#and even the ones i respect that doesn’t mean they’re good around kids

[autumnhobbit]

I’m gonna be real with you guys, I kind of dread the idea of trying to raise any future kids in this church

[yamujiburo]

Why I Love Hanamusa

I get this question very frequently but have never given a really in depth, definitive answer. All just kinda implied through my comics and spread out asks. So here's this I guess! Long post ahead:

First, as a Pokémon fan in her mid 20s, I love seeing a ship where the characters are both in their mid/late 20s. Already, they’re much more relatable to me and my current experiences. Most Pokémon ships are between preteens, which can be cute but ultimately don’t interest me as much as they used to when I was a kid myself. Not enough to get super invested in and draw a lot of fanart for anyways haha.

I’ll also start by saying that canon doesn’t always influence whether or not I’ll ship something. I’m much more drawn to potential. Could the characters work together? Do their personalities work together in a nice way? I feel like this so much of fanon is anyways. Especially with queer relationships because they’re rarely depicted in the first place. A lot of the context for these ships is usually up to the fans to piece together or make up in general. And that’s the fun part to me!

Jessie and Delia have only met in the anime a handful of times. Any interaction they’ve had has either been pleasant, or just a typical Team Rocket interaction, with Delia dismissing them/not seeing them as a threat. Already a great jumping off point for me since, truly, they don’t have any actual beef or true, ill feelings towards each other. It’s not TOO out of the realm of possibility for them to potentially fall for each other. “But Jessie chased Delia’s son around trying to steal his Pokémon!” That’s where that dismissive and aloof attitude that Delia has comes into play. I’ll go more into Delia’s whole deal a bit later but I do think this aspect of her personality is a large reason why this ship can work. It’s not that she doesn’t care that Jessie has a bad past, but she can tell that, on the inside, Jessie’s a good person. And, in a scenario where Jessie is trying to become a better person, is forgiving enough to give her a shot. I feel like this is such a solid foundation for a ship. A character who has done wrong but is trying to be better and another character who is willing to help them be better. A classic dynamic!

It’s not just one-sided though; where Jessie is the only one benefitting and learning from the relationship. I believe Delia could get a lot out of being with someone like Jessie. To understand why, I think it’s important to know these characters’ respective backstories.

Jessie is an orphan/foster child who grew up in poverty. Her mother Miyamoto (from The Birth of Mewtwo) was a Team Rocket operative herself, who went on a mission to find Mew. In order to do this, she had to leave Jessie when she was just a toddler. Unfortunately, Miyamoto went MIA on her mission leaving Jessie to more or less fend for herself. Jessie went through life with zero stability, evident by her MANY different careers and constant moving around. It’s implied in the show that she went from foster home to foster home, and later in life tried being an idol, weather girl, florist, wine connoisseur, actress, most notably a nurse and finally a Team Rocket field agent. And even while in Team Rocket, she, James and Meowth were always doing odd jobs to get by. We see that Jessie used to be a sweet kid, and even adult, but the world and her circumstances repeatedly did her dirty, leading her to become the character we know today. Hot tempered, mean, selfish, etc. But despite this, her soft side does still shine through for the people and Pokémon she cares about. She is incredibly loyal.

Delia, unbeknownst to a lot of fans, also had a rough past (see Pocket Monsters: The Animation). Like Jessie, she had a lot of dreams and aspirations like wanting to be a model and even a trainer. But when she was 10, her mother didn’t let her, telling her that she had to stay home and learn to run the family restaurant (she’s an only child). Delia’s father left her and her mother to be a trainer, and never returned. When she was 18, she married Ash’s father and became pregnant shortly after. But right after Ash was born, he also set off to be a Pokémon trainer. And soon after that, her mother passed away, leaving Delia with just the restaurant and baby Ash. This gives so much context to Delia’s attitude in the show. We see that Delia is pained whenever Ash leaves on a journey, but she never shows that pain to anyone. ESPECIALLY Ash. She’s very quick to shoo him off when he shows any sign of wanting to go on another journey and even when he returns home, she acts more excited to see Pikachu than him almost every time. Without all this backstory, it’s easy to just read this as a funny gag, BUT with context, I think it really shows how quickly Delia shuts down and detaches in order to not confront her own feelings. She’s afraid of losing people and getting hurt again.

All that said, I think Jessie and Delia provide each other with EXACTLY what the other needs. 

Aside from becoming rich and famous, Jessie’s biggest aspiration is to get married. In my opinion, this is more so an underlying want for love and stability. There is no one more stable in the show than Delia. Delia’s lived in Pallet her whole life, she’s worked at the same restaurant since she was young and she is always there when Ash comes back home. She has all the love, patience and stability Jessie needs and craves. While forgiving, Delia’s not stupid and can keep Jessie in check. Delia’s also just an angel, which I feel, would make Jessie want to be better. And on top of all this, on more of a surface level, Delia’s a chef and excellent cook. She shows love through cooking and Jessie, who grew up poor, regularly starving and eating snow, happily receives that love. Jessie’s able to live a happy and healthy life with someone like Delia.

Delia, as stated, is very stable. Likely pretty monotonous and solitary, especially living in such a small town like Pallet. This isn’t a bad thing but it’s a little sad when you consider that Delia also had dreams of traveling, being a model and a trainer. She had to give up so many dreams in order to fulfill her duties as a restaurant owner and mother. And even now, when Ash is off on his journey, she feels the need to always be home and be that stable pillar, leaving behind any ambitions she had, thinking it’s too late for her (she’s only 29 btw). But then along comes Jessie, dangerous, passionate, an absolute firecracker. Someone who’s whole life has been about chasing dreams and either, never giving up on them or finding a new dream to chase. Upon learning about Delia’s past aspirations, I could see Jessie pushing her towards them, letting her know that life’s too short and she has nothing to lose from trying. On top of this, Jessie’s also loyal. She, James and Meowth are depicted as doing anything for anyone who gives them food or shows them kindness. Delia does both so there’s no way Jessie would leave her. This fulfills an essential need for Delia, who is afraid of the people in her life leaving her.

There’s so much potential for mutual growth and learning between these two and I adore that. They compliment each other, they help each other and they bring out the best qualities in one another.

I’m not really sure how to end this and I could truly talk about them even more but I don’t want this to be tooooo long haha. OH I could end it with maybe the most funny aspect of this ship that I've brushed over and also what drew me to it in the first place. Jessie. As Ash’s stepmom. THE END.

[jungshookz]

y/n really wants a persimmon dragon jellycat and yoongi will fight anyone to get it for her 

i went to the toy store today for some birthday eve shopping and i got elbowed at least three times in the jellycat section trying to get my hands on the onyx dragon + my brother was actually the one who made the “and they’re all adults” comment so LOUDLY which was so embarrassing and that’s what inspired this teeny tidbit 

➺ pairing; roommate!yoongi x y/n (new pairing?? same universe as roomie!tae tbh except yoongi and y/n have never been enemies and have always been respectful of each other and they also just renewed their lease for another year so clearly they make great roommates) 

➺ genre; honk honk humour!!! yoongi is kind of chaotic in this LOL

➺ wordcount; 1.3k 

»»————- 🐉 ————-««

“oh, man… when do you think they’re going to let us in? because i asked the lady and she said ten minutes but that was like, half an hour ago…” you mutter, poking your tongue against the inside of your cheek as you get up on your tip-toes for a split second to look over the crowd and into the store

you saw the cutest jellycat online (it’s a blue and orange dragon and what makes it even more adorable is the fact that it’s called the persimmon dragon) and it was unfortunately sold out but the website said that it might be in stock at the toy store downtown - and it seems like you weren’t the only one who got that memo because when you and yoongi got here there was already a line around the corner 

and maybe you’re paranoid and you’re pretty sure that the store will have enough for everyone but you’ve been eavesdropping on people’s conversations and now you know there are at least three other people who are aiming to snag their very own persimmon dragon for the holiday season 

“ugh! i knew we should’ve come earlier.” you can’t help but pout before crossing your arms over your chest, “i told you we shouldn’t have stopped for coffee.”

“you made me get up at 8am just to come to the damn toy store. trust me, we needed the coffee - or at least i did.” 

“you know, i’m pretty sure there’s supposed to be a line to get into the store but people are just swarming around the entrance to try to elbow their way in,” you get back up on your tippy-toes and it seems like the entrance is so close yet so far, “this crowd is ridiculous!”

“you know what’s even more ridiculous is the fact that everyone here is an adult.” yoongi raises an eyebrow and you feel your face flush slightly when a handful of people turn around to shoot him a scowl, “you are all adults. lining up to buy expensive ass plushies.” he emphasizes, and you immediately reach over to pinch his arm before letting out a nervous laugh and offering a stranger a sheepish smile 

“sorry. don’t listen to him.” you chuckle, reaching up to rub the back of your neck, “he’s just- we- we love jellycats, he’s just kidding-“ 

“oh, it’s all good!” the stranger shrugs with a shoulder, “i mean, he’s not wrong.” 

“see?” yoongi looks over at you and you can’t help but shake your head before rolling your eyes 

“they’re adorable plushies and people are allowed to spend their adult money in whatever way they want. you spend money on your video games and i don’t judge you for that.” 

“you actually do judge me for that. all the time. in fact, you make fun of me when i show you my new skins on fortnite-“

“okay, but the difference between us is that a jellycat is a real item and your skins aren’t, you’re playing dress up with characters you can’t even touch-“

“they are very real to me, y/n-“

“the doors are open!” 

yoongi doesn’t get much of a chance to defend himself before the crowd of people start moving quickly, entering the store like a swarm of hives 

“okay, this is the game plan-“ you loop your arm with yoongi’s to keep him attached to your side, “you go in there and you go straight for the persimmon dragon. i don’t want anything else, i just need that dragon. and i want to treat myself to the bigger size, i don’t want that little one-“

“well, that’s hurtful to the little one, i didn’t realise you were discriminating towards sizes-“ 

“not now-“ you’re too focused on the task at hand to even entertain yoongi’s lame joke and as soon as you enter the store you feel your eyes darting around in an attempt to lock in on your target 

blue and orange blue and orange blue and orange 

bears, bunnies, even broccoli - it’s almost like you’re seeing every single jellycat except for the one you want and you know that this is supposed to be a wholesome activity, shopping for a cute little plushie, but whenever jellycat is involved it always turns into a bloodbath 

someone shoves past you holding at least five plushies in their arms and you can’t help but gawk because that has to be at least over $300 worth of jellycat plushies 

“oh, there!” you gasp, pointing towards the back when you finally spot the blue and orange coat of the persimmon dragon but the smile immediately drops on your face when you notice the girl next to you perking up and suspiciously picking up her pace towards your precious dragon 

your heart starts to beat faster when she pulls ahead and now you know she’s going for the dragon because it’s the last one on the shelf and you can quite literally sense her desperation to get to the back of the store (same, though) 

“how- ow, jesus- how important is it to you to get this plushie?” yoongi curses under his breath when someone steps on the back of his sneaker, “if you break it down, this is just cotton stuffing and fabric and like, two beads. we can totally DIY a jellycat-“

“IT’S NOT THE SAME-“ you whip around and yoongi is genuinely startled at the fire in your eyes, “i’ve been wanting the persimmon dragon for so long, i’ve literally had it on my wishlist and the only reason why i’m rewarding myself with it is because of the promotion i got at work-!” you get interrupted when someone accidentally swats your face with a purple bunny jellycat, making you let go of yoongi’s arm to reach up to smack it away and before you know it you’ve completely lost him in the crowd 

people are really starting to swarm now and you even hear a scream of excitement from somewhere and you look around, panicking as you try to figure out which way you’re supposed to be heading 

“hey, we got here first!” you hear a voice ring out and you turn to see that girl from earlier gripping onto the tail of the persimmon dragon 

“no you didn’t, we grabbed it at the same time, and you wouldn’t even have known this was here if it wasn’t for my friend!” yoongi snaps, and you almost let out a yelp when he tugs at the dragon with his hand wrapped around its neck, “you’re just a leech! give me the goddamn dragon-“ 

“i want it!”

“i want it more!” yoongi reaches over and flicks the girl on the forehead and she immediately lets go of the tail to reach up and press a hand against her forehead, “happy frickin’ holidays, good luck finding another magical blue and orange dragon-“

“yoongi, you can’t do that!” you manage to elbow your way over to him and he looks back and forth between you and the girl 

“well, do you want the dragon or not??”

you pause, looking at the dragon in his arms before turning to look at the girl (who now has a red mark on her forehead) 

“…happy holidays, i wish you the best of luck in finding another persimmon dragon-“ 

“you guys are dickheads-! what the fuck-“ the girl is dragged away by her partner and yoongi grabs your hand before leading you through the crowd, still busy as ever

“you’re buying this for me, by the way-“ yoongi holds up a little coffee bean plushie as he hands you your dragon, “these things are actually kinda cute.” 

🎙️ ask y/n about her jellycat collection (talk to my characters!) 

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai!) 

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!) 

[always-just-red]

I loved the Drunked Call with Sylus scenario you made! I like the way you write it and I see you accepting request hehe. Can I request about... Sylus, Zayne and Caleb reaction meeting fem!reader, dates or accidentally met (you name it) and they noticed her long hair has been attached with chewed bubblegum? some kid pulled a prank on her before and she didn't even aware of it

Aw thank you so much!! 💕 I did different pranks for each of the boys just to keep things interesting- I hope you don't mind! They're all equally silly haha, and I had SO much fun writing them. Added Xavier and Raf for good measure, too!

It's Just Not Your Day...

L&DS Boys (& Caleb!) x Reader

Summary: It's you against the kids of Linkon City, and guess what? The kids are winning.

Genre: Humour + fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, reader gets a little stressed (and with some of these boys you can understand why 🙃)

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

One of the perks of being a Deepspace Hunter is the way people look at you. You’re used to respect: appreciative nods and gestures, wide-eyed admiration. You’re out in Linkon almost every day, putting your life on the line for everyone in the city. You’re a hero, right?

So why is everyone looking at you so… funny?

“Xavier,” you speak in a hushed whisper, tugging at the sleeve of your partner’s uniform. “I don’t like this. Something weird is going on.”

He yawns. “What do you mean?”

Can he really not see it? Sure enough, a businessman strolls past you, his eyes locked on you as he frowns, mid-telephone call. You think he even stumbles on his words. “Just look around,” you whisper again. Someone is watching you from across the street, their head cocked.   

Xavier is already looking around. You’re on patrol; that’s sort of the point. But he trusts you, so he follows your instruction: casting his sky-blue eyes around a little more carefully. They narrow. “Sorry,” he says, because you’re usually on the same page, “what are you talking about exactly?”

You fold your arms impatiently. “People are looking at us, Xavier.”

“Oh, I…” he seems to hesitate, “I think they’re just looking at you.”

The words could be romantic, but you don’t get the impression they’re intended to be. He’s implying something. He’s uncertain. “What makes you say that?” you ask, hands moving to your hips.

He shifts awkwardly on his feet. “I think it’s your, you know—” his finger waggles in front of his mouth.

You don’t know. “My what?”

“Your moustache.”

“What?”

Your hand shoots to your upper lip, but you don’t feel anything out of the ordinary. Xavier is staring, though, so you reach for your phone and turn the camera on yourself.

A black, cartoon-villain moustache has been sketched onto your face.

You gape at your reflection. “H— how…?” you stutter, tracing your new feature. Then a memory of this morning flashes through your mind: how you’d fallen asleep on the train to work. How there were those two schoolkids, sniggering, when you’d woken up just in time for your stop. Ugh. Really?

Wait— this morning?!

“Xavier!” you exclaim, turning to him like you’d just found his sword in your back. “Why didn’t you say something?”

It’s just gone three in the afternoon, and he’s been with you for hours. “I thought you knew,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck gingerly.

“You thought I…” You’re too bewildered, too betrayed to repeat it fully. Worst of all you feel guilty; how the hell can he look so freaking innocent? You turn back to your phone, desperately trying to rub the ink from your skin. It doesn’t budge. It doesn’t fade.

“Are you ok?” Xavier asks.

Of course you’re not ok, you feel like an idiot. Your cheeks are hot and the redness is spreading to the rest of your face as you fail to reclaim any of your dignity. “No,” you spit back, “honestly, Xavier, how could you just let me walk around like I’m some kind of—”

You glance up to discover he’s no longer listening. He’s not even here; he’s over there, talking to an old man who’s sat completing a sudoku. Great. Wonderful. Why not? At least one of you is making a good impression on the citizens of Linkon City.

With your eyes close to watering, you have one last, futile attempt at wiping the moustache from your upper lip. It’s not working. Gods, you’re gonna be stuck like this, aren’t you?

Someone taps you on the shoulder, and you look up to see Xavier, back at your side. He smiles reassuringly, sporting a drawn-on moustache of his own. The ends of it are curled even more theatrically than yours.

“Xavier…” you half-laugh in surprise, your eyes watering even more. “Why would you—? Now we both look stupid.”

“I look stupid,” he corrects, running a thumb over your wet cheek. “You look really pretty, moustache or not.”

Zayne ❄

“What… happened?”

You sit across from Zayne on a picturesque park bench, like something from a postcard: blue sky stretched above, wildflowers sprouting from the grass below. Birds are singing, butterflies are flittering about, and even the doctor looks perfect— unmarred by the first half of his work day, no matter how stressful it’s been.

It’s a fairy tale you covet: a little reunion with the man you love, on the odd occasion where your lunchbreaks match up and he isn’t drowning in paperwork. And it would be a fairy tale, if it wasn’t for you. You— your uniform soaked and your hair dripping wet. The wooden bench has gone damp beneath you; you’ve literally only just sat down.

“Gee, I don’t know, Zayne,” you hiss, face almost buried in your phone, “what do you think?”

Not too far away from you, some kids are locked in a water-gun battle, their shrieks of laughter loud and infuriating. Zayne glances between you and them, making his deductions. “Why—” he starts.

“Doesn’t matter,” you sniff, wiping your forehead with the back of your sleeve. “They messed with the wrong person, and we’re gonna make sure they know it.”

“We’re going to?”  

“Yeah. Me and you. That a problem?”

You shoot him a glare that sends a shiver down even his spine. “No,” he answers quickly— a survival instinct, uncharacteristically submissive— but his composure returns as you turn back to your phone. “Haven’t you got—”

Another dark look.

“Haven’t we got better things to do than start a war with some children in the park?”

“Not really. Justice is justice.” You shrug before pointing a finger at yourself. “Deepspace hunter.” Then at him. “Cardiac surgeon. Precision is kind of our thing, right? They really don’t stand a chance.” You’re laughing, now: “Gods, I almost feel sorry for them.”

Zayne has been watching your descent into madness with a calmness that does him credit. When he interrupts, it’s gentle. “I don’t think—”

Too gentle; you don’t hear him. “Pick your poison, Dr. Zayne!” Your phone is angled at him to reveal the all-too accessible armoury of an online store. “You’ve got your standard water pistols. Your water blasters.” You’re scrolling and indicating his choices as though you’re the salesman. “This one has two options, single shot or power shot, and— ooh! Look at this one! The AquaJet3000!”

With a soft laugh, Zayne pushes your phone out of his face. He would buy anything you’re selling, although— having seen the prices on your screen— he knows he’d be bankrupt within a week. “Linkon City is fortunate to have you defending it, and whilst I would be honoured, as always, to fight at your side, I was hoping we could… relax. You’re on a break, remember?”

You pout as he peels a wet strand of hair from your cheek. “Justice doesn’t take breaks.”

“Well, justice is going to have to on this occasion, because I said so.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “Besides, you shouldn’t fight fire with fire, or water with water. A lot of people look up to you, you know. Me included. So, set a better example. Save violence for the Wanderers.”  

It ought to be patronising: him, lecturing you on right and wrong when you’ve already added three types of water-gun to your virtual cart. He’s always so righteous. So collected. So moral. You want to be mad at him, but how can you be when he’s looking at you like that? Like he thinks the world of you, even when you’re plotting revenge against ten-year-olds.

You have a point to make, so you fold your arms and turn your back on him, even though he’s making your heart feel so frustratingly warm and fuzzy.

“I have something for you,” he says quietly.

To hell with the point. “What is it?” you ask, spinning eagerly around.

He smiles as he retrieves something he’d concealed behind him. It’s a small-ish box, pale pink, with patterns printed to emulate white lace. There’s a logo in the centre and you recognise it at once. “No way,” you enthuse, “that new bakery finally opened?”

You’ve both been waiting for months. “I couldn’t resist when I saw it,” he confirms, lifting the lid. Inside sit two unbelievably pretty cupcakes, buttercream icing spiralled high and adorned with sprinkles of gold leaf. Zayne plucks one from the box. “Perhaps—” he offers it to you— “perhaps this can make you feel better? Without us needing to, well… attack children.”

You giggle; it does sound pretty stupid when he puts it like that. “Thanks, Zayne,” you grin, reaching out for your reward. You’re glad one of you is vaguely sensible— those water-guns were expensive.

The cake is an inch from your fingers when a jet of water sends it flying from Zayne’s hand. It lands at your feet with an unceremonious splat, and from somewhere behind you, laughter roars.

The doctor blinks down at it in disbelief, his hand still hovering beside yours. He grieves for a long moment, then looks to you solemnly like you’re a colleague and he’s about to ask for a scalpel:

“The AquaJet3000,” he says.  

Rafayel 🎨

“Rafayel, call me stupid one more time, and I’ll—”

You’ll… you’ll… what? He’s looking back at you with wide eyes, his hands frozen when they had just a moment ago been drying the plate you’d handed him. He has some nerve, pretending he’s the victim when he’s spent the entire evening insulting you. This is supposed to be a wholesome moment of domesticity— doing the dishes together before he has to disappear to a late-night gala— so why is he ruining it? Ever since you got home, it’s been: so how was your day, stupid? Hey, stupid, want a hand washing up?

He said he was fine with you sitting out the gala tonight, but maybe he’s not.

“I’ll do this,” you finish, lifting a palmful of suds from the sink and raising them to your lips, ready to blow.

“Puh-lease, you bought me this suit. You really think I can’t tell when you’re bluff— hey, wait! Stop!”

You do blow the bubbles at him, and he recoils, holding the plate and dishcloth up to defend himself. He blocks some of them, but not all of them. “Honestly, Raf, if you’re not ok with me skipping out on tonight then you can just say so.”  

He puts the plate gently aside. “I mean, of course I’m sad you’re not coming,” he thinks aloud as he sets about sweeping bubbles from his suit, “but I’m ok with it, really. You’ve had, like, a crazy week at work. You deserve a quiet night in.”

Compassion? Really? After you just—? Ugh. “So why were you being so mean, then?” you sigh, taking the cloth from him and dabbing away the bubbles he’s missed.

“Mean?”

“You’ve called me ‘stupid’ like fifty times in the span of, what— three hours?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs innocently. “Because you told me to.”

Huh? You stop what you’re doing. “Since when did I—”

He reaches over your shoulder and you feel fingers on your back. “See?” he answers, bringing a piece of paper in front of you. It looks like it’s been torn hastily from a notebook, and it says, in bold, capital letters: ‘CALL ME STUPID!!’

You take the note from Rafayel sheepishly, your lips parted in surprise. How did it—? Wait. “Those kids!” you exclaim, thinking back on your walk home from work. “Oh I knew they were spouting bullshit when they said they saw a Wanderer!”

Your dish-washing companion doesn’t seem impressed by your lightbulb moment. He’s watching you, confusion etched across his face, but you can see right through it. “Rafayel!” you slap a soapy hand to his chest, “you had to call me stupid that many times before telling me?”

“I thought you wrote it. Pet names can be weird sometimes— I don’t know what you’re into.”

He’s still acting. Still lying. Fine, two can play at that game.  

You fall deathly silent, turning back to the sink to retrieve the bowl you’d dropped in there the last time he’d called you your new ‘pet name’. “I guess it suits me,” you mumble, half to yourself.

“What d’you mean, cutie?”

He can call you cutie as many times as he wants; you’re out for blood. You give the bowl another once-over with a sponge. “Some hunter I am. Can’t even tell when some kids are messing with me.”

Rafayel frowns. “Hey, it’s been a long week, yeah? You’re just tired.”

“Tired,” you echo, and you drop the bowl back into the water with a dramatic plop. “Tired? No. I’m exhausted. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I work, there’s always… something. To make me feel like an idiot. To make me feel… stupid.”

“Hey,” Rafayel tries again, and his voice is fraught with worry. “Don’t say stuff like that. You’re not stupid. I’m stupid. I’m supposed to make you feel better and instead I was just screwing around. I’m sorry, ok? Don’t be sad. Please?”

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, resting his chin on the top of your head. You don’t give in, not at first, but then you hug him back. “Thanks, Raf. I’m ok— really.” You hear his phone buzz from where he’s left it on the counter. “You should go. Thomas will kill you if you’re late.”

“Nah, he needs me,” the artist chuckles. “You get first dibs, though. You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“Yeah,” you laugh quietly back; your heart not quite in it. “Quiet night in, remember? Go on. Go.”

He steps away from you, though not before planting a light kiss on your cheek. “I’ll make it up to you when I get home,” he says, collecting his phone and the rest of his things. He gives you another kiss when he’s done, dodging your efforts to shoo him away. “Miss you already, cutie.”

“Go!”

And he does as he’s told this time, no matter how listlessly. It’s sweet he wants to stay and make things better, but he already has— he just doesn’t know it yet. It wasn’t the hug. It wasn’t the apology. You lean back against the counter with a smirk, savouring the view as he leaves.

It might have something to do with the note you’ve stuck on his back.

…

Rafayel retrieves the note the moment he closes the door behind him, stuffing it smugly into his pocket. He’ll have a story ready for you, by the time he gets home, about just how much you humiliated him. About how he walked around for a good hour before Thomas spotted the note and gave him a lecture about his ‘image’.

He smiles to himself; he’s a really good boyfriend.

Sylus 🩸

“You should know better than to keep me waiting, sweetie.”

Oh, great. This is just what you need.

You peek over the saddle of your motorcycle from where you’re crouched behind it. “Hey, Sylus,” you greet. The man is watching you, his arms folded. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Sorry?” he repeats, an eyebrow raised sceptically. “What— no ‘patience is a virtue, Sylus,’ no ‘oh please, Sylus, we both know you’ve nothing better to do?’”

You had disappeared behind your bike again, but you steal another glance at him. “Wow,” you marvel, “is this what you did before we met? Have arguments with yourself?”

“More or less,” he smiles dryly, then shrugs: “I’m not bad, as far as sparring partners go. You of all people can vouch for that. Besides, what were my other options? Mephisto?” He laughs. “Luke and Kieran?” He laughs harder.

“I’d rate Mephisto above you,” you add distractedly, no longer looking at him.

“Is that right?” he purrs, and it’s very obvious he doesn’t believe you.

He sounds close— too close— so you stand, re-entering his eyeline so he doesn’t come closer. Gods, this is embarrassing. Those stupid kids; he’s gonna have a field day if he finds out. “Yeah.” You wipe your hands slowly with a cloth, disguising the fact that your mind is scrambling. “The things that bird comes up with, just… scathing, honestly. Emotionally devastating.”

“Oh really?” Sylus tuts. “That’s awful. I can’t imagine where he gets it from.”

You smile back at him, resting your hands on your hips. You do feel bad, actually; you’d completely forgotten you were supposed to meet him this morning for breakfast before work. He’d received no texts to cancel. No calls. How long was he waiting at that sweet little café you’d picked out?

Then again, this morning isn’t really going to your plan, either.

“Something wrong with your bike?” he asks, because he’s already figured out that much. “Besides the usual, I mean.”

Your smile drops. Your whole act drops. “It’s nothing, Sylus.”

“You’ve already stood me up this morning, sweetie. Are you really going to lie to me, too?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. Fine. “Some kids graffitied it, ok?”

“This piece of junk? Really?” He toes the front wheel of it, then catches onto the withering look you’re sending him. “Oh no,” he tries again, with absolutely no enthusiasm, “what a dreadful crime against such an advanced, state-of-the-art vehicle.”

Prick. You keep the label behind tight lips as he wanders around the motorcycle to join you, assessing the damage. You’re stood by a bucket of water and the litany of rags you’ve used to try to scrub it clean— each one a testament to your failure. The sight alone makes you want to burst into tears. The skin of your hands is pink. Raw.

You feel cheated; you wish you were at that café right now.

Sylus taps a finger against his cheek, eyes narrowed pensively. They’re spoiled for choice of what to look at: misspelt obscenities, a generous number of crude symbols. All in permanent marker, naturally. “An improvement, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wouldn’t say. No.”

“Art is subjective.”

“Yeah? So is your face.” Not your best effort. Sylus glances up at you, amused. “Shut up,” you dismiss proactively. “Besides, this is my work vehicle. I can’t ride around Linkon on this. It would be—”

“Too staggering a blow to your professional reputation,” he finishes like he’s bored.

“This isn’t funny, Sylus.”

He points at a particularly chaotic drawing of a penis. “It is.”

You smack his hand away. “It’s not.” Your voice wobbles, ever so slightly betraying you. This is serious; you could get in trouble. You stare down at the graffiti, despair setting in.

Keys dangle in front of your eyes. “Here. Borrow my bike.”

“You’re joking, right?” You swat at them. “You really think that’s gonna help? Me— rolling up to work on a bike that costs twice my annual salary?”

“Twice? That’s cute, kitten.”

You glare at him, any guilt you felt about standing him up long gone. “Can you just stop? Being you? For like, two seconds? Please? This is the last thing I need today, Sylus. I’m gonna be late. I’m gonna embarrass myself in front of everyone. And worst of all? I was actually looking forward to seeing you this morning. Before all of this—” you gesture dejectedly at your bike— “all of this shit happened.”

Sylus is looking back at you, his arms crossed again. He does nothing for a few, slow seconds, and it’s just long enough to make you feel like you’re overreacting. Then he leans over, running a hand across your bike, and you watch as the graffiti flakes and lifts, turning to ash under the influence of his Evol.

He brushes his hands together when he’s done, straightening with a hmph and a self-satisfied smirk. Content (more than content— thoroughly impressed with himself) he turns back to you. Your bottom lip has dropped in surprise and he chuckles, reaching a finger to lift your chin. “You can thank me later, sweetie, and I intend to spend the entire day thinking about how you might. Don’t disappoint me, hmm?”  

You’re still silent, and it takes him a moment to realise you’re bristling with something other than awe and adoration. He frowns. “Sweetie?”

The second ‘sweetie’ breaks you, and not in the way he wants. You slap his chest, hard; he doesn’t really feel it.

“Sylus! You could have done that the whole time?!”

Caleb 🍎

“Sit still, dear.”

Sit still? How are you supposed to sit still when you’re brimming with rage? Every inch of your body is tense, waiting, yearning for you to spring into action. It wants you to retaliate. It wants revenge.

“I can’t, Grandma,” you whine, crossing your arms as if to hold yourself back. You’re still fidgeting on the chair as she navigates your hair with her scissors. “This sucks. Everything sucks. The only thing that could make this worse is if—”

You hear the front door swing open, then closed. Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?

Sure enough, Caleb strolls into the kitchen mere moments later. “What’s happenin’ here?” he asks, dropping a bag of groceries onto the countertop.

“Nothing,” you mumble. “Grandma’s giving me a haircut, that’s all.”

“Ok. So what’s actually happening here?” he tries again. He’s known you forever, after all; he can tell when you’re lying.

You swing a foot out at his shin as he tries to step closer. Nuh-uh. No investigating. No sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. “Nothing,” you hiss again. “Gods, Caleb. What’s your problem?”

“You’re my problem, pipsqueak.” He uses his foot to push yours away. “At least Gran’s on my side—” his amethyst eyes seek her— “can you tell me what’s going on? Please? Pretty please?”

A hand breaks their eye contact. “You don’t have to answer that, Grandma.” You glare Caleb down. “The DAA has no authority here.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

Grandma sighs; she’s had far too many years of this. “You know Mr and Mrs. Lee’s children? Down the road? Well, they—”

“Grandma!” You round on her. How long did she last— all of three seconds? You bitterly regard Caleb, your voice dark with resentment: “They put gum in my hair, ok?”

“Really?”

“Yeah." He wanted the truth, didn’t he? “They lured me in with some nonsense about a Wanderer. I didn’t realise until, well, until…” You wave at your hair. “Too late.”

He considers the story, then shrugs. It’s clearly not as thrilling as he was anticipating, because he disappears from the kitchen, leaving you and Grandma in peace once more. The silence is as uncomfortable as it is sudden. You’d expected laughter— a lot of laughter. Teasing. Maybe even a shot at how gullible you are.

You release an uneasy breath, resting your head back on the chair.

“Sit still,” Grandma repeats, nudging you, prompting you to sit up straight. “I’ve almost got it. Just one more… here!” There’s a decisive snip.

“Thanks, Grandma.” You slump again, staring up at the ceiling.

You’re not sure what you’re waiting for. Maybe for the blush of your cheeks to cool, or for a Wanderer to spring out of the floor, killing you, so you can be dead and not so embarrassed. You hear heavy footsteps— Caleb returning— and you really wish the Wanderer would hurry up.

“Caleb…” Grandma’s tone is wary. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”  

You readjust your head so you can look at him. He’s clutching what must be a dozen rolls of toilet paper; they’re piled up to just below his chin, almost spilling out over his arms. “How about it, pipsqueak?” he asks as he struggles to balance them. “A little team-up between the DAA and The Association— wanna do your part in reclaiming your neighbourhood?”

Now that’s more like it. “Fuck yes! Sorry, Grandma.”

You’re really as bad as each-other. She tuts reproachfully as you leap out of your chair, and she's disappointed, but not surprised.

[thaliagracesgf]

i get a boyfriend

part two of the casual series! (requests are in progress, i just churned this out because it is my baby)

warnings: making out and luke being cocky asf

wc: 1.2k

the sun streamed through your eyelids in the morning. you shifted in bed, cozying up in rebellion. you really did not want to get up. you felt luke behind you, starting to move, and you closed your eyes. you knew he wouldn’t be able to wake you up just yet. 

his head finds the crook of your neck, and his curls brush against your face. you’ve never felt so safe. 

“jesus christ,” you’re rudely disturbed. you keep your eyes shut. maybe beckendorf will leave. 

a knot grows in your stomach as luke grumbles from behind you. “fuck off, man. i was sleeping.”

“yeah. i noticed.” 

“what are you doing here? this isn’t your cabin,” he said, sleep evident in his low voice. 

“yeah, isn’t hers either. so are you two a thing now? you finally hook up last night? what’s the sitch here, because silena needs her update.”

with that, luke pulls himself up. “shut up, man.” he looks down at your ‘sleeping’ face, hoping you didn’t hear. “have some respect.”

you did hear, of course, and at first it did make you feel gross, but the ‘finally’ catches you, and you remember that luke wants you. he isn’t jack, who just wanted to fuck somebody, he’s been waiting, and yeah, the older kids at camp sometimes fuck. it’s relieving to realize that beckendorf doesn’t know about last night— he would never had said that if he did. besides, luke’s attempt at a defense, though hampered by his sleep-addled brain, is adorable. 

“i’m just saying! don’t act like you haven’t thought about it. every person in this godforsaken camp can see it, ’cept maybe her.” 

“can you seriously fuck off? i’ve got my girl, don’t make it my problem that you’re scared of yours.” 

you laugh softly at that one. you don’t open your eyes, but you can feel luke freeze behind you. beckendorf doesn’t notice, but your gig is up anyway. 

“your girl?” you mumble, a smile crossing your lips. beckendorf stifles a laugh. 

“alright, i’m heading out! good luck with this one, man.” you open your eyes, and even as they’re adjusting to the light in the cabin, you swear you can see him wink. you’re not sure which one of you it’s to. 

“die,” luke calls after him, throwing his head back on the pillow, but pulling you into his chest. 

“hi.” you say, still facing away from him, and he tucks his head into your neck again. 

“hi.” luke says. 

you turn yourself over to look at his eyes. they’re such a deep brown. he tilts his head forward. you smile. you let his lips graze yours. 

it’s exactly like it was when you were fourteen, and a million times more. he’s soft and gentle, pulling back between each kiss. your arms move around his neck, his wrap around your waist. you’ve never felt so secure in your life. 

but you have to pull away. “i— i…” you start. 

luke sits up. “i’m sorry,” he says. “i’m so sorry. fuck, that was so stupid of me. i’m so sorry, gods, what was i thinking?” he ran his hand through his hair. it was adorable. you reach out to his arm. (gods, he’s jacked). you wish you had allowed yourself to stare sooner. you’d been depriving yourself. 

“it’s okay, luke. it was…it was really nice.” it seems like such a cheap thing to say, and by the look on his face, it wasn’t all that convincing. “i’m not… this is just a lot to process.” 

“in what way?” he probes. you aren’t used to people asking questions. usually hannah just stares you down until the words come out of your mouth.

“i mean,” you try to word it in a way that won’t set him off. “it would be kind of shitty to jump into anything, right? after what happened with jack?”

luke gives a contemptuous look at the mention of his name. “no,” he scoffs. he’s still sitting up, looking down at you lying in his bed. you figure it might be a bad time to tell him how badly you want him to kiss you again. 

“well, i don’t know. doesn’t it look like i’m just hopping around from guy to guy?” 

“ok. first of all, i’m pretty sure there are only, like, four people who know about you and jack. second of all, at the risk of sounding like an absolute dick, aren’t you supposed to be in love with me or something?”

you gasp. “what the hell?”

he grins. “it’s just what i’ve heard. you know what the camp gossip mill is like.” 

you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “this is so not fair.”

and he laughs, he really laughs. “how is it not fair?” 

“you are such a dick. this is so embarrassing. i’m going to kill you.”

“you seem pretty content under those blankets for someone plotting a murder.” you look through your fingers. his smile is so, so, unbelievably cute. “how is this not fair?”

“because you totally know everything and i don’t know anything.” 

“okay. what to you want to know?”

“shut up. die. i hope you drown today.”

“are you really going to make me say it, jack-jack?”

“i hate you.”

“i like you.” you go quiet. “i really, really like you. i think i’ve had a crush on you since we were fourteen. and i fucking love you. not like we already say everyday. like i think i’m actually fucking in love with you.”

he lays down beside you. you’re facing away from him, so he traces swirls on your shoulder.

you turn to face him, and for a second he has the decency to look nervous. 

you narrow your eyes at him. “so how do you really know i’m not just in this for the sex?” and he bursts out laughing. and before you know it, you’re laughing with him. and he loves the way your eyelids almost close when you do. 

“i wouldn’t blame you if you were,” he grins.

“well, who are you hooking up with these days? i’ll have to see if you have good reviews.”

“good luck with that, it might be difficult.”

“what, like you’ve never hooked up with an aphrodite girl after a bonfire.”

he shakes his head, and you’re honestly stunned. luke castellan, the most gorgeous boy on long island, is a virgin? 

“i mean,” he starts. “it’s not like i haven’t had offers.” 

“oh, shut up, you asshole,” you try to turn away from him, but he wraps his arms around you, and at his next words you freeze. 

“but i was holding out hope that it would be with you.” 

fuck. that was really hot. 

you look up, into his eyes. “i hate you,” you roll your eyes.

“i love you,” he murmurs, his eyes on your lips.

this time when he kisses you, you’re never letting him go. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him atop you. it takes everything in you not to roll your hips into his, but you don’t stop yourself from reaching down his torso to find the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, and running your hands along his stomach. fuck, you think for the second time that morning. he’s jacked. he smiles into the kiss, and you know you’re stroking his ego right alongside his abs. 

“so,” you say, biting your lip as his trace your jaw and neck. “what was that about ‘your girl’ earlier?”

you’re expecting a sly remark, a grin, or something. instead, he doesn’t hesitate—“be my girlfriend,” he almost moans. “please.” 

and you don’t have it in you to leave him waiting. 

“okay,” you whisper.

[thewertsearch]

Decided to take a little look at the Formspring over the weekend. 

I’m not sure exactly where I left off last time, so I decided to start from the last question I commented on - which means that these are old questions, from way back in the Hivebent era. 

I don’t know if it’s because I’m fairly young, or because I’m not American, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a reference to either of these shows. I haven’t even heard of the second one.

Let me live, Hussie!

We get some hard numbers for Homestuck’s readership, although I’m sure it had grown significantly by the time Cascade rolled around. For reference, this was posted around the time of WV: Rise up.

Karkat originally described Semi-Perfect Jack as ‘something higher than a queen or a king’, which really made it sound like Jack was stronger than either - but I suppose this makes sense, too. 

Jack’s not necessarily stronger than the Queen was - but he’s definitely more dangerous, because he doesn’t follow the normal rules of a Ringbearer. The Queen was a bad-tempered moderator, but Jack is a troll who’s stolen the moderator’s password. 

Hussie’s constant teasing of Team Sleuth is honestly pretty funny. 

I suppose it makes sense that Prospitian Agents would have different priorities - but what about Prospitian Exiles, Hussie? We’re about to be introduced to four new ones, and they could be anyone. 

I like Hussie’s take on creating web content. I agree - you should be making what you want to make, not what gets you the most clicks. 

If I had to knock one point off of Homestuck’s rating, it would be due to the comic’s obsession with clowns. My apologies to all the clown lovers out there, but I simply cannot get into them.

I’ve never seen Lost, myself. I hear it initially had potential, but fell apart later on when it had to keep the promises made by its premise. 

But I think was sold it for me was when I got the idea to mix the pairs of slime from their respective guardians. The whole weird mess struck me as an especially novel origin story, and the thought of making these 8 babies all at once was just ridiculous enough to be irresistible. Not just because of the mad science/time travel/paradoxical novelty, but because of the new light it put the characters under. Especially the guardians I think. These weird automaton-like authority figures, mostly obstacles in the early going, are quite probably very much like the kids, just at different stages in their weird lives (i.e. the ones where they lose their facial features). They're all kind of like siblings in a way, even if not all biological. (Though some are!) And I think you could pick up on that from some of the early interactions, that for instance Rose was likely a very similar person to her mom. Her mom just happened to be an adult!

Hussie originally saw the Guardians as pretty similar to their kids - and Rose, in particular, would be quite similar to Mom. We’ve already seen that Rose takes after her father, but it sounds like Roxy’s going to match her vibes, too. 

Laughing my ass off at the implication that there’s an upper limit to that number. 

Damn it, I really was hoping for some sort of anime showdown during the finale. 

Mind you, Hussie’s not saying it won’t happen - just that if it does, it won’t take up a third of the comic’s runtime. 

God, I am so here for nunchuck Sollux, and I’m getting sadder and sadder that these forum threads are all gone. I wonder what other early headcanons people had for the trolls? 

Heh.

See, I kind of figured that Homestuck wouldn’t get fully into the nitty-gritty of a Sburb campaign - but damn, would I still love to see it. I suppose speculating about the game’s mechanics is just as fun, though. 

This answer seems to confirm that Terezi had no idea what the Doomsday Scale really was. 

I wonder what she thought about the fact that it bore her sign? Did she wonder about the Pyrope who left it there, or did she already have a pretty good idea of who it was likely to be? 

[slimybeth69]

Part 3- Your People

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

w/c~ 8k

content warnings: Reader (no descriptions besides having hair that can be pulled) is in a weird mindset; hears voices, talks to herself. non-con/dub-con (if you're looking for enthusiastic consent, ya wont find it here) smut, cock-warming, unprotected P in V, creampies, oral (m&f receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, pussy and peen pronouns, alcohol consumption (altered mental state). Joel wears a shock collar and other various horrible things that would keep him in check-- and he doesn't fucking like it.

Reader warning- While it looks real pretty, this is a Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. If ya do and then come complaining to me that you ate a dead dove-- I'm gonna fight you. I warned you. I'm coming from a place of love and respect for my readers who have ever gone through anything traumatic and maybe don't want to relive that, it's in here. I try and do it tastefully and respectfully in the best way, i'll mark it with a lil divider where you can skip the part I'm worried about. it's smut but it's sad. There is your warning. I love you.

You gotta sleep, kid. You need it.

Mister-J looks so warm and comfortable… go on and crawl in beside him.

He does look so comfortable and inviting, especially from your spot just out of his reach if you were to fall asleep. His chest rises and falls slowly as he breathes in his sleep. It’s memorizing, and almost hypnotic enough to make you forget all of your fears— forget all of the things that made laying next to him with his arms around you physically excruciating.

S’okay, Baby. You’ll get there, it’ll get easier ‘n he won’t seem so big ‘n scary anymore.

There is a reason he seems big and scary, kid. Your gut is telling you not to trust him, so don’t.

Oh, stop it. If he wanted to kill her, he would have— he would have done it by now. He’s big ‘n strong— he could, and he hasn’t.

That sweet, soft voice does have a good point…

Doesn’t mean he isn’t waiting for a better opportunity.

The dark, serious voice has a point too…

This always happens, the voices say things that conflict one another, but they both have a point. They both make sense but never about the same thing. And they argue. And they’re loud. It’s only when you need them, that you really, really want them to say something that they are quiet.

The little flashlight that had been attached to the backpack Mister-man—

Joel… he has a name. He’s a real person, kid.

You flick the flashlight off quickly so it’s dark again.

Mister-mans, Mister-J… Joel… it don’t matter none, Sugar. He’s yours, and you can call him whatever you want.

You flick the light back on so you can watch him sleep. It’s incredible how calm he is, and how he fell asleep as soon as you laid down next to him after saying he couldn’t sleep.

Sometimes that happens to you though, sometimes you need to touch yourself, and make yourself squirm and moan and come, and then sleep finds you. Sometimes the whiskey puts you to sleep before you even have the desire to do that to yourself.

Whatever Mister-J did with his tongue was so much better than your fingers, wasn’t it?

It most definitely was. It was probably the most incredible feeling you’ve ever experienced. Not that you hadn’t ever experienced it before, but this time…it was soft, gentle— and you wanted it more than anything. That made it feel even fucking better, how badly you wanted to sit down on Mister-mans face and grind down onto his mouth.

He was making out with your cunt. Deep, long, tongue swirling kisses. He would open and close his mouth, and suck. He would lick and lap at all spots you didn’t even know could make you feel good.

When you would take his cock deep in your throat and gag on it, he would moan- loudly-and the vibrations from that were like earthquakes, they touched parts inside of you that were left unexplored by anyone before Mister.

He was perfect.

The idea of laying your head down on his big, muscular bicep was nice until you were actually doing it, and then everything about it felt foreign. It was like sleeping too close to the fire, surrounded by too many blankets.

You had gotten so used to sleeping alone, that the feeling of someone next to you didn’t feel right anymore. It made you sad and you’re not entirely sure why.

So that’s why you’re here on the floor and not snuggled up against Mister-man. It’s like the universe played some cruel joke on you- and you got your favorite food but when you bite into it, it’s rancid.

But your fingers twitch toward him anyway—like roots in dirt searching for water. His arm is right there. His breath is slow and steady.

Go on. He’s warm as fresh bread.

You shift an inch closer.

Dangerous as a snake in the grass.

But his skin smells like leather and sweat and you want to taste him again. Want to run your tongue from the tip of his cock, to the spot just in front of his ear that makes him sigh when you kiss him there.

Crawling—quiet like scared prey— you move until your face hovers over his chest. His shirt rides up just enough to show a scar on his perfectly doughy stomach. And another on his rib cage. It looks newer, still old enough to be a scar, but pink instead of white.

You wonder if it aches when he breathes. If that’s the reason his voice sounds like gravel sometimes.

He’ll crush you.

He’ll hold you.

It sounds like a song the way the sweet voice says it.

You touch the scar with your pinky finger, feather-light—and he doesn’t stir. But then he sighs—a rumble deeper than thunder—and your guts twist.

You scramble back, heart slamming against the back of your throat.

The sweet voice clucks at you.

You’re spooking yourself. 

You’re alive because you spook.

The flashlight rolls under your knee when you shift—plastic clattering loud enough to wake dead things—and Mister’s brow tightens. For one gut-drop second, his eyes flicker open, staring up at you, before he grunts and turns onto his side, back to you now.

He’s mad again? How, and why? What did you do wrong? You had done everything right.

You keep poking that bear and you’re going to get mauled, kid.

He ain’t mad…look’it his hands, Sugar.

They’re not balled up into fists, they’re relaxed. His whole body is. Everything about him seems so at peace.

Your stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead. It’s been a while since you’ve eaten— and then you only had half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and some whiskey.

Joel’s boot shifts with a dry scrape of leather—and your lungs forget how air works. But he just mumbles something that sounds like “goddamn horse” with his face smushed against the pillow.

Mister-J talks in his sleep? He’s precious.

He is. It’s hard to contain the feeling in your chest when he sighs loudly, rolling onto his stomach, curling his arms under the pillow.

Instead of trying to face your fears of crawling into bed with him and falling asleep next to someone else, you crawl on your hands and knees back to the chair across the room. The whiskey bottle is still tucked between the cushion where you left it.

--

Even with almost half of a bottle of whiskey in you, your eyes won’t close. You only know what time it is because the soft whir of the solar powered generator kicks on, and the singular lamp in the corner flicks to life. It’s dark outside now. 

The electric hum from the bulb makes your skin crawl, and your head buzz.

Part of you feels bad for keeping Mister down here like this. He doesn’t even know what time it is, he’ll probably wake up soon, getting ready to start the day. You wonder if he misses the sun, if he ever walked barefoot in the grass and if he misses that feeling too.

When you weren’t allowed outside, you missed the sun. You missed the grass between your toes. You missed being able to jump into the river and swim around with your brother whenever you wanted. There were a lot of things you missed when you weren’t allowed to go outside.

Unscrewing the whiskey cap, you take a swig and relish in the way it burns. It drowns out the voices, but it doesn’t dull the ache between your legs— the memory of his mouth makes you shift in the soft recliner.

In the soft, pale light spilling into the room from behind the aged, yellow lampshade, you can see Mister-J… and how excited he is. He’s on his back, shirt riding up over his stomach again, the bulge in his sweatpants clear as day now.

There is a new voice you’ve never heard before, and it’s not saying anything— only screaming. Loud, and high pitched. It’s excruciating. It’s the only thing you hear now, not even the sound of your own voice telling you what to do, or what to think or say.

When you stand, the whiskey sloshes between your temples. It makes you sway and almost lose your balance, but you press your hand to a support beam that juts out of the floor and into the ceiling.

Heavy, clumsy, limping feet and a swollen ankle carry you to Mister-J.

His cock is hard and heavy in your hand and he tastes just like he did last night. He stirs under your touch—a low groan vibrating through clenched teeth—and your pussy tightens around nothing. Mister arches his hips up against your slow moving fist, trying to fuck your hand momentarily before stilling and settling back down into the mattress. His eyes are still shut tight beneath furrowed eyebrows.

It’s pathetically cute how bad he wants this. How badly he needs it.

The screaming inside your head morphs into static.

Your fingers rub slow circles over damp fabric between your legs while your rib cage starts to feel like a hive of wasps. Everything inside of you is buzzing as you lean over and swirl your tongue around the ridge of his cock.

Wrong.

That dark voice sounds like it’s coming through the static like old radio stations.

You pull your hand away from Mister-J's cock and cover your face with it, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. This is all wrong, all of it.

S’right. It’s all right.

The static transmutes into tornado sirens.

Your hand finds his cock again and it throbs in your grasp. There is no hesitation when you take him into your mouth with a gentleness you didn’t know you possessed when you’re this intoxicated. Delicate movements and laps of your tongue along his shaft make him moan softly, still slumbering.

Salt and musk take over your senses as he pulses against your tongue—wanting even in his unconsciousness. Your throat spasms around him as you gag, tears hot on your lashes. One hand brushes against his thigh as you move to steady yourself on the mattress while the other slips into your own waistband. Two fingers slide into you with no resistance. You’re so wet that you almost feel embarrassed.

Inside.

The sweet voice sings to you over the cacophony going on inside your head.

Mister’s hips jerk again, involuntary, desperate. A string of saliva connects your lip to his cock when you pull back to breathe. The room tilts—whiskey and shame on your tongue—but you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when his thighs were trembling just a moment ago.

After kicking your shorts off, you climb on top. Mister feels so hot pressed up against your cunt. Yours and his breath catch in your throats when you sink down into his lap. Your eyes close to hide from the stretch that burns in a slippery, and shameful way.

The wasps behind your ribs sharpen their stingers as you slowly start to rock your hips against his. Mister’s eyelids flutter but he doesn’t wake-up, not fully. He just hovers in that feverish space between dreaming and drowning. A place you’re familiar with.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

Good. Good. Good.

You want to carve yourself into his bones before the tornado sirens rip your skull apart.

The oven mitts make useless fists at his sides as he arches beneath you, tendons in his neck pulled wire-tight. His hips stutter upward instinctively, chasing more friction, seeking the deepest, warmest parts of you.

His eyes snap open, “The fuck are you—” Mister-man’s voice is rough like sandpaper but you don’t let him finish before you slap your hand over his mouth.

“Shhhh, makin’ you feel good,” you moan quietly, your hips never faltering. His cock slides across a spot inside of you that whites the edges of your vision.

He mumbles something, his teeth scraping along your palm as he does so. It vaguely sounds like, ‘Get off’a me’ or ‘get off on me,’.

“M’tryin’,” you groan, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. Your cheeks are wet, but from tears or sweat, you don’t know.

How can everything make sense up here on top of Mister-J, and still feel so incredibly… wrong?

The oven mitts start to drum against your thighs as he squirms underneath you.

It…hurts? Mister is hitting you? 

Hurting you.

You like it. 

“Knock it off!” You press harder against this mouth with your hand, your fingers digging into his cheeks. It’s impossible to stop riding him, to stop yourself from needing this brutal closeness with Mister. 

You’re being bad. 

You like it. 

His muffled growls vibrate against your palm—angry or pleading or both—but your cunt clenches harder around him anyway. Release is so close, you can feel yourself teeter on the precipice, but you can’t seem to push yourself over.

“Please, please, p-please— jus’ wanna, I just wanna— please, please, Mister-J,” you whine, face wet with perspiration and tears now, they’re flowing freely from your eyes. “I want it, need it—”

“Stop, goddammit—” he shouts at you from behind your fingers.

It makes you flinch but you don’t stop, and your pussy pulses around him. Your hand presses harder, fingernails leaving moon crescents in his flesh mingled with his stubble.

You just want to feel good, to be able to fall asleep once this is all over.

Oven mitts thump and scrabble at your hip, and that only makes your thighs clamp tighter around his waist. You want to swallow every twitch of his cock, everything he can give you– you want it. 

He bucks his hips up into you and touches a place inside you that leaves you gasping for air. “Yes, yes, yes—” you groan breathlessly, leaning forward to lay your body on top of his, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

Mister bucks his hips up into yours again— once, twice, three times and suddenly you’re being shoved off of him, pushed to the side like you’re weightless.

Before you can really even know what hit you, Mister-man has his entire body weight pinning you down underneath him. He has his forearm forced against your neck.

Your thumb instinctively presses against down, searching for the shock collar button but you just end up pressing against your own palm.

The static, and the sirens and the screaming— the voices. It all goes completely silent and the only thing you can hear is the blood roaring in your ears.

Mistake?

Mistake. 

“Got’chya,” He growls down at you, his eyes dark and blown wide.

“Get off me! Get off me! Get off of me!” You scream at him as loudly as you can, “Get off of me! Get off! Off, off, offoffoffoff! I’ll fucking kill you, you stupid fucking sonofabitch- get the fuck off me!”

“Awhh, lil crazy puppy don’t like it?” He murmurs, pressing his lips to your tear stained cheekbone.

Your legs begin to flail wildly in an attempt to dislodge him, push him, get him off. Your hands flying to his face, scratching and clawing at the soft skin, and his vulnerable, delicate eyes. You can’t find the words for how much you don’t like it, so you scream— it’s loud and rattles in the back of your throat as Mister-man clamps his hand over your mouth to silence you.

His breath is hot and ragged against your ear, the oven mitts clumsily grappling at your wrists as you thrash. "Stop—fuckin'—fightin’—," he grits out, but his voice cracks on the last word.

You taste copper—your teeth sink into his palm at some point, his blood smearing your chin. He pulls his hand back back to look at the broken skin, and you clench your eyes shut, flinching away from the incoming blows.

The room tilts and suddenly Joel’s weight isn’t just on your body; it’s inside your head, like pressure forcing memories that had buried deep to the surface like lava from a volcano.

Different hands holding you down. A different room. Different voices in your ear.

“Nononononono,” you whimper in a shriveled voice you don’t recognize. 

“Hey!” Joel’s voice is sharp and grounding.

His arm lets up just enough for you to suck in a shattered breath. You’re both trembling now, your chests heaving against one anothers. His beard scratches your temple as he turns his face away from your clawing hands, but you don’t miss it—there is a  flicker in his eyes when your choked sob hits the air between you. 

Something wet smears your cheek. His blood? Your tears? It’s hard to tell. 

“M’gonna make you feel real good, crazy girl.” His lips brush your earlobe as his hips grind down into yours, the length of him sliding between your folds, the tip notched at your entrance.

“Stop,” you whine, but the force has left your voice. Something about him breathing in your ear, something about the sound he makes as he shifts his hips and slips himself inside of you. The tears continue to fall, even as you gasp and clench around him. 

“She’s suckin’ me right in baby,” Joel purrs in your ear while his hips start to move. 

You can feel every fucking inch of him, every vein, and every single beat of his heart through the slick walls of your cunt. “Oh god,” you groan, your stiff, frightened hands curling in the hair on the back of his head, the other gripping one of his strong, strained biceps. 

You're terrified, but Joel's words and touch are overwhelming you, making your body respond in ways you didn’t know could in a position like this.

He thrusts slowly at first as he sinks deeper inside you. But soon his pace quickens and the slapping, wet sounds coming from between your legs fill the small basement room. "Yeah just like that," Mister groans, his lips ghosting over your cheek. "Take it all, baby girl.”

Your walls clench around him, pulling him in as if eager for more. You feel delirious with fear and an unbidden arousal. Tears stream down your face, but soft moans spill from your lips.

Joel licks at your tears and leaves gentle kisses in their place, his beard scraping against your sensitive skin. "Shhhh, I got you," he murmurs between thrusts.

The room spins and blurs as the pleasure builds. Nothing exists and nothing is real anymore; Mister-man’s weight pinning you down, his cock splitting you open, the sour, sweaty, musky scent of him.

He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real and he’s good. He’s good, he’s good, he’s good. He’s not killing you, not hurting you.

So good. It’s so good.

You turn your head to capture his salty, tear stained lips with yours, opening your mouth to let him in. His lips press against yours desperately, tongue licking at your teeth as he slips inside.

Your body arches up to meet him, craving more of his touch even as fear still coils in your gut. It’s like you’re two separate people wrapped up into a whole. One part of you wants him with everything that you are, and the other is ready to hide, ready to slip into the cracks into the wall and never come out.

His oven mitts move to your waist and fumble with the threadbare shirt you have on, trying to push it up over the swell of your breasts.

“Fuck,” he grunts, nipping at your bottom lip as he pulls away from the kiss. He sits back on his knees, cock still throbbing inside of you while your walls flutter around him.

“Don’t, oh god, no. Please don’t go-” you sob, hands and fingers clawing at his forearms, desperate for him to come back. “P-Please don’t leave me,” you whine sadly, 

Mister says nothing as he places both mitt covered hands inside your shirt where it’s fastened with buttons. He pulls the two pieces of fabric apart like paper. The buttons fly in every direction, scattering across the floor and some landing in bed with you. Joel stares down at your naked body and you feel more exposed than you ever have in your entire life.

“Jesus christ,” he murmurs, eyes tracing every single one of your curves. His mittened hands cups the swell of your tits, thumb swiping over the stiff buds

It’s like you’ve been zapped by the shock collar. Your back arches into his hand, your eyes clamp shut.

“Nuh-uh, watch me,” he growls. He waits until your eyes are on him before he leans over and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue swirls and teeth graze and bite down.

“Oh my god,” you groan, your fingers gripping his hair tighter, your nails dragging red, almost bloody marks down his arm.

Mister releases your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air across it almost like he’s teasing you. Goosebumps erupt across your skin as he takes the other into his mouth, alternating between harsh sucking and tender kisses.

You mewl softly as he begins to thrust again, each movement slow and deliberate. He drives deep inside of you and hits that spot that blurs the edges of your vision again, and again, and again.

You stare up at him in awe- his beard is longer, thicker than it was when he first came here, his hair disheveled and damp with sweat hangs in his forehead. He leans back and pushes the loose strands away from his face with an oven mitt.

Handsome.

He is.

Strong.

Being so gentle.

With you, Sugar. So gentle—

With you.

"Please," you whimper, spine bowing as pleasure coils tight in your belly as his hips snap against yours loudly. “More. Need more…”

He grins down at you, eyes crinkled at the corners, “I’ll give ya’ more, sweetheart.” If you thought Mister was handsome before, when he smiles your heart swells. and the pressure and tightness inside of you feels like it’s about to burst.

He wraps one hand underneath your knee and brings it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder by his ear, repeating the process with the other leg. He grips your thighs, the scratchy fabric of the oven mitts drags across your skin. Joel never lets up, never slows down the brutal, bruising pace he sets. 

A string of expletives and maybe his name more than once spill out of your mouth quickly, stumbling over the words as your body trembles underneath him.

All of the air is pushed out of you as he leans over, pushing your knees up to your chest and starts fucking into you with deep, long strokes. His pelvis grinds against your swollen clit with each powerful snap forward, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"I can feel her squeezin’ me," he rasps hotly in your ear, licking the shell before biting down on your earlobe. “Come on my cock, crazy girl.”

That does it. It’s more than enough to push you over the edge. “Oh—” Your head tips back with a silent scream as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, making your entire body shudder and convulse beneath him. “Fuck… Joel!” Sparks burst behind your eyelids as pure rapture consumes you.

Mister sucks your earlobe as you come, his sweaty temple pressed against yours as the waves wash over you. He’s kissing and licking down to your neck, and bites down hard right over your pulse point, sucking hard enough to hurt. "That's it baby girl," he grunts against the spot he just bit.

It’s like your whole body is on fire, everything is too much, it’s all too good.

You feel a new pressure, a new sensation and it’s familiar, but foreign all at the same time. A new release, it’s different and it’s happening so fast.

“Stop! Oh my— Mist- Joel, p-please,” you plead for some sort of relief. “I’m gunna—”

Joel presses his lips to yours again, silencing you. You twist your head to the side, pulling away from his mouth as he kisses down your cheek to your jaw. “S’okay— let go...”

"I...I don't...can't..." You gasp out between ragged breaths. Hot, wet tears still leak from the corners of your eyes as the intense pleasure builds to an unbearable peak.

“Ya’ can,” he pants, resting his forehead on the side of your head. “Cryin’ only makes it feel better, baby girl.” He shifts his hips, angles them differently and fucks you harder- faster.

“P-Please,” you whimper, unsure if you’re begging him to stop, or to keep going. “S’too much!”

“Shut up,” he growls, nipping at your cheek gently, teeth scraping skin as he pistons into you relentlessly. “Let it happen, crazy girl.”

So you do- body obeying his command even as your mind reels with what’s about to happen. A second climax crashes over you, more intense than the first. It erupts from you in a wet splash against Mister’s lower stomach and pelvis, it drips down the curve of your ass and you feel it seeping into the mattress underneath you.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises breathlessly. “Such a good fuckin’ girl cummin’ on Mister’s cock again.”

You sob in pleasure and embarrassment simultaneously as he fucks you through it, his deep voice rasping in your ear.

“Crazy,” He murmurs. His thrusts grow clumsy, and he’s panting in your ear, kissing the side of your face. His tongue captures the tears on your cheeks again like they’re his favorite drink as your fingers dig into the soft flesh on his shoulder. “Makin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he snaps suddenly, pulling back and out of you completely.

You whimper at the loss but he presses your thighs together tightly with his hands and forearms, and slips his cock between them, the length siding through your wet folds.

Mister-J kisses your ankle, his teeth biting down on the skin as he groans loudly, warmth spreads and seeps between your thighs, and slick lower lips, the crease where your legs meet your pelvis.

You stare up at him, watching as his eyes close, his brow furrows, his hips jerking back and forth clumsily as he empties himself onto your lower half.

Your legs tremble as he slides his softening cock out from between your thighs. 

That was the most incredible, and intense feeling you’ve ever experienced and you’re not sure if you should love him, or hate him for what he just did to you. The wet spot on the mattress is an embarrassing reminder of what happened seconds ago.

“S’good for ya’?” Mister asks, running one of his oven mitts over his forehead, wiping the sweat away. His eyes move from your face, down your still naked body, his cum smeared across your mound and lower stomach.

You pull your shirt closed around your bare torso, holding it closed with one hand. You use your good foot and the other hand to push yourself onto the cold concrete floor— skin scraping roughly as you shove yourself away from him.

His brows pinch together tightly, and he narrows his eyes on you. “Where’re ya’ goin’?” He sounds… concerned? Angry? Disappointed?

The words don’t find you, thoughts don’t come to you anymore as you hold the shirt over your chest and glare at him. All you can do is scream at him. It comes from somewhere deep and your lungs hurt, your throat feels like it could bleed from how raw it is after.

“Where’re ya’ goin’?”

He watches as tears continue to pour down your cheeks, your face twisting up tightly. You inhale deeply, and it looks like you’re trying to regain your composure.

Then you scream at him. It’s long and loud and hurts his ears, but he stares at you until you’re done. He continues to watch as you scurry away from him in a clumsy, stumbling crab-crawl until your back bumps into the leg of the table. 

You flinch and stifle a sob, and finally take a deep, shaky breath. You use the table to push yourself to your feet, turning away from him finally. You shove the table in his direction, grabbing the shock collar remote before you turn, and limp into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

The dull roar of the infected grows louder from upstairs. They’re still there, and that means the two of you are stuck together for at least another day or two, maybe longer.

The door opens again, and a metal bucket comes hurdling out of the bathroom and through the air. It hits the wall, and drops to the floor noisily with chaotic, metal clangs until it comes to settle in the corner by the mattress.

The door slams shut again.

You’re broken, he can see it in your eyes almost all the time, but there was a moment when he was on top of you where he thought you might have completely checked out– gone somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t mean to take you. 

Traumatized the poor puppy. Pro’lly in there cryin’.

He’s not worried that you’re crying. Nope. Not even a little. 

Alright- that’s what you wanna keep tellin’ yourself, go right ahead. 

He’s worried he just signed his death certificate. 

Joel wasn’t trying to take anything from you— not like that. You were already on top of him, riding him, but you just looked like you needed some help, like you needed him to take control. Like you didn’t know what you were doing up there, rolling and swirling your hips in any direction. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t ever going to get you there- where you wanted to be so badly.

Joel took you there, made you fucking squirt all over him and he took some sense of pride in that. 

Joel helps himself to jerky and bread, he drinks as much water as his body will comfortably allow. For the first time in weeks, he’s actually full. His stomach feels like it’s stretched like he might actually burst. 

–-

At first Joel thought you just needed a couple minutes. Maybe you wanted to clean up in the privacy of the bathroom without his eyes on you. But hours go by and he hears nothing coming from the separate room. Nothing. 

It’s silent. Completely. No shrieking or clicking of the infected from upstairs either. 

It’s the lack of control that’s pissing him off more than he would care to admit. Being captive was of course at the top of his ‘things to be pissed off about’ list,  but if he was going to be stuck here with you, he wishes he could at least have a say in what goes on. 

Hasn’t seen the sun, hasn’t had a proper shower in god knows when, hasn’t had a real meal in just as long. If you would give him just a little more freedom, things wouldn’t be too fucking bad here. 

Now you’re gettin’ it. 

You’re making Joel crazy, now he’s thinking about complying?

Y’been complyin’, Mister. Complied real damn good in that bed just then.

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. 

Has Joel been complying? What the fuck is going on? Why didn’t he kill you in bed? Why didn’t he strangle you, bite your jugular out of your throat. He could have, he felt your heartbeat on his tongue. He could have ended all of this right then. 

But ya’ didn’t! 

He sure fucking didn’t. He was so unworried about killing, that he made sure you came– twice – before he finished. 

Looked so sweet comin’ on your cock, perfect tits bouncin’, fuckin’ pussy was immaculate. 

Joel presses the oven mitts into the sockets of his eyes and groans loudly. 

--

Joel’s eyes snap open at the rattling coming from inside the room. He shoots up, looking around with crusty eyes and blurry vision. He expects to see you but is met with the sight of that fucking opposum sitting on the table with a piece of Joel’s jerky in his clawed little fingers, munching happily on the dried meat. 

“Git!” Joel shouts. The small animal doesn’t even flinch at Joel’s outburst, just continues to eat that precious protein. “Y’little fuckin’--” Joel grumbles, pushing himself to his feet. He stands in front of the table, looking down at it- the opposum- Puddin’. 

He just stares right back up at Joel, chewing quickly and swallowing. 

Kinda cute.

“S’fuckin’ gross,” Joel grumbles. He doesn’t really want to touch that thing, he doesn’t want to get whatever diseases that thing could be carrying. 

He’s got a collar on. 

Puddin’ does have a collar on. Joel imagines you taking your time picking it out for him, going through all the colors and designs. He can see you finding the teal and pink collar, holding it up against his fur and saying it’s perfect. That Puddin’ would be the most handsome opossum this mall has ever seen. 

It makes him smile. 

--

It feels like two fucking days--two goddamn days since Joel saw you walk into that bathroom and slam the door shut practically in his face. 

You’re either dead in there or plotting the most painful ways to kill him. Both choices make Joel sick to his stomach. 

–--

Joel watches you behind the metal grate that keeps the mattress store all locked up nice and tight. He’s on the wrong fucking side! He’s on the mall side and you’re tucked under the covers of your comfortable looking bed. Seven mattresses stacked on top of each other like you’re in some fucking story he’d read to Sarah when she was really little. 

Joel almost wishes he could go back to the basement because this is more dehumanizing than being tied up by the elbows or roped up to a chair. 

The metal chain around his neck is tight, and it digs into his skin. It’s thick,  heavy and has prongs on it– like he’s a fucking dog. A violent dog that lunges, and bites and attacks. 

You opened the door to the bathroom an hour ago with the choke chain in your hand, the shock collar remote taped to the other, and the most exhausted look Joel’s ever seen on anyone's face. Big dark circles under your eyes, disassociated stare like you weren’t even really looking at Joel when you spoke to him in almost indecipherable mumbling.

Joel fought you a little when you padlocked the choke chain to his neck, and added a smaller lock to the shock collar. But he stopped when you said you were gonna take his oven mitts off his hands. 

Where are all the infected? It sounded like there had been a horde of them up here two days ago and now there is not a single sign that they had even been here. 

When Joel had questioned you about what he would do if more infected came, you very confidently said that no one could get in or out that easily anymore; that you had made this place nice and safe for your ‘mister-man’.

Ain’t ever had no one like that before, have ya’?

No.

That had always been Joel’s job; to keep everyone else safe. 

Who made sure that he was safe? 

There had always been give and take with everyone else, even Tommy and Tess. There was love there, sure– but never just someone absolutely and completely tearing themselves open to make sure that Joel was taken care of. 

The only thing you wanted in return was his company. 

Might’a never touched ya’ if you hadn’t asked for it. 

He wonders what your name is. How old you are, where you came from. How long have you been out here…

Joel grabs the metal cord wrapped in some sort of plastic or vinyl material that goes all the way up to the ceiling and gives it a shake as he looks up. You’ve attached it to some other sort of rope or cable that’s been tied from one end of the mall to the other. 

The other end is connected to Joel’s choke chain. 

As soon as your eyes closed he attempted to unclip himself from it but it wouldn’t budge. He tried everything but it was like you welded the clasp closed. 

Joel wanders. That’s all he can do. He’s got more than enough slack to go into whatever store he wants and walk around, inspect.

As he does this his mind doesn’t stop thinking about you. Why didn’t you sleep with him? What did you do while he slept on the bed? Did you sleep? Have you eaten? What the fuck did you do in the bathroom for two whole days?

Joel finds a place where the sun is shining through a hole in the ceiling and faces it with his eyes closed. He could fucking cry. He didn’t realize how much he missed this, how important it was for a person to come in contact with the sunlight. He chokes down the lump in his throat and stands there, following the sun as it moves in the sky, the light coming in at shifting angles and directions. He follows it, stays in the warmth- basking in it for as long as possible until dusk settles and the sky slowly starts to turn pink. 

Joel has his backpack with him. You packed him some food and water, his flashlight. A clean long sleeve shirt in case it got cold. You even threw in some whiskey for him, which he was enjoying sip by sip. 

He pulls his flashlight out and uses it when he goes into an old bookstore. Some shelves are empty; nature guides, atlases, hunting and fishing- basically the entire outdoors section is gone. 

The romance novels are almost bare. 

Who needs those when lil puppy’s got you, right?

There are still self-help books on the shelves, almost untouched and whatever is left looks like it would fall apart in his hands if he tried to touch it. 

Why’s you even in this section?

Joel wanders to the comics and takes a look at whatever is left. Some are in alright condition, wrapped in plastic away from the elements. Some do disintegrate before he can even get them out of their place on the shelf. 

He grabs a Batman comic still in a vinyl sleeve and tosses it in his pack for later. There are tons more strewn all across the floor, some he remembers reading with Tommy as kids. He picks through them, looking for any worth saving and finds two more still in decent condition. 

There are several department and clothing stores that look bare from the outside, but he wanders into one anyway just to see what might have been missed.

There’s an exit to the outside that's been all boarded up, with what looks like every empty clothing rack pushed in front of it. He thinks about moving all those things, breaking through the boards… but where the fuck would he go? Ten feet outside of the mall where the infected were apparently moving through? 

No. 

He’ll stay inside.

He paruses the homegoods section all the way in the back of the second floor and finds a wall of empty shelves except for one. 

It’s filled with books- he reads through the titles: The Beginners Guide to Foraging, An Introduction to Wildlife Rehabilitation, LIVING WITH WILDLIFE- How to Enjoy, Cope with, and Protect North America’s Wild Creatures Around Your Home and Theirs, The Big Book of Skill Makers, The Complete Beginners Guide to Greenhouse Gardening- A Month by Month Planting Book to Grow 365 Days a Year, You Will Find Your People- How To Make Meaningful Friendships as an Adult. There are several Batman comics featuring Harley Quinn and The Joker. 

They all look like they’ve been read thoroughly and many times. 

On the same shelf there is a pink balloon animal made of glass, it has fresh flowers in it, with clean water. It takes him several seconds to realize that it’s supposed to be a bong. For smoking weed. And you’re using it as a vase. 

Joel chuckles to himself and continues to look at the shelf of your important belongings. A couple rocks of different colors, an old makeup compact that has a broken mirror in it. And a small glass picture frame of a family– a mother and a father, a little girl, and a young man but his face has been scratched out beyond recognition. 

On the wall behind the shelf Joel notices lines carved into the wall.

| | | | | | | | | | |

Twelve. Is that how old you were when this all happened? Is that the number of men you did this to before Joel came along? Are you going to add him to this fucking list?

Is that how many months you've been out here?

All of this suddenly feels like someone he can’t see punched Joel directly in the stomach. 

Sad. 

Joel makes his way to a different part of the mall, checking every entrance that he finds along the way and they’re all boarded up better than they were when he used to walk around here before you captured him. He does appreciate the effort you went through to make sure nothing could get in if you weren’t going to give him a weapon, and he couldn’t escape. 

There is an old music and entertainment store where you must get your princess movies and cartoons to watch. He picks through a couple, finding a couple classics that he watched before the outbreak Office Space, Dirty Harry, The Thing, Top Gun. 

He grabs a couple more that he watched as a kid with his dad and grandpa; The Magnificent 7, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. He grabs the three original Star Wars movies as well– the best ones, the only ones worth watching. The ones that started to come out right before the outbreak– Joel can’t even talk about it. 

He’s done his exploring and now he sits outside of the mattress store waiting for you to wake up and let him back in. As soon as Joel unwraps the sandwich and jerky you made him, that stupid fucking oppossum comes scampering along like this is it’s dinner too. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Joel grumbles, waving his hand in its direction, trying to scare it off– but it persists. 

Inching closer and closer until Joel could kick it if he wanted to. 

Kinda cute in the little collar.

Joel tosses a piece of his sandwich a good distance away and Puddin’ chases after it while Joel digs into his own portion. 

Hours and hours go by, you sleep for so fucking long. He reads all of the comic books that he grabbed and even goes back to the bookstore to look for more. He finds nothing else that interests him so he goes to your bookshelf in the department store and grabs a couple from there to look at. 

He’s flipping through the skill maker book when you finally wake up and open the grate. 

Joel scrambles to his feet, watching as you rub your eyes with your one free hand, the other still has the remote tapped to your palm. 

The two of you stare at each other for several silent moments before you notice the book in his hand. 

“Just put it back where ya’ found it when you’re done with it, ‘kay?” Your voice is deep and filled with sleep. 

Joel nods his head, and puts the book in his backpack. “Yeah, sure– hey where did all the infected go?” He questions as you toss your own pack over your shoulder and head in the direction of the food court. 

“Cleared ‘em out the other day.”

“How the hell did you do that? When? After we–”

“Yup.” You cut him off with a sharp, short response. “Wasn’t that many. Kinda easy when you get high ground on ‘em.” 

Joel eyes dart up to the rafters and wonders how good you are with a bow and arrow. He knows Ellie is a great shot, loves her bow and arrow. “And you moved ‘em all out on your own?” 

“Yup.” 

“How did you even get out of the bathroom?” Joel’s been wondering that this whole time. 

You walked into the bathroom, slammed the door and the next time he saw you was coming down the stairs to the basement. 

He wonders if you’re even real. 

Ohh our lil puppy is real alright.

If you knew that Mister-J was going to ask all of these questions you might not have ever taken the duct tape off. 

Where did the infected go? What if more get in? How did you get out of the bathroom? Where are you going now? When will you be back? Are you okay? Are you mad? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you answering me? 

He’s so nosy! Asking more questions than any of the other guys combined. 

Why does he even care? 

Shhhhh, this is what makin’ friends is, Sweetheart. 

“Used the vents to get out of the bathroom,” you sigh, not stopping or slowing down but Joel keeps up anyway, his arm brushing yours as he walks alongside you.

“What about the infected– you know the spores–” 

“I burn ‘em outside at night when it’s real dark–” you explain to him quickly. “I ain’t stupid. I know ‘bout the spores. I know how the fungus works. I paid attention,” you huff softly as you reach the ladder that takes you up into the rafters and eventually out onto the roof.

Mister is too big, and probably too clumsy to follow you up here. 

“M’just goin’ to get some more food… I’ll be right back– couple of minutes, okay?”

Mister looks relieved when you say this, his face relaxes and he sighs softly. “Okay, just be careful.” 

— -- --- ---

“Is that my shirt?” He asks about the green and red flannel you have on when you come out of the women’s restroom in the food court. Your hair is clean, your body feels refreshed after taking a shower. 

Mister looks good too with his hair slicked back, and his beard trimmed neatly. 

You nod, not taking your eyes off of him. It’s almost impossible when he looks like a brand new man- handsome. He looks like he’s lost weight since he’s been here with you. 

You’ll fix that. He needs to eat more than you, and he wants meat so… you’ll go get it for him. Real meat this time, even if it makes you sad how you have to get it.

“Yeah, I took it ‘cause it smelled like you.” You admit with no shame. That’s exactly why you took it. So you could sleep with it so he could warm up to his new house, with his new friend. 

Mister-J chuckles, and shakes his head at you with a smirk plastered across his face. “Someone told me I stink once,” he says through his laughter. 

This makes you smile because he’s happy. He looks happy, like he doesn’t mind talking to you, he’s not saying mean things. He’s sharing. 

Told ya’ he’d get comfortable. Just had to be patient. We figured it all out eventually. 

“You do stink sometimes, but you smell real, so I don’t mind.” You share with him as you lead him back to the mattress store. He carried the TV up earlier and said he found a couple movies he wanted to watch. They don’t really look like movies you want to watch, but you’ll give them a shot.

Anything for Mister-Joel, perfect, sweet man. 

It doesn’t make this easier. Mister wants to sleep in the bed next to you, said he wanted to warm you up, but now you’re next to him again and it feels like you could burst into flames and tears all at the same time. 

“What’s your name?” He whispers into your ear, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding onto you tightly from behind. 

“Why?” The sirens go off inside your head. No one’s asked you that in so long, it makes your stomach flip and you feel like you could be sick. 

“Told’ya mine,” He murmurs into your hair. 

Joel. 

When you go to answer, the words don’t come because the memories are gone. You can see your mom and dad talking to you inside your head but their voices are on mute. The name never leaves their mouth.  “I don’t remember…”

OFC thank you @pedrospookie for making this cutie banner and letting me scream at about all of this!!

I need to give an extra special shout-out to the couple of other people I screamed at about this. @almostempty @gothcsz( your music recs inspired me) and thanks to @probablyreadinsmut and my unnamed friend who helped me with the TW of the chapter.

I was especially nervous to post this because I didn't want to ruin anyone's day or send anyone into their own spiral. I hope you all are OK!

thank you to everyone who has been reading!! I've never gotten such incredible feedback on a fic before and you are all so nice and make writing this story that much more fun. I LOVE YOU

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22 @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @syd-djarin @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @letsgobarbs @lovehappyloki @joelalorian @pedrostories @evolnoomym @valkyreally @youdontknowe @corazondebeskar-reads @pastelpinkflowerlife @tobethlehem

please don't hate me if I forgot you, I have a hamster brain, ok?

[temis-de-leon]

Dateables as Single Fathers

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon, gn!kid, Luke and gn!MC

Part 1

Main Masterlist

CW: nothing, I think? Correct me if you feel something should be warned, but I think we're good to go. Just like in the other one, these HCs explain the characters' relationships with their kids and a romantic interest in MC at the end.

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Diavolo

This one has to be the most difficult situation out of all, considering his political position.

He either had a child outside of marriage, who I think would’ve been considered a bastard, or he had the next heir with his wife, who would’ve eventually become the queen of the Devildom beside him.

No matter the option, each one would have had significant consequences.

Fortunately for his country, he’s too respectful and responsible to fool around and risk the chance of leaving his offspring behind, so political marriage it is.

I already used the ‘mother died in childbirth’ reason for Lucifer’s HCs, but I can’t see any other explanation for Diavolo being a single father. Both of them would be loyal and committed to their partners and Diavolo has the additional duty of keeping a kingdom going.

Now, we could do some AUs that could explain the future queen’s absence, but that isn’t what this post is about, so let’s leave it at that.

In the end, Diavolo is left with a child that is deeply loved and well taken care of.

I think Beautiful Boy by John Lennon would describe their relationship perfectly.

Loving his kid is not his only priority; raising him is also as important. He’s a caring parent, very attentive, protective and stern when necessary.

Diavolo is too aware of their duties as royals and future monarchs but tries not to act on them. Since he is already preparing himself to become king, there’s no need for his kid to lose their freedom and their childhood.

However, as occupied as he is, he tries to put his work on hold each time the child calls for his attention. They drew themselves with him and Barbatos? Okay, let him set these documents aside so he can admire the drawing properly. They saw a cool bug outside? Say no more, he needs a break anyway. They had a nightmare? Maybe they should have a sleepover!

The kid just needs to be careful not to do many of those things in front of Barbatos. Otherwise, the butler would chastise both.

He’s highly proud of them when they dive into a friendship with you; seeing their eagerness and comfortability around your presence as a sign for keeping the student exchange program going.

Still, he finds the need to have a somewhat serious conversation with them about you, your purpose in the Devildom and your status as a human; the imbalance in power and biology that makes you both so different.

As time passes and his own friendship with you deepens, so do his feelings. He isn’t obvious about it, or at least he tries, but his kid inherited his observation skills and soon innocent suggestive comments are trailing behind him everywhere he goes.

The situation amuses him and makes his heart flutter with enthusiasm.

With encouragement like this, how could he not try to pursue you?

Barbatos

I like to think there’s some kind of errand boy roaming around the castle. Not necessarily a boy, but still a child doing a little bit of everything and helping whoever gives an order. They’re quick and cheeky, making the staff cheerier and less stressed about their chores, and Barbatos finds them surprisingly charming.

He doesn’t mind them running between his legs as long as they know when to stop and don’t hinder his work and, unlike the little Ds, that turns out to be what happens.

Barbatos tries not to get attached at first and a long time passes until he can’t deny the affection he feels for the little devil.

When I say long, I mean long.

Decades, even a couple of centuries, unable to ignore the lack of parental presence in the child’s life. They’re always in the castle, going from one point to another, talking to everyone and sticking to no one. The few moments they have to rest are spent with the prince’s butler, talking about their day with breathless excitement.

It’s a nice dynamic that Barbatos enjoys more and more with each passing day, but it isn’t until the rest of the staff informs him of every little thing the kid does that he finally realizes how deep he has fallen into the rabbit hole.

He is a father figure.

Again.

He isn’t complaining, not at all, but it still surprises him.

More time passes until he gathers the courage to ask Lord Diavolo for a room inside the castle for the child to sleep in. His cheeks are warm when he specifies he’d prefer if the room were close to his and the embarrassment only grows when the prince laughs out loud with excitement.

By the time you are introduced as the second human exchange student, everyone treats the kid as Barbatos’s and they even call him ‘father’ when they’re alone. Neither are ashamed of their mutual affection, but they’d rather keep it private.

The child likes to tease you harmlessly, joking around, asking pertinent questions under the disguise of childish innocence and appearing out of nowhere when you least expect it.

They won’t mind if you lightly reprimand them for their constant playful behaviour, that’s what their father does after all, but they’ll quickly love you if you joke back.

Either way, he likes to follow you around and Barbatos instantly notices. It piques his curiosity and warms his heart, but with how highly the child talks about you and how much you captivate him on your own, he starts to wonder if he should’ve pulled the kid away from you since the beginning.

His strong feelings for you are foreign, but not unwelcomed. He’s just too vigilant of all the possible outcomes.

Fortunately for you, for every doubt Barbatos has about these feelings, the child has a dozen reasons to make them stronger.

Solomon

How many wives did King Solomon have again? How many concubines? How many children out of all of those partners?

I’m not saying that any of those children succeeded in achieving immortality like him, I doubt that could’ve happened so early in his life, but outliving human partners doesn’t mean that Solomon chose to refuse to have any more partners at all.

I can see him entering a relationship with someone who has a longer lifespan and, regardless of that arrangement being casual or committed, having a child with them.

Maybe the other parent passed away, maybe they didn’t want to be in a relationship, maybe they tried and failed to stay together… who knows, you can choose your favourite. The conclusion here is that Solomon kept the child and raised them alone.

Feral child vibes, I fear.

As devious as their father and completely oblivious to it, they are too curious for their own good. Exploration and experimentation through trial and error are fairly common practices in the family and the only reason Solomon isn’t worried is because he’s sure nothing wrong will happen as long as he is there.

The kid may appear at the front door of their house with an eldritch horror-looking creature and Solomon would be like: ‘You’re doing amazing, sweetie’.

He knows introducing his child to a human infant is not the best of ideas. They would have to move places constantly due to their slow ageing to not raise suspicion and that would be completely unfair to the kid. They’re allowed to have permanent friends their age, after all, not a playmate turned into a babysitter or faceless companions that would disappear in their memories over time.

So they mostly engage with other immortal beings, like witches, demons and fellow sorcerers.

That saddens Solomon in a way; the human part he passed to his child is slowly dying due to lack of interaction.

This is why the human exchange program Diavolo proposes is so interesting to him.

Not only is he going to meet one of his kind in a world he easily moves around, but his child is also going to get the opportunity to be with another human in an environment they feel comfortable in.

It goes as well as you could expect.

Both of them are curious and eager to meet you, but at the beginning of your friendship it feels more like academic research. You stick to the brothers and their antics and they stick to the angels and their kindness.

If Luke is a Chihuahua, then Solomon’s kid is a thirteen-year-old delirious Yorkie.

As time passes and your friendship develops into something more genuine, Solomon can’t help but feel like he’s finally breathing fresh air after being locked in a cave for years.

His child still explores their surroundings, but there’s a new hope in their actions that he knows doesn’t come from him. It’s true childlike wonder and care towards their subject of study. An appreciation of life only a mortal would express.

You don’t understand how much you changed his child’s life.

And you don’t understand how much he loves you for it.

Simeon

I mean.

Luke.

He already is a single father in canon.

I don’t know how angels are born in the game, but they do grow up. Maybe Luke just spawned and was put under Simeon’s direct care, but there isn’t any mention of other parental figures in Luke’s life back in the Celestial Realm (although that may be due to the game being lazy with lore).

We know Michael is Luke’s hero, but not a father figure, so Simeon as a single father makes total sense.

A single mom who works two jobs and loves her kids and never stops.

Jk, jk…

But for real, though.

Simeon is thoughtful, affectionate, careful with Luke’s emotions and conscious about his need to mature and grow up. He treats him like a child, because that’s what he is, but tries not to infantilize him to not hurt his dignity.

While proud of Luke’s morals and golden heart, Simeon wants to make him see not everything is black and white and he’s allowed to have opinions that can differ from what they’ve been taught.

Some demons are good, some humans are consciously devious and some angels need to reevaluate their priorities.

It is a difficult task since Luke is certainly stubborn, but spending time in the Devildom is the perfect opportunity to prove that point.

Thankfully, your presence only helps Simeon change Luke’s judgemental thoughts. You are patient, easy-going and lighthearted and don’t get too stressed when the young angel refuses to reject his views on demons.

They both enjoy spending time with you because your soul is still kind and free of punishment, but for Simeon is much more than that.

He enjoys being with you because it feels natural and because knowing you feels like the greatest gift he has received in a very long time.

Believe him, Luke’s praises about you have nothing to do with the love he has for you. Those are just an additional bonus.

.

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Taglist: @ilovecandys2010  @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[gliphyartfan]

Recently thinking about the Mafia AU and Time at some point (or multiple points) had to don the Fierce Deity mask right?

Is Fierce still wearing his usual armor or is he wearing mafia boss drip?

I can't believe that no one has brought up where Fierce fits in the Mafia AU 😭

Huh. Good question.

I mean I HAVE thought about him in Mafia Au. Just never focused much on it.

In all honesty? Fierce Deity would not care about looking normal.

Why should he? He’s a war god, and if anyone’s bold enough to question his glowing eyes, war paint like markings, or prematurely white hair, well… they won’t do it twice. Fierce doesn’t need to fit in, he demands respect just by existing.

Okay, if Fierce had to dress in Mafia Drip (thanks, Time, for insisting), he’d still keep all his defining features

Like, his markings? They stay. Time has them so it’s not gonna be that new to people. Let the rumors swirl. People can say whatever they want as long as they say it very far away from him.

His eyes? The glow isn’t going anywhere. It’s unsettling, sure, but it makes him even more terrifyingly mysterious. Honestly other than his change of attire, he doesn’t really change much else. And he only wears that out of Time’s constant insistence. But if a battle needs to be dealt with, he’s not gonna put the energy into conjuring up an outfit.

But if he had to put in a suit? Black, perfectly tailored, and somehow manages to look both pristine and like he’s ready to wade into a war zone. The man looks like he stepped out of a dystopian noir dream.

I’d like to say he wears dress shoes…

…I’d like to…

But I won’t..

He’s got combat boots instead of dress shoes. No one’s gonna argue.

And yes, he’s taller than Time. This man is a looming giant, the kind of figure you see in your nightmares but wake up unsure if you want to run from him or run to him. (…he’s hot okay?)

Fierce wouldn’t talk much. When he does, his voice is deep and commanding. Even a casual hello feels like it carries the weight of the world. Enemies don’t even hear him coming, they just feel his presence and know they’re done for. (Though I think a tall guy like him being super silent when moving around is it’s own form of terrifying, ya know?)

Also something I really like to imagine? (And something (y/n) likes) is how he handles kids.

Oh, kids absolutely adore him. His massive frame and glowing eyes might be intimidating at first, but the moment a child runs up to him with a flower or a question, he’s crouching down to their level. He never really speaks but kids will always warm up to him eventually. He probably carries around little candies for them because, yes, even deities can appreciate the pure joy of a child’s laughter.

A really skittish and nervous child could bump into him during a formal gathering and by the time the parents find them, the child is laughing while sitting on the silent deity’s shoulders.

He tolerates the Chain well enough, though he’s definitely the quiet guy in the corner type during group discussions. He gets along with them but isn’t one for small talk, unless it’s with (y/n). Then he’ll hang around longer. (because of course he will.)

His ROLE in Mafia Au? He’s basically a living nuclear deterrent. He’s the weapon of last resort, the one Time calls in when everything else fails. And when Fierce Deity steps onto the battlefield, the fight is already over cause he’s not gonna be merciful.

Reason people still mess with the chain’s mafia is cause any witnesses to Fierce’s power is dead.

He’s also a living rumor mill. People whisper about his origins, speculate about his position, and spread stories of the time they saw him intimidate other mafia bosses into submission with no words said.

Ah, yes. Just to be clear. Fierce Deity is definitely attached to (y/n), how could he not be?

He’s protective in a way that goes beyond mortal comprehension. (Y/n) isn’t just a person to him; she’s the one thing in this world that feels like a reason to allow it to continue to exist.

He doesn’t hover or impose himself, but he’s always there when she needs him. Whether she knows it or not, he’s watching, ensuring her safety.

If she ever calls for him, he’s there in an instant, mask just leaves Time’s side and pops up in her possession.

Fierce doesn’t just glare, he paralyzes. His stare alone is enough to break the will of most enemies. And if he glares? Forget it. The room might as well be an icebox with how cold it gets.

If someone dares harm (y/n), Fierce doesn’t just fight them. he unmakes them. And he does it in a way that ensures that person will never think of trying again.

…not like a they have any brain matter left in their heads to even consider trying again…

[syrupfog]

Sanji who just wants a job as a sous chef but has yet to be hired, but has somehow managed to enter the world of being a private chef for extremely wealthy families. 

He hates them they remind him of childhood but he needs the cash. 

He starts working for Mihawk.

Mihawk who only eats odd, simple foods. Things that Sanji feels insulted to make. A LOT of toast with cream cheese and jam, honestly. 

Sanji’s bored out of his mind (he starts canning the fruit from Mihawk’s garden to pass the time)

Then one day, bursting through the front door come two people his own age, a woman with pink hair and a man with green, DEMANDING to know why Mihawk moved without TELLING THEM, HIS OWN CHILDREN

Sanji immediately pegs them for stuck up assholes. He’s grown to respect Mihawk, at least (he’s better than the Charlottes were). Spoiled rich adult kids who expect their lifestyles to be funded. Ugh. 

Mihawk blinks and says that he DID tell them.

There’s a lot more shouting as Sanji quietly pickles beets in the background. They come to some sort of truce around the idea that Zoro (the green haired one) lost his phone, and Perona (pink hair) blocked his number after Mihawk called at 2am about his yams.

They’re good yams, Sanji thinks. 

He also learns that they were on a “road trip of self discovery”. He’s not sure what that means. It sounds like rich kid speak for “spending spree”.

They integrate into the household though and, after being introduced to Sanji, Perona demands pink. Anything strawberry. 

Zoro says he’ll eat anything. Sanji doubts that. 

He tests it. 

He makes extravagant dishes. 

Zoro doesn’t seem to even notice, eating without complaint.

Honestly it’s good practice. He uses it as an excuse to get back into the hang of the fanciest things Zeff taught. 

But he still doesn’t like them. Rich assholes. Mihawk’s simple toasts get him a pass.

One thing about Zoro though is that he seems to spend all his time working out, so he comes looking for food at the ODDEST times. And SOMETIMES Sanji is ASLEEP. He’s got a room in the old servants’ quarters and Zoro will appear at any hour.

After the third time being awoken at 2am, Sanji snaps. 

“I’m preparing you a fucking shelf full of onigiri,” he says, pointing with a judgmental finger at Zoro’s chest. “That’s going to be your midnight snack from now on! Some of us need our beauty rest!”

Zoro blinks down at the finger. “Okay,” he says. “I mean. You clearly need it.” 

Sanji scoffs in outrage. He’s still half asleep. He aims a kick at Zoro’s head before he can process his one rule (“don’t hurt clients”). 

Zoro dodges. 

His face breaks out into a grin.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Curls,” he says. 

Sanji stumbles. He regains his footing and stomps down the hall, face aflame. 

He makes thirty onigiri. 

Zoro eats seven. 

“There, that’ll last you three more nights,” Sanji says.

Zoro nods. “So what time do I wake you up to get you to fight me again?” 

Sanji splutters. “No!!” He shrieks. “It’s three in the morning! I know you’re a rich fuck with nothing to do but some of us have jobs! I’m on call 24/7 here!” 

…he regrets it as soon as he says it.

Expects to be fired on the spot. 

Zoro frowns. He crosses his arms. “Fine,” he says, tersely. “Go to bed.” 

Sanji… does. He avoids turning his back on Zoro as he leaves the room, a bad feeling churning in his gut.

When he makes breakfast the next morning, he’s expecting to be fired as soon as Mihawk arrives, but Mihawk mentions nothing. 

Neither do Perona or Zoro when they appear, hours later. 

Sanji feels like he’s walking on eggshells until Zoro appears in his kitchen in early afternoon.

“Hey,” says Zoro. “I talked to my dad.” 

Sanji hangs his head. “So I’m fired?” He asks, dread pooling in his stomach. 

“Fucking what? No, Jesus. I just said you should have a regular work shift. Only like, ten hours on call.” 

“So you docked my pay,” Sanji says flatly.

“Now you’re being an ass,” Zoro growls. “NO, you’re being paid the same, you’re just going to have time off when I can’t bug you. That cool?” 

Sanji frowns, suspicious. “What do you get out of it?” He asks. 

Crossing his arms, Zoro scoffs. “Not getting yelled at at 2am, mostly.”

“You could’ve just not woken me up,” Sanji says. 

“You make it real hard to be nice to you, Cook,” Zoro says, running a hand through his hair. “I know you don’t like me, but I was just trying to do something nice.” 

Sanji melts a little, but he’s not willing to give in entirely. “Well thanks,” he says. “For not firing me, too.” 

Zoro rolls his eyes. “We’ve all had shitty jobs where we want to yell at customers,” He says. 

“Now I KNOW you’re lying,” Sanji argues. “I know how rich you are. I know what Mihawk pays me.”

Zoro looks… funny at him. “Did he ever happen to mention that we’re adopted?” 

Sanji blinks. Thinks of Zeff. “Uh, no?” 

“Yeah,” Zoro says. “Fucking Daddy Warbucks situation. I was seventeen. Trust me, I know customer service. Had to work to eat.”

“Well that’s not fair,” Sanji says. “Now I feel like a fucking ass.” 

“You ARE a fucking ass,” Zoro says. “Want to fight when you’re off work? Officially your shift ends at 6 now.” 

“Dinner is for seven so that won’t work.” Sanji says. “Shut up I have a chef’s integrity.”

“You’re not turning down fighting me?” Zoro asks, sounding oddly hopeful. 

“You spend all day working out so it’ll be unfair,” Sanji says. “But sure, I’ll kick your ass. Winner chooses what filling goes in your onigiri.” 

“Spicy salmon,” Zoro says. 

“Pickled plums,” muses Sanji.

They do end up fighting after dinner, out in Mihawk’s fancy topiary garden (he maintains it himself). 

Bruised and panting, they end up making out behind the large rabbit-shaped tree. 

It becomes A Thing.

[cheeeeseburger]

Still the one

Sidney Crosby x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: I'm on winter break, so that means I finally have time to write! Here's a little something.This story is set during the 2006 Olympics. English is not my first language, apologies for the mistakes, enjoy!

“I knew I’d find you here.”

It’s a chilly Saturday morning, and it is entirely too cold and early for you to be drinking a slurpy in your hometown mall small food court. Cherry flavour, as usual, since you like the taste and the tint it leaves on your lips and tongue.

The straw makes an odd sound as you slurp the last of your drink. Real smooth.

In front of you stands a vision of a man. Sidney Crosby, back in Rimouski during Olympic break. Your heart starts beating fast. Suddenly, the brain freeze from your slurpy is not cold at all. Your cheeks turn as red as your tongue. What a sight to see.

He’s dressed in a grey hoodie under a black coat. Black pants, Pirates’ hat on, sunglasses over it; this Sidney Crosby is trying to go unnoticed. Has he forgotten where he is?

“How come?” You try to keep your cool but fail miserably. He just casually sits in front of you. Gosh, he looks good.

“Well, midterms are coming up, and whenever you have to study all day, you go to the mall early, so you can grab lunch and not be bothered by your family.”

Oh, how he knows you. Or at least, used to.

You fail at hiding a smile. “I think you have a calling for divination, kid, not hockey.” You are a month older than him, and it means the world to you.

Then you look at him, really look at him. He has changed a lot in the few months since you last saw him. He seems older, more mature. Seems like his time in Pittsburgh has made him more than just even more fit. He still has those boyish features you adore, but they have faded over time. His eyes are so beautiful, and you wish you could get closer to him to admire them, just like you used to do before kissing him, a lifetime ago.

Your heart breaks just a little. If only.

He looks away, suddenly shy, or intimated, or hurt. “How are you?”

Is this how it’s going to be? Are you really going to make small talk to him? Why doesn’t he talk about the weather instead?

“I’m good, really good. Everything is fine, as usual.”

“How are your parents?” Gosh, is this Pride & Prejudice? Has his ability to communicate been reduced to match Mr Darcy’s?

“They’re great. My mom’s been asking about you. She is worried for you. So is my dad. They’re both basically glued to the TV whenever you play.” Sidney smiles, but it quickly fades.

“How about you? Are you watching me on TV?” His eyes are suddenly hopeful. Your heart aches, and you avoid his gaze. Deep down, he knows the answer is no. It doesn’t make it less painful.

After a few seconds, you lock eyes with Sidney. You put on a brave face. “Hey, want to go for a drive? I’m sick of studying. We can pick up some Tim Hortons on the way and eat it in a parking lot.” Like we used to, you want to add.

His smile is back on. “My treat.” You put your books in your bag, and he picks it up and wears it over his shoulder.

Sidney puts the sunglasses back on. You smirk, and he picks up on it. “What’s so funny?”

“This isn’t Pittsburgh, you know. Rimouski used to be your home. These people know you. Yeah, you’re a celebrity, but you’re also kind of family around here. Sunglasses or not, they could spot you from a mile away. But they also know that you’re here on break, and they respect that, at least most of them.” You’re walking side by side through the mall, and he looks at you sideways.

“You’re right. I’m just used to life in Pittsburgh, that’s all.” A cold wave floods your veins, and Sidney knows he said the wrong thing. You continue walking in silence.

The pair of you finally get to your car, and your beat-up Honda Civic suddenly seems so small. You get a hundred déja vus at the same time.

“The place hasn’t changed” he jokes, and everything is back to normal once again.

You still know his order by heart. The cashier smiles. This is a scene she used to play many times a week only a year ago. He adds a box of Timbits, then pays. You thank him and go back to the car and drive away. You don’t know why, but you’re nervous.

Your subconscious makes you drive to the parking lot where you first slept together, back when you didn’t want people to know.

As soon as you put the car to park, the air changes. There’s a silence, but it isn’t awkward. It’s filled with I wish things were like before and why did you change them then?

“How are you, really?” You finally ask.

“I’m good. Yeah, things are great." His smile falters. "Actually, no, they’re not, but they’re supposed to be, so I pretend they are.” He lets out a nervous chuckle. “I feel so much pressure and everyone expects so much from me, and I’m constantly worried about messing everything up, and it’s all a little too much, and I miss home, and I miss you.” He lets out a deep sigh and looks up the roof, his dark hair ruffled by the headrest, eyes closed. You’re not sure if he realizes what he just said. It was probably an accident. He is obviously very overwhelmed, and not thinking straight. Still, your heart skips many beats.

You can help but to cup his face with your hand, and softly caress his cheeks with your thumb. You’re not so bold as to put a hand through his hair, though you know that’s what Sidney needs.

“Sid, nobody expects you to be perfect except yourself. I feel like you’re on the edge of breaking down. You’re doing so well, and even if you weren’t, you have so much time to become great, and we’ll always be proud of you. Gosh, I always wear your jersey during game nights, even though I cried a million tears when I received it by mail, when you hadn’t called in a month, and I resented you so much. Whether you’re good or not, I’d betray the Habs a thousand times for you, and that’s saying something. Just give it a little time, and Pittsburgh’s going to be your home, and your jersey will be up in the rafters.” You take a deep breath. That last sentence hurts, but you just hope it cheered him up.

He turns his head to face you. He looks so vulnerable, and you’re reminded why you fell in love with him in the first place.

Without even thinking, Sidney crashes his lips on yours, your eyes shut, and your hands are in his hair while his are on your waist. Immediately, you deepen the kiss, and it’s like it’s last year all over again. His tongue starts tasting like cherries too, with a hint of sugar from the donuts. You wish you could stay like this forever but unfortunately for you, you come back to your senses.

“I have a boyfriend!” You blurt out.

Confused, Sidney pulls away. “What?”

“I’ve only been with him since January!” Like that somehow makes it better. The guilt is nearly overwhelming. You wouldn’t wish being cheated on to your worst enemy, if you ever had one.

“How come I didn’t know?” Sidney looks devastated. His words are innocent enough, but they start an avalanche of anger and resentment inside of you.

“Well how was I supposed to let you know, Sidney? Was I meant to write you a letter? Oh right, I don’t even have your new address! What about a phone call? Well you haven’t bothered with calling me, so why should I? You don’t get to blame me without taking a long hard look in the mirror, Sidney Crosby. Do you know how many nights I fell asleep crying, wondering why you wouldn't talk to me?” Now, it’s an ocean of frustrated tears running down your cheeks, your mascara staining them. You wipe them with the back of your hands.

“Gosh, do you even know how much I loved you? If you love me like I loved you, this situation would be entirely different. Instead, here I am, cheating on a boyfriend I don’t even love but that I keep around because he’s a distraction, but he’s not you and it kills me!” You gasp at your own cruel words. The tears start flowing again, and they don’t stop, because you’re so ashamed of yourself.

Your words are only partially true, and definitely not fair to him.

Sidney just looks at you, too stunned to speak, but he shakes himself and pull you close to him in one of those hugs that you miss so much. He rubs your back while you cry your heart out on his shoulder, probably staining his hoodie at the same time.

“I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so, so, so sorry.” He repeats the words like a prayer. Maybe if he says them enough, you’ll forgive him.

Against your better judgement, you let him soothe you. You wish your resentment wasn’t fading with every touch.

Eventually, you pull away, but only for a short while, because you furiously put your mouth on his. The windows quickly fogs up.

“Let’s go in the backseat.” Obediently, he nods.

Frantically, you straddle him, and both of your shirts are immediately off. He quickly unhooks your bra, and he splits the task of taking care of your tits between his mouth and hand. Your back arches because you have longed for his touch for months, and it feels like coming home.

He worships your body, still knowing it by heart. Mentally, he takes pictures of it, because who knows when he is going to get to see it again?

“What’s his name?” Sidney asks against your neck, breathless.

“What?” You’re confused, and his hand on your thigh isn’t helping.

“Your boyfriend. What’s his name?” The question makes sense now. So does the sudden tightness of his hands on your body. That boy is jealous.

“Nathan. You know him. He’s friend with some of our friends. I’m sure you’ve seen him before.” He grunts and you both pause to take off your pants.

“The blond guy who always looked at you? He should know that you’re mine.” His mouth is possessive on yours.

“Used to be. Used to be yours.” At the same time, you feel him inside of you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and your pleasure is heightened by the sounds he makes.

“Screw that. I messed up. You’ll always be mine. I love you too much to ever let you go.” His tender words send you over the edge. You come while chanting his name, then fall helplessly against his bare shoulder. It doesn’t take him long to finish too.

You both lay against each other for what feels like hours.

"Earlier, you said you loved me. Was the past tense intentional?" You know what he is subtly asking.

"Of course not. I still love you, Sid."

Sidney gives you a soft kiss then grabs the box of Timbits.

You put one in your mouth. “I can’t believe I now belong to the cheaters. This isn’t me. Only you could make me do something like this, Sid.” You softly sigh. He delicately runs his fingers through your hair.

“I’m sorry for that, baby. I hope you don’t regret this.”

You turn to look at him. “Sidney, I could never regret this. When it comes to you, I would do anything for crumbs of your affection. It’s embarrassing, really.” You laugh at little, shy.

“It’s really not. I look for you every time I see a colourful scarf, and I look for you in the stands after every goal, but I’m reminded you’re not there, and so I buy myself a cherry slurpy to get a taste of your lips.” His arms tighten around you, and you snuggle into him, eyes closed.

“Those words are going to hurt me for a lifetime. Every time you’re not there, in fact. It hurts, having to see your face everywhere. I’m constantly haunted by what we could have been.” It was scary, exposing your heart to him like that, knowing he could shatter it in an instant.

There was a flash of hurt in his eyes. “Remember when I asked you to try out long distance, and you flat out refused? You were convinced it was not going to work. You had no faith in me. Do you think I’m not haunted by that?” Now it was your turn to wince.

Of course, you still remember the cruel words you threw at him. It was like you did everything in your power to make him believe your relationship had a deadline. You didn’t give him a chance.

“It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done. In a few minutes, we’ll put back our clothes, and I’ll drive you to your car. We’ll say bye and pretend none of this happened. I’ll go back to my boyfriend; you’ll go back to Pittsburgh. Eventually, all of this will be a distant memory. Eventually, we will be fine.” The words hurt.

He protests immediately. “What if we don’t forget? I don’t want you to go back to anyone else. I don’t want to go back to Pittsburgh knowing you’re with someone else.” He grabs your face. “We didn’t even try. You have to give us a chance.” Sid’s words shock you.

“Sidney, you can’t be serious.” He flinches, and you know you’ve hurt him.

“Do you truly have no faith in me?” He looks so vulnerable; it makes you want to cry.

“Of course I have faith in you, Sidney. I love you too much not to. But I also know that I might not survive another breakup.”

“Why are you already assuming this won’t work? I truly believe our love is stronger than a few hundred kilometers between us. I’ll call you everyday, I swear. Your school break is coming up, I could fly you to Pittsburgh, and I’ll visit you whenever we play the Habs. I’ll write you a letter everyday, if you want me to. You only have to trust me. That’s all I’m asking you. Along with, will you be my girlfriend again, even though it feels like you never stopped being mine?”

This was the sincerest declaration of love you had ever heard. If you had doubts about whether he loved you or not, they were now gone. You loved him, he loved you. What could go wrong?

“In my head, you never stopped being mine either. I could fool myself into thinking I could ever love somebody else, but it’s impossible. Of course I'll be your girlfriend, Sid.” As cheesy as it looked, there were some happy tears in your eyes. You heard him let out a sigh of relief before pulling you close to him.

You held onto Sidney like a lifeline.

“I want to take you on a date” You giggle like a lovesick fool at his request.

“Okay, mon coeur. But there’s something I have to do first.”

“What is it?”

“I have to breakup with my boyfriend. No, not you. The other one.”

[sepublic]

My hot take is that Pilot Gus has been a thing since the pitch bible, it’s just that he’s the character who’s gone through the most revisions in terms of aesthetic;

He’s Tibbles. Or Tibbles was him. They’re small nerdy friends of Luz who stand out as having an interest in human realm stuff. One of the pitched episode concepts was Tibbles and Eda attempting to throw Luz a human party only for their misunderstanding of human culture to lead to chaos, which is perfectly in line with canon Gus clearly not knowing what he’s talking about but meaning it in full earnest. Tibbles and Paulina AKA Pilot Willow are even on the same page together, and Willow and Gus are a classic duo.

After all, look at Hunter! William is a very different character, with a different name and appearance, different personality/vibes, and a different backstory. Yet there are a lot of recurring elements between both versions of the character that you can’t deny Hunter is William after having gone through multiple revisions.

In the end, it’s clear that the writers took the character of Tibbles and just made him a “human” kid, and then expanded on his character from there. It’s possible they just came to this conclusion on their own. It could be a result of Disney pushing the Hexside angle, so the writers converted Tibbles into another peer for Luz, rather than making a new character. Him being a witch student also allowed the writers to expand on one of the nine coven magics as well! And I wouldn’t be surprised if executives pushed for the revised Tibbles to look human for relatability.

But the writers were obviously attached to the concept of a porcine demon named Tibbles, so they retained him but with a radically different personality to fulfill a separate niche of minor antagonist they’d drafted for some other episodes. Even in canon, Tibbles still retains a connection to human artifacts, albeit much more incidental to his character and out of utilitarian, economic interests; He scavenged human trash and briefly sold The Good Witch Azura books, only to give up once Amity proved to be the only buyer. Which hilariously makes Tibbles a contributor towards Lumity.

Dang I want to imagine a plot where Gus and Tibbles interact directly (amidst a salty exchange acknowledging Tibbles’ attempted revenge on Gus in Really Small Problems) and the show gets really meta about how they’re two halves of the same character, albeit with Gus clearly being the more “whole” of the two. It’s a story that works without the BTS knowledge but with it, it makes the whole bit feel enriched.

Obviously it’d be a plot about the Gus and Tibbles having similarities in their shared connection to human garbage, and maybe their respective dynamics with Eda. Possibly discussing/exploring the motives for their interest, which could get into Gus’ motives and how he fell in love with human culture. In fact if Eda wasn’t necessarily the source of Gus’ first exposure, it could’ve damn well been Tibbles!

And since it’s Tibbles, Gus doesn’t really bond with him (esp if like Amity, Gus got it from Tibbles indirectly) and that’s why he’s fairly lonely by the time S1 rolls around, and he’s more impressed by Eda instead. It explains how Gus knows about human stuff, but doesn’t have a particular connection to Eda until they interact through Luz. Tibbles and Eda have a minor rivalry going along as black market potions sellers who have human garbage as a side gig, so it feels appropriate.

As does Tibbles also having a connection with Mattholomule over this human garbage they’re intentionally misrepresenting, which… Jeez, does this provide a backdrop to Mattholomule usurping the HAS with fake human artifacts???? Huh. I guess Tibbles is a contributor to Gustholomule as well. He’s surprisingly connected but I guess that makes sense when this guy was supposed to be a lot more involved before Gus took his place, or rather Tibbles became Gus. It’s weird.

What’d really sell the connection is Gus having a pig palisman, but a chameleon is more relevant when it comes to the final canon. And what’d make things insane is if Gus and Tibbles look at their family trees and realize they stem from a common ancestor, the implicit Tibbles the First, as Tibbles being the Third indicates. Tibblet-Tibblie Grimm Hammer I looks just like the pitch bible… All of this could be the basis for Tibbles to turn around and explain why he was invited to Luz’s Quincenera years later.

[vrisrezis]

Yuta better than me if geto grabbed my hands like that I would fold so quick

Anyways more Yan! Geto x reader I’m very deranged

Normal Yan stuff but there’s a lot of like worship and treating reader like a god ,, slight nsfw geto is very subby in this! this gets into getou cult territory and again treating reader like his god but this is still a weird college au

Yan! Geto who starts becoming more and more obsessive as the years go by

Yan! Geto who gets more and more jealous, don’t be surprised when more people around you end up dying!

And while on the topic, if you manage to piss him off you’ll find their corpses in your house yourself!

Thankfully, he is very forgiving and it’s very hard to make him upset!

Yan! Geto who only truly gets pissed off at you if you are deliberately ignoring him, and no, it’s not in his head. He knows you’re ignoring him. He will make you regret doing that.

Yan! Geto who, despite how jealous he gets, would never kill any of your friends or any family because he understands how important those things are. He will make sure you know how he feels though.

Yan! Geto who would slaughter so many people if it meant you’d no longer suffer or be sad

Yan! Geto who regrets forcing you to see those rotting corpses when he was mad at you, because he’s worked long and hard to keep you away from that side of him, because it made you scared and upset and he doesn’t want to be the cause of your fear.

And so he never does it again, even when he gets angry!

Yan! Geto who does everything for you because he wants to make a good impact on your life, he needs to mean something. Even if it’s nothing much, it’s okay.

Yan! Geto who’s easy to use. He’s very susceptible to being manipulated, just say the word, you don’t even have to be nice about it! He is merely your servant, you are simply his god.

Yan! Geto who tries to make you laugh a lot, typically it works cause he’s funny but it never fails to make him blush.

Yan! Geto who has to stop himself from drooling at you in class.

Yan! Geto who has to stop himself from palming his clothed cock in gym class, watching you play football with satoru, nanami, and a bunch of other kids.

Yan! Geto who cannot play sports with you cause he ends up doing terribly whenever you’re playing, his knees buckle everytime.

Yan! Geto who worships the ground you walk on and worships the very air you breathe

Yan! Geto who is so intensely in love he calls you his god.

And as such he needs to serve his god in anyway he can

Yan! Geto who believes you are god but are far too humble about it, so he constantly does things to make you realize you have all the power in the world at your fingertips, even if you don’t realize it

Yan! Geto who’s heart practically explodes when you tell him to start finding other friends, you don’t want him to be lonely! You must really love him! But don’t fret darling, for you are the only one that cures loneliness and he could never get sick of you!

But once you become set on it, he manages to find a whole group of friends! Friends he’s gained the respect of, friends he has power over. He wouldn’t even say they’re friends, more like family. He of course, wants you a part of that, so he hands the power where it belongs, to you, a god. His god.

Yan! Geto hopes you’re grateful for the new family! He understands none of them are good enough for your graces, but he hopes you’ll give even them a chance. He spent so much time with them after all, and they’re lovely people! He knows that doesn’t mean much, coming from him. He’s far from lovely and so are these people when in comparison to you.

Yan! Geto will never let you go, for as selfish and as undeserving he is, he cannot let you leave his life. He understands it’s not fair to you, but selfishly he doesn’t care enough. He berates himself for it constantly, and doesn’t blame you when you do the same (he in fact gets off to it so please be mean to him)

Yan! Geto who becomes to convinced you’re a deity, he offers anything to you. While these can be things like food, candy, clothes, adorable stuffed animals and fun video games and even expensive pc’s, he eventually no longer feels guilt about mangled corpses showing up at your door, because he is convinced you want some sort of sacrifice, an offering for him not being good enough for you. He hopes this will suffice, please keep him around a little longer!

Yan! Geto will listen if you tell him to stop though, your wish is his command, after all. He exists to merely serve you.

Yan! Geto who worships you because of who you are. You’ve given him everything, you’ve given him life itself. He didn’t know what living felt like before he met you.

Yan! Geto who worships you for everything you’ve done for him. Every small kind gesture, even as simple as giving him a polite smile or holding open the door, sets his heart ablaze and has his body on fire. He yearns for you, and yet, he’s so aware that he’s not enough. No one is, quite frankly. But still… he’s the closest thing to being good enough, right?

Yan! Geto who could actually cum if you compliment him.

Yan! Geto who knows he should ask before being so clingy with you but he simply cannot help himself. You guys are a couple right? Even if you are so much more than him, you wouldn’t mind him suddenly grabbing your hand, would you?

Yan! Geto who thinks of you fucking him in the shower. He hears shower sex isn’t as pleasant as the movies make it seem, but he knows you could make anything pure bliss.

Yan! Geto is nothing but a toy to be used at your disposal, but he understands if you don’t want others to know what you do to him. After all, you must be so embarrassed of him. He’s done so many things considered to be down horrifically bad.

Yan! Geto who sees how much these lowly beings make you miserable. So he ends them. Not just them. He becomes convinced most people in the world only exist as not only a inconvenience but also to make you suffer, so he deals with them accordingly.

Yan! Geto who cannot stand the sight of people thinking they have the right to talk to you. They are nothing but the dirt beneath your shoe.

Yan! Geto who tells you everything he’s ever done has been for you. And he isn’t lying!

Yan! Geto is willing to strip himself of his humanity, his dignity, all for you to love him. But even then, while he hopes for you to, he doesn’t ask for it. He knows it’s wishful thinking. He wants your approval. Your smile, your laugh. He wants you to be pleased with him. He wants your heart, your mind and your body. He wants you to bare your entire soul to him, he wants you to be completely unburdened. He will do anything to achieve that.

[plotthotrobin]

I’ve talked about the polite neutrality between the three lords during White Clouds, but I have another point about friendships in this game to make. The Golden Deer are the only house that feel like something close to an actual friend group to me - but that’s not a complaint or me saying that GD is objectively the best house. (There being a ‘best house’ actively defeats the point - and I actually like more of the students from the BE.) It’s just neat to compare and contrast.

Despite most of them having known one another from a young age, the Blue Lions feel more like the reunion of kids who played together during their parent’s work meetings. They’re stiff and awkward around each other a lot of the time despite being more familiar. They get along because they have to for the future of their kingdom. Hell, I think at least half of their interrelationships are at least initially born out of obligation. And that isn’t to diminish the sincerity of some of the friendships that do blossom, but that energy overall never really goes away. I think it reflects the tone/culture of Faerghus and Dimitri both really well, actually, since there are a lot of themes of tradition and doing what is socially expected of you.

The Black Eagles are kind of a weird mix of strangers and friends when they start out. I read them as being more individually isolated than the other two houses. Because the unspoken obligation of the BL’s isn’t there, this group falls into almost the opposite camp. Dorothea, Ferdinand, and Petra are on good terms with almost everyone - but aren’t actually close to anybody. Linhardt and Caspar are childhood friends of sorts, but a lot of it seems like the former merely tolerating the latter (especially during WC) - and neither of them are really close to anyone else. Bernadetta is… well, Bernadetta. Edelgard and Hubert are the one exception since they are very close, but even then they are princess and retainer - not ever really friends on an equal level, even though they have a deep love and respect for one another. The house as a whole, though, doesn’t feel very tight-knit. Again, none of this is a complaint. I can’t say much when it comes to Adrestia itself, but I do think it reflects a lot of Edelgard’s individualistic mindset on a personal level as well as her overall approach in Crimson Flower.

Other than Raphael and Ignatz, none of the Golden Deer seem to know each other by much more than name at the start of the game - which means that they’re all getting to know each other at the same time. I truly think that different foundation makes them growing together feels a little more organic in terms of friendship. I can easily see this group naturally sitting around a campfire and swapping funny stories. While, again, I can’t say much in terms of Leicester’s culture or anything, I think this works extremely well considering Claude’s whole thing is wanting to tear down walls and bring people together. It’s really nice to see. (Quick disclaimer: I don’t believe Claude truly sees them as his friends until post-timeskip during VW specifically, but do think most of the others view him as a friend pretty early on.)

It’s interesting how these setups affect their respective routes. 😊

[alabasterpickles]

You said Hades was the one who wanted kids, but how did Persephone react to that?

Any more headcanons regarding their family?

How do they feel when their first baby is born? And the reaction to the "oops twins"?

Sorry if I sound demanding

Please don’t apologize I love getting these kinds of asks!! (Plus it helps me flesh out some of my more underdeveloped headcanons 🤫)

Part 1 —

Yes! Hades was the one that instigated the conversation about having a family. Originally, I think Persephone didn’t even know Hades *could* have children, since he’s widely regarded as infertile (she just so happens to be a fertility god, so I guess he won the wife lottery) and so came to peace with the idea she may never be a mom as soon as she realized she’d fallen in love with him. When he comes to her asking about starting a family, I think she feels a bit of reluctance and possibly fear surrounding the idea, because it’s definitely a let’s-not-get-our-hopes-up situation.

Part 2 —

Headcanons about their family? I like to think Hades and Persephone, at least this version, would be kind of obnoxious as parents 😂 and I mean that in a very loving way. They’re well meaning and supportive but also I think their quirks might kinda cramp Mel and Zag’s style from time to time.

Hades and Melinöe are the most alike in personality and so I think they spend the most time together, though dad’s lack of predictability bugs her a little. Hades loves his kids and does his best to relate to them, especially Zagreus, but it’s always kinda goofy and awkward (for some reason the Dad from Chicken Little comes to mind?? They have that father-son energy). Brimos is an absolute terror and gives his dad a run for his money constantly, where Makaria is mellow and sweet and generally soft spoken, so she naturally gets whatever she wants. 😂

Zagreus is a big hit with the Fates, he doesn’t know why, they just love him to bits. He’s a huge mama’s boy and has excellent manners and could get along with pretty much anyone, so he’s well liked. Melinöe is the opposite in a lot of ways, she’s direct, not very personable and doesn’t have much of a sense of humor but she’s extremely clever and adept at Underworld management, her dad’s minions tend to respect/like her a lot. Her biggest issue is that she’s painfully insecure about how unpopular she is — she doesn’t make friends easily and tends to scare people away when they do get close, unintentionally of course.

Makaria is the perfect little angel child every parent wishes they had, she is cute and gentle-spirited and polite, she follows the rules and behaves where her twin brother is a troublemaker. With Hades now busy with family matters, Pain and Panic tend to follow him around and do his bidding instead.

All together they are a perfect storm!

Part 3 —

When Persephone finds out she’s pregnant with Zagreus, I think they both feel a pretty good mix of fear and excitement — Persephone has her reservations, partly because of Hades’s *ahem* history with infants and maybe a little bit because she anticipates Demeter’s reaction. Hades is just… pure emotional chaos. I feel like he’s halfway between absolutely ecstatic and a nervous wreck, because like I said, there’s been this belief he couldn’t possibly produce heirs as a death god, yet here they are!

By the time the twins arrive, they are both pretty comfortably set in their ways as parents. Though Brimos is a challenge and they didn’t expect *two* baby gods, I think most of the nerves and anticipatory anxiety surrounding their birth would have waned and they’d both be more excited than anything. I definitely don’t think having kids is easy for the pair of them, so the twins would most likely be regarded as a blessing. They were a good “oops!” for sure!

[themultifandomgal]

Shelby Sister- Troublesome Twins Pt2

I was asked to do a part 2. So here it is!

Since Finn getting shot, YNs brothers have been even more protective than normal. She's finding it harder to see her boyfriend since Tommy has basically put her on house arrest. YN had been sneaking out during the night to meet Isaiah under the bridge by the cut. Then one day Isaiah asked YN to marry him, she of course said yes, but there's no way her brothers would allow that. So they made the decision to run off, with the help of Finn since he's the only one not to try and control YN's life. Now they're returning home, YN hoping her brothers don't go mad and Isaiah hoping her brothers don't kill him.

"There they are" Finn smiles walking over to them as the get off the train "the happy couple. Welcome back" Finn envelopes his twin before shaking Isaiah's hand

"So how bad will it be?"

"Well Arthur probably will shout, Tommy might have both your heads and Ada well she'll find all of this hilarious" Finn says pulling away

"Looking forward to it" Isaiah sighs

"Just don't tell 'em that your havin a kid because I think that will give 'em a heart attack"

"Well I'm not not for a while"

"Good. You hear that Isaiah. I may approve of you and my sister but no babies us till your like 30" this makes Isaiah and I laugh.

We arrive at the Garrison where I know Finn has gathered everyone

"You ok?" Isaiah asks before we step foot into the pub

"Should be asking you that" I chuckle taking Isaiah's hand in mine "but yes. May as well get this over and done with" I take a deep breath and open the doors immediately seeing it empty apart from my family sat at a large table. Everyone looks at us walking in

"Where the fuck have you been YN?" Arthur yells slamming his drink down

"Let the girl sit down first" Ada says, I give her a little smile in reply. I drag Isaiah over to the table and take a seat next to Polly. Tommy just stares at me while Arthur drinks. Michael sits smoking a cigarette looking between Tommy and I

“So” tommy finally speaks “want to tell us where you were?”

“Errm ok so” I play with my ring nervously under the table “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I knew you would go mad”

“Spit it out” Arthur grunts

“Isaiah and I got married” I quickly say

“You bloody what?!” Arthur yells

“Finn did you know?”

“Yes, but Tom….”

“You went behind my back”

“I warned you Tommy. I told you Isaiah and I would get married one day with or without your permission”

“Are your pregnant?” Micheal asks

“No I’m not bloody pregnant”

“Then why marry so young”

“Maybe because they love each other” Ada says in my defence, but Tommy scoffs

“They’re kids”

“I’m 21 Tommy. I’m an adult I know what I’m doing” I yell at my brother

“No you don’t YN! What if he fucks another woman? What if he hurts you? He’s going to break your heart. Fuck YN I know what men his age do, hell men my age fuck around while married”

“Just ‘cause you all cheated on your wife’s doesn’t mean Isaiah will”

“Ok I think we need to calm down” aunt Polly tries

“No you know what this was a mistake. Maybe we should have stayed in London maybe I should have made you think I was dead because clearly you’d prefer that than me being married and happy!” I yell one last time “come on Is we’re going” I stand up pulling Isaiah with me. We begin walking out when Isaiah stops, turning around to face my brothers

“You know, I actually really love YN. I respect her as a person, she’s my equal and I will do everything in my power to keep her safe and provide for her and hopefully our kids in the future. I know YN will want you all apart of that, but I guess it’s your choice” Isaiah places his arm around my waist as we walk out of the garrison

“Thank you Is”

“Always”

I groan getting out of bed after hearing multiple knocks on the door and Polly shouting for me. Isaiah and I have been staying with Polly before we try and find our own home. I wrap my dressing gown around my body and make my way downstairs when I see Tommy and Arthur stood at the door

“What do you want?” I ask folding my arms

“You were right” I raise my eyebrows at Tommy. He never apologises

“Continue”

“You told me you would marry him”

“We’re just worried about you” Arthur finally says “we don’t want you hurt. Your our little sister. The baby of the family”

“I’m not a baby anymore. Neither is Finn. I appreciate that you want to keep me safe but I can handle myself and now I have Isaiah, well I guess I’ve always had him. I’m happy and I promise if Isaiah ever does anything to hurt me I will tell you”

“Can we come in?” Tommy asks

“Best ask Poll. I’ll go and get dressed and get Isaiah up”

“Just promise me 1 thing… no babies yet. I don’t think I can handle that as well”

“Ok” I chuckle responding to Tommy.