#Half baked thoughts of a bird

[ryderdire]

Sometimes I kinda wish Leif and Barrel took active roles in the plot as ghosts or something but. Then again that would take away from the whole I fucked things so badly up with both my closest friends and now I can never fix it because their both gone” shit andrais has going on but also I think Leif going “what the fuck andrais I broke up with you 1000 years ago and your still taking it out on some random 13 year old and her friends” would be so cathartic so idk

[dadsbongos]

studying birds and bees

3.5 k words / warnings - penetrative sex (i imagined a vag but there's no anatomy listed), riding

summary - viktor, alone and glum, is not comforted by the company of a fellow scientist at a hextech exhibition party. not until you mention taking him home, at least.

Gold drenches each wall in streamers and plates. Curtains shimmer overhead. Silver platters dazzle each passing caterer’s hand -- specialties half the size of his palm gleam fresh and dewy. Clear coupes and flutes pass, full of wheat sparkles. Sour, no doubt, but sure enough to waste a man as thin as he.

So surely, in fact, that Viktor actively avoids drinking anything besides water. He’s a common lightweight, never finding time to flex tolerance between working hours, and he distrusts anything he can’t see through. Anything that has a smell, whether it’s sour or sweet, he staunchly avoids.

Similarly, he refuses to follow conversation: people unreasonable or unfortunate in nature that approach are limited to singular, curt responses. Thankfully he’s smart enough, well-regarded enough, famed enough that it has no bearing on his life outside these miserable hours. Hours he’s sure are better spent down in the lab. Nose buried into his work: he’s most comfortable that way, living as he always has.

Viktor believes his hate is layered beneath several swathes of cool. An expression he believes to be neutral -passive, if anything- is actually a scathing scowl that has many guests rushing off to inform Jayce of his unapproachable partner.

He hears that a lot.

He’s impersonal, strange, distant.

He likes living that way. It makes working easier.

Jayce is everything he is not: warm, talkative, generous. His face is on porcelain mugs.

Viktor would know that, he got one for a generous discount of Free. It’s sitting in his sink at this very moment, coffee dribbling the rim and baked into the bottom. It could risk a stain if he doesn’t wash it before bed tonight.

But then, who knows? Perhaps he’ll be too exhausted from standing all night and straining a smile whenever he makes eye contact with Jayce. At some point, the muscles in his cheeks become too sore, so he begins ignoring the man wrapped around Mel Medarda.

If he’s lucky, Jayce will not try waltzing over to ask for the third time if Viktor is enjoying the night.

And if he’s unlucky, as he suspects he is, then someone else is rapidly crossing the shiny tiles toward him. Two glasses, one in either hand, glinting beneath ball lights. Shoe heels clicking closer and closer until it’s pounding right beside his ear.

“Never saw anything like this back home, did we?”

You say it so familiarly, as if you know anything about Viktor’s home. Maybe you do. But not like that.

“No,” he answers politely enough despite pointedly ignoring the glass you offer him, “we didn’t.”

“I got a real drink for you,” you’re not content to be ignored though, “I noticed you’ve been nursing an empty cup.”

“We didn’t have anything like that in the undercity, I don’t know if I trust it.”

“Then trust me,” you sip from your glass, leaving a dewy smear around the lip, “It’s not bad. Sharp, but not bad.”

Viktor leans more weight onto his cane as he leans, grabbing the glass from you before slanting back, “Sharp, but not bad.”

You swing another sip, watching from the corner of your eye as his arm remains stationary -though you don’t comment, “You seemed incredibly lonely.”

“So you thought it’d be generous to bother me.”

“Practically,” you clink glasses, “You strike me as a man who doesn’t get bothered often. Someone should keep you upright.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” not even he can tell whether he means that genuinely or not. Maybe he does, but only as long as it isn’t you providing the company. His eyes flutter and he imagines: if it were Sky, would he be satisfied?

Jayce?

Mel?

Heimerdinger?

His long disgraced mentor?

“You finally get to leave the lab and you insist on spending the time alone, I wonder why…” you say with enough wisp in your tone to excuse it as a non-question.

Viktor puffs a laugh, weighed down by annoyance -- do you have no eyes? Are you ignorant to your surroundings? Scratch that, his laugh was a total scoff by the time it breached his throat.

“I’m not interested in people,” Viktor briefs, then sighs, “Especially the types that feel the need to keep me company- like I’m some sad thing on the side of the road.”

“You don’t want to feel pitied?”

“Who would?”

“People who’ve never experienced harshities.”

Viktor shakes his head, swirling the glass flute and watching the bubbles twirl, “I don’t care for any of this conversation.”

“Then what conversation would you care for?”

“Why are you here?” he forces himself to remain quiet, afraid that raising his voice could attract attention.

“Like I said, you looked lonely,” you turn onto your shoulder, budding it against the wall to solely stare at Viktor, “I wanted to find solidarity between two Zaunites.”

He shoots you a wary look at that; nobody in Piltover refers to the undercity by that name -it would sling a series of implications the council hasn’t even begun to tackle. Hearing it here, no less, strikes him unpleasantly -- are you being bold or defiant? Is this earnest support of underground independence or are you mocking the Piltover riches that fund his life’s work?

Either way, you’re foolish to declare yourselves Zaunites in the back of this room.

“Sky is also from the undercity,” Viktor jerks his chin toward her, as if you can’t spot her defined curls and moonglasses from where you are.

“I’m not interested in Sky, lovely as she is,” you shrug, “I’m interested in you. I was hoping to see the brain let loose.”

“I don’t get loose.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

“So, you’ll die having never gotten ‘loose��.”

“I’ll die having not done lots of things, but I will have been part of Hextech’s creation.”

“That’s all you want to do before you die?”

“I want to give Hextech to the people, anything other than that…” he shakes his head and taps a blunt nail against the glass stem, “I will die in any case.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Dying?”

“Yourself dying.”

“It will happen eventually,” Viktor shrugs, “Probably sooner than others. Heimerdinger says the brighter sparks, they go the fastest,” he lets the sentiment sit a moment before awkwardly flipping it back unto you, “How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t think you should ever die.”

“Flattering, but unlikely.”

“Then why do you work like you’ll live forever?” when the only response you get is a single thick eyebrow raise you continue, “Really, you work like a man without time, as if you could just come back into the world after locking yourself away for years. You worry only about the science behind Hextech rather than the humanity in you that wanted you to create it.”

Softly, you cup his shoulder. Regardless of how bold the gesture is he doesn’t find himself wanting you gone.

Perhaps because of the gentle furrow in your brows, your pout accentuated with reddish stains.

“Why don’t you enjoy yourself, Viktor?”

Viktor has so much he needs to do, but nothing as pressing as easing you. He holds his hand over yours, kindly massaging the flat plain across the back of your hand, “I enjoy myself plenty.”

“Alone?” your gaze flicks toward his hand with no subtly, “With only your own hands?”

“Where did that come from?” he gasps, squeezing your hand tighter in shock, eyes widening with stained cheeks.

“Nowhere, I suppose. Just curiosity,” you shrug coyly, about as innocent as your prior question wasn’t, “You have no date, after all. And I never see your arm occupied with anything besides your cane.”

“I’m content with my work.”

Unabashedly, almost sneered, you speak without grace for the first time all night, “What a sad way to live.”

“Excuse you?” Viktor scoffs, “Do you not work for the same goal?”

“I’m a person, too.”

“I’m not?”

“Not as you are,” you shake your head, eyes now downtrodden as you finish off the glass in your hand, swallowing without cringe before saying, “If you’re so dedicated to living for Hextech instead of yourself, then I’ll take your drink for you. My only plan tomorrow was to nurse a hangover anyway.”

Viktor instinctually swivels so his drink is out of reach, which is something he cannot explain. Why does he suddenly want it? Why does he suddenly care?

But, more importantly, when did he decide he should never want it- decide that he should never care?

Was it before or after clawing his way into Piltover under Heimerdinger’s wing? Was it before or after Jayce blew up an apartment? Was it before or after Jayce began leaving his side to become a political head?

Or was it everything -- slowly one thing upon the other before he realized he had a carefully alphabetized and numerically categorized library of all the reasons he shouldn’t and couldn’t abandon Hextech. Maybe it’s not advancement now, but the security of a purpose. A goal he’ll die to achieve, and at the rate he’s burning: die before achieving.

Perhaps, one night as a man rather than a scientist wouldn’t hurt?

Viktor gags the champagne in a single swing, startling you to pat his back as he hisses and coughs.

“Viktor! What’re you doing?!” you whisper with all the venom of an outraged mother.

“I’m living,” he shoulders you off and straightens out. Chin jutting with all the dignity of a man who didn’t choke down alcohol at an expensive gala.

“Is that so?” you giggle, silently expecting him to back away, “And does life have you for the whole night? Or just until the party’s over?”

Viktor looks down at his empty glass, then toward yours. Then to the lipstick marring the rim -- it’s smudged at the corner of your lip. It’s darker than the more neutral shade you swipe on before venturing into the lab. Suddenly, his belly is warming and his head is fuzzy -for once nothing but pleasant thoughts consume him. He smiles to one side and clicks your empty flutes,

“I have no plans tomorrow, either, wouldn’t you know?”

“For once.”

Waving away the bitter thought, Viktor leans just that touch closer that sends your sweet perfume up his nose. He feels like maybe he should get another drink and step a little more into your space, if you’ll let him.

“Let’s make the night of it, then?” he’s the one bravely going forward, certain you’ll trail after as he paves toward the bar, “You sounded eager to get me into the world, now what?”

“Oh, Viktor,” you coo, “Don’t ask things like that.”

“Why not?” he’s a little cocky now with some booze in his empty belly, he forgets how unashamed the new assistant is, “Second thoughts?”

“No, I’ll just tell you that I really wanted you in my bed tonight.”

You’re grinning- he’s blushing now, a little surprised and a little delighted. But you just smile that devilish way that always has him distracted.

A new assistant hadn’t been Victor’s idea, and if Jayce had bothered conferring with Viktor at all then you especially wouldn’t have been the hired candidate.

“Or did you intend to die a virgin, as well?” you lull into the shell of his ear, soft and warm lips just grazing clammy flesh.

“You’re forward.”

“Am I? Is it too much?” if not for the slightest concerned twitch in your brow, he could’ve thought maybe you were just laying another harsh tease.

“I find it incredibly attractive,” finally, finally Viktor says the terrible thing out loud. Vivid and bright and all things he is not -temptress! he declared when you two first met.

***

Viktor paused, eyes widening from the doorway and fingers tightening around his cane, “Who are you?”

“The assistant,” you smiled in a way he was sure you meant as warm and welcoming, “Viktor, right?”

How he stared at you, however, told you that maybe you’d bared teeth too sharp. So your lips shut, hands clasping and shoulders straightening. Your name but a whisper into the lab, bouncing off each wall before awkwardly cluttering to the ground. Melting in chunks into the grouts.

“I have an assistant,” he murmured, sights scattered across the area, “Where is Sky?”

“Her day off,” then you groaned, baffled by how confused such a famed brain could get over a truly simple concept, “I can show you my qualifications, if you need to be convinced?”

Your frustration seemed to snap him straight, his jaw unhinged and he flubbed for a nice way to retract himself, “No. No. I’m…” he cleared his throat and glanced away pointedly, “You’re my assistant for today, then?”

“Of course.”

“Ah, perfect,” it was not, in fact, perfect. Viktor dreaded your stay; lingering over his shoulder and invading between his eyes with your perfume. You’re cursed with curves and full lips and fluttery eyelashes.

A temptress!

***

A temptress without trying- or you are trying and you play dirty. Either way…

“I want to see more of your shamelessness, show me how much I’ve missed not living,” he means the last part as a jest, but it seems to make you happy.

…he wants you so bad it makes his gut ache.

You gnaw your bottom lip and nod, “Shall we leave now then? I can certainly make you a drink at home you’d like more anyway.”

Propriety flies out the window.

If Jayce wanted Viktor to enjoy himself, then he damn well would! And he wouldn’t bother with acknowledgments or goodbyes or gratitude, not when your hand tangles with his. Fingers locking with all the familiarity of seasoned lovers, you even add the tiniest swing though sure to not jostle his balance. Peachy streetlights cast the most flattering flushed glow upon you, stray hairs catching gold beneath the beaming bulb. Shining in stressed loops around your head, not like a halo but just… you. Graceful in all the misaligned strands and smudged makeup.

Whether you’re tethered off in a clinical coat with a clipboard perched on one hip or strapped to the finest in this little black number -something you could never pray to pull out of a dump in Zaun.

“I think…” you muse while sliding the front door open, your home smells like vanilla and the space is so precisely spotless he’s not sure you even live here, “I’ll need some help out of this dress.”

Your bedroom is worse off -or would it be better?- not a single article of clothing on the floor, no crumpled notes or mugs of shame decorating the nightstand. Eerily empty until, then, he notices the faint orange flame twinkling over his shoulder.

“Did you leave that burning while you were gone?” he’s too focused on the fire risk of it all that he doesn’t notice you’re stretching out over the bed.

“I figured I wouldn’t be out long,” you prop your head on a fist, the other hand perking onto your cocked hip, “Whether or not I’d be alone when I returned was the only mystery.”

He swivels in place, a humored so that’s why it’s so clean! dying on his lips as soon as he sees you splayed out. Stuttering back and clutching his chest as if scandalized -- as if he didn’t come here for the exact kind of modeling you’re doing. Viktor clears his throat, heat swelling up from the comfortable bubbly in his gut and all up toward his reddening forehead. Brows shooting upward.

Silken sheets caressing your bare skin. Moonlight carding through the askew curtains and layering you in a thin pale gleam. Your hair cascaded down your forearm. And that rouge smudge at the bottom corner of your lip. Tempting.

Viktor lets his cane drift back until it’s slanted against the wall, kneeling onto your bed. Hands trembling as if he’ll sink through and wake in his own sheets. But the feeling of his cold dress buttons beneath his fingertips is real enough; peeling layers from sinewy limbs feels real enough. Nails scrape wrists and hips as he removes his vest, and shirt, and long pants.

“Can I… “ he pauses, swallows, and assesses the curiosity in your eyes. Then, before finishing the question, surges forward -one hand gluing to either of your cheeks, tenderly tilting your face to press his lips to yours. Brows knotting toward the center of his face and cheeks flaming with embarrassment. His lips are incredibly soft, though, and they slot smoothly against yours like gears rolling into one fluid motion. You wonder how familiar that is to him.

Sliding up onto your knees, you tangle your fingers between his and pry his hands from your face. Squeezing him affectionately before using the leverage to lay him onto his back slowly so as to not break the kiss.

Straddling Viktor with both hands still wrapped together, at least until you slip one of his hands onto your chest and the other your thigh. He squeezes, not not affectionately just with something a little… murkier. Hips jump up toward yours -- he sighs, frustrated, and takes it out on your nipple -rolling the bud around his thumb before sucking it into his mouth. Cheeks hollowing around, tongue searing up, bright gold eyes peek over wetly.

You arch your back into his face, lifting off his lap with the encouragement of his spare hand shifting toward your ass. Something soft and thick twitches between your thighs, ripping an earnest gasp from you. Viktor snorts, you feel him smiling into your chest.

not expecting that?

You yank his hair at the base, curling a whine through his throat.

shut up!

Leaky and hot red at the tip, Viktor only thickens toward the base. Maybe just longer than your palm, but certainly fatter than you can hold in one palm. Reaching down just to rut his tip along your slit, both of you huffy messes as you drool down his cock.

Viktor sags back, glaring at you with his ruddy lips -- juicy with raw saliva.

“Enough teasing,” he grunts, trying to force you down with his grip on your hip, “You bring me here just to watch me squirm?”

“I do enjoy the sight,” you mewl softly, swirling his tip around your hole, “Don’t you?”

His head swivels in a very lumpy circle, caught between nodding and shaking before he attempts pushing you down again, “Not as much as I want to be inside you.”

You’re prepared to tease more when he abruptly snaps up while shoving your hips low. His whole face twinges at the sudden movement in his thighs but it’s soon overshadowed by the complete, all-melting mellow of having his cock sucked into velveteen walls. Head thrown back and chestnut hair splintering across the dark headboard -- he grins as you loudly gasp and scramble to grasp his shoulders for purchase.

“Ah- Vik- !” you hiccup, scratching into his shoulder blades.

He hisses, lips curled with utter bliss and eyes fluttering shut, “Feels much better.”

Now both of his hands circle your waist, coaxing your movement with firmly pressed fingers. You pray he leaves bruises.

Viktor chases your warmth every time you squelch off, the most he can manage without an uncomfortable cringe is teeny jumps focused in the pelvis but it’s more than desperate enough. Any concern he could have of you finding his display anything except arousing is tossed out the window as your pace hastens. Leisurely drags rapidly devolving to full bounces, little splatters of your wetness painting up his abdomen. And he fucking thrives on it: sticky and lewd and thick, hearing each thrust hammers him closer to the purest release he’s had in years.

He can’t even pluck grains of thought to discern when the last time he felt so good was- not when you’re canting and wailing.

On a particular grind, you could feel his dick slam into some open-wire spot inside you. White neon sparks crackling so bright your whole body snaps above Viktor while he watches starry-eyed. Bopping that spot impetuously, clinging to frayed energy if it means watching you split apart again. You moan -broken vowels and breathy vik- vi- uh, viktor! vik- vik- vvvv- and shudder, clutching him like you’ll fly off without such an iron hold. Openly tearing up inside you before his eyes are wetting too, and webs of spend sprawl into you.

Viktor greedily snatches you by the neck and wrings you forward, lips spreading until he can lick inside your mouth. Moaning shamelessly into you as he fucks the last of his orgasm out on you.

Left humming, content and pliant, you and Viktor break the sloppy kiss to play more politely. You peck the corner of his mouth, wiping the dazzling threads of spit tying you two by the mouths. Viktor blinks up at you in a haze, smiling aimlessly.

“Happy?” you unceremoniously roll off the man, grimacing as he and everything he buried slide out onto your thigh.

“Very,” he remains slick back on the headboard, moist skin skidding against wood as he slides onto the mattress.

You twist an arm over his waist, chin piking his ribs as you give the most outrageously sweet, “I’m sure you can stay the night, then?”

And as Viktor’s discovered, trying to deny your power over him is useless. Why not indulge just a little more?

“Maybe even for breakfast,” he muses.

tagging those who asked/seemed interested :3

@lpvmal + @im-just-a-simp-le-whore + @littleenglishfangirl + @fortheharbingers + @duffycrow + @zemosbunny + @urmommt + @crocwork-clockodile + @petti-fry + @sparklygreentrash + @marshy-moo

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for worldbuilding (pt. 2)

ANIMALS

Animal: adult, beast, buck, cat, chicken, cur, father, frog, goat, half-breed, horse, hybrid, litter, mongrel, monster, parasite, pig, stock, young

Bird: bird, chicken

Fish: aquarium, aquatic

Group of animals: drove, herd, insect, pack, stock, team

Insect: bee, grub, pest

Limb or appendage of: bill, coat, feather, fur, mop, pelt, scale, trunk, wing

Mammal: cat, dog, father, goat, hound, mother, pig

CLOTHING

Accessory: bag, belt, buckle, collar, pocketbook, purse, satchel

Clothing: apparel, array, bathing suit, cape, clothes/clothing, costume, dress, dungarees, falsies, frock, garment, girdle, gown, hat, jacket, negligee, nylons, pajamas, pants, quilt, scarf, skirt, suit, swimsuit, thing/things, trappings, underwear, veil, wash, wrap

Part: collar, crown, pocket, strand, tiara

State of dress: bareness, nudity, try on/try out, wear

FOOD & DRINK

Beverage: alcohol, coffee, drink, potable

Beverage, alcoholic: beer, liquor

Change in: curdle, turn

Food: appetizer, bite, brew, bun, casserole, condiment, cracker, diet, doughnut, feed, frosting, grub, helping, hors d’oeuvre, leftover, macaroni, meat, nosh, nurture, nutrition, pastry, produce, refreshment, seasoning, stew, subsistence, support, sweet, treat, vittles

Food part: morsel, nip, taste, tidbit

Meal: banquet, bite, buffet, diet, fare, picnic, repast, spread, table

Produced from animal: comfort food, feed, food, frosting, grub, hero, macaroni, sandwich, submarine, vittles

Produced from plant: condiment, doughnut, loaf, pastry, produce, sweet

Quality of: acerbity, baked, done, edible, mellow, nourishing, perishable, rare, ripe, salty, short, stale, strong, sweet, unappetizing, weak, wholesome

NATURAL RESOURCES

Electricity: beam, spark

Energy: electricity, fuel, nuclear energy, petroleum, power

Expression of energy: blast, bonfire, chill, concussion, discharge, fire, flash, noise, thunder

Natural event: eclipse, meteorology, weather

Resources: fuel, resource, rock, substance

PLANTS

Flower: bloom, bouquet, flower

Fruit: berry, produce

Growth or death of: bloom, bud, germinate, growth, wilt, wither

Part: bark, branch, cereal, flavoring, foliage, grain, juice, limb, nut, pod, scion, shell, stalk, trunk

Plant: algae, bramble, bush, crop, fossil, grass, harvest, hybrid, organism, produce, wreath

Tree: timber, wood/woods

Vegetable: produce

WEATHER

Object connected with: avalanche, breeze, climate, cold, dew, film, flurry, frost, gust, haze, hurricane, meteorology, moisture, puff, thunder, weather, wind

Quality of: breezy, clear, close, crisp, dismal, fair, fiercely, fine, furious, gloomy, hazy, humid, intimidating, misty, oppressive, raw, rugged, soft, stormy, sultry, temperate, thick, tranquil, turbulent, wild, wintry

Type of: blizzard, cloud, drizzle, fog, hail, mist, puff, rain, shower, tempest, torrent, tremor

NOTE

Excerpted from Roget's 21st Century Thesaurus, Updated and Expanded 3rd Edition, in Dictionary Form, edited by The Princeton Language Institute.

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary

[lou-struck]

Sweet Motivation

Diavolo x reader, Barbatos x reader

W.C. 1.3k

~ After being confined to his studies to work through his mountain of paperwork, Diavolo is in dire need of a distraction that only you can provide.

'Even a prince must reap what he sows.'

This lesson was one of the first Diavolo learned from his father when he began the lessons that would prepare him to one day rule the Devildom, and he has really taken it to heart. He understands that in order for him to be the kind of ruler he wants to be, he must go the extra mile and hold himself accountable in all he does.

But now, that lesson is sounding more and more like torture as the usually smiling demon is cooped up in his stifling study, hunched over a speech he will be giving to honor the 1,000th anniversary of the Devildom artwork orchestra. 

A speech he should've written ages ago but forgot about... 

Barbatos, sensing the urgency of the situation, had kindly taken it upon himself to ensure his master was able to work in a distraction-free environment. He excused the Little D's from their duties for today and has even placed an enchantment on the door so that only he and Lucifer may enter in order to prevent the Prince from getting off track.

Now half-finished and thoroughly bored with his speech, Diavolo places his hand on his chin and lets out a prolonged, very dramatic sigh. With his DDD confiscated and his office door enchanted, he has no way of messaging you, even though he had promised his trusty Butler that simply getting to message you would be wonderful motivation. 

Apparently, he is no longer the cute little demon prince he once was because his big eyes and soft pout had no sway on Barbatos whatsoever. 

Reluctantly, he flicks his golden eyes back to the parchment in front of him, noting the slight change in color the ink has in its varying states of dryness. 

Is watching ink dry truly the only source of entertainment he has.

He fiddles with the quill in his hand when his sharp hearing detects a soft rapping sound coming from his glass balcony doors. Thinking it may be a confused bird trying to peck through the glass, he turns his head and nearly has a heart attack when he sees you standing on his eighth-story balcony with a big grin and a basket. 

~

Maybe breaking into the Demon King's castle by way of rose trellis wasn't the smartest idea you have had since coming to the devildom, but the look of bewilderment on Diavolo's face made the life-threatening climb worth it. 

Not to mention, you have found and exploited a very real security risk for the Palace. If a human such as yourself was able to infiltrate its walls without magic, Diavolo may want to do something about it.

The Prince springs from his seat and strides across the room as he gets closer, your tired breath fogging the glass window before he flings open the French doors.

"MC? What? How did you get up here?" he asks, golden eyes scanning your form, widening when they find a scrape on your leg you got during your infiltration. 

"I uhh…climbed. Up the rose trellis." you gesture back to the plants behind you, giving him the sweetest smile you can. "I heard from Lucifer that Barbatos had put you on house arrest, and I wanted to see you and bring you a pick me up. Are you upset with me?"

Any lecture you were about to get gets lost on his tongue when he looks at your hopeful expression. He laughs and pulls you into his strong embrace. "I could never be upset with you, my Love, even if you do have a tendency to put others before your well-being. Did you know that I was missing you?"

"I was hopeful," you smile, holding out the basket for him to take. The Prince inhales deeply, smiling as he opens the basket, revealing the freshly baked rolled mushroom cigar cookies you have brought him. 

"You made these for me?" he asks; you nod up at him. His eyes shine with affection as he places the basket on his desk to give you his full attention. "Thank you so much for such a thoughtful gesture. I promise you these cookies will not go uneaten."

"Good, you have been working so hard you deserve a treat or two." you smile, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he looks down at you hungrily. 

"Then will you be my first?" he asks, your eyes falling from his entrancing eyes to his lips. You nod as he leans down, closing the space between you two, and you shout your eyes, ready to get lost in the wonder that is Diavolo. 

Your bodies are only a credit cards width away when the doors to the office burst open, sending a startled chill down your spine. 

Barbatos stands in the doorway, his smile too large as he stares you down. "Well now, Young Master, it looks like we have a guest," the Butler says, "MC, what a surprise. I didn't realize that you were coming over. Next time, please consider using the front door."

A nervous heat comes to your cheeks, and you nervously look between the Prince and the Butler. "Oh it wasn't planned, just thought I would pop in."

"I see," he muses, spotting the basket on the desk. "And you brought cookies; how delightful."

He takes the basket off of the desk and gingerly picks up a treat with his gloved hand. Raising one to his lips, he takes a bite of the cookie, his eyes never leaving your own. "My, these are delicious. Did you try a new recipe?"

"I did," you say brightly. "I thought Diavolo may want some, and they taste the best when they are fresh like this."

"While that is true, the young master has fallen behind on his work and will have to wait to indulge until he finishes," Barbatos explains, giving you a soft smile. "You make it very difficult to say no to you, Mc, but I'm afraid I have to insist we leave the young master alone for a while."

"I appreciate all of your assistance, Barbatos," Diavolo frowns, clearing his throat. "But Mc has come all this way; it would be rude if we were to just send them on their way now."

There is a mischievous glint of mischief in the Butler's eyes as he pulls his green eyes from you to his master, "I couldn't agree more, young master, which is why I do not intend on wasting Mc's visit. Until you finish with your speech I shall have the pleasure of indulging in their company and keeping their gift safe." Barbatos cups your chin gently, "You don't mind, do you, Mc?" 

The way he looks at you makes you weak in the knees and you find yourself nodding along to his request. 

"T-that would be nice," you say, your skin heating up as he gently places a hand on your lower back and escorts you away from Diavolo. The Prince's eyes go wide, and he opens his mouth to protest but knows deep down that Barbatos is right; he should've finished that speech ages ago.

"Wonderful, then how about you and I head down for a warm cup of tea, and I can take care of that little scrape you have on your leg." he smiles, a look of victory on his face as he passes Diavolo, knowing that the time he will have with you is precious. 

After all, there is no way Diavolo would want to waste any more time cooped up in his office when it means he is missing your visit.

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @sleepyyshroom @i-need-to-go-like-mangogo @starbby @sarah22447 @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf  @ourfinalisation @isaacdaknight @qardasngan @atigerandabear @anjodedesgostoeerros

[sturnioloisland]

Birds of a Feather | M.S.

Pairing: Matt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mmm a little bit of fluff and a little bit of angst here and there. Not proofread tho.

Requested: No

“I want you to see how you look to me”

You were getting ready for your weekly night out with Matt. Your activities varied from week to week sometimes choosing to go watch a movie, gaze at the stars on the beach, or sometimes go to a nice dinner. A nice dinner was the plan for tonight.

You had chosen to get ready at your own place to savor the peace and quiet in the comfort of your own home. You’d gone through almost half of your closet trying to find an outfit you thought would be appropriate for dinner, which had taken upwards of almost thirty minutes to decide — finally settling on one after tearing the closet apart.

You felt a sense of giddiness while you were finishing getting ready. You and Matt had been dating for a while, but he still never failed to make your heart flutter and cause butterflies in your stomach. You smiled to yourself just thinking about him as you finished styling your hair.

The sun was just beginning to set on the horizon when you received a text from Matt that was informing you that he was here causing you to race to the front door to unlock it and let him inside. You opened the door and felt your stomach doing somersaults. He looked so beautiful in the fading light of day.

“Hey.” You said quietly at him, continuing to admire the way he looked.

“Hey, baby.” He returned the smile to you, his hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Are you gonna let me in or do I have to continue baking in the sun?”

“Oh right.” You quickly stepped to the side, opening the door wider to grant him entrance. “I just need to grab my purse real quick and then I’ll be ready.” You said as you quickly headed back to your room.

“There’s no rush.” He called out to you.

You made your way back to him, purse in hand, and saw him look you up and down. “Is it okay?” You asked, gesturing to your outfit.

“More than okay,” his smile still plastered on his face, “You look so beautiful.”

Of course you felt a blush race across your cheeks from his compliment. You’ve never been able to avoid it.

You walked closer to him and he wrapped his arms around you in a hug, breathing in the perfume you had chosen to wear for the night. When he pulled away, he traced his hands down the side of your body, resting them just above your hips and placed a kiss on your forehead. “You always look so beautiful.”

You had to break your eye contact in that moment, not being able to hold it any longer from the feeling of just pure joy and emotion coursing through you. He looked at you with nothing but love and adoration in his eyes, and it never failed to almost bring you to tears sometimes. You looked back up and him and tucked a stray piece of his hair back behind his ear. “I wish you were able to see the way you look at me.”

“And why is that, hm?” He leaned his head into your touch against the side of his face.

“Because then you’d understand why I always feel so safe and loved in your presence.”

He smiled and turned his head to kiss the palm of your hand. “I love you.” He grabbed your hand from his face and guided you towards the door, “C’mon, let’s go get dinner.”

──･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“You wouldn't believe if I told ya, You would keep the compliments I throw ya”

“I just don’t understand why you refuse to accept any compliments I give you.” You and Matt were in the midst of a heated discussion that, quite frankly, spiraled a lot faster than you had realized.

“I don’t understand why you have to lie when you give them. I don’t need you making up things just to try and make me feel better.” It had all started when you tried to cheer him up after his was consistently losing in the video games he had been playing.

“Matt, I’m not lying to you. I just don’t know why you can’t take a compliment.” You had an inkling on why he sometimes rejected any compliments you threw at him. You knew he had his insecurities and they sometimes translated into your relationship. Just like you felt you were not good enough for him, he too felt that same way sometimes. When he got in that sort of mood, he sometimes felt you were just trying to trick him into thinking that you loved him. It was a heartbreaking thing to watch Matt trick himself into believing he didn’t deserve your love, but you were always quick to try and help him shut those thoughts out.

“Matt.” You sat down on the edge of his bed near where his gaming chair sat. He turned his chair to face you, and you grabbed one of his hands. “I understand that sometimes you think that you don’t deserve love, but you do. If you saw yourself the way I saw you, you would understand the compliments I give you. You would understand why I am so deeply in love with you that it almost hurts.”

“But-”

“There’s no ‘but’, Matt. I love you so much, and I know you know that I do. Your mind is just playing tricks on you. I love you.”

He avoided your gaze, and stared down at his feet, releasing his hand from your grip to pick at the beds of his nails obviously not knowing what to say in response to you. You grabbed his hand back to prevent him from breaking any skin, and placed a kiss on the back of his hand.

“I love you, Matt. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I love you too.”

──･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“Say you don't see it, your mind's polluted. Say you wanna quit, don't be stupid.”

It was another bad day for Matt, and your heart broke to see him suffering in such a way. You wanted to help him, but you didn’t know the right words to say to help. It was a combination of his anxiety and insecurities. Logically, he knows deep down that you would never do something to hurt him, but his brain refuses to truly let him believe that.

It all started because you had gone out with a few friends. Because you were dating Matt, it was hard to do things in public because your every move seemed to be followed by people online. A picture of you and a male friend surfaced online from that night out. It was a picture of you and your group of friends parting ways, and you had given them each a hug before you left. The picture, however, only captured you hugging the male. After having a really hard day, the picture only sent Matt spiraling even more.

Watching Matt spiral and come up with different scenarios that couldn’t be farther from the truth broke your heart. He threw accusations at you which you denied — remaining patient through it all. He hardly ever became like this, and you knew that once the situation blew over in a day or two, you both would be able to sit and talk it out together.

What threw you for a surprise was when Matt suggested ending the relationship. Your eyes widened and you were quick to shut down the idea. “Don’t be stupid, Matt.”

“You would be happier if we did though. You wouldn’t be tied down by me and all of my issues.” He stood opposite of the room from you, one arm crossed against his chest, the other one up to his face as he chewed on his nails.

“No, no, no,” you walked towards him, almost cornering him against the wall “we are not breaking up because of some picture. I swear on everything that I love that he is just a friend. You are the person I love. You are the person I want to be with. You are the one who makes me the happiest person in the entire world.”

“I just don’t understand how you can love someone like me.” The tears pooled in his eyes, and seeing Matt cry always triggered a tearful response from you as well. You rubbed your hands up and down Matt’s shoulders, swallowing a small sob you felt building in your throat from the words that he had just spoken to you.

“Because Matt, you are the one who brightened my life when you came into it. You are the one who always listens to me and offers me a shoulder when I need to cry on it. You are the one who opened so many new opportunities to me. You, and you alone, have made such a positive impact on my life that I can’t even bear the thought to be without you. That’s how I love someone like you.”

Tears had slowly fallen down his cheek at your words and you pulled him into a hug as you both slowly sank to sit down on the floor. “You don’t see it yet, but one day you’ll understand why I love you so much.”

──･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“And I don't know what I'm crying for. I don't think I could love you more.”

It was Matt who was always there to comfort you on your toughest days. He was the one who would help pull you back up from the trenches of your own mind because you do it for him as well. He knows you hate seeing him so heartbroken and in pain, but he feels even worse when he sees you like that.

He made it his own personal life mission to make you happy in whatever way he possibly could. The times you spent together were the happiest moments of his life, even if the both of you were having a lazy day in bed — which is what the plan for the day had turned into.

Your head was rested on his chest and his fingers ran through your hair as you both focused on the movie playing in front of you. One of your arms was wrapped across his stomach tracing small patterns underneath his shirt and on his skin. You both were at peace in that moment.

He stared at the back of your head, his mind wondering off imagining the life that you guys could have together.

He could see himself marrying you and building a family together. He could see the both of you growing old and still enjoying watching the sunsets together. He could see himself loving you until the day that he died.

He felt the tears burning in his eyes, and when he went to wipe them away, you turned to look at him. You felt a moment of panic seeing him become so emotional, “What’s wrong baby?” You had sat up and turned to face your entire self towards him.

“I just love you so much, and it’s pathetic that I’m crying about it, but I do. I do love you so much, and I can’t imagine my life without you.” You felt your heartstrings tugging at his words and you moved to wrap your entire body around him — causing him to wrap his arms around you in turn.

You peppered kisses all across his face and cheeks that were now wet with his tears. “And I love you even more than that. You are my entire world.”

A/n: I hope you guys like it :) This is the longest thing I have written actually. Let me know how you feel about it!!

[lychgate]

i haven't posted a really poorly drawn thought piece adventure in years so here's a brief update!

hope i hit the read more thing right oh well anyway:

"Spent a lot of time applying for a home loan. I had to pay -fucked up- to have a convincing income for a decent loan. It was very confusing but cody helped me a lot."

"Cody proposed to me It felt wonderful that someone wanted to share their time and love with me. Cody proposed Anthrohio weekend, it's the con we really met at."

"We saw the listing that sunday morning before we had to go to our table to vend."

"It was a perfect house. We were the first people to view it and we immediately put in a bid. And we got the house. Many papers to sign."

"Moving was not easy. It took 2 whole months. Cody was out of town helping their grandma recover from a big surgery and we had to sell their old house/move that as well as move from my apartment. ALSO THE PETS: My cat dick wolf + Cody's 3 birds. Until we could get some doors installed and separate the house, I had to live between two places every day to feed and care for them."

"Still, life was good. I bought my first house! It has a swing in the backyard. I've never had my own backyard. I've never even lived somewhere that had trees (in said yard) It felt nice. Living together with the love of my life and 4 pets."

"Through all this i never closed my shop. How could I? It was my income, and I just bought a house. It needed to stay open. Moving that much inventory, setting up a new office, the house is a nice size but it's not huge, so, very careful organizing had to be executed if I wanted my apparel laid out right. (Which I totally managed to do)"

"but i Did get really good at baking pies. the two are connected."

"sacred_crow on instagram!"

"there's like 25 of u bastards i would absolutely die for, and about 75 more that i would go nearly dead over."

"We have an extra bedroom so I got to turn it into a toy room. There's games, crafts, stuffed animals, movies, a sick loft I painted the shit out of. It rules. It brings me a lot of Joy."

"Under the loft we have a dug out where we can watch VHS tapes. I love to sit with Cody and watch movies and play Donkey Kong."

"I am not good at Banjo Kazooie, but Cody is. Cody is so talented. I love watching them play games. (Depicted is not banjo kazooie but donkey kong country 2 as we are currently playing that. I'm good at DKC but I will still swear and make sounds like im about to throw up)"

"Half the basement is finished, so we turned it into a dual office space. It rules. Cody has a whole side for fursuit crafting, and my side is mostly my gigantic gamer computer area/shipping area. I took a whole wall to put all my non apparel merch like pins charms and notebooks also. for hte love of god someone buy the notebooks they take up more space then i wanted"

"I love to look over from my computer and see cody working. They always look so focused, yet peaceful."

"It's winter but it rains. I miss the snow. I lived by the lakes growing up. I miss piles of snow. It's just wet and cold here. Yes i'm quite aware of global warming"

"I got kicked off both my health and car insurance. I fixed the car one but health insurance still no. All my meds have gone away. The past few months have been hard. I think way too much lately. I can't get myself to do anything. -this is a whole page of downer bullshit and i cropped it!-"

"We had a leaky ceiling that took a month to fix. Cody did all the work because they are smart and kind."

"Oh yeah I had my uterus removed earlier this year. They let me keep it. It's in a jar in my living room."

"We threw a very nice halloween party. I was the green m&m. Cody was the monarch."

"We adopted 8 beautiful kiwis from a crane machine at the mall. we spent over 100 monies to get them but it was worth it."

"

It was a rough year. My health is in decline. Our country may try to end my life for being trans soon (lol?) I am in hte middle of a colossal mental breakdown of my core fundamental behavior (depression advanced) BUT ALSO: I am engaged to my favorite person. We bought a house together. I'm beginning a new chapter of my life. I have a swing in my backyard. The negatives suck but there are also many positives. The cycle of emotions is immense, but there is beauty in it. There is beauty in life, and isn't that wonderful?"

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧.

✦ info: he's so, so in love with you.

✦ warnings: not proofread.

✦ featuring: jing yuan, gepard landau.

✦ notes: please do know i've done no research i only know bits and pieces of actual game lore these are simply self indulgent and silly Thoughts i'm having about them in the middle of the night <3 (i have no clue what this is i js think it's cute)

— smitten! jing yuan, who thinks of you all day, every day, while doing his official duties, while sparring with yanqing, while speaking with officials, even just before his afternoon nap.

(the strangest of things remind him of you: an oddly shaped rock takes him back to the time when you baked something for him, and the dew shining on a leaf brings with it a recollection of the sparkle in your gaze. it is almost as if you've claimed more than half the space in his head, stubbornly refusing to surrender it into the hands of his daily tasks.

well, he's certainly not complaining.)

— speaking of afternoon naps, smitten! jing yuan, who dreams of you while he dozes in the afternoon. he doesn't remember all of them, but he adores the warm, fuzzy feeling he wakes up with.

— smitten! jing yuan, who names one of his birds after you. he tries not to pick favorites, he really does, but there's just something about the way this little one tilts its head that reminds him so much of you, how can he not like this one the most?

(yanqing once caught him affectionately cooing at the bird with your name. he brings it up every game of starchess they play, hoping to distract the general from stealing another one of his pieces. jing yuan knows what he's doing though, and still ends up stealing a piece or two.)

— smitten! gepard, who writes letters addressed to you every single day while he's away. some he sends, some he keeps. but every single one of them is filled with all the things he thinks of telling you while you're not by his side.

(the ones he keeps are the sappiest, full of things he's too shy to say to you— about how he longs to return to your warm embrace, about how he wants to taste your cooking, about how he wants to lie in your lap while you pet his hair. perhaps one day, he'll find the courage to say them out loud?)

— smitten! gepard, who finds himself murmuring your name, over and over when he's idle.

(sometimes, if there's a tune running through his head, he sings out the syllables of your name, before catching himself in the act. he shakes his head at himself, red dusting his cheeks, but a tiny smile plays at his lips nevertheless.)

— smitten! gepard, who doodles your name (and perhaps a drawing or two) on a spare piece of paper whenever he's lost in thought. he'd never dare do that on official paper work, though, no way, none at all.

(except... one fine day, he ends up drawing one of his infamous sketches in the margins of a very important, incredibly serious, highly official report to the supreme guardian herself.

he only notices at the very last minute, right before submission, much to his mortification and relief. thank the preservation, he thinks as he redoes it, for—well— preserving his dignity.

who knows how much his sister would have teased him if she found out?)

taglist: @ilyuu @ineshapanda @supernova25 @kissedbysilk @vixianne

(bold = unable to be tagged!) please fill in the form in my profile to be added, and send an ask to be removed!

[veephoenix]

until the stars stop shining | noah sebastian

previous part to all that's left, but it can be read as a one shot.

summary: noah and his girl spend an evening by the lake | words: 1.2k | reading time: 5mins

tags & trigger warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff. noah is an illustrator, reader loves baking cookies, mentions of noah having been reader's first, and that's it—they love each other a ton.

This is for the anon that asked for something sweet and fluffy after i posted All That's Left. I hope this does it. It's not actually a standalone work, but a sort of flashback belonging to the same story where All That's Left happens. I have a full plot developed in my head, but I can't tell if I'll ever write it and post it, so here goes this little thing where you get to know a little bit more of those characters and the story.

Thank you for all your constant love and support <3

 ͢ until the stars stop shining

Noah leaned back in the Muskoka chair, one leg lazily stretched out, balancing his sketchbook on his lap. He was shirtless, only wearing his bathing suit. For over an hour, he had been sketching, savoring the tranquil solitude offered by the lake, the warm caress of the late afternoon sun, and the rustling of leaves. Early fall was the perfect time for moments like this, when nature felt intimate and unhurried. Most of the tourists had long gone, leaving behind only the soft chorus of birds and the quiet murmur of waves licking the shore.

The breeze teased the pages of his sketchbook, carrying with it the crisp scent of pine needles and the rhythmic whisper of water against the rocks. Noah’s pencil glided in slow, thoughtful strokes as he tried to capture the scene before him, but his thoughts drifted constantly to his girl.

The door to the cottage creaked open right then, and she stepped outside. She carried a wooden tray filled with oat cinnamon cookies, their powdered sugar dusting glinting in the soft afternoon light. The sweet, comforting aroma mingled with the crisp air, making Noah smile to himself even without glancing back. 

She padded softly down the dock, her bare feet almost silent against the worn wood, and placed the tray on the armrest of his chair, her fingers grazing his shoulder in a brief, affectionate touch.

“I baked something,” she said, her voice carrying that familiar warmth. Of course she had. Baking was her favorite thing to do.  “Something sweet for my favorite artist.”

Noah grinned as he finally looked at her, his eyes catching on the spot of flour smeared across her nose. She had no idea it was there, and he decided not to tell her—she looked adorable like that.

“You need to refill your energy after working so hard for hours on end,” she pointed out as she glanced at the open sketchbook on his lap. 

Instead of reaching for a cookie, Noah broke off a small piece and gently brought it to her lips. Her smile widened as she took a bite, the sweetness melting on her tongue. A moment later, he let out a soft chuckle, reaching to brush a crumb off her lip with the pad of his thumb. His eyes lingered on her for a beat longer before dropping back to his half-finished sketch.

“I’m not half as good at drawing as you are at baking,” he admitted.

She tilted her head, glancing at the sketch. “This one looks pretty good to me, Noah.”

He smirked, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Wait until you see the one I did last night, after you fell asleep on the couch.”

“Why do you find it so entertaining to draw me?”

His gaze softened as he looked back at her. “Because you’re my favorite subject.”

That’s when he bopped her nose, making the flour stain disappear.

Her grin was bright and effortless as she leaned over the back of his chair, wrapping her arms around his neck. She rested her chin on his shoulder, close enough to feel his warmth. “And you’re my favorite person to bake for,” she whispered.

Noah’s cheeks flushed slightly at her words, a rare blush coloring his usually composed expression. She kissed the warm skin of his left cheek, lingering for just a moment before pulling away with a satisfied smile. She wandered toward the edge of the dock, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden planks. She sat down, her legs hanging off the edge.

Noah watched her for a moment, admiring how the wind gently tousled her hair and the way the light danced off her skin. The contentment in her posture, the way her eyes reflected the colors of the setting sun—everything about this moment felt perfect.

“You ever gonna let me teach you how to swim?” Noah asked.

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on the water before she responded quietly, “I don’t know... I’m still a bit scared of it.” She dipped her feet a little deeper, letting the cool water lap around her ankles. “But... I love being here. With you.”

The memory of that first visit just the two of them was vivid in both their minds. This was Jolly’s cottage, the same place where Noah and her had meet back when she was still fourteen and he was eighteen. They had spent countless of weekends and birthdays and fourths of July in this very same place. But nothing had been as special as the weekend Noah convinced Jolly to let him stay with her, alone. It had been six years since then, and even now, the memory of taking her virginity—in Jolly’s bed—was still as clear as water.  

Noah watched as the wind played with her hair, blowing soft strands across her face. He picked up his sketchbook again, unable to resist capturing her in this moment—the peacefulness, the effortless beauty. His pencil moved in quick, steady strokes as he sketched her sitting at the edge of the dock, her feet in the water, the sun casting an orange glow over the horizon. He knew that one day, he would marry this girl. There was no question in his mind.

Once satisfied with the drawing, Noah quietly set his sketchbook aside and rose from the chair. He walked over to her with slow, deliberate steps, his heart swelling as he took in the sight of her in this perfect, secluded spot. Without warning, he bent down, pretending to lift her by the underarms as if he were about to toss her into the water.

She yelped in surprise, her heart leaping as she felt her feet lift off the dock. “Noah!” 

Before she could fully react, Noah pulled her back into his arms, turning her around to face him. She clung to him, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, her arms tightening around his neck, her pulse racing from the surprise.

“Don’t you dare!” she gasped, breathless from both fear and thrill, burying her face against his neck.

Noah laughed with her, holding her close, feeling her warm breath against his skin. “I wouldn’t let you go that easily,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Still holding her, Noah carried her over to the blanket they had left spread out on the dock earlier. He gently laid her down, her body sinking into the soft fabric, and then settled beside her. 

“Don’t you ever,” she started to say, “ever, let me drown, Noah Sebastian.”

“Never ever,” he promised, showing her his pinky finger. 

She laced it with hers and finally, she let out a heavy sigh and cuddled closer to him, nuzzing her cheek against his bare shoulder. 

They lay close, facing each other, their fingers lazily tracing along each other’s arms and faces. Neither spoke for a long while. Her fingers trailed down his chest while his hand rested lightly on her hip. Above them, the stars began to appear, one by one, until the sky was a dark, glittering canvas. The moon’s reflection shimmered on the water.

“How long will you love me?” Noah asked, his voice barely louder than the breeze.

She gazed at him, eyes warm and steady. She placed the most tender of kisses on his lips.

“Until the stars stop shining.”

[joelscurls]

a heart for melting

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: post-outbreak, implied age gap, themes surrounding child loss and grief, some angst but mostly festive fluff, grumpy x sunshine dynamics (Joel is a grinch & reader loves the holidays), reader is described as having long-ish hair

summary: Jackson's first annual Holiday Market brings about more than just cheer.

a/n: Merry Christmas @thetriumphantpanda; I'm your pedrostories secret santa! I hope you enjoy this lil festive take on grumpy!joel x sunshine!reader — I had lots of fun writing it 🤍🎄 🥧 🪵 🦌

Joel doesn’t want to be here — surrounded by garland and ribbons and so much unadulterated joy, it’s nauseating. No, he was forced to be here. 

Please, Ellie had begged, it’ll be good for you to do something other than patrol or drinking with Tommy. Plus, they’re too good to keep to yourself.

They, being wood carvings — the tiny sculptures of deer and bears and birds, tufts of hair and bunches of feathers drawn out of driftwood with the tip of his blade. It was only ever meant to be a hobby, a way to busy his hands after they’d been wrapped around the cold metal of his rifle all day. Something lighter, creative rather than destructive, an act of giving rather than taking. 

But sharing them with other people? He hadn’t been interested. Maybe he’d make one for Ellie or Tommy. Wrap it up in a piece of cloth and offer it as a gift for their birthday.

Not that he thought they were any good, really.

With the announcement of Jackson’s first annual Holiday Market, though, came Ellie’s pleading. “I’ll help you,” she’d bargained. “You don’t even have to give me anything!”

“Who said I would anyway?” he’d grumbled, digging his spoon into the bottom of his bowl of stew and sifting out a chunk of meat.

Joel despises the Holiday Season. He’d welcomed its disappearance with the end of the world. Because he had no reason to celebrate, with Sarah gone. Her absence stung like salt in an open wound on any normal day. But on Christmas, memories of her hanging her favorite ornaments on the tree and sneaking one of the cookies baked for Santa burned behind his eyelids. Left him heaving through hot tears.

The holidays had no place in his world, but they certainly had a place in Jackson. The first time he and Ellie had strode through those gates, they’d been met with that damned Christmas Tree, towering over the settlement like a beacon. And he hated it, hated the way it brought about that pounding in his chest and that spinning in his head. 

How could anyone find any good in such a poignant reminder of loss? 

Tommy says it’s about new beginnings, finding ways to be happy again. And what’s happier ‘n Christmas? God damn Santa Clause, hot chocolate, children singin’ carols?

Still, Joel isn’t convinced — not yet.

Standing across the mess hall, at your table piled high with baked goods, you are far too cheerful. You’re humming some song with a jovial beat, absentmindedly swaying as you rearrange rows of gingerbread and muffins and scones — all of which are draped in white icing, like flocking on Christmas trees. You pause to wish a happy holiday to everyone who passes through. 

Joel knows he’s seen you before, flitting in and out of the community’s kitchen, always with that signature smile scrawled across your face.

And god, you’re so bubbly, taking to everyone you meet like a bee to honey, letting them in without a care in the world. Popping from table to table, making sure they have enough to eat. That they’re doing well.

It shouldn’t surprise him that you’re so…spirited, too. You seem to find the good in everyone and everything, after all.

It infuriates him, nonetheless.

Joel groans to himself. Stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans as an elderly couple rounds on him. 

He grumbles a hello to them when they approach. They offer him half-smiles in return, beginning to pick up some of the carvings laid out on the table — turning them, inspecting them.

“This one’s nice,” the man says to his wife. She hums in agreement. 

“You got any tigers?” the man asks.

“Tigers?”

“Yeah — I used to love ‘em as a kid.”

“Got what’s on the table,” Joel grumbles. 

“You make ‘em custom? I can offer some homemade jam in return — elderberry.”

Joel sighs in annoyance. 

“Don’t make ‘em custom. Got what I got.”

The man seems defeated, nodding and walking off without another word. The woman follows closely behind.

Just as they leave, Ellie appears. She sidles up to Joel and shrugs her jacket off. Pulls a chair up next to him.

“There’s so much cool shit here!” she exclaims, too loud. A judgemental set of eyes flit her direction. She glares right back at them.

“Do you mind?” Joel huffs, jaw ticking.

“Jesus, who pissed in your Cheerios?” 

“How do you even know what Cheerios are?”

“Don’t,” she admits. “I read it in a book.” 

“Of course you did.”

Ellie leans back in her chair, pulling an apple out of her backpack and biting into it. She shuffles some of the carvings around on the table. “Gotta fill in these gaps, man,” she says, juice dribbling down her chin.

Joel ignores her. He sneaks a glance at you; finds that you’re already looking. Your expression is unreadable, gaze unmoving as he studies you.

Despite your upbeat disposition bothering him, he can’t deny that you’re gorgeous: bright, beckoning eyes, siren-like smile — it’s like you’re peering into his soul. 

He didn’t think he still had one of those.

“Dude.” Ellie nudges him. He peels his eyes from you reluctantly. “I asked how many takers you’ve had.”

“Uh.” He pretends to think. 

“You have no fucking idea, do you? Too busy staring at that girl.”

“Wasn’t starin’,” he clips defensively.

“No? Well she’s coming over here, man.”

Sure enough, you’re striding right toward him, abandoning your post. Joel barely has time to prepare for impact.

He unconsciously straightens up and pulls his hands out of his pockets. He brushes them on his jeans just as you stop in front of his table.

“Hi there,” you say.

“Hi!” Ellie chimes.

You pick up a carving of a two-headed deer. His favorite.

“This is beautiful,” you coo. “The craftsmanship is lovely.” You’re running a finger along the grooves in the wood, holding the piece delicately in the palm of your hand — as if it’s made of glass, not wood. “You have a real gift…”

“Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeat. He ignores how sweet his name sounds coming out of your mouth. You tell him your name, and it fits you, he thinks. It’s pretty.

“How long have you been making them?”

“Just since I got to Jackson. ‘ts somethin’ to pass the time.”

You nod. Continue scanning over the intricacies of the deer. “I was never much of a baker before I got here, either,” you joke, gesturing back toward your table.

“Good one,” Ellie laughs. “You’re funny — isn’t she funny, Joel?”

In his head, he’s glowering at her. Outwardly, he feigns amusement.

“Real funny.”

“I’d love to see how you make these sometime,” you say, then, placing the deer back on the table gingerly. “Do you have a workshop?”

“In our shed,” Ellie pipes in before he can say anything. “You should come by tomorrow! Joel’s off patrol.”

He shoots her daggers. She pretends not to notice.

“I’d love that! I have to work in the kitchen, though. I could come by after?”

Joel starts to shake his head no. Ellie’s hand wraps around his arm like a vice grip. He stills.

“Sure,” he grits.

“I can bring some pastries, if you’d like.”

“Don’t like sweets.” 

“Oh,” you say, a little thwarted, but you’re undeterred. You shift on your feet. Chew your bottom lip. “Well, how about something not sweet, then?”

Your brows lift, narrowed eyes on him as you await a response. Joel still isn’t thrilled about the prospect of a visitor. Really, he doesn’t like anyone on his property that isn’t Ellie, or Tommy and Maria if he’s invited them. But you don’t seem so bad, offering to bring him food. 

He can probably deal with your sunny disposition in exchange for a full belly. Lord knows he went too long without that luxury, and he’d be a fool to deny himself of it ever again.

So, he agrees, the garbled sure less than enthusiastic leaving his mouth. Still, you don’t seem too offended. In fact, you smirk at him, wordlessly sauntering back to your table, sneaking glances at him every so often for the remainder of the afternoon.

Sure enough, the next evening, while Joel is whittling in the shed, you show up.

You’re wielding a basket of savory hand pies, as promised, and Joel has to stop himself from drooling. They smell incredible. And they’re still warm, somehow, steam wafting off of them even after your walk here.

“Come in,” he gruffs, his nose following the scent like a dog’s as he trails behind you inside.

His set up is minimal: a rocking chair next to a bench, a couple stools he made for when Tommy comes by to play poker. But his works are scattered throughout, every surface in the small room cluttered with little carvings.

He settles atop one of the stools as you begin to wander around the room, plucking sculptures off shelves and awing at them with such genuine admiration, it causes something to pull in his chest.

Every so often, you make a remark about the details in a piece, how the fur on the deer looks real, how you can practically smell the replica evergreen in your grasp.

And something shifts — carried by your kind words through the stuffy shed.

Taken by the slight lilt in your voice when you speak to him, the almost-shy smile that pulls at the corners of your lips — Joel is attracted to you.

He’s following the line of your neck down to your collarbone, ogling at the exposed skin there when you pick another carving up off the shelf. And he feels guilty — he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. You’re just being nice, being neighborly, and he’s gawking at you like you’d have any interest in him.

No; you’re young, beautiful, could do a lot better than an old grump like him. 

He averts his gaze quickly when you suddenly set down the tiny, carved bird that had been in your palm, round the workbench and perch yourself atop the stool next to his. You retrieve a handpie out of the basket and pass it over to him. 

“It has braised rabbit and carmelized onions in it,” you explain, taking a bite and letting the steam roll out. 

He follows suit and — it tastes just as good as it smells, if not better. He’s salivating again, letting the dough melt in his mouth before swallowing. 

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, getting through the entire basket in mere minutes.

When you’re finished, you ask him where he’s from. 

The question shouldn’t feel like such a shock to the system. But after a year of being in Jackson, successfully avoiding conversation about his life before the outbreak, it sets off a panging between his eyes, a dull ache in his viscera. 

“Texas,” he tells you plainly. “From Austin, originally.”

You nod. And you must be able to tell that he’s not used to talking about himself — by the tick of his jaw or the lack of eye contact — he’s not sure. Because you don’t pry. Instead, you say, “you can ask me something.”

He nods. Thinks on it for a moment.

“When did you arrive here? To Jackson?” 

Unlike him, you do not grimace at the intrusion. Instead, you tell him: about your parents, their untimely deaths, the harrowing road that led you here. You do not cry, but Joel can see the pain in your shiny eyes. 

It’s inevitable; there isn’t a single person here who hasn’t been dealt a bad hand. But you wear your past like a badge of honor, like you’re still grateful, after it all, to be alive.

Joel envies your tenacity.

So when you ask him about Ellie, if she is his daughter, he lets the walls around him down — just an inch. He doesn’t get upset when he stumbles over his words while telling you about Sarah. He finds comfort in confiding in you, in the way you so attentively listen, quietly nodding along as he recalls his version of the end of the world.

“Thank you,” you say when he’s done, burying his hands back in his pockets.

“For what?”

“For sharing that with me. I know it can be difficult to relive it.”

“I relive it everyday,” he admits. “Everything reminds me of her in one way or another.”

“I understand,” you nod. He believes you do.

So sweet, gaze like honey, you are an enigma to him. He hasn’t met many people who are kind just for the sake of it — not in a long while. Maybe that’s why he’d been so bothered by it at the market. It had felt almost unnatural to him, bound to be laced with an ulterior motive. 

He’s still learning how to trust people again. It doesn’t come easily after twenty-odd years of rationing it like the pills he’d stowed. Still, there is something innate about baring his soul to you. Letting you in through the cracks in his battered being. You are safe, he’s sure of it; benevolence radiating from you like warmth.

It drips off your tongue when you ask him to show you how he does his craft — slips down your fluttering lashes. No longer can he deny you of anything — he’s accepted this swiftly — and so he obliges.

A half-whittled fox materializes from his coat pocket, along with his blade. He passes both to you and pulls his stool closer to yours.

He guides you, taking your hand in his, encouraging the press of the blade into the wood. Shows you how to round out a corner with a subtle twist of the knife. You’re a fast learner, Joel notes, attentive, taking every instruction like gospel.

The slow drag of steel, your fingers wrapped tightly around the handle; you’re so focused that you jump slightly when he places a reassuring hand on your knee.

“Doin’ great, darlin’,” he says, and your lips pull around pearlescent teeth. Joel feels as enraptured by you as you do the carving — the loose tendrils of hair that drape over your shoulder, the clinging of cotton to your soft curves. Though he hardened into stone a long time ago, he feels smelted in your presence. So he cannot help it when his fingers begin to drift up your leg, settling at your side as he turns his body toward yours.

The blade stalls, tip still stuck into the wood, puncturing the fox’s non-existent spine, and your face lifts. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers. You nod, gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

You’re so close like this; Joel can smell the floral perfume dappled along your neck, can feel your warm breath fanning his face. He has half a mind to stop himself from sealing the sliver of distance left between you. But then you’re sighing, placing the blade and the wooden fox on the tabletop. And it’s your turn to guide him — winding your delicate fingers around his wrist and settling his hand at the small of your back.

The air in the tiny workshop grows heavy with unspoken desire, a longing to disrupt; to create. Your body forms to his languidly, arms interlocking behind his neck, fingers weaving in his hair to pull him closer to you. And then your lips press to his — hesitant at first, then not. You drink from each other until you are drunk, breathless and giddy when you separate. 

“That was nice,” you whisper, and Joel chuckles. 

“Just nice?”

“Great,” you amend. “It was great. Better than I imagined, even.”

“You imagined this?”

“Yes,” you smirk. “On a loop since I first saw you at the market.”

He pulls you back in. Gives you another chaste kiss. “For good measure.”

“Joel,” you say then, “will you and Ellie come by mine on Christmas? I could even cook — it’s just-”

“Yes,” he’s accepting before you can finish. “I’d love that. As long as you make more of those,” he gestures toward the empty basket on the workbench. 

“That can be arranged,” you grin.

As soon as you leave that evening — sent off with a goodbye muttered between slotted mouths — Joel starts on your Christmas present. 

end notes: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment if you enjoyed <3

[mrsparrasblog]

Loser Simon

Tw: he is really pathetic, choking, stalking, masturbation, unprotected sex, baby trapping, micro penis,

A/N: credits to @dumbbitchgalore got inspired by her Pathetic Price fic

The light flickered in the dirty bathroom stall of the pub he went to after Price said they needed to celebrate their win. Well, it was his win; the others were just there. He had every reason to be cocky today. He was a handsome bloke with big muscles and perfect at his job. So when that bird approached him at the pub, which Johnny had eyed for hours, he thought, "Fuck it," and went with her into the dirty pub toilet.

His self-confidence struck again, too high. He should know by now what was about to happen when she removed his jeans, revealing his small member in contrast to his big size. Most of the time, the women or men started to laugh at him before they left. Some hoped he was a grower—he wasn’t. The worst was when a woman finally managed not to laugh, and he came in her face before she even put her lips on him. To a certain degree, he knew he was pathetic, but his confidence always got in his way, so he tried again and again, with the same result.

His sloppy lips licked hers, eager for her to grant his long tongue entrance. His big hands massaged the soft flesh of her ass before she went down on her knees, fighting with his belt. She was so eager, expecting the biggest dick she had ever seen from the 6’4" man. Unfortunately for Simon, she started to laugh when she saw his tiny package standing proud and already leaking precum like a faucet. "That's a joke," she said and just didn’t stop laughing at him, making him lose his cool. He wrapped his calloused hands around her delicate throat. He knew he wouldn’t kill her—he wasn’t a psychopath, after all. "If you tell anyone, I’ll fucking kill you," he threatened. Her laughing stopped and turned to an expression of pure fear as she nodded to keep his small secret.

"That was fast, mate," Gaz mentioned as Ghost returned to their booth.

"That bird was into crazy shit, and I don’t dip my dick in crazy," he replied, getting an approving nod from Price and Gaz, who had their fair share of crazy women over the years. But only Johnny raised his brow suspiciously. He always knew something was wrong with the Lt's sex life—not that he minded, but it was suspicious.

Price didn’t flirt with birds since he was still obsessed with his ex-wife, comparing every woman to Mrs. Price, who he cheated on in a moment of weakness. Kyle didn’t flirt with the girls or boys in the pub since he had a friends-with-benefits thing with you, the most beautiful nurse on base. Poor Kyle fell for you in that act. He himself flirted with every above-average attractive lad or lass who went into the pub, but Ghost—he never had a girl at home, and all the girls he took with him for fun returned minutes later with a traumatized look on their faces. Johnny was pretty sure the Lt was into some kinky stuff or was one of those guys who busted their load way too fast. He just knew something was wrong.

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

He had half a mind to go to the brothel for his birthday to finally get over his fucking virginity. They were paid to do it, so they wouldn’t turn him down or laugh at him. His plans changed quickly when he saw you in front of his barrack, holding a cupcake with a candle in it, telling him "Happy Birthday" with that beautiful smile of yours. He really wanted to say thank you, but instead, he just looked at you and grumbled. You tried to lighten the mood by telling him you baked it yourself and that it was red velvet.

"How do you know I like red velvet?"

"You always choose red velvet over any other flavor when there are cookies in the mess hall," your eyes still shined as you held the delicious treat under his nose. He grabbed it without even saying a simple thank you and closed the door. Well, Kyle told you, you shouldn’t bring him something for his birthday. The Lt was weird and mean, was all he said. You should be happy if he didn’t spit in your face after trying your treats.

Kyle’s warning was fair. You shouldn’t have baked for the Lt—not because of his rude gestures. You just should never feed a stray dog, or it gets attached to you. And having that big broody Lieutenant attached to you was a death sentence you weren’t prepared for.

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

Ghost knew he wasn’t a particularly good human, never was, and never would be. But right now, he felt like the worst human alive. Ever since you gave him that sweet treat, he was obsessed with you. It started innocently—he wanted to find out your name, your dislikes, your friends. It went a bit too far when he knew your blood type, bra size, and social security number. But that happens, okay? You need to forgive him for being so eager. It’s romantic, after all—or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But now he stood in your room while you were roaming around the base, his small dick in one hand and a pair of your used panties he nicked from the laundry bin in the other. The images of you weren’t enough anymore. He needed the real thing—needed to smell and taste you, finally make you his.

Your panties smelled so good to him. All thoughts of getting a prostitute flushed away. You’d be the one to take his virginity. You’re way too sweet to laugh at him. You’ll take him and love him—all his selfishness, the killing—you won’t care. You will love him just like he loves you.

Something was different. Your friends called you paranoid, but you couldn’t be. For a month, no guy hit on you, Kyle broke off your fuck buddy arrangement—god, you missed his dick—no CO yelled at you, you lost at least 20 pairs of your panties. Your pillow smelled weirdly no matter how often you washed it or even replaced it. Your shampoos and perfumes went empty. You were probably going crazy. Your friends were right.

You were already putting on your pajamas when the door rang. To your surprise, the Lieutenant stood in front of you. "We’re going on a date."

"Uh, how about you ask me first?" you argued. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to—everyone around the base had a crush on him, and you kind of did too. But still, he could have asked.

He didn’t even answer and gave you a big bag. "In 30 minutes outside."

You went inside and opened the bag. To say you were shocked was an understatement of the year. Inside the bag was the black dress you eyed in the mall a month ago in your size, the YSL heels you pinned on Pinterest, and even a set of Victoria's Secret underwear. How did he know all this stuff? Maybe Kyle told him your size, you thought. And who are you to complain about free YSL heels?

The date was interesting. Simon—how you should call him from now on—didn’t talk much, but he was a good listener. He looked even hotter without the mask and paid for the bill without even a blink. If he had talked, it would have been the best date of your life.

Back at the base, he pushed you against the wall, claiming your mouth as his. Everything about him was big and clumsy. You tried to teach him that your nipples weren’t a trigger on a gun, and he was at least eager to learn—that’s more than you’d expect from most of your Tinder dates.

You were surprised when you pulled his dick out from his pants, and he wasn’t as big as everyone thought he would be. But hey, that’s okay. At least it wouldn’t hurt, you thought, as you slowly glided your cunt on his leaking cock. The sounds Simon made were heavenly—he didn’t hold back like other men. He was moaning and whimpering while you bounced on his dick, his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

His thick fingers drew circles around your clit, pulling moans from you. He was so attentive, focusing on your needs, and fuck, everything his dick lacked, his fingers could give you.

"Oh God, Simon," you whimpered as he increased the speed of his thick digits circling your pearl like no one ever did before. Making you cum wasn’t a side quest for him—it was everything that mattered right now.

"So good for me, Babygirl. Fuck, show me how much you love being filled out by me." Your cunt started to clench around him when he used that commanding voice on you. It didn’t take much for Simon to finally bust his load inside of you, heavy balls being emptied as you milked him for all he was worth.

"I love you, Babygirl," was all he muttered. You would have run away if you weren’t in an orgasmic bliss.

He was incredibly proud of himself for how long he lasted, and that you didn’t notice how he came in his pants after you kissed him for the first time. That could happen, okay?

Simon caressed your hair while you lay on top of his strong body. He was 1000% sure that he was going to marry you. You took his dick without laughing, and you’re so sweet. He should teach you to get rid of your naivety tho. Having sex without condoms on the first date—really, sweetheart? As if your sugar pills could prevent him from knocking you up.

[lycheedr3ams]

ℑ𝔩𝔩 𝔐𝔢𝔱 𝔟𝔶 𝔐𝔬𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱

werewolf!könig x fem!reader

Prologue | October 29th

Summary: You're a bakery worker in the small, isolated town of Heiligenblut, Austria. könig is a hunter and lumberjack who stays to himself and always has an aura of mystery and darkness. and through a series of strange circumstances, you're the one to uncover his secret. (set in the modern-day) CW: like all of my fanfics reader is fem she/her, adult content, predator/prey dynamics, werewolf-fucking, mentions of animal carcasses and blood, a bit unsettling at times. (can't think of anything else atm, this might count as dark content? not sure) WC: 1.8k

your life had always been fairly predictable. your hometown was so small that most people knew everyone else's business, tourists came and went on schedules like birds migrating for winter, all stores in town were open from monday through saturday, the church bell rang at the top of every hour, you always baked the same things with the same ingredients each day.

and of course, you knew all the regular customers' routines. elderly customers would always come in the morning, schoolchildren in the mid afternoon, working mothers and courthouse employees during their lunch breaks. the labor-men of the town - lumberjacks, hunters, farmers - would always be the first people to show up at the bakery, even before the elderly, to get the freshest items. that was, all of the working men except for könig.

rather than get the freshest goods first thing in the morning, könig would instead come into the bakery the minute before closing. and each time, he came in sweaty and dirty to buy his typical goods: apfel strudel and hausbrot. unlike everyone else in town, könig seemed to have his own schedule. some weeks, he'd come every other day. other weeks, it would be two days in a row and then not until the fifth day. and some weeks, he'd only show up once or twice. könig was never predictable. you tried to learn his schedule when he'd come so that you could have his things ready for him by the time he got there, but it was hopeless with whatever personal clock he ran on. you had accidentally wasted a few strudels and loaves of bread a few times by setting them aside for könig, only for him not to follow the schedule you thought he had. you eventually gave up on predicting his routine, if he even had one.

also unlike most other customers, könig did not speak aside from a greeting or two for politeness. most customers would talk about the weather, the harvest, town gossip. but könig would come in, nod his head to acknowledge you, and say "guten nacht" as he left. and he learned that he didn't need to say his order after a month of you working at the bakery, since he always got the same things each time. he was secretly grateful that you were so observant and had a good memory, because it saved him from speaking too much. you didn't even need to tell him the total anymore, because it was the same every time. he'd hand you the money, and leave. he also never took off the black bandana that he tied around his nose, covering everything except his eyes.

you had heard the townspeople speak of him in admiration laced with fear. könig lived alone in a small cabin a little ways from town, surrounded by the woods. he took up apprenticeship with the local lumberjack when he was 17, and was hunting since he was a boy. he could chop entire trees down with only a few swift swings of his large axe, and could carry whole logs on each of his shoulders. and könig was, with no arguments, the most skilled hunter around. but no one had ever seen him hunt. many young men had approached him, wishing to become his apprentice, but he turned each one down. fathers came begging to him, offering copious amounts of money and supplies if konig could just teach their sons to be half the hunter he was. but konig always said no. there were rumors about the reason why: maybe he strangled his prey with his bare hands, or hunted them with only a knife. or maybe his methods were sacred family tradition, not meant to be shared with anyone. whatever the case, all everyone knew was that könig always had the largest harvest, and the town was never short on meat.

könig always seemed on edge. suspicious. he was never seen out much other than for work and to buy food. sometimes, the townspeople would ask you worriedly if könig had ever caused you any trouble when he came into the bakery at night. you always assured everyone who asked that könig had never caused you any trouble at all. but what you couldn't tell them was that you always had a crush on the brooding, mysterious giant. how could you not be allured by his strength and sheer masculinity? but that was something you always kept to yourself. you had to, because you were sure that the town's most feared and respected man never thought about you other than when you were handing him his baked goods. so you forced yourself to swallow your feelings for him, even though a bright blush would always creep across your cheeks when he came into the bakery, and your panties were always wet after he left. but you didn't know if he even noticed the way you'd shyly blush, only for him.

...

The town was getting ready for the annual Halloween festival, which was one of the largest festivals your town boasted. large pumpkins, countless strawbales, gourds, and squash were harvested from the farms with the most to offer and scattered around the main area of town for the entire month of October. and at night when the sun would set, orange and yellow lights draped across the streetlamps would glimmer in the dark, getting everyone - especially the children - excited for halloween.

the halloween festival culminated in a large feast on halloween night, at exactly 9pm sharp. large wooden tables made from the very trees surrounding the town would be brought to the town square, donned with tablecloths, and adorned with the best harvest the town had to offer. hams, sausages, venison, and beef were aplenty during the festival each year, thanks to könig. your bakery was responsible for supplying the pastries and other sweets, and the farmers for their vegetables. the elderly women would make stews and other warm meals, and the entire town would gather to celebrate halloween and let the children run free. it was because of this festival that october was one of the busiest months out of the year for the town.

but this year, there were rumors beginning to spread.

October 28th

an elderly man came into the bakery on a slow day and chatted with you as you packed his order. he smiled kindly at you, then looked around to ensure no one else was in the bakery.

"have you heard the word around, miss?" the old man asked. you boxed up his pastries and shook your head. "what word? there's always so much going on in this town." you smiled. but your smile quickly faded when you saw the serious look in the man's eyes. he whispered lowly when he spoke.

"word is, the hunter hasn't yet turned in any meat for festival, and it's only in a few days now."

you tilted your head in confusion. "i'm sorry, did I hear you right? könig hasn't turned in any meat at all?" the old man seemed to almost shudder when you said könig's name. "no miss, no meat at all. some say he's lost his touch, others think it's because of a pack of wolves that's made its way into the woods around town this last week."

"a pack of wolves?" you asked. "we haven't had wolves around here for so long, thanks to the men of the village protecting us." the old man shook his head. "no miss, we've been hearing howls at night for the last few weeks. i thought everyone had known about it by now. but it seems no one wants to talk about it."

you thought for a moment. könig hadn't turned in any meat for the festival? that was possibly the strangest sentence you had ever heard. such a thing could not be possible. you cleared your throat. "so what are we going to do for the festival's meat?" the old man shrugged. "i'm not sure miss. some farmers have been talkin' bout offering some of their livestock, but we'd like to avoid that to make it through winter."

your conversation abruptly ended when the hunter himself walked into the bakery and cast it in darkness, like clouds covering the bright full moon. you stared at könig, wide-eyed, for a moment, before smiling at him. "hello. i'll have your order ready in a moment."

the old man fumbled in his pocket and left the money on the counter before you could even open the cash register. he tipped his hat to könig and made a speedy exit with his pastry box tucked under his arm. why did everyone seem so afraid of könig, you wondered?

"that was odd," you smiled a bit to ease the awkward silence that had settled after the old man had hastily left. könig didn't respond, only staring at you with an inscrutable look. you looked at him back, feeling like you were face-to-face with some beast in the woods. the hairs on the back of your neck tingled, and you began to notice little abnormalities in his appearance. but before you could absorb exactly what was different about his appearance, the clock chimed for closing time. you jumped slightly, the tension between you and könig now broken as you looked at the clock. you took a shaky breath in and didn't look at him again as you packed up his order.

könig had already set the money on the counter before you put down his box, and he took the box from your hands before you could place it on the counter. he swiftly turned to leave, his shoulders seeming tense. and it was almost like someone else took control over your body when you forced your now meek voice to speak. "könig? are you okay?"

könig stopped within arm's reach of the bakery door, his wide shoulders spanning the width of the door itself. he slowly turned his head back to look at you, and again you felt like you were confronting a wild beast in the forest. the energy coming off of him felt dark and grim, and the only thing that could be heard was the ticking of the cuckoo clock and your shaky breathing.

"guten nacht," he said gruffly before leaving, the little bell attached to the door chiming in his wake.

you held your breath for a moment longer after he left, your heart hammering in your chest, before you heaved one large breath. you had never felt such tension and fear in your life. you placed your hand over your heart, trying to calm yourself down as you placed your other hand against the countertop for support.

you ran home from the bakery that night, plagued by the feeling that you were being chased.

i hope you guys liked the prologue! it's taken me a while to decide where i want the plot to go, but now i know and expect more soon!

[ryderdire]

The thought that were probably closer to Deltarune chapter 3 releasing then we are to when chapter 2 did it’s literally wild I could be playing chapter 3– 5 this time next year and I know that doesn’t sound like it’s close but you have to keep in mind, it’s been THREE years relatively a year is not that much compared to 3 to 4 and that’s just like it could’ve already been out for months by then who knows I certainly don’t

[dhampling]

sun astarion x reader drabble

Granted, only for a few hours; until morning at most - but there’s a genuine relief when your compatriots want to scatter across the town and leave you be. 

All except for him. 

-

wc: 600+

Blistering.

Eyes closed, toes outstretched - free from the confines of all leather and the tough of a sole long-battered - heels heavy in the fresh grass, the new soil. 

There’s a moment where all the air carries is far-off laughter and the smell of woodsmoke. 

You can’t say you’ve ever spent much time in Rivington - if any, at all. It’s charming in some lice-ridden rickety fashion, akin to other small towns you’ve travelled through in your time; and in prime position under the sun it simply bakes. Smoulders. Dirt paths trodden with clouds of pale puff, shoes laced with thick dry creases of dust. Warm ash on the waning breeze. 

The birds chirp in a dot-smatter overhead. Sky blue and vast and baking in the swell of the midday heat.

And it’s here you decide you’ll stay.

Granted, only for a few hours; until morning at most - but there’s a genuine relief when your compatriots want to scatter across the town and leave you be. 

All except for him. 

His first few tenday spells of day in two hundred years and he understandably basks in it. Pallid, occasionally wounded by the tender curse of long sun-reddened flesh for some small while before the skin heals over and his whinging stops. Forearm over forehead, eyes half-squinting; the gentle cant of his head toward yours on the lolling hill.

Astarion is quiet. It’s understandable. In a few long nights once reaching the Gate, he may have to relinquish his freedom once more. Give himself to the shadows, to the endless night; some awful routine of the moon rising as the stars sparkle overhead and the memory of every ounce of self-control leaving his corpse for the hunt. 

Granted, his centuries of plight will no longer be a problem. You’ll die if it ensures he’s free. Unspoken but he’s safe in the knowledge you won’t leave him behind. You won’t forget his struggle. You hold every ounce of his deliverance in safe hands and you’ve proven yourself time and time again to be in his corner.

“I’ll come with you, you know.”

A soft whispering into the sun; and you feel him shift to turn his head fully to you, still squinting; heat radiating from softened cheeks and lashes fluttering at the high of his cheek.

“Hm?”

“If you want me to. Whatever happens next.”

He offers some noncommittal hum and blinks slowly, wriggling a little to lay on his side with arms outstretched toward you.

“Come to me, lover. Please.”

You shuffle closer and rest a head on the hot skin of his inner arm, lips dipping to kiss your head.

“I mean it, Astarion.”

“I know. I do.”

A sleep-heavy sigh of contentment as he holds you still.  

“A house. Here. Thoughts?”

You wrinkle your nose.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“I can’t see you settling here.”

“I could definitely settle here, if I wanted to. Little house. Little... pets.” 

His fingers flutter on the peachy low of your cheek. You groan.

“You’ve got a lot of life to live. Rivington shouldn’t factor into that, love.”

“Oh, I know. I’m familiar. However, it has a certain charm by day that I’d never seen before now. Cobble all… warm, underfoot. It’s nice.”

You grin.

“You’re the pet. A fat housecat.”

“I’m not fat.”

“No, but if you keep feeding on me the way you are doing, then that will change.”

He taps you playfully then pauses, before softly nuzzling his face deeper into the warmth of your hair. 

“That or the wine, I suppose. I’m a creature of comfort.”

“You’re a creature. Full stop.”

-

[gingeralecranberry]

CHAPTER 2

𝟐-𝟐 ; 𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲

SHREDS, SHREDS, SHREDS

☺︎ cw:

death of a family member, mentions of death, death rituals, cremation, bones, mentions of bones, basement of the crematorium, sukuna's finger, gojo fucking satoru, fushiguro is still an edgy teen, still going to add the ooc warning cause I'd rather be safe than sorry even if I am ripping the dialogue straight from the english subtitles, thukuna the king of curtheth, reader has strong paternal insticts, i think that's it

The air was crisp, sun hanging high in the sky with just enough fluffy white clouds to look like a painting. For having so much doom and gloom locked inside, the tall glass building was surrounded on all sides with quiet, natural serenity.

The leaves overhead swayed gently with the breeze, allowing the two visitors to bask in the canopy's shade. Sitting on an ornately chiseled stone bench, the only sounds brushing past the pink-haired teen's ears were the distant calling of a gaggle of sparrows.

Having to visit the crematorium was never fun, but at least the scenery didn't make it unbearable.

"Who passed away?"

Gojo looked practically identical to the day before. Black gakuran and slacks, creepy blindfold, unruly white hair, and a somewhat bored smile.

Yuji couldn't exactly say anything, though. He's probably be wearing the same thing as yesterday if his clothes hadn't been ripped up. Hastily pulled over an ill-fitting pair of shorts and oversized t-shirt, Itadori was wearing a new emerald green zip-up hoodie.

"My grandpa, although he was more like a father to me."

There was a small, content smile on his face as he watched a couple ducks squabble over some fish food in a nearby pond.

"I see... sorry it happened at a time like this."

Offering his condolences, his masked eyes followed Itadori's gaze. Though, his focus drifted over to a third, unassuming duck in the process of stealing the fish food right underneath the squabbling birds' noses. His own smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Out of respect for the teenager's mourning, he let the sounds of the environment hang for a little bit longer.

"...So, have you decided what you want to do?"

"..."

Yuji's smile drooped, eyes still trained on the little window in the bushes. He didn't want to think about anything, if he was being honest. His mind was still spinning with all the sudden changes. Eventually though, he posed a single question.

"Are casualties like these from curses pretty common?"

Gojo hummed, resting his hand on his stony, grey seat. "This one was a rather exceptional case, but in terms of damage, it happens all the time."

"..."

Gojo drummed his fingers on the bench, waiting to see if there would be any response from the 15-year-old.

"..."

When he remained silent, the sorcerer cleared his throat. Another second passed. He opened his mouth to speak, but he hesitated for a second to contemplate his wording.

"It's a good night when someone dies a normal death after encountering a curse. Finding a body all torn apart is on the better end of the outcomes," the teacher tapped three bench a couple times, "If you plan to hunt down Sukuna, you're going to witness some gruesome scenes and I can't guarantee you won't end up like that yourself."

"..."

Gojo took a deep breath before pushing himself up to stand.

"So pick your poison."

"..."

Descending into the depths of the crypt-like basement of the crematorium, he hardly registered the bland, earthy, green-grey walls passing by as he and Gojo trailed behind the nice receptionist.

He kept replaying the sorcerer's words in his head, scattered, half-baked thoughts swimming around his cranium like fish in a bowl.

"You're a strong kid, so help others."

Then there was the issue of his grandfather's dying wish.

He cursed in his head as he entered the room.

Going on autopilot, he let his body carry him through the motions while tending to his grandpa's ashes. The atmosphere was thick and dusty, forced to remain stagnant by the oppressive tension, only interrupted by the occasional clinking of utensil on bone. Satoru Gojo observed silently, keeping a respectful distance.

Another piece of bone falls into the urn.

"If all parts of Sukuna were gone, would there be fewer people harmed by curses?"

Another piece.

"Of course."

A third.

"..."

He laid the last piece of bone in its eternal resting place, setting his tools aside. Carefully, as if handling a shard of the heavens themselves, Itadori lowered the porcelain lid on the cool grey urn.

"...do you still have that finger?"

Gojo couldn't keep the smile from creeping up the bottom half of his face. Slowly, his hand trailed to his pocket, digging around for a moment. he stepped closer to Itadori, offering him the cursed object.

Once again, examining the death and decay blotted all over its skin, he felt his nose crinkle and his face twist with disgust.

"Looking at it again, it's pretty disgusting."

Despite feeling the bile rushing up from the pit of his stomach at the mere thought he'd eaten something identical already, he threw the finger down the hatch. He nearly choked on it, but he clamped a hand over his mouth to ensure it would go down.

'...Well, that's the second one.'

Gojo watched, captivated by the black markings popping up all over Yuji's skin.

'One tenth of the whole... what's going to happen?'

Itadori could feel a cold sweat drip down the back of his neck, throat spasming as it attempted to reject the finger. he swallowed again, shivering at the feeling of the sharp black nail scraping his esophagus on the way down. His knees buckled as he clawed at the wall next to him for stability. He did his best to swallow again despite the room starting to spin. He shook his head, clutching his chest.

"Blegh! Gross!" he stuck his tongue out, "So gross it's funny!"

Gojo's grin grew wide, watching Sukuna's signature tattoos vanish.

'That settles it.'

The sorcerer watched the highschooler cringe at the aftertaste, none the wiser to any of the thoughts swirling in the teacher's head.

'It's not just a physical tolerance, he can control himself against Sukuna without issue.'

His Six Eyes raked over the teen, looking for any kind of internal struggle... but he couldn't find any. The King of Curses lay dormant, his oppressive malice blanketed by the boy's radiant optimism.

'...we haven't seen talent like that in a thousand years.'

Getting over the soapy chemical taste of the disgusting cursed flesh, Itadori's eyes eventually hovered over to the man observing him in eerie silence. He cocked his head to the side, "something wrong?"

Gojo blinked underneath his blindfold, forced to focus back in on the conversation. He shook his head, "Oh, it's nothing." He shoved his hands into his pockets. Notably, they felt a lot emptier. "I take it this means you've stilled your resolve?"

"Not at all," the boy stared at his open palm, "I'm still wondering why I have to be executed."

The teacher hummed thoughtfully.

"But," Yuji squeezed his open hand into a fist, "I can't just do nothing about the curse. That last request is going to a be a pain in the ass..." He tore his eyes away from his clenched fingers, staring into the fabric he guessed the sorcerer's eyes would've been,

"I'll eat every part of Sukuna, I don't care what happens from there. I've already decided how I'm going to die."

Gojo bristled, energy renewed near instantaneously, "Nice! I like people like you!" He pivoted on his foot, going back to the huge, cold steel door, "Sounds like a fun hell awaits! Make sure you're packed by the end of the day."

The pink-haired vessel trailed behind him, quirking a brow, "Are we going somewhere?"

The sorcerer pushed the door to the side, both suddenly surprised by the presence of a familiar face.

"Tokyo."

Covered basically head-to-toe in scratches, bruises, and scrapes, Fushiguro, in all his banged up and bandaged glory, stood just outside the door.

"Fushiguro!" Itadori gave an energized thumbs-up, "Looking good!"

The older teenager narrowed his eyes, seemingly irritated. "Really? You think so after seeing this?"

Gojo hummed, "Y'know he's kind of right. You look better than I thought you would..." he put a hand under his chin, leaning in close to Megumi's face. In something similar to a teasing reprimand, he questioned him, "Megumi... what did you do?"

The student rolled his eyes, "(surname) used his technique to speed up the healing process."

The white-haired sorcerer clasped his hands together in front of his chest, "That's just like Sensei, always so reliable!" He tilted his head to the side to peer past Fushiguro's shoulder, "Speaking of Sensei, where is he?"

Megumi sighed, "he already headed back to Jujutsu Tech to fill the elders in on the current situation."

The teacher's face dropped, excitement replaced by crushing heartbreak, "And he didn't stop to say goodbye?!"

His student grimaced in response to the loud noise, "Stop being dramatic, we'll meet up with him again tomorrow."

"Oh yeah!"

"We?" Itadori blinked owlishly.

Fushiguro nodded, "You're going to transfer to the same school for Jujutsu sorcerers I attend."

Seemingly having completely forgotten any and all previous transfressions, Gojo sprang up, "Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical High School!"

Megumi took the sudden change in stride, long having adapted to the ebbing and surging tides that were Satoru Gojo's mood. Yuji, on the other hand, couldn't say the same.

Just as gleefully, the teacher added, "By the way, you're the third first year!"

Yuji's jaw dropped.

"Only three?!"

The foothills of Mount Mushiro were extensive. The red clay bricks clearly highlighted the walkway cutting through the endless sea of green trees. The steps weren't completely even, but with each Tori gate Itadori and Gojo passed under, the boy's blindfolded chaperone could only feel more and more excitement and anticipation roll off the first year in waves. The childlike wonder was a welcome change of pace from most new students though. Unusually, they'd be complaining about the hike.

"This is really deep in the mountains! Is this actually Tokyo?"

Not Yuji, though.

He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet with each step, eager hands clasping the straps of his backpack tightly. Bright Amber eyes darted around the forested path to peer behind the shrubbery and get lost amongst the trees. It was amusing, to Gojo, at least.

"Even Tokyo's like this on the outskirts."

The teenager nodded wordlessly, eyes still trained on the forest all but swallowing the little brick road whole. Having lived a lonely life in Sendai devoid of travel, Yuji soaked in every new sight like a sponge. The path was monotonous, the trees looked the same in every direction, and the tall, ornate Tori gates were basically invisible between the shade and leaves. But even then, Yuji took everything in with a twinkle in his eye. You'd think if he stopped paying attention, it would disappear before his very eyes.

If only he had someone to enjoy the scenery with...

He snapped out of his temporary stupor, a frown materializing on his face as he faced the man he was walking with, "Where's Fushiguro?"

It seemed that Itadori did actually miss something when he's stopped paying attention; something pretty major. Since he was staring up at the trees, inspecting little fallen leaves, counting any hills, etc... he failed to notice that they were fast approaching the school.

The rumble of a familiar, if not a little tired, voice answered him. "I picked him up yesterday, he got properly patched up and he's back in his dorm resting."

Gojo immediately perked up, eyes flicking from his student over to the voice, "Sensei! Shoko told me you were already off on another mission."

From the grand entrance of the protective school walls, (name) waved a quick greeting, "Plans change. I'll be hanging around the school for a couple weeks." The older sorcerer turned back to the teen, "It's nice to see you again, Itadori."

The boy blinked before immediately dropping into a stiff 90 degree bow, "It's great to see you again, Sensei!"

"Oh," the man hummed, giving a strained smile, "You don't need to call me that, I'm not a teacher."

Yuji picked up his head, an expression not dissimilar to a befuddled puppy stretched across his face, "Huh? But if you're not a teacher, why would you be at a school?"

(name) opened his mouth to answer, but his voice was drowned out by Gojo's, "Sorcerer Lesson No. 1, listen carefully!" The white-haired man removed his hand from its designated pocket, raising a finger, "Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical High School is one of only two jujutsu educational facilities. On the surface, its a private religious school, but a lot of jujutsu sorcerers actually continue to use it as a base after graduation."

Itadori nodded along, "So... (surname)-sensei is just reporting back to base?"

"Precisely!" Gojo snapped his fingers, "The school's a pillar of the jujutsu community, not just in education, but for support and mediation in missions."

(name) gave a hum of approval, examining his nails, "Well, as much as I'd love for you to continue, if we don't head out soon, we're going to be late."

"Late?"

"..."

It felt like the air got a few degrees colder.

"..."

Gojo only had a millisecond to react before a deft hand smacked him upside the head with merciless force and a practiced precision.

He yelped, hand automatically flying to nurse the new welt.

"You didn't tell him?!"

Yuji gulped, "Didn't tell me what...?"

Gojo, still cradling the back of his noggin, gave an annoyingly nonchalant smile, "Surprise! You're about to have an interview with the principal!"

The former teacher went to smack him again, but his hand was caught in the younger man's infinity, "Take this seriously!"

"I am!" the blindfolded sorcerer bit back, "So stop embarrassing me in front of my students! I'm supposed to be their ultra reliable, super cool and mysterious sensei!"

"Excuse him," (name) rolled his eyes, retracted the offending hand as he turned his attention back to the extremely confused vessel. He sighed, offering an apologetic bow, "I'll take over any explanations from here on out." Gesturing for the teen to follow him, he began the journey to the principal's office.

"Wh- Sensei! Hey! Not cool! Super UNCOOL!"

His "Sensei" paid Satoru no mind, "The principal is in charge of admissions. He likes to personally interview any and all new entrants to make sure they're compatible with the program."

The boy nodded along, squeezing the handles of his backpack again while his attention wandered over to the surroundings.

All of the school buildings were constructed to be the splitting image of traditional Japanese architecture, specifically Buddhist Japanese architecture. The buildings and walls fencing in the school campus were a warm off-white, framed with this deep brown oaky wood. The stone shingles covering each roof, Tori gate, and fence were a deeper brown, teetering on black.

The temple-like structures towered over the entire mountaintop including the vast array of plant life on the ground anywhere there wasn't a smooth beige walkway. Further in, he caught sight of a skinny stream that opened into a cute pond. Under a plain-looking, aged, and weathered bridge, the pond was alive with little fish, flora, and decor.

Lilypads with Lotuses in full bloom, tiny silver-scaled bodies that basically looked transparent, and so much more. The largely Buddhist iconography didn't go unnoticed either. There were stone statues everywhere, talisman, and, of course, the shrines themselves. He was so enamored, he hadn't even noticed he'd zoned out. Yuji would've loved to get a better look at everything before his moment of peace was abruptly cut short.

"Screw this up and he could reject your admission, so stay frosty!"

"Huh?!"

This time, before the eldest sorcerer could land another hit on the white-hair of the teacher's head, Gojo ducked out of the way, "What is wrong with you today?!"

His former student went to vocalize a rebuttal, but they were interrupted by the (now very panicked) teen, "And what then? Immediate Execution?!"

Quickly, nearly instinctually, (name) began running damage control, "You don't have anything to worry about Itadori, you're a strong kid." He crossed his arms, throwing a glare in the younger teacher's direction, "and if anything happens, Gojo and I will be here to smooth things out."

Obediently, so as to not be smacked again, Satoru nodded his head in the background.

"Yeah..." Yuji processed the answer, taking a moment to soak in the reassurance before nodding his head slowly, "Yeah, okay, so it's just an interview with the principal?"

"What? So you're not the boss?"

All three pairs of footsteps grinded to an abrupt halt.

"Any hierarchy other than strength is worthless."

"..."

Itadori had manifested a new mouth, it seemed.

The lips were lined with jagged teeth, loaded with venom and complimented by a tongue dipped in vitriol. The mouth on the student's cheek donned a sickeningly smug grin, laced with a resentful condescension.

As quickly as the mouth opened to speak, Yuji slapped his hand over it. With a pale flush on his cheekbones, he launched into a hurried apology, "Sorry Sensei! He pops out sometimes..."

Gojo leaned closer to the boy's face, basically boring holes into Itadori's face through his blindfold, "What an interesting body you have now..."

With an abrupt shove, (name) moved Gojo aside to give the poor kid some personal space, "Does this happen often? Are there usually any side effects?"

Before he could replay, a new mouth manifested itself on the back of his hand. "Your appearance is misleading, but up close, it's much easier to gauge the potency of your cursed energy."

"Agh! Not again!"

"And you," the previously light-hearted leer took a turn toward a deeper breed of hatred, "I owe you a favor, y'know. Once I make this brat's body my own, you'll be the first one I kill."

"What an honor," Gojo cooed, "to be targeted by Sukuna himself."

Another hand came up to slap over the new mouth, "Is this guy really that famous?"

(name) brushed off the question entirely. In one ear and out the other, Itadori's words floated away with the mild summer breeze. "Are you okay? Did you feel any changes in your body or cursed energy?" He put his hands on Yuji's shoulders, scanning his body for any signs of distress; paying special attention to his face and hands.

"No, he kinda just shows up sometimes..." Allowing the older sorcerer to fuss over him, his brows bunched up in confusion, "Why? Should I be worried?"

From behind the cursed object specialist, Gojo peeked over his shoulder, "Well, Ryomen Sukuna is a fierce imaginary god with four arms and two faces." He paused, putting a hand under his chin, "Well, first he was a human that really existed," he made a flippant gesture with his hand, "even if it was over a thousand years ago."

(name) frown deepened, "Don't scare him, Satoru."

"Whaaat?" the man whined, "I'm telling the truth, aren't I?"

To this, (name) didn't have a response, instead, he gave Yuji a couple firm pats on the shoulders, standing up to his full height, "Let's keep moving."

The offending teacher rolled his eyes, shoving his hands back in his pockets, "Yeah, yeah." Still, the gesture seemed light-hearted. Just seconds later he had a grin on his face as the three started walking again, "Anyways!"

Itadori's eyes flicked over to (surname) momentarily, trying to decipher his expression, posture, anything really. Unsuccessfully though; he didn't know him well enough to pick up on any significant cues or tells.

In the background, Satoru chattered on, "In the golden age of jujutsu, sorcerers gathered up all their might to challenge him and failed. Crowned with the title Sukuna, we couldn't even destroy his grave wax while he traversed the ages after death as a cursed object." Despite the weight of his words, the energy in the air was disturbingly calm, "Without a doubt, he is the King of Curses."

Yuji swallowed, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. His dragged eyes away from where they were fixed on (name)'s broad back. Carefully, he asked, "Who's stronger, you or him?"

If his grin could get any wider, it did. Crawling up the sides of his face with a wicked glee, his eyes trailed over to his former mentor, "Well... If Sukuna regained all his power, a fight might be a little draining."

"Would you lose?"

Satoru hummed, brimming with the bountiful sense of pride lodged deep in his core, "Nah, I'd win."

"..."

Itadori turned to the older sorcerer ahead of him and Gojo again, "What about you, (surname)-sensei?"

It wasn't all that noticeable, but like a flashbang, the smell of cursed energy stinking up the previously clean fresh air indicated surprise. As quickly as it had exploded, the oppressive blanket of energy was soaked back up into the man's body. His head whipped around to the two, "Ah- me?"

Without missing a beat, the teenager bobbed his messy head of pink hair up and down, "Gojo-sensei said he could and you were his teacher, right?"

(name) tried to play off the temporary lapse in his composure, shoving both his hands in his pockets. Weirder, it looked creepily similar to when Gojo did it. "Sorry Itadori, it's kind of hard to explain if you don't know the basics of sorcery. To answer your question, I probably wouldn't be able to win against a fully realized Sukuna. Maybe when I was younger, definitely not now."

In the background, Satoru groaned. "Cut it with the humble act already. You say that like you're 50 or something..."

Yuji glanced back to him.

"Well, I'm not getting any younger," the older man sighed, " I didn't say I was old and decrepit." He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time, "I just don't need to be the strongest anymore; you seem plenty happy to hold the title."

The blindfold obscured the admiration in his gaze, but the manner in which his chest puffed up and his chin upturned to drink in the praise betrayed any illusion of nonchalance. Itadori likened the change to a rooster fluffing up its feathers, "Well, naturally a student is meant to follow in the footsteps of his teacher."

(name) grimaced, "Hurry up, we're about to be late."

The young man stood between the two awkwardly, triddling his thumbs as he watched the more responsible adult pick up the pace. In response, Gojo scampered after him filling the atmosphere with complaints followed shortly by the new first year. Turning back to the walkways winding through the maze of traditional temples, he pondered the layout. He wasn't just curious about the buildings though, he had this burning question he really wanted to ask but he didn't know if it'd be weird.

Gojo frowned, posture slumping as he grumbled, "We're going to be late this, Yaga's going to be mad that," Gojo kicked a rock with his foot, "He's not doing anything important anyways."

(surname) just shook his head in defeated silence. He decided against arguing for the sake of his sanity.

"Ah, (surname)-sensei--I mean, well, nevermind--I really don't want to pry or be rude but I'm kinda curious, you don't have to-"

"Ask away."

Before Yuji could work himself into a nervous frenzy, something like a seventh sense tingled at the back of the former teacher's head with a foreign but familiar intuition.

Itadori chewed on the inside of cheek, trying to figure out the least offensive way to put it, "Well, uhm, you were his teacher, but you don't really look that much older than Gojo-Sensei?"

(name) nodded, "That would be correct. I'm only five years his senior since I'm 33."

JAZMIN BEAN : FAVORITE TOY

☺︎ taglist:

@angelkazusstuff @ahoeindeedinneed @wutap @mysouleaten @ilovebattinson @satansdaughter123 @http-l-o-k-i

masterlist: ☓

[syndxlla]

best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high reward, and self-indulgent Zelink fan fiction. Canon-compliant. Takes place between BOTW and TOTK.

Heavily inspired by my Zelink thoughts

I wanted to dig into the dirty, grimly reality of being the saviors of the world and not knowing how to be the savior of yourself. But you can find that safety in another person.

Fan fiction warnings: Canon-typical violence, eventual smut (in later chapters, characters are consenting adults), references to self-harm, eating-disorders, and a lot of angst. Each chapter will have chapter-specific warnings.

Chapter one: I used to tie your shoes

Song: We’ll never have sex by Leith Ross

Summary: Fresh off Hyrule Field, Link and Zelda have to face life after the Calamity, and come to terms with the long road to physical, emotional, and mental recovery.

Warnings: Vomiting, trauma, canon-typical violence, eating-sensitivity

Word count: 3.7k words

Author’s Note: I am so excited to share this. Please share and support this in anyway. I drew this art for the cover :) chapter begins after the page break. I love you guys. Also, these chapters won’t be heavily edited. Ignore any grammatical/spelling errors pls

Time. We never seem to have enough time. Green grass burns soft red embers into the field, a horse’s mane is rebraided at the nearest stable, and the stars shine as if nothing changed. Because it hadn’t, not really. The sun will still rise in the east and set in the west. The birds will still sing their songs at daybreak and the fireflies will still flicker at dusk. Nothing changed, but everything did. The air feels lighter, the sun feels warmer and yet Zelda’s fingers still shake as if she was in the snowy Hebra peaks.

The Princess by nature, is very gentle. She’s soft and patient at heart, but was placed under such strenuous situations all through her youth that caused her to often snap or lash out. But not now. Currently she is silent, stone-cold and confused. She was in shock. And Link could tell.

“Here.” He pulls out a baked apple from his pack, handing it to her. He has to get her attention twice before she finally takes it, their hands brushing for a moment. Her awareness returns to her gaze then, her bright-green eyes meeting his.

“I-I’m so sorry.” She sighs, her voice weak. “I’m just… so tired.” Link tries not to show his distress, but she notices his demeanor change as well. “How much further?” She says, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Probably another hour and a half. It’s just through those mountains.” He points.

“Dueling peaks. I remember.” She nods. “I remember everything.”

“Everything?” He asks as he starts to dig around a pack on the rear end of Epona, searching for his rito attire. It was starting to get dark, and she hadn’t stopped shaking since they left Castle Town almost three hours ago.

Zelda nods once.

Her silence speaks volumes.

He yanks out his snowquill armor, finally. “Do you remember anything from the last hundred years?” She doesn’t answer right away, she instead takes a smaller than small bite out of the apple. “Zel? Can I put this on you? You’re still shivering.” He asks, looking at her blank, traumatized stare. “It’s from the Rito, it’s soft as a cloud and will keep you warm for the rest of the way.”

“The Rito.” She sighs. “Revali…”

Link realizes that she hasn’t had any time to process what she just went through. She had spent the last one hundred years deeply focused, probably in a trance-like state. He places a hand on her cheek. “Look at me.” His voice is gentle and welcoming, not forcing her at all. She looks at him, their eyes locking. “Breathe with me.”

They take two deep, heavy breaths. They sync their inhales, exhaling together.

“It’s over. It’s all over, okay?” He reassures her. “It’s not coming back. It’s just us now, alright?”

She swallows, still emotionless. “You’ve changed.” She says.

“So have you.” Link smiles in an attempt to comfort her. “Can I put this shirt on you?” He asks again. She answers faster than she usually had, nodding twice this time. Link bunches up the excess fabric before pulling the head-opening over her hair. He then guides each one of her hands through the arm-holes. Link takes a moment to adjust the garb around her torso until it was probably positioned around her shaking body. She immediately sighs in relief.

“You talk more.” She mumbles, looking at him as he gently wraps his fingers around her long, golden hair and softly pulls it out of the shirt, knowing how much it irritates him when his hair is loose underneath a shirt.

He smiles again, “I do. Some people say I don’t shut up.” He tries to lighten the mood.

“Like who?”

“Impa.” He sighs.

Zelda’s eyes light up with that name. “Impa?”

He hums and nods. “We can go visit her when you’re feeling stronger, okay?”

“Okay…” Zelda looked down into her lap, the skirt of her goddess dress was barely white anymore. “I am going to get stronger, right?” She asks, her voice tender and broken.

Link’s heart sinks. Not because he’s worried she won’t, but rather because he feels responsible for putting her in this state.

“Of course.” He reassures. He believed it. He wanted to believe it.

“I’m… just so tired.” She repeats herself.

“I know, come on, let's get you a bed.” He then picks her up bridal style from the ground. They had stopped in the first place to get that rito armor for her. She rests her head against his chest as he lifts her onto Epona. She smells like burnt oil and exhaustion. He probably isn’t smelling any better.

They wouldn’t get to Hateno until noon at the earliest tomorrow, and traveling wasn’t doing anything for her recovery. He gets on Epona behind her, letting her weak body rest against his chest as they make their way to Dueling Peaks Stable. The road is quiet, so much quieter than it ever has been. The pair of lizalfos always swimming in the river aren’t there, and even the crickets suppress their chirps.

It’s post-apocalyptic. Literally. Link isn’t sure how to feel.

She throws up a few hundred feet from the stable. She gags and lurches over the side of the horse, somehow managing to keep it off of anyone. Not much comes out, she hasn’t eaten in over a century, but Link frowns when he realizes the apple probably triggered it. He silently curses himself out for causing her any form of distress. She dry heaves violently, and Link tries to hold her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. When she finishes, she holds her breath.

She can’t decide if she feels like she lost a bit of dignity or not. She holds back the tears that well in her eyes. Link breathes in to say something, but she raises her hand in protest. She would rather they act like it never happened. Neither of them say anything from there on, they just keep riding the final minute of the journey.

Everyone at the stable was asleep except for an attendant… who was also treading precariously between consciousness and a deep rest behind the counter.

“Excuse me?” Link asks to wake him up, hopping off of Epona after making sure Zelda would still be comfortable in his absence. She would never admit she wasn’t.

The man stirs awake with a jolt. He yawns, slightly startled, “So sorry, young man.” Link wouldn’t necessarily call himself young. He smirks softly.

“I’d like to board this horse till the morning, and we’d like one soft bed, please.” Link nods before setting down the required rupees. The man squints his eyes, taking the money in hand.

“Ah! It’s you! Link, was it?” He asks when Link turns his back to help Zelda down from the horse. “Jeez, you haven’t passed through here in at least six months! We were holding onto that old mare for you!” He gestures to their stables where a small gray spotted horse sleeps. Link’s first horse since he woke up from his century-long slumber. He only rode her in the beginning, when he was doing chores between Hateno, Kakariko and one time a longer trip to Zora’s Domain. But she’s old and weak, which is why she was easy to catch when Link was still regaining his strength. He stopped taking her out when he found Epona in the western part of Central Hyrule.

“Yeah… you guys can let her free.” He says as he sets Zelda down on the ground. She holds her cold hands together.

“Well uhh.. we tried. You see, after four months at a stable we let go of any forgotten pony’s, but she kept coming back.” He chuckled, his voice exhibiting a distinctive nasality.

“Here,” Link hands him a red rupee, not wanting to discuss an old horse any longer when he literally has the closest thing to a God in this world resting her head on his back. “Keep her for another month, I’ll come take care of her then. Okay?” Link asks. “Can I get that bed now?” Not impolite or forceful, he never was. He’s assertive but has a comforting cadence to his tone. For being such a talented swordsman, guard and easily the most deadly hylian in the entire kingdom, he was never rude or condescending. He was welcoming, and little kids often looked up at him with intimidation when they first met him, but it didn’t ever take long until they were chasing him with tree-branches while he fled and begged for mercy, letting them take him down with ease. The kids at the stables loved him, knew him by name, and would play as him in their silly pretend games.

The stable-man replies, “Of course! But you only asked for one bed, it’s not big enough to fit both of you.”

“I know, it’s for her not me.” Link then starts to guide her into the stable, where it’s much warmer and safer. Just because it’s quiet doesn’t mean it's safe. Hyrule is a dangerous place by nature, especially if you’re two century-old Gods being hunted for sport with the faces of children.

“You won’t sleep?” Zelda asks quietly behind him.

He doesn’t directly answer, and instead guides her to the bed. She’s weary, and he’s terrified of her not waking up. He wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he wanted to. He helps the Princess sit in the bed, and kneels before her to untie her sandals. When he touches the leather, he immediately gets transported into another memory.

It rips through him, just like the memories he had images of. Suddenly, he’s kneeling in the same position, but instead he was outside of the spring of courage. He looks up to see the clear sky, it’s sunset, and then his eyes meet Zeldas. Her face is rosy, and her eyes don’t have the blank stare they possess in the current time. He looks down at his fingers, tying the straps around her ankle.

“Really, you don’t have to do that.” She hums. He doesn’t respond. He never did back then. He finishes wrapping the leather around itself and then stands up. His face is emotionless. She looks at him, they’re about the same height. “I won’t be long this time.” She says. “I’m not expecting much anyways.” She sighs and then walks past him, but before she can get very far, he gently grabs onto her arm, holding her back. He doesn’t say anything but she can read his expression. He’s trying to tell her to have faith this time, just one more time.

Surely the Goddess would commune with her.

She shakes her head, and wades into the warm waters of the spring. Link turns to watch her, how her hair cascaded down her back, how her hands balled into fists. She turns around to look at him, their eyes meet. She smiles.

He comes back as fast as the scene played in his memory. He blinks a few times, and looks up at her. She doesn’t look any different, very little—if any—time seemed to pass. He doesn’t usually experience memories with someone, he wonders if she realized anything happened. Link didn’t even consider the fact he would keep receiving memories after the fact. His stomach turns, he feels like he’s lived two completely different lives and is forced to remember things from one that he doesn’t even relate to anymore. He doesn’t feel like the same person, the boy he was a hundred years ago is a complete stranger to him.

Link much preferred this life.

And that scares Zelda.

“I just remembered something.” He says. Zelda hums in response, a light-hearted noise that implies an inquiry. He elaborates, “I used to tie your sandals for you at the springs, didn’t I?” He asks.

Zelda smiles for the first time since they defeated Ganon. It’s a small pull of her lips, not showing any teeth but her eyes finally light back up. After she had asked if he remembered her on the field, she collapsed, not even aware of her own exhaustion until that moment. He ran to her aid, and ever since then she felt woozy, it only got worse the further from the castle they got.

“You did, yes.” She says. “I never asked you to, but since I was in the dress, you insisted.” She sighs. Link grunts in response. “It was very chivalrous.” Zelda adds.

They look at each other for a minute. Not saying anything. It was late, and two beds down there was a set of kid brothers sleeping. Link remembered them from their last visit. One of them wanted nothing to do with him, trying to act mature and ‘cool’. Link eventually won him over, though. They don’t speak out of fear of waking anyone. Zelda’s smile slowly fades away, and Link swallows thickly. They will never be the same.

He pulls her sandals off, her feet are filthy with century-old mud. He silently smiles about that. The closest thing to a Goddess in the entire world has dirty feet. How human of her.

Then, after pulling down the heavy rito-down blanket so she can slide in, he helps Zelda swing her legs into the bed. He pulls the blanket up to her neck, she lays on her side facing him. Her hands find their way up to her face, resting her cheek against them. Link pulls a short stool over to the bed, sitting on it and looking at her, bending at the waist.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” She asks in a timid, sleepy voice.

Link’s heart just about breaks when she asks. “Never.” He shakes his head. He takes his gloved hand and tucks a piece of her loose hair behind her pointed-ears. He lets his fingers linger a little bit longer than they should. “I will never ever leave you again.”

“Promise?” She asks, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Promise.” He whispers, “Just as long as you promise to never leave me, okay?” He asks, ignoring the lump in this throat.

“Promise.” She says, taking her pinky finger and sticking it out for him. He wraps his finger with hers, which is far daintier and softer than he's ever been. She is a Princess, after all.

“Wake up in the morning, okay?” He whispers.

“Mhm.” She hums as her eyes slowly close. He tries to disconnect their pinky fingers, but she holds onto his. He leaves his hand in that position, letting her hold it until she falls fast asleep.

Link doesn’t move his hand until he’s certain it won’t wake her up from her much needed rest. He looks at her gentle, soft face. No one even understands what she just went through, no one ever will. He’s worried sick that she won’t make it through the night, and he keeps leaning his head down to listen to her breathing, or places a few fingers against her forehead to check her temperature.

He does his best to stay vigilant the entire night, not once even looking away from her. But just before the sun rises, his body suddenly catches up with his mind. He also just had the most demanding battle of his life. His muscles started to ache, and he developed a headache. He was just a boy, after all. More than anything, his sword arm was weak, and fire-hot pain shot up and down through it. He probably overused it fightin the calamity.

He keeps telling himself that he’s fine. He has to be fine, for Zelda. His arm isn’t that bad, what really hurts was his heart. Usually he’d just down a fairy tonic and maybe go to the hot springs if he was in the area but this pain was different. A twisting and contracting ache in his chest pulled and tugged on his lungs and pulse. It’s the same pain he felt when he remembered Mipha, and more specifically, the pain he felt when he dreamed about his family before the resurrection.

The dream that gave him the memories of a little sister with blonde hair like his collecting fireflies in her pockets. Her laugh echoing, the call of an older man, the image of a royal guards sword leaned up against the dinner table. The touch of his father’s hand as he rubs Link’s back to sleep.

Link’s first sword.

He wakes up like a fire, standing up and almost toppling over. He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep. He could hear the soft tune of the penny whistle playing the standard stable theme, and the two little brothers played tag outside. He curses and looks down at Zelda.

Her bed is empty, and his heart completely stops. He starts breathing hard and heavy, his entire nervous system feels as though it’s pulled into stasis. How could he make such a foolish mistake? He swings his sword over his back, strapping his shield to his leathers and turns around in a wild-hunt to see the Princess sitting at the round stable table, drinking out of a mug and speaking gently with an older man.

Link takes a breath of relief, and approaches the two.

“Good Morning.” She smiles up at him. Her voice sounded much better, and her eyes finally had life back into them, but she still wasn’t herself. Her skin still looked sickly, her face hollowed out and eyes droopy. Any progress is good progress, Link decides then and there.

“I… didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Link sighs. “I’m so sorry. When did you wake up?”

“Oh not long ago, maybe twenty minutes? I didn’t want to disturb you-”

“You should have.” He interrupts her and her words get swallowed out of surprise. Link realizes that he snapped at her a little, and immediately becomes apologetic. “I’m sorry, again. I just…”

“You’re worried about me. I understand.” She takes his hand, her bones frail. In many ways, she physically looked worse today than last night. But at least she could hold a conversation. He nods. Zelda notices the tension, and changes the subject, “This kind gentleman was telling me about when you saved the stable from a horde of lizalfos about a year ago.”

Link looks over at the man, Giahzo. “Oh that was nothing, it was just two green lizalfos and a blue one who wandered too close to the stable.” Link hums. Their hands were still held together by Zelda.

“Don’t be so modest!” The old man chuckled, “Without you, it would have been a disaster! The number of monsters means nothing, especially when you don’t know how to fight!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Link smiles and then realizes he and Zeldas hands, he’s the one to pull it away. “What are you drinking?”

“I’m not sure…” Zelda begins and Link immediately snatches the mug from her hand. “Hey!”

“You can’t just drink something mysterious.” Link scolds.

“Oh it’s just a bit of Hateno Milk.” The man assures. Link looks at him, then Zelda, and then into the mug to see the creamy liquid. He brings it to his nose and smells it, and then takes a sip of it. Sure enough, it was just milk.

“I’m sorry, Giahzo.” He apologizes and places the mug back down. “I’m just on high alert.”

“Do not apologize to me, apologize to this lovely young lady you’ve graced us with.” The elderly man smiles with a chuckle, his eyes wrinkling up with his age. Zelda smiles, blushing a little, “Tell me, dear, where are you from? We don’t get many new faces at this stable these days.”

Zelda looks at him, her eyes sad. A hundred years ago every person in Hyrule knew her face. She looks at Link, unsure how to answer.

“She’s from the Outskirts stable.” Link covers for her. “Her family used to reside in Central Hyrule before the Calamity.”

“Yes.” Zelda immediately chirps, “We’re headed to Hateno for…”

“A honeymoon!?” Giahzo smiles brightly. Both Link and Zelda freeze in their tracks, and Link hopes he doesn’t look as embarrassed as he feels. “Hateno is a great Honeymoon destination! Although I’ve heard Lureline is even more splendid!” He clasps his hands together.

“Research.” Zelda clarifies, “so sorry to disappoint.” She chuckles politely, making a conscious effort not to look at Link. “I’m researching… population dynamics in Hyrule.” She makes something up that sounds completely believable.

“Of course.” Link then says, “I’m just escorting her there, we are total strangers.”

That breaks Zelda’s heart.

She knows he’s just trying to be extra careful, pushing her anonymity as much as possible. And in a way, it wasn’t a total lie. But it cut her like a knife.

“I see…” Giahzo doesn’t seem convinced. “Well, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to stop by. Hopefully the monsters will start to die down.” He smiles and stands up, moving outside.

Zelda is still afraid to look at Link, and he’s a little bit shaken up by the entire interaction. He knows the Yiga are still out there, he knows that there are people who will try to take advantage of her for power or money. He has no reason to suspect anything from the old man, but he can’t help himself from being deliberate. He senses her tension and walks back to the bed to gather their things.

“You should have woken me up.” Link says as he picks up a satchel full of food and readjusts his gloves.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was timid and tired. He turns around to see her, her green eyes looking up at him apologetically. “I didn’t know it would worry you so.” He approaches her.

“Of course it worries me.” He sighs. “I spent three years trying to get you out of that castle, I’m not gonna lose you on the first night.” He holds his hand out for her to trade, helping her up. She must not have rested as well as he thought, because as soon as she gets on her feet, she almost topples right over him. He catches her, holding her up before she collapses. “Woah there.” He mutters. “You alright?”

She nods, “Let’s just get to that house you told me about.”

—

chapter two

[mueritos]

i hope we continue to see more protests within the US military. i see a lot of leftists and folks who are anti-military who have such an open disdain for the people who are in the military, yet neglect to considering the conditions this country makes to produce ideology, poverty, and the illusion of choice to make all kinds of people choose to enlist in the military. You ever see those videos of ROTC kids recording each other asking why they joined the military and everyone's like, "healthcare", "it helped me go to college", "I was bored" or "free ptsd lol". I hate to remind everyone but folks who are in the military are people, too, and they are the same victims and perpetrators of violence as the rest of you, we have all been shallowly conditioned to view each other as enemies just because one person is wearing army greens and the other is not.

some of the biggest anti-war advocates are those who engaged in war. Veterans who genuinely believed they were protecting the US against "terrorism" come back with blood on their hands, and they choose to realize that it was US imperialism that forced them to carry out violence, instead of doubling down and shielding themselves from the fact that they too are capable of atrocities... This is a class of people who are intentionally conditioned to be as poor and as ideologically aligned to US imperialism so that the military has a never-ending pool to send their youth to destroy other country's youth. The only people I have ever heard say "do not join the military" are those who ARE military.

This is in no way to ever excuse or explain away any of the atrocious war crimes and violence this industry and its people have committed against others. What I am saying is that we absolutely cannot cast aside the individuals who have been victimized within US imperialism, even if they are wearing army greens. I was speaking with my Palestinian classmate last week and another classmate--a member of the US air force-- walked up to me and struck up a conversation. My military classmate showed me her new bird, bid both of us goodbye, and left. My Palestinian classmate asked me if I was close with her, and I said we talked quite often, and she said, "I never met a person who's in the military. I still hate the military, but I never knew that they did, too. I didn't realize that they were also victims."

If my Palestinian classmate--one who is actively watching her own community die--can understand that it is not individuals who are the problem but it is in fact systems, US imperialism, white supremacy, capitalism...why can't we all? And she has EVERY reason to hate any individual military member. A lot of online activism just creates more barriers. if your optics look bad, complicated, or contradictory, you are cast aside. Everyone has got the be the perfect activist, you can never make a mistake or share a half-baked thought, you should always believe every word from a marginalized persons mouth (because being marginalized doesn't mean you're not entrenched in white supremacy too!) and you should never question what you see...Do you know what you sound like? The very imperialists who are convincing poor whites to vote against themselves. Perfectionism is white supremacy. Black & white thinking is white supremacy.

I'd rather have a military member who genuinely believed in the US imperialism machine but was disillusioned after being deployed as my comrade than some leftist who cherishes the performance of "being a good person". I don't want "good people" in our movements. I want humans who care. I want humans who make mistakes and who learn from them. I want humans who accept the messiness of a person. I want humans who hold others accountable and allow themselves to take responsibility for their actions. I want people who change for themselves and others.

fight systems, not individual people. we can change each other, but if we're too preoccupied looking like the World's Perfect Activists, we will only consume each other alive. Connect to your fellow humans, forever and always.