all you wanted was for her to finally speak. But she was silent until the words that made your face pale left her chapped lips.

"I have to leave."

"...what?" You wanted to put up a fight. You wished you had it in you to scream and yell at her, to beg and plead for her to stay, but she'd completely drained your once rose-tinted cheeks of power. She held a grasp over you and intended to squeeze.

She finally looked at you. "I have to kill them, and then maybe I can come back to you and be who you need me to be."

She was truly demented now, you thought to yourself. Your fingers were twitching, fidgeting with the end of your sleeve. She had the audacity to speak again.

"I can get revenge and maybe then, I can-"

"Just go. I'm done pretending like I want this. I feel like I'm living with a damn ghost, Ellie." You couldn't take it anymore: the one-sided fights, the one-sided feelings, the constant distance and sleepless nights. At this point, you weren't sure if you wanted her to return. She looked surprised that you had agreed so easily, though, and it left her feeling even worse because Ellie could tell that you just simply gave up.

"Alright, then. I promise I'll be back. I promise I still love you. I'm so sorry." She stood up slowly and her hands cupped your face. You made no move to lean into her touch or to push her away, only silently appreciate her warmth, even though your mind was telling you she probably wouldn't be coming back.

She leaned in, her warm breath on your cheek, and pressed two plush lips to it. You let out a breath of your own and closed your eyes. Footsteps rang in your head louder than her boots realistically were.

When your eyes opened, she was gone.

_

Spring followed suit of the bitter winter.

The trees that were once devoid of life sprouted new potential, and the creek stream flowed ever-the-same. Little white flowers with their pure petals sprouted in your yard, and the sheep seemed to be more content with the grassy utopia grown throughout the yard now that the cold was behind it.

Overall, the atmosphere was lighter and swept clean of a hopeless, frigid ache. It had been approximately four months since Ellie left.

The first and second month was the hardest. You wondered how someone could just leave the person they claim to love the hardest in their life. You thought that the pain would be never-ending, but you were always changing, just like the seasons. Just not in chronological order, only through cycles that couldn't end.

Even after four months, sometimes you thought of her. You wondered if she was gone from the Earth, her body left to be feasted upon by infected or if she was on some dirty floor with a bullet in her head. You wouldn't be surprised; the girl had too much bravado, and she'd be sure to get herself killed that way. She couldn't suck it up, even to the one behind the gun. Still, the ache in your chest was lightening.

You felt guilty to think that you were moving on. She could actually come back, and she'd be needing you more than anything. She could walk through that wooden door at any minute and grovel over the months she hurt you.

You were starting to wonder if you could bear to take her back. The chores were easier than ever, though, now that you didn't feel the tense grief looming in the air. The house was empty, and you were completely alone, and somehow not as lonely as you could imagine.

However, late at night, you would dwell on what Ellie would do if she were here, and if the grief she carried would've been passed like it should've been. You could somehow feel the way her breath would tickle your neck and she'd trace her chapped but soft lips over your skin like she was tending to more than just some girl. Like you were her goddess, and that was how things once were. You could still smell her everywhere in your bed, the scent of sweat mixed in with Earth. It always lingered and the memories of her ghost touches seemed to hit you like a flash bang.

Those nights grew less and less frequent, however.

_

Summer nights were spent in the old house you inhabited in Jackson.

The farmhouse was much too spacious for one person, so after much consideration, you returned to the settlement.

You were welcomed with warm, open arms. You desperately missed your friend, Dina, and how she matched your spirits. You spent the summer going to parties and bonfires, staying over at Dina's house and smoking the occasional weed. Your once quiet lifestyle turned into what it once was, maybe even better. Nights became filled with the sound of your crackled laughter, and Dina sporting up some joke that Jesse would roll his eyes at watching you topple over, clutching at your stomach as if it were the peak of comedy.

Your house felt warm and filled with new emotions; it was like the once pale, neutral undertones were painted over with a layer of bright, fresh paint. Still, the cracks in the walls of your soul would remain at times.

Always did the freckled face, the auburn tufts of hair, and the wide eyes follow you, though. After a while, it all seemed to fade away, like a bath bomb in water. You pulled the drain out and you believed that you closed the chapter on Ellie's presence in your life.

It was then, on a late July day, that she returned.

[lostsyren]

love your fanfics on Rafe and Sofia! 😍👏😍👏 I was wondering if I could request something on how Rafe first met Sofia’s dad. There was a scene in S4 where her dad enters into her room but looks around before going inside to talk to Sofia. Idk but it makes me think her dad walked in on her and rafe once and that’s how he met him 😂💀

⋆𝄞⋆ my place or yours?

{a/n: thank you sooo much for the kind words! i hope this is what you expected! i kinda got a bit carried away!}

{summary: rafe and sofia decide to go to her place for a change, but things don’t go to plan…}

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It was the day the furniture was being moved into Rafe’s new house– that meant Rafe and Sofia were left stranded.

He turned to face her as they stood on the lawn watching the U-Haul truck pull into the drive. “Why can’t we go to yours again?”

Sofia rolled her eyes– this was the third time he’d pestered her about it. “Because Rafe, my parents wouldn’t like it.”

“We’d just chill– it’ll all be PG 13 yeah?” He teased with a smile, giving her a little nudge.

Sofia scoffed but a small grin crept across her face.

“Fine. But you gotta sneak in from the back.”

So that’s how Rafe ended up teetering between the street and Sofia’s back-garden, throwing his leg over the rickety fence and landing with a quiet thud on the grass. It was still daytime so he didn’t even have the cover of darkness– he just loitered about, hoping to god none of her family would spot him.

His phone buzzed with a text from Sofia.

S: coast is clear

He let out a little chuckle, sprightly following Sofia’s instructions: Past the oak tree and the first door on the right.

With surveying eyes, he quickly made it there, Sofia opening the door straightaway, yanking him inside by the forearm.

“Woah somebody’s eager,” he smirked, enjoying the way he could rile her up so easily.

“Oh shush, my parents and my siblings are home so you have to be quiet ok?”

Rafe mimed zipping his lips, before he let his eyes roam her room. It was small but cozy, the sunlight filtering in through the floral lace curtains, her bed littered in fluffy pillows and a quilted throw, a cutesy vintage record player on the drawer. It was so Sofia– a mismatched assortment of pretty things. She was like that, he’d noticed, a collector– finding beauty in everything and treating nothing like it was worth something. He sometimes felt like one of her trinkets– the way she’d cherish him sometimes, even when he didn’t deserve it.

“I know you’re used to something a bit more grand,” Sofia mumbled, watching as he drank in her room, tone reserved.

“It’s cute, I like it.” He quickly said, smiling down at her.

“Yeah?” A bright grin spread across her face, making him suffuse with giddiness.

“Yeah.”

“Ok, sit down, let me show you the records I found at the thrift store the other day, in near perfect condition– I couldn’t believe someone just gave them away like that!” She gushed, tugging him by the wrists and gently nudging him to take a seat on her bed.

With a soft grin on his face, Rafe watched Sofia display her bounty, eyes glinting like shiny gems– they always did that when she got excited.

He really tried to focus on what she was saying, but she looked so damn beautiful, cast in the sunlight pooling in from her window, a sense of comfortability that he’d never seen her posses suddenly exuding out of her. This was her room, her little slice of the world, and here she was showing him. Rafe’s heart surged with pride.

Sofia abruptly stopped her rambling, “am I boring you? You can tell me if you’re bored.”

Rafe shook his head, stretching his arms out so they slung lazily around her hips as she stood looking down at him with a winsome expression.

“Never bored by you.” He pulled her down so she was sat in his lap, Sofia letting out a little gasp of shock, her arms flying around his neck.

“Rafe,” she warned, twisting around to make sure no one was outside her door.

“Just one kiss.” He murmured, breath tickling her chest.

“It’s never ends up being one kiss.”

Rafe smirked, his hands roaming up her shirt, massaging soft circles into her skin, as he met his lips with hers with a ravenous softness. Pulling away with a teasing grin, his stomach somersaulted at the image of Sofia trailing for more, her eyes lidded as if in a kiss-drunk haze.

“There…one kiss. We can stop now…”

Sofia rolled her eyes, “that’s not fair.”

“Your rules not mine baby.”

Sofia pushed him back onto her bed until she was left straddling him, Rafe intoxicated by her low breaths and wet lips.

“You better be quiet ok?” She whispered, resting her hands on his chest.

“You’re the one who ends making the most noise–“

“Shut up,” she playfully dismissed, before resuming their kisses, Rafe’s hands greedily running up and down the planes of her body.

They stayed like that for a while, Rafe savouring the way she took control, letting himself sink into her mattress, luxuriating in her velvety blankets and satin pillows that crowned his head.

But her movements soon became languorous and mellow, Sofia’s tell-tale sign she was beginning to get tired. Rafe then gripped her hips, flipping her on to her back in one swift yet gentle manoeuvre, their mouths still hooked by a kiss, until he was the one towering over her.

“God, you’re tired already?” He whispered against the sensitive spot on her neck, between his voracious kisses.

“No…” she lied, her swollen lips caught between her teeth as she simpered up at him, her eyes once again scintillating like diamonds.

“Didn’t take you for liar Sof,” he joked, as his hands traipsed lower, his hot palm pressed against her navel, making her squirm.

“You lied to me…PG 13? You look like you’re about two seconds away from making this an R rated feature.”

“Stop putting ideas in my head.”

Rafe kissed her again, breathlessly, hungrily, inhaling every little noise she made.

He was so enamoured by her lithe body moving up to graze his, lost in their idyllic stupor, glorying in the sensation of her feathery fingers skimming his midriff– he didn’t even realise what made Sofia scramble away from him.

He moved off her quickly, following her eye line to the doorway.

Shit. It was her dad.

“Pinche cabrón,” he yelled, in what Rafe presumed was a curse, striding across the small gap between the bed and the door, grabbing Rafe by the collar of his shirt and yanking him up to his feet.

“No dad stop!” Sofia interceded, clumsily pulling her father’s hands off of her boyfriend.

He let go, leaving Rafe standing between Sofia and her father, silently praying to god the ground would open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole. He regretted ever pestering Sofia to let him go to her place.

“¿Qué crees que estás haciendo, niñita?” He groused, question directed to Sofia but gaze still firmly affixed on to Rafe, who began to swelter under his scrutiny.

Rafe opened his mouth, tongue like sandpaper, throat all dry, “I’m so sorry sir–“

“You shut up, I am talking to my daughter.”

“Dad, this is Rafe, remember I told you about him?” Sofia tried to alleviate the tension, her tone imploring and meditative.

Her dad’s eyes narrowed, still harbouring a bitter distaste for the boy in front of him. “Sneaking him in like that? That’s not like you Sofia,” her dad chastised.

“It was my idea sir, don’t blame her–“

“Listen kid, you’re already getting on my nerves, so I’d suggest you zip it, yeah?”

“Yes sir.” Rafe shut up. He hated this, scared that her dad would beat him up or something– because that’s what fathers did, didn’t they? And he wouldn’t even be able to fight back since it was literally Sofia’s dad. A sharp pit lodged itself in his stomach at the reminder of his own father.

Sofia was saying something to placate him, and it seemed to be working. But Rafe was too overcome by his ambushing memories to comprehend the conversation.

Her dad nodded his head slowly, his previously stony eyes softening when he looked at his daughter. Rafe stirred with sadness, remembering how cold Ward’s gaze always was. (It was only on the steps of the plane did Rafe feel some semblance of warmth from his father’s eyes).

“Fine, but keep the door open, and I want you to stay for dinner Rafe, ok?”

Rafe was taken aback, his mouth dropping slightly, “dinner? Yeah of course I’d be honoured– thank you sir.”

“You’re lucky Sofia likes you,” he muttered, before turning to leave, making a show of keeping the door wide open. Once her dad was far enough away, Sofia collapsed back into bed, her hands shrouding her face.

“That was mortifying,” she mumbled.

“For you or for me? Your dad hates me now.”

“Yeah well you’re the one who started it– just one kiss, that worked out real well, didn’t it?”

“Hey you’re the one who jumped on top of me!”

Sofia rolled her yes, beginning to giggle quietly, until her laughs faded away, her eyes turning serious.

“He didn’t hurt you did he?” She asked, sitting up as Rafe took a seat opposite her on the chair instead of the bed, scared that her dad would return again unannounced, to check on them.

“No, I’m more embarrassed than anything– god, whose great idea was this?”

Sofia scoffed throwing a pillow at his face.

Rafe just chuckled, throwing it back at her softly so it wouldn’t hurt, “he wants me to stay for dinner? Really?”

“Of course,” Sofia soothed, leaning over to hold his hands in hers, “you don’t mind do you? I can make an excuse for you if you want to leave?” She murmured, almost embarrassed.

Rafe’s fingers tightened around her own, “of course I want to stay.”

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable…I know your family wasn’t the greatest.” Her voice lowered, resembling silk that wrapped around his throat. He held back a choked sob, feeling exposed. Naked.

“I’ll be fine, you’ll be there.” He tried to smile, but it came off as a grimace.

“I promise they’ll love you.” Sofia assured sweetly, shaking his hands with her vow.

Rafe fidgeted at the funny feeling that pooled in his abdomen– love. It was such an alien concept to him. He loved his father. He loves Sofia. But he wondered who loved him?

Glancing toward Sofia’s consoling visage, he finally smiled easily, assuaged by her opiating essence. She loved him…he tried to ignore his morbid past he kept under wraps, pushing it to the deepest trenches of his heart. That wasn’t him– this was. The man he’d become around Sofia. At least that’s what he told himself.

Sofia lifted his hands with her own, bringing Rafe’s knuckles to her lips and brushing a soft kiss against his rough skin, “it’ll be ok.”

Rafe nodded, letting his anxiety melt away at her touch, “ok, I trust you.”

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Dinner time rolled round quickly, Sofia leading him to the kitchen, Rafe trailing behind like lost puppy. He felt like he was taking up too much space in their house, everything already so bustling and enclosed.

Her mom was in the kitchen, stirring something that smelled amazing whilst her siblings were scattered everywhere. One was watching TV in the living room, another was running about in her little fairy wings and the last one was helping her dad fix a broken shelf.

Rafe smiled at the havoc, being reminded of dinner time at Tannyhill where him, Sarah and Wheezie would rile Rose up, before being on their best behaviour when Ward came out of the study.

He missed it.

Sometimes it got lonely in that big house of his– if it wasn’t for Sofia, Rafe sometimes thought he’d go insane.

“Sorry about all the chaos,” Sofia said sheepishly, turning around with an apologetic smile.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s nice.” That’s all he could say? Nice?

But Sofia took no notice of his scarce vocabulary, instead leading him to the dining table and telling him to take a seat.

“Wait where you going?” He asked when she didn’t take a seat beside him.

“Just in the kitchen to help out my mom, I’ll be back in a bit yeah, just relax.” She squeezed his shoulder placatingly.

So Rafe tried to do that, relax, tapping his fingers restlessly against the hardwood table. His gaze continually strayed to Sofia in the kitchen, but she was too busy getting the food ready to meet his eyes. Her little sister whizzed about the room, flapping her arms as she pretended to fly, Rafe recalling Wheezie doing the same thing when she was kid. His heart stirred with an aching nostalgia.

Sofia’s little sister eventually took notice of the strange man sitting at their dining table, stopping still in her tracks, before nervously approaching him, shrugging off her fairy wings as if she was embarrassed. Rafe offered her a smile and a friendly wave, trying his best not to appear scary or intimidating. But it was hard to do when was 6,2 with a buzz cut– and apparently he had a resting-scary face, that’s what Sofia had told him– whatever that meant.

And he was notoriously bad with kids, never knowing what to do or say around them. They always ended up crying because of him or running away from him, so the nerves began to quickly inundate Rafe when the little girl came and sat right next to him.

“Hello,” he greeted, mind blank.

“Hi.” Her eyes wandered about the room, occasionally lingering on Rafe’s face, when she thought he couldn’t see.

“So what’s your name?” Rafe asked, scratching the back of his neck.

“Isla.”

“That’s a pretty name.” He realised he was quickly running out of conversation starters.

“Are you Sofia’s boyfriend?” She suddenly asked, blunt as a rock.

He laughed nervously, beginning to feel hot, “yeah I am.”

How was a 10 years old making him this anxious?

“Isla, I hope you’re being nice to our guest,” Sofia’s voice suddenly saved him from the awkward silence.

“She was being wonderful,” Rafe said, giving Isla a playful smile, one which she actually reciprocated this time round– it made his heart swell with warmth.

Soon the table was set and everyone took their seats. On one side of Rafe sat Isla, and on the other was Sofia, her parents on either end of the table, the two other kids opposite them. Their names were Anita and Luca, Rafe learnt.

Sofia’s mom had made some sort of meat stew with beans and rice that looked delicious and smelled even better. Rafe wasn’t used to home cooked meals– Rose or Ward never cooked and he could barely remember his mom’s cooking. The thought sent ripples of sadness through him, which he endeavoured to push past.

“Thank you Mrs Flores,” Rafe nodded his head in gratitude, trying his best to make a good first impression on Sofia’s mom at least.

“I tried to make it not too hot for you– Sofia told me you couldn’t handle spice.”

“Mama,” Sofia whispered, glancing at Rafe in chagrin.

Rafe kicked her gently under the table– it was true, he couldn’t handle spice but she didn’t need to embarrass him like that.

“Oh she’s just making fun, I love spicy food.” He lied, giving her mom a flashing smile.

They all got to eating, Anita and Luca bickering between mouthfuls of rice, Mrs Flores constantly having to remind Isla to finish her food, and Mr Flores glancing ever so often between his daughter and Rafe, trying his best to remain poker faced.

The first few spoonfuls were fine, probably the best thing Rafe had eaten in a long time, but soon the spice began to build up, hitting the back of his throat. He tried his best not to cough but that just made it worse, his oesophagus feeling like it was on fire.

“Baby drink some water,” Sofia whispered beside him, noticing him silently struggle. Anita and Luca seemed to notice too, and soon began to chitter with barely concealed giggles.

“Cállate,” Sofia hissed, whilst Rafe just tried to survive.

“So Rafe, Sofia tells me you’ve moved house recently.” Her dad began, paying no heed to the commotion around the table, as if he was used to it.

Rafe took a long sip of water before his answer, “yeah actually, thought it was about time.”

“And you’re a property developer?”

Rafe just nodded, taking down another gulp of water.

Sofia was still squabbling with Anita and Luca and Isla has gotten distracted, beginning to make a tower of mashed up rice.

“How do you feel about those new rezoning laws– must mean business is booming for you right?”

“Dad.” Sofia clipped warily, suddenly honing into the conversation.

“Well I personally haven’t rezoned anything, but a couple of people have started.”

“Hmn,” Mr Flores hummed, taking another forkful of food. Rafe was glad he’d left it at that– business talk never led to anywhere good. He recalled countless arguments between him and Ward over the business at the dinner table– arguments he’d never get to have again, he realised with a bitter afterthought.

Mrs Flores thankfully changed the conversation, asking if Rafe liked the stew and if he’d ever had Mexican food before.

And before Rafe knew it, dinner was over, the kids all rushing to the kitchen to deposit their plates and go back to their games and TV, leaving Rafe to say his thank yous and goodbyes.

“Thanks for dinner, I appreciate it.” He said.

“Of course Rafe, anytime.” Mrs Flores smiled.

Sofia’s dad gave him a reserved nod of the head, letting his daughter see him out.

Once they reached the front door, Rafe let his body relax, a deep sigh escaping his chest.

Sofia giggled seeing his pent up stress, “see I told you it’d be fine.”

“Fine? You forgot to mention the spice, I was dying there– at least your siblings were entertained.” He joked.

“Oh stop being a baby.”

The two stood in the doorway, faces stuck in a lingering smile.

“I had fun, thank you Sofia,” Rafe finally said, tone sincere.

“No– thank you for staying, you didn’t have to but you did…that means a lot to me.”

That funny feeling began to rouse in his chest again– the sickening sentiment of being appreciated.

“Well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?” He said, rubbing a palm across the nape of his neck.

“Yeah, see you then.” Sofia tiptoed up to press a kiss against his lips, Rafe letting himself melt into her body, his hands planted on her waist.

“I’m scared your dad is going to interrupt us again.” He whispered against her mouth.

Sofia laughed softly, “yeah we’re never doing that again.”

Rafe left Sofia’s house, a strange sensation of floating settling over him. For a brief moment it felt like he was a part of a family again, his body consumed by a warmth he didn’t knew still lived inside him.

⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮

[theoncomingchaos]

Who loves Rook: Spite or Lucanis

I've been seeing a lot of discourse about this, and I just want to add my thoughts.

I might be totally wrong about this, but here we go. When Spite was put into Lucanis, he was still Determination. The fact that he changed throughout the torture, forced insertion, and imprisonment suggests to me that they have been put into a speedrun of a similar situation to Anders and Justice/Vengeance where they have started to meld. (As Anders put it, you wouldn't know where one begins and the other ends). Just like Anders and Vengeance, Lucanis and Spite can have separate consciousnesses and even disagree about things, but their core values have started to influence one another and become a part of one another- heightening certain aspects.

I think this melding is why we see some dialogues where Rook tells Lucanis that he sounds like Spite and similarly it's also the reason for the shared attraction- which I fully believe is coming originally from Lucanis.

I'll be honest my first time through I romanced Lucanis and was very disappointed. I didn't even see him and Neve ever flirt (she only ever encouraged us!) But still, it seemed to go from 0 to 60 with him. Now, I am on my second playthrough and I only just met him, but I am starting to see some really subtle looks and dialogues that suggest that Lucanis wasn't lying later when he said he was attracted to Rook from the beginning, but was afraid to really pursue anything or even acknowledge the possibility of being with them. With his fear of trusting people, ptsd from the prison, failed history in romance, and his new situation with Spite that he still hadn't worked out yet, he never thought anything would or could ever come of his feelings. We know Lucanis loves romance stories and likely longs for one of his own, but in such a situation it must have seemed truly impossible and terrifying to let someone else in. Especially someone you really care for and are starting to trust. So, he pushed it all down. Rook flirts? Maybe a small smile, but then quickly lock it all up with everything else he can't handle. Focus on work. Don't think about Spite, or Rook, or anything difficult.

However, if the melding has already happened as I suspect, then the feelings Spite is expressing are shared with (and likely sourced from) Lucanis, he's just better at expressing it directly- which makes sense for a spirit that was once Determination. When you first talk to Lucanis after the rescue, the thing Spite says about Rook changes accordingly to your tone, but to me the responses still sound like they come from Lucanis and are then echoed in Spite: "He doesn't want to hurt us." Even the "He's more fun than you" is something Lucanis seems to think about himself as he is fully aware that much of his life has not been his own and believes "all he knows is death."

Leading back to the main point, Lucanis's trust and interest in Rook would be heightened by Spite the way Anders' anger towards the templars was heightened. Even though they are finally free from the prison, their is a sense of constant suffering from still feeling trapped by fear, regret, and pain- Spite feels that suffering too. The elements of determination are still within him the same way justice is another side to vengeance. Both spite and vengeance are the results of failing to achieve their goals of Justice and Determination. Spite sees Rook as a way to free them from pain and restraint, a glowing and beautiful key to the prison door, and he is determined to do what needs to be done to solve the problem. That's why he doesn't hesitate. He has no fear. He wants to talk to Rook. He wants Rook to come in and free them.

After Rook has freed them, they become a source of comfort and safety, once they encourage Lucanis and Spite to find a way to cohabit comfortably, the two continue to meld, and the need to protect Rook, to love Rook, to keep them, is very deeply shared. Now, IF Spite was somehow removed or even somehow restored (Both of which I think are impossible) that would likely change. Determination outside of Lucanis would likely become more like Compassion. He would likely forget the horrors he experienced to return to his original purpose.

So, that leaves some final questions, particularly one Hawke helpfully asked Anders- Is Spite an unwilling party in the threesome?

That's up to everyone's own morality. While both Spite and Lucanis didn't have a choice to become like this, it is the situation they are in and the way they have to find a way to accept and live with because there really doesn't seem to be any real way to change it. Through their time together, Lucanis and Spite have influenced each other and grown into something new. Part of that is Spite also loving Rook. In that way, for those who are feeling (rightfully) underwhelmed by Lucanis's romance, Spite can almost be seen as a symbolic expression of Lucanis's love.

All that being said, I think there were some small things they could have done to make the romance more satisfying over all...but I'll save that for another post.

[strawberri-blonde]

Chocolate Milk with a Side of Cuddling - Rafe Cameron

summary: you just want to love on the person who you love the most

warning: allusions to sex; maybe some cussing words

authors note: I love my baby daddy Rafe and idc who knows

materlist

You and Rafe had only started dating recently after months of yearning from both sides. You finally decided to stop letting fear of his past control how you felt about him, and once you did, you wished you’d let yourself have him sooner.

Rafe is everything you’ve ever wanted in a partner. He looks out for you in so many ways, from always keeping his hand on your lower back when you go out with his friends or to the local grocery store, to constantly texting you to check up on you or letting you know what he’s up to (even though you share locations). He does little things like putting his hand on the end of a table when you bend down so you won’t bump your head. He surprises you with presents despite you saying you don’t need all of it, always responding with, “I like knowing my girl is wearing things I bought her.” And after that, who could turn it down?

He’s also a great lover in the bedroom, always putting your needs before his own, pulling you to the peak of ecstasy over and over again before his own release. He even always cleans you up and makes sure you pee afterward, and while you finish freshening up, he’ll make you your favorite snack: chocolate milk with apple slices (peeled, of course) with peanut butter. He teases you by calling you a child, but that doesn’t stop him from learning the perfect ratio of milk to chocolate syrup and that you like green apples best with crunchy peanut butter. But if you could change one thing about him, it would be that he doesn’t let you love him the way he deserves and how you desperately want to.

After refreshing yourself, you put on one of his shirts and removed the huge king-sized blanket that you both referred to as your sex blanket because it was mainly used to protect your sheets from the mess (you) made. Once you bundled the soft fabric up, you threw it in the laundry basket and crawled back into bed. As you settled back on your side, Rafe returned to the bedroom with a tall pink glass and a small pink sauce plate. His boxers hung low on his hips, making you blatantly stare at his v-line. “Damn, that’s a four-course meal right there?”

Rafe smirked as he walked over to your side of the bed, setting the cup and plate on your nightstand. "Nah, more like a snack from burning all your energy," he said with a wink.

You chuckled, wrapping a hand around his wrist and pulling him closer until he was standing right by the bed. You shifted your position so he was standing over you, looking down with that playful glint in his eyes.

You let out a hum and kissed the dip in his abs. "Wasn't talking about the apples," you mumbled against his skin, feeling him slightly stiffen from your affection. Luckily, he's been loosening up to you some.

"Is that right?" His voice was full of confidence as you kissed up as far as you could reach, then wrapped your arms around his warm waist and tilted your head up, resting your chin on his chest. "I didn't give you enough of a fill, baby? Need me to grab my own midnight snack?" Rafe kissed your forehead and cupped your face in his big hands, making your stomach churn with butterflies.

As his lips were about to touch yours, you lightly dragged your fingernails down his back and grabbed his wrist. "You know I can't get enough of you," you murmured. Rafe kissed you deeply, and you happily accepted, but you pulled back to let out a yawn, making him laugh as you blushed.

"Maybe you can then?" he teased.

You both settled into bed, of course, after you had your snack and drink (Rafe helped you eat some of the apples). As the darkness enveloped you both, your eyes locked onto the back of his head, feeling a sense of warmth and contentment.

You wanted to be close to him. You guys didn’t cuddle much, but tonight you wanted to change that. Slowly, you shifted closer to him and wrapped your arm around his waist, making Rafe look back at you through the darkness.

"What is it, baby?" he asked softly. You shook your head and kissed his bare shoulder.

"Just wanted to cuddle tonight."

This seemed to catch his attention because he turned over, and you pressed a hand to his chest. He looked at you with a questioning expression and hesitated. "We've been together for three months, and we don’t hold one another. I want to love on you, Rafe, and not just when we have sex. Do you... do you not like to cuddle?"

He looked embarrassed, which was so unlike the confident man you knew. "I've never really done that. I mean, most, if not all, of the girls I've been with were just physical."

You hummed at his confession, trying not to get jealous because he was with you now, not them.

"And my mom died when I was little, so I haven't really felt what it's like to have someone hug me just because they cared."

His confession made your heart clench, and you rubbed his chest in slow, small circles.

"I care, Rafe. I love you." The room grew quiet, and Rafe kissed your lips as gently as ever, then hesitantly wrapped his arm around you.

You kissed him back and slid your hand down his chest, wrapping an arm around him as well. "Let me show you how nice cuddling someone you care about can be." He nodded, and you gently pushed him back so he was laying on his back. You kissed him softly, then trailed those kisses down to his chest. Finally, you laid your cheek against his skin, feeling the warmth and steady rhythm of his heartbeat. You wrapped your arm around him, nuzzling into his warm body, creating a cocoon of comfort and love.

Rafe was unsure as his hand slowly rubbed your back, seemingly not knowing what to do with his other one. "Don't think about it too much, baby," you whispered into the dark room. "It's just me and you." Your thumb traced gentle circles on his skin.

Finally, he linked his arm with yours, his hand gripping your bicep. You let out a content sigh and kissed the skin beneath your cheek. "You're the perfect man, Rafe. You take care of me so well. I just wish you'd let me take care of you too."

He was too quiet, so you looked up and noticed tears in his eyes, reflecting the soft glow from the plug-in diffusers in the room. "Rafe, what's wrong?" you asked gently, trying to pull away, but he held you close, not wanting to let go. "If you don't like this—"

"I've... I've never had someone love me the way you do, baby, that's all," he said, his voice breaking with emotion. He kissed the top of your head tenderly, and you reached up to brush away the few stray tears on his face. "It's just overwhelming, in the best way," he added, his eyes searching yours for understanding.

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs gently wiping away the tears. "Rafe, you deserve all the love in the world. I'm here for you, always," you whispered, your heart swelling with affection. The bond between you felt stronger than ever, wrapped in the warmth and intimacy of the moment.

"I love you, Y/n," he whispered softly.

He kissed your forehead again and settled into the bed, tightening his grip around you, making you sigh in contentment. The two of you basked in the silence and warmth of each other's embrace, savoring the feeling of being so close.

"I know that I love you more," you replied, your voice full of affection.

"Impossible," he murmured with a gentle smile.

It had taken three months to get Rafe to cuddle, but now, wrapped in his arms, you felt like you had all the time in the world to make up for it. The journey had been worth it, and you knew that every moment from here on out would be filled with the love and closeness you both cherished so deeply.

But you also couldn’t help but think… Take that past bitches.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[mad-hunts]

if barton tried hard enough, he thought, imagining himself being literally anywhere else but the warehouse right then was easy. this place was never meant to be lived in for an extended period of time after all; despite the fact that it had appliances that you might see in an every day home like a fridge.

it put him on edge instead of at ease, and it certainly didn't better barton's mood when he stayed in it either, after all. but so long as he was allowed to dream within it to some degree... it was tolerable. plus, he had company here, courtesy of nico, jack, and barton also supposed jervis counted. nico had complicated feelings towards the doctor, though, and spending time around jack whilst in it thus far gave barton an unfortunate impression; which was that his own son was made nervous by him.

and the irony of it all was, barton only gathered that because he could feel cognitive empathy towards him. something that didn't include feeling but reasoning. therefore, the hopes of him somehow patching that up with jack someday were drastically decreased. barton vaguely listened to jervis respond to what he'd said about him being in the warehouse solely because of them; all of the words but one not quite having any actual impact on him, this being 'nightmares.'

the smell of the yuja tea that jack prepared for jervis, as fragrant in the air that it was, seemed to be the one thing keeping him from being sucked down a unpleasant train of thought. for someone who didn't feel human half the time, barton sure as hell experienced his own fair share of seeing 'ghosts' from the past and mourning the way some things had gone in his life. and regret, as well as sorrow, were practically intertwined in every single 'normal' person's life that he'd known.

speaking of regret, once he'd closed the curtains, something from the small cabinet hanging on the wall next to them fell to the floor. barton picked it up and was immediately reminded of why he kept this photo here instead of at his home. hiding it away helped alleviate the pain of not only loving someone and losing them, but also knowing that at the time it was taken, everything seemed fine.

'my 19th birthday party - spent right, with my handsome fiancé!' was written on the back in marcy's handwriting. barton felt like screaming and smashing something simultaneously. the photo was instead placed in his pant pocket, whilst he dragged his hands down his face and thanked his lucky stars that jervis wasn't exactly expecting any big conversations from him. barton's hand flexed by his side before he was changing his shirt, wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do after seeing that again.

grief was a thing he'd never been able to pend down how to deal with 'appropriately,' unfortunately. from marcy, to the momentary blink of an eye that felt like his bittersweet friendship with yves, to his son julien's death - barton thought he'd be destroyed by all of those losses for the longest time. but he supposed he was still here, god willing, or laughing at him more like if such a being did exist. barton noticed the fabric that was splitting on the blanket and how jervis very much appeared to be in his own world.

it was at that moment that he reached for something in that same cabinet he'd opened to change his shirt, finding that sewing thread and needle he'd stored in there long ago. barton kept it there because the shirt he was wearing had actually torn at some point and he'd fixed it. though, he had no use for it now, so he decided to put it on the edge of edge of the cabinet if jervis wanted it. but he didn't really know what he wanted. that night seemed to be a series of gut punches now as the other touched upon how jack was a good person and barton should be proud of him.

he blinked several times as he felt this sensation like something ugly was swirling within him. jack had always kind of gotten the short-end of the stick, and for what? ❝ ahh. well, sometimes i've found myself practicing behaviors towards him that my father used to use on me... but i try to stop myself when that happens. jack has come a long way, as the first time i met him, he was a scared two year old who was on his own with his brother. but now jack's a young man and very brave, despite maybe still being scared sometimes. ❞ barton cleared his throat then, ❝ that's normal though. so yeah, i am proud of him. ❞

barton turned his attention back to jervis and tilted his head at the other's sluggishness. being vulnerable like that surprisingly didn't feel too nerve-wracking, as he added just a bit more to the equation. barton gave the iv bag jervis was hooked up to a good squeeze, ❝ hmm. are you still in pain, jervis? or are you just tired? ❞ he observed the other silently and looked down at the cards before the both of them. that is, before barton heard jervis approve of him reading his fortune.

he drifted a hand along the cards then. choosing one that felt 'right' came without much difficulty to barton, and when he did, the reversed 'wheel of fortune' card for jervis's past. the next card he chose was the reversed 'six of swords' for jervis's present. barton flipped the last one for his future and was greeted by 'the sun,' which made him let out a soft 'huh' and smile a bit. ❝ well... i hate to start off with the past when you got this card, but i guess we have to. ❞ he was about to start interpreting jervis's fortune when jack came back into the room with the breakfast he promised the other. well, talk about convenient timing.

Jervis merely rolled his eyes at Barton’s remark, fingers biting into the fabric of the blanket as he pulled it around his shoulders like an old shawl. The plush material was a little threadbare at the corner; a tear disrupting the otherwise seamless fabric.

Sea-green and white plaid. Utilitarian, impersonal.

It sufficed perfectly; his thin frame was almost terminally intolerant to the cold. 27 years in Gotham had failed to inoculate him against the frigid rains and bone-chilling air sweeping off the harbor.

“Trust me, I’m well aware where I would be, if it weren’t for you both. I see enough of the place in my nightmares… so I don’t require any reminders.” He flexed his fingers around the teacup, feeling the warmth seep into his hands as he cautiously tipped the liquid into his mouth. It had a strange, but not unpleasant consistency, like warm, thin honey that slid smoothly over his tongue in a tangy blend of sweet and sour. Tiny bits of softened citrus peel floated in the syrupy mixture.

Barton’s IV pole scraped slightly along the concrete floor, a sharp metallic sound that mingled with the sudden rasp of the curtains being jerked shut. The room was clean and sparse, a sterile space designed to be free of clutter, yet a faint, telltale mustiness clung to the air—a lingering scent of damp fabric and stale dust that disinfectant alone couldn’t quite mask. Beyond the makeshift partition, the rest of the warehouse stretched out in vast, dark emptiness. The floor was cold, unpolished concrete, marred with cracks that split like spider webs. Dim, flickering fluorescent lights cast a harsh, uneven glow, barely cutting through the haze of dust that swirled in the air.

But, of course, beggars couldn’t be choosers when it came to hideaways—especially when you’ve learned to take shelter wherever you can find it. Or when you were part of the criminal element.

How far he’d come and how little had truly changed.

Jervis glanced across the room at where his coat, shirt, and gloves rested neatly on the desk, carefully folded with almost surgical precision. He flexed his hands again around the teacup, feeling the phantom prickle of sensation where the wool-lined leather should be—an exposed vulnerability that gnawed at him, made his skin itch with invisible grime.

He sank his teeth into a particularly broad piece of yuja peel, the bitter tang releasing as he bit down; meanwhile, Barton’s voice drifted in one ear, out the other like the static hum on a faulty wireless. He chewed slowly, savoring the rind as he turned his attention back to the small tear in the blanket. Nodded intermittently.

Jervis’ callused, scarred fingers found the frayed edge; the fabric was worn thin and splitting, and he traced it absentmindedly, feeling the uneven fibers beneath his touch. For a moment, his thoughts shifted to the sewing kit buried somewhere in his bag, imagining the small spool of thread and the thin, glinting needles; each one ready to pierce the fabric and pull it back together.

As if stitching this small wound would make any real difference, he thought bitterly; like it could somehow soothe the cold reality pressing in on them from all sides… It was a small, pointless task, a flicker of control in a situation that felt like it was slipping away, unraveling faster than he could sew it back together. He knew it wouldn’t ameliorate anything—wouldn’t solve the problems looming larger than this tiny, frayed corner. And yet, his fingers lingered there, desperate for something tangible to fix; something he could make whole again, if only for a moment.

Jervis gave no reply as Barton moved to change his shirt; blinking hard as he gazed down at the floor, but the darkness behind his eyelids refused to stay empty. Flecks of indigo light bloomed in the black, shifting like dust motes that twisted with each beat of his heart. The room swam as he opened his eyes again, the ceiling blurred and murky like the styrofoam cup Alice stored her wet paintbrushes in. He scratched absently at the IV in his arm, feeling the tug of the thin plastic embedded in his skin but barely registering the discomfort. The bright pinpricks danced at the edges of his vision, trailing like little comets whenever he turned his head.

“You ought to be proud of him, I imagine. Your son… he seems like a good lad.” Jervis’ voice was a wisp of silk, smooth and thin, like it might unravel into nothing if he spoke too loudly. He tilted his head slightly, almost resembling a marionette on a slack string, the hint of a smile touching his lips but never quite reaching his eyes. He ran a finger along the rim of his teacup, the motion delicate and deliberate as he pondered Barton’s final query.

“Hmm… can you?” Gray eyes blinked slowly, the lids heavy and sluggish, further dragged down by fatigue. The question lingered in the air, softly innocuous. He glanced over at the tarot cards Jack left behind on the desk—arranged in a rough, careless spread, but somehow feeling deliberate, as though the cards had fallen exactly where they were meant to. The edges were worn, curling slightly; the images esoteric, half-familiar symbols. Stars, sun, moon, cups and swords, animals and human figures rendered in faded colors.

He paused, gaze narrowing, subtly curious despite the exhaustion that weighed down his expression. For a moment, his hand tightened around his teacup; twitched like he might reach out and touch them, as if by brushing the surface he could glean some hidden answer buried beneath the painted ink.

‘Why, they're only a pack of cards, after all.’

His grip on the blanket slipped momentarily, fumbling at the worn edge before he reached for his collar instead. He dug beneath the charcoal fabric of his T-shirt, searching with a practiced motion until his fingers found the tarnished silver chain again. He drew it out slowly, the weight of it comforting against his skin as he absently ran his thumb over his and Sylvie’s rings, threaded side by side on the links.

The metal was dull, no longer shining with the luster it once had, but it carried a certain softness now, smoothed by years of worry. His eyes dropped for a second before he let the chain slip back beneath his shirt. “By all means, if it tickles your fancy…” Jervis gave a short, rough half-shrug, the motion stunted as though his shoulder couldn’t quite decide whether to follow through.

[biggest-vi-defender]

arcane S2 act 2 spoilers

okay but let’s talk about the parallel of vi beginning to trust her sister again in ep. 5, and then her choosing to trust caitlyn in ep. 6, and how it revolves around vander.

at the beginning of ep. 5, the trust & relationship between vi and jinx isn’t completely gone, but it is shaky, and it needs to be rebuilt, re-earned.

in S2, jinx is the one who tries to mend their damaged relationship first, which is an incredibly satisfying parallel/foil to S1, which was when vi was the one repeatedly attempting to reach out to jinx.

and it’s somewhat successful, successful enough for vi to agree to follow jinx into the tunnels, albeit she obviously doesn’t trust her— you can see it in the way she refuses to walk first/ahead of jinx, the constant skepticism and irritation on her face, all of it. she isn’t trying to make any conversation or really bond in that moment in the slightest.

and jinx not only accepts this, she seems very understanding, in fact. like she completely understands that vi doesn’t trust her, and she’s willing to not only be okay with that for now, but she’s also going to continue to try to build that trust and that relationship again.

not only is she doing this for vander, but she’s doing it for herself and for vi just as much— her family. the one she feels responsible for breaking in the first place (and even more so, vi also feels guilty for everything in the first place as well).

and you can see as their trust begins to subtlety grow, to the point where vi is facing off against the monstrous beast that jinx is saying is her father, and jinx gives her one more desperate cry of “vi, you HAVE to believe me.”

and she does. she puts the gauntlets down, and she decides to believe in her sister, to put that faith in her. the genuine faith and acknowledgement that jinx has been trying to prove in the first place.

and look where it leads… it leads to them getting their beloved dad back, their family back, and each other back— and ofc it’s very different, and with a new addition, but that love is still the very same. that embrace meant everything to and for them.

and then in ep. 6, vi meets caitlyn again, and while they aren’t how they used to be before the events of ep. 3, there is obv still that lingering sense of attraction, of care for one another. even more so, they both seem aware of it.

you can tell, based on the way vi refers to caitlyn as “cupcake” again, and how caitlyn puts her arm out in front of vi in order to prevent her from walking out & being seen by ambessa and the noxus army (which is a protective gesture that vi also did towards caitlyn in S1, might i add 👀).

and when caitlyn chooses to be honest w vi abt why she’s here— hunting down warwick— vi hesitates for a moment before choosing to put her faith in caitlyn, telling her the truth in response as well.

because, as i said before, vi managed to put so much trust in jinx throughout events of ep. 5, and look what that got her: her sister back, her family back, changed but still beautiful, still loving. she finally has what she has yearned for so, so badly for YEARS once again in the palm of her hand.

and i think that she’s thinking maybe, just maybe, she can put some of that trust in caitlyn again. i think this also ties back to when vi compared caitlyn to jinx. if that comparison still exists in her mind, and jinx is actively changing for the better and now apart of her life again… then maybe caitlyn can and will, too.

and she did. :)

[lemonisntreal]

TONE DEAF :: Rosita and Norman <3

The first in a [hopefully] series of redesign + headcanon posts where I give you my take on a character for my AU

I'm grouping the two together because a] a lot of fluff headcanons I have, they share [because they're literally husband and wife]. And b] if I made an individual post for every single character, I... would go insane. So yeah. A bunch of characters are gonna get clumped together.

[FULL MASTERPOST HERE [yet to be made <3]]

HEADCANONS // BACKSTORY ⬇️

Me and the bad bitch I pulled by being autistic [also autistic]

Both of them are the same age, mid to late thirties.

In terms of general intelligence: Rosita has gifted IQ, while Norman is at genius level.

I know. I know Norman seems kinda dim in the movies. But guys [LMAO]. "I know it looks like there's nothing happening behind those eyes, but...... he can make entire computers!"

He's so smart yet so stupid. He's that kind of character. Like he can do all of this super impressive shit, and is super talented and can do math like BOOM done, but he's also kinda a "deer-in-the-headlights" when it comes to life [I LOVE HIM 👹]

Both of them worked hard and have their college degrees almost completely paid off at this point because of the scholarships they earned.

Rosita has a degree in engineering, Norman's a computer scientist.

They're both in STEM, it's just that Rosita likes to handle more of the mechanical aspects of things while Norman's better with the technical stuff, which I think is cute af.

Yin and Yang <3

This dynamic is just how they are too. How they act. Like for example, Rosita can be very to-the-point-

She's very much a problem solver and will get right to it once she understands what she's doing. Like yeah, she often takes a very methodical approach to it [see the scene where she's got all the papers laid out to try and learn to dance- very new territory for her], but once she learns, she gos all in. And EATS.

Norman's gotta have a plan before doing anything, meanwhile. He has a morning routine that can't be interrupted or else his whole day and mood will be thrown off. He reads through a recipe twice before even starting. That kind of stuff.

He's a lot more hesitant to even try.

A lot of people find Norman boring. But Rosita is enraptured by every word he says, she LOVES his long spiels about hyper-specific [and often mundane] things.

AAAA--

Norman is also a closeted DORK. He ran a tabletop games club in highschool with a couple other of his geeky ass friends [he's still into D&D to this day and has introduced Rosita to the game too]

[she's fun to play with, but super competitive. This goes for ANY game, actually, not just D&D. She'll kinda accidentally turn everything into a "contest" due to her inability to not do her very best] [it's mostly inspirational, not annoying, if that makes sense?]

I also wanna say Norman was in a weird amount of drama that he didn't want to be in at this time. Like all of his friends had falling-outs, and he was just always caught in the middle of it.

He's afraid of confrontation [UNLESS IT'S FOR HIS WIFE] [HE STANDS UP FOR HER RAHHHH] [this is gonna happen when I get to rewriting Sing 2, he's NOT just gonna take Crystal calling his WIFE "mommy pig"]

They're sooo "excuse me, he asked for no pickles"

Norman and Rosita technically met in high school, in Junior year when Norman first moved to Calatonia.

WHICH, he and his family did this because this was a point in time where laws having to do with the rights of animals were VERY flimsy, and Calatonia was one of the first and only safe places at the time-- for Pigs especially, actually.

The 3 Little Pigs is deadass CANON TO SING. So Pigs were/are actually a marginalized species in this universe.

[[during the warring period that I have yet to really talk about, they were often victims of the anarchy and poaching, so stigmas and insults around them still exist to this day]]

[[[[see Jimmy Crystal]]]]

So anyway, they "met" in high school- Norman totally crushed on Rosita from afar whenever he'd catch her in volleyball matches-

Rosita had a major tomboy phase throughout high school, slowly falling out of it during college [still only saves dresses and skirts for special occasions really]

[[Fun fact, Rosita is also sapiosexual [attracted to intelligence] [Roxanne Ritchi ahh] ]]

[[Norman is bi]]

They actually got introduced to eachother and had a proper arc when they went to the same college [which might've been a college in Redshore actually? But I'm not 100% sure on that headcanon. It would line up since Rosita's "wanted to perform in Redshore since she was a little kid" and Redshore is obviously a massive city with a lot of notoriety. Idk though- and it's not really that important to the story anyways]

Norman and Rosita had plans together- they were gonna make it big and live freely. Things were looking up with the lawmakers, who were finally repealing a bunch of nasty stuff that was put in place during the war times. And the two had hope that their dreams could actually be accomplished.

Rosita, who was originally gonna play it safe and become an engineer, was now thinking about attempting to become a performer [which Norman has supported since the beginning, he LOVES her singing, and often tells her that she's "better than some of the people I've heard on TV!"]

But. Life got in the way...

Present day, Norman works in Redshore at Crystal Enterprises. He's the head of some sort of organizational team- not really working on what he loves at this point.

And this is because of their children, who were a very sudden appearance in their lives [which is why we see so much struggle in the chaos at the beginning of the movie in this AU]

Rosita stopped everything, and Norman grabbed the first high-ish paying job he could, spending all his spare time on clocking in overtime hours.

The kids are all adopted, and there's only 6 now: Oldest Caspar [13], twin boys Mickey and Moe [11], middle child Kelly [9], little bro Freddy[8], and Zoey the sweet baby sister [6].

They became foster parents after the death of Rosita's sister [this hc is kinda subject to change, but this is the story rn. I'll specify on this later ☝️]

So Rosita's kinda put her life on hold for these babies. She's such a great mom to them, and they love her and Norman so much

But some of the older kids [Caspar specifically] are kinda in a rough phase since they feel like she resents them [which she doesn't], or that she isn't their "real mom" [which she IS]

This is like an E plot in the story, but definitely's gonna get at least a little bit of focus.

Rosita and Norman's marriage is falling apart just a little bit due to burnout, but it'll get better <3 [I can't do anything tragic to these two they're too sweet]

Norman snuggles up to Rosita in his sleep. Rosita starfishes LMAO

They wake up entangled. This is normal.

"Pig piles" are also a thing- there have been several nights where all six children "had nightmares" and so the family of 8 all slept in the same bed.

Norman has the best bond with the two girls out of all the children. They immediately latched onto him to be their level-headed dad.

Rosita can carry two kids at once easily, and often "relocates" them like this :>

She's probably the strongest out of everyone in the troupe if you don't count the potential Meena has. She solos.

She's constantly taking notes on everyone and everything around her. At the theater, you'll catch her tidying stuff up she spots out of the corner of her vision while you're having a conversation with her [she's still listening]. She knows everyones favorite foods, and allergies, and their preferences in things, etc. She's the most attentive and considerate out of all of them [the mom]

She may have a touch of OCD.

She gives the best hugs.

Rosita is also a FANTASTIC cook [not even a headcanon, I'm pretty sure the entire fandom agrees on this one] and often bakes stuff for her sweet-toothed children [and husband]

This is actually how she initially connected with Caspar, who refused to eat or speak at first when they were all placed with Rosita.

Cinnamon rolls.

Kelly will only eat the frosting off the top, and has ruined an entire pan before by doing this.

Rosita actually isn't the biggest fan of chocolate, small detail.

Idk why she just strikes me as not being an enjoyer.

Loves vanilla though. People are furious when she answers "vanilla" with zero hesitation to the chocolate vs vanilla question.

Norman is kinda a hopeless romantic, or at least really enjoys the aesthetic of it [in a sweet and not shallow way ofc], and goes all out every Valentine's Day: balloons, flowers, the works. He's learned that Rosita prefers strawberries over a box of chocolates, however. Has a tradition of getting a fruit basket for her <3

They also have a tradition from all the way back in college, where they go out to eat at specifically the in-universe equivalent of Olive Garden [which was the fanciest thing they could afford at the time] and eat a shared giant plate of spaghetti.

Norman loves coffee. Insists he likes it black but actually prefers a good 50:50 ratio of creamer and coffee.

Norman is also ☝️ lactose intolerant LMAO

[[or would be, if traditional milk was widely accessible/a thing. I say "lactose intolerant" but what I really mean is he's allergic to most milk substitutes- like nuts and soy [gives him tummy ache, not anaphylaxis] ]]

God, parenthesis are carrying me so hard rn.

Stopping here because I'm tired, but I could go ON about these two omg-

Normita forever rahhhh <3

[thewistlingbadger]

How Silco Killed The Mining Industry And Strengthened Zaun's Economy

In season 1, it's established that mining is a popular occupation in Zaun, if not THE most popular occupation in the city. They backed this idea up in season two with a flashback scene too. However, it was also shown in season 2 that the mines in present day have been abandoned. No one's been down there in a long time, hence why things have been kept the exact same since Vander and Silco's era of revolution and why the mines have been taken over with a glowing organism. So how did this very common job basically become extinct? Why, it was Silco of course.

Thanks to flashback in season 2, we can see that not much changed in Zaun once Vander became their leader. This makes sense for two reasons. One, Vander was most likely the very first leader of Zaun (or at least the first one they've had in a long long time) and two, Vander's vision of Zaun. I'm making the first claim because had there been a leader of Zaun at the time that Silco and Vander were rallying the people, then they would have had to take down this person first before trying to take over. We don't have evidence that a person like this ever existed, so they probably didn't exist. It also makes sense on a logical standpoint. Piltover has always been afraid of a Zaun rebellion and even just Zaunite efforts to do anything of significance. A leader of Zaun would increase the threat of Zaun defecting from Piltover. So it makes sense that there was no leader of Zaun prior to Vander. Second point: After the falling out with Silco, Vander didn't have a vision for Zaun. The Nation of Zaun was the idea of the undercity being an independent nation from Piltover and it was an idea made by Vander and Silco. After the bridge, Vander completely changed his views due to the lives lost on the bridge. Which is why all we see him do is be a dad and a bartender. Everyone looks to him as their leader, and his way of leading is just him protecting his people and making sure everyone takes care of each other and sticks together. He's trying to keep things safe, he's not trying to be revolutionary, which is why everything stays the same.

But the complete OPPOSITE happens once Silco is in charge. Silco didn't give up the vision after the bridge, he fortified it. He held onto it and added to it. Silco's role in Zaun is not one of the protector, like Vander was. He didn't care about community, he cared about raising Zaun's station and gaining independence. We see in season one that once Silco takes over, Zaun becomes much more dangerous but also much more modern and wealthier than before. This is because Silco is a politician, he's running an organization. And every spot in the organization is a job, from Sevika, to the chem barons, to Marcus. Vander didn't have an organization because he wasn't a politician. By being more political than Vander, Silco has made more jobs for zaunites and thus they don't have to rely on the mines anymore. Silco is also behind Shimmer, and that industry is definitely shown to be much larger than the mining industry so far in the story. Not only does shimmer have a much larger market, but it's made and sold by Zaun. There is no Piltover involvement and so they get to keep all their profits.

Silco's own ties to the mines could also be an additional factor to why no one works in the mines anymore. We know that the work conditions in the mines were so harsh that almost everyone got exposed to The Gray, a toxic gas that was released due to excess mining. This gas was so toxic that it made the average zaunite sick and in severe cases it caused death and severe injuries. This is just one way Piltover is able to show their might over Zaun, and there's no way Silco would stand by this. Especially since he used to work in the mines with his friends; the mines are too close to Silco's past. When Silco exposed the chem barons to The Gray, they almost died, but Silco was unaffected. When talking about The Gray, he says "air so thick it clogged your throat," these were the conditions he and countless others used to work. This just shows that in the few years he's been in charge, people have stayed clear of the mines. If mining was just as big as it used to be, the no one would be reacting this severely to The Gray.

Now in season 1 Jayce says he made the gauntlets for the mining in the fissures, so it's possible that the industry still exists but is just no where NEAR the size it used to be. It could also be that Piltover hasn't even realized that the mining industry is essentially dead because they're so neglectful of Zaun and preoccupied with other stuff.

[cherubcameron]

Love Espresso

Chapter two: welcome back to Kildare island

Synopsis: after her breakup with Rafe and him kicking her out. Her best friend offers her a new job and a place to stay. But when Rafe comes back from Morocco. He realizes he’d made a grave mistake. Will Sofia go back to him? Or will she decide that her new life means more to her than him?

Sofia was placing books by their respective shelves. She stared down at one that read “how to win his heart back,” then immediately shoving it back into one of the shelves. Even when she tried to not think of Rafe. Signs of him were everywhere. Like he was cursing her for what she did to him. And she couldn’t blame him for being angry. She would have been too. If it were her.

“Sofia! Do you know where I left the bookmarks?!” Liliana yelled. Sofia attention deviated from the books.

“Yeah! It’s in the back. Next to the printer!” Sofia yelled, she came out of the shelves. Finally finished with her tasks. Wheeling out the book cart with her, to place in the back.

“Okay, found them! Can you please start the coffee machine?!” Liliana yelled again, now in the back.

“Got it!” Sofia yells back, walking swiftly towards the coffee machine. She was glad that Liliana taught her how to use it properly. She knew how to make drinks thanks to the country club. So it wasn’t much different from that. She began to set it up, allowing the coffee machine to heat up.

She began to make sure that she had enough coffee beans, making sure it was cleaned, and making sure things were working smoothly. Before letting the machine do its thing on its own. It was ready for its first batch of coffee.

Liliana came out from the back finally. Carrying the box filled with bookmarks. A big grin on her face.

“I made these myself.” She said proudly, showcasing them to Sofia. Sofia looked at each other, her eyes roaming through them.

“Those are so pretty.” She said in awe. “You’ll definitely stand out with those. They’re not like the typical ones you see at the bookstores. It looks like you took some time with them.”

Liliana blushed, “It just took me three days to finalize. Oh! Also Hector is coming to help us with the shop. He’s going to be making all the little pastries.” She waved Sofia’s comment away. But Sofia could tell it meant a lot. Liliana loved anything creative. It made perfect sense that she made the bookmarks herself.

Sofia looked at her agaped, “Hector? Seriously? How?”

“I’m good at finding what makes people heart sing.” Liliana said, her eyes closing as she smiled. Sofia gave her an incredulous look.

When Liliana finally opened her eyes, she spotted the look Sofia gave her. Her smile dropping replaced with a scowl.

“He likes to bake. I helped him discover his dreams and to chase them.” Sofia raises an eyebrow at her, Liliana face drops once more.

“Rude. Anyway, he’s going to help us on that front. You and I can switch between doing the register and the floor. I’m still trying to hire more people.” Liliana explains, looking around. “They do say it takes a village.”

Sofia smiled up at her friend, she couldn’t help the way her heart swelled. She was so proud of her friend. Happy that she got to experience this with her.

Liliana goes to squeeze Sofias hand. “Thank you so much for helping me. I wouldn’t have done this without you.”

“Same here.” The words hold more weight, she hopes Liliana understands how much everything she’s done means to Sofia. She can only squeeze her hand back.

Rafe stared up at his house, apart of him hopeful. Maybe she hadn’t left. She hadn’t run off, this whole situation was messy. He hated not having the chance to talk to her. He wished he hadn’t let his anger get the best of him. She still betrayed him, so why did he feel like shit about it?

Once he managed to get himself to walk inside. He walked in slowly, trying to see if he could hear any noise. He didn’t hear any movements. He began to walk in quicker to the kitchen. He took a harsh intake of breath.

There lay the ring.

So she hadn’t taken it. She hadn’t left with it, to pawn it. She’d let him go, just like that. He didn’t know why he felt so upset. He’d told her to pack up her shit and leave. Of course, she listened. It was Sofia.

Rafe ran a hand through his buzz cut. This is not what he had anticipated. And now he had to admit to himself that he wished she had fought for their relationship.

“Hey Rafe?” Sarah says coming into the kitchen. She stops once she sees what he’s looking at. “That’s mom’s ring.”

Rafe nods, his eyes glued to it. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Sofia had just left it.

“You gave her mom’s ring?” Sarah asked, in shock. Rafe doesn’t speak at first, the regret building a home in his heart. Why didn’t he hear her out? He never found out the reason why Sofia did it.

“Rafe—

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay.” Rafe says quickly. He doesn’t want to be around anyone at the moment. He wants to be alone. This was all too much. He sees how spotless the house looks. Like Sofia had never even step foot in here since he’d proposed. Since he… broke up with her over the phone.

Sarah looks at him, but doesn’t say anything more. Rafe can feel her eyes on him and he tries to keep his face neutral. But he can’t help but let a scowl appear on his face.

“Rafe, she obviously meant a lot to you.” Sarah whispers. Rafe stares only at the ring. Tears start to film in his eyes and he wants to be alone. But doesn’t know how to say it gently. So he just shrugs.

“She betrayed me. Why am I the one who has to feel like shit for breaking up with her?” He asks bitterly, his voice is hoarse.

Sarah puts her head on his arm. A gesture that was very foreign for the Cameron siblings. But things had changed.

“You still loved her Rafe. That doesn’t change how you felt.”

Rafe finally managed to walk towards the kitchen counter. Picking up the ring in his hands. Letting the light glint against the diamond.

Sofia met up with Catalina. She still worked at the country club and she’d just gotten out of her shift for the day. Catalina took one good look at her and smiled.

“Mi amiguis!” Catalina squealed running towards Sofia. Sofia laughed, as Catalina wrapped her arms around Sofia. Sofia returning the hug.

“Hey cutie.” Sofia looked towards the country club. Seeing it again stirred emotions she didn’t think it would. Her smiles falters for a second before she turns her attention back to Catalina.

Catalina can see the conflicting look on sofias face. She sighs.

“He’s back.” She simply says, Sofia hearts drops.

“Oh.” She wasn’t expecting Catalina to tell her that. She lets a fake smile appear on her face.

“Good-good for him.”

“Sofia. I know you’re not happy about it.” Catalina says, unfortunately her friends could read her like a book. A quality that she both admired and hated at the same time.

“It’s fine. It’s— fine.” Sofia lies, she’s not ready. She can feel her heart sink. She doesn’t know how she’ll face him. She’s glad at least she’s no longer apart of the country club. She doesn’t have to deal with Rafe and his kook friends. Sofia lets out a sigh.

“Let’s go, okay. I’m hungry.” Sofia is glad that Catalina changes the subject. Sofia nods and takes Catalina to her car.

Song Sofia is listening to on her playlist