#and then coming home and drawing for 5 hours straight

[tj-dragonblade]

[Fluffbruary FIC] Without Warning Something's Dawning (Listen)

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: T Word Count: 659 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2025, Human AU, Rich Guy Dream, Mechanic Hob, scent, feelings contemplation, mild Dream-typical angst

Notes: Coming out of left field, we have a surprise fluff entry in the Turbo Lover universe! My brain saw 'green' and 'grey' and went straight to the clothes left on the couch last time around. 'Anticipation' is always an easy theme with this AU as well. Title of course from the Judas Priest song that I named the series after and Dream really ought to take that parenthetical to heart.

Fluffbruary 2025 Prompts: Day 4: green | grey | chess Day 5: anticipation | nonsense | mail

Summary: Dream wanders through his thoughts about Hob

On AO3

It is late afternoon by the time Dream gets to the clothes left in the drawing room. Hob had spent the morning with him lounging in the sunny bay window of the breakfast nook, resplendent in the skimpy teal green dressing gown Dream had gifted him, animatedly discussing literature through the ages. It was a delightful surprise to discover this commonality between them, that Hob was excited to debate the merits of Shakespeare and expound on his favorites from Byron or Chaucer or Austen or Marlowe, and morning had passed into the noon hour before Dream realized it.

Reluctantly then he had retrieved Hob's original clothing from yesterday, from before they had picked up the suit, and once Hob was dressed Dream had driven him home in the Porsche. Or rather, Hob had driven with Dream in the passenger seat, watching how naturally he handled the damned temperamental machine, admiring the flex of his arms and hands as he shifted and steered and sneaking glances at the bright joy in his face.

It warms him even now, back at his quiet and empty house, the Porsche back in the garage, to recall the way Hob had glowed with delight, the grin he sported the whole drive, how right he looked settled in the car that Dream had never felt any true pride in until now.

He likes that Hob is happy driving his car; more specifically, he likes that driving his car makes Hob happy.

He likes making Hob happy.

Hob's happiness brings him happiness.

And he is happy, now, gathering last night's discarded clothing from the green velvet couch, reminded of how it came to be scattered about. He still aches in all the right places, a lingering and welcome memento of their tryst. Hob is so good to him, so giving, indulging anything Dream wants and everything Dream asks of him, with enthusiasm.

They match so perfectly. Dream is forever grateful that he found his way to Matthew's Motor Repairs when the Porsche's clutch went out; Hob is truly the best thing to happen to him in a very long time.

He smiles, picking up Hob's silk shirt, remembering how perfect the vibrant dark teal-green color had looked on Hob, how it burnished the warm tones of his skin and set off the silver threads in his hair—just as Dream had known it would. He drapes the shirt over his arm and lifts the grey suit jacket, shaking it out, bringing the lapels to his face and inhaling. Hob's cologne still clings faintly to the fabric, intertwined with the scent of Hob himself, and Dream feels a rush of anticipation for the next time that he can take it in first-hand, that he can twine himself into Hob's arms and bury his face at the base of Hob's throat, breathe him in, bask in the warmth and the strength of him. The thought curls soft in his stomach and he lets it settle, gathers Hob's trousers and his own rumpled clothing as well, sets it all in a pile. He will have it all delivered to his laundry service to clean and press and return, that he might dress Hob in his lovely ensemble once again, show him off on the town again, bring him home and strip him out of it again.

Hob, he knows, will let him do all of it willingly. Will participate joyously, with warmth and enthusiasm and that beautiful smile, with that bright sparkle in his eye, with heady delight in fulfilling Dream's wishes.

He is more than Dream deserves, and surely Dream will not be able to keep him forever. All things fade; once upon a time he had thought making Alex happy was the key to fulfillment, after all.

But he will keep Hob as long as he can, in whatever way he can and bask in their mutual happiness for as long as he can make it last.

= Started: 2/3/25 Drafted: 2/4/25 Posted: 2/5/25

Previously in the series, in case AO3 is down: Customer Service With Every Nerve Alive Loyalty Rewards Program Shift to Overdrive Love Machines in Harmony

[leftneb]

Hands, Smiles & Heart Eyes

refence images used are from this banger post

other versions linked below ˇˇˇˇˇˇ

REPOST WITH CREDIT (or I'll be sad)

[appleciders]

i miss art classes so bad ngl

[just1cefor4ll]

If you're comfortable with that, maybe female reader getting the stars tattooed on her forearm sh scars? Like the "you drew stars around my scars" line by taylor swift. And some of the stars are just normal stars, some lines and some are stars drew by joost. And also maybe before tattooing them, her asking joost to draw stars on a piece of paper

You drew stars around my scars

Joost Klein x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of sh scars, swearing, some school trauma, back stabbing/fake friends, most likely bad grammar

genre: fluff/hurt comfort

summarry: Joost has never really noticed your sh scars despite being with you for almost half a year. You got used to covering them but you decided it would be a cute idea to get a tattoo on the things that caused you such sorrow in your high school years

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Joost kept asking you about what the stars were for all week, following you around and trying to get at least the slightest bit of information out of you. You never gave him a straight answer or you avoided the question completely. Joost was going mad, staying up with his thoughts and questions running through his mind like mathematical equations. What could you possible need him to draw stars for? A week ago you came up to him with your beautiful and sweet smile which lit up his day all the time. He hugged you, kissing you on the nose before letting you speak your mind. “Could you pretty please draw a few stars for me? Different sizes please.” You ask and he raises a brow at your mischief, but did as you told him, drawing you quite a lot of stars, circling the ones he like the most before handing the piece of paper to you. You smiled and kissed his forehead before going off somewhere.

A week later he was home alone while you were off somewhere in another country visiting a friend you haven’t seen for quite some time. Joost would’ve gone with you but he had important plans for the day of the departure which you understood. He texted every day, asking you how your day was and sending you videos or voice messages of him telling you and showing you how his day way and what he did. He missed you dearly but you were coming back tommorow night, which gave him so much energy he couldn’t even sleep from the pure excitement of seeing you again. You on the other hand were nervous. Of course, excitement filled your body from even thinking about going back but it was the first time you would be telling Joost about your high school years. Well it could go many possible ways, but you mostly tried to think about the positive outcomes. Joost wasn’t the type to get angry at someone for this, he’s going to be there for you and you’re confident in that statement.

Around 5:38AM you got to the airport, the plane was supposed to be departing at around 7:40AM. You texted Joost the whole time you were waiting for the plane, saying your goodbyes once you were supposed to board the plane. The hours felt like 15 minutes, getting off you took a uber home so you wouldn’t bother Joost. Once you got there, you walked to your shared apartment and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Anxiety filled every single part of you, but you tried your best to shake it off, unlocking the door and get greeted with the warmth of the apartment. A quiet curse could be heard in the room and a few crashes, which alarmed you but then again you’re living with Joost Klein, so you weren’t that scared. You walk to the living room/kitchen and see Joost there holding your favourite flowers and what looked like a hand made gift. You smile softly, walking over and hugging him, not letting him go for a few minutes. He looked tired but happy to see you, leaving kisses all over your face.

Spending the day with Joost was all you could’ve asked for, but he still didn’t notice the new tattoo that was on your upper arm. That’s where the scars that haunted you during your high school years were. You hoped he would notice them first because you didn’t have a clue how to even start that conversation. What would you even say? Hey so I hurt myself in highschool and got this tattoo! Cool ain’t it? Of course not! Little did you know that Joost noticed the tattoo, he was just trying to approach the subjest in a not ignorant way. He understood how you felt, life gets really tough and he’s sad to see you went through something so bad you had to go to that for comfort. He decided to run his fingertips along the scars, making you gasp slightly and put your hand on top of his. You look at him, beautiful ocean blue eyes looking at you with nothing but sympathy. “I.. uh, how do I start this..” You say, trying to explain yourself but Joost just brings you into a warm embrace. “You don’t need to explain yourself my love, I’m sorry you had to go through something so horrible to make yourself do this.” He says with comfort but hesitance, choosing his words carefully. It was clear he cared but he had no idea what to even say in this situation. “I think it’s time you know.” You say and he nods, kissing your forehead and grabbing your hands, and interlocking your fingers.

And so you tell him everything, from start to finish. How school overwhelmed you and never finding the right people at school, all of them always stabbing you in the back in some way. You felt like it was a silly reason, something that wasn’t as serious as other peoples problems but he made you push those thought away. “Everyone has their own struggles, none are bigger then the others. They are all the same. It’s something that bothers you and just because someone had a ‘better reason to do it’ , which is totally not true and nobody should say or think, you should never think they aren’t important and don’t need help because the internet says they aren’t valid.” His soft smile was intoxicating, slowly making your frown turn into the smile he so loved.

“Thank you, thank you so much Joost.” You say, tears threatening to fall. They weren’t sad tears, of course not they were the tears of pure relief and joy. He wiped your tears, kissing your cheek and then looks at you with his signature, cute smile. “Live the tattoo.” He says and you giggle, showing it off to him. His eyes light up when he sees the stars he drew, along with other stars. You told him about every single one and who they were from and what they had to do with it and why you even let them draw a star for you. He listened to every single word that came out of your mouth, asking about your silly tales every now and then, which made you even more excited to talk about it. Joost couldn’t stop looking st the tattoo, tracing both the scars and stars, taking multiple pictures and showing them off to both his fans and friends. “So proud of her.” He would say to everyone, which made your heart melt.

That night he made a promise with you. “I promise on our never ending love i’ll always be here whenever you feel down, unworthy, unloved, sad. I’ll always be here no matter the situatuon and promise to listen to your problems.” He says, kissing your soft lips and embraced you for what felt like the 100th time that day. You stayed like that in each others comfort, letting all the bad emotions wash away into the stars of the night sky, miles and miles away.

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!! do NOT copy or repost any of my work on other platforms !!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

So I 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your casual arrangement turns a bit too serious.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“It was great to talk,” you shake Nick’s hand. “I’ll send you the details?” 

“Wonderful,” he squeezes as his lips slant in his characteristic half-smirk. His eyes remind you of another bold blue pair but you’re trying not to think of him. “I look forward to doing business together.” 

“Let’s aim for a follow-up next week. Make sure everything’s on track,” you confirm. 

“I like that. Very straight to the point,” he muses. 

“As nice a company-paid dinner is, I’m sure you’re dying to get home,” you say. 

“Maybe... if I wasn’t going home alone.”  

You hesitate. His little comments keep popping up. It’s expected. It comes with being a woman. You’ve done your best to ignore them but that one is too pointed to miss. 

“Again, appreciate doing business,” you pull your hand away. “Have a lovely night.” 

“Maybe next time,” he calls after you. 

You walk away, focusing on your posture as you keep rigid. It wouldn’t do any good to show your discomfort. You’re not sure what it is but lately, you’ve been like catnip to men. Something about you is drawing them all in. 

You raise your hand to flag a cab but your arm is caught and pulled back. You yipe as Bucky pulls you to face him. Holy shit!  

“What-- Bucky?! You scared me. You—you scared me.” It’s all you can stutter as your shrill voice scratches in your throat. “God!” You yank on your arm but he keeps a firm grip. You hit his other shoulder with your fist, “let me go. What are you doing?” 

“Who was that, huh? Thought you weren’t looking for anything serious.” He snarls. 

“Ow,” you finally rip your wrist free, rubbing your sleeve as you lean back on your heel. “I’m not. That was a work dinner.” 

“Oh yea? Cause it didn’t sound like just work.” 

“You-- you’ve been watching me?” You accuse. 

“I happened to pass by. Couldn’t help but overhear,” he scoffs. “You sitting there in that dress. I couldn’t look away.” 

“We agreed that this is over,” you insist. 

“I didn’t agree to shit. You pulled the rug out from under me.”  

“What are you talking about?” You bluster hotly. “This was never—it was always going to end. You know that. Why are you complicating this?” 

“Me, complicating it? It didn’t have to end. We were having fun,” he spits. 

“No, I wasn’t. I’m too busy for all that. So are you. I can’t have you stopping by in the middle of the night all the time or—or walking into my office after hours. Don’t you see that it was getting... too much?” You shake your head. 

“Too much? It’s exactly what you wanted. You said you wanted spontaneity. You wanted me. You liked it. All those time when you were under me, you couldn’t get enough. You always begged for more--” 

“Just stop. Bucky, we could be friends, we could hang out but I can’t keep doing that. I don’t have the energy and it’s getting scary.” 

“Scary? Oh so now I’m some monster? Huh?” 

“That’s not what I mean--” 

“No, I get it. You see me and you see this,” he raises his metal hand and wiggles his fingers. “You see what they all see.” He snaps his hand down. “You haven’t even caught a glimpse of what I was.” 

“Why-- why are you doing this? I wasn’t mean. So why--” 

“Doll,” he squares his shoulders and steps closer. He’s never called you that. He’s never been one for petnames when he isn’t buried inside you. “I’m not doing anything. I’m standing here talking to you. But think about what I could do?” He stops and you take another step back. He snorts, “I can your fucking heartbeat. You really think I’d hurt you?” 

“Right now, I don’t know what you’re going to do.” You utter. 

His blue eyes turn dull as his pupils dilate. He gets closer and huffs through his nose, “you won’t even talk to me like I’m a person.” 

“Bucky--” 

“You used me. You treat me like some dog you can throw out.” He takes one step and you take one back.  

“No, we had an understanding. We were just messing around--” 

“You’re messing around!” He barks as your back hits a pole. “And now it’s my turn.” He grins and raises a hand. You wince and he gently caresses your cheek with his knuckles. “You want me to be him, hm? Not Bucky, the other guy. You wanna see him? You wanna see how nice I’ve fucking been.” 

You whimper and shrink down, “please, I’m sorry. I know it was sudden but I thought--” 

He grabs your jaw and squeezes and you whine. Your legs buckle as you brace the iron street pole. 

“You thought fucking wrong. You didn’t think. Not about me.” His fingers tighten and your jaw aches. You slap your hand around his wrist. “Now, you will. I’m not going to let you go. Not forever. Tonight, you get to walk away but you’re going to be thinking of me. You’re going to check over your shoulder, behind your shower curtain, under your desk. You’re going to be watching and waiting for me because, doll, you won’t see me right in front of you and you won’t be able to stop me.” 

You shudder as he lets you go. You cling to the pole to keep from folding into a trembling heap. He stretches his fingers out as he examines his hand and turns to face the traffic. He chuckles as he steps up to the curb and motions for a taxi. You just stand there. 

A cab pulls up and he opens the door, “get home safe, doll. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no one else bothers you.” 

[imagine-darksiders]

Exposure Therapy - Chapter 5.

House Guest.

Strife x Reader.

Summary: When it rains, it pours...

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

When you agreed to assist the Horseman by lending him your ‘expertise’ on all things human, just to fuel whatever hare-brained scheme he’s been concocting in his isolation, you had no idea there was an unspoken caveat to the arrangement.

The short but very critical ‘starting right now,’ had gone unsaid.

Perhaps it was optimistic of you to assume you’d have more time to prepare, to come to terms with your strange new reality. At the very least though, you thought you’d have had the opportunity to go home and collapse on your bed, whittling away a couple of hours in blissful ignorance of the world spinning on without you.

If only.

Instead, Strife had rather disconcertingly taken it upon himself to follow you back to your apartment building, apparently dead-set on ‘getting you home safely,’ despite your insistence that he does anything else at all.

You’d even conducted a little experiment to try and get to the bottom of something that's been nagging at you ever since you left him in that alleyway all those days ago. It had worked a treat, and you caught him out spectacularly when you tried to lead him past your apartment complex. The Horseman, sharp as he is, had regardless shown his hand by drawing to a halt in front of the entrance, cocked his helm at you and called, “Uh, where’re you going?”

And oh. Oh! The speed at which you whirled around to face him, mouth pressed into a tight line and your hands planted squarely on each hip, told him exactly where he’d made a mistake.

At least he had the common courtesy to act like he knew he'd done something wrong, ducking the chin of his mask and averting his gaze to avoid your wide-eyed glare.

“So,” you began primly, “You did follow me home that night.”

You didn't pose it as a question, and the Horseman was well aware of that. 

Strife’s luminous eyes flashed in the darkness before they drifted sideways towards his left shoulder. “... Yeah?” he posited, as if what you said was odd, which makes sense when he followed up with a quiet, genuine, “You were hurt?”

And at that… your ire had receded. Only by a fraction, mind.

Perhaps to him, your question-turned-accusation was odd.

You were hurt...

He… probably meant well… you reasoned, giving your head a shake and heaving out a sigh that sent clouds of white condensation billowing through the air. “Okay, well, consider this lesson number one,” you huffed, stalking back the way you’d come and dragging yourself up the steps to the front door, “Humans generally don’t like being followed home. And speaking of home…”

Shoving the door open with an elbow, you hurriedly stepped into the lobby and basked in the curtain of warmth that whooshed over you when you moved inside, humming as the heat prickled at your frozen fingers.

Without turning to spare the Horseman a backwards glance, you released the door, letting it swing shut behind you as you called out, “I think it’s time you went back to – Wh-? HEY!”

The solid mass of armour and leather had bulldozed straight inside after you, catching the door on his arm and shouldering it open again to admit him. Like the giant he is, he'd had to stoop considerably underneath the frame, huffing out a loud grunt and leaving you to back hastily towards the lifts with your eyes on stalks as he unfolded to his full height, the tips of his spiked, black hair brushing the ceiling.

You’d forgotten until then how much larger he is, a titan looming amongst infrastructure made for humans, not Nephilim. You’d forgotten that this is a Horseman, beholden to nobody, especially not to you. And so, your hands fell uselessly at your sides, resigned to the fact that if a Horseman wants to be in here, you're all but powerless to remove him. 

“Who’s that?” he’d asked after taking the briefest of glances around the lobby.

You’d almost tripped over your own feet in your haste to scramble back over to him, realising immediately who he was referring to. “No, no! Shh!” you hissed, skidding to a clumsy halt in front of the Horseman and holding your hands up to try and slow his advance into the building, “I-it’s just Steffan! He’s security!”

Strife’s helm angled down to give you a curious squint before he returned his gaze to the human snoring away behind a desk on the other end of the room, dirt encrusted boots propped up on the wooden vinyl and a book laying open on his rotund stomach. The pages fluttered gently, disturbed by each laborious exhale.

“Please,” you continued, voice reedy and tired as you cast a rapid glance over your shoulder at the guard, “Please, don’t wake him up.”

Because Steffan is famous for his twitchy trigger finger, and you were well aware of the handgun strapped to his hip.

“Security?”

Chills prickled up and down your spine at the sudden dip in Strife’s voice, thick with disapproval and borderline malice.

“This guy’s s’posed to protect you,” he’d growled, “And he’s sleepin’ on the job?”

He took a heavy step forward, his metal boots clanking heavily on the carpet until his armoured torso inadvertently pressed against your palms, stopping the Horseman in his tracks and sending a twinge of pain up your splinted fingers.

You were too focused on flinching at Steffan’s nonsensical grunt to register the discomfort, nor the fact that you were pressing your weight against Strife’s abdomen, anything to keep him from moving closer to the security guard.

Unbeknownst to you, Strife had noticed. His golden eyes dropped to your injured hand and widened considerably, like he knew that moving forward again and exerting any more pressure on the tiny appendage would only cause further damage.

Shooting another glance over your shoulder, your heart dropped like a stone into your shoes at the sight of Steffan’s mouth peeling open into a wide yawn -  a sure fire sign that he was mere moments away from waking up to find a silver giant in his lobby.

Of course, it was then that you panicked. Anyone would panic in your place, you reasoned. And that panic had you switching up your plan in the blink of an eye.

If Strife wouldn’t leave the building…

Out of ideas, pursing your lips and squeezing your eyes shut, you threw caution to the wind and made… a decision.

“Hey?” you whispered urgently, snatching your hands away from his armour and scooping up the first thing you could reach – his gauntlet's forefinger. You tried not to think about how you couldn’t even encircle it entirely with your fist. It was too large.

“You wanna see what a human apartment looks like?” you breathed out in a rush.

And as you’d been dreading, the Horseman suddenly seemed much more compliant. “Can I?” he blurted, blinking down at you in apparent astonishment, but all the same allowing himself to be tugged towards the lifts.

It went unsaid that you wouldn’t have been able to budge him an inch unless he allowed it.

The lifts opened to permit you just as Steffan’s boots slid off the desk, and by the time the doors rumbled shut again, much to Strife’s audible surprise, you caught a final glimpse of the man reaching up to fumble back the rim of his cap, only to find himself blinking wearily out into an empty lobby.

You don’t know whether the Horseman was insulted when you jerked your hand away the very instant those doors closed, but if he cared, he made no mention of it, evidently more intrigued by the interior of the lift.

And you thought he seemed big in the lobby.

In the lift’s awfully limited area, boxed in by three walls and a door, you found yourself squashed right into one of the corners as far from your unwanted chaperone as you could get whilst he filled up every inch of space, even hunching in on himself some to keep his head from banging against the roof.

The whole while, you silently berated yourself for getting inside an enclosed space with a gun-toting Nephilim of all things. What possessed you!?

But later, you’d look back and realise it might have been your only option. He clearly wanted in. And something in you knew it was easier to lure him away from Steffan than it would have been to coax him outside again.

The lift’s weight limit on the control panel flashed amber in warning, but after a whispered prayer to a supposed Creator, the faithful pully system engaged, groaning miserably as it hoisted both you and the exceedingly heavy Horseman all the way up to your floor.

-----

Which leaves you in your current predicament; seated at a tiny, wood-wormed table in your tiny, ramshackle apartment with your tiny hands clenched into tiny fists in your lap.

Tiny… God, it’s all you can focus on.

This is your apartment, you shouldn’t be feeling so small inside it. But with a Horseman actively lumbering around your kitchenette with his sizeable shoulders knocking against the cupboards or the fridge every time he moves, you really can’t help it.

Stiff-backed, you keep your lips pressed into a firm line whilst Strife investigates… everything. Numerous sighs have been swallowed, as have countless yawns.

He’s been at this for some time.

Of all the stupid ideas, throughout all of human history, you think this one might just claim first prize. You all but invited a Horseman into your apartment. You opened the door, gestured inside and followed after him like you'd asked an old friend to come for a visit. And you really thought you might be the one who could bridge the divide between Humanity and Nephilim?

Jesus, your species is doomed. Again. Only this time, you're the one who pulled the trigger. Oh, what a grand plan this was; Get the Horseman into an enclosed space after you just got him out of one, and hope you don't say or do anything that might piss him off enough to level this building, the entire city and - worst case scenario - the rest of the planet.

Tony is going to kill you. 

But... perhaps you're just catastrophising again... It's rather common to find yourself doing that. Once you've lived and died in the Apocalypse, anything seems possible. Even the worst things you could possibly imagine.

However - and as much as you're loathe to give the thought too much traction lest you jinx it -  despite your fears, Strife has thus far been... suspiciously docile. 

And endlessly curious.

“What’s this doo-hickey?”

You straighten up slightly in the chair, blinking back sleep as he turns to you and taps his silver finger against an appliance sitting innocuously on the kitchen counter.

“… That's a toaster,” you supply wearily, braced for his inevitable follow-up question.

“Oh… What’s it do?”

There it is.

You have to make sure the breath you draw in through your nose is completely silent so as not to offend him before exhaling your response.

“It toasts.”

And because you know by now that he won’t be satisfied by that alone… “That means it cooks slices of bread.”

Strife’s eyes glow brilliantly in the dim light of the apartment, almost brighter than the bulb buzzing overhead. If he wasn't an ancient Nephilim armed to the teeth, you'd dare say he looks entranced by your explanation. 

“And then you can eat it, right?”

In the corner of your eye, you can see the door leading to your bedroom. The soft, freshly washed pillows have been calling your name since you left them this morning, the little temptresses, and they certainly haven't let up now that you've returned, not even with a clear and present hazard currently loitering in your kitchen. 

Plastering on a strained smile, you ignore the siren call of ‘bed,’ and blink up at the Horseman, retorting with a curt, “That’s right.”

Comically fast, his chest sticks out with an overabundance of pride at getting a bit of basic human knowledge right, and his gaze burns even more hotly than before. A splash of colour set against an otherwise monochrome canvas of metal.

You don’t know whether to be perturbed or pleased that you can tell what he wants even without him having to say it aloud. Eventually, you chalk it up to intuition.

Then again, perhaps it’s more of an educated guess.

He likely wants the same thing now as he wanted with the kettle, the microwave, the light switch by the door, the fridge, the inside of the fridge, the light inside of the goddamn fridge…

A demonstration. 

You’ve been at this for a while.

You nearly forget yourself and heave a put-upon sigh before you remember who you’d be sighing at. Cramming your lips together instead, you push yourself out of the chair and stiffly move over to the bread bin, squeezing past the Horseman who continues to take up most of your kitchen while his eyes burn a curious hole into the side of your head.

Paranoid as you are to have your vulnerable back turned to him, you refuse to look over your shoulder, instead rolling up the lid of the bin and clumsily swiping up a slice of bread. Then, shuffling sideways, you keep your back to the Horseman as you sidle around the circumference of your kitchen until you reach the toaster, where you’re quick to slip the future toast inside and jam the lever down until it sticks.

Strife makes a sound in the base of his throat when the bread disappears.

“And now,” you exhale, gathering yourself for a second before you twist about and lean against the counter, trying not to gulp at your proximity to the massive Horseman, “We wait.”

“Wait?” Strife parrots, only a little impatient.

“Yup.” Popping your lips on the ‘p,’ you stare at a spot just below his chin, counting the tears and holes in his cowl in favour of making eye contact. “Just like with the kettle.”

Knocking his head back, Strife lets out a petulant groan. “Ugh.”

“Ugh,” you agree succinctly, though yours has little to do with the cooking process of bread. 

For quite some time, the pair of you simply hover at opposite ends of the kitchen, stuck in a silence that's only broken by the analogue clock ticking away on the wall above your bedroom door. You've allowed your gaze to drop even further to flit between Strife's weapons, the gun in its left holster, and then the one on the right. Both stark reminders of the peril he brings just by being here. But studying the guns is all you can do to distract yourself from feeling his attentive stare on your face. He was so curious about your apartment before, why has he stopped to stare at you now? 

An uncomfortable heat starts to spread from below the collar of your dress, creeping steadily up the back of your neck as you're observed. Surely there's something in here that would take his fancy far more efficiently than you do.

Softly clearing your throat, you shift under his scrutiny and try very hard to feign indifference by leaning against the counter and folding your arms loosely across your chest. 

“... So,” the Horseman announces abruptly, studying your pose for a few seconds before he tries to mirror it, leaning his metal backside on the counter opposite yours and crossing his own arms, “How long do we have to-“

.... A lot of unexpected things have been happening to you lately. Most of which are awful and alarming.

So, you think you can be forgiven for jumping and letting out a startled scream when, without warning, the buzzer on your intercom cuts across Strife’s question with a harsh, grating, ‘BZZT!’

And whether in response to your fright, or to the buzzer itself, Strife is suddenly moving.

In a whirlwind of motion that occurs too quickly for you to keep up with it, there’s a Horseman planted quite squarely between you and the intercom, guns flying from their holsters and levelling at the little box on the wall near your front door.

That in itself is far more distressing than any visitors calling at this ungodly hour.

It takes a hard blink for you to come to your senses. And another to register the living wall of metal that's appeared in your way.

If you weren’t awake before, you certainly are now.

“S-Strife!” you sputter, lurching off the counter and grabbing thoughtlessly at one of his arms, “It’s okay! It’s just the intercom!”

Christ, it’s like trying to tug at the anchor of a ship with your bare hands. The Horseman’s arm doesn’t move an inch as you attempt to lower it from behind, and in fact, Strife hardly acknowledges the effort, canting his hip to the side and sliding one of his massive legs backwards until the rear side of his calf finds you, and you’re nudged further back into the kitchenette.

“Stay behind me,” he utters in a deep, sonorous tone, half his attention lingering on the tiny fingers slipping off his elbow.

“Oh, for god’s sake - there’s just someone at the door,” you snap, realising whose appendage you've got a hold of and nearly smacking yourself in the face in a hurry to whip your hands back. The explanation, however, doesn’t seem to settle him in the slightest.

If anything, he only grows more agitated, shoulders bristling to a staggering size as he angles his helm away from the intercom and towards the entrance to your apartment.

“The door downstairs – Ugh, you know what....Forget it. ” Throwing up your hands in exasperation, you duck around his side and scoot your way past the bridling Horseman

You see him balk immediately out of the corner of your eye, flipping his guns up towards the ceiling and away from you, though the gesture is lost on you as another buzz rips brazenly through your apartment.

“What now?” you breathe to yourself, ignoring the sound of Strife holstering his pistols and urgently telling you to, ‘Get back here.’

Stabbing your forefinger onto the ‘talk’ button, you lean against the wall next to your intercom and bark, “Hello?” far more sharply than you intended to.

But really. Of all the nights…

“Finally! God.”

Your finger leaves the button just as swiftly as it had arrived, all so the person on the other end can’t hear your forehead thud miserably against the wall.

Not now… Not him.

You wish you'd just stayed silent. Now he knows you're here. Swallowing hard, you press the 'talk' button again just as an enveloping shadow falls across your back, blotting out the light from your ceiling and casting you in eerie darkness.

“Noel,” you sigh curtly, “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

You don’t like being curt with people but… it’s Noel. And you have a Horseman in your home. Curt is a damn sight better than hysterical.

“Yeah, it’s ‘I don’t give a shit o’clock,” the man on the other end retorts, “Now shut up and pay attention-”

“- The Hell?”

You let out a tiny yelp at the sound of Strife’s voice tickling your ear.

“Is there some jackass living in your wall?” the Horseman asks behind you, his question amusingly genuine. His guns may be holstered, but he still sounds like his feathers are dangerously ruffled when he growls, "And did he just tell you to shut up?" 

Floundering for your words, there’s the briefest pause before Noel filters through again. “Hey.... You got a guy up there with you?”

It's barbed. A question with spikes and snarls. It puts your back up immediately. As if he has any right to ask you something like that, even if the 'guy' is a Horseman of the Apocalypse.

“That's... the TV,” you think on your feet, batting harmlessly at Strife’s visor when it appears over your shoulder and glares daggers at the intercom, “Um. Why are you calling?”

You can hear the sound of a tongue being clicked sceptically. “Tch. Whatever,” Noel mutters.

And then he raises his voice to add three dreaded words you’d have given anything in the world not to hear tonight.

“Got another one.”

The blood swiftly turns to solid ice in your veins, and suddenly, half of your senses pivot straight to the giant hovering at your back.

Noel's joking…. He has to be. It’s piss-poor timing, and not funny in the slightest, but you can forgive all of that, if only he’s-

“- Six years old, his name’s Oscar, both parents bumped ‘emselves off after dumping him in the hostel,” Noel rattles off as casually as you’d read your shopping list, confirming your fear and bringing all the fatigue flooding back into your weary body, “But the hostel told me they’ve got no more beds for him. So, you’re up.”

“… Noel,” you begin, a hardened edge to your voice you hope he’ll pick up on, “This is really, really not a good time.”

And oh god, if that isn't the understatement of the century. 

“Hey, you volunteered.”

You did. You did volunteer. You went to the town hall like so many other people and put your name down for services that would help society get back on its feet. It wasn't a permanent thing. Once or twice a month, at most. You said you were open to the possibility of working with children. God knows they were the ones who needed the most help after the Great Awakening. The hostels and pop-up orphanages were - and still are - packed to their absolute limits with lost, abandoned or runaway children.

Some of the kids were those who were in the city for a school trip or visiting distant relatives when the world ended. They died, and were resurrected where they stood, only with no conceivable way of returning to their families back home.

Those cases were slightly easier. Even without the Earth’s transport services up and running, it’s still possible to reunite families. It just takes a lot longer to get between locations nowadays.

Then, there are the other cases.

Not everyone learned how to live with the horrifying new reality they woke up to.

Parents were no exception. 

Sometimes it’s just one, a person who can’t shut themselves off to the horror of how they died. They’ll take back control the last and only way they know how, leaving the rest of the family behind to pull together and try to survive without them.

Sometimes… it’s both parents.

That’s when you and a handful of other volunteers dotted throughout the city are called forth. When the hostels are full. When the safehouses are packed to the rafters with strays. When there’s nowhere else for a child to stay for the night whilst it’s decided what to do with them.

You volunteered your home to serve as a temporary refuge until a solution could be reached.

It isn’t much. Typically, strays only stay for a few nights before they find something more permanent. You don’t share your apartment with anyone, and you have the extra room, so it isn’t a problem.

Or it wouldn’t be a problem if this were any other night.

“I’m sorry, Noel,” you try to breathe, in through your nose, out through your mouth, “You’ll have to get one of the other volunteers to-“

“-Hell no!”

You just about jump out of your skin at Noel’s indignant shout, and again when the Horseman behind you snakes his arm over your shoulder and pokes sharply at the speaker, uttering a grunt of confusion.

Luckily, Noel continues to rant over it, drowning out the sound of you swatting at the underside of Strife’s wrist and shooing him away from the intercom. “-I’m freezing my ass off trying to find this brat a place to stay, and you’re the only person who’s come to the door.”

‘Because it’s the middle of the night, and most sane people are asleep,’ you almost say.

“-And I ain’t traipsing around the city trying to find someone else to take him when you’re right here. Ain’t my fault you’re up there fucking around with some douchebag while the rest of us are actually trying to do their jobs.”

You violently recoil at that, a soft yet affronted gasp breezing in through your lips.

“… The Hell is a douchebag?” Strife pipes up unhelpfully.

Ignoring him, you stew for a moment, then consider telling Noel exactly why you can’t do what he’s asking. Setting aside personal grievances, you want to tell him that it’s dangerous up here, that there’s a Biblical being hijacking most of the space between your floor and your ceiling right now. Then you want to tell him that if he so wants to do his job, why doesn’t he give the poor kid a room for the night…?

But you know Noel.

Unfortunately.

If it weren’t for the extra rations he gets as a volunteer himself, he wouldn’t be seen anywhere near a child in need of help.

Something in that thought sparks another, and you’re suddenly pressing your finger to the button again and asking in an urgent tone, “Noel, is the kid with you now?

“Yeah, no shit he is. What? You think I’m just out here to be your messenger boy?”

Adequately horrified for a secondary, less-severe reason, you admonish, “Jesus, Noel. Watch your language, yeah? You said he’s only six!”

There’s a very deliberate scoff from the other side of the speaker. Then, “Fuck this. Look, I’m leaving him in the lobby. I’ll tell ‘em you said you could take him, so whatever happens to this kid is on you now.”

Yes, that’s precisely what you’re afraid of.

Wait… What did he just-…?

“- Noel!?” you ask urgently, pressing yourself closer to the speaker, “Noel, are you still there?”

… Nothing.

Only a cold, empty silence stifling the air of your apartment.

“That son of a –“ You swiftly check to make sure your finger is off the button. “- bitch! Oh my god! Is he serious!?”

This can't happen. Not now, not ever. You have to get down there. If you could only stop him and explain-! 

“What was that about?” Strife pipes, cocking his head at the intercom as if he expects it to start talking again at any moment, “Did Wall-Guy say something about a kid?”

You really don’t have time for this.

Making the executive decision to ignore your house guest, you march purposefully towards the front door, only pausing long enough to fumble with the chain lock. “Of all the irresponsible, idiotic, asshole things to do!” you seethe, grabbing the doorhandle and wrenching the whole thing open with as much strength as you can muster, “I’m gonna kill him. I might actually kill him this time!”

You don't even make it past the threshold before a cold chill creeps down your spine and stops you in your tracks.

“Need me to take care of it?” a dark voice growls. 

Sinister, the words crawl like venomous things into your ears. 

Whirling around, you clutch the doorframe and let out a stifled gasp when you find Strife standing just a foot away from you. It's hard to miss the near murderous gleam igniting his stare, and the readied stack of his shoulders, as though he’s committed wholly to fighting a battle on your behalf, all because of a figure of speech.

Horrified by the prospect of accidentally unleashing a Nephilim on the unwitting residents of your building, your frustration at Noel promptly evaporates like water off a frying pan. “No!” you blurt out loudly, almost throwing yourself back into the apartment at Strife with your arms outstretched to form a pitiful barrier between him and the world beyond your home. “No, no, no! It’s fine. I just misspoke!”

You can feel him scrutinising you from underneath that angular visor. There's a steady rumble coming from... somewhere on his person. Deep down in his chest, perhaps. 

On the verge of a total nervous breakdown, you fumble for the door handle again, keeping your splinted appendage raised like you’re trying to ward off an angry dog. “Just! Just you – you stay. Here! Okay? Please?”

And without waiting around to hear his response, you hastily yank the door shut – barely remembering not to slam it at the very last second lest you wake up the whole floor. All you can do is offer a quick prayer to whoever might be listening that Strife doesn't follow you this time.

Bolting down the hallway in your rush, you leave behind a very perplexed Nephilim who stands stock still in your apartment, blinking down at the spot you’d just vanished from and wondering what in the nine circles of Hell has you so spooked.

Emitting a soft hum, Strife rocks back on a heel and allows himself a moment to consider his options. 

Of course, no sooner has he started contemplating whether it'd be worth the risk of incurring your ire than a metallic 'cha-chunk!' suddenly rips across the silence of the apartment. 

It'll be a cold day in Hell if Strife ever admits that he'd been so startled by the explosion of sound, he'd jumped violently enough that his head nearly cracked the ceiling, and he'd whipped towards your kitchenette and pulled Redemption's trigger in a motion too quick to follow with the naked eye. 

Your poor, faithful toaster never stood a chance...

[effloradox]

An Act of Magic

pairings: hitachiin twins x gn!reader, haruhi fujioka x gn!reader

summary: after watching you struggle through a rough day at school, Haruhi gets her first real glimpse behind the curtain of how you and the twins interact with each other when most people aren’t looking.

notes: set early into the series but not tied to any episode in particular

Haruhi noticed from the moment she walked into class that you were having what could kindly be described as a bad day. Your usually perfect appearance seemed frayed at the edges, like you’d tried to hide it but something was going on. You were quiet during classes, hardly ever raising your hand to answer questions, and it was so unlike you that Haruhi was beginning to worry.

It only seemed to get worse the later into the day it got. During your shared study period she caught you stifling a yawn no less than thirteen times and when the school day finally ended she fully expected you to head straight home. She only looks on with surprise as you walk the familiar corridors to the host club. Usually you walk straight towards the twin’s table so she’s surprised by the divergence to your routine when you instead head to an empty table in the back corner of the room that she swears isn’t usually there.

You drop your bag with more force than strictly necessary, all but collapsing into the chair and dropping your head onto the table. There’s a barely audible thunk as your forehand makes contact with the wood of the table and she winces slightly.

The next thing Haruhi knows, two arms are being leaned on her shoulders in tangent, and that’s how she knows it’s the twins and not Tamaki. Given how close the three of you are, she figures now is a good time to ask the question she’s wanted to ask you all day.

"Is it just me or do they seem more annoyed than usual?"

"This is what happens when they get the proper amount of sleep." Haruhi waits for one of the twins to start laughing, or give any sign that they’re joking, but it never comes. She blinks at them as a few beats pass.

"What?" The two of them roll their eyes at her in a way that makes her want to throw something at them but she waits for them to explain, which they finally do. Hikaru pulls a complicated looking graph from somewhere within his jacket. At the top is a chibi style drawing of you and the graph shows some kind of pyramid with an arrow pointing towards the bottom right angle.

"That's why we aim for them to get no more than 5 hours. Any more and they're too aware." As Hikaru pushes the graph into her face, Haruhi notices that along the X-axis it says ‘Hours of Sleep’ and she can only assume the Y-axis is related to your mood.

In an act of magic that only the twins could pull off, Kaoru seems to pull a coffee from nowhere and makes his way towards you. He knocks his knuckles on the table twice to get your attention and he succeeds, but the look on your face when you raise it from the table is downright murderous. Haruhi watches on curiously as the frustration on your face softens at the gesture and you take the drink. All the tension seems to seep out of your body as you take your first sip and the two of you begin to speak softly, barely audible from the other side of the room. It seems to be going well as Kaoru slips into the only other seat placed by that table. Haruhi only looks away for a second to examine the look on Hikaru’s face.

It’s serene, and so unlike the usual expressions that settle on the faces of the twins that Haruhi almost feels like she’s looking at a stranger. For the first time in a while, she feels like she’s overstepping a line bearing witness to this; like it’s something only the three of you should be aware of. Her eyes leave Hikaru’s face before he catches her staring and the two of them stand shoulder to shoulder watching as (Y/N) and Kaoru continue their conversation.

series masterlist

[paleprincessturtle]

Closed

Hi, peeps! Please excuse any inaccuracies in my writing. Enjoy!

Summary: Harvey closed yet another deal. So, what's new?

Warnings: Nothing

"Where the hell were you?" Harvey barges into your office, unannounced, and with such force. You slide the pamphlet you’re reading underneath a pile of documents in front of you and hope to God that Harvey didn’t realize your abrupt movement. "Where the hell were you, and what are you hiding? Answer the questions consecutively," Harvey says sternly while looking you dead in the eyes. “Okay, so umm." You paused and realized how Harvey was looking at you skeptically. You have to pull yourself together. You can speak in the middle of a courtroom with such elegance, determination, and confidence. But Harvey Goddamn Specter strips it out of you.

" The answers to questions one and two were correlated. " Harvey sighs, "then starts answering. Smith was my old client, and I know how long it takes to get from his house back to the office. You took almost 3 hours and blew me over in our meeting.” Shit. You forgot completely about the meeting. You were supposed to be in this meeting with Harvey hours ago. “So, pray tell, where were you and what happened?” Harvey sits himself down on a chair across from yours. "Like the initial plan, I went to Smith’s place to drop the final contract. I was about to go straight back here until I saw something just on his doorstep." You bite your lips, contemplating how you should proceed with this story. Harvey nods his head, encouraging you to continue. "I saw a black kitten, alone.” You see Harvey’s eyebrows draw closer together. "So I took him to the vet to make sure if he’s okay and all.” Harvey’s lips turn into a straight line. "You bailed from our meeting for a cat?” You flinch at his tone. When you choose to work for Pearson Specter in the middle of dating Harvey, you know that he won’t always be your boyfriend. You know there will come days like this when he is nothing but your boss. And you know you are in the wrong for this. "I’m sorry, Harvey. It won’t happen again. My emotions got the best of me, and I didn’t think it through. I’m sorry." Harvey sighs and leans back on the chair. "Where���s the cat?” Harvey asks. Again, you bite your lips and point at the corner of your office. Harvey follows where your finger points, takes a solid 5 seconds to look at the crate with a sleeping black kitten inside it, and looks back at you. You start before he says anything: "I won’t have any meetings with anyone in my office today. And you didn’t even realize he'd been there since you got into my office, right?” Harvey just stares at you. "Don’t let something like this happen again. I wasn’t only pissed because you hung me dry in our meeting; I was worried about you too. I’ve insisted you should take Ray.” Harvey stands up, and you find yourself following his movement as if he were your client. You get more nervous under the scrutiny of your own boyfriend than all your clients. He can be intimidating when he needs to be. He starts to walk for the door before you say, "What about the kitty?” Not only do you ask for his existence here, but you also subtly ask if you can bring it home. Harvey stops and looks like he’s contemplating his choices before he looks back at you. "Bring the cat home until you find the cat an adopter. Talk to Louis; he likes cats.” Harvey leaves you alone, sad about his answer.

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

It’s 7 p.m. when you turn off your laptop and decide to finally go home. Timmy, the black kitten you found earlier today, is still sleeping soundly in his little bed. You grin, looking at him. You have to admit that you already love this cat. You replay what Harvey said to you, and your heart heaves at the option you have. No, you think to yourself. You’ll fight Harvey, so he’ll let the cat stay. You’re also a lawyer yourself anyway. You sure can wiggle around to get something you want. You call Ray to help you bring down the crate while you walk down the hallway to go fetch Harvey. The room is dark, but you see Donna still at her desk. You lean on her desk, and she smiles. "Where’s Harvey?" you ask as you peek inside, trying to find any sign of him in case your eyes deceive you. "He didn’t tell you? He went to Atlantic City to close a deal after lunch," Donna says as she studies you. Harvey always tells you everything. "The Blanchard case?" you ask, and Donna nods. "Why didn’t he tell you?” Donna asks; all are curious. "I ditched the meeting we had. I was supposed to go back to the office after I dropped a document, but I saw a kitten," you pause as you shuffle around to grab your phone. "This is Timmy, the kitten in question.” You show your phone to Donna, and she smiles. "He was all alone?" and you nod. "I took him to the vet and forgot I was supposed to be Harvey’s number two at that meeting." You put your phone back inside your handbag. "He went all Boss Harvey on me, not that I blame him. But he told me we couldn’t keep the cat." Donna looks at you and smiles again. "We all know how he deals with emotions. He was more worried about you than you missed the meeting. You huff and nod, "Yeah, we all know he’s trying," and you smile weakly. "Just go home after you’re done, Donna. I gotta go home and get Timmy situated in the house." You wave her goodbye as you walk to the elevator.

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

Once you get home with Ray bringing the crate inside and all, you sit by the kitchen and try to listen for any sign of Harvey’s arrival. He won’t stay out for the night; he was mad, but he’ll get home. You know that. After jolting out notes on your current case, you hear a ding outside from the elevator. You close the file and run to the door, ready to welcome him home. He opens the door to you, smiling. He looks tired but smiles once he sees you grinning. "Welcome home," you say as you cup his cheeks with your hands and give him a kiss. "What an excellent service," Harvey whispers, his lips touching yours. "I’m sorry about today," Harvey says as you lead him inside. "If anything, I’m the one who is sorry. About the meeting, about making you worry. He stops both of you in the middle of the hallway and kisses you. You smile against his lips, take his coat off, and walk further inside. “Harvey, look," you say as you point near the couch. "You’ve found an adopter?" Harvey asks as he takes the mug of warm tea you offer him. "I’m thinking of keeping him here.” You say it carefully. Harvey sighs, as he takes your hand and leads you to sit with him on the couch. He sits you down as he faces you. "We can’t keep him, baby.” You instantly pouted at his words. "Because you know both of us are busy. A pet is a big responsibility.” Harvey explains with a stern voice, trying to make you see reason. "But Louis had Bruno,” you said defensively. "Bruno died because Louis was too busy to realize he was sick. And why do you think he hasn’t got another cat yet?" You see where this is going. "I want you to be happy, and you know that. But a cat with our work schedule right now will be quite hard, don’t you think?” As you look down at your intertwined hands, tears threaten to escape. You really do love Timmy. “Remember, we made a promise; once we marry and decide to start a family, we’ll lessen our workload and move to a bigger place. We’ll have more time then. And we can have 10 dogs and 20 cats.” He cups your cheek for you to look up at him and smiles as he wipes the tears from your cheek. You see his reason and just nod. Harvey kisses your forehead before saying something about a bath and bed.

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

Harvey sighs as he looks at the time on his phone. 2.30 am. He looks down at you, sleeping soundly. He carefully untangles you from him. He walks to the kitchen and retrieves a bottle of cold water from the fridge. He chooses to work for a bit as he opens the door to his home office. He’s deep in some files when he sees a movement just at the door, and he snaps his head up. He cocks his head at the sight of the cat walking inside his office. The cat uses the chair across from him to climb up to his desk. The cat sits down, looking at Harvey. Harvey has no choice but to look back at the cat. And so the staring contest begins. Harvey looks at the little creature and contemplates how much this cat can make his girl happy. He believes a cat won’t require as much care as a dog. He remembers the tears and the pout on his girl’s face when he said they couldn’t keep the cat. He remembers how she was an only child and never really had a friend growing up. He petted the cat in the head. The cat looked cautious at first, but then he closed his eyes and purred. "Okay, bud. Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’ll make our girl happy, you and I. And in return, you’ll get the best care this world has to offer, deal?"

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

Note: Feel free to send me a request! Thanks!

MASTERLIST

[mintywolf]

(I wrote this on the train coming home on August 26th although I am just getting around to posting it now because time is a weird soup.)

So okay.

****

I haven’t written a personal journal post in a long time but I want to write down EVERYTHING I can remember about my adventure to NYC to see the Critical Role cast so I don’t forget. It was SUCH a moving experience and I’m so glad I went even though I was scared.

So okay my big goal for this year was to finish the first chapter of my C3 prequel fan comic A Long Road Home (southerngothiccomic.com), have a print edition made, and meet Laura and Marisha at a convention so I could give copies of it to them in person. When the CR cast announced they were going to be at Anime NYC this year I figured that was the closest they were probably going to get to me in Virginia. (And getting autographs at NYCC is reportedly like hunting a unicorn so I figured this would be my best chance.)

I was also terrified, and almost talked myself out of it because I was nervous about giving them the comic, even though I already had a badge and it was what I really, really wanted to do. I know the cast loves to see fanart — and also, it has been revealed, reads the fanfic — but it’s also a pretty well-known taboo for a fan to show their fanfic to a creator and a graphic novel is an unholy hybrid of the two. I was also worried that it would seem presumptuous of me to present them with a fanmade prequel graphic novel because there’s almost certainly going to be an official one at some point, and afraid that at best they might politely tell me they couldn’t accept it (for the reasons that comic writers aren’t “allowed” to read fanfic), and at worst they might be kind of annoyed that it exists. Either way I’d be REALLY sad, and in the weeks leading up to the con I worked myself up into an irrational panic about this. Fortunately my friends managed to talk me into not backing out (and spoilers: it turned out okay in the end!) but I was still very scared.

Also I was so focused on the comic stuff that I forgot until after GenCon earlier this month to think of what I wanted to actually have autographed. I decided to get a big print of the chapter one cover from INPRNT, assuming that since I ordered it two weeks in advance with an eta of 5-7 days that would be plenty of time for it to get to me. Well, reader, it was not. (But please do not let me dissuade you from using INPRNT! To their credit when I contacted them and asked if I could upgrade to rush delivery, they expedited it for free. Unfortunately even with rush shipping it just missed me, arriving at my house while I was on the train to NYC.)

Pâté on the train going to see his biological parents. (Laura and Marisha.)

When I saw that it wasn’t going to arrive in time I was starting to panic because there is nowhere near me to have art prints made. It’s a 15 minute drive (past the alpaca farm) just to get to the nearest grocery store. Grasping at straws I was kind of like Should I . . . draw something? On paper?? With real media that I haven’t used in like 10 years??? I only have 3 days!!!

Fortunately my life was saved by @emphaticembroiderer who had the brilliant suggestion of sending my art ahead to a print shop in NYC and picking it up before the convention. There are indeed MANY of those in New York and I managed to find one that was open on Saturdays and able to make my print on short notice. (567 Framing on W 14th street. The owner, Jack Hu, did excellent work and was very kind!) By that point I was frazzled and didn’t want two of the same print so I decided to be self-indulgent and had this one made. Not my showiest piece but it is one of my favorite things I’ve drawn. (This turned out to be the correct decision.) It’s a 6 1/2 hour train ride from here to there (and it got a little delayed along the way) so by the time I got there it was after 5 and the print shop closed at 6:30 so I zoomed over there straight from the train station to pick it up. It turned out BEAUTIFULLY, and the owner was pleased with how happy I was with it and that he’d been able to help.

He enjoys that he is included.

Then I went and checked in to my hotel and that point really just wanted to lie down on a bed but I had plans to take Pâté to see Hadestown on Broadway that night because I wanted to make the most of my trip. (Also it’s important for our scrungly son to receive a cultural education.) In keeping with the theme of the weekend I wore the Laudna-themed sundress I made for GenCon with one of the poppies in my hair. An usher told me they liked my ensemble. :) I had decided to go for a front row mezzanine seat because I didn’t know when I’d ever have this opportunity again and I didn’t want to risk my miniature self being stuck behind a tall person. It was perfect; I could see everything and the performance was AMAZING. Pâté had a very good time too.

The next day was the CR panel and autographs!! I decided to wear my 1950s Laudna cosplay from GenCon. I had some doubts about it when I got there because without the rest of 50s Bells Hells the theme isn’t as clear and outside of a DnD-focused convention the recognizability of a CR character is kind of low, let alone an AU variant on one. But once I found the Critters my Pâté poodle skirt was appreciated. :)

This is Rach @dadrielle, Astoria @astoriacolumnstaircase, Abby @overnighttosunflowers, and me as 50s Hells at GenCon!

And okay I know this said a lot but it’s true, CR fans are the NICEST fandom to be a part of. <3 If you’re ever standing in line for a CR thing by the time you get there you will have new friends. (For comparison the other-fandoms cosplayers I saw at the hotel and on the way to the con didn’t even return my smiles, even though we were all clearly going to the same place.) I fell in with a group of people who were near me in line (including an amazing Owlbearman cosplayer) and we decided to all sit together. The panel was really great. I don’t remember everything that was asked because of everything ELSE that happened later that day but they hinted that Big Things are coming (including multiple live shows!! Please come to Richmond! Or DC! Or at least somewhere on the East Coast!) for the 10th anniversary and Momlan stepped up to the mic during the Q&A segment and revealed that Sam has achieved his childhood dream . . . to become a minotaur. :D

With the mindset of making the most of this trip I had intended to try to get a spot in line to ask a question but I was hesitant about being on camera (even in cosplay) and while I was dithering about it like 50 people got in line. (I was also Suffering by that point because my rockabilly Laudna shoes have like 3 inch heels and after walking from the hotel to the convention center I didn’t have the fortitude to dart over to the line in them.)

My question, which I hope to submit next time there’s a Q&A opportunity, was this: For Marisha. We’ve seen Delilah’s influence manifesting in Laudna’s fashion choices recently. Now that she has the means and the freedom to do so, what kind of clothes would she choose for herself?

(Because I am a little sad that — until a possible post-campaign oneshot — we’ll never get to see a high-level Laudna costume that’s totally of her own design and I’m really eager to know what it would look like! Let her be spooky and free!)

Afterwards the cosplayers were being rounded up for a photo shoot but I was anxious to get a good spot in line for my autograph with Laura at 2pm so I stealthed away with Ken (@elissabrat), a Jester fan I had met in line, who knew where they were and had one with Travis at the same time. When we got there we were told No, go away and come back in an hour and a half, because it was still only 12. So we went to the Artists Alley where we found a girl named Lea whom we had also met in the panel line and collected a few other stray Critters (Ken has a boisterous and inviting personality and importantly, is very tall, preventing the rest of us from getting lost in the crowd) and we wandered around seeking out all the CR fan artists we could find. (There were a lot! It was great. I got some prints.)

by Cait May and Maliveth

Around 1 we decided to go back and see what the line situation was. Before we parted ways I exchanged twitter handles with Lea, who looked at my profile and said “Wait . . . this is you?”

She told me she was a big fan of my comic and looks forward to it every week! and we were both kind of like !!! at each other for a moment. I had never met someone who recognized my art in the wild before. (On ANY other day this would have been the most amazing thing that happened to me, haha.) I was so touched to meet her. <3

I took out the two books I was carrying and explained why I was there and we all got hyped up about it. And it made it feel a little less daunting, to know that there was someone there who understood the quest I was on and how close I was to the end of it.

I was like 5th in line for Laura and since it was still early I got to participate in that bonding experience integral to every con, sitting on the floor in cosplay, with a very good Vex behind me. (Hilariously, even after the dig at them — or maybe unaware of it — in the most recent episode, there were a lot of Funko Pop resellers around us, haha.)

I sent word to Southern Gothic Discord to remember me fondly in case I died here. In fact I'm not entirely sure that I didn't.

It felt like there was a disproportionate amount of fanfare revealing my print because I kept it how it was packed by the printer, wrapped in paper in between two pieces of cardboard so it wouldn’t get bent, so there was this whole ceremony of peeling back the tape, turning under one of the cardboard protectors, unfolding the paper, and turning over the print. But Laura loved it. She made like a happy sob when she saw it (it was really cute) and she looked at it for a long time taking in all the details and said it was beautiful. <3 <3 <3 (No matter how much we love and ship Imogen and Laudna, NO ONE loves them or is shipping them harder than Laura Bailey. She asked if I was going to bring it to Marisha too and was careful picking out a spot so there'd be room for both of their signatures. :))

I told her I was really happy to meet her because I’ve been a fan since BloodRayne (so, um. 20 years) and she said “oh wow, that was OG days!” And she gave me just a really kind look like she understood how much it meant to me to be there.

Then I gave her the comic. You all were right, I was worried about nothing! because she is the sweetest and she loved it. I very nervously pushed it across the table and said it was a comic I had made and wanted to give her. She picked it up and started turning the pages and was surprised when she saw what it was. “Wait, this is a whole novel! You made this?”

I confessed that I had, and she asked how long it had taken, I told her about a year (it was actually longer; in the moment I kind of forgot not how many pages there are in the first chapter but how many weeks are in a year) and she looked just really impressed that I had made it and touched by how much work had gone into it. She said she couldn’t wait to read it and seemed really excited to hear that it’s still going online! (So no pressure on me there if she's keeping up with it now, haha. o.o) And she kept looking between the book and me like she couldn’t believe it.

Then she asked me if I would sign it for her. :')

Somehow I survived long enough to do so! (a little wobbly because my hands were shaking) and someone (I think it was the ticket scanner) made a joke about how I was the first person to give an autograph at a signing, haha. And then she came around the table and gave me a hug. <3 <3 <3

After that my soul was still on the ethereal plane but the rest of me managed to find my way (after a brief wrong turn) to Marisha’s line. (There was a really good Keyleth and Caduceus in line behind me and they kindly noticed and returned the Pâté sticker that fell out of Marisha’s book).

She recognized my cosplay as 1950s Laudna right away! which was very validating after my earlier indecision haha. She loved the Pâté skirt and thought the scissors embroidery on my collar was adorable. She really liked the art too and was kind of like “Awww” about the book like in an “aww it’s an Imogen and Laudna thing” kind of way (she also liked the glass bottle windchimes on the cover and I love that she noticed that detail because Laudna’s penchant for turning things other people have thrown away into arts and crafts is one of my favorite aspects of her character) until she opened it and started looking through it.

Then she said, “Wait, this is actually really good," and she asked me seriously if Liam “Art Dad” knew about it (I said he had liked some of my other art on Twitter but I didn’t know if he knew about the comic) and then she said — still looking at it, more to herself than me — “We’ll have to add it to our art catalogue.” I don’t know exactly what that means (and I don’t want to get my hopes up too high by speculating; I was too !!! in the moment to ask and now I’m going to be wondering) but . . . it sounds . . . exciting??

They also both enjoyed Pâté and his lil sunglasses. :)

I had gone up with the intention of asking my other burning question: How does being cold-blooded affect Laudna in cold climates? If she gets too cold will she enter a state of brumation like a lizard? Will she freeze solid?

But I forgot. And it really wouldn’t have been the right moment. Maybe when I come back with Volume Two. :)

You’re supposed to pay extra to get a quote put on there but they both did it anyway without even asking. I think they must be really pleased when someone brings them something personal that they’ve made to have signed and not something they’re planning to sell.

After that I just kind of floated away from the con even though it was only like 2:30 haha. Nothing else could have happened there that would have equaled or improved upon that experience. Although I did adopt a Tentacle Kitty. The vendor (correctly) guessed “you look like you’d vibe with our spooky collection” so I had to get a new buddy for Pâté. (50s Laudna, still readily identifiable as a witch wherever she goes.) Also I saw a very chill emotional support pomeranian in a backpack.

(On the way back I saw the mark of the Traveler graffiti’d in green on the sidewalk. Truly a blessed day. :P)

Afterwards I just sat on the bed in my hotel room amid the floof of my crinoline wondering what even is my life for the next few hours and being like !!!! at Discord. Then I met up with Abby (whom it was wonderful to see again!! thank you so much for coming to see me) for dinner and had a really lovely time going over the What Just Happened of it all and talking about Imodna over strawberry pancakes. As one does. Perfect ending to an amazing day. <3

It was SUCH an incredible, exhilarating experience, thank you everyone who pushed me into not giving up out of fear. Laura and Marisha are SO nice and gracious in person and it was just so rewarding, after all the work and love and time I’ve put into this comic, to be able to finally bring it to the people who inspired it! And to see it appreciated and admired by them! It was more than I ever could have imagined.

This fandom is the best. My heart is so happy and full of love right now. <3 <3 <3

[astr-venus]

You changed your hair again｡⁠.ﾟ★ ˎˊ˗

｡⁠☆Cw: black!reader, I am black but I hate getting my hair done sooo..., gn!reader, cuteness aggression

｡⁠☆CH: 707 ⁠☆ Yoosung ⁠☆ Jumin (separate)

✧707✧

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

You weren't sure if cornrows would be your thing. Sure they looked nice on other people, and there's a couple pictures of you with beaded cornrows when you were five. But you haven't been 5, or even 10, for a while now.

"Thought I'd try something new."

Saeyoung just stares for a moment.

He saw you literally like 6 hours ago. You said you were going out with your girls, and he was happy to give you a kiss goodbye and well wishes. Should he have expected you to come back home with a completely new hairstyle? Or completely new hair??

"It's so cute! I love it! I don't get it, but I love it!"

"What is there to get about it?"

You look at him with a slightly scrunched nose, confusion written a thousand times over your face. He probably matches it though, even through the wide (adoring) smile he's wearing.

"How???"

He's being seriously inquisitive, but you laugh anyways. It makes him feel warm inside.

"Ah, you must be a shape shifter." He tacks on, just to keep a smile on your face. "I've always suspected it. No one as beautiful as you could've possibly been anything but supernatural."

Saeyoung could die happy seeing you fluster, seeing the way you roll your eyes to the side, seeing the way you fiddle nervously with your fingers. It isn't his fault you're so damn cute when you look like that.

You groan, trying to change the subject.

"Next time I get my hair done you can come with me."

"Ooh, the magician is revealing their secrets!"

"Not a secret, but sure."

✧Yoosung✧

"Yeah, do you like it?"

"It's straight now." Yoosung says dumbly. "I thought it was curly."

He tilts his head, like a confused puppy. If you didn't know any better you could've sworn there was an actual question mark floating above his head.

"Have I been hallucinating?"

You laugh, and he pouts, crossing his arms on his chest.

"I asked if you like it."

"Oh!" He perks right up, if you squint your eyes just right you can see an invisible tail wagging. "Yes, it's very beautiful! You always look beautiful!"

The compliment draws a wider smile out of you. He's so cute you could wrap your hands around his throat and strange him. It's an incredibly good thing you like him too much to do so.

✧Jumin✧

"For that gala thing you want me to go to."

Jumin frowns. "You took all of the color out of it."

It's not odd for you to have a new style every couple weeks, specifically because he encourages it. He likes when you spend his money. A lot. More than is what's considered healthy. But it always has color in it, maybe not more than one or two, but there's always at least a bright streak in your hair.

"Baby, I don't really think your rich friends would find a skunk stripe in my hair very professional."

"They're not my friends."

"Not the point."

Jumin frowns deeper, this time his eyebrows crease with it.

"I like the color. I always like the colors."

You open your mouth to respond, but Jumin cuts you off before you get the chance.

"There's no one there to impress. I don't care about them." He pauses, a look of thought crossing over his face. "I like when you express yourself. Change it."

"How'd you know that I don't like it?"

Jumin looks at you flatly. He doesn't do anything like pout or roll his eyes because that behavior is below him, but he makes sure his incredulousness is blatant. You act like he hasn't devoted his life to knowing you better than he knows the cover of his favorite books. Not his palms. Because he hasn't spent enough time staring at his palms to be able to pick them out in a crowd of other ones.

"Change it. Make it something to compliment your clothing if you're so worried."

"Even if I want to, we really don't have time to go back to the salon, the thing starts in like an hour."

The thing is, Jumin doesn't even want to go to the gala anyway. He has no need to fraternize with their people when he could buy their companies without a second thought. It's not like he needs to look for a betrothed either, he already has you.

Curse his father for asking him to go to this. He could be having a perfectly lovely night in with you, and your brightly colored hair, but no. He has to watch you dilute your personality for people he could buy and sell with a snap of his fingers.

"You can change it afterwards then."

"Tomorrow." You correct.

"Tomorrow."

Woohoo !! First mystic messenger fic here !! There is now official evidence that I don't exclusively write for MHA ⁽⁠⁽⁠ଘ⁠(⁠ ⁠ˊ⁠ᵕ⁠ˋ⁠ ⁠)⁠ଓ⁠⁾⁠⁾

Also my personal headcanon that Jumin is super into MC treating him like a personal bank account. MC comes home with two arms full of shopping bags and he's fighting to keep himself PG lol

｡⁠☆Requests open

[serpentinefairy]

Can I have some romance in a greenhouse with grayson. I want a reader at an event who has social anxiety just doing her best and escapes to look at plants and grayson looks for them and they dance a lil and stuff

OMGOMGOMGOMGKGM IM FUCKINH IN LOVE STOP IM DOING THIS RN WTFFFF

Fem!Reader x Grayson

Tonight was the night.

You were invited to a red carpet event to celebrate Progress Day. Definitely wasn’t your cup of tea at all, you’d rather be at home reading or finishing a project you had. But you had intel.. Grayson was going to be guarding the event along with other enforcers.

You had spoken to her a few times but it was never anything more than a simple “hello”, “how are you”, “I’m fine”, “that’s good”. She had this aura that was so inviting. You stared into the mirror fixing a few stray strands of hair before taking a deep breath and stepping out into the ballroom filled with sophisticated people.

As your eyes lock with stranger after stranger, you give them a small smile, making your way to the food table. You grab a few grapes and place them onto a small golden plate, trying your absolute best not to draw attention to yourself. You keep your eyes on the ground until you hear a voice next to you.

You look up to see a tall man standing over you with a grim smirk on his face. “Hey beautiful. You here alone tonight?” You chuckle softly as your grip tightens on your plate. “Oh what you don’t wanna tell me?” He takes a step closer, moving a strand of hair from your face. “I- uh-“ The stranger laughs wrapping his arm around your waist, not understanding a single boundary. You gasp and kick him in the shin causing him to grimace in agony.

Without looking back you make a B-line straight for the balcony. Seeing that it’s full of people you turn around trying to find another exit, then you spotted it. Large glass doors at the back of the party. With a soft grunt, you push the heavy door open, noticing a green house in the distance.

~~

Grayson had been at the event for hours. Guarding the door, patrolling the perimeter of the building, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. After swapping places with Marcus again, Grayson makes her way into the ballroom, her eyes looking out for a specific person. She sighs as she realizes you weren’t there.

She makes her way around the party, standing out in her uniform. As she turns to make her way back outside, she sees someone familiar open the back exit door towards the garden. “Y/n..?” She mutters to herself before following behind you.

Grayson watched as you open the doors to the greenhouse and decides to join you. She admires you from afar at first as you softly touch the flowers there. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” You softly gasp and place your hand on your chest, locking eyes with the woman that you can never stop thinking about. You feel a since of relief seeing her soft smile.

Grayson chuckles as she takes a few steps closer. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Why aren’t you inside with everyone else?” You shake your head. “I didn’t even last 5 minutes. And there was this guy..” You groan in disgust while Grayson face gets more serious and her stance more firm. “Did he disturb you?” She looks at you with concern. “If you can identify him you know we can-“

“No it’s fine.” You interrupted. “I just want to move on with my night. How’s yours going?” Grayson stance softens as she lets out a low sigh. “As boring as ever. Until now.” Her smile comes back as she locks eyes with you. “You know, we can still hear the music.” Taking a step back, Grayson bows and offers her hand to you. You chuckle softly and do the same, bowing to the woman you always admired from afar, before taking her hand.

As she pulls you close, you can feel your heartbeat accelerating. Grayson lets out a low hum as she rocks side to side, one hand on your lower back, the other intertwined with yours. “Feels nice to slow down for once, hm?” You smile, not wanting this moment to ever end, not even for a second. “Feels amazing.” You whisper as you lay your head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat.

[cowboygenesis]

4: call it like you see it | din djarin x reader

part 4 of the "brown eyes" series: masterlist and spotify playlist.

pairing: din djarin x reader

chapter warnings: none.

word count: 6.3k

series summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible.

notes: YES MY FRIENDS, two chapter in 2 days! when i tell you i sat down for 6 hours straight making this happen, i mean it. chapter 5 is already half-way done, too, so i'm pretty hyped for this series as you can tell. how do you guys feel about valerie's character? let me know!

A week passes after your spontaneous gathering with the soldier-child duo, and you find yourself wondering about them more often than you’d initially liked.

When you’re out and about in town, doing errands—be it groceries or helping out a neighbor in need—the memory of his visor fixed firmly on you muddles your mind as you sat in the seat of his Crest. You remember your quickened pulse, his gaze, and the proximity. Maker.

You want to visit them: bring more baked goods and chat, cuddle Grogu, and unwind in the woods as the duo does… whatever they do— yet each time you think about it, your throat tightens. You don’t want to push things too far, and often you feel as though you’ve stepped out of line by just looking for them in the first place.

And so Lazure Prime, with its rolling fields and soft winds, has never felt this lonely before.

There's a peculiar quiet that follows you home nowadays, leering in the dark as you catch yourself scanning the tree line, hoping to spot the familiar gleam of silver armor. For days, it doesn’t come.

It’s a feeling you’re familiar with, yet can’t quite place as you sit in your home one night. The HoloWave hums with a soft tune, harmonizing with the howling wind breezing through the windows. You’ve left them open to enjoy the downpour— trickling over your rooftop and bringing in that delicate, ozonic smell.

You sit at your dining table, blanket hanging loosely over your hip, and a hand-sharpened pencil in your hand.

The graphite glides over a yellowed page, crisp sound caressing your ears as you try to commit everything from memory to paper. The strange baby, a rouge skyline through the window, and his strong, palpable presence as he gazed over— into you near the console that night.

What would he look like under the armor, had you taken a guess?

You know his skin to be smooth and tan. Then, you picture his face worn from years of hard work, wrinkled at the intersection of his eyebrows from the times he scowls; but in your imagination, in this specific scene, there’s a wide smile on his face. A grin— toothy and boyish— amidst the features of a man who's gone through Hell and back.

And his eyes? You couldn’t tell. Are they blue like the vast oceans of Lazure, or dark like the depth of space?

Your hand shakes against the page as you draw them, as if the fantasy itself was too sinful to ponder.

Thunder strikes beyond the treeline as you fall asleep against the journal page. You dream of rolling fields, gnarled branches, and a metallic safe-haven hidden within.

Today, the market opens again; and because you’ve decided to omit setting up a stand this time around (“I’ve just been too busy,” you had told your friends), you find yourself waking late.

It’s almost noon when you finally check your chrono, and so in fear of missing the market altogether, you prepare in a great hurry.

The caf scalds your tongue as you take brazen sips between brushing your hair, the bundled knee-highs on your calves mismatched when you finally throw on your cloak and scarf. Meanwhile, you find yourself reciting a silent prayer.

As you walk down the familiar path to the heart of the city with an empty basket in hand, your chest thrums with anticipation. Silently, you wish to see them again, if only to know how they’re faring.

The last few steps you make around the bend are hurried. Eventually, you break into a jog as the town square comes into view.

It’s busy, as it is every other week; brimming with locals who stroll from booth to booth, looking for their choice of stockpiles. Children dart between stalls, their laughter echoing above the racket of bargaining voices. Vendors call out to passersby, eager to sell their wares.

Normally, this cacophony would feel lively, but today it only deepens the hollow ache within you. Your eyes squint, trying to spot a familiar head of green or suit of metal, but to no avail.

Your lips dip into a slight frown. The realization dawns on you that the day you spent on the Crest with the unlikely duo was probably the last memory you’d have of them. Yes, Din had told you he’d wanted to stay, but realistically? They had probably left sometime during the week in search of a more suitable, accepting town or planet altogether. After all, it’d probably be warranted with the difficulties they had faced here since day one.

You don’t blame them, not one bit. ‘That’s fine,’ you think throught a shudder.

Then why does your stomach sink at the thought?

You glance around once more. And nothing. No green baby, no sharp visor sizing you down.

It’s because you had grown to enjoy the feeling of company, you think. Something about the pair’s otherness felt like it aided your selfish need for accommodating another. It’s a desire you’ve long forgotten, but they’ve brought it back with a devastating force.

You were so hopeless. So naive.

You exhale softly, adjusting your grip on the empty basket, and step further into the square. Life goes on. You’ll wallow over the departure of your new friends later tonight, over a glass of spotchka.

You imagine the kid smiling in his dad’s lap, as the armored man rises the Crest into the atmosphere, then beyond. The fantasy soothes you just enough to blink the annoying tears away.

A friendly face catches your eye near the spice vendor’s stall, waving enthusiastically as your eyes focus. Spotchka? Maker, of course. Have you been feeding your friend false promises of sharing a drink since the last market?

You force a smile and make your way over, weaving through the throng. Once you’re in the epicenter, you notice she’s without the kids. Her hair flows down her shoulder in a loose braid, held together by an elastic twine. You use the same kind when you happen to choose an updo for the day.

“Val,” you chuckle dryly, rubbing soothingly at your forearm. She cocks her head with a furrowed brow, but her smile is sympathetic as she turns to you. You feel you don’t deserve the compassion.

She says your name, her voice honeyed as ever as she takes your hand.

The look she gives you is almost suffocating, like a mother reprimanding her young child. Actually, you know this is the look she gives her kids when they’re misbehaving.

“Good morning, you little Ewok. Have you been avoiding me?” she questions as if it were the most natural, non-accusatory thing in the galaxy. She’s not mad, not one bit.

Your eyes widen, fingers squeezing around hers. You suddenly realize the dryness on your tongue, and how it twists when you try to speak for the first time since waking. “No— Maker, no, I’ve— I’ve been so preoccupied, I was gonna ask about dinner last night, I—”

“Hey,” she breaks you off, craning her neck forward to match your eye level. Then, she smiles wider, and momentarily it’s all you can think about. “Talk to me.”

You frown, but allow your hands to remain intertwined. You know she’ll understand, yet the idea of venting suddenly seems obscure and out of reach.

You’ve known Valerie for years, but it feels like eons when you try to count it back. She’s the kind of person you managed to click with from the get-go, no small talk or any of that Maker-forsaken ‘warm-up’ you needed with most people— she just understood without needing anexplanation. Since the day you arrived on the planet, battered and bruised, she saw the strength in you and nurtured it.

“It’s nothing,” you shake your head, mirroring her smile. It’s not the first or last time you’ll reject her help, you know it as your tongue flows with sand. You hope she understands.

Valerie’s eyes narrow, and her grip loosens. You want to hold on for a second longer, keep the warmth of her calloused hands in yours, but you don’t humor it. You know better, you always have.

Once you separate, she sighs and lets her brow flatten. There’s a thick bundle of parsley in her arms, and she cradles it like a child.

“Tell me at least… have you been getting enough rest?” she shrugs, and her smile returns. You know each other’s buttons well enough to sense when they shouldn’t be pushed.

You nod, brushing a lock of hair out of your face.

It’s true, you have been sleeping well. Your slumber is deep when it comes, and the dreams are vivid enough to pencil into your journal. You avoid confessing what— who— they’re about.

“Good,” she nods back, placing the parsley in her woven basket. She straightens, gives you a once-over, and sighs again. You know the look, and can only give her an encouraging smile as she hesitates.

“Can I ask you something?” she finally declares, and you nod.

Valerie brings the basket closer to her hip, right hand tracing the slope of her jawline as she thinks of the most appropriate way to approach you. You find it unusual for her usually brazen personality but decide against commenting.

“Are you still seeing him?” she questions, and your eyebrows dip in awe.

Seeing him? As if you’d have the audacity to see that scoundrel after he—

But then, it dawns on you like a summer breeze; it tickles your cheeks and makes them blossom pink.

She’s talking about Din.

Your hands bunch at your front as your lips purse. Before you think to confess, your tongue makes you feign innocence.

“Who?” you question, instantly feeling yourself wince at the blatant ingenuity. Valerie’s eyes narrow, like she’s studying you. Of course she knows better than to trust that.

“The mercenary,” she elaborates, almost offended you’ve forced her to.

“The… the mercenary?” you question, and she nods. You watch her squeeze her lips into a tight line before soothing your hand with her thumb.

“I saw you leave the market with him last week.”

“What?” Your eyes widen. Were… were you being watched all that time? Had you been careless when you prioritized your amity? “You… you did?”

She nods with a shrug. You can’t read her body language; she’s eerily non-commital with her interrogation, making you shiver.

“Not just me,” she replies quietly, glancing around the square. As your gaze follows, indeed, you catch dozens of eyes on you. You’ve credited that strange feeling in your stomach all morning to paranoia, but perhaps it’s true; your act of service made you the talk of town. Obviously. Maker, what did you expect helping someone so blatantly out of place? With your own murky history, no less.

You turn back to your friend, voice lowering to a near-whisper. Your features are stern as you think of the tension between you and Din as he towered over you in his cockpit.

“Nothing happened. What did you think happened?”

“Oh, don’t blame me for worrying,” she rolls her eyes through a scoff, leaning in for some privacy. Still, the leering eyes hang over your shoulder as she speaks. “He’s not just a visitor, right? Was he… was he sent from the Em—”

“No,” you interject, tone lowering. You feel a pit dwelling in your stomach and Valerie notices immediately. She pushed a button.

“Right,” she continues, pivoting from remorse. She’s trying to diminish that bitter feeling in your mouth by rubbing at your forearms, and strangely, it works well enough. “Then… who is he?”

You look down. Should you… should you tell her? Valerie has been nothing but kind to you, even after learning of your past, but with Din?

“He’s a bounty hunter,” you half-confess with a sigh, and she squeezes you. You’re not pressured to continue, but her touch alone lets you know you can be earnest with her, as you usually are.

“Bounty hunter?” she repeats, and you nod.

“A…” you begin shakily, looking into her eyes. She’ll understand, as she always does. “…A Mandalorian.”

You watch in real-time as her eyebrows rise on her forehead. Still, the softness in her gaze maintains as she gauges your own emotions, but your heart is stuck in your throat.

“A Mandalorian?” she repeats quietly, trying the words on her tongue. Her eyes flicker from side to side while you hold your breath. “I…”

Your knuckles are white when her tight-lipped frown turns into a soft smile.

“I thought so,” she nods, almost self-satisfied while you give her a strained glare.

“There… there is no way you’re chill about this right now,” you reprimand in a tight voice, and all she can do is chuckle warmly at your reaction. “He’s the elite of mercenaries, a… a hitman for hire. You should have seen his—”

“Do you think his armor is real beskar?” she cuts you off, rubbing her chin in thought. She’s not being serious at all, and you’re not sure how to take it. Was this really just not a big deal? Have you been overreacting?

Instead, you take her comment in. Beskar, beskar… you had never seen the brilliant material in person but heard great tales of its symbol of grandeur, status, and wealth amongst the Mandalorians. But it couldn’t be.

“Beskar? There’s no way, I mean… he was wrapped in that thing,” you shake your head, feeling the tension in your body fading ever so slowly. “Would cost him a new X-Wing and then a bit to afford a whole set.”

“I heard that the best bounty hunters make enough to vacation on Coruscant every single quarter. Can you imagine the life?” she chuckles softly, “Maybe you should ask him about it next time you see each other.”

Your lips tighten. The next time you’ll see him?

“There…” you sigh as you prepare for the confession. Valerie raises a groomed eyebrow, but you’re already looking down at your feet. “There won’t be a next time.”

“What?” she questions quietly, growing curious, or perhaps sensing the downtrodden lilt of your voice.

Maker, there comes the melancholy. It’s a bit on the nose, you think, but now that you say it out loud, you realize that you’ll miss them. Deeply. Them, or the pleasant feeling their company provided in your otherwise quiet life. But perhaps that’s exactly what missing a person means— you know the feeling all too well.

You’re broken away from your silent daydream when Valerie’s hand comes up to shake your shoulder.

She speaks your name and you wet your lower lip. The watchful crowd shifts in the corner of your weary eye, and suddenly, there’s a chill in the air.

“He’s gone,” you sigh, letting out a dry chuckle. “I haven’t seen him in days, I—”

“No,” your friend asserts firmly. Your gaze rises to her face, and you see she’s peeking over your shoulder. The market murmurs.

It all starts to feel like a bad fever dream, a drunken stupor, until Valerie grabs your bicep again.

“Look!” she squeezes, and you finally feel bold enough to let your gaze follow suit.

Your heart skips a beat.

He stands there, at the edge of the square, cloaked in shadow. The glint of his armor catches the sunlight, briefly stinging your eyes with its brilliance.

You feel a little sting somewhere in your chest. It leaves almost as promptly, but when your hand comes up to cradle the pendant around your neck, you know what the feeling is. They’ve never left, and the realization fills your heart with firecrackers.

As he steps closer, you hear chatter— the village gossip you’ve feared, not for yourself, but for him. You try to spot the orb he usually carries by his side, and surely enough, it hums quietly as it hovers a few paces behind. You smile, now knowing what, or who, resides within.

Din is still as a statue, helmet tilted slightly, as though scanning the crowd before him—or perhaps, looking for someone in particular. It quiets down, and for a split second you think you can feel your pulse quicken.

The man’s visor fixes onto a point, as if he had sensed your heartbeat through the thrum.

You realize as your breath falters.

You.

He’s looking at you.

Your hands feel clammy as he steps forward. Maybe it’s just the ringing in your ears, but it seems as if the chatter has picked up again— perhaps out of respect, or more likely— fear. Things are back to normal for a moment.

Only now do you realise the grip on your bicep. When you turn to look, you catch your friend’s eyes fixed on the stranger.

“Valerie,” you mutter, and your voice is hoarse. When you clear your throat, she finally looks at you.

Her eyes are slightly widened, pupils two small islands amidst a sea of brown. She shakes her head out of the trance, or shock, and loosens her grip on your arm. You watch her wet her lips.

“You should talk to him,” she replies promptly, and you give her a disbelieving frown.

“Okay, and say what exactly?” you chuckle dryly.

When you look back to the sheet of armor, you spot him perusing one of the stalls. The merchant running it, a younger girl named Thalia, keeps her arms crossed tightly as she likely explains her wares.

“That he’s welcome here,” Valerie trails, following your gaze. There’s a dark, solemn look in her eyes the moment you catch her speak, interrupted only by a sympathetic smile. “That we don’t mean harm. Folks are afraid because they’re confused. It’s an unknown they’re not willing to discover.”

You nod vehemently, eyebrows furrowed.

“…And that you’d miss him if he left,” she adds through a smile, and you scoff. Even though she’s right.

You nod at your friend, and she smiles at you.

There it goes.

Your breath picks up with your footsteps as your worn boots carry you to him. You know the market’s natural chatter has picked up again, but you can’t hear it through the rush of blood to your head.

He watches you silently, standing beneath the extended roofing of a nearby hut. Your eyes trail to his armored body, and something about you fills with pride. You got to see the tanned skin beneath it before anyone else here.

“Din,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anything. You didn’t ask prior, but you imagine it’s safe to assume he’d rather not be addressed by the name in public— whether it’s real or not. Something makes you feel like it was for your ears only.

His helmet tilts slightly as you still in front of him, sizing you up. Does he… does he even recognize you?

You offer a small smile. “Hey, Mando.”

Din looks at your face again, and you wonder if he’s right with the nickname. For all you know, it might be offensive or derogatory, or—

Then he says your name. It’s quiet through the modulator, but unmistakenly yours. It sends a crisp shiver down your spine, making you hum in acknowledgment.

“You remembered?” you tease slightly, and he sighs. You’re genuinely a bit surprised.

“You’re taunting me,” he replies lowly, but there’s no real danger to his tone. It’s almost like he’s… teasing you back.

You chuckle warmly, trying to ignore the soft heat creeping into your cheeks. You stand like that for a beat, taking each other in. You wonder what he’s thinking, but before you can ask, your gaze moves to the humming orb at his hip.

"You and Grogu,” you begin quietly, looking to his visor again, “You’re… you’re okay?”

There’s a beat of silence again, but it’s still as comfortable as before. You know the answer before he even speaks.

“Yes,” he nods, taking a glance at Grogu’s closed crib. You want to ask to see him, pet his little head, hear him coo, when—

“He…” Din begins anew, and you can’t help but quirk an eyebrow when he looks back at you.

You smile at him in hopes of a silent incentive, and it seems to work just fine.

“…He really liked that thing you brought him,” the Mandalorian finally confesses with a nod, and you know he means the meat snacks. “Womp rat finished it the moment you left.”

You beam at him, the grin threatening to spill into a chuckle. Your lips squeeze tight to contain it.

“You’re so mean, calling him that,” you reprimand through a smile, and watch Din tilt his helmet again.

“I call it like I see it,” he retorts, repeating your words from days ago. It makes your already blooming chest puff with glee, and that warm, trickling feeling settles in your tummy.

Your smile suddenly drops when you realise you’re not in his private quarters anymore. When you look around, you see a few stray glances thrown your way, but most people seem to be minding their business.

You look back to the cradle, then Din. His gaze is fixed on you, and you get a gut feeling he’s mulling something over.

“I need your help with the Crest again,” he begins, and you nod for him to continue.

He paces from one leg to the other, and the sight is so out of the ordinary you almost want to giggle. Is he nervous?

“The lagging thruster you found during the check,” he continues, and you’re starting to see where this is going. He lingers on this sentence for a moment, and you can’t help but grin mischievously.

“Yes?” you press, almost teasingly, as he makes a noise under the helmet. It comes out muffled and distorted through the modulator, but for a second you think he might be clearing his throat.

“I want you to take a look at it,” he finally confesses, placing a hand on each hip— you imagine its his attempt at grounding himself in an unfamiliar situation.

“I thought you’d take care of it,” you prompt, but the tease in your tone is so evident you feel his gaze boring into you.

“I did,” he explains sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. “The thrusters are replaced, an old Imperial model. I’m not familiar with the technology.”

You pause for a moment, your smile dropping slowly. Why would he ask this of you?

Before you can protest, he continues, “The Crest’s control panel is from the same period. You had no problem navigating it, so I assumed your knowledge is broad there.”

“Oh,” you reply quietly, feeling the sinking feeling in your stomach fade away. You almost assumed the worst, again.

You cross your arms, mirroring the man’s stance as you take him in. If he’s comofortable enough to ask you a favor, he must really need that check up.

Still, why not bargain something harmless in return?

“Okay,” you finally nod, and the foxy smile returns to your lips, “But— I want you to meet someone first.”

He sizes you up, helmet tilted to the side as he evaluated your proposal. It’s brief, and soon enough, you see him nod once in approval.

You chuckle at his willingness, and nod for him to follow you.

When you turn around, you see a few people staring your way, but most of them retract their attention when you notice. You were never one for crowds, but you feel like with Din around, it makes it a little more bareable.

You head through the market, looking back once just to make sure your companion is following. Sure enough, you spot his strong silhouette shadowing just a few paces behind you.

“Valerie!” you call out, spotting the woman at her stall.

When she spots you, she grins with a small wave. You lean against her stall as Din looks her up and down.

The woman’s eyes squint a bit, but she doesn’t seem afraid, or even nervous. She sizes the Mandalorian back, hands firmly on her hips as she nods.

“Good to meet you,” she greets, and Din nods back.

“Likewise.”

You exhale slowly as relief washes over you. Introductions are always a little awkward, especially when both parties have strong personalities. “I was th—”

“You’re a Mandalorian, then?” Valerie cuts you off, her gaze curious as it bores into Din. There’s a keen grin painting her lips, and you groan quietly, knowing exactly where this is going.

“Yes,” Din replies tactfully, keeping his tone steady. For now, you’ll let them do their thing and pray things don’t escalate.

“Are you looking for a bounty?” she continues, and the Mandalorian tilts his head in amusement.

“No.”

“So you’re here on holiday?” she continues, and you can’t help but chuckle in the sidelines. You realize that your friend might sate your curiosity by asking all the questions you’ve been too afraid to ask yourself.

“…No,” Mando replies, taking a quick look at you. You smile, wondering if he’s asking you for help or cursing you out for putting him on the spot like that.

“Di— Mando, this is Valerie,” you correct yourself, taking your opportunity to break up their little banter. He nods, crossing his arms.

“Mando might be staying with us for a while,” you explain to your friend, and she nods along. Her eyes don’t leave the man’s shiny helmet, and you can’t imagine why.

“…Just until I figure out the next steps,” Din adds. When you glance at him again, he looks a bit more at ease.

“Okay,” Valerie acknowledges, “How have you been enjoying Terrine?” she questions, her tone softening as she joins you in leaning against the stall.

Din looks down for a moment, then to you. For a moment, you worry he might answer with something brutally honest like ‘not at all’, but when his reply finally comes, your shoulders lower.

“It’s a peaceful town,” he acknowledges, taking a brief glance at Grogu’s closed crib— he’s monitoring him closely, still wary of their surroundings. It’s chaos compared to their little clearing in the woods. “Few things to worry about.”

“Indeed,” Valerie nods, “No guards, no bounties, little crime. You must feel a little out of place.”

Din tilts his helmet again, pondering the woman’s words.

“Your people aren’t used to heavy artillery,” he replies flatly, yet Valerie can’t help but laugh at his answer. You join her with your own chuckle, eyes glued to the Mandalorian as he sizes you up as if to ask ‘where’s the joke in that?’.

“What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?” she elbows you, and you give her a solemn smile. You watch Din flip his gaze between the two of you.

“The people here mean well, Mando,” you add, giving him an encouraging nod. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you now, but I hope you manage to integrate, eventually. No matter how long you decide to stay.”

His gaze stays on you for a beat as he mulls over your words. You’re still unsure if he likes the new nickname, but you’ll have to ask about it later.

“How about this weekend?” Valerie interjects, and you look at her with a raised eyebrow.

“How come?” you question.

“The cantina’s gonna be lively,” she grins with a shrug, leaning closer, “And it’s the perfect chance for our Mandalorian friend to see the best of Terrine. Maybe we’ll even get him to loosen up a little, and hey— you owe me that drink, right?”

You bite your lip at her comment, fully realising she’s right. On both fronts.

“That I do,” you smile, looking over at Mando. “How’s that for your introduction?”

Din shifts beside you, his stance tightening just slightly. “I don’t—”

“It’ll be great!” Valerie cuts him off enthusiastically. “You can meet some of the locals, get accustomed. It’d be a good place to start.”

“It’s not my scene,” he replies, his tone low and skeptical.

“You deserve a break, Mando. Just one evening,” You frown a little, though not out of anger. “Besides, Gro—”

“No,” he stops you sternly, and your lips tighten.

Din exhales audibly through the modulator as he glances at Grogu’s orb. “It’s not that simple.”

“I understand,” you speak softly, tone gentler. Treading lightly is what you do best, so you try that instead. “Do what you feel is best.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, but you can see the hesitation in the slight tilt of his helmet, the way his gloved fingers flex at his sides. You glance back at Valerie, whose grin has softened.

He finally nods, and that declares the end of that conversation.

“Take your time,” Valerie nods, her tone encouraging. “We’ll both be there if you change your mind.”

You look at her with a quirked eyebrow, extending an arm towards her. “We?”

She chuckles, catching your palm in hers. “We. You’re coming.”

“I—”

“No questions asked! You’ve been keeping me waiting for weeks, and it’s about time you talk with—”

“Yes, Maker, alright!” you laugh nervously, squeezing her palm with a little more force than necessary to stop her unhinged monologuing. You’ll tell Din about that eventually, but not yet. “I’ll be there.”

“Jackpot,” Valerie grins, all self-satisfied as she gently kisses the knuckles of your hand. The gesture’s a little dramatic, but it gives you a surge of confidence as you withdraw.

You chuckle warmly, looking over at Din who’s still watching the both of you like a hawk. You sigh, stepping away from Valerie’s stall before standing at the man’s side once more.

“Alright, let’s leave before she starts grilling you again,” you sigh with jest, and your friend winks. “See you soon, okay?”

“See you this weekend!” she corrects as you’re walking away, and you laugh into open air in return.

“Yes, this weekend!” you affirm, waving at her as you and Din disappear in the crowd.

You weave through the thrum, which proves quite simple as Din walks in front for a change. The crowd spreads like a sea as he plunges ahead, leaving a comfortable path for you to follow until you reach an empty alley perched between two homes. With the market open, it sees little traction.

You make the effort to walk ahead in that moment, smiling to yourself as your back hits the wall. You watch as your companion does the same, resting his weight against the one opposite to you.

You watch him like this for a moment, taking in the way his arms cross and the quiet, distant thrum of townsfolk.

“She likes you,” you finally comment through a wide grin, and Din’s scoff can be heard loud and clear through the modulator.

“She likes you,” he retorts, shaking his head. “I’m collateral.”

“So harsh, Mando!” you reprimand teasingly, watching briefly as an elderly couple walks between you. They give you a brief glance, and you smile warmly at them as they pass.

When you look back at Din, you catch him staring as they disappear out of sight. You can’t help but smile, but you’re not sure why.

“You know, I think you should give Terrine a chance,” you confess, clasping your palms behind your back.

When the man tilts his head, you sigh.

“I just think you could find a place for yourself here,” you elaborate, taking a glance at the still-closed orb. “For him.”

The Mandalorian follows your gaze, where it halts briefly. When you feel he’s gotten his fill, he looks at you again, that sharp visor sending a sudden shiver down your spine.

“You want me to come?” he finally says, and your eyes widen.

“…What?”

“To the cantina,” he continues, and you exhale slowly. “Is that why you’re telling me this?”

Is it? You know he cares for the weak, and fights for what he believes is right. Of course you want him to have a comfortable life here, or wherever else him and the kid decide to go in the end.

“Do you want to come?” you ask, biting your tongue at the silly, almost juvenile question.

“Answer me,” he demands, voice stern but rounded at the edges. You almost gasp at the way his lilt makes your stomach flip.

“…I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” you shrug, though your nonchalance is so obviously faked it makes you wince inwardly.

Din’s helmet tilts again, and you can’t help but bite your bottom lip to stop the goofy grin that threatens to emerge there.

“Strange girl,” he mutters quietly, pushing himself off the wall. “Strange, stubborn girl.”

You chuckle, crossing your arms as he takes a step forward.

“I’m stubborn?” you counter teasingly, “You’re the one making a life-or-death situation over a kriffin’ drink.”

The modulator doesn’t mask the slight huff of amusement he lets out. “I told you it’s not that simple.”

You arch a brow, pushing off the wall to face him fully. “But why? People here want to know you, Din. Their fear might hide it, but it’s true.”

His name slips from your lips so easily, but it seems to hang heavier in the air. Din tilts his helmet slightly, as if he’s measuring the sincerity of your words.

“You don’t know that,” he murmurs.

“I do,” you insist, stepping closer. “You’ve done no wrong in my eyes.”

The Mandalorian’s shoulders rise and fall with a slow exhale, his crossed arms tightening momentarily.

“I think that the people here want to give you a chance,” you continue quietly, staring up into his visor. For a moment, you feel the urge to cradle the helmet like it’s his bare face. “You just need to give them one in return.”

“And you?” he asks, voice low, almost hesitant.

Your heart quickens, blood flooding your ears with that familiar thrum.

“What about me?” you blink as he seems to hover closer with every breath.

He studies you closely, his body perfectly still as a gentle breeze musses your hair.

“Why are you so insistent on giving me hope?” he questions, as if the idea was completely foreign to him.

You sigh, eyes trying to map out his face through the dark slits again. You wish you had a rational, satisfying answer to his question, but you don’t. Not yet, at least.

“Someone has to,” you finally reply, a foxy smile tugging at your lips. “Consider it charity work.”

His helmet tilts slightly, and you swear you can feel the weight of his gaze pressing into you, searching for something—answers, reasons, maybe even lies. But you have none of those to offer him, and the closeness and sheer intimacy of the moment makes you fearful. You know he dislikes your answer, but similarly hope he understands why it’s the one you’ve given him.

“You think I need charity?” he says after a moment, his tone teasing but resolute, almost as if he’s afraid of breaking the fragile thread tethering the two of you together in this slim alleyway of the town you’ve learned to love and cherish.

“Maybe,” you grin, gazing up again.

Only now do you become aware of the sheer proximity of his face to yours, the way he could breathe down your neck if only afforded the luxury of discarding the helmet.

His hand flexes in your peripheral. For a second you think he might reach out, but then it drops to his side again.

“Maybe?” he murmurs.

“I don’t want to give up on you,” you explain, feeling a little safer treading the territory ahead. “Is hope so foreign to you?”

You think you might have pressed a metaphorical wound in that moment when Din stiffens, but your worries are quickly washed away when his hand finally rises against all odds.

And this time, he doesn’t back down.

“Hope is a fragile thing,” he mutters, and you’re stuck under his looming stature. You feel the delicate touch of a gloved finger under your chin, soft like a feather, treading so lightly you might think it’s imaginary for a second. “Easy to find, even easier to lose.”

“So?” you counter before you can stop yourself. The words tumble out of your mouth unbidden, like the dam of your restraint has finally cracked on the surface. “Everything worth having is fragile, Din.”

His hand moves up your jaw, ghosting to your ear. He hovers there a while, and your legs turn to cotton. You feel dazed, high, drunk off the strange gesture that you’re unsure to call affection.

And when your hand rises to rest atop his chestplate, you let it.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying for,” you finally add in a half-whisper, just as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The touch is so gentle, so calculated, you begin to doubt it’s the same hand that took countless lives before.

There’s a pause, long and loaded, the air between you thick and sticky.

You feel the ghost of his touch on your jaw as he retracts his hand, never taking his gaze off of you as your hand is forced to leave his chest.

“Strange girl,” he mutters under his breath.

You grin despite the squeeze still humming in your chest. “You keep saying that, but I think you mean it as a compliment.”

His helmet tilts again, the faintest hint of amusement in his posture. “Maybe.”

You chuckle, the sound quiet and easy, and it feels like the moment shifts—less heavy, beaming. You cross your arms and mirror his stance, leaning against the wall again.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep up this charity a while longer,” you say lightly, though your heart races.

For a moment, you think he might call you stubborn again. But then, so quietly you almost miss it, he replies.

“Guess you will.”

You smile up at him. It’s wide, toothy, and radiating— you hope he sees the gesture as a silent reply as you move away from the wall again.

He watches carefully as your hand ghosts over his outer palm, gaze glued to his visor as you finally make contact. It’s gentle, chaste, and fleeting; you withdraw before you can even catch his hand twitching.

“Now hurry up,” you chuckle, your honeyed tone turning taunting again as you prance out of the alley. “Let’s get your ship fixed.”

[zy4nyaa]

Random Chuuya headcanons

I honestly feel like he wouldn’t date anybody since he is in the mafia and he wouldn’t want anybody to be in danger because of that, he would probably date someone if they’re in the mafia with him

But if he were to date somebody then he would most definitely keep his eyes on his significant other, like he would stay loyal to that person and make them his top priority

Even though he is rich, I don’t think he would be buying unnecessary things, like I just feel like he wouldn’t go around buying hundreds of things just bc he’s rich

He has a YouTube channel of him doing skincare and hauls and a bunch of other stuff

He DEFINITELY knows how to cook and draw/paint😍😍

He hates when other people struggle, he feels like he struggled a lot and went through so much pain and he doesn’t want anybody else to experience that either. As soon as someone opens up to him he’s right by their side

Even after that if the person is doing fine he would still keep an eye out and look out for that person to make sure that they’re actually okay

He’s insecure about himself so he absolutely loves when other people compliment him even if it’s a small one

Even though he is insecure about himself people still come up with him, he doesn’t know how attractive he really is. He doesn’t realize when people are trying to flirt with him he just thinks they’re complimenting them or referring to something else

I feel like since he works at the mafia that he wakes up early for work, he either wakes up at 5:00 or 5:30. He is probably won’t get a chance to sleep sometimes since he works late

If you’re his lover, be prepared because you won’t really see him that much since he has a strict schedule and will mostly come home at midnight, even then he would still find time to spend with you

He has social media like TikTok and instagram but he doesn’t post that much, the least that he would post is a picture of wine on his story

I don’t know if it’s just me but I feel like he has Heterochromia since his eyes are blue in the anime but brown in the manga.

He knows multiple languages like Japanese, English, French, Italian, and Spanish. He is fluent in Japanese (obviously) and Spanish, probably French too because of Verlaine.

He also likes to curse in French

Sometimes he paints his nails red or black if he’s bored

He definitely has light freckles on his face that are too light to see, he also has 2-3 scars from fighting.

He probably has piercings like his lip or eyebrow, maybe even his nose

His style is soo good, I picture him most likely wearing black, red, gray, white, or just any colors that go good with each other.

Along with the hat and wine collection, he also loves to collect shoes and gloves although he will continue to wear the same pair of shoes and gloves even if he has hundreds of them in different colors

Whenever he tries to put his hair in a ponytail he can NEVER get it right, it’s either too far up, too far back, not straight, or there’s a huge lump

His hands are so freaking nice, and they are literally bigger than dazais (this isn’t a headcanon this is true look it up)

Absolutely LOVESS music, In my opinion I think he listens to a lot of bands and hard rock. He is over 10 hours on Spotify and has playlists for different purposes

If he has a crush and they mention their favorite music artist or song he will go home and listen to that all day

Whenever a person betrays him I feel like he wouldn’t hate that person completely, he would still care about them but not as much as he used to

He likes hot showers especially if he is stressed out, he loves the feeling of it on his scalp

He has a few bottles of cologne but he wears one specific one most of the time, it’s like his signature smell

Since he is insecure about his appearance he wears like makeup like concealer on his scars and marks

He likes to invite some of the other pm members to the bar every Friday if he has free time

There was one time where he got so sad to the point where he didn’t want to do anything, he didn’t feel like getting out of bed, eating, or cleaning his room

He did really well in school, he didn’t have a big friend group he really only had 2-3 close friends and the rest were people he just talks too

Everyday before going to work he looks in the mirror and winks at himself and does random cringey poses

If he catches you staying up too late on your phone he will snatch it away from you and cuddle you to sleep

He likes to buy his friends things, like if they’re at a coffee shop then he will buy them something or pay for their coffee

He would genuinely love his significant other a lot, he’d call them when he has time to at work and text them just to check up on them

He sometimes takes a trip to the store after work to buy unnecessary snacks that he won’t eat

He REALLY cares about his hygiene, he always smells good even without cologne. You will never catch this man stinking

He has a few posters of dogs on his wall, when he was OBSESSED with dogs he bought a lapel pin with a brown chihuahua on it and he would wear it to work every single day

His sleep schedule is kind of messed up since of his work but it’s not as bad as Dazai’s

His body is soo AJAKSSHSJHS like his waist is snatched and his legs are muscular like omg😍

He either types with a bunch of emojis or is just dry, it depends on the person because he could be like “Ok!😜💕❤️😘😁☺️😍🥳🐒🦅🎣😍📝” or he could be like “k”. It depends on his mood and who he’s texting

On mondays he would telll himself that he only has to make to Friday (he’s been telling himself that for years, he honestly never makes it to Friday)

That’s all for now but I will most likely be adding more headcanons to this list :D

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Where the Wild Things Are - Chapter 5

Chapter Five: A Cold Death

Plot: Wild men or monstrous infected creatures, the world is wild and ravaged by Cordecyps but some are raised in it and flourish becoming a wild thing.

Word Count: 3.6K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Platonic!Teen!Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical fighting/violence, injuries, harsh language, tw: violence/abuse towards minors and heavy gore

—————

It is felt as the Reaper draws in near. It chills both blood and breath. It makes the hour of doom so clear. It always comes, the Cold of Death

When Joel and Tommy told you a few days following the mess hall incident they had a job they wanted you to do as this would be your ‘form’ of punishment. When the terms of punishment came up for you there was much they could think of, you didn’t have any possessions they could confiscate, you didn’t have friends to stop seeing, and keeping you in the house was what they were trying not to do. But it finally came to them when Ellie came home complaining about a certain chore she disliked.

“You want me to look after the horses?” You say looking at Tommy and Joel as the three of you stand in the stable. The huffing and sounds the horses make as you look at the empty stables the lack of humans only the creatures.

“Simple job, keep the stalls clean, make sure they have food and water,” Tommy explains as he brings you further inside as Joel stands by the entrance watching. He shows you where everything thing listening but your gaze is drawn to the large creatures. “Maria thinks it best for you to do some work in the community to keep you occupied and this is—” Tommy tries explaining

“The best job away from people.” You glance over your shoulder as the older man awkwardly chuckles heading towards the stable opening by Joel, “We’ll let you get situated one of us will stop by with some lunch for you.” Tommy says the two men looking at your back turned to them as you survey the stables before they leave. Hearing their retreating footsteps you welcome the silence beside the horses that look at you in curiosity. One horse catches your eye a large black mare, her eyes seem to be staring straight into your soul. Cautiously moving closer to the creature as she huffs and you freeze, it whinnies shaking her head the long mane an even deeper shade of black. Holding your hand out as she stares at you before reaching her head further out the stall her nose brushing against the back of your palm accepting your greeting. A quip of your lip as your hand slides up her face petting the horse glancing down at the name across the stall.

“Red huh,” You huff a laugh at the oxymoron of the name with the appearance of the horse.

The stable quickly became a second place for you to hide from the people of Jackson. You wouldn’t call the house your home, you only were there cause the cell was occupied at the moment and it would be soon that you could leave Jackson. Your day starts in the stables leaving in the early morning and you wouldn’t leave until late into the night until you were certain no one was out to spot you. Joel and Tommy had quickly noticed the unorthodox schedule, but they weren’t going to fight you on it. Though it did frighten the two of them when you hadn’t returned home your first night until past midnight. It was baby steps. You avoided the main streets, taking the backroads or even walking through strips of forest to reach the stables in the morning but walked the main streets at night when the town was fast asleep. Joel wasn’t even sure if you slept in your bed but he was only confirmed hearing the door to your room late into the night proving you return home each night.

You didn’t eat at the mess hall claiming yourself blacklisted despite the fact Maria and Tommy had gone to the council and Seth and explained the reason for the incident then. It didn’t bother you that much, you prefer the quietness of eating the apple you would take from the pile that was dedicated to the horses or picking at the random foods or snacks Ellie had thrown into your pack. When she asked if you had lunch you shrugged waving her off and telling her you had an apple for breakfast. She proceeded to bolt to the mess hall coming back to the stables with two sandwiches making you eat it all as she watched. With Ellie in classes, Joel on patrols or helping around the community, and Tommy and Maria focusing on their family you were left to your own devices in the stable. You had learned quickly the ways things worked, which horses preferred what kind of feed, the proper way to clean the stalls, and everything you needed until it became muscle memory. You had grown a close connection to Red, though you cared for all the horses you just felt closer to the mare. Sitting in her stall on the wooden gate as she rests on the pile of hay. The place is already secluded you assume no one enjoying the daunting task of taking care of the horses and all the steps but you don’t have much to do. There had been a few times when a stablehand that prepared the horses for patrols had run into you and that had not been a great interaction. The both of you were frozen staring at each other before he turned sprinting out of there as you stood there silently. You had made sure after that to avoid or leave the stables whenever you knew the patrols were starting or returning.

It was getting closer to dusk as you are busy brushing the coat for one of the older horses Dakota who just recently gave birth to a healthy pair of colts. The birth had been a bit daunting but the resident veterinarian and her assistant was an expert in what she was doing, as you watched through the gaps of the stable gates rushing away when they turned in your direction.

A sharp set knock against one of the stalls and you peek out spotting Tommy his hands resting on the buckle of his belt as he examines the state of the stables, “You doing well here.” He compliments and you nod returning to brushing the mare’s coat. Tommy had watched your body language before he made his presence known you were lax and for once calm but he could see the slight tension in your shoulder and your work had become stagnant brushing the same spot to look busy.

“So Maria made chicken and greens for dinner. Joel and Ellie are coming,” He speaks up before quickly adding, “You're more than welcome to come…we would like you to.” You didn’t look at him now stopped in your work an unreadable look on your face.

“Ellie made chocolate chip cookies with Maria as well. She’s sure you’re going to like them,” He hopes that you would be tempted to join Ellie having clued him in on the one treat you seemed to like from your first meeting with her.

“I have to make sure Dakota’s stall is all prepped and the colts are fed,” You say trying not to focus on the small frown that covers the older man’s face, “I mean we can wait for when you’re done or I can have someone take ove-”

“I’m fine,” You stop him, “Go eat with your family.” Tommy slightly winces at the comment ‘your family’. Part of him wanted to say that you are part of the family but seeing the slightly uncomfortable look at the idea of being at a family dinner he sighs patting his hand on the wooden stall door.

“Alright…maybe try to swing by if you finish early.” He says and you make no noise to respond busying yourself as you turn away from him. You hear Tommy stand there for a second before sighing and turning not before bidding goodbye. You sigh listening to the retreating footsteps and the tension dissipates from you. You ate with some of them before, Ellie swinging by the stables with a snack or lunch to make sure you ate, Tommy popping in to bring lunch or dinner from the mess hall only staying for a one-sided chat before heading off, you ate with Joel once-well not really. You had returned late in the night and wanted a sandwich to eat before heading to bed when you ran into Joel in the kitchen. You both were frozen on opposite sides as he nursed a glass of amber that almost sent you into a panic resulting in your dropping the jar of jam and getting glass everywhere. You almost stepped on the glass in your sock-clad feet in an attempt to escape to your room without dinner that night.

The dining table was set in the Tommy and Maria Miller household as the Millers plus Ellie sat around the table the mouthwatering food before them but a hesitation rest over the group. The young girl glances over at the empty seat separating her from Joel before looking up at her father figure with a look that morphs from excitement to sadness when she realizes you aren’t coming. Joel sighs looking over at his brother who too looks slightly disappointed.

“Come on let’s eat.”

The house is quiet as you creak the door open entering trailing in a bit of snow but making sure to remove your coat and shoes. Just the repeated motions filled your every day but there were things you missed about being outside the walls. The hunting, the nature, the cabin you had created in a haven for yourself, the sense of purpose each day decided and crucial for your survival. But in Jackson…you felt empty, you were either in the stables or your room, only talking-well more like listening to four people but those were just reminders to not be yourself. The harsh bitter person was all you had for yourself, you didn’t understand compassion, friendship, or kindness. You were never given those things. That version kept you protected and safe not smiles and pleasantries. Every day in Jackson you felt like you were losing a piece of yourself, seeing the cracks form in the walls you had kept up for many years. You couldn’t allow that, letting down your guard allows vulnerability, weakness was not what you needed, and to worry about others puts you at risk.

Peeking into the kitchen spotting the small container with a note attached on top. ‘Leftovers from dinner for you :)’ In Ellie’s handwriting and you see the dinner Tommy said, Maria had made and on top wrapped in a napkin a cookie and you recognize the chunks of chocolate inside. You move to grab the food when you hear a noise. Not an unpleasant noise, not something from a human but a twang that is crisp and warm. It is muffled with different pitches blending as you move from the kitchen to your room that resides beside the back porch door. You could see the light on and the noise only grows louder. Reaching the door and peering out the window you didn’t expect Joel to be there sitting on one of the chairs an object you’ve never seen before in his hands. With one hand he presses down on the thinner part changing the pattern and placement of his fingers the other strums down on the strings or plucks them as it creates a sweet sound. He is relaxed and clearly in his element as he plays into the open night as you watch on. You watch him finish the piece as it grows silent and he looks at the broken watch on his wrist before moving to stand. You hurry back to your room forgetting about your meal getting under the covers to not be spotted as you hear the porch door open. Joel enters closing and locking the door behind him seeing the new pair of shoes at the front door and some freshly tracked in snow. Looking at your bedroom door before creaking open. Your back is turned to him as you stare off into the wall hearing his soft breathing as you slow your own to make it look like you were asleep. The floors creak as he takes a step forward before pausing and stepping back and you hear the door close again. You wait until you hear his footsteps retreat before heading up the stairs you sit up staring at the door. Your chest feels heavy unable to fight the sudden conflict of what you were doing with your life as you struggle to go to sleep that night.

It only seemed to get colder, the snow deeper going further into the winter as you pour new hay into the stalls raking them out. Usually, during these times you would stock up extra wood to warm the cabin on the really cold winter nights sleeping in front of the fireplace on the couch instead of the room. In the few months, you’ve been in Jackson you hadn’t thought about the cabin, was it still there or overtaken by those raiders? Maybe they burnt it to the ground as a message to you if you were to return. Well, not if…it is when. When it grew warmer and the snow melted they could have forgotten all about you and left you to return home. To leave Jackson and this all behind to return to your life. That was the goal, leave the safety and comfort to head back into the harsh outdoors you were more proficient in. You aren’t good at conversation, shrugs, and short sentences even with the people you live with. It is like pulling out teeth trying to get you to speak, it is easier for you to just listen. You did talk when you were cursing out or insulting someone, you could speak insults for hours…days even. The large gate to the stables opens and you peek out the stall you are in seeing one of the stablehands, a boy around your age the one who had run out when he first met you. He doesn’t run when there is a chance he bumps into you. You keep to yourself giving him space as he saddles and unsaddles them. He holds the two reins one being Red who walks calmly into the stable bringing herself into the stall you find yourself in as you pet her head as she gives a sound of greeting. The other one in the boy’s hand is more frantic as he pulls on the reins to get it to walk but it fights against him. Its jerky movements make it kick a bucket of water a large crash fills the air startling the creature. As it rears up with a whinny as you dart out seeing the commotion as the boy tries to calm the horse but it touches the ground and bolts. He dives out of the way but hits one of the pillars as the horse sprints out of the stable. You both stare at each other in shock before you rush over to the still-saddled horse and you pull Red out of her stall.

“Can you ride?!” You shout shoving the reins in his direction as he stares at you with a shocked and fearful expression. He stutters over his words and you curse slinging one foot in one of the stirrups and the other swinging over the horse’s body. “Come on Red work with me.” You say before snapping the reins as the horse takes off out of the stable the cold and snowy air whipping against your face. The last time you’ve been on a horse was first arriving in Jackson and that was you barely conscious and just having to hold on, actually riding is a completely different scenario. The horse seems to understand the situation and your lack of skill leading itself through the main street after the horse that is tearing through the street. Shouts and cries fill the air as people barely dodge the horse careening down the busy street another with a girl on top shouting at them to ‘fucking move!’

The horse almost mows down a mother with her child and you see Tommy pull the two back and Joel failing at grabbing the wild horse's reins. You barely make eye contact as you whip past them and you hear the shocked yells of your name. You see the gate coming closer as they are closing the doors, “Move! Fucking Move!” You shout waving your hand as the two men manning the gates dive out of the way as the horse sprints out of Jackson yourself and Red following right behind and you’re outside the walls for the first time in months. The snow whips around you as you listen for the noises of the horse your hands grip the reins wrapping around your fist. Red leads you using her skills to find the creature as you head further into the quickly growing storm. You see the horse struggling in branches its reins tangled in the low-hanging branches.

“Woah…woah!” You call out to the struggling horse over the strong winds feeling the cold sink into your skin as you untangle the reins from the branches the horse settling realizing you were helping. Tying the reins to Red’s to keep them together you force the horse to turn to make the trip back only to see the blizzard that surrounds you. Trying to follow the tracks the horses lead you further through the forest before they fade the snow falling too fast the path covered. “Fuck!” You yell and the two horses stir sensing the panic and frustration. Your free hand strokes her mane looking around for anything that looks familiar though it’s useless. You’ve never been outside, you don’t know the patrol trails, and you were out here blind. You still had some daylight sunset growing near and you couldn’t be outdoors in this weather and at night.

A large crack from your left fills the air and your head snaps over to the sound the only sounds being the heavy winds, the snorts of the horses, and your heavy breathing smoke pouring from your mouth due to the cold. You were frozen on the horse your mind running with a thousand possibilities, a wild animal, or infected no you can’t hear the damn wind was too loud to listen, what if the raiders were here? Surrounding you with their weapons aimed to take you out, your freezing hands curl around the reins your head on a swivel. You hear something throw in the air seeing an object land on the ground before a large flash fills the air and a loud explosion mixed in. Despite Red’s calm attitude towards all this the bright light and loud noise startles them both.

You’re thrown off the creature landing harshly onto the snow, your ears ringing and your vision blurry from the light as you see someone running over towards you. You barely rolled out of the way dodging the hatchet being lodged into your chest. Twisting the person’s grip on the weapon gaining the hatchet, they whip out a knife catching you in the arm the blade digging across your shoulder. Swinging the hatchet out the blade drags along their face basically cleaving off their jaw. They fall to their back as you grab the knife ramming it deeply into their neck producing a liquid gurgle of blood. The snow soaks parts of your clothes and the warmth of blood on your shoulder and speckles of it on your face as you rise to stand catching your breath.

With the heavy winds and your labored breaths, you didn’t hear the crunch of snow coming from behind you as the cable is pulled over your throat and you’re pulled back into another body. Your hand grasps the cord that digs into your skin your feet slide through the snow trying to catch your grip as you violently thrash in your assailant that chokes you out from behind. You swing the hatchet back feeling it dig into their leg a cry fills the air as you try to grab it but they pull tighter pushing you to the tips of your feet to fight. Snarls and choked noises break from your mouth your fingers digging into the cable that burrows itself further into your neck your air cut off. You can’t even see your enemy fully just parts of their body as you thrash spots beginning to dance in your vision. A large crack fills the air and you feel liquid and matter hit the back of your head as the wire releases from your neck a large gasp of air enters your lungs as you hit the ground. Clutching your neck with your injured arm using the other to pull the hatchet out of the dead man’s leg you hear the sound of horses and you hear quickly approaching footsteps. You swing with a hoarse cry but you’re quickly disarmed.

“Kid!” Joel stares back at you as you breathe heavily looking at the man, he quickly takes in your wild appearance seeing the injury on your neck and noticing the blood soaking your shoulder. You’re brought to your feet, one of his hands pressing onto the bloody cut and you hiss in pain. “Joel!” Tommy’s voice cuts through the storm as he’s on his horse the two horses beside him.

“I got her!” Joel yells slinging his rifle over his free shoulder and keeping firm pressure on your wound as he helps you on the horse first then pulling himself after wrapping his hand around your body to grab the reins, “Let’s go!” He says as the three of you leave the bodies in the storm your mind and body drain quickly letting the cold pull you under.

[cassiana-on-dark-side]

"This is an excerpt from my memoir, "Love and Truth”.

Roger Waters

This is a true story of My love for two animals Both wild in their own way Which I read to the audience at a Live performance of DSOTM REDUX At the London Palladium On the day after October 7th 2023. Yes, The Campaign Against Anti-Semitism Were outside the Theater that day trying to cancel me. Free Palestine! From the River to the Sea! ✊🏻🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

So Chocolate Charlie Brown was my third brown Burmese cat. This is a drawing of him and his friend Lilly, an Abyssinian, above the skirting board on the wall of my youngest son Jack’s room in the early nineties. This story isn’t about Chocolate Charlie Brown, well, just this first little bit is, but the rest is about a Duck called Donald. First though a brief history of Chocolate Charley Brown, I got him through Keith Butt, the vet in Knightsbridge where I used to take pets to be euthanized on Sunday mornings if they were beyond repair. Like Cloudy for instance, my daughter India’s pet gerbil, she was beyond repair, cancer, (Cloudy that is, not India), poor little scrap. So into the Merc we jumped one Sunday morning after breakfast, Cloudy and I, well Cloudy didn’t exactly jump in, if truth be told, I had to help her in, in her little cage, just the two of us, the condemned Cloudy and me, and a cardboard box for later. Bloody hell, I’m getting a bit weepy. Off to Keith Butt, Mr Butt was already cognizant of Cloudy’s condition, so, look the other way, is it over? The trick before bringing the deceased home was to make her look comfy in her little cardboard box, arranged curled up resting in eternal peace with a garland of forget me nots. After lunch, down the garden, spade in hand, a not very heavy cardboard box, a little girl’s hand, held tightly in mine. Job done.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, Chocolate Charley Brown. The day he arrived he was a wee brown scrap and scared shitless, so I took him upstairs to the bedroom for a settle in. He ran straight under the bed and wouldn’t come out, so I took off my cowboy boots and got into bed in my jeans and dangled enticing things like feathers on bits of string in front of the dark places under the bed. Sure enough after about half an hour the hunting gene emerged and so did CCB’s little paw. I enticed him out into the open and then scooped him up and stuffed him under the covers next to my big warm leg. I was wearing a brown leather belt to hold my jeans up. I’ve still got it, it’s got a silver tip that always flops down. I was sitting up in the bed reading when I saw a tiny paw reach out and bat at the dangling silver bit on the end of my belt. We said hello, and we were inseparable after that. What a magnificent animal CCB was, beloved by all. Well obviously not all, all. He was not beloved by rodents or birds or Brian the gamekeeper from Kimbridge Farms next door. I saw CCB limping one day, favouring his off hind. I couldn’t find anything amiss, nothing broken, but, just to be sure I took him to the local vet for an X-Ray. Bugger me! Three #5 shot gun pellets in his rear end. I went to see Brian.

“Er Brian?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Happy Christmas Brian, there’s a hundred quid.”

“Thank you very much Sir!”

“You’re very welcome…….. Brian, If that big old brown cat of mine is still alive next Christmas there’ll be another hundred, and so on until he dies of natural causes.”

“I hear you Mr Waters, can I ask you a favour?”

“Anything Brian”

“Could you put a fluorescent collar on ‘im sir? Make my job a lot easier, that would.”

Anyway, one summer I hear the cat flap bang, and in comes CCB with, as usual, something dead in his mouth. He flops down in front of the AGA Stove, (half central heating, half cooking, much beloved in posh country kitchens) panting.

“What you got there Charlie?”

“Oh nothing much, just a newly hatched duckling, I’ve already eaten all it’s siblings and I’m a bit full. I’m just gonna rest here for a minute and then eat this‘un later and then I might go for a kip in the laundry room.”

“Jesus Christ Charlie, let’s have a look, oh for fuck’s sake it’s still wet.”

“Cats will be cats son”

“Jesus! Come on little‘un it’s the bin for you. Fuck me it’s still breathing, Jesus! Charley!”

“Oi! where are you going, I was looking forward that.”

So I put the wet scrap of baby bird, bits of shell and all, out of reach of the magnificent beast and went in search of a shoe box. Got one. Screwdriver for holes. Dap, dap, dap, dap, dap, dap, dap, dap, dap, dap. That’s enough, it’ll never live anyway. Where to put it? I know, guest bathroom on the radiator.

Next morning drinking coffee. Halfway through second cup….! The shoebox! I better go and clear up the remains. So, I run up the stairs and go into the guest bathroom.

“Tsi Tsi Tsi Tsi Tsi”

Fuck me! Open the lid. Oh my god it’s a fluffy brown golf ball with a little yellow face and a line of mascara through its eye!

“Tsi Tsi Tsi Tsi Tsi “

“Tsi Tsi Tsi Tsi Tsi”

“Tsi Tsi Tsi Tsi?”

“Tsi Tsi Tsi Tsi?”

“Tsi Tsi Tsi”

“Tsi Tsi Tsi Tsi Tsi”

Translation; Mallard to English.

“Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy,

I’m hungry, I’m hungry, I’m hungry, I’m hungry, I’m hungry,

Where have you been?

Where have you been?

I was frightened,

Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy.”

It was Donald.

“Fuck me! ……….. What do they eat?”

“What about milk ?”

“Milk! Don’t be stupid, when did you ever see a duck with tits?”

Ducklings should be fed a diet of mealworms and plant matter at an early age, though grasses tend to make baby ducks bloat. Wild ducks tend to stick to whatever bugs they find, and they will eat food that is fed to them by park visitors or guests. Bread has been long regarded as a bad thing to feed wild birds.

“Oi, no bread!”

I probably went out to try and catch bugs on the river that runs through the garden. Duh! Have you ever tried to catch a bug? Exactly! It probably didn’t take me long to read up on it.(Roger all through your life you’ll be faced with many challenges, my advice is to read, read, read, read. Thanks Mum.) Dried mealy worms mixed with crushed barley or oats, and water of course. Donald stayed in the guest bathroom for the first week or so, except of course at my bath time when he came into the master bathroom for bath time with me.

What bliss, my own duck to play with in the bath. Donald loved bath time, swimming about and then coming up onto Mummy’s chest for a snuggle and a bit of chin peck preen time, then back into the warm water.

What has always intrigued me is how can something that small produce that volume of duck shit? I mean, the guest bathroom floor was knee deep after a couple of weeks. I know you think I’m exaggerating; you’re thinking.

“How could it possibly be knee deep?”

“Ah, well that’s because you’re thinking Mummy knee deep, I’m talking Donald knee deep, which as you can see from the photo is only about half an inch.”

Anyway Donald grew and grew, I taught him to swim in the bath, even thought of buying him a plastic duck to play with……..no I didn’t!

The guest bathroom started to pong a bit, and it was a warm summer, so I decided to build Donald a run in the garden. We had a very small stream, only about a foot wide, that ran from a parallel carrier stream across the lawn under some cherry trees to the main river. Perfect.

I got some chicken wire and built an enclosure which spanned the stream. Running water, fox proof, enough bank for a snooze, in sight of the chairs on the logia, heaven. The long summer days of, what? 1993? Passed. Donald grew and grew, never losing his attachment to me, his Mummy. We used to go for walks together down the garden, never too close to the main river, I was always afraid of him falling in. Stupid I know. I was living at the time with Pricilla, my Jack’s mum, and we were in the habit of sitting on the logia at the cocktail hour with a very large vodka and cranberry juice each. I know, I know, but in those days we didn’t know any better. Anyway, Donald would always come and sit with us and preen a bit and quack-le quietly until bedtime. I’m not sure how many months passed before one day I looked at Donald and I thought, fuck me shouldn’t his head be starting to turn green? Christ almighty! Donald’s a girl! Well, too late to change his/her name now. Thank god, (NTTIAG) as far as we know, ducks don’t have pronoun issues.

One day, as September approached, I was looking at Donald over the rim of my vodka glass thinking, that duck looks almost full grown, when another thought occurred to me………………………..?

“Christ she can’t fly.”

So I called her over and picked her up and held her between my thumb and the four fingers of my right hand, half way between her lovely neck and her beautiful webbed feet, like a fat feathered paper dart, and pointing her slightly up, launched her forward. She didn’t even flap her wings, just nosedived into the turf at my feet, looked over her shoulder at me disapprovingly and waddled off to lick her wounded pride.

“Jesus Mummy! Why’d you do that?”

It was a conundrum, how to teach Donald to fly, until one day walking down the edge of one of the paddocks on my way to give Mossy Fern (Retired racehorse) some polos, I was going too fast for Donald who broke into a stumbling waddle-y run and then instinctively put out her wings and flapped and flew for about five yards before crashing. Eureka! We started to practice every day and before long if I broke into a run she would fly beside me at shoulder height,

“Look at me Mummy I’m flying!”

She didn’t fly away. Until one day she did.

“Where’s Donald?”

“I don’t know I haven’t seen her.”

I’m a bit weepy writing this………I mean it was great that she’d gone off with her friends to the barley stubble or wherever they went, but……………well it left a big hole.

Then a couple of days later, a few ducks landed by the bridge, below the top pool, near the house, when we were sitting in front of the logia with our Vodkas and cranberry juice, and one of them swam over, calmly climbed the steps out of the river, walked across the lawn and sat down next to us.

“Hello Donald.”

“Quack, quack,”

She did that several more times that September, until finally she didn’t.

I confess, though it pains me to admit it, before 1993, I would occasionally take the odd barley fed mallard off the river in September, delicious.

That was thirty years ago.

I never did it again."

via substack © by Roger Waters

[heartbreakgrill]

stiles stilinksi: breakable heaven; pt. 4, “you say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times, we’re not trying.”

a/n: thank you for all of the love! this takes place at the beginning of season 3, but there's some weird things i chose to do. they're in lacrosse season and cross country at the same time to stay relevant to both mine and the show's plot. also, the season only takes place over like three months, so it's gonna seem fast, though that's how it canonically goes. much love, friends!

trigger warning: this is the motel California episode, so a brief mention of unaliving.

tagging: @ariianelle (dm me if you’d like to be tagged! i lose a lot of comments in my notifs <3)

“can we please play some real music?”

y/n glanced up from her phone, open on the texts between her and danny, to see megan reaching through the front seats, towards the radio. y/n snickered slightly as the drake song switched to a pop station.

leo huffed from the driver’s seat, “baby, we’ve talked about this! driver picks the music!”

“baby,” megan mocked with a silly expression, “i don’t care. i’m not listening to just drake songs for another 5 hours.”

y/n hummed in agreement, “girls rule, boys drool.”

jack scoffed from the passenger seat, “you’re never gonna win that fight, leo.”

megan looked towards her with proud defiance, and offered up her palm for a high five. y/n gave her one, before looking back down to her phone. danny had sent another message.

danny: idk this lower classman looks like he’s about to get hella sick and stiles keep bugging him

y/n: so do you think the bus is gonna stop??? i have to pee soooo badly

danny: lemme ask coach

danny: oh stiles is already asking coach hang on

danny: coach says no

danny: it’s ok if u guys aren’t directly behind us

y/n: no it’s not just that i just don’t wanna be a bother to anybody by having to stop the car. plus leo’s already gonna be in trouble for missing the bus lol

danny: ugh whatever

danny: o fuck lower class man just fucking project uke vomited

danny: see u in a sec lover 😝❤️

–

the big yellow bus donned with the beacon hills school name across the side of it pulled bumpily into a motel parking lot. the inhabitants cringed from both the poor driving and the lingering smell of puke. unlike the rest of them, stiles sat proudly, with an all-too pleased smile on his expression.

y/n bounced in her seat slightly as leo pulled the car into a parking spot. she peered around in an attempt to find a bathroom area. she would’ve used the bathroom back at the rest stop, but leo thought it would be smart to get ahead of the bus.

now, it looked like they’d all be trapped in some motel that looked straight out of that psycho movie.

megan tapped her shoulder and pointed towards the front office. “let’s go ask the lady in there.”

leo had missed the bus for the cross country meet this morning, and since y/n, jack, and megan were already planning on coming out to support him, they carpooled together. they didn’t always make it out to meets, especially not ones hours from home, but they each had free weekends, and thought it would be fun to tag along.

y/n and megan went off to the bathroom, while leo and jack joined the hoard of students. danny, having just collected the key to his room, spotted two of his friends. they waved him over, and danny happily jogged their way.

stiles glanced over at danny as he went. he recognized jack and leo and peered around for megan, maybe even y/n. she hadnt responded to his text, the one he sent on tuesday, the day after their encounter in the jeep. he apologized for rushing out of there so quickly. but she hadn’t even read it.

scott said something, drawing stiles attention away. they went off to find their room, lydia and allison, isaac and boyd, closely behind them. just as they found the external stairs, y/n and megan came trotting out of the front office.

danny saw his best friend over jack’s shoulder and lit up. “oh, my love!”

y/n grinned and jumped up on the toes of her shoes. “hello, handsome!” she hugged him.

“listen,” leo cut into their moment, pointing over to coach finstock. “i’m gonna go see if coach will get us a room, since i’m supposed to be on that bus anyways.”

megan latched onto his hand, “i’ll come with!”

danny, y/n, and jack waved after them. y/n sighed, and glanced around the crowd of students, who were breaking off into groups. danny followed her gaze and snorted with a smirk.

“what?” she glanced up at him.

“he just went to find his room,” danny pointed towards the stairs behind them. “wanna go say hi?”

y/n waved him off, quickly, antsy on her feet, “no, no. that’s not what we agreed on, remember? i am staying away.”

danny nodded his head, slow, as if he didn’t really believe her. “we’ll see how long that lasts.”

y/n scoffed and punched his shoulder. “i mean it, you ass. mindless sex is the last thing i need right now.”

jack looked up from his phone, “who’s having mindless sex?”

y/n waved him off, “literally nobody.”

“i think you should,” jack shrugged, looking back down at his phone.

she crossed her arms and popped a hip, “excuse me?”

jack glanced back up, “i’m just saying. you spent how long moping over sam. best way to get over someone is to get under somebody else.”

at the mention of sam, y/n usually felt her chest constrict slightly. it happened this time, too, like the trigger of his name blew out all her defenses. but, she recovered quickly.

that had been happening a lot more lately- recovery. he didn’t have as much a hold on her anymore.

danny snickered at jack’s words, “oh, you have no idea-“

y/n shoved danny harshly. “would you two shut the fuck up? my sex life is not public business.”

“of lack, thereof,” jack mumbled to himself.

y/n went to clap back, when megan and leo showed back up with a singular room key. leo held it up between his fingers, and wiggled it, “could only get one, but- room 216.”

“thank god,” jack took the key from leo, “i could use a shower.”

he led the way to the stairs, and megan and leo followed closely behind. y/n started after them, but faltered her steps once she realized. megan would want to sleep with leo, leaving the only other open bed in jack’s name. he’d say it’s not big deal, that they could sleep in the same bed no problem. but, even though they’d been in the same friend group for a few years now, she didn’t trust him all that much.

she turned back to danny, “please, please, please let me stay in your room with you-?”

danny looked down at her, shoulders dropping as he noticed her eyes turn up in a sappy, puppy-dog manner. he rolled his eyes, “of course you can, you don’t have to make that pathetic face. i’m rooming with ethan, but he doesn’t care. let���s go.”

danny called over the new kid and explained the rooming situation to him. he was completely okay with it, and introduced himself to y/n formally. she’d seen him around and heard about him, but this was the first she’d spoken to him. he was friendly enough.

y/n followed danny and ethan up the stairs. they ran into megan, jack, and leo and passed on the rooming news to them. then, just as they began moving along, the door beside them popped open. scott and stiles piled out.

y/n, frivolous and non-confrontational, did a two-step around ethan, slotting herself beside danny and the railing. stiles didn’t pay enough attention to anything, but he smelled her shampoo linger through the air. stiles looked over just quick enough to watch her disappear into the room beside his and scott’s.

this was going to be a long night.

–

luckily, danny had an extra pair of boxers for y/n to wear as makeshift pajama bottoms. the two boys, sweaty and tired from the bus ride in, took turns showering, while y/n scrolled mindlessly through the television. afterwards, ethan and danny made themselves comfy on the other bed. they were in a similar situation as y/n and stiles- sleeping together, with the agreement that feelings wouldn’t get involved. tale as old as time.

“man, i wish we had snacks. i’m starving,” danny pointed out as he pulled the covers over his legs. ethan sat a few feet from his left shoulder, as if they were trying to keep distance between them.

but, y/n wasn’t stupid- she recognized the tension between them. she knew it all too well. she knew danny wanted to hold ethan’s hand, knew ethan’s darting eyes lingered on danny’s lips- more than once. while ethan started their movie, she came up with the idea to give them a few moments alone. she’d read enough romance books to know the trope- one of them would break eventually.

“i saw a vending machine,” y/n recalled, sitting up in the bed, “i’ll go grab some stuff.”

she collected her purse from the floor and the room key from danny’s bedside table, before her friend could protest. she passed danny a knowing look as she slipped out the door. she wriggled her eyebrows in delight. danny rolled his eyes, though he was blushing, and the tiniest smile cracked his lips.

y/n’s tennis shoes creaked against the floor of the balcony. the motel was obviously old, with rusted corners. it had the faint smells of dust bunnies and moth balls whipping through the air. the sun had set since the start of their movie, and it made the already creepy setting a little more chilling. it was comforting that she saw a few of her classmates, moving between rooms, hanging out on the balcony. but, even though there were plenty of people, the motel had a way of making her feel felt deserted, distant from the rest of the world.

she turned the corner and finally saw the vending machine, tucked into the corner with the ice. she spent a few minutes picking out a few different things, and even managed to stretch out the time by popping open a bag of m&m’s. she checked her phone and saw that ten minutes had finally passed. y/n felt she could return now. if they hadn’t confessed their love for each other, hopefully they’d at least kissed or something.

y/n slid the key into the door handle, hitting it loudly against the metal in order to make danny and ethan aware of her return. she slowly, surely, opened the door. much to her surprise- and delight- she was met with the sight of way too much bare ass skin.

y/n slammed the door closed, eyes squeezed shut, a little scarred from whoever’s ass she had just seen. shuffling could be heard from the other side of the door, and she assumed danny and ethan were sorting themselves out. but, she felt bad, cockblocking them, so she called out, “hey, don’t even worry about it. i’m gonna go ask lydia if she has makeup wipes. you two…have loads of fun!”

y/n huffed out a breath. her hand fell off the door knob, and she looked around. lydia was just two doors down. she remembered seeing the redhead with allison, when they went inside their room earlier. but, she couldn’t remember if it was the door right next to theirs, or the one after it.

she wasn’t really sure.

all she did know was that stiles and scott were behind one of those two doors. and with her luck…

y/n opted for just sitting on one of the chairs in front of danny’s room. she pulled up a book on her phone. danny would text her, or even come and find her, once he was done doing whatever it is he was doing.

it was taking all her willpower to ignore stiles. the fact that she even missed him as much as she did was a red flag on the entire situation. she tried to convince herself that she didn’t miss him, but his lips, his words, his ability to draw out of her a feeling she’d never really known.

but thinking like that made it worse.

y/n occupied her mind with a few pages in her book. but, as she turned another chapter, she heard a a couple pairs of feet scuttle up the stairs. two voices she recognized were speaking in hushed whispers, anxiety setting their tones. y/n looked up from her phone, flushing a little when she saw stiles’ face in the dim light of the motel balcony. they were coming her way.

she tucked her chin into her chest, eyes glued to her phone, hoping they wouldn’t be paying enough attention to notice her. her chest was tight. she felt tingly.

that luck of hers…

“y/n? hey, hey, what’re you doing here?” stiles pushed past scott, squatting to his knees before her. his hand came to rest on her knee, his touch soft and warm.

y/n didn’t realize how cold she was, in just her tank top that she wore and the boxer’s she borrowed from danny. she shivered, brows drawing together in concern. “what?”

stiles sounded worried, a little scared, like there was something really wrong. his eyes fluttered around her, over his shoulder towards scott. the latter boy’s hair was wet, and y/n glanced out to the parking lot to see if it was raining. the wind whipped towards them, and the smell of gasoline prickled her nose. she looked back at scott, tilting her head. was he covered in gasoline?

stiles squeezed her knee, “what room are you in? you need to get inside, here, cmon.” he grabbed onto her hand, entwined his fingers with hers like it was habitual. pulled her to her feet.

“what’re you talking about?” y/n furrowed her brows, squeezing onto his hand.

scott spoke this time, “it’s, uh- we saw an animal or something weird in the parking lot. like, a mountain lion or-“ he exchanged a confused look with stiles, like neither were sure of his testimony, “or something.”

y/n shivered, again, fear from all of the animal attacks that plagued beacon hills settling on her skin in the form of goosebumps. stiles noticed and he quickly shrugged his coat off. he slid it around her easily, “what room are you in?”

“d-danny’s,” she stepped closer to him, grabbed his hand again. she pointed to the room in front of them. “we need to tell coach. what if it-“

“danny and ethan’s?” stiles clarified as he cut her off. she nodded, words falling from her lips.

scott and stiles shared a look, and the latter boy shook his head. “why don’t you come hang out with us for a bit? we can watch a movie or something?” scott offered.

y/n shrugged, “i guess. i’ll text danny and let him know. hey, we should really-“

“it’s okay,” stiles led her into their room, and scott followed.

she slipped out of her shoes and sat, warily, on the edge of one of their beds. stiles peeked out through the blinds, on guard from whatever was out there. y/n felt there was more to the situation than either of them was going to let on. being in such close corners with scott now- the gasoline was so thick in the air. but, the mountain lion story alone was enough to freak her out.

and, she didn’t know if she needed or even wanted to know anything more. weird things always seemed to happen in this town. she didn’t need a reason to have a panic attack.

scott got a text. he quickly pulled out his phone. the abrupt end of the silence lingering in the room made y/n jump slightly.

stiles reared his head towards his friend, “what? what is it?”

scott’s eyes glanced over to y/n, who was staring blankly at the floor. her knee bounced up and down, and she hugged her arms around herself. “um,” scott was coming up with an excuse, “i’m just gonna go check on allison and lydia.”

he opened the door to leave, and y/n shot up from the bed. “be careful! you really should go tell coach, too.”

scott nodded, “yeah, sure.” he slipped out of the room.

stiles turned to y/n, fidgeting with his hands. he stepped towards her, concern laced in his tired eyes, “hey, you okay?”

y/n always noticed how tired he always was. but, tonight, it seemed he was more so.

she stepped a little closer to him, examining his gaze intently, “i’m fine. just a little- a little freaked out. the animal attacks in this town are no joke.”

“yeah, tell me about it,” stiles mumbled. he was shaken up from the events taking place this evening- his friends possessed by some deadly energy, scott’s near suicide. but, he forced on a strong front. y/n needed his comfort and security, no matter how many texts from him she hadn’t answered.

y/n watched his stare fall to the floor, and he faded out a little. she touched his forearm, grounding him back to earth. he met her eye. she frowned, “are you okay?”

“yeah, yeah,” he waved her off, “just…tired, ya know. long day.”

“why don’t you lay down?” y/n offered. she tightened her grip on his arm, moving it up to his elbow.

his breath hitched. he missed her touch like water. , now it was flooding him.

he nodded and stepped towards the bed. “will you- lay with me?” he thought over his own words, and quickly tried to make it seem less romantic, “in, like, a not weird way? i don’t know- nevermind.”

“yeah, stiles,” y/n brushed his words off, “i can lay with you. in a not weird way. friends can…friends can cuddle.”

he ignored the way that word stabbed his chest, and led them to the bed. stiles slid off his shoes, pushed back the covers, and fell into the bed. he lay on his back and held open his arm for her. she slotted herself into his side.

it was warm. comfortable.

both of them fell asleep within minutes.

–

a week passed, and neither of them mentioned that night.

they didn’t talk about it when they had sex in the stiles’ jeep, after the meet. they didn’t talk about it the next day at her house, when they had sex, again. or, any of the three other times they had sex.

they didn’t talk about the fact that neither of them had slept that well in months. they didn’t talk about the fact that y/n clutched onto stiles’ like he’d leave with one wrong breath.

and they especially didn’t talk about the fact that stiles kissed y/n’s forehead before he drifted off.

and told her, “thank you.”

–

y/n didn’t want to tell danny. so, she didn’t.

but, he knew her better than anybody, so he caught onto the fact that she had, at the very least, been sleeping with stiles ago.

according to danny, she had a, “glow about her.”

y/n shoved his shoulder, hitting her palm off of his uniform pads. she hissed at the pain and held her wrist limply in her other hand.

“that’s what you get for being a whore,” danny joked, poking her side.

she winced at the touch. “ouch! you’re a dick.”

“you’re gonna turn into one!” danny turned back to his locker, rummaging around for the rest of his gear.

y/n crossed her arms over her chest. she was wearing danny’s jersey again for the game. “and what about it?”

“nothing! there’s literally nothing wrong with it,” danny shrugged. he pulled his glove from the top of his locker and turned around, pointing it at her. “i just know you.”

y/n knew what that meant. she knew why danny was concerned. she knew herself, too. she knew how these things ended.

but she was choosing not to care.

“whatever,” she pushed the glove away from her face, “just- good luck on your game, asshole.”

she gave danny a tight hug before heading towards the exit. there were a few other players still in there, getting dressed, chatting about the plays for the game.

she spotted stiles at his locker. he met her eye and grinned. a blush adorned her cheeks. she waved.

y/n was about to open the door when stiles came bounding up behind her. he held it open for her, leaning over to do so, and his face ended up right beside hers.

“hey,” he sounded breathless.

y/n smiled, “how are you?”

they hadn’t seen each other since wednesday. y/n had a few projects for school, and work, so her schedule was jam packed. stiles missed her like crazy, but of course, he couldn’t really say that.

“good,” he nodded.

they moved out into the hallway as they spoke. the door fell shut behind them.

“listen,” stiles went to say, as y/n said, “sorry.”

“go ahead,” they spoke over each other.

“sorry,” y/n laughed. she brushed hair back from her face.

stiles’ drew his eyes over her skin, which was painted with white and red dots around her eyes. “your makeup looks pretty,” he found himself saying.

y/n touched her cheek, insecurely, “oh, thank you.”

stiles, caught up in the moment, gently pulled her hand from her face. he dropped it to her side and then moved his touch to her chin. he drew her eyes to his, arching her face upwards. y/n’s breath caught in her throat.

“what do i get if i win?” stiles found himself saying, a devilish grin on his face.

y/n was astounded by how good stiles had gotten at all this- the foreplay, the teasing, the things he’d say to her. he was an insecure, neurotic, freak most of the time. but, beneath the sheets, he’d learned control, confidence, power. it inspired security within her, positive self consciousness in her body, her movement.

and, though this made her face beat red, she smiled slightly. y/n wrapped her arms around his shoulders, entangling her fingers in his hair, and she pressed her lips into his. stiles nearly melted at her touch, curving his body into hers. y/n felt his dick harden against her thigh. she held back a grin.

and she pulled away.

“you’ve gotta win first,” she shrugged, pretending she was innocent to everything.

she began walking away, proud. stiles groaned in response and watched her hips, intently.

“you are such a tease!” she shrugged again, not even glancing back. not until he called out, “hey!”

she looked back at him, “what?”

“you look cute in that jersey, by the way.”

he winked at her before disappearing inside the locker room.

y/n faltered slightly. the moment sunk into her skin.

oh, no.