#and not even after that. canonically its like

[hinamie]

rin-chan NOW!!

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

Can you draw the delightful children or sector z pls I love your art so much!

Ah, those delightful kids from down the lane? 🤗 Sure!

Honestly that Sector Z reveal? Had done something to me, like, even as a kid?? 😭 Like WDYM the series main antagonists were legendary agent kids, but an adult brainwashed them into his obedient little dolls and they are stuck like this forever??? And only 2-3 people in the whole universe know about this?? Like, bro???

(also thanks! 🤭 ✌️)

[sangwookisser]

⭒AFTER HOURS- HWANG JUN-HO⭒

cw: switch dynamics, fighting, choking, piv, fem! reader, guard! reader, this is a bit non canon as junho already got his square mask before confronting you, creampies, praise, choking, not beta'd

a/n: thanos pt. 2 in the works cuties send me asks on what you'd like to see him do to you!

You screwed up today.

You'd worked here so long that every time you'd shot a player, or moved a body, or ordered a circle mask to clean up the area after a game, it felt unconscious, like a menial chore. Perhaps you'd gotten too careless and forgotten your place, because you'd frozen on the spot when a player, a woman, young and pleading and desperate, had crawled against your leg and pleaded with you to let her live after she'd cracked a side on her star Dalgona.

You froze.

A careless mistake. She'd taken your hesitation as an opportunity to grab your rifle and wrench it from your hands, trying to shoot you in the head and missing, before she managed to hit a soldier in the arm that'd been rushing over to pry the weapon from her hands. The entire playground was a mess now, with yells of terror and people cracking their Dalgona due to stress, all because of you.

Now you were following a very tall, quiet square guard to a private room, only meant for very important matters. no cameras are placed in here. He locks the door behind you and turned to face you. You hung your head, fighting the urge to wring your hands.

"Look at me."

You look up at the sound of a deep, distorted voice, placing your hands behind your back so you could hide the way they're shaking. He doesn't move, watching you through the thick black plastic of his mask, assessing you.

"Explain."

You inhale shakily, unable to hide your nervousness. You knew that you wouldn't have been brought here if you weren't about to receive a terrible punishment. There was no one watching, and the games were long over for the day. You pause for a moment, trying to find your voice, but he speaks again.

"Do you forget yourself, soldier? You answer promptly when asked to. The longer you try to wrack your brain to find a reason why you fucked up today, the less ill believe your stupid excuses."

You bristle at the condescending tone of his voice. You don't like being spoken to in such a way, even if its by a superior. Still, you can't come up with a good reason as to why you froze. Perhaps you'd seen a glimmer of yourself in the way the woman pleaded and searched for mercy.

You were weak and vulnerable once too. She'd cracked a part of the walls you'd built up around yourself to try and make killing players easier. "I'm just trying to collect myself, sir." You say, your tone a little too sharp for his liking.

"Collect yourself?" Jun-ho says in return. "I'm not playing games with you, soldier."

"And neither am I," You snap back, frustrated and scared enough to act with your emotions and not logically. You're not thinking about the repercussions of talking back to a superior. "I made one mistake in the five years I've been here, and you're just attacking m-"

"Take off your mask."

The order sent a chill down your spine. You weren't ever supposed to show your face around here, not even to your superiors. It usually meant you were about to take a bullet to the head.

You look around anxiously to try and spot any cameras, but most of them are turned off for this location since it is meant to be vacant right now. You step back and finally speak.

"S-sir, I can't. It's against policy."

"Don't give me any more bullshit. Take off your mask. that's an order." You grit your teeth but don't budge, refusing to go along with the inevitable that happens when you show your face. He growls and raises his hand, his pistol at your head in a second. "Now, triangle."

You let out a shaky exhale and reluctantly peel off your mask, letting it drop to the floor, along with the balaclava underneath.

There's a tense moment of silence as he looks you over, and he nearly groans in appreciation of how cute you are. Jun-ho expected an old hag with nothing to lose, not... you.

His eyes roam over the wide, sparkly eyes staring up at him and the soft frown on your face, as well as the way your lashes skim your cheekbones when you blink, your soft, pretty hair, your full lips...

You take his hesitation as an opportunity and knock the gun out of his hands, shoving him back and debating on running or staying to fight him.

He lunges to grab you, and you aim a kick to his chest to try and steer him off course again, but he grabs your ankle and kicks the back of your other leg to make you crumple. You curse, reeling back a bit as you stand straight again, punching his stomach to make him let go of you.

He grunts, but doesn't relent, so you aim a few more punches to his chest and stomach, but he grabs your arm and twists it, letting go of your leg and shoving you against the wall of the room, pressing your chest against the wall. You scowl, struggling fervently, but its hard to when he's a head taller and has the strength of a gorilla.

He pauses for a bit, smug at how easy it was to beat you when you had the advantage of disorienting him by making the first move.

"There, was that so hard? You're making me feel like a monster. Pretty girls like you deserve to be worshipped, not roughhoused like this." You growl at the implication, aching to demand what exactly he means, but you figured that if you play into the act a little bit, you might be able to get your advantage back.

You sniffle, making the slightly-exaggerated sounds of someone about to cry. "I-I know sir," You choke out, your voice breaking. "I... I d-didn't mean for it to come to this, I just... d-don't wanna b-be punished or killed for one mistake, I didn't mean to hesitate today, really. P-please don't kill me..." You make the soft sounds of crying, trying to imitate the feeling of desperation and hopelessness.

His heart aches uncomfortably, and he feels your little body shaking with tears. He feels bad now. He just meant to scare you a bit so he could get information about this place, but you attacked him, so he had to do this to you. But it feels wrong. He can imagine your sweet little face scrunched up and flushed with tears, and he sighs, turning you around slowly so he can help wipe your face and soothe you.

You don't wait a second, delighted that your plan worked to some degree, enough that he was willing to let go of you long enough for you to drive your knee straight into his crotch.

"Fuck!" he curses, doubling over. "Shit, you fucking maniac!" You get the rifle off your back that all triangles are equipped with, astounded that he didn't disarm you at the first opportunity, and you shove the barrel under his chin.

"On your knees, square." You sneer at him, and he grits his teeth, dropping down to his knees with his hands raised.

"You're fucking crazy." He says angrily, panting as he massages his aching privates, his gaze roaming over your pretty face, and he scoffs, in disbelief that he, a trained cop, ended up in this situation.

"Now you take off your mask too. So we're in this together." You say coldly, nudging the gun at his neck. He freezes for a bit. He didn't know what you'd do if you found out he was a stowaway posing as a guard, and so he hesitated, but with a gun to his face, what more could he do?

Slowly, he took off his mask, letting the black plastic clatter to the floor as he pushed thick black hair out of his eyes, eying you warily.

You too, as he did, paused for a minute at the sight of his face. You didn't expect your manager to be so handsome. His features were soft and handsome, like some pretty boy you'd see on TV, not at your feet with your rifle to his head.

"Who are-"

He took a dive for your legs, realizing he couldn't go through the process of revealing everything to you. Even showing you his face was going too far. You squealed, tumbling to the ground, and he stuck his hand under your head so you wouldn't crack it open under the concrete, and he quickly straddled you, putting one hand around your throat and moving the other to hold your hands together above your head.

"The hell's your problem, huh?" He sneered, holding you down without much struggle even as you thrashed under him. "You don't listen. If you just shut up and answered a few questions, you'd be out of here in no time."

You choke, panting a bit, and he squeezes your neck a little tighter, fascinated at the way your cheeks warm and your eyes darken. His cock twitches a bit in his pants, excited by the way you look so helpless. The way you're squirming under him and rubbing your body unintentionally against his dick isn't helping. It's already tender from you hitting it with your knee earlier, and his hypersensitivity is just riling him up more and more.

"Shit..." He murmurs, loosening his grip just enough for you to get a big gulp of air, before he puts the same pressure on your neck once more.

"I'm not afraid of you," you hissed, despite the nervous flutters in your stomach. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours.

"I don't care. You put yourself in this situation, and now look where you are." He mocks you, no longer caring about your feelings after your earlier deception. Your lips press together in a scowl.

You let out an infuriated growl, trying to shift your body up to attack him, maybe bite him, but he slams you back down with his grip around your neck. Your vision sparkles around the corners, and you pant, gasping weakly for air, and he lets go just before you pass out.

"Let... me go." You wheeze, inhaling unsteadily. He leans closer, about to say more, when you shove your lips against his. It's not a good tactic, and you hate doing it, but it's a last resort, and you needed to wind him so you could get your upper hand back.

To your disbelief, he moans, his grip on you loosening so he can lean down and kiss you deeply. He's pleasantly surprised, to say the least.

You're gorgeous, of course, and with the soft taste of strawberries that linger on your mouth, he's not complaining at all. He squeezes your face in his hands, rubbing his tongue over your lips to try and coax your mouth to open. You grit your teeth, annoyed by how enjoyable this is.

His lips are soft, and he's good at kissing. You enjoy the way he parts his lips and slots his mouth over yours to search for the best angle. However, you try to stay present enough to try and find the right moment to throw him off you. He, however, was lost. He's managed to get his tongue in your mouth, and he groans at your taste, one hand going to stroke your hair softly as he rolls his tongue over yours slowly and sloppily, almost savoring the feeling.

You grunt, squirming a bit as his long tongue pushes deeper in your mouth. He's getting way too excited for someone who was just trying to suffocate you, and you start to worry that you made a mistake by riling him up like this.

Your suspicions are confirmed when you feel something hard and thick poke your thighs, and he lets out a full-blown moan into your mouth, his hips beginning to rut against you. You've had enough. With as much effort you can muster, you bite his lip hard enough for it to be uncomfortable, and he lets out a yelp, smoothing his tongue over his now bleeding lip.

You desperately try to push him off you. His eyes are wide and shiny, like a puppy aching for a treat, and he pants a bit, before frowning. "I want more," He says gruffly, upset at your denial. He leans down, wanting to kiss you again, but you hook your legs around him and flip him over, using the element of surprise to your advantage.

He tries his best to try and buck you off, but once you get his hands pinned beside his head, he stops struggling, staring up at you with wide, glassy eyes, his breath coming out in tiny gasps.

"W-wha..." He starts weakly, but you tug his hair to shut him up. He doesn't oblige, moaning at the feeling and returning to humping you, his hips thrusting up against your ass as you straddle him.

"Stop it," You hiss angrily. "Acting like a fucking dog, have some shame."

He doesn't listen, his hands clenching into fists as he aches with the need to touch.

"F-fuck me..." he breathes out, and you try to put your hand over his mouth to shut him up, but you can still hear his loud groans as he ruts against you, dry humping you through his pants. "Fuck me, please." He insists. You squeeze his wrists with frustration, pissed off by his excessive neediness, but you start to lift his shirt, your hair tickling his cheek as you lean down. You pull it above his head, reveling in the sight of his soft, creamy white skin, and plush pink nipples.

He shivers as the cool air of the room hits his skin, and you slowly start to drag your fingers up his chest.

Unfortunately for you, that, paired with the constant feeling of his clothed cock rubbing against the juicy fat of your ass causes him to still, and he tears his hands out of your grip with little to no effort, places them on your butt, and rubs you fervently against his dick until his hips stutter, and he squeezes you tight.

"Oh G-god... mmh, fuck, fuck... fuck... 'm cumming, im cumming now..."

You can feel him throbbing against you as the sticky liquid of his cum stains his pants. You look down at him as he slumps down, keening loudly as he tries to catch his breath. his chest heaves hard.

You look down at him in shock, scowling down at him. "You dirty little..."

He doesn't let you finish your words, flipping you over.

Panting harshly, he loomed over you, his eyes wild with desperate, primal hunger. His large hands roamed feverishly over your curves, grasping and squeezing at the fabric of your guard uniform as if trying to rip them away from your body. "Please, baby... I need... I need to feel you... all of you..." he babbled, his voice ragged with urgency.

Fumbling fingers made quick work of the zippers, scattering them haphazardly across the floor. Jun-ho's breathing grew louder, more labored, as more and more of the your soft, supple skin was revealed to his ravenous gaze. "Please... let me... let me see you... touch you... taste you..." he begged, his words spilling out in a whining, desperate litany.

Hie hips undulated, grinding his clothed erection against the your core, seeking some measure of relief from the throbbing ache that consumed him. "I'm so fucking... so fucking desperate for you..." he whined, his hands finally succeeding in baring your breasts to his hungry eyes.

"My god... look at you... so fucking perfect..." Jun-ho dipped his head, peppering your newly exposed skin with desperate, open-mouthed kisses and sharp nips. You moan, squirming under him at the unfamiliar yet desirable sensation. He's worshipping you, obsessing over your body

"Tell me... tell me you want it too..." he urged breathlessly between kisses, his hands roaming lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, your panties. "Tell me you need my cock...almost as much as I need to be inside your tight, wet little cunt..."

His desperation was palpable, his body trembling with the force of his desire as he awaited your response, praying you would give him the green light to plunge forward and claim you. He shoves his pants down, his slick cock, tender from his recent orgasm, hits his belly, and you try to sit up.

"Fuck, you bastard, get off," You try to protest, to hide how bad you want it despite the risk of you losing your job or being killed for doing something so reckless and idiotic. But your pussy can't hide how you crave to have his fat cock deep inside you.

His mouth watered at the intoxicating scent of your arousal, ripe and heady and consuming. He lavishes your breasts with desperate, open-mouthed kisses, his tongue swirling around one stiff peak, lapping and suckling greedily, before switching to its twin, determined to taste every inch of your succulent flesh. You cry out, keening dumbly. You hate how good it feels.

"Mmm... you taste... fuck, you taste incredible..." he praises between slurping kisses, sending vibrations tingling through your skin.

Below, Jun-ho's aching cock jerked and throbbed against your soaked pussy. Each twitch of his sensitive flesh against your core drew a guttural groan from the man's throat, and a soft whine from you, his hips rutting instinctively, chasing more of that exquisite friction.

"You're so pretty," he panted, the words tumbling out in a desperate, incoherent jumble.

He could feel the heat radiating off your cunt, could sense your body's readiness, yet still you held back, trying to retain some semblance of control.

He whimpered in frustration, his cock pulsing urgently against you as he gazed up at you with pleading, lust-glazed eyes. "Tell me... fuck, tell me you want it too..." he rasped, his voice breaking on the desperate words. "I can't... I can't hold back much longer..."

For a moment, you remained silent, your expression an unreadable mask. But then, with a sharp inhale and a barely audible hiss of air through gritted teeth, you finally uttered the word he craved to hear. "Yes... " you gasped, your voice tight with barely restrained desire. "Yes, I... I want it..."

Relief crashed through him like a tidal wave, and he released a shuddering sigh, his body relaxing slightly as the tension drained from his muscles.

And then, with a careful, deliberate movement, he positions the dripping, weeping tip of his cock at the entrance to your pussy.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he began to press forward, his hips inching closer, the sensitive crown of his cock parting your slick, swollen folds, eliciting a shaky gasp from you as your hands fly to his broad shoulders.

"Ohhh... fuck..." He groans, his voice a low, drawn-out rumble as he felt the exquisite, silken walls of your pussy clenching around the invading head of his dick.

You're so incredibly tight, so deliciously snug, that he had to pause. The sensation was almost too much to bear, the way your body resisted, then yielded, then resisted again, as if trying to suck him in deeper, to swallow him whole.

His hands clench on your hips, fingers digging into the supple flesh hard enough to leave bruises. Sweat beads on his brow as he focused all his concentration, every ounce of his willpower, on the slow, tortuous process of sinking into you.

Inch by excruciating inch, he invaded you, feeling your slick, plush walls flutter and clench around his sensitive cock, as if trying to draw him impossibly deeper.

"Goddamn... " Jun-ho groans, his breath coming in harsh, tortured pants as he finally bottomed out, his pelvis flush against yours, causing his heavy, full balls to nestle perfectly into the curve of your ass.

He could feel every ridge, every vein, every throbbing, pulsing beat of his flesh as it was engulfed in your sloppy little pussy. It took every shred of his control not to cum then and there, to spill his seed deep inside you. "Atta girl... squeeze me just like that..." He murmurs lowly, beginning to withdraw, feeling your walls drag against him, before plunging back in, starting a deep, deliberate rhythm.

Unwillingly, your composure starts to waver, your cool demeanor cracking. Soft, breathy moans leave your lips insistently, making his cock twitch inside you. "Y-you sound so pretty, you know that?" He chokes out through moans, thrusting steadily into you. "So good... S-so good for me, baby. I got you."

He talks you through it, feeling you flutter and clench around his sensitive flesh, as if trying to draw him even deeper. "Shit... fuck... so fucking tight..." he grunted, his hips pumping in a slow, deep rhythm that had your body jerking and bouncing beneath him.

You could feel your mind starting to go fuzzy, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind as the pleasure mounted. "T-too deep, so deep..." you say, your words slurring together as you struggled to form coherent sentences.

Your fingers scrabbled at his back, nails digging into his sweat-slicked skin as you clung to him, anchoring yourself against him. Jun-ho could feel your body starting to tremble, could sense the desperation building in your touch and your breathy little cries. They spurred him on, urging him to thrust harder and deeper.

"That's it... fuck... take it... take my cock... take every fucking inch..." he growled, his voice a low, feral rumble that sent shivers down your spine. His mind could barely process the feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock, watching the way he'd stretch you out with every thrust.

The obscene sound of your arousal filled his ears, each deep, powerful thrust eliciting a lewd plap, plap, plap as your dripping walls struggled to accommodate his girth. "Fuck, listen to her... listen to your greedy little pussy sucking me in. She doesn't want me to go anywhere, does she? Wants my cum to fill her right up." he bends down, panting hotly against your neck, his lips and teeth and tongue working over your sensitive skin, leaving a trail of marks and kisses.

He could feel you trembling, could sense you trying to hide your face in the crook of your shoulder, no doubt an instinctive move to hide how good you feel, but he would not allow it. He hooks his hand under your chin, tilting your face back towards him, forcing you to meet hungry gaze. "Don't you hide from me now," he cooed, his voice low and rough with desire. "I want to see your cute little face."

You whimper, a deep blush covering your cheeks as you were forced to confront the his blatant, almost reverent adoration of you. "I'm not... I'm not cute..." you protested weakly, even as your hips begin to move up to meet his, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"You're not?" he asks, punctuating his words with a sharp, deep thrust that had you seeing stars. "But look at you... taking my cock like you were made for it... like your perfect little pussy was molded just for me..." His hand slid down, fingers splaying possessively over your lower belly, feeling it clench and quiver as he filled you so completely. "That's right, baby... this is your pussy's purpose... to milk my cock dry."

He could feel you starting to tense, your thighs beginning to quake around his pistoning hips, your belly fluttering beneath his splayed fingers. Your breathy moans and whimpers rose in pitch and volume, blending with Jun-ho's guttural groans and ragged pants to create a symphony of carnal bliss that echoed off the walls.

"Fuck, yes... that's it, baby... Come with me." the man urged breathlessly as he drank in the exquisite sight of you lost in ecstasy. "I want to feel this greedy little cunt squeeze the cum out of my cock. You miss a drop, and we do it all over again, you hear me?" He delivers a sharp snap of his hips, a brutal thrust that buried him to the hilt in you, kissing your womb so sweetly.

You size up suddenly, letting out a cry as your pussy clenched down hard, rhythmically, milking his throbbing cock for all it was worth as you rode out the crest of your climax.

The man threw back his head with a groan, a feral sound, as he felt your velvety walls spasming around him, sucking him deeper, urging him to fill you with his cum. He slams into you one last time before his own release overtook him. His cock jerked and pulsed, erupting as he pumped you full of his hot, thick seed, painting your insides white.

You collapsed together in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and heaving chests, the aftershocks of their shared climax leaving you both breathless. You could only cling to him as he leaned down and pressed a gentle little kiss to your temple.

"Don't try and beat me up ever again."

"Fuck you."

"Just did, baby."

[hexhomos]

Hey man, I follow you on bluesky, but I’m too shy to interact openly 😔 Could you maybe share more about the state of the fandom before season 2? I was watching Arcane as it was coming out in 2021, but I never interacted with the fandom back then so a lot of things that you say come as a surprise… Even I knew that a lot of people disliked Jayce tho which was crazy to me because he was my favorite after Jinx and Silco and I always found him to very compellingly written. But I never thought that he was hated to such an extent! Was Jayvik really a crackship with a small fanbase as some people say? I knew it was much smaller than Caitvi which I thought was totally fair and understandable, but I’m pretty sure that I saw a decent amount of fan art on my Twitter TL back then…

Its very inaccurate to call jayvik a crackship during season 1 LOLLLL s1act1 had such a JV boom it was partially marketed by word of mouth as possible canon yaoi. And I say "marketed" with intent, netflix official pages and riot official pages made posts/memes with these two, including some sexual innuendo. Keep in mind, vikjayce was an old ship: from 2012 onwards there's already faint niches in the community and even fanfics.

I have some of those social media posts here.

The marketing yaoi memes became a problem after act2 came out and a lot of the audience felt rightfully betrayed/led on by corporate; i think on the netflix side they got confused on who the canon gay pair was but old time players were well acquainted with riot's HORRID handling of mlm couples - the disappointment wrt jayvik in season 1 was palpable and impossible to ignore, partially because their stories WERE well liked ingame as their lore selves, and in act1 as a potential couple.

for a little while back there "riot HATES gay men" became a whole memetic chorus repeated ad nauseam, and this did affect the decisionmaking process. In the following months they got lil nas X to collab on their yearly esports theme and collab on the new gay champion release (a man permanently separated from his ex partner because he was terrible in the relationship. no comment) and we also got the pride month reconfirmation that tfgraves are gay for eachother, though once again not in a relationship and not allowed to even confess, they were just posing in general proximity under the rainbow flag; an obvious step down from the pitch where they had Old Romantic History. Not even a kiss. You can sense the pattern on how riot approaches gay men here, and /why/ a lot of people on the fence have rallied behind jayvik after season 2. It would finally subvert the trend.

I would say post season 1 it was obviously caitvi city, with some other niches, biggest ones being timebomb and jayvik. Caitvi were Mega viral, successfully tricked general audiences into calling the game "league of lesbians" for a while back there, ascribing progressivity to the company where it was pinkmoneying at best. People's general hatred of jayce made it so he was underutilized, misread and mischaracterized at large, INCLUDING in caitvi or general fanworks. He was a republican trumpian dumbjock stocks guy, insert your least liked man here. It was not uncommon to click on a jayvik fic/fanart and see some sort of sentiment related to "oh jayce sucks but someone needs to kiss viktor", and this was mild ribbings when compared to people who DIDN'T ship it. On these other waters it was common to see "Viktor deserves much better!!!!!!" plastered on all the walls. hence the massive y/n stats on viktors page.

still, people who stuck by jayvik were generally doubly invested on it, and they even got a couple of zines made! Secret santa projects were also up and running for some years. There was fanmerch though not as much as we are seeing now, and also a recapture of league vikjayce content in much, much smaller numbers. Even back then and in the years before season 2 some rioters would already share and interact with these fanworks; people insisting that jayvik is "new" or was uncommon before are extremely wrong. In AO3 stats alone they were in the top 3 league ships of all time after season 1, and they are firmly #2 as of now, rapidly growing. The fanbase is cosmically larger now but the seed was always there.

[antianakin]

As much as I dislike TBB, I don't actually mind discussing my issues with it much, but this forced me to go back and rewatch the scene since I only watched it once and that was obviously years ago, so you can apologize for that instead haha.

What I discovered is that I had in fact misremembered the scene and you're actually correct about it. I'd PRIMARILY remembered that Wrecker seems to hone in on Omega above everyone else and while that's definitely true, he does explicitly state why he's targeting her and he does attack the others for having violated Order 66 prior to going after Omega.

Wrecker claims that he's going after Omega because her decision to try to protect Hunter, who is considered a traitor, has now also made HER a traitor. Theoretically Wrecker would've left Omega entirely alone if she hadn't tried to shoot him to protect Hunter based on this comment, but it's obviously left somewhat unclear. He also could've chosen to attack her anyway simply because she associates with them and is now doomed as a result.

There's actually very little issue with Wrecker attacking the clones because they let a Jedi go, this falls in line with what was established in TCW for Rex after he joins up with Ahsoka and the other clones seem just as inclined to shoot him as they are to shoot Ahsoka. It makes sense that the chip programming might include a clause about getting rid of anyone trying to help or protect a Jedi in addition to the Jedi themselves, kind-of like a "get the Jedi at all costs" and "eliminate anyone and anything in your way" thing.

So this doesn't actually change or muddy anything to my knowledge, and Crosshair does something similar earlier in the season anyway, so Wrecker wouldn't even be the first character to react that way in this show alone for this exact reason.

So there's actually much less issue with this than I remembered there being. I DO think it's a little odd that he hones in on Omega the way he does. He completely abandons Hunter, who is literally IN HIS HANDS at the moment, in order to chase after Omega. Omega obviously does currently have a weapon whereas Hunter has been mostly disarmed, but he spends a weirdly disproportionate amount of time trying to hunt her down after she's already run away, ignoring the greater threat of people like Hunter, Rex, and Tech (Echo's been stunned).

You COULD make an argument that the chip does this, that it takes away some of the clones' ability to think something through, forcing them to sort-of focus in on a perceived threat to the exclusion of all else, I suppose. Where this ends up also being weird is in CONTRAST with the others. As mentioned, we see characters like Cody later who obviously very much canonically had a chip activated and he seems pretty normal. We see Howzer who theoretically SHOULD'VE had the chip activated and he's entirely normal. Wrecker gets a complete personality change when his chip activates, though. He ends up feeling more like Tup in terms of how it's impacting him. Wrecker's chip has begun to impact him as a result of a head injury earlier, but it had theoretically ALREADY BEEN ACTIVATED, so the head injury doesn't actually activate it on its own, it just... somehow makes the activated chip start to WORK on Wrecker despite his mutations that used to protect him. So his chip presumably hasn't been deformed the way Tup's was, and as soon as the chip is removed, Wrecker is completely fine, so it's not actually impacting Wrecker's brain long-term.

So it just begs the question of WHY Wrecker reacts so aggressively once the chip finally hits a critical point in its impact on him. Why would Howzer have such an easy time pushing back against his loyalty to the Empire (something that theoretically was given to him via the chip's influence) and doesn't seem to have much of a personality change at all, even after the Syndullas start fighting against the Empire, but Wrecker basically has his personality entirely erased and immediately turns super aggressive towards people he sees as traitors.

And there's almost zero hesitation from him. Even Jesse hesitates at one point, when Rex tries to logic him out of trying to kill Ahsoka, we SEE him consider the new information, and none of the clones immediately start firing as Rex walks out with Ahsoka into the hangar. Wrecker doesn't act like that.

So.... it's not... TERRIBLE on its own, but it's a little confusing mostly just in comparison to the other examples we have of clones who had their chip activated, either through a virus like Tup or just through the regular activation like Jesse and Howzer.

There was an entire major plot element in the Order 66 arc of TCW season 7 about how the chip didn't care that Ahsoka wasn't technically a Jedi anymore and was forcing the clones to want to kill her anyway.

Like.

It's a pretty important part of that whole story that Ahsoka not being in the Jedi Order anymore DOESN'T exempt her from Order 66. It would've been a pretty boring story if that technicality had WORKED.

But somehow the clones guarding Barriss at the prison are totally fine applying that technicality to her.

I guess they just like her better than Rex and the 332nd liked Ahsoka in the end or something. Ironic.

[tanadrin]

A highly abbreviated history of ancient Israel and Judah as I understand it

Before 1500 BC, a Canaanite culture develops in situ, the result of thousands of years of overlapping waves of migration. The region is inhabited by a mix of highland pastoralists, lowland farmers, and city-dwellers. In the latter part of this period, urbanization intensifies and Canaan becomes more integrated into surrounding regions, especially Mesopotamia and Egypt. The region is fractured, though sometimes tribes and cities join together in confederacies for mutual defense. Egypt and Assyria both occupy Canaan or part of Canaan at different times.

The confederacy known as "Israel" emerges in the northern part of the hilly region west of the Jordan River. Its name references the Northwest Semitic high deity, El, but relatively early the deity Yahweh is introduced into the confederacy, probably by a group from the south who come to occupy a preeminent role in administering the Yahwistic cult. Yahweh is initially cast as a son of El. The Northwestern Semitic peoples often assigned patron deities to nations, and Yahweh is the patron of Israel, as Chemosh is to Moab. Yahweh has a storm-deity profile akin to Baal, elements of which will be retained when Yahweh is conflated with El.

As part of this merger, Yahweh will also acquire the role of consort of Asherah, who in Ugarit was paired with El.

The early Israelites combine heterogenous tribal traditions into a common historical and religious framework. Integral parts of these traditions include the covenant with Yahweh and an obligation to follow his commands, and a history of Yahweh freeing some or all of the ancestors of the Israelites from bondage in Egypt, guiding them through the wilderness, and leading them to their homeland in Canaan.

These traditions congeal during the pre-monarchic tribal period, from ca. 1200-1000 BCE. They do not include monotheism, the worship of Yahweh at a single temple, or the exclusive worship of Yahweh. In this period, the common bonds of religion and culture suffice to create a single Israelite identity; the component members of the Israelite confederation retain considerably autonomy, though they may act in concert with their fellows, particularly in times of invasion.

At some point around or after the 10th century BCE, separate monarchies emerge centered in various locations in the north (and eventually settling on the city of Samaria) and in Jerusalem in the south. Direct evidence for Saul, David, and Solomon is very weak, and the idea of a period of united monarchy covering Israel and Judah together is contentious. It seems highly likely that the story of the Davidic line is a Judean tradition retrojected onto an idealized period of political unity. Nonetheless, even the Bible has the United Monarchy ending by the late 10th century BCE.

In 720 BCE, the northern kingdom of Israel is destroyed by the Assyrians. About a fifth of its population is deported; a large part flees south to Judah, causing rapid expansion of Jerusalem. The refugee population includes northern Levites and landowners, who are influential in bringing northern religious traditions wiht them, and become part of Jerusalem's administrative elite.

In 640 BCE, King Amon is murdered as part of a coup attempt, suppressed with the aid of these northern notables; Amon's young son Josiah is installed as king. At this time, Judah is vassal to Assyria, but Assyria enters a period of sharp decline, which leads to resurgent nationalism in Judah. This inspires a new rescension of Israelite history and law led by the Deuteronomists (but rooted firmly in the canonical history of Moses), who foreground the exclusive worship of Yahweh, and produce a comprehensive history of Israel since Joshua.

In 622 BCE, Josiah launches a reform program that enforces the henotheistic or monolatrist worship of Yahweh, centralizes all cultic activity in the Jerusalem temple, and enshrines an early form of the Deuteronomistic law as the covenant between Judah and Yahweh, in which Yahweh symbolically replaces the Assyrian king. Asherah-worship is among the casualties of this new religious regime.

In 586 BCE, Judah is conquered by Babylon, and the temple is destroyed. Much of its elite population deported. This upheaval sparks a major period of cultural and religious transformation, especially among the deportees in Babylon, who struggle to understand theologically how they can worship the patron-sovereign god Yahweh from a foreign land. Among other theological developments, this leads to the invention of true monotheism: not only is Yahweh our only god, he is the only god, the god of all the world and not just Israel. The Deuteronomistic texts are revised again as a part of this process.

In 539 BCE, after a half-century of exile, Babylon is defeated by the rising Achaemenid empire, and a small portion of the Babylonian Jewish exiles return to Judah. There, they embark on a project to rebuild the temple, and reform the religion according to new theological understanding. Judah is now "Yehud Medinata," a province of the Persian empire; it flourishes for two centuries until the Greek conquest in 333 BCE.

The post-exilic period is hugely influential on the Jewish scriptures; rescensions in this period incorporate Babylonian influence (especially in the primeval histories), the ancient canonical histories (the patriarchal narratives and Exodus), the post-canonical histories as revised by the Deuteronomists, and many other sources.

After 333 BCE, Judah (Judea) is a frontier region between the Seleucids and Ptolemies; the country is ruled by a hereditary high priest, who is a vassal of Hellenistic rulers. Greek culture and philosophy is influential on the development of Second Temple Jewish thought and traditions. This phenomenon is known as "Hellenistic Judaism," and sprang up first in Alexandria and Antioch, before spreading to Judea. Major achievements of Hellenistic Judaism include the Septuagint, probably a result of there being large Jewish communities in cities like Alexandria that no longer spoke Hebrew or Aramaic.

In 167 BCE, sparked by the religious meddling of Seleucid ruler Antiochus IV Epiphanes, Judea rises up in the Maccabean Revolt. A new kingdom is established under the Hasmonean dynasty, after decades of fighting.

Around 110 BCE, John Hyrcanus, high priest and ruler of Judea, invades the transjordan region and Samaria, destroying Shechem and the Samaritan temple on Mount Gerizim. He also invades Idumea, and forces the Idumeans to convert to Judaism under threat of destruction. His son assumes the title of "king" for the first time, combining it with the office of high priest. Under the son, Aristobulus, Galilee is conquered and annexed, and there is an influx of Jewish settlement in the region.

At its peak, the Hasmonean kingdom is almost as large as the semi-mythical United Monarchy; but in 67 BCE, weakened by a civil war, it is conquered by the Romans. The Holy of Holies in the temple is desecrated, and the ruler, Hyrcanus II, is reduced to the status of "ethnarch," a vassal of the Roman Republic.

Some regions conquered by the Hasmoneans are gradually removed from their rule by the Romans; Roman civil wars and struggles with the Parthians often spill over into this client sate; ultimately, when a Parthian-backed pretender is expelled in 37 BCE, Marc Antony and Augustus appoint Herod the Great as king of Judea. The Herodian kingdom expands further north, and northeast over the Jordan. After Herod the Great's death, the country is divided into four parts; Judea proper, Idumea, and Samaria go to Herod Archelaus, who is deposed in 6 BCE; his territory becomes a Roman province.

About this time, Jesus, the son of Joseph, is born in Nazareth, along with his siblings, including James, in the Galilee region ruled by Herod Antipas.

Around 30 CE, Jesus gathers a small band of followers around him; he visits the mystic John the Baptist, and receives baptism from him; he preaches a radical doctrine that includes the imminent coming of the Kingdom of God, and claims a mantle of divine authority in a way highly legible to (and highly controversial within) post-Hellenistic Jewish philosophy, though he does not claim to be God. Eventually he travels to Jerusalem to observe the Passover, where in a notable incident he attacks merchants and moneylenders in the Jewish temple. For various reasons, probably having to due with his radical philosophy and his disturbance of the public peace, he is executed on the orders of the Roman prefect of Judea. A small community of his followers remain, especially in Jerusalem, where they are led by his brother James, and some continue to seek converts to his cause.

In 66 CE, the First Roman-Jewish War occurs. A revolt breaks out, sparked by nationalism, bad governance, and religious tensions. Jerusalem is besieged, and in 70 CE the Temple is destroyed and the city is razed. The last holdouts commit mass suicide at Masada in 73 CE.

Resentment against Roman rule is only intensified; in 129 CE, Hadrian establishes the pagan city of Aelia Capitolina on the ruins of Jerusalem, inciting further Jewish anger. In 132, Simon bar Kokhba leads another rebellion, taking the title Prince of Judea and establishing his own government. Some of his contemporaries think he might be the long-awaited Messiah, but despite initial successes, the rebellion fails. Bar Kokhba is killed in 135, in the last holdout at Betar. The rebels who remain are killed or enslaved; severe Roman repression results in widespread slaughter and enslavement, and the razing of hundreds of towns and villages. According to Cassius Dio, "nearly the whole of Judea" is laid waste. The Jewish presence in Judea is reduced significantly, and the center of gravity for Jewish culture in the southwestern Levant shifts north, to Galilee. Small Jewish communities persist on the edges of Judea and on the coastal plain, suffering religious persecution under Hadrian (and just about every ruler to come thereafter). Even the name "Judea" is abolished, with the area now called "Syria Palaestina."

As under the Babylonian exile, in the post-Second Temple period the Jewish religion undergoes another period of transformation, struggling to deal with its new circumstances. The traditions of the Second Temple period, as practiced by the Pharisees, are written down in the Mishnah to preserve them; they are first redacted by Judah ha-Nasi, probably in Beit Shearim or Sepphoris, some time between 100 and 200 CE. Rabbis (village judges) study the work produced by Judah ha-Nasi extensively. Their discussions are documented in a series of books that come to be known as the Gemara. Scholars in Tiberias and Caesarea (in Galilee and on the Mediterranean coast respectively) compile one form of the Gemara ca. 400 CE, while scholars of the Jewish community in southern Mesopotamia (then still known as Babylonia) compile another, ca. 500 CE. These compilations of Mishnah and Gemara are known as the "Talmud," of which the Babylonian Talmud proves the more influential.

[gullemec]

Dead Weight

Bitten - Part III

Bitten Masterlist ao3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You and Joel try to navigate this bizarre, new reality you've found yourselves in. But as physical wounds heal, emotional ones begin to fester.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, gun use, description of injuries, misogyny (not from Joel), alcohol use, description of infected, death/dying, blood, loooots of angst!

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.7k

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who had kind words to say about this series so far. I'm so excited with where it's going and can't wait to share the next few chapters I have brewing!!

You sleep later than usual, the sun already halfway to its arc in the sky by the time you rouse. 

The cabin’s heavy curtains have cocooned you in a comforting darkness, granting you a rare reprieve from the searing brightness of the open wilderness you’re used to. A luxury, in theory. But it doesn’t feel like one now.

The cool, shaded quiet is suddenly suffocating when you poke your head out of the sleeping bag and find the cabin empty. For a sharp, panicked moment, your heart lurches. Joel has left you behind. Your chest tightens, breath catching in your throat as your eyes dart around the small space, desperate for proof otherwise. 

And there it is, his sleeping bag, neatly rolled and tucked into a corner. His pack, leaned against the far wall. Evidence of his lingering presence. Relief comes reluctantly, settling in like a stone in your stomach rather than lifting the weight off your chest. He hasn’t abandoned you, not yet. But the thought doesn’t soothe the way it should.

Instead, a gnawing guilt sinks in, colder than the morning air. You slept in. You wasted time. You were dead weight, a burden. Again.

You groan softly as you push yourself upright, the movement tugging painfully at your side. The stitches pull against the swollen flesh, a sharp reminder of yesterday’s outburst. You’d let anger and frustration bubble over, and now you’re paying the price, your body punishing you for every impulsive word and motion. Hobbling toward the small bathroom, you peel your shirt up gingerly, half-afraid of what you’ll see.

In the harsh light, the wound stares back at you, a gnarled mix of swollen purple and fading red. The worst of it, the undeniable imprint of the stalker’s teeth, is etched just above your hip bone, deep and accusing. Beside it, a smaller bite mark rests in its shadow, and yet it’s no less damning. Both are framed by long, jagged slashes left by its claws, torn through your flesh in its frantic quest to tear you apart.

But it’s not the bites or the gashes that make your breath catch in your throat. It’s the tendrils. Thin, branching marks radiate outward from the largest bite like delicate, spindly roots spreading beneath your skin. You’ve seen them before, on others, in the terrifying hours after they were bitten. Only theirs were red and angry, pulsating with infection, spreading death with every heartbeat. Yours, though… yours are different. Faint. Dormant. They just stop, like a vine that’s failed to grow. They don’t crawl toward your chest or creep into your brain. They just… sit there, frozen in time.

You can only look for so long before your stomach churns and your chest tightens again, a faint buzzing overtaking your ears. You grip the edge of the sink, squeezing your eyes shut as nausea wells up.

Forcing yourself to breathe through the panic, you focus on the facts. There’s no pus. No new bleeding. No spreading infection. These are the things you cling to, the only threads of logic in the mess that’s become your life. You try to convince yourself that these signs are good, even as the sight of the tendrils lingers in your mind, impossible to forget.

What are you?

Why are you still here?

Straightening up, you turn away from the mirror and tug your shirt back down, fingers trembling slightly. You need to move. You can’t afford to let your mind spiral any further. Whatever this is, whatever you are, it doesn’t matter right now.

Joel hasn’t abandoned you, and you’re still alive. For now, that will have to be enough.

You sling your pack over one shoulder and step out into the morning light, the chill of late fall biting at your exposed skin. The cabin is quiet, Joel nowhere to be seen, not chopping wood by the side of the building, not fishing down at the river. You stand there for a moment, scanning the small clearing for any sign of him. His absence twists at your gut, equal parts unease and irritation. You tell yourself you’re better off not facing him just yet, not with everything that happened yesterday still fresh and raw, but the silence gnaws at you nonetheless.

With nowhere else to go, you meander down the narrow trail that leads to the river, your boots crunching softly against frost-laden grass. The sound of rushing water grows faintly louder as you approach, but it’s a far cry from the thunderous roar you’d heard days ago. The river has calmed, its waters now a subdued flow that no longer crashes violently against the rocks. It’s shrunken in size too, exposing wide, rocky banks on either side.

You exhale, relieved. You don’t need another reminder of what happened. You have plenty of those already.

The water glimmers under the pale sunlight, inviting in its stillness. Bracing against the chill in the air, you set your pack down on a dry patch of rocks and strip down to your underwear. The bite of the breeze sends a shiver racing up your spine, and you hesitate for a moment, arms wrapped around yourself. It’s been days since you’ve had the chance to properly wash, and you can’t stand the feeling of grime clinging to your skin any longer. Still, it takes effort to will yourself forward, the cold air already sapping your resolve.

You step gingerly into the river, your toes curling against the slick, icy rocks beneath the surface. The shock of the cold water is immediate, seeping into your skin and pulling a sharp gasp from your lungs. You clench your jaw and keep going, one unsteady step at a time, as the water rises higher up your legs.

The riverbed is treacherous. Smooth stones shift under your weight, and the mud beneath them sucks at your feet. Your balance wavers, arms flailing slightly as you try to stay upright. Then your foot sinks deeper into the riverbed than you anticipated, throwing you off-kilter. You overcorrect, trying to stop yourself from falling sideways, but it’s too much.

Your knees hit the riverbed with a sharp, jarring impact, the bite of tiny, pinprick rocks breaking through your skin. Pain shoots up your legs and lances through your side where your stitches pull painfully taut. You stifle a shout, hissing sharply through clenched teeth as your palms slap against the water to steady yourself. The cold water rushes over your thighs and knees, soothing the sting almost immediately, but the ache remains, deep and persistent.

For a moment, you stay there, crouched in the water, the pain in your knees and side a dull throb that refuses to ebb. The river flows around you, indifferent, its quiet current a stark contrast to the chaos in your body and mind.

You tilt your head back, closing your eyes, and take a shaky breath. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Even the smallest things, washing off dirt, finding balance, have become impossible challenges, each stumble and misstep a cruel reminder of your limitations. Of what you’ve become.

When you open your eyes again, your gaze falls to the water, clear enough to see your distorted reflection staring back at you. The tendrils of the bite peek out above the waistband of your underwear. Stretching up your side, loud and unavoidable.

Your hand darts out, all frustration and anger, splashing the image away.

You push yourself up, ignoring the sting in your knees and the sharp pull in your side. You’re tired of feeling weak, of feeling inhuman. Gritting your teeth, you straighten your back and wade deeper into the river, determined to scrub away the grime of the last few days, no matter the cost.

Because if nothing else, you need this. A moment of clarity, a moment of control. Even if it comes at the cost of blood and bruises, it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to yourself in a world that feels increasingly unfamiliar.

The past few days have been a harsh lesson in checking your pride and sense of self. You've always been ruthless. Had to be, really. Merciless, some might even say. You made quick work of raiders and infected alike, never hesitating or showing remorse. You couldn’t afford to. Not in this world. Weakness means death here.

That, if you had to guess, was what first drew you and Joel together.

…

Disposal duty was where it began. Burning the corpses of infected and the unclaimed dead was the kind of work that stripped you raw. It was thankless and brutal, but necessary. It offered little dignity for the living or the dead. The stench of charred flesh clung to everything, your skin, your clothes, even the air you breathed. Still, you took the job because you had to. It was the only way to prove yourself in the Boston QZ, where your age and gender already painted a target on your back among the men who sneered at you, labeling you as dead weight from the moment you arrived.

You knew the drill. From your time in other QZs, you'd learned that no one handed out respect for free, you had to earn it. You worked with a single-minded determination, dragging shrouded forms across the yard, tossing them into the roaring flames without flinching. The oppressive heat, the smoke that stung your eyes, the silent weight of knowing these bodies had once been people, none of it stopped you. It couldn’t. You wouldn’t let it.

It was on your first day that Joel had approached you.

You were on your knees, sweat streaking soot down your face as you wrapped your arms around a shrouded figure, the fabric clinging to it in the damp heat. When the shadow of a man fell over you, you glanced up, squinting against the sun. Joel stood there, tall and imposing, his face half-covered with a bandana. His eyes were hard to read, but they were focused on you. For a moment, you thought he might be there to chastise you, to tell you to hurry up or that you were doing it wrong.

“Here, let me,” he said, voice low and gravelly.

At first, you thought it was a joke. A cruel one. Like a manifestation of every insecurity gnawing at you had stepped out of the shadows to taunt you.

“I’ve got it,” you snapped, your voice sharp enough to cut through the haze of smoke. You shot him a glare before heaving the body into your arms, your knees wobbling as you carried it to the pyre. When you tossed it in and turned back, you didn’t expect him to still be there, watching. His face was half-hidden, but his eyes crinkled slightly at the edges, and you could’ve sworn he was grinning beneath the bandana.

See? your glare seemed to say.

After that day, you noticed him watching you. Not constantly, but enough for you to feel the weight of his gaze. His expression was unreadable, and it irritated you. He didn’t offer help again, nor did he criticize. He just… observed. There was something steadying about it, though. It felt like a silent acknowledgment, like he saw what you were doing even when no one else did.

And the others certainly didn’t. They grumbled and slacked off, complaining about the smell, the heat, the weight of the bodies. They cut corners, dumped bodies improperly, and blamed anyone but themselves when caught. 

But not you. 

You worked harder than all of them combined, and Joel noticed. Even if he didn’t say anything, you could feel it in the way his eyes lingered on you.

This silent routine went on for weeks, the two of you bound together by the grim necessity of disposal duty. The stench of burning flesh worked its way into your hair, your skin, your soul. Every night you scrubbed yourself raw, trying to wash it away, but the smoke still lingered in your nostrils when you lay down to sleep.

And Joel Miller kept watching.

He wasn’t the only person who noticed you, though.

Your shift had been wrapping up, bringing a line of tired, soot-covered workers waiting for their ration cards. The stench of burnt flesh lingered on everyone’s clothes, mingling with sweat and exhaustion. Joel stood a few places behind you in the line, arms crossed and gaze distant, the hard mask of indifference firmly in place.

When your name was called, you stepped forward, wiping your hands on your pants before taking the cards from the FEDRA soldier. You’d stepped off to the side to count your cards when an agitating, grating voice sounded.

"What the hell is this?" the man behind you in line barked, stepping out of line. 

Greg. He was broad-shouldered and quick-tempered, the kind of guy who was used to throwing his weight around. He jabbed a finger toward you. "Why’s she getting more than the rest of us?"

The FEDRA soldier barely glanced up from his clipboard. "Rations are allotted based on work completed. She did more than you."

Greg’s face darkened, a vein twitching in his temple. "Bullshit. She didn’t do more. She’s just—" He sneered, looking you up and down. "She’s just spreading her legs for you guys, huh? That’s how it works?"

A beat of silence. The line shifted uncomfortably. In your periphery you saw Joel’s jaw tighten, and his gaze snap to you.

You knew you should ignore him, should just keep your head down and be on your way and stay out of trouble. Greg wasn’t the first insecure asshole to be sore about a woman able to outperform him, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. And maybe it was the way your back twinged with pain or the way his whiny voice hit your ear, but there was something in your veins that day that emboldened you.

"You wanna say that again?" you said, your voice low and cold. You stepped toward him, not backing down an inch.

Greg’s bravado faltered for a second, but he doubled down.  “I said you didn’t earn those cards. You’re just—”

“Just what?” you cut in sharply. “Say it. Go ahead.”

“You’re just some weak little—”

“Right,” you interrupted, stepping toward him. Your eyes locked on his, unyielding. “Because dragging bodies all day, breathing in smoke and rotting fucking flesh, that’s not real work, right? Maybe if you spent half as much time working as you do whining, you’d have enough rations to shut your damn mouth.”

His face flushed red with anger. "Watch it, bitch," he snapped, stepping closer, looming over you.

Joel’s fingers flexed at his sides, ready to step in, but he didn’t move just yet. He watched, measuring the tension like a coiled spring.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you tilted your head, a sharp, defiant smile playing on your lips. "What are you gonna do? Hit me? Prove to everyone here that you’re not just lazy but pathetic, too?"

Greg’s hands balled into fists, but he hesitated. The rest of the line was watching now, and the FEDRA soldier shifted uneasily, hand drifting toward his weapon.

Joel stepped forward then, slow and deliberate, his presence a looming shadow. "That’s enough," he said, his voice calm but cutting through the tension like a knife. He didn’t look at you, his eyes locked on Greg. "Go back to your spot."

Greg muttered something under his breath but didn't push it further. He spat at the ground near your feet before turning back to the line.

Joel joined you on the walk back to your housing block wordlessly, the journey heavy with silence. He kept pace with you, not saying anything. The sun was sinking, casting an orange haze over the crumbling streets of the QZ when you finally broke the silence.

"You didn’t have to do that," you said finally, breaking the quiet.

"Do what?"

"Step in. I had it handled."

Joel glanced at you, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, I know you did."

You blinked, surprised. "Then why—"

"Because he wasn’t gonna back down," Joel interrupted. "Not until someone reminded him to."

You scoffed. "Well, thanks, I guess."

Joel didn’t respond right away. You walked another block in silence before he spoke again. "You drink?"

You raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "What?"

Joel shrugged, looking straight ahead. "Got a bottle of whiskey back at my place. Thought you might want to share it."

You studied him, trying to read his intentions, but his face gave nothing away. Still, there’s something about the offer that felt… genuine. You hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Okay. Sure."

When you reached his apartment, Joel opened the door and gestured you inside. The space was sparse but clean, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. He poured two glasses of amber liquid, handing one to you without ceremony.

"To your first fight on the job," he said, raising his glass.

You smirked, clinking yours against his. "And to shutting up assholes."

Joel chuckled, a sound you hadn't heard from him before. It was quiet and fleeting, but it lingered in the air between you.

That night, you talked, just enough to lay the groundwork for something more. Joel didn’t pry, but he listened, and you found yourself sharing more than you expected. When you left, there was a strange sense of understanding between you, a fragile but undeniable connection.

…

“The hell are you doin’?” 

Joel’s voice cuts through your daydream, sharp and gravelly, pulling you out of your fragile reprieve. Your eyelids flutter open, squinting against the golden light of the dying sun as it bounces off the river’s surface.

You’re floating on your back, bobbing gently in the cool, weightless embrace of the water. For a few blissful moments, the world had felt still. The ache in your side had dulled, the constant churn of worry in your mind had quieted, and for just a little while, you’d found a truce with the chaos of your life.

But Joel’s presence shatters that peace.

He stands at the river’s edge, rifle slung over his shoulder, his face shadowed in the fading light but unmistakably irritated. His shoulders are tense, his stance rigid, and his eyes, dark and piercing, are locked on you.

You scramble upright, your feet slipping on the uneven, stony riverbed. The sudden movement sends a sharp pang through your side, but you grit your teeth and push through it, water dripping down your skin as you try to compose yourself.

You’re in only your bra and underwear, something Joel’s seen plenty of times before when circumstances demanded it. But now, with the weight of his gaze and the tension crackling between you, you feel uncomfortably exposed. Your arms instinctively cross over your chest, though the water obscures most of your body.

“I was just…” you start, your voice faltering under the intensity of his stare.

“Just what?” he cuts in, his tone clipped. “Floatin’ around, makin’ yourself an easy target?”

The accusation stings, sharp and unexpected. “I wasn’t making myself a target,” you snap, defensiveness flaring.

“No?” He gestures toward the surrounding woods with a sweep of his hand. “’Cause last I checked, the world don’t stop bein’ dangerous just ’cause you’re takin’ a goddamn swim.”

You bristle at his tone, your arms dropping to your sides as irritation rises to meet his. “I wasn’t wandering off or doing anything reckless, Joel. I was right here. You’re acting like I—”

“Like what?” he interrupts, stepping closer. “Like you don’t think? Like you don’t remember what happened last time you went off to the river alone?”

The words hit their mark, dredging up memories you’ve spent the last hour trying to suppress.

You awkwardly trudge out of the water, keeping your eyes down and away from Joel.

“That’s not fair,” you say quietly as you fish your folded clothes from the riverbank, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. You pull them on quickly, your still wet skin making it uncomfortable and difficult.

“Fair?” He scoffs, his voice rising slightly. “This ain’t about fair. S’about stayin’ alive.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the murmur of the river filling the silence. Joel’s jaw works like he’s trying to rein himself in, but his frustration simmers just beneath the surface.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he finally says, his voice lower now but no less cutting. “If somethin’ happened to you—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face, the movement almost weary. “Just… get your ass back to the cabin.”

You nod stiffly, biting back the retort that’s clawing its way up your throat. You trudge past him, water streaming from your clothes and hair, your chest tight with a mix of shame and anger.

When you reach the cabin, you find the deer he hauled back lying in the clearing outside, its lifeless eyes fixed on the sky. Joel follows shortly after, his boots heavy against the wooden steps as he steps onto the porch.

“What’s with the deer?” you ask, your tone sharper than you intended. This is way too much meat for the two of you to preserve for the road, and Joel’s never been the wasteful type.

He doesn’t look at you as he sets his rifle aside and kneels beside the animal, pulling a knife from his belt. “We’re stayin’ put for a while,” he says simply.

You blink, confused. “What?”

“You’re hurt,” he says, his voice matter-of-fact as he begins dressing the deer. “We ain’t goin’ anywhere ’til you’re healed enough to keep movin’.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you say, stepping closer. “We can’t stay here. What are we supposed to do with all this meat? We can’t preserve it. It’s going to spoil—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he cuts in, his tone final. “We’re stayin’.”

His refusal to even entertain your argument ignites a spark of anger in you. “You can’t just decide that without talking to me,” you snap. “I’m not some… some child you can order around.”

Joel looks up at you then, his expression unreadable. “You wanna keep pushin’ yourself? Get us both killed? Fine. But I ain’t movin’ from this spot until you’re good enough to handle the road.”

The words land heavy, each one driving home the gulf that’s grown between you. You want to believe his stubbornness is born out of concern, that his anger is just a mask for something deeper, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like disappointment. Like you’ve let him down again.

“Fine,” you say finally, your voice hollow. “Do whatever you want, Joel.”

You turn and head inside, the door creaking shut behind you as you leave him on the porch, alone with the deer and the quiet tension that now fills the air between you.

…

The cabin is quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire Joel built just before sunset. Shadows from the flames dance along the wooden walls, casting the room in a warm but flickering glow. You sit on the floor by the fire, knees drawn to your chest, staring into the embers as they pulse and fade. Your side aches in dull, persistent waves, but you ignore it. Pain has become a constant companion, like the gnawing hunger or the chill that creeps in when the fire dies down.

Joel is at the table, his back to you, meticulously sharpening his knife. The rhythmic scrape of metal against stone grates on your nerves, though you’d never admit it aloud. You can feel his presence like a weight in the room, heavy and unyielding. He hasn’t said much since he came back from dressing the deer, and you haven’t tried to start a conversation. The distance between you feels insurmountable tonight, a chasm neither of you seems willing, or able, to cross.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he works, his movements precise and methodical. He’s always like this, all focus and discipline, as if distraction might kill him. Maybe it will. He pauses for a moment, tilting the blade toward the light to inspect his work. His eyes catch yours for a split second, and you look away, heat creeping up your neck.

An hour later the cabin is filled with the warm scent of cooked meat.

“Food’s ready,” he says finally, his voice gruff but quiet.

You glance toward the counter where a modest meal of roasted venison sits, steam rising from the plates. Your stomach twists, both from hunger and something else you can’t name. You push yourself up, careful not to strain your stitches, and join him at the table.

Joel slides a plate toward you without meeting your eyes. You mumble a thanks and pick up the fork, the first bite dissolving on your tongue with a flavor you haven’t tasted in weeks. It should feel like a luxury, but it doesn’t.

The silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable. You want to say something, anything, but the words won’t come. What is there to say, anyway? You’re here because you need to heal, and Joel’s here because… Well, you don’t know why. Because he feels obligated? Because he pities you? The thought makes your chest tighten, and you shove another bite of venison into your mouth to distract yourself.

“You’re gonna need more protein if you wanna heal up properly,” Joel says after a while, his tone flat but not unkind.

You glance at him, startled that he’s spoken at all. “I’m eating, aren’t I?” you reply, sharper than you intended.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, his brow furrowing like he’s weighing whether to press the issue. He doesn’t. Instead, he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You scared me today,” he says abruptly.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“At the river,” he clarifies, his gaze dropping to the table. “Could’ve hurt yourself. Could’ve drowned.”

You bristle, the defensive wall coming up before you can stop it. “I’m not a kid, Joel. I can handle myself.”

His eyes snap back to yours, hard and unyielding. “That what you call it? Floatin’ around like you didn’t have a care in the world? We’re in the middle of goddamn nowhere, and you think it’s a good idea to let your guard down?”

Your jaw tightens, heat flooding your face. “I wasn’t letting my guard down,” you bite out. “I just needed—” You cut yourself off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Needed what? A moment of peace? A break from the constant weight of survival? A moment where you didn’t feel like an enormous burden on him? 

He wouldn’t understand.

Joel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter what you needed. It’s not safe out there, and you know it.”

There’s something in his voice that gives you pause, not anger, exactly, but something close to it. Frustration, maybe. Worry. You want to believe it’s the latter, but your mind twists it into something darker, something uglier.

“Right,” you say bitterly, pushing your plate away. “I forgot. I’m just another thing for you to worry about, aren’t I? Another burden.”

Joel’s face hardens, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, guilt, maybe, or regret. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it isn’t,” you snap, pushing back your chair and standing, the ache in your side flaring as you do. You don’t care. The urge to put distance between you and him is stronger than the pain. “Thanks for dinner,” you mutter, already walking toward your bedroll by the fire.

Joel doesn’t stop you. He just sits there, watching as you settle onto the floor and turn your back to him. The weight of his gaze is almost unbearable, but you refuse to acknowledge it.

The fire crackles softly, the only sound in the otherwise silent cabin. You stare into the flames, your chest tight and your mind racing. You want to believe that Joel cares, that his harsh words are his way of protecting you, but it’s hard to see it that way when all you can hear is the echo of your own insecurities.

A burden. A liability. A monster.

You close your eyes, willing sleep to take you, but it doesn’t come. Behind you, Joel shifts in his chair, the sound of his boots on the wooden floor breaking the silence. You hear him sigh, low and weary, before the chair creaks as he stands.

The sound of his footsteps fades as he moves toward the door, and then it’s just you and the fire and the distance between you and him that feels larger than ever.

…

The smell hits you first, cloying and putrid, like rotting meat left too long in the sun. It invades your senses, choking you, making it impossible to breathe. Then, a weight against you. Heavy, suffocating, pinning you to the ground.

You don’t know where you are. Somewhere cold and damp, the ground beneath you slick with mud. Your arms are trapped at your sides, your legs kicking uselessly against the crushing force above you.

The creature is on top of you. Its guttural snarls fill the air, hot breath washing over your face. You catch flashes of jagged teeth, glistening with saliva. Its hands, its claws, dig into your shoulders, sharp and unrelenting. Pain radiates through your body, but it’s nothing compared to the icy dread in your chest.

You try to scream, but no sound comes. Your throat burns with the effort, but the silence mocks you, amplifying the creature’s growls and the sickening sound of its teeth snapping inches from your face.

You thrash, your fists pounding against its torso, your legs kicking wildly, but it’s like punching stone. The creature doesn’t budge. Its strength is inhuman, its weight unbearable.

A sharp, searing pain erupts in your side, and you know—it’s over. You’re going to die here. The cold dread settles deep in your gut, heavier than the creature itself. This is it. This is the end.

And then, a voice.

“Get off her!”

Joel.

His voice cuts through the chaos like a blade, sharp and commanding. Hope ignites in your chest, fragile and desperate. You twist your head, straining to see him, and there he is. Joel, standing just a few feet away, rifle raised and steady.

“Joel!” you cry, but your voice still doesn’t come. Your lips move, but the words are swallowed by the oppressive silence.

Joel doesn’t hear you. He doesn’t need to. He steps closer, his jaw set, his eyes locked on the creature.

The weight on your chest shifts as the creature rears back, turning its attention to Joel. Relief floods through you, your lungs filling with air for the first time in what feels like forever. He’s here. He’ll save you. He always does.

But then you see it.

The creature’s face.

Your face.

It stares back at you with hollow, lifeless eyes, its features twisted into something grotesque and unrecognizable. Its mouth stretches into a snarl, blood staining its lips. Your lips.

“No,” you whisper, the sound finally breaking free. “No, no, no…”

But it’s too late.

The creature lunges at Joel, faster than you thought possible. He fires a shot, but it goes wide. The rifle falls from his hands as the creature slams into him, knocking him to the ground.

“Joel!”

You try to move, try to scream, try to do something, anything, but your body is frozen, paralyzed by fear and horror. You watch, helpless, as the creature—you—tears into him.

His screams echo in your ears, raw and agonized. Blood sprays across the ground, pooling beneath him, soaking into the dirt. You want to look away, but you can’t.

It doesn’t stop. The creature doesn’t stop. You don’t stop.

And then, silence.

Joel lies still, his lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. The creature, your monstrous reflection. turns back to you, blood dripping from its mouth. It smiles, a twisted, mocking grin that makes your stomach churn.

“You did this,” it says, its voice your own.

The weight returns, crushing you, suffocating you. You close your eyes, tears streaming down your face, but the image is burned into your mind. Joel, broken and bloodied. The monster, wearing your face.

“You did this,” it repeats, the words echoing in your head as the darkness swallows you whole.

…

No! No, stop, stop it!

Your voice tears from your throat, raw and jagged, as you writhe against the suffocating force pinning you down. You thrash and kick, your limbs flailing against an enemy you can’t see, can’t fight. The darkness is everywhere, thick, heavy, alive, pressing against your chest like a vise. Your screams are hoarse, broken, a desperate attempt to claw your way back to something, anything.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Calm down.”

The voice cuts through the chaos like a lifeline. It’s soft, steady, familiar in a way that tugs at your frayed edges. It isn’t your voice, not the guttural growl of the monster.

“You’re okay. You gotta calm down.”

Joel.

The name lodges in your mind, a single point of clarity amidst the storm. His voice, low and warm, anchors you. It’s not commanding, not sharp like it has been. It’s patient, soothing. Like he’s speaking to a wounded animal, coaxing it away from the edge of its terror.

The darkness loosens its grip, receding inch by inch, until the oppressive weight begins to dissolve. It’s still there, a shadow lingering at the edges of your consciousness, but it no longer suffocates.

The weight pressing against you shifts, no longer a force of dread but something solid, grounding. Arms wrap around you, holding you firm but gentle. The realization dawns on you slowly. Joel is holding you. His hands rub slow, deliberate circles on your back, the friction warm against your shivering body.

Your breathing is a wrecked staccato, each inhale catching in your throat, each exhale trembling with the effort. The screams that had ripped from your throat moments ago fade into croaking sobs, quiet but broken.

“That’s it,” Joel murmurs, his breath warm against your hair. “Just breathe.”

You try. The air is thin and sharp, your chest heaving as you attempt to match the slow rhythm of his breathing. His grip tightens slightly as if to remind you he’s there, that he isn’t letting go.

Your limbs feel like water, drained of strength, the fight bled out of you. Slowly, hesitantly, you relax into him. Your forehead drops against his chest, and you feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, a quiet metronome against the chaos still echoing in your mind.

The moment feels fragile, like glass balanced on a ledge, and you don’t dare shatter it. The warmth of his body seeps into your chilled skin, grounding you further. You’re acutely aware of the wetness on your cheeks, the way your tears have soaked into his shirt, but you don’t pull away. Not yet.

“You’re okay,” Joel says again, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand moves from your back to your hair, his fingers combing through it in a motion so tender it brings fresh tears to your eyes.

You stay like that, cradled in his arms, the silence between you heavy but not uncomfortable. Your mind is too fragile to process anything beyond the immediate sensation of his presence, the way he steadies you without asking for anything in return.

You want to say something, anything, but the words won’t come. You can’t look at him, not yet. The vulnerability feels too raw, too exposed, and you’re not ready to face the look in his eyes, whatever it might be.

The moment lingers, stretching out like an unbroken thread. For now, you let him hold you, let him be the solid presence you so desperately need, even if you don’t feel like you deserve it.

Joel doesn’t let go, not even when your sobs quiet to faint hiccups, not even when the cabin settles into silence, save for the faint crackling of the embers in the fireplace. The warmth of his chest against your cheek is steady, anchoring, as you feel the weight of reality creeping back in.

You shift slightly, your body sore and stiff from the strain of the nightmare. The movement causes his hand to still in your hair. Slowly, as though giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted, he loosens his grip.

“You back with me?” he asks, voice low, barely above a murmur.

You nod, though you still can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “Yeah.” Your voice is a rasp, hoarse from screaming.

He lets out a long, heavy breath, like he’s been holding it this entire time. His hands fall to his sides, the absence of his tough leaving you cold and untethered.

“I didn’t mean to…” you start, but the words die on your tongue.

“To what?” Joel’s voice is calm, but there’s something underneath it, something guarded.

“To wake you. To… be like this.” You gesture vaguely to yourself, your chest tightening with shame. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop.” The word is firm, cutting through your shame like a blade.

Your eyes snap up to his, and the weight of his gaze pins you in place. His expression is unreadable, a mix of exhaustion, weariness, concern, and something else, something softer, something that tightens the knot in your gut.

“I was getting attacked,” you say, the words slipping out in a barely audible whisper. “And then it—it hurt you, too.”

Joel stiffens slightly, the tension in his frame palpable, but he doesn’t pull away.

“And it…” You stop yourself, the words dying on your tongue. What are you going to say? That you stood there, frozen, as a creature wearing your face tore into him? That it felt more real than the moment you share with him now? 

He doesn’t need another reason not to trust you, not right now.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, his tone quieter now.

The sincerity in his words makes your throat tighten. You want to believe him, want to let those words sink into the cracks and empty spaces inside you, but the voice in your mind, the one that whispered to you in the dream, won’t let you.

“Joel…” you say, his name slipping from your lips like a plea, though you don’t know what you’re asking for.

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you can spiral further. His gaze falters, and he rubs a hand over his face, like he’s trying to scrub away the weight of his own exhaustion. When he looks back at you, his eyes are heavy with something raw and unspoken.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he admits, the words gruff but quiet.

The admission hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “It was just a dream,” you say finally, though the words feel hollow even as you speak them.

Joel shakes his head again, his jaw tightening. “Sure as hell didn’t sound like just a dream.” His voice dips lower, quieter. “Sounded like…” He trails off, his fingers curling into fists on his knees. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, the lie automatic and instinctual.

Joel’s eyes narrow slightly, the weight of his gaze heavy with doubt. For a moment, you think he’s going to call you on it. But then he leans back, putting just enough distance between you to make the air colder.

“You’re not fine,” he says simply, matter-of-fact. “You don’t gotta be fine all the time.”

The words hit you hard, a lump forming in your throat. You want to tell him that you can’t afford to not be fine, that any weakness could be the difference between survival and death. But you don’t.

Instead, you swallow the lump in your throat and look away, your gaze falling to the flickering embers in the fireplace. “I’m not used to this,” you admit quietly.

Joel doesn’t answer right away, and the silence stretches out long enough that you begin to think he won’t respond at all. But then his voice comes, softer than before. “Used to what?”

“To… someone being there,” you say, the words feeling foreign and awkward, like they don’t quite belong to you.

His gaze lingers on you, and though you can’t bring yourself to meet it, you feel the weight of it, heavy and unwavering. Finally, he nods, like he understands, though he doesn’t say anything more.

“Get some rest,” he says after a moment, his tone gruff but not unkind. “You need it if you’re gonna heal.”

He rises to his feet, and for a fleeting second, you’re tempted to reach out, to ask him to stay. But the words catch in your throat, and you let him go, watching as he moves to the front door of the cabin and settles down on his bedroll.

The silence that follows is thick, but bearable. You lie back down, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, the ghost of Joel’s touch still lingering on your skin. The nightmare clings to the edges of your mind like a shadow, but the memory of his voice, steady and grounding, drowns it out.

You close your eyes and pray, to whoever might be listening, that when sleep comes, it will be kinder this time.

… 

You wake before Joel does, this time from a blessedly dreamless sleep. The room is quiet, save for the faint rustle of wind through the cracks in the cabin walls and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

He’s still where he was last night, propped up against the door, his rifle balanced across his lap, a silent sentinel even in rest. Your protector. Your watchman. The one who bears the weight of both your lives without complaint.

Well, mostly without complaint.

The pale light of early morning softens the hard edges of his face, painting him in cool hues. His brow, so often furrowed in worry or concentration, is smooth now, the tension melted away. His lips, perpetually set in a grim line, part slightly with each quiet breath. He looks younger like this. Peaceful, even. Human.

It strikes you how rare it is to see him like this. The apocalypse doesn’t leave much room for softness or vulnerability, and Joel wears his armor well. But now, in this fleeting moment, you can see the man beneath the layers of grit and survival.

You realize it’s the first time you’ve had a chance to really look at him since everything happened—since the attack, the bloody fight for your life that left you battered in more ways than one. Since your humanity was tainted and your relationship with Joel was irrevocably changed.

Since you told him.

The memory crawls to the surface unbidden, sharp and vivid, a wound that refuses to scab over. You were convinced you were about to die, that your life was seconds away from being snuffed out like the weak, flickering flame of a candle in a storm. And in those desperate, final moments, the walls you’d so carefully built around yourself came crashing down. You told him the truth.

That you loved him.

Even now, you don’t regret it. Not entirely. If death had come for you that night, at least you’d have gone without the weight of those unsaid words pressing against your chest. It had been a release, a final gasp of truth before the void swallowed you whole.

You can’t blame him for how he reacted, either. You hadn’t expected him to say it back—not then, not like that. Joel Miller wasn’t the kind of man to throw words like love around carelessly, and you wouldn’t have wanted him to. A lie, even one meant to comfort you in your last moments, would have been far crueler than his silence.

No, the regret you carry isn’t in what you said, but in the timing. You wish you’d told him sooner, before everything fell apart, before you became this hollow, fractured version of yourself. Would it have made a difference? If you’d reached out that night he lay beside you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his body, would he have taken your hand? Would he have pulled you closer instead of pulling away? Could you have built something out of the wreckage of both your lives?

The thought twists something deep in your chest, a sharp ache that feels dangerously close to hope, a feeling you’ve tried to kill in yourself a hundred times over.

And yet, another thought creeps in, darker and more insidious. Wouldn’t it have been easier for both of you if you’d just died that night?

Joel could have moved on, unburdened by the weight of you. You would have been just another ghost in his long history of losses, another name in a growing list of people he couldn’t save. He would have mourned, maybe—probably—but he’s used to mourning. It’s a rhythm he knows well.

And you… You would have been free. Free from this endless fight for survival, free from the gnawing guilt that eats away at you with every passing day. Free from the crushing weight of being both a danger and a burden to the only person who’s stuck by you.

Maybe there’s an afterlife. You’re not sure if you believe in heaven or any kind of promised land where the dead reunite in peace, but even the void of nothingness seems preferable to this. To waking up every day with the knowledge that your continued existence is a liability, a condemnation for some mortal sin you can’t remember committing.

But you didn’t die.

For some reason, some cruel, inexplicable twist of fate, you lived. Others might call it a miracle, a second chance. But in the harsh light of day, you can see it for what it really is.

A punishment.

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, your gaze lingering on Joel’s sleeping face. He stirs slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows, and you wonder what he’s dreaming about. You hope it’s something good, something far away from this place and this life.

Because you know the truth.

You’re no miracle. You’re a curse.

Taglist:

@eviispunk

@javierpenaispunk

[smystermy]

𝐟𝐢𝐤𝐚

tags: geto suguru x you; canon-compliant (but it isn't important to this fic); set some time after his defection; you both co-parent nanako-mimiko; established relationship; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; birthday fic for our dearest (a bit insane) cult leader <33.

warnings: she/her pronouns have been used for the reader.

word count: 2346.

oneshot, loosely related to 'peel your heart like a pomegranate'.

A soft press of lips against his cheek stirs Geto from the edges of sleep.

It’s fleeting, barely there—like the whisper of a breeze brushing past, warm and gentle, coaxing him from the weightless quiet of slumber. He registers the sensation distantly, somewhere in the hazy space between dreaming and waking, but before he can fully grasp it, it’s gone. Then another follows, just as delicate, lingering for a heartbeat longer before retreating. And another. Slow and purposeful, mapping a path along his skin as if tracing an unspoken sentiment with every touch.

His brow, the contour of his temple, the sharp line of his jaw—each kissed with the same quiet reverence, the warmth of your lips seeping through the drowsiness that still clings to him. A featherlight press at the tip of his nose makes his breath hitch ever so slightly, and then one lands at the corner of his lips, teasing, as if daring him to chase after it.

A soft giggle breaks the quiet then, light and soft, followed by the gentle rustle of fabric as you shift beside him. The sound tugs at something in his chest—something easy and familiar, something that makes him want to keep his eyes closed just a little longer, to savor the warmth seeping into his skin. But then your voice reaches him, teasing and fond.

“Are you asleep?”

It’s a question wrapped in amusement, like you already know the answer. And maybe you do. He lets his lashes flutter, caught in the pleasant limbo between waking and dreaming, before murmuring a low, drowsy, “Maybe.”

Your breath fans against his skin, and he can feel the shape of your smile even before you speak again. “Liar.”

The quiet accusation holds no bite, only gentle affection, and a small, amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips. But he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even try.

Instead, he allows the moment to stretch, lets the warmth of you settle around him like something familiar, something grounding. Then, slowly, he lets his eyes drift open, and the golden morning light seeps into his vision, casting everything in a soft, diffused glow.

He watches the sunlight filter through the sheer curtains—painting lazy patterns across the sheets, illuminating the quiet world you share—before his gaze falls on you.

You’re close—so close that everything about you comes into focus all at once. The curve of your smile, the way your hair falls in gentle disarray over your shoulders, the warmth in your gaze as you look at him, like he’s something worth waking up for. In this light, with the morning weaving its gentle touch through the room, you almost seem unreal, like something conjured from the depths of a dream. And yet, you’re here. With him.

His chest tightens—just a little, enough to make his heart flutter with something warm and enlivening.

“Happy birthday, Senpai.”

Your words—tender and sweet, laced with something fond—draw him away from his quiet admiration of you, gently pulling him back into the moment. But at the mention of "Senpai," the warmth in his chest cools, just slightly.

He exhales, unimpressed.

“I don’t like it when you call me that.” His voice is rough with sleep, deep and slightly hoarse, but the disapproval is clear beneath the drowsiness.

Your lips quirk, amusement flickering across your face. “Oh?”

“We’re much more than a mere Senpai and Kouhai.”

You tilt your head, eyes gleaming with feigned innocence, before your fingers begin tracing idle shapes against his collarbone. The touch is light, almost absentminded, but it makes his skin prickle with awareness.

“Ah, but I cannot possibly address you any other way.”

His eyes narrow, a slow, deliberate frown forming between his brows. He isn’t truly annoyed—just stubborn, just determined to have things his way.

But before he can say anything, a giggle bubbles past your lips, and the tension in his expression eases away a touch. You relent, leaning in just a little closer, close enough that he can see the mischief playing in your gaze. “Happy birthday, Geto-kun.”

Better.

But not quite enough.

He exhales again, the frown softening but not disappearing entirely. “That’s still not the name I wanted you to call me,” he mutters, voice quieter now, almost grumbling. “But I suppose it’ll do.”

Your smile remains unfazed, undeterred. If anything, it only grows more playful, as if you knew exactly what he was hoping to hear and were simply choosing to tease him instead.

You don’t say another word, though. You simply shift closer, your body pressing into his. The warmth between you deepens, wrapping around you both like something tangible, steady—your body molding against his as though you’ve always belonged here, curled into him like this, your presence slipping into the spaces between his breaths. He lets his hand settle against your back, fingers tracing slow, idle patterns against the fabric of your clothes, his eyelids growing heavy as he melts into the quiet solace of you.

For a while, the world outside remains distant.

Then, after a lingering pause, you break the silence. “How do you feel?”

His brow lifts slightly, but he doesn’t open his eyes. The question catches him off guard, though it’s light and teasing, and he’s not sure whether to take it seriously or not.

“What do you mean?” he asks, voice thick with sleep.

“Now that you’re a bit older.”

Geto hums, a low, thoughtful sound, as if giving the question serious thought. But the answer doesn’t come easily, the truth of it evasive. “I don’t know,” he admits finally, and the weight of the response feels heavier than it should.

You shift against him, propping yourself up just enough to study his face. He can feel your gaze lingering on him, warm and intent, but he keeps his eyes closed, pretending not to notice. There’s something comforting in the way you observe him, like there’s no rush for him to answer, no need for him to change, even as you watch him. Then—

“Really?” Your voice dips into something almost serious—though he knows better. “You don’t feel anything? None of the effects of old age?”

His eyes snap open, the corners of his lips twitching in disbelief. The question stirs something inside him—something between surprise and amusement.

“Hey,” he says, voice dry, “be careful who you’re calling old.”

Your laughter spills into the room, bright and unrestrained, like a song he didn’t know he wanted to hear. He feels it against his skin, feels the way your body shakes slightly with amusement. And despite himself, he can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips.

His annoyance is half-hearted at best, impossible to hold onto when you're so close, when your laughter feels like a breath of fresh air against the quiet of the morning.

You shake your head, your eyes still twinkling with amusement, as you smooth a hand over his jaw. Your fingers brush against the faint roughness of stubble, the delicate touch sending a warm shiver down his spine.

“No, but really,” you say, your voice softening, deliberate and tender. “Getting older suits you.”

Geto’s brows raise, intrigued by the sudden shift in your tone. “Oh?”

You nod, your expression softening into something affectionate, and it catches him off guard in the best way. “You seem wiser. And handsomer.”

A slow grin unfurls across his face, pleased, amused, smug. He can’t help it—he’s always been a little vain when it comes to you, but hearing you say it with such sincerity makes his chest swell just a bit. “Oh?” he repeats, dragging out the sound, a playful challenge as he tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just enough to catch the glint of your smile. “You think me to be handsome?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in the gesture—just affection, as you pull back slightly. “You’re impossible, Senpai—”

“And,” he cuts in smoothly, catching your wrist before you can retreat too far, his grip gentle but firm, “you’re cute.”

Your mouth opens—likely to argue, but before you can get a word out, he tugs you forward, pulling you back into the warmth of his embrace. And with no more words, his lips are on yours.

The kiss starts slow. Soft.

A gentle press of lips that carries the tenderness of the morning with it. It’s quiet at first, the connection subtle, but he lingers, savoring the moment, as if he could hold onto it forever. He can feel your breath against him, warm and steady, like a soft reassurance between you, and it draws him deeper into the moment.

He considers lingering even longer, not rushing, not wanting to break the spell, until he feels you sigh softly against him, melting into the kiss like you belong nowhere else but here, in this space, with him. And then, there’s the smallest sound—a breathy noise caught between contentment and desire—that makes his chest tighten, his pulse quicken.

That’s when everything shifts.

His fingers weave into your hair, gentle but insistent, his other hand finding the curve of your back and pulling you flush against him. The heat between you grows, the kiss growing bolder, more insistent, like the world outside doesn’t matter, like nothing matters except the press of your lips, the sound of your breath, the feeling of you so close.

You move against him, a subtle shift of your hips, pulling him closer as the kiss turns deeper, more desperate, as if neither of you can get enough—and for a moment, it’s just the two of you.

The world beyond this room ceases to exist—there is no past, no future, only this moment, only the way you fit together so perfectly, so effortlessly.

And then—

A knock on the door.

It’s barely more than a whisper, but it cuts through the haze of desire, its delicate tap pulling you both out of the moment. The sound is gentle yet sharp enough to pierce the stillness—a subtle reminder that the world beyond still exists.

You both freeze.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves, the space between you thick with shared breaths. The air feels suspended, fragile, as if it might shatter if you so much as blink. But then, the knock comes again, a little louder this time, pulling you both reluctantly back to reality.

“Papa? Mama?”

Nanako’s eager call is quickly followed by Mimiko’s softer but just as excited, “Papa? Mama?”

Geto exhales, long and slow, his lips pulling away from yours with a touch of reluctance before he drops his head back against the pillow, letting out a dramatic sigh. The exhale is exaggerated, though—the warmth tugging at the corner of his lips betraying him with ease. Really, how could he ever be truly exasperated with his little darlings? They’re too precious, too full of life and love to be upset with for long.

You, on the other hand, are already laughing, your giggles muffled against his shoulder before you shift off him, rolling back to your side of the bed. There’s a playful glint in your eyes as you smooth a hand over his chest, voice light with amusement. “We’ll continue this later.”

Geto shifts into a sitting position, giving you a look—the kind that says, oh, we certainly will—but before he can say anything, you’re already calling out, “Come in!”

The door swings open immediately—so fast that it’s obvious the twins had been waiting for permission.

And then, in a flurry of tiny feet and giggles, two pajama-clad figures come bounding into the room, their small bodies bouncing with energy, their faces glowing with pure joy.

Nanako and Mimiko’s little feet thump-thump-thump against the floor before they launch themselves onto the bed with delighted squeals, their oversized pajama sleeves flapping with the force of their movement. They don’t hesitate for a second before flinging themselves right into Geto’s arms, their laughter bright and infectious.

“Happy birthday, Papa!”

Their voices chime together, bright and full of excitement, as their tiny arms wrap around his chest in a tight, clumsy hug. They press their faces into his chest, squirming with happiness as if the simple act of being with him is enough to make their whole world feel right.

Geto grunts under the sudden weight but quickly bursts into laughter, his heart swelling with affection as he wraps his arms around both of them with ease. “Thanks for the birthday wishes, you two,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to the top of their heads. Then, with a dramatically tired sigh, he adds, “But already up this early, huh? Guess your mom and I are on duty now—no rest for us today.”

The twins giggle softly, their tiny hands clutching his shirt as they wriggle even closer, their faces nestling into his chest, yawning sleepily despite their excitement. As he watches them, he can’t help but be reminded of how much they’ve grown since he first found them, yet they’re still so small, so delicate in his embrace—so incredibly precious.

And then, as if drawn by something gentle and unspoken, his gaze drifts upward—and there you are.

You’re watching the three of them with a soft, loving smile, your eyes crinkled with quiet affection. There’s something so tender in your expression, something so full of warmth that it makes his chest feel impossibly full, like it might burst. The golden morning light catches in your hair, softening the edges of everything, and for a moment, he just looks at you. He’s completely taken—so caught up in the way you look at him, at your little family, that he forgets to breathe for just a second.

And in that quiet second, something shifts in him—something deep and vulnerable. The way you’re looking at him—at him and your daughters—makes his heart tighten with an ache that’s both sweet and overwhelming, a feeling so pure he can’t quite name it. But he knows, deep down, that it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

And with a small smile, Geto thinks to himself, Yeah...

This is what a happy birthday feels like.

general masterlist || geto suguru masterlist

[blueblossomrose]

This post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, fem!afab!mc, fluffy, too much fluffy, twst boys with teenage children. And questionable humor, of course. My trademark.

Notes: So, my country is in summer and here in Brazil summer is naturally hot since it's ahem, tropical country, but this year summer has been ABSOLUTE HELL abnormally hot so I need something to keep from going crazy. Preferably air conditioning on 24 hours, but since I don't have that option, I'm going to turn my frustration into fluffy.

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

Summer Season

The Queendom of Roses had never faced such an intense heat wave. Soon its residents were euphoric, especially certain not-so-eccentric families.

It was frankly absurd. People were already waking up exhausted, walking through the streets like zombies, the heat coming directly from the sun almost like it's melting their brains.

Everything was so hot that it was torture to be outside during the middle of the day.

It got to the point that the air conditioning in Riddle's office simply broke down. He spent the whole day attending to restless children and stressed mothers, amidst sweaty papers and a weak fan that only threw hot air from one side to the other. When he finally got home, sweaty and breathing heavily, his patience was already exhausted.

In this situation, it was absolutely unthinkable to stay home listening to his children complaining about the heat all day. [Name]'s suggestion, said with a carefree smile while fanning her face with a magazine, was that they go to the beach.

Riddle, of course, initially refused. The thought of sand sticking to his skin and the sun that would burn until his whole body was red made him even more exhausted.

But after the insistence of the two of them —his wife and daughter — he had to sigh and give in.

Now, there he was, sitting under a red-and-white striped umbrella, a wide-brimmed hat protecting his fair skin. His blue-gray eyes narrowed as he watched Violete, who was trying to sneak away to the water.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Riddle asked, his voice firm but not exactly stern.

“Uhhh… swimming?” the girl replied, as if it were obvious.

“I told you about that. Not without putting on sunscreen,” Riddle said flatly, pointing to the bottle in the bag next to him. The girl rolled her eyes and grumbled, but eventually reluctantly went back to her mother to apply sunscreen.

Meanwhile, Alex was sitting quietly under the umbrella next to [Name]. He shared the chair with his mother, who laughed softly at Violete's complaints. Alex seemed oblivious to everything, completely immersed in a game on his old blue Gameboy.

Riddle, from time to time, gave his son critical looks. It's not like he hated Alex's appreciation for video games, but God, did he have to have his face buried in that all day?

Alex had been like this since he was 9, when he got his Gameboy, gift from his mother. Now, at 14, he kept the same device, only changing the case from time to time, as if it were a way to personalize his digital adventure companion.

Violete, at sixteen, It was both what you expected and what you didn't expect from a teenager. Energetic and full of life, with a sarcastic and rebellious streak, her excitement was almost contagious. She had her own hobbies which involved video games with her brother as much as books and cricket. She had already jumped into the water as soon as the sunscreen ritual was over.

The short red strands, which she often curled, were now back to their natural state, flowing straight as they got wet. She was swimming happily, challenging small waves, when she noticed a group of people not far away. Two instructors were helping some tourists climb onto a large board, probably part of those leisure programs offered at the beach – canoeing, stand-up paddleboarding, something like that.

Violete swam closer and watched for a moment, until an idea popped into her head. Turning back to the sand, she raised her voice and called: “Dad!”

Riddle, who was finally starting to relax in his chair, looked up suspiciously. “What now?”

“Let’s get on the board together! It’ll be fun!” she shouted.

“Violete, I’m not getting on that board with you,” he replied immediately, with a seriousness that made Alex let out a small muffled laugh on the other side. [Name], next to him, just raised her eyebrows with a look of “let’s see how long you can resist.”

However, Violete was persistent, and his daughter’s insistent expression – the one she clearly inherited from her mother – eventually won out. A few minutes later, Riddle was in the water, visibly uncomfortable as he was guided to the board by a patient instructor and an overly excited daughter.

"This is a bad idea, Violete," he muttered, already feeling regret setting in as he put on a life jacket. "I'm a doctor, I know exactly how many ways this can go wrong."

"Dad, you need to relax!" Violete replied, smiling as she helped him onto the board, where she was already balanced with impressive ease. "It's going to be fun, trust me!"

But before Riddle could argue, the board swayed dangerously, and he grabbed onto his daughter with a suddenness she hadn't expected. "Violette!" he exclaimed, desperately trying to steady himself.

"Dad, you're pulling me under!" she protested, as she tried to steady them both. Riddle, for his part, was focused on not falling into the water, which seemed increasingly inevitable.

He looked back, seeing [Name] on the sand, waving at them with an amused smile. Alex didn't even look – the sound of the Gameboy buttons continued, indifferent to the family chaos that was happening in the sea.

The minutes when Violette guided the board towards the waves were the moments when Riddle despaired the most, although they managed to at least catch a good wave, even though they were completely unbalanced.

Finally, after a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, the inevitable happened. The board rocked to one side, then the other, and they both fell into the water with a big splash.

When he emerged, wet and irritated, but also, to his surprise, smiling, Riddle heard Violete's crystal-clear laugh.

"See, Dad? It was fun, wasn't it?!" her hands hit the water splashing more water on him.

"Ugh, stop!" even while complaining, Riddle was smiling, sometimes returning the splashes of water on his daughter.

"Huh? Where are dad and Vi?" Alex questioned as he lifted his head, [Name] laughed and pointed, just long enough for Alex to see his dad and sister catch a wave together before falling into the water again. Riddle was almost as desperate as you could imagine while Violete was in front on the board with the biggest smile in the world. A frankly hilarious frame.

The blazing midday sun seemed even more intense that unusual summer in the Queendom of Roses. The oppressive heat made even going out for simple activities like shopping at the Clover bakery a challenge. Still, the frozen treats that Trey made had become a sensation. Artisanal ice cream, fresh fruit pies, and refreshing drinks were flying off the shelves.

One afternoon, sitting at the small oak table in the back of the bakery, Trey rubbed his sweaty forehead as he watched his children play. Tim and Thomas were more interested in hanging out by the fan, while Rose ran around with seemingly inexhaustible energy despite the heat. He glanced over at [Name], who was waving a makeshift paper fan and mumbling something about how hot it's outside. It was then that an idea struck him.

How about take a trip to the falls?

A cool, peaceful place, and the perfect local to cool off.

Rose, being the youngest, immediately jumped up and down with excitement, Tim and Thomas, on the other hand, teenagers already at an age where they'd rather stay home with their phones or their own hobbies, didn't seem so excited. But family trip is mandatory, after all. It was an agreement they made with their parents.

Trey and [Name] arrived at the trailhead with their children, each carrying light backpacks filled with towels, snacks, and bottles of water. Rose bounced excitedly ahead, her small backpack bouncing as she droned on and on about how the waterfalls would be.

Tim, the oldest, trailed slowly, already sweating in the heat, his expression clearly reflecting his displeasure with the hike. “Why couldn’t we just buy ice cream and stay home with the fan on?” he muttered, earning an amused look from Trey.

Thomas, on the other hand, was somewhere in between, half-interested in the hike but clearly dead tired. He walked with his hands in his pockets, backpack and bag on the shoulder.

After a while, the trail opened up to reveal the waterfall. The view was spectacular: crystal clear water cascaded down, creating a refreshing mist that immediately took the edge off the heat. The surrounding vegetation was dense, with bright green leaves and colorful wildflowers that looked even more vivid in the sun.

Rose ran towards the shore, stopping only when Trey called her, asking her to wait while he and [Name] found a good spot for the towel. Tim, sighing, threw himself into the shade of a large rock, lying down like a sack of potatoes. “Wake me up when we leave,” he muttered, eliciting a laugh from [Name].

Thomas, however, took advantage of the distraction. He grabbed a handful of cold water and silently approached Rose. “Hey, Rose, look up!” he shouted, pointing to the top of the waterfall. When his sister looked up, he splashed her with ice-cold water, making her squeal.

“Thomas!” she protested, but she was already splashing him back, starting a water fight that soon involved Trey trying to calm them both down so that they wouldn't fall and hurt themselves on the rocks.

Meanwhile, [Name] was standing next to Tim, offering him a bottle of cool water. "You know you're going to want to get in the water soon," she said.

Tim opened a lazy eye. "Only if someone carries me there."

After a while, Tim gave in to the heat and joined his brothers in the water. Trey and [Name] watched, relaxing on the towel on the floor. Thomas and Rose were now trying to build a "dam" with rocks and branches, while Tim stood nearby, pretending not to care but discreetly helping them find the right branches.

As the time has passed, Trey stood up, adjusting his glasses and getting everyone's attention. "Time for a snack!" he announced, grabbing a small cooler with fruit, sandwiches, and some homemade pastries from the bakery.

Rose was the first to run, still dripping watee, while Thomas and Tim followed her. Like three Gremlins, they sat down and ate despite shivering from the cold from the thermal shock of the ice-cold water on the hot climate.

The end of the afternoon was spent peacefully, with the family resting and enjoying the relaxing sound of the waterfall. When they finally started to pack up their things, Rose complained that she wanted to stay a little longer, but Trey promised that they could return soon, eliciting a smile from her. The walk back was less lively – tiredness had finally taken over the trio, mainly Rose who was the central animation. Trey, with a soft smile, carried her backpack along with his, while [Name] chuckled softly at the funny observations her tired daughter even so made about every detail of the trail.

The hot season brought with it an unexpected relief from Cater’s hectic schedule. The scorching sun made everyone crave a break, and for him, that meant finishing work early and finding something more exciting to do with his family. After all, there was nothing worse than a interview in the sweltering heat, with people feeling sweaty and uncomfortable.

With an excited smile, Cater dragged his wife [Name] and children, Astrid and Rory, to a nature reserve by the sea. The place was perfect for disconnecting from the world. It offered ample space to swim and even snorkel with some of the sea creatures, creating a relaxing atmosphere full of photo opportunities that he loved to capture.

Astrid quickly raised her hand, as if she had asked an important question. “Can I swim with the sharks?” she said with a sparkle in her eyes, her light orange hair lightly blowing in her face as she looked anxiously at her parents.

“Why on earth would you want to swim with sharks?” Rory replied.

[Name] couldn’t help but laugh, trying to lighten the situation. “I’m glad you want to go on an adventure, dear, but I think it would be better to start with something lighter, don’t you think?” she looked at Astrid with a calm smile.

Astrid grimaced, not completely convinced, crossing her arms and looking at her parents as if she were going to continue the argument. But before she could complain any further, a hand appeared underneath her, lifting her off the ground with ease. Cater placed her on his back, with Astrid laughing and squealing with excitement.

"Hey, hey! No arguing, let's just enjoy the moment, how about seeing the manta rays?" Cater suggested. "They like getting close to humans, and they're super harmless. It'll be really cool."

Astrid, with her face already lit up with a wide smile, put the grimace aside, agreeing with her father. She was excited about the idea, even more than with the sharks. Rory, still suspicious, looked at his sister and then at his parents, with a slight sigh. He couldn't deny that their enthusiasm was contagious.

And so the family began their walk to the water sports area, with the sound of waves crashing against the rocks and the summer heat enveloping them all. Cater was happy to be sharing this moment with his wife and children, finally having some time to relax and enjoy life outside the chaos of journalistic work. Over the years, he has learned to appreciate life off-screen more.

To escape the hell that was the city that day, Ace decided that the best solution would be to take his family to a nearby river. Nothing too elaborate, but at least there they could cool off without having to spend a fortune on cold drinks or abuse his magic with cooling spells, which were a luxury that he, as someone from the ministry's accounting department, was not willing to abuse.

For a while, everything went peacefully. [Name] took off her shoes and dipped her feet in the water, relaxing as she watched her children venture further ahead. Lilian had already tied her orange-red hair into a ponytail, while Jasper stood with his arms crossed, evaluating whether it was worth getting in the water or if it would be more fun to tease his sister. Ace, on the other hand, already had his feet submerged and was throwing some water up, enjoying the coolness.

It was then that, out of nowhere, the tranquility was broken.

“So, Dad,” Lilian began, crossing her arms and giving him an inquisitive look, “How many girlfriends did you have before Mom?”

Ace blinked in confusion as he finished stretching in the water. “What? Where did that question come from?”

"You had a girlfriend before mom. And you didn't think to tell us, huh?"

Ace glanced sideways at [Name], who just chuckled, clearly enjoying the situation.

“What have you been telling them?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Me? Nothing!” [Name] replied with an innocent smile. “But your brother loves to tell stories.”

Ace groaned softly. His brother... he should have known.

"Lili, I didn't even know your mother when I broke up with this girlfriend!" he tried to argue to see if his daughter would change the subject.

But Lilian quickly dodged him and kept her accusatory expression. "Even so!" she insisted, now going closer to her mother, as if seeking reinforcement. "Uncle said you were a jerk to mom in the beginning! And what about the other girl?! You were nice to her?!"

Ace ran his hand over his face in disbelief. He had faced powerful adverse situations, being a troublemaker at school… but nothing compared to the fury of a teenage daughter determined to seek justice for her mother.

"Is this an interrogation?" he asked, raising his hands in surrender.

"It depends on your answer," Lilian replied with a frown.

"Look, I wasn't the easiest guy to deal with back then," Ace admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "But I wasn't that bad either, okay?"

"What does that mean?!" Lilian insisted.

Ace sighed. "You know what? I'll ask your uncle what else he's been telling you. I mean, I should be enjoying the water, not defending my reputation from sixteen years ago!"

"Maybe if you hadn't been such a jerk, you wouldn't have to defend yourself now," Jasper scoffed.

"Are you two going to go swimming or keep tormenting me?"

Lilian and Jasper exchanged glances and, without warning, threw water at their father at the same time, this one who gasped offendedly.

"Sweetie, don't be so hard on your father," [Name] intervened, placing her hand gently on Lilian's hair, who was still pouting. "He wasn't perfect, but he learned a lot. And he certainly wasn't the only one who made mistakes." she chuckled, stroking her daughter's hair. "Although he really deserves some of the karma, I'd say."

"Oh, for the love of—!" Ace exclaimed, feigning indignation, while Jasper, on the other side, burst out laughing, clearly enjoying the situation. Ace an his wet hands over his face, as if that could alleviate the embarrassment. "This is absurd! Look here, I wasn't that horrible! What are you three trying to do to me, huh? A public lynching? Lili, I promise you, the only woman I've ever truly loved was your mother. No other woman has ever made me feel like she did, you little brat."

Lilian was still frowning. "Really?" she asked, a little suspicious.

"More than serious," he replied, with that carefree expression he always used when he tried to seem convincing. "And do you know what happens to those who don't believe in their dads?"

Before Lilian could react, Ace grabbed her by the waist, in a quick and agile movement, dragging her straight into the water.

She let out a high-pitched scream, taking everyone by surprise. "DAD!" she shouted, between laughter and protests, as she tried to free herself.

Water splashed around, and Lilian, now soaking wet, laughed loudly as she struggled to escape her father's embrace, but Ace, laughing along, held her tight. "Do you doubt me? Do you really think I don't love your mother?"

"I never said that!" Lilian replied, laughing and trying to balance herself. "But that doesn't justify throwing me in the water!"

Ace chuckled once more, releasing her and raising his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, little brat. Just don't question my love for you too."

The unbearable heat that had never been seen before in Queendom of Roses was demanding drastic measures from Deuce. He even thought about taking his family to a place like a beach or a river, but when he got home, he found an unexpected scene in the backyard.

The sound of children's laughter and water jets echoed in the hot air. His children and his wife were completely absorbed in the refreshing game with the garden hose. Matthew, in colorful shorts, held the hose tightly, laughing loudly as he shot jets of water in the direction of his mother and brother. Raphael, smaller and more agile, tried to escape by running clumsily, but was hit full on in the chest, making him let out a shrill laugh. [Name] was also soaked, her white blouse now stuck to her body due to the water, and strands of hair stuck to her face as she laughed, trying to shield herself behind her youngest son.

The scene are completely chaotic.

"Hey!" Deuce's voice broke the moment, firm and unexpected. His serious expression made Matthew's eyes widen and lowered the hose, "What are you doing getting your mother and brother wet like that, Matthew?" Deuce asked, crossing his arms.

"Sorry, Dad, we were just-" Matthew started to justify himself, but was interrupted by Deuce snatched the hose from his hands and held it tightly.

A mischievous glint crossed his determined gaze, the same look he used to have in their old delinquent phase. "It has to be this way!" He turned the hose directly on Matthew and Raphael, blasting them with a jet of water strong enough to make them scream and laugh at the same time.

Matthew tried to run away, but Deuce was spot on—he aimed right at the boy’s back, making him squirm in surprise. Raphael, laughing nervously, tried to hide behind his mother, but Deuce quickly changed his target, and soon a cold jet hit [Name] as well. “Deuce!” she shouted, laughing as she raised her arms in a futile attempt to defend herself. “It's not fair!”

“Of course it's fair,” he snapped, amused by the general confusion that ensued. The boys joined in, trying to grab the hose from their father, but Deuce was faster and dodged it easily.

[Name] took advantage of a moment of distraction to run to a forgotten bucket in the corner of the garden. Before Deuce knew it, she had filled it and poured the water straight over his head. The shock of the icy water made Deuce hold his breath for a moment.

"Ah, now you've done it," he murmured, a smile breaking across his face before he charged at them, picking [Nome] up, making her squeal as he picked up the hose from the floor. Raphael and Matthew ran to escape, but Deuce was too fast to them. Within seconds, they were all completely soaked, laughing as if the unbearable heat had been forgotten.

Eventually, the garden became a water war zone, if it wasn't already before.

[startheskelaton]

Hello, it me again. If it okay, can I make up for random character in Skybound Transformers I talk about? I know Sparkplug is died but I’m like “Let give them something nice for once” because- MY GOD! Elita-one and Optimus relationship is sure hanging on a edge because the whole “You choose earth over us” stuff (Would it be fun if they decided to divorce. Maybe not in canon because I do not want that to be canon even if it be fun)

So this is Lucky. She’s the only and last sparkling on earth (Listen, I pretty sure Cyberton earth is not even stable enough, and even the Cyberton is stable, I don’t believe that bullsh*t as you see how f*cking weak the state of its like come on and if you’re confuse what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the whole sparkling hatched from ground? And sorry about the lack of body, I can’t draw body very well) Lucky was little accident baby after Sparkplug and Bumblebee died. She manage to survive 3 time from near death experience in the womb during when Starscream shoot Megatron, Cobra-La attack and IN MIDDLE OF COLD WINTER. Her carrier able to give birth safety, although she was born mute because of the damaged cause from Starscream shot but she’s alive so that count.

How you rate some of the bots reaction? Sure, Lucky isn’t Sparkplug but close enough for everyone to finally have something positive for once or you know… just make everyone grief even worse (RIP Sparkplug and Bumblebee, and sorry if you’re not fully comfortable of this)

Oh my fucking god…… ooouuughhhhh

[ckret2]

God, you added like ten new and horrible layers to Bill bragging about marrying Miss Iowa 1951. I mean he was probably lying but *still*. (Get that goddamn man away from pageant queens! In any capacity! For everyone's sake!!!)

I do love making canon even worse. :) Bill understands the power of trophy wives.

HOWEVER:

he was probably lying

I dunno... Orchard Lake a.k.a. Billville appears to be near the middle of the northern border of Kansas, which woulda put it about 150 miles from Iowa's southwest border—I've moved farther than that in my life. (Heck, I've commuted farther than that in my life.)

He established Ciphertology in 1952, a year after Miss Iowa 1951's win

and idk what the age requirements for Miss Iowa/Miss America were in 1951, but at least by 2018 it was for ages 18 to 24.

When "Silas" pitches Ciphertology to the town, he tells all the men to let him marry their wives.

In 1957 (five years after Ciphertology's rapid rise and fall), new female recruits are marrying into the cult and taking the title/surname "Cipherwife."

One cultist (age unknown, but still lived with her mother and had no known boyfriend/husband to ditch) decided to stop following Elvis's tour bus to join Ciphertology, and one teen girl during the rise of Ciphertology replaced James Dean's portrait in her locket with Silas's picture.

Add that all together?

Ciphertology was pretty near where Miss Iowa was from, the cult & its leader were very attractive to teen girls/young women (which Miss Iowa would have been in 1952), and as far as we can tell every woman who fell under the cult's sway ended up (probably symbolically) married to "Silas" (and, after Silas's fall, apparently Bill).

So there's a pretty good chance Silas/Bill really did marry Miss Iowa 1951.

[a-spes]

Before the Storm. (N. R. x W. M. x R). — Part One, 'Invisible Torments'. (2,293 words).

" From the ashes of a fallen kingdom, a threat that everyone thought was defeated shall rise once more, sentencing a second realm to the same fate. The prophecy foretells that the apparition of a young woman where she never belonged will herald the end of everything. Can the impending doom be forestalled, or will the destruction of Earth become inevitable? "

| Tags & Warnings — Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x Enhanced!Reader. Mention of Suicidal and Depressive Thoughts (Natasha), Canonical Violence, Brief Mention of a Car Accident.

| SERIES MASTERLIST - MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES.

Despite the whole team being gathered in the room, it was silent.

An unusual, heavy silence, caused by the gravity of the situation, and that left no room for the jokes and teasing that would usually be exchanged between the heroes.

None of them knew what was going on, but the minutes seemed like an eternity while they were waiting for the director to eventually arrive. None of them needed to know the details to feel the urgency of this meeting. Fury was a wise man, despite what some may say, and he knew better than to pull the ringer for nothing. Crisis meetings were rarely held, and it had never been for anything less than a threat to the very existence of humanity.

If no one was talking, it is because they were busy remembering the events that had followed the last meeting of this kind — A catastrophe. Something that had happened many years ago, but the memories were still imprinted in the minds of those that were already a part of the team at that time. It was impossible to forget the chaos and destruction that had ensued. They may have won, but at what price? The lives they lost, and those that were destroyed, still weighed on their minds, and they had spent the following years hoping that they would never find themselves around this table again.

But here they are, several years later, with the same fear that knotted their insides.

If no one spoke, it is because they were all trying to guess what lay ahead. Yet, the possibilities were endless, often surprising, and none of them could have guessed the words spoken by Fury when he entered the meeting room.

The job was exhausting, and the heroes could never rest. Their victories were never more than temporary, each threat being quickly replaced by a far more dangerous one. The Avengers, despite their title of saviors of the earth, were playing a game they couldn’t win. As the years went by, and the battles followed on another, it became harder for the heroes to convince themselves that it was all worth it. The dead were numbered in the thousands, and it seemed that they were only delaying the inevitable destruction of humanity.

This possibility was even more difficult for the former spy to accept.

This job was supposed to be her redemption, a way of eventually wiping the red off her ledger, but if the woman wanted to use her skills to do some good, it seemed that only destruction followed her every step. Every threat was immediately replaced by another, and every victory inevitably stained by deaths and destroyed lives, a cost she no longer wanted to pay. 

And then, somewhere in that infinite loop, the redhead eventually lost her hopes.

If she hadn’t yet resigned herself to leave the team, it is because her fears were holding her back. After all, the woman knew nothing else in the world except this job which, despite its difficulties, offered her the comfort of familiarity. But recently it has become harder to accept that being a heroine, and saving the world, was nothing more than a pipe dream.

The world can’t be saved, and neither could she.

The redhead had eventually learned that it was pointless to hope, because it is nothing more than a way of putting off the inevitable, and so, as she watches the man entering the room, she prepares herself for the worst — The destruction, pain, and deaths. 

Maybe hers this time, if she is lucky enough.

She hasn’t told anyone about the thoughts that sometimes arise in her mind, and she won’t even admit it to herself, because it is definitely easier to pretend that everything is fine. She doesn’t want to think about how the job that saved her life, by giving her a second chance, is the one that is now tearing her away from that same life.

When Fury, the man that they were all waiting for, eventually enters the room, Natasha tries to read his next words in his features, but it gives her no clue. He looks serious, and tense — He looks the exact same as he always does.

“So, are you finally going to tell us what this is all about?” Steve asked. It is rare to see the man lose his patience, but the situation was beginning to weigh on the minds of even the wisest members of the team.

“I am going to do better than that,” the man said, pausing for a moment before continuing, “I am going to show you,” and as he says these words, the lights go out. 

And there, projected large on the wall they were facing, the Avengers could all contemplate the reasons for their presence here, the great danger that was threatening humanity, captured by one of the city’s video surveillance cameras.

The former spy’s sharp eyes immediately searched the poor-quality image they were shown for any clues. At first sight, it was nothing more than an ordinary moment of a day that was like any other, just a view of a street of New-York that looked exactly like any other street would. Despite the early hour, a never-ending parade of cars and pedestrians was already taking place, bringing the street to life — The city that never goes out. It was not a myth, and the city was just like its heroes; it knew no rest.

The woman observed the people that were walking in a hurry, and she had no trouble imagining the car horns that must have sounded as soon as someone took a bit too long to start up at the green light — Where did these people go, to be so impatient?

And, as the scene drags on for several seconds without anything happening, she allows her thoughts to wander a little from the reason for her presence here, joining the ballet of these strangers for the span of a few minutes. No one noticed that, behind her sharp gaze, her attention was absent. Instead of watching the video, Natasha was thinking about where she would go if she got a chance to walk alongside these strangers. 

It is a question she had asked herself many times before, one that had kept her awake at night, enveloping her soul in an oppressive feeling as she was thinking about all the possible answers. She could have been so many things if she had been nothing more than just a name, a face among so many others, one that people wouldn’t even be able to recognize in the streets. She would have settled for little. She would have accepted even the most mundane life, the most boring to those who had it, if it meant that her life would have the normality she craved. She would not be a heroine that they would admire, nor a spy that they would hate, but nothing more than a little girl that could have followed her dreams. Yet, life can be cruel, and it had taken away all choice from her before she had even taken her first steps in this world — Who would she have been? That is a question she will never find the answer to.

A sudden change in the monotonous scene they were being shown drew her attention back to the screen. It was a sudden agitation that, by breaking the routine, had managed to capture her attention once again, chasing away the thoughts that had preoccupied her a few moments earlier. No one had noticed her absence, and it was almost as if she had never wandered off, the woman now observing the scene with rapt attention.

Events unfolded with such rapidity that she would have missed them if she had blinked at the wrong moment. A young woman had entered the camera’s frame, and she would easily have blended in with the rest of the crowd if she hadn’t been acting weirdly. Although she seemed to be in a hurry, her quick steps were nothing like the ones of someone hurrying to work, and they were far from the calm pace of a sportswoman. Her run was frantic, and erratic.

Natasha could not see her facial features, but she didn’t need it to guess the fear that this young woman was feeling. All she had to do was to observe her body language, and the way she was constantly looking at her surroundings was enough of a clue. It was as if she was scared of someone, or something, but she was the only one to see the threat. Indeed, the crowd remained relatively calm, and new-yorkers only stopped their relentless march when she jostled them.

Everyone expected the reason for her panic to appear on the screen at any moment, but it never did, and the ‘monster’ never showed up, the threat to humanity remaining faceless and formless for time being, much to their disappointment. Yet, in concentrating on that, the heroes almost missed the really important events.

A few seconds later, the young woman’s run came to an abrupt, and tragic, halt. As she tried to cross the road, without looking left or right, without using a crosswalk, the inevitable happened. She was lucky enough that the first two cars in her path managed to avoid her, but it had its limits, and the truck that came after didn’t have time to brake, or divert, that it had already hit her head-on. The impact had been so violent that the girl had been propelled several meters. 

The shock is so swift that it left everyone blissfully surprised, even the spy. The video may have no sound, but she can easily make out the screams of the passers-by. They finally stopped for a moment — Perhaps they were in a hurry, but their business could wait if it meant meddling with others’. The video stops as some people start moving towards the truck, which had ended up in a storefront, and all the heroes’ eyes are now on Fury.

They were hoping for answers, but they only found more questions.

“So, you bothered us for… a crazy woman?” Tony spoke, and he is the first one to do so — Probably because he is the only one who is never at a loss for words, the others being too surprised to say anything. “Damn it, Fury! We are the Avengers, not a hospice,” he added in response to the other man’s silence.  

However, the director remains calm and impassive in the face of the billionaire’s impatience. Yet, Natasha is certain that there was a lot more to this video than just a ‘crazy woman’, why would he have shown it to them otherwise? She knew Fury, and he is not the kind that does things at random, let alone waste resources — S.H.I.E.L.D.’s time and money are too precious to him. There must have been something else, some detail they had missed and that would explain everything they couldn’t understand until now.

The man proves her right when he plays the video again. However, while they could all recognize the scene of the accident, the angle of view was a bit different, being zoomed in on a silhouette that was in the background, one they could barely see in the original video. Despite the poor quality, they can distinguish the young woman who is lying on the ground. For several seconds, nothing happens, and everything seems to stand still — Until she stands up, resuming her run as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t been hit by the truck less than a minute before. As the scene unfolds in front of their eyes, the heroes realize that the threat has been there all along, hiding under the guise of a ‘crazy’ looking woman.

“And what do we know about her?” Natasha immediately asked. She was slumped back in her seat, arms crossed as she glared at the director. Yet, despite appearances, she was taking the mission very seriously; if the man had a hunch about this girl, the woman knew it was best to trust him and act accordingly.

“That’s for you to find out, Romanoff,” he replied with a wry smile. As he talked, he waved a folder at her, the one he would hand over to her later, when the meeting was over and the questions had been answered — Or at least some of them, because the heroes soon realized that the information available was meager.

And indeed, when she opened the file several hours later, she realized just how complicated this mission would be. The night had fallen on the city, and she had settled into one of the common areas. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and she made herself comfortable with a blanket and some hot drink. Some people liked to read to relax, but what she really enjoyed was immersing herself in a new mission, reading files and trying to make connections between the different pieces of evidence. It was a familiar and easy activity. 

However, she didn’t have much to read in this one. There were only a few wills collected from passers-by who happened to be near the scene of the accident, but nothing they said was interesting, and most of them hadn’t even laid eyes on the victim long enough to be able to describe her. There were also screenshots of the surveillance video that they watched, but also of others that attest to her presence in different parts of the city. 

But that was all. There was no name, no story, just a pixelated face that seemed to belong to no one — Almost as if the woman appeared from nowhere.

| SERIES MASTERLIST - MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES.

| Tag list — @queen-of-chaotic-surprises

[lu-is-not-ok]

Could you elaborate why you think Big and Might/Will be Bad Wolf is more fitting for Hong Lu than Heath? Cus it's story of being forced to only be the villain because of *what* it is is pretty much exactly Heathcliff's experience with WH mistreating him because of his Backstreet origin and his subsequent lashing out thats attriubted solely to his 'nature' (not to mention his canonical wolf Distortion, and being called the Wolf in the Wildhunt world, and dogs/wolves being a strong association to him in his source), so I'm very curious.

Heathcliff screams dogs/wolves to me more than any one else by a longshot, for the above reasons.

I am so glad you asked, because this is something I've been wanting an excuse to yap about ever since I posted that art!

Big and Will be Bad Wolf is an Abnormality which, while straightforward on the surface, has a lot of interesting nuanced subtleties to it that are the main reason why I assign it the way I do.

The gist of the Abnormality is that it's an initially cute and even kind wolf who is "destined" to become the Big Bad Wolf, becoming the villain of another story, simply because of the way it was born. It was fated to be hungry, unable to fill its stomach enough to feel sated. Fated to be alone, to be hurt as the one who becomes an example and gets punished.

If we were to stop here, then sure, Heathcliff could reasonably fit the themes here. He's forced into being a villain purely because of his birth, forced into a destiny that makes him unfulfilled, dehumanized, and unfairly punished.

However, it's when you get to the subtleties that Heathcliff begins to clash severely with what Big and Will be Bad Wolf is actually about.

First of all, and most notable when you look at the Wolf's flavor text in Ruina, is its complete resignation and acceptance of its role. The Wolf doesn't fight against its destiny, it doesn't try to change, but rather the opposite. It's fully resigned to the fact it will be hurt, be called by no name, and have to hurt others, to the point where it slowly stops caring about anything other than its own hunger.

This is, if you know anything about our Heathcliff, in complete contrast to everything his character stands for. Heathcliff's entire character arc is about him rejecting that very role being forced upon him. He has the resolve to prove that he's just as human and just as worthy of respect as everyone else. And he refuses to stop fighting for that right to be recognised as a person at all cost.

The second nuance I'd like to bring up is one that already has been mentioned here and there, that being the overwhelming hunger the Wolf feels which is what causes it to lash out. Just like the previous theme, it's primarily seen in Ruina, though in this case more so in the Floor Realization for the Floor of Language and how it relates to Roland. The Wolf, similarly to Roland, has a void within it that it cannot fill no matter how much meat it eats, how much violence it commits.

Again, despite all the memes the fandom might make about Heathcliff Black Silence, he's really nothing like Roland in this department at all. In a way, Heathcliff is almost too full, his being so focused on Catherine he has barely any space to be concerned with anything else. Even after her death, he refuses to give up on her, despite how impossible his chances at getting her back may be. There is no void to fill with meaningless violence, but rather a direct purpose to strive towards.

So, that's what I have on why Heathcliff, despite how he may seem fitting for it on the surface, is actually deeply opposed to everything Big and Will be Bad Wolf stands for on a thematic level.

Here's where the fun part begins though. Because if not Heathcliff, then why Hong Lu, right?

See, we already know from the fact that Hong Lu has Rose Hunter E.G.O that he too has a certain role he's destined to fulfill, one that he finds undesireable but also one that he can't truly escape from.

I believe that in the case of Hong Lu, the role of the Wolf would be representing his birth status as a Jia. Think about it. Everything we've seen of the Jias show them as hostile at best and extremely violent and downright villainous at worst. If Hong Lu has any similarities in status to Baoyu, that being that he's a sort of "chosen" Heir to the Family, then that means his role as yet another perpetrator of the Jias' violent ways is all but predestined.

You can even say that Hong Lu has a notable parallel to how Big and Will be Bad Wolf presents itself, that of course being kind and cute on the surface, but repressing a deeply unfulfilled and violent side with what little resolve it may have left.

And speaking of resolve, this is where Hong Lu matches the Wolf much closely than Heathcliff. There is a constant thematic thread of hopelessness and meaninglessness in Hong Lu's character. Even if he might have run away for now, the way he speaks about meeting his Family again makes it clear he doesn't believe it will last. There's a notable resignation and acceptance of the fact that no matter what he does, he will be dragged back to his Family and stripped of the name he gave himself. Born a Jia, always a Jia, you could even say.

Unlike Heathcliff, who constantly fights back to assert his existence as a person who deserves equal respect, Hong Lu simply lies down and takes everything thrown his way. The Wolf is an inherently Slothful figure, a trait which matches Hong Lu far better than Heathcliff.

Hell, Hong Lu even shares a specific sentiment about that with the Wolf. In Ruina, one of the Wolf's possible flavor text quotes is "There’s no need to be nice to me… I’m destined to be a big bad wolf…" Doesn't that sound familiar? Doesn't that seem so similar to how Hong Lu expressed that he understood why his Family members wanted to kill him, and thus didn't bother to fight back?

Then, of course, we come back to hunger. And here I have to get a little bit more speculative, but not as much as you would think. See, I believe Hong Lu is much more similar to Roland in this case than Heathcliff. Everything points to the fact that Daiyu is not only dead, but left behind a void in Baoyu/Hong Lu, one that he tries to ignore but one which clearly taunts him into snapping and falling into that "meaningless wrath".

If you're wondering what exactly I mean, I go way more in depth about Hong Lu's repressed anger and how Daiyu's death appears to be what causes it to leak out in this post. However, to summarize how it ties back to Roland and the Wolf, I believe that just like for Roland, the void left behind Daiyu's death is what ends up causing Hong Lu to lash out and will eventually drive him to outright meaningless violence. An attempt to fill one's life with anything after their meaning was taken away from them. Which is exactly what the Wolf reflects through its endless hunger, unable to be satisfied no matter how much it eats and kills.

Honestly, Hong Lu is kind of a sleeper pick for Cobalt Scar with just how much he fits it. I'd almost say it's shocking that I've only seen like one other person similarly assign it to him, but it's really not. Hong Lu is one of those characters that repeatedly gets sanded down due to how he presents himself, with his more worrying and violent tendencies being ignored in favor of falling for his facade. After all, one has to first accept the fact that Hong Lu not only has a capacity for violence, but even the potential to outright enjoy it, to be able to see the reasoning for Cobalt Scar as an E.G.O for him.

[sonic-au-collision]

Do you by any chance have any tips n tricks on making aus + stories fleshed out and more coherent? This can also be answered in Reblogs idrm 🙏🙏

AU & STORYWRITING TIPS AND TRICKS

You have released me from my cage and I have unleashed a word dump below the cut. This isn't really organized at all and I did jump back and forth between sections but I hope at least some of it helps.

Since I don't really know the specifics about your AU, I'll use some shows, books, or even sometimes my own AUs as examples but you should be able to take what I said and apply it to your stories.

(Note from future mod after writing this guide. I also ended up spontaneously making new AUs because of this. That was not meant to happen.)

This will also be tagged under #collision questions! If you want to reblog with some notes of your own go right ahead!

It's important to figure out how canon divergent your AU is and how that impacts your characters.

Think about your overall AU concept!

Like, let's say you have an AU that diverges off one point of canon. Everything up until this event is the same. Then something changes, something happens differently. For these kinds of AUs, I'd definitely recommend reviewing and analyzing the original source a lot!! Especially the events taking place after your changed plot point!!

Understand the importance of that event in canon and how it may have impacted events afterwards. Take the episode The Sign from Bluey for example. Also SPOILERS FOR THE SIGN!! Let's say, Winton's dad and the Terrier's mom had never gotten together. This would mean that since Winton's dad would not be moving in to live with the Terrier's, he would have no need to sell his house. And since he isn't selling his house, the sheepdogs wouldn't have changed their minds about buying Bluey's house. Bluey and Bingo would have ended up moving to a new city, as a opposed to canon where they ended up staying. If you've seen The Sign, you'll know there's way more examples of this cause and effect than what I just listed.

Or another example, let's say in Sonic Prime, Shadow didn't use the emerald when Sonic shattered the paradox prism. This leaves Sonic on his own without Shadow's help. Now think about scenes where in canon, Shadow was there to help Sonic. Now take Shadow away. What might have happened in that scene? How will Sonic handle the situation without Shadow? Take creative liberties! Because Shadow isn't there, the story may take a completely different turn. The story SHOULD take a completely different turn. Things that happened in the show, may not have even happened at all here as a result. Things that happened in the show, may be impossible to occur in this world as well! I don't have specific examples because I haven't watched the show in a while but man do I want to turn this into a real AU now. What have you done to me this was supposed to be a random example I came up with just a few minutes ago. Anywho, moving on! Sonic's character in this world would also be different as a result of his experiences and how he had to adapt to the situation differently.

Alternatively, your AU isn't canon divergent. Let's say it takes place in a world completely different from canon. A world with different rules and norms can affect and change how the characters experiences as they grow up. For some reason I have been thinking about Shadow a lot so let's say we have a world where Sonic and Shadow grew up together on ARK. They knew each other from day one and don't have a reason to distrust each other. Consider how something like that would affect their dynamic, personality, etc. Because they grew up together, consider how for example, SA2 would be changed.

This can apply to AUs where its Sonic characters but in the world of a different fandom. Like a Lilo and Stitch sonic AU or Percy Jackson AU. Consider how the Sonic characters interact with this world. Try not to rely on too much on how the actual characters of that world interacted within that world because here's the thing. Sonic is not Percy. Sonic would not act the exact way Percy would in a situation because they are different characters. The AU covers the main beats of the original story but it will not follow the exacts events word for word. If you're planning on writing a fic for an AU like this, please please please don't just like yoink the script and exchange character names for Sonic ones because there's really nothing new being added and that's what makes these stories interesting. Same thing for role swaps!! They may have changed roles but do not give them the exact same dialogue as the original. Characters have different personalities and speaking patterns after all. Take the overall message of the dialogue and reword it to better fit the character who's saying it.

So about characterization

Maybe you have an idea of x character doing something, and that something may seem out of character for them, but maybe that action is really important to the story or you just really want it to happen. Here's what you do: have the steps you take to get to the out-of-character event, be in-character. Have the reasoning for the actions be in-character.

An example with an AU of my own but I'm not giving specifics due to spoiler reasons. There is a character who canonically, is loyal to a fault. Their loyalty to their friends and family is both their greatest strength and weakness. But my AU features this same character, betraying their friends and family. They're fighting on the wrong side, sabotaging their friends. So as you can see, very out of character.

That AU started around just the concept of that character betraying everyone. Now since loyalty is a vital part of their character, I need to take that into consideration when figuring out how to get the canon character to become the AU character.

This character is loyal to their loved ones. So, I put their loved ones at risk. This character's parents and baby sibling are held captive by the enemy. They must help the enemy otherwise their parents are at risk. This is why they betray their friends and share information with the enemy.

So pretty much, an out of character action will have in character reasoning. What will this character do to get to this point? How do their actions get them to his point? And maybe, all that happens before the main events of your AU and that's why your AU character is different.

Writing stories

Speaking of characters doing one thing to get from point a to point b, that's pretty much how writing a stories go. At this point I've been writing for over an hour so I might not dive too deep into this.

First think of. What is the status quo? What's usually normal in this world? Then. What happens that causes a change in that normality. And there's your beginning of the story.

Again, think about how the characters will react to this change? What do they do next because of it? What is something they want? What is something they need? What do they do next to get it? And what do they do if an obstacle appears in their way.

If you know the climax or any events in the middle, just think of what you can do to guide this character so they can get where they need to be for these events. Then what does the character do to get out of the situation?

As for the ending. You can establish a new status quo. What's going on now in the world after all the adventures they've gone on? What's your stories message? What do you want readers to take out of it as they reach the end?

Miscellaneous bullet points

Sketch!! Do a lot of little doodles of character designs or scenes to help get the ideas flowing!! Don't feel obligated to post these online, draw what you want for you

What if? A lot of AU ideas can come from asking what if x happened? Maybe there's a point in a game where something you were hoping to happen, didn't. Well, what if it did?

Use a notebook!! Sometimes, it's better to take a break from the screen and get all your thoughts down traditionally and break them down in a way you just can't in Google docs. Try making a mind map. Start with one idea and branch out from there.

Review the source material!! Get an understanding of the characters and their world and why they act that way

You can write scenes out of order! Then when incorporating it all together into a main storyline, just think of what the character did to get from this point to the next.

Save deleted scenes!! Keep them in a separate document. There's always a chance you can use them for something else later

Keep readers engaged by raising questions within the story and not answering them until later. Say Sonic gets hit by a spell but don't say the exact effects just yet. Have Sonic slowly notice them himself. But he doesn't realize what's wrong. The readers will be curious to what exactly happened to Sonic and if it can be fixed. When a question is answered, raise another one. Sonic and friends learn about the spell and luckily! There's a cure! Unluckily, they have a time limit. Will they make it in time?

Create an outline, but don't stick strictly to it. This what I usually do. I let my thoughts run wild as I piece together what happens in the story. It's messy and chaotic. I'll show you an example of my outlines if you go over to my main blog. Then I use the outline to guide me as I write, looking at it every so often but not 100% following it. There will be times as I write that I deviate completely from the outline, adding or changing different scenes because it just makes more sense for the story. The outline is a guide of suggestions, not an instructive manual.

Hope at least some of that made sense and provided some help!! If you've got more AU specific questions feel free to ask here!

If you want more on story writing or you want a look at my story outlines, I'd like to direct you on over to my main blog @starzdeath

[rationalnerd62]

Hear me out:

The two Australian live shows are described as "one overarching story", with "party members from two separate Critical Role campaigns" joining forces to "fight a common threat".

M9 will already have its own live show for the Fjord/Jester wedding one-shot in October in NYC.

There's already one chaotic mayhem live show planned this year, in April in Chicago, in which people can vote for "which of the original main campaign characters the founding members of Critical Role will play for the evening".

Since C3 is ending and 2025 is about celebrating those past ten years, it would make sense for those live shows to celebrate all three campaigns.

Vox Machina's chapter got closed so many times that it's getting harder and harder to find reasons to bring them back together without involving an external party.

So my unsubstantiated theory is that the Australian live shows will be a two-shot mixing Bell's Hells and Vox Machina. Those two have a common enemy, Delilah, who recently got "dealt with" using the soul anchor, but I don't think it's a sustainable long-term post-campaign solution for Laudna. She deserves to be entirely free from her influence and her power, and the Raven Queen hinted that fixing what wronged Laudna wasn't impossible. IMO, it's like Fjord dealing with Ukutoa post-campaign: it wouldn't have worked well to deal with this in the M9 finale, but it was a fairly obvious option for a post-campaign one-shot.

Obviously, I know nothing and this is just some spaghetti thrown on the wall. Those live shows were announced before the end of C3 (but two months after Delilah got dealt with), so the voluntarily vague description could have been a way to leave some doors open in case some characters died in that C3 climax. Hell, the Australian shows could be non-canon, or dealing with a new threat. Marisha may not be interested in that storyline for Laudna at all!

But that's apparently how I deal with C3 ending in a few days: by pretending that I'll see Bell's Hells again real soon 😇.

(If Delilah gets little to no mention in that 8.5 hours long C3 finale and Imogen still gets to age as a normal human by the end of it while Laudna doesn't, I'll feel somehow real validated in this theory aha 👀.)

(Also Tom Cardy being present for the live shows focused on getting Laudna her happy ending while he wrote that Winter Crest Imodna song would be kinda funny 🤣).

[sporesgalaxy]

Scrangle PLA postgame quest script edits with 1 major facet of canon changing: Volo seems more open to the idea of Scrangle maybe actually being an otherworldly being.

Of course, he quickly decides he hates Scrangle anyways for a variety of other reasons

•••

Volo "See these patterns modeled after Pokemon? I've come to think that they might be letters-- rather like hieroglyphs, if you will."

Volo "I've inspected ruins across the region and have concluded that they all seem to tell the same tale. The tale of a brave soul who, together with the Pokemon at his side, went on a journey to search for the fragments of an all-encompassing deity."

Scrangle [eyes widen] "Deity?"

Volo "Yes. An all-encompassing deity-- the creator of this very universe. And its name is..."

Volo "Arceus."

[Scrangle's eyes shine with recognition and excitement. Volo notices. He expected this.]

Volo "Perhaps you've already heard this name?"

Scrangle [darkly, sneering a little] "I know it."

Volo "Of course! What else could I have expected from the hero who saved the Hisui region! But now, let us discuss the fragments."

-- ... --

Volo "So what do you say, Scrangle? I think we should gather all the plates!"

[a huge, hungry grin splits across Scrangle's face and they nod enthusiastically]

--

Volo "Have a look at this, Scrangle."

[crushed statue]

Volo "This statue has been kept here, far from the statues of Dialga and Palkia...Broken and shattered, and yet it remains..."

Volo "Do you know what it is?"

Scrangle "...No."

Volo "Oh? You're the greatest wielder of Pokemon this land knows. The one who could bring low even Dialga and Palkia. But it seems certain things are beyond even your grasp..."

[Scrangle shoots him an irritated look, feeling patronized. Volo tries not to be too amused.]

Volo "This crumbling statue once was the figure of a Pokémon–one that was equal to both Dialga and Palkia, yet banished from our world...The great Pokémon Giratina! It was banished for its violence, left to dwell in a world on the reverse side of our own. It is a being that has lain in wait for the chance to bare its fangs in defiance and tear down Arceus itself."

[Scrangle reaches out and gently touches the leg of the statue, wonder in their eyes.]

Scrangle "...Could I meet it?"

Volo [eyes widen] "You want to meet it? Well then..."

Volo "If this Giratina desires more than anything else to challenge almighty Arceus... where do you think it might appear?"

Scrangle "The temple?"

Volo "Exactly! Where one is closer to the heavens than any other place in Hisui! ...And where the space-time rift first opened!"

Volo "Huhuhuh... HAHAHAHAHA! I can feel it... We are getting closer to uncovering the secrets of this world! I daresay the excitement is loosening my lips more than it should, but..."

Volo "You see, ever since I was young, whenever I met with something painful or heartbreaking... I couldn't help but wonder why life was so unfair. Why I was cursed to live through such things. [very pointedly glancing at Scrangle] Of course, I imagine we all go through something like that.

Scrangle looks at him, difficult to read

Volo "Eventually, I chose to direct all my energy into my own natural curiosity and ambition. And what tickled my curiosity more strongly than anything were the mysteries to be found in legends, in history, in ruins... You see, I fancied that by unraveling these mysteries, I could find out how the world itself came to be–and with that knowledge, maybe even forge a new, better world!"

Scrangle [squints, doesn't really get it] "..."

Volo "Now, if we can find the realm that exists on the reverse side of our world...and meet the creator's unwanted child banished therein... perhaps then we'll be able to understand the nature of almighty Sinnoh itself!"

[Scrangle's eyes light up, questions forgotten at the promise of a chance at revenge]

Volo "Don't you want to see it with your own eyes?!"

Scrangle [manic] "Yes!!!"

Volo "We must make for the Temple of Sinnoh at Mount Coronet's peak! Dialga and Palkia both appeared from within the rift that once gaped open there, didn't they? If these plates can call anything at all, it seems likely that is where it would appear!"

Scrangle "YES!!! YES, WE SHALL MEET GIRATINA!!!"

Coronet Highlands - Temple of Sinnoh

• Before battle

Volo "The temple lies in ruins now... Columns cracked and broken... Like pillars now turned into spears, stabbing into the heavens..."

Volo [suddenly less gravitas] "Well, I detect a distinct lack of Giratina."

[Scrangle stops walking, and looks at him, perplexed.]

Volo "Hmm? Is something bothering you?"

Scrangle [frowning hard] "We haven't looked yet."

Volo "Ah, I do beg your pardon. I suppose I must seem to be behaving strangely!"

Volo "I daresay you deserve to know what I'm really after by now."

[Scrangle just looks more confused]

Volo "Ever since I became convinced that Arceus really does exist, there has been one question that consumed my thoughts... How can I meet such a being myself?"

[Scrangle looks confused again.]

Volo "It was in an attempt to answer this question that I originally sought out Giratina and had it tear open that rift in space and time--"

[Scrangle's eyes widen with angry recognition. Volo opened to portal that brought Scrangle here!]

Scrangle "You--!"

Volo "--because it was Giratina who wished to stand against Arceus. But that didn't do the trick..."

[Scrangle clenches their fists]

Volo "So then I had you gather the fragments of the all-encompassing deity, just as the murals of the ruins directed."

Volo "Eighteen plates said to be the fragments of the all-encompassing deity... You hold in your hands seventeen of them."

[Scrangle possessively touches their pouch]

Volo: "So, you must be wondering: Where is the last one?"

Volo [pulls the plate out] "Why, it's right here!"

Scrangle [furious] "GIVE IT TO ME!"

Volo [shocked blink] "...Pardon?"

Scrangle "GIVE IT TO ME NOW, YOU PEON!! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!!"

Volo "Huhuhahaha!! Now, now! You're the one who scared Kamado with all that talk about monsters and tyrants."

Scrangle [REALLY pissed] "I wouldn't be in this awful place to BEGIN with if it weren't for you!!"

Volo "Ah, now I see...It is awful, isn't it?"

Volo: "But even from within this wretched place, we can sometimes catch glimpses of something greater. I know you've seen it-- the rift, the frenzied nobles, the Great Sinnoh, even artifacts like the red chain!"

Volo: "I'm not sure what you are or where you came from, but clearly you can see this world for what it is."

Volo "Those plates are our key to understanding what lies beyond everything that confines us here! The path to a better future depends on us! Now, give me the plates!"

[Volo takes a step forward. Scrangle takes a step back.]

Volo "Why are you holding us back?! Don't you understand the significance of this moment??!"

[Scrangle doesn't instantly respond, and Volo is clearly out of patience.]

V: "My desire to meet Arceus cannot be contained any longer! I need to know what it is! I MUST know what it is!"

Volo "If I can meet Arceus myself, then I may also be able to subjugate its power... And using that, I will attempt to create a new, better world--!"

Scrangle [snarling] "YOU STUPID WORM!! THAT TYRANT MUST BE ANNIHILATED!!"

Volo [eyes widen] "...Oh."

Volo [blank with shock] "The 'Tyrant' you hate so much...is Arceus itself?"

Volo "Huhu...You keep finding ways to surprise me, Scrangle."

Scrangle [gritted teeth] "YES! I will destroy Arceus at any cost!"

Volo "Hah!! As if I would ever let that happen, you ungrateful little squirt!! I'm not above taking those plates from you by force."

• Upon being defeated

Volo "Why? Why would Arceus favor a disrespectful wretch like you?!"

• After being defeated

Volo "Why? How?!"

Volo "I've devoted myself to Arceus beyond any other! I worshiped it as the creator of our entire world! I bent all of my passion and interest to its study! All the time I've spent poring over the legends... Everything that I've done—!"

Volo "You rotten brat!! It's almost as if you were spat out of the space-time rift just to get in my way!"

Scrangle [sneering] "You are the most annoying punishment the Tyrant has forced me to endure."

Scrangle "But now, Arceus has abandoned you!" [holds out their hand] "Give me the plate!"

Volo "No, this isn't finished yet!"

Volo "Can't you feel it? The chill creeping through your veins—the eldritch presence icing your heart?"

Volo "Giratina! Strike her down!"

• After Giratina is defeated

Volo "Turning tail and running? From this puny HUMAN? Pathetic--!"

Scrangle "NOT human!"

Volo [ignoring them] "--I was the one to feed you the power you needed so that you could take on Arceus! I was the one who gave you the chance to claw open that space-time rift, driving the deity of space and time mad so that you could drag the creator out from hiding!"

[Scrangle, furious at being ignored, starts approaching Volo]

Volo "How? How could this happen?! Almighty Arceus, if you have any heart within you, then--!!"

Scrangle "SHUT UP ALREADY!!"

[Scrangle begins grappling with Volo, trying to nab the last plate from him by force]

Volo "You--! You--!! Grr! You little MONSTER! Do you even understand what you're trying to do?!!"

Scrangle "I'm taking my revenge!"

Volo "No, you moron!! Without Arceus, the world will be destroyed with nothing to take its place!"

Scrangle "Liar!!!! Destroying Arceus will destroy my prison!!! I'll finally-- grr! -- get my old body back!!!"

Volo [a little genuinely distressed] "You're insane!!!"

[Volo and Scrangle have shuffled dangerously close to the cliff. Scrangle is infuriated by what Volo just said, and jumps to try and grab the final plate out of his hands. They manage to get a hand on it, but lose their footing when they land, and end up hanging over the ledge. Volo only just manages not to be dragged over with them.]

[Scrangle breathes heavily, barely hanging on to the smooth plate and beginning to slip. Volo stares at her.]

Scrangle [looking down] "Does...falling from this high...kill humans?"

[As they finish asking, Scrangle makes eye contact with Volo, and in that moment truly looks like a desperate, scared child.]

[Volo lets go of the plate.]

[He watches Scrangle fall, and then reflexively flinches away and squeezes his eyes shut when they would have hit the ground. But instead of a thud, he hears the distinctive cry of Giratina. He snaps his eyes open just in time to see a spacetime vortex closing.]